On the sacred stone steps, the figures of pilgrims gradually appeared. Xu Fengnian quietly made his way to the Elephant Washing Pool, removed his outer robe, and crouched by the pool to wash it. If intercepting fortunes was second nature to him, then these chores were no less familiar.
Last night’s earth-shattering battle between heaven and man had drawn the attention of several Central Plains grandmasters staying at Wudang, watching from varying distances. A white-robed qi cultivator observed from the distant Jade Pillar Peak, likely harboring hopes of reaping the spoils. Whether it was the demise of the Zhang family sage or the new Liang King Xu Fengnian, either outcome would be a boon to her fortunes. If both perished and she could somehow absorb both their destinies, the mortal world might witness the rise of a true terrestrial immortal—one who could defy the heavens and live eternally.
The three top experts from the Southern Border—Lu Xuanlang, Cheng Baishuang, and Ji Liu’an—stood together on a suspended walkway, watching from afar. The blind female qin master, Xue Songguan, walked slowly before stopping half a mile away. But the one closest to the battlefield was the figure in purple.
As Xu Fengnian skillfully pounded his clothes on the bluestone, the Elephant Washing Pool had already begun to fill with clusters of martial artists. Nowadays, Wudang Mountain was not only recognized as a sacred land for cultivation but also a feng shui treasure for martial artists seeking enlightenment. Most of those who came were warriors stuck at bottlenecks, content to sit cross-legged here, gazing at waterfalls, pools, and boulders, imagining the past—how the former sect leader Hong Xixiang once practiced his fist techniques here, how the sword-obsessed Wang Xiaoping once unleashed his blade, and how the grandmaster Xu Fengnian once honed his saber skills. They jostled for spots like pilgrims vying for the first incense stick.
Xu Fengnian overheard a group nearby whispering what seemed to be a nursery rhyme:
*”Wooden dragon faces stone tiger, gold and silver beyond measure. Whoever cracks the riddle, buys all of Yangzhou.”*
Rumor had it that the old Liang King, Xu Xiao, anticipating the Northern Mang’s million-strong army, had preemptively sunk the Xu family’s vast wealth—plundered from the noble houses of the Spring and Autumn Era—into a hidden location. This was a contingency plan should the Xu family fail to hold back the Northern Mang’s advance, ensuring they could rise again and contend for the world.
At first, Xu Fengnian found it amusing, but he soon sensed something unusual in the rhyme. The mention of “buying all of Yangzhou”—the wealthiest prefecture in the Central Plains—vividly illustrated the sheer scale of the Xu family’s hidden treasure. Moreover, these gossiping martial artists didn’t even consider the most obvious suspect, the Listening Tide Lake, instead speculating about Qingcheng Mountain and the Linyao Military Garrison. This alarmed Xu Fengnian. According to the rumors, the latter theory stemmed from the belief that Li Yishan, the Xu family’s lifelong strategist, had orchestrated the treasure’s concealment. He allegedly used misdirection, openly driving refugees into Liu Prefecture while secretly colluding with the Western Regions’ Rantuo Mountain—a flawless plan.
As for why Qingcheng Mountain, bordering Liang and Shu, was suspected, the martial artists couldn’t explain, but Xu Fengnian knew the truth: Xu Xiao had hidden six thousand armored soldiers deep in Qingcheng Mountain, a secret known to only a handful within the Fushui Bureau. Clearly, whoever spread this rhyme harbored deep hostility toward Northern Liang and had significant infiltration into its military and political affairs.
Xu Fengnian had always been wary of nursery rhymes that once wreaked havoc across the eight nations of the Spring and Autumn Era. Huang Sanjia, the mastermind behind such schemes, had given emperors and kings headaches. Now, Northern Liang faced the same threat. It wasn’t that a mere rhyme could shake Northern Liang’s foundations—after all, the region’s martial culture and Xu Fengnian’s post-succession reforms, especially the resounding victory in the first Liang-Mang War, had solidified the Xu family’s dominance. But as Li Yishan often warned, *”Winds rise from the tips of grass, waves form from tiny ripples.”* Governing a state or an army required vigilance against the smallest threats.
Xu Fengnian suddenly wondered: If this person knew Northern Liang’s secrets so well, why resort to such trivial tactics?
It was like the Peach Blossom Sword God facing a second-rate master—why waste a hundred moves when one strike would suffice? The master, knowing the truth, would only find it nauseating.
Was this adding fuel to the fire or gilding the lily?
Xu Fengnian fell into deep thought.
Nearby, someone with a shifty gaze called out, “Young brother, why do you have bloodstains on you? Did you run into enemies on Wudang Mountain yesterday?”
