For the common folk, building a house is the foremost priority, and the raising of the main beam—symbolizing the completion of a new home—is the most significant event of all. Similarly, for a nation, state, or frontier fortress, the day a city or military stronghold is completed, the hanging of the plaque holds the same weight as the raising of a beam in an ordinary household, making it a matter of great importance.
Today, the city beyond Liangzhou Pass reached its plaque-hanging day. No auspicious date was deliberately chosen; instead, the decision was made unanimously the moment the final section of the main city wall was completed—the plaque would be hung that very day, without delay! It wasn’t that the high-ranking officials of Northern Liang overseeing the city’s construction didn’t care about such formalities, but the situation was too urgent to bother with embellishments. Otherwise, with Li Gongde, the Northern Liang’s Chief Administrator, leading the charge, these officials—who had spent nearly a year in this desolate place, eating dust and enduring sandstorms alongside soldiers and laborers—would surely have insisted on selecting an auspicious day for the plaque-hanging. The emotional weight of this moment might not be any less than that of a daughter’s wedding.
The construction of this city could be called unprecedented and unmatched. Not only did it surpass the scale of the northwestern frontier’s first stronghold, Tiger’s Head City, but it was also completed in far less time. Aside from the ten thousand Snow Dragon Cavalry and the nine thousand heavy cavalry of the “Wei Xiong” and “Zhi Hu” divisions, nearly all of Liangzhou’s frontier troops took turns participating in the construction. Of course, military households and craftsmen from the three interior provinces of Liang, Ling, and You were also conscripted, along with a steady stream of Northern Liang civilians who voluntarily traveled beyond Liangzhou Pass. The workforce remained at roughly a hundred thousand. Historically, when a nation mobilized its full strength to build a grand city, it often prioritized conserving labor and not disrupting farming seasons, typically completing only a single wall in thirty days before finishing the rest intermittently over several years. But Northern Liang’s massive undertaking, which nearly exhausted the Xu family’s wealth from Qingliang Mountain, was a desperate, all-or-nothing gamble. Just the yellow earth used for the main walls alone hollowed out two small hills—Dragon’s Head and Tiger’s Tail—south of the city!
At the crack of dawn, Li Gongde and his neighbor, the Deputy Overseer and Mo Family Grandmaster Song Changsui, rose early and ascended the city walls. Strolling along the broad horse path, the Chief Administrator—who had unknowingly shed twenty pounds—subconsciously stamped his feet and grinned with pride. With him, the notorious penny-pincher Li Gongde, keeping a sharp eye day and night, who would dare cut corners? And no one would dare slack off, either—not just because of money, but because of the simple truth laid bare before everyone: “If this city stands, Liangzhou stands; if this city falls, the interior falls!” The Northern Liang’s political leader, who had spent his life navigating officialdom with ease and comfort, now looked much leaner but far sturdier. Any official from Lingzhou who saw him now would be shocked, perhaps even failing to recognize him. The slick, bureaucratic air Li Gongde had cultivated over decades had vanished, replaced by the bold, unyielding aura of a military scion. Still a scholar at heart, the old man ran his hand along the inner parapet and chuckled, “Back in Qingliang Mountain’s military-dominated council hall, I never understood what the Great General and those rough men were talking about—horse paths, parapets… It wasn’t until I came here that it all clicked. Like this parapet—I’d read about it in books, even in frontier poems, where it’s called ‘Pini.’ But ‘parapet’ sounds much better. Every time I walk this wall, I think of my troublesome daughter, Fu Zhen. Before, it was Hanlin who gave us headaches, but how the tables have turned! Now I see the Great General was right—raising children, the son gets easier with time, but the daughter only gets more troublesome.”
Song Changsui said solemnly, “Old Li, you know I’m not one to praise lightly, but your Hanlin… he’s truly impressive. The battle at Dragon’s Eye Plains was brilliantly fought! The elite scouts under Dong Zhuo of Northern Mang, including the Raven Fence, were utterly annihilated. That battle was truly exhilarating!”