Northern Liang’s autumn clothing was thick, so Xu Fengnian’s inner garments weren’t heavily stained. He rolled up his washed robe and walked over, crouching a few steps away. Without mincing words, he grinned and asked, “Exactly. Got roughed up pretty bad. I won’t beat around the bush—you look like a night watchman on the streets. How much to break a leg? And what’s the price for a full kill? If the price is fair, I’ll pay half upfront, as per custom.”
Street watchmen often cleaned up garbage at night, so “night watchmen” in the underworld referred to those who took money to solve problems.
The man’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t jump at the offer. He scrutinized the young man with a thick Northern Liang accent and asked in the official Wu-Yue dialect, “Young brother, let’s be clear—is your enemy a local snake or an outsider?”
“Local snake,” Xu Fengnian replied.
The man frowned. Dealing with locals was far trickier than handling outsiders. He lowered his voice. “What, is he a *lianque* or even a *haima*?”
*Lianque* referred to civil officials, while *haima* were military officers—both figures commoners dared not provoke. Since the reign of the Butcher Xu Xiao, the court had enforced bloody rules against unruly martial artists, beheading them and displaying their heads at the borders. After the unification of the Spring and Autumn Era, especially after Xu Xiao’s purge, the martial world had no choice but to bow low.
Xu Fengnian said slowly, “The guy’s grandfather was a *lianque*, but he’s long dead. The family has no remaining influence in official circles. But here, *lianque* are nothing—*haima* are the real deal. Still, the guy has a terrifying bodyguard, unarmed, probably around fifth-rank strength.”
The wiry man exchanged glances with his four companions, weighing the risks. All five were hardened outlaws from the southern capital region, traveling together in Northern Liang and growing closer. They had even considered swearing brotherhood upon returning home. The young man’s target seemed manageable—an elderly fifth-rank bodyguard. But they worried about the consequences of crossing Northern Liang’s authorities.
The wiry man asked cautiously, “Which Taoist temple on Wudang is he staying at?”
This question was telling.
Wudang Mountain had eighty-one peaks, but fewer than thirty were open to visitors. Martial artists naturally preferred famous peaks and temples, and some major sects had even clashed over accommodations.
Xu Fengnian scoffed, “A small temple on Shaoyou Peak. He only got in because his grandfather was a big donor. Otherwise, with his skills, he’d have been kicked out long ago.”
The wiry man smiled. “May I ask which path you walk, young brother? And what’s your grudge with him?”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “Old brother, that’s against the rules. Money has no surname.”
The man laughed awkwardly. “Money all belongs to the Zhao family.”
Xu Fengnian pointed at the bluestone. “Here, it belongs to the Xu family.”
Just as Xu Fengnian was about to steer the conversation toward the nursery rhyme, an uninvited guest interrupted.
Tong Shanquan, her waist adorned with the twin blades Wude and Tianbao, strode toward Xu Fengnian without hesitation.
Xu Fengnian wasn’t annoyed. He trusted the Fushui Bureau spies on Wudang Mountain would note this. If they didn’t take it as seriously as he did, he’d remind them later. After all, Wudang was still Northern Liang territory. No matter how chaotic the martial world was, clues could be found if one looked hard enough.
Xu Fengnian didn’t rise, looking up with a smile. “Master Tong, here to contemplate the blade again?”
The reserved yet fiercely skilled master of the Golden Saber Manor nodded slightly.
With a light step, she leaped onto a boulder in the pool, sitting cross-legged with her twin blades across her knees, facing the waterfall.
Her effortless lightness technique lacked flamboyance, yet her aura as a grandmaster was unmistakable.
The wiry man muttered, “She looks like the young master of the Golden Saber Manor—twin blades, peerless beauty… Or perhaps some Central Plains swordswoman who admires Tong Shanquan?”
Xu Fengnian teased, “Old brother, do you really think I’d know someone so far above my station?”
In the ordinary martial world, places like the Golden Saber Manor were lofty and untouchable. The details of its plaque, the legendary peony “Green Waist” in its courtyard, the twin blades Wude and Tianbao, and whether Tong Shanquan and the Taibai Sword Sect’s Chen Tianyuan were lovers—these were all juicy topics for idle chatter over drinks.
Living in this martial world, even the smallest fish and shrimp carry the earthy scent of the rivers and lakes. They never speak the lofty words that claim kinship with heaven and earth, nor can they perform the grand feats of a single sword illuminating thirty provinces of the Central Plains.
They’ve gazed upon the towering wall in the Martial Emperor’s City once studded with divine weapons, witnessed the blizzard on Huishan Mountain’s Great Snow Plain, marveled at the seven cursive characters “Mountains high, waters deep, sword qi long” at the Dongyue Sword Pool, observed the forging of swords at the Longyan Sword Furnace in Youyan Manor, sipped green-ant wine at a tavern near the Yulong Gang in Beiliang’s Lingzhou, and admired the spring scenery of Chun Shen Lake at Kuai Xue Manor…
These are the things they dream of, the rare joys they yearn for.
A young swordsman carrying a sword case passed by the Washing Elephant Pool and, upon spotting Xu Long Xiang, was overcome with delight. He was none other than Zhang Chunlin, the young master of Youyan Manor. The day before, when Xuanyuan Qingfeng was drawing lots on Huishan Mountain, Zhang had already recognized Xu Long Xiang, who was crouching at a nearby stall munching on a pancake. After returning to his lodgings, Zhang had exhausted a vat’s worth of saliva before finally extracting Xu Long Xiang’s exact whereabouts from an elderly Taoist of the Qing generation on Wudang Mountain. Back when the notorious young master Xu had idly wandered to Wudang to practice his swordsmanship, the Taoists there had paid him little heed—who could have foreseen the present circumstances? After Xu Long Xiang inherited his title, Wudang Mountain sealed off the path from the Washing Elephant Pool to that thatched cottage, merely erecting a fence along the trail. In those years, perhaps only the young martial uncle, who had yet to ride his crane south, would frequently tend to the vegetable patch, ensuring its greenery endured year after year. Later, Xu Long Xiang personally wrote to Chen Yao, Wudang’s disciplinary elder, requesting the mountain’s help in preserving the tranquility around the cottage. Wudang responded by raising another fence of green bamboo—nothing more.
Xu Long Xiang waved and called out, “Young Zhang, you’ve come.”
Zhang Chunlin was overwhelmed with emotion. The first time they met, Xu Long Xiang, then still the young master, had snow-white hair, which Zhang mistook for the ageless visage of an immortal swordsman. Their second encounter was in the Western Regions, but they hadn’t spoken much, leaving the young swordsman—who had even named his sword “Frostblade”—with lingering regret.
Zhang crouched beside Xu Long Xiang, slightly uneasy.
Xu Long Xiang teased, “Carrying so many swords around—are you a sword peddler?”
Zhang blushed.
Strangely, perhaps due to his upbringing in a sword-forging family, Zhang Chunlin harbored no obsession with the sword path, nor any lofty ambition to stand unrivaled among the world’s swordsmen. Over the centuries, sword masters had emerged in droves, yet Zhang revered neither Li Chungang nor Deng Tai’a. The Wu Family Sword Tomb and Dongyue Sword Pool held little allure for him. Instead, he admired the old swordsman Sword Nine Huang the most, aspiring to emulate him by collecting famed swords into his case and wandering the martial world contentedly.
Xu Long Xiang asked with a smile, “Young Zhang, have you given yourself a nickname yet?”
Zhang’s face flushed red as he shook his head vigorously.
Xu Long Xiang, speaking from experience, advised earnestly, “You must pick a mighty nickname early, or else someone might saddle you with a ridiculous one, and you’ll regret it forever. There are plenty of cautionary tales in the martial world. Take that white-haired, long-armed swordsman from Jiangnan—his skills were decent, but after being dubbed ‘White Monkey’ in his youth, he could never shake it off. Even when performing heroic deeds, he’d declare, ‘I am the White Ape Divine Sword So-and-So,’ but people would still thank ‘White Monkey the Hero’ for saving them. Can you imagine his frustration? Or that renowned fist master from Southeast Sword Prefecture—a righteous knight through and through, but because his surname was Wang and he was the eighth son, and failed to announce his title early, he ended up with the nickname ‘Turtle Fist Immortal.’ A turtle becoming an immortal—what else could he be but an old turtle?”
Enlightened, Zhang nodded repeatedly like a pecking chick, wholly convinced.
The wiry man was about to interrupt the young noble’s rambling when his companion tugged his sleeve.
Turning, he caught the simple message in his companion’s eyes:
*This guy’s unreliable! Even if the deal is genuine and the money’s good, can we trust such a flaky fellow to keep his mouth shut?*
The wiry man sighed, conceding the point.
With a regretful cough, he drew the young man’s attention and clapped him on the shoulder. “Little brother, bad timing—we’ve just remembered urgent business. We can’t help you with your trouble. But even if the deal’s off, our goodwill remains. Let me offer some advice: if you want to make a name in the martial world, you’ve got to keep your feet on the ground!”
Xu Long Xiang smiled and nodded. “Wise words, elder brother!”
The young master of Youyan Manor was dumbfounded.
After the five men left, Xu Long Xiang chatted with Zhang by the Washing Elephant Pool. As more martial artists arrived seeking enlightenment, Xu Long Xiang took his leave first.