Li Gongde, his lips chapped, stroked his beard and smiled. “Exactly! This kind of praise sounds best coming from someone else. No matter how much I say as his father, it never feels right. Honestly, Old Song, you’ve got remarkable patience—I’ve been waiting for you to say this for ages! I was practically bursting with frustration.”
Song Changsui sighed helplessly. “Before this, we were swamped with work. When did I have even a moment for idle chatter?”
Li Gongde nodded. “True. I’ve always prided myself on my political acumen, spending my days scheming and analyzing others. Not that I never got things done, but to be this hands-on… unimaginable. It feels like in just one year, I’ve repaid all the practical governance I owed in my lifetime.”
Song Changsui smiled knowingly.
Suddenly, Li Gongde slapped an arrow slit hard and bellowed, “If such fine walls still can’t hold, I’ll curse those Northern Mang savages to death before they even kill me!”
Song Changsui blinked, then glanced around. Inside and outside the city, the familiar construction scene continued—shouts and chants rising and falling. Though the colossal city was ready for its plaque, much work remained. The Mo Family Grandmaster asked softly, “Would you really curse them?”
Li Gongde’s bluster deflated instantly. He murmured, “So many Northern Liang frontier soldiers… I might scold my son, but I could never bring myself to curse them.”
※※※
The newly appointed Liangzhou Governor Bai Yu could afford to sneak off to Wudang Mountain for leisure, but as the Northern Liang’s Transport Commissioner and Deputy Military Governor, Xu Beizhi had no such luxury. He raced nonstop from Liuzhou’s Qingcang City, through Liangzhou’s western gateway, Qingyuan Garrison, until the outline of the grand frontier city came into view through his carriage curtains. Ever since leaving Qingliang Mountain for Lingzhou, Xu Beizhi had been constantly on the move—serving as the “Rice-Buying Governor,” constructing granaries across his jurisdiction, overseeing water transport as Transport Commissioner, even secretly meeting Han Lin in the Huai regions. Not long ago, he traveled to the Western Regions’ Rantuo Mountain to secure twenty thousand monk soldiers for Qingcang’s defense. After attending the plaque-hanging ceremony, he would immediately return to Lingzhou to personally oversee grain shipments.
These years, he had no fixed abode—either on horseback or in a carriage, always jostled along.
Outside his carriage, not a single elite Northern Liang cavalryman escorted him. Given Xu Beizhi’s high rank and his critical role in the impending war, assigning him a thousand cavalry as guards wouldn’t have been excessive.
Yet precisely because of this, the young strategist’s unparalleled status in the Xu family—and in the young Prince’s heart—was all the more evident.
Because only eighty men guarded his carriage.
Eighty riders, each bearing a sword.
Eighty from the Wu Family Sword Mound!
The current Sword Crown, Wu Liuding; his sword-bearer, Cui Hua, who carried the ancient sword “Plain King”; the infamous demon Zhu Huang, notorious even within the Sword Mound; the peerless swordmaster Helian; Zhang Luantai; Gongsun Xiushui; Nalan Huaiyu…
If this wasn’t an extravagant escort, then nothing in the world could be called elite.
Exhausted but unable to sleep, Xu Beizhi sat cross-legged and pulled out an old notebook penned by Li Yishan, flipping through it gently.
Xu Fengnian had once mentioned that the golden plaque at Tingchao Pavilion was inscribed by the old emperor of Liyang. The four characters “Northern Liang Prince’s Residence” above Qingliang Mountain’s gate were written by Princess Wu Su. When the first frontier city beyond Northern Liang needed a plaque, Xu Xiao, ever the blunt soldier, initially wanted Li Yishan to do the honors. But Li Yishan refused, forcing the “Butcher” to seek calligraphy lessons from the young Prince in Wutong Courtyard. Countless drafts later, Xu Xiao finally produced the three characters for “Tiger’s Head City,” joking that he’d used up all his calligraphy talent for this lifetime. Later, the plaque for the Liuzhou Governor’s residence in Qingcang was selected by the young Prince from Li Yishan’s notes—a fitting tribute, given Li Yishan’s monumental contributions to Northern Liang and especially Liuzhou. Before Tingchao Pavilion and Wutong Courtyard’s treasures were scattered across the Central Plains…
Xu Beizhi and Xu Fengnian once had a seemingly lighthearted conversation.
“Aren’t you heartbroken?”
“Who am I? Xu Fengnian, Xu Xiao’s eldest son! What treasure haven’t I seen? When have I ever been stingy? Back in the day, I’d toss gold to wandering swordsmen, impoverished scholars with fine poetry, fortune-tellers—never batted an eye!”
“Oh? Then why did you blink like a storm was brewing when I picked up ‘Children Climbing the Jar’ or tossed the ‘Mountain Journey’ inkstone into the crate?”
“I was just reminding you to handle them gently. Scratches would lower their resale value.”
“Resale value? We’re selling them for mere dozens or hundreds of bushels of grain. Talking about ‘value’ sounds pretentious.”
“A few bushels difference per item adds up.”
“Really not heartbroken?”
“Nope. Orange, you’ve asked this seven or eight times already.”
“Hmm. For some reason, asking each time gives me a dark satisfaction—better than drinking Green Ant Wine.”
“Orange, you go ahead. I’ll go drink some Green Ant Wine.”
“One last question…”
“I’m really not heartbroken!”
“Not that. I just wanted to ask—if I’ve squandered all your assets, how will you afford a bride price?”
“Same as always! Cucumbers! Cold-tossed!”
Xu Beizhi tucked away the notebook and his thoughts, lifting the carriage curtain to gaze at the majestic new northwestern city.
In times of chaos, worldly possessions are the least valuable. When even human life is worthless, what could possibly hold worth?
The Hongjia Northern Exodus, which displaced countless scholars, proved this long ago. Swallows from noble halls now nest in common homes. Priceless antiques and artworks were once picked from muddy roads, rural latrines, market stalls, and rubble piles. Only in peaceful times do they regain their value.
Xu Beizhi could have sold them for more, but after the Spring Snow Tower incident, the Central Plains showed signs of turmoil. Only twenty years since Hongjia, most older scholars still remembered the chaos. They wouldn’t hoard now. Why buy cheap when war might bring free loot? Only true connoisseurs from wealthy, cultured families would brave the journey to Northern Liang. But even then, securing desired items depended on connections. Would the privileged nobles of Tai’an City, grown fat on two decades of water transport profits, grant favors? Would canal officials, weighing silver against political risks, dare defy rising stars like Deputy Administrator Wen Taiyi and Deputy Military Governor Ma Zhongxian?
But the true stakes lay not in underselling treasures or securing grain—but in using this opportunity to extend Northern Liang’s influence along the Guangliang Canal, infiltrating Qingzhou’s Xiangfan City with the Fish-Dragon Gang and Fushui House’s covert networks!
If Jubei City fell, Liangzhou and Liuzhou would be lost. But Northern Liang’s remaining forces wouldn’t be left scrambling. Even if Chen Zhibao had laid traps in Western Shu, Northern Liang’s cavalry could still carve a path into the Central Plains!
Given this, how could Xu Beizhi not be a spendthrift?
Yet when he first proposed this plan, the young Prince agreed without hesitation, rendering all his prepared arguments moot.
And deep down, Xu Beizhi harbored an unspoken thought:
If Northern Liang won the second Liang-Mang war…
Who could deny them a place in the fight for the Central Plains?
Xu Beizhi sighed and was about to lower the curtain when a rider drew near. “Deputy Military Governor, eager to enter the city?”
It was Nalan Huaiyu, a fiery yet sharp-witted swordswoman from the Wu Family. A two-time Beauty List honoree, she retained her charm despite her years, especially when riding with her sword—a breathtaking sight.
Xu Beizhi smiled. “Nalan Huaiyu, if I sold your sword for three or four taels, would you be heartbroken?”
Baffled, she grinned. “Heartbroken or not, I’d beat you unrecognizable first!”
“You didn’t answer.”
She laughed. “Not heartbroken! Knowing your ties to the Prince, if you sold mine, I’d just take something better from Tingchao Pavilion! My sword’s only a century old, mediocre material—not even worth a hundred taels. Why would I care?”
Xu Beizhi chuckled. “I’d be heartbroken.”
Nalan Huaiyu teased, “Deputy Xu, has the carriage rattled your brains loose?”
He smirked. “Want to know how someone described you?”
Her eyes narrowed like a cat’s—or rather, a tigress’, given her prowess.
Xu Beizhi whispered, “He said, ‘Nalan Huaiyu must live a very tiring life.’”
She frowned, silent.
Xu Beizhi glanced at her, then quickly dropped the curtain.
Nalan Huaiyu followed his gaze—down to her chest.
Realization dawned. Unfazed, she laughed loudly at the carriage. “You lack the guts, he lacks the nerve! Neither of you is any good!”
Inside, Xu Beizhi smiled and closed his eyes.
Of course, Xu Fengnian had never said that. But Xu Beizhi felt he might have, so he’d said it for him.
And Nalan Huaiyu’s “lacks the nerve” comment was… intriguing.
As he rested, Xu Beizhi murmured, “So many have died at Western Regions’ Miyun Pass, more at Qingcang… soon it’ll be beyond Liangzhou. So, Nalan Huaiyu, I hope one day you’ll speak your heart to him. So you must live… You must live too.”
Between the last two lines, he paused for a long time.
※※※
Outside the new city, the White Horse Market was less a market and more a bustling town.
It was arguably the most chaotic place under heaven—patrolled by armored Northern Liang soldiers, visited by martial artists fresh from the Western Regions’ demon hunt, crowded with merchants, reckless scholars, laborers, fortune-tellers, runaway youths seeking enlistment, idle loafers… Even high-ranking officials occasionally stopped by for a drink and a snack. Scholarly delegations came to study, and rumors claimed even the renowned Yu Dajia of Shangyin Academy had visited with her disciples—with whispers of an ambiguous relationship with the Prince.
All knew that when the young Prince appeared in this city, the second Liang-Mang war would truly begin.
For millennia, whether in the Central Plains or the grasslands, the world’s largest cavalry forces would march south—until they clashed with the mightiest iron riders.
Today was Jubei City’s plaque-hanging day.
Under the blazing sun, crowds swarmed along the eastern and western walls, converging northward.
Laborers poured from the gates, joining the massive procession.
Jubei City—”Reject the North.”
Its main gate faced north.
For twenty years, Northern Liang’s blades and spears had pointed north.
What the Central Plains thought, what Liyang schemed—Northern Liang’s peerless cavalry couldn’t care less.
Led by Chief Protector Chu Lushan and Chief Administrator Li Gongde, officials gathered at the northern gate, ready to hoist the plaque draped with the Xu royal banner.
Ten thousand Snow Dragon Cavalry, like rolling snow, halted north of the city under Yuan Zuozong.
The heavy cavalry divisions “Zhi Hu” and “Wei Xiong” flanked them, followed by He Zhonghu and Zhou Kang’s left and right frontier cavalry.
After the thunder of hooves, silence fell.
Someone looked up first.
A dazzling white streak split the sky, landing on the walls with a crash.
When the figure appeared, Li Gongde and Chu Lushan exchanged smiles and ordered the plaque raised.
Once it hung above the gate, the young man slowly drew his sword.
Below, every cavalryman silently unsheathed their Northern Liang blades.
Deep waters run silent.
The hoofbeats of Northern Liang’s cavalry were heaven’s mightiest war drums.
Xu’s Blade.
Reject the North.
※※※
That scene—
A halberd barring the river—
Will remain legendary for centuries to come.
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