Though Zhang still had much to say, he departed in high spirits, satisfied. Yet he couldn’t fathom why his benefactor had brought up the female head of the Golden Saber Manor. He casually shared his thoughts: despite her prodigious talent and relentless training, her rigid temperament made her someone he’d never get along with. He even joked that true beauty lay in a woman galloping on horseback and drinking freely—so even if the lady of the manor was stunning, she couldn’t be considered a peerless beauty.
Pleased with his own wit, Zhang was taken aback when the young prince patted his shoulder and cryptically advised, “The martial world is vast yet small. If you ever meet Lady Tong, don’t be so blunt.”
Zhang watched Xu Long Xiang leave.
Then he sensed killing intent behind him.
Whirling around, he saw a young woman seated alone on a boulder, turning to regard him with a smile. “Golden Saber Manor, Tong Shanquan. Pleasure to meet you, Young Master Zhang.”
It was said that after the Purple-clad Beauty of Xiangfu’s triple glory, among female sword immortals stood the Western Chu’s Empress Jiang Ni; among fist masters, Lin Ya of the Martial Emperor’s City; and among female saber saints, Nan Zhao’s Tong Shanquan.
Zhang’s face twitched as if struck by lightning, rendered speechless.
Tong Shanquan, who would likely never gallop or drink in her life, turned away, ignoring the young master of Youyan Manor.
Xu Long Xiang strolled leisurely back to the thatched cottage, where Jiang Ni sat on a small stool beneath the eaves.
Softly, he said, “It’s nothing—just got into a pointless fight and came out ahead.”
She blinked.
Xu Long Xiang spread his empty hands and grinned. “No profit in this—not a single copper earned.”
She asked quietly, “When are you leaving Wudang Mountain?”
He pulled up a stool beside her. “Soon.”
“To Qingliang Mountain, or straight to Jubei City?”
“Jubei City’s nearly complete. Many are waiting—I’ll head straight to Liangzhou’s frontier.”
Relieved, she said, “Then I’m coming too.”
Xu Long Xiang nodded. “Of course.”
Curious, he added, “Today, the Great Lotus Peak’s Ziyang Palace hosts discussions on martial arts. Many elusive masters will appear—don’t you want to watch?”
Jiang Ni huffed. “What do their squabbles and fights matter to me?”
Xu Long Xiang chuckled.
She asked cautiously, “With so much copper left here, won’t thieves come?”
He shook his head. “I’ll inform Wudang. If even one coin goes missing, next time we’ll storm Ziyang Palace and raise hell.”
Jiang Ni smiled. “You can go alone for that.”
Amused, Xu Long Xiang fell silent, savoring the rare peace.
She tilted her head. “Should I just bring the sword case?”
He hummed in agreement, then added, “Let’s travel in style this time—no sneaking around. You’ll carry me on your sword, but go slow.”
Her cheeks pinkened.
Taking her hand, Xu Long Xiang stood and declared loudly, “Come, to Liangzhou’s frontier! I’ll show you the grandeur of ‘iron cavalry guarding the border like halberds barring the river’!”
The Great Liang Sparrow Sword rose slowly, carrying the young pair away from the Great Lotus Peak under countless gazes.
After Hong Xixiang and Xu Zhihu, the world had another pair of immortal lovers.
※※※
That same day, a middle-aged man with twin swords left his old donkey, which had accompanied him across countless miles, on the Little Lotus Peak to keep the old ox company.
A blind female zither player descended the mountain alone under the reluctant gaze of the self-proclaimed “Useless Su Su,” her departure meant to ease his heart.
A plain, short man told a Miao woman before leaving, “If I die, marry a handsome man.”
An elderly scholar flanked by two companions bowed deeply to the sea of clouds at the cliff’s edge before straightening and declaring, “This junior bids farewell to Sage Zhang! Scholar Cheng Baishuang shall not disgrace the teachings of the sages!”
A figure in purple stood atop Ziyang Palace’s roof, watching the distant pair with a faint scoff.
An old Taoist patted his disciple’s disciple’s head and said to his elder brother with contentment, “This life of cultivation—I’ve done Wudang proud.”
An elegant Longhu Mountain Taoist bid Wudang farewell: “If fate allows, we’ll share tea again.”
An old man in his room lifted his sword, fastened it, and murmured, “How can Dongyue Sword Pool not have even one die beyond the frontier?”
On this day, ten Central Plains masters—Deng Tai’a, Xuanyuan Qingfeng, Wei Miao, Mao Shulang, Cheng Baishuang, Ji Liu’an, Qi Xianxia, Chai Qingshan, Xue Songguan, and Yu Xingrui—left Wudang Mountain in unison, marching toward Liangzhou’s frontier!
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage