**”Is it not a joy to have friends coming from afar?”**
Xu Fengnian was anything but joyful at this moment—in fact, he was suppressing a rising fury.
Unlike his encounter with the eunuch in the remote town of Youzhou, which had been a mere clash of wills, Xu Fengnian had never truly been angry then. If anything, he had even regarded the man as a gentleman in his own way.
But this stranger ascending the mountain steps was different. From the moment he appeared at the foot of the slope, he had stirred an inexplicable irritation in Xu Fengnian. At Xu Fengnian’s level of cultivation, he possessed a degree of foresight, and he could tell with certainty that this visitor was no benevolent figure like Deng Tai’a, who might offer aid in desperate times. The danger this man posed was likely no less than Qi Jiejie’s sword strike from the Eastern Yue Sword Pool, or even Wang Xianzhi’s solitary march into Liang. Yet, with both Wang Xianzhi and Qi Jiejie, Xu Fengnian had been mentally prepared—one sought martial enlightenment, the other served his lord with unwavering loyalty. Xu Fengnian could at least understand their motives.
But this old man, growing clearer in his vision, felt like an unavoidable calamity. How could Xu Fengnian not be enraged when he had planned to depart for Jubei City beyond the pass at dawn?
It was as if a man were peacefully sunbathing in his own courtyard, bothering no one, when suddenly a passerby hurled a basket of filth at him for no reason.
Sensing Xu Fengnian’s turbulent emotions, the Peach Blossom Sword God frowned. “Are you planning to surrender without a fight?”
Xu Fengnian took a deep breath and said grimly, “Better to vent this anger—fight to the death!”
Deng Tai’a lightly rested his hand on the hilt of his Tai’a Sword, his sleeves instantly brimming with sword energy. He warned sternly, “That man is no small threat. Even Cao Changqing at his peak in the Overbearing Path was no match for him! If you intend to face him in this state, you might as well step aside!”
Xu Fengnian’s face darkened. He closed his eyes, pressing his palm against the hilt of his Liang Blade, and his turbulent emotions gradually steadied.
A hundred steps apart, the two parties were about to meet.
The hunched Confucian scholar paused, ruffling the head of the young boy Gou Youfang beside him. With a smile, he asked, “Is that the uncle who gifted you the White Wood Sword Box?”
The boy widened his eyes and looked up. Sure enough, standing at the top of the steps was the same man he had met once before. But back then, in Wudi City, the man had been disheveled and unarmed—nothing like the lofty figure before him now.
The aged scholar, whose entire being exuded an aura of decay, patted the boy’s head gently. “Go greet him.”
The boy, carrying a bamboo case on his back, grinned and bounded up the steps.
Deng Tai’a stood at the highest point of the stairs as Gou Youfang ran toward him. The old scholar remained where he was.
Then, the old man suddenly shouted three times:
**”Deng Tai’a! Tai’a Sword! Wu Family Sword Tomb!”**
His words carried the weight of divine decree, manifesting reality with each syllable.
At the same moment, Deng Tai’a vanished without a trace, leaving only rippling air where he had stood.
A fierce wind surged around Xu Fengnian, his sleeves flapping wildly.
The boy froze in shock, watching his benefactor disappear. Before he could react, the old man was already beside him, smiling. “No need to rush your thanks, Youfang. Once you reach the summit, take a stroll around. The Zixu Temple once housed Lü Dongbin’s sword for centuries—go pay your respects.”
Dazed, the boy murmured an acknowledgment and cautiously continued upward, passing the young man with the blade before breaking into a run.
The old scholar remained where he was, gazing up at the young Prince of Liang. “Facing a formidable foe, why hesitate? Would the Northern Liang cavalry cower like this against the Northern Barbarians? The world claims the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry is peerless—surely that’s not just empty boasting?”
Xu Fengnian remained silent, his inner energy unbroken, circulating eight hundred miles in an instant.
The old man’s taunts did not shake Xu Fengnian’s focus.
It wasn’t that Xu Fengnian was deliberately adopting an immovable defensive stance—it was that he couldn’t even perceive the old man’s presence. No living being could remain perfectly still in the world.
The blind zither master Xue Songguan could kill precisely because of her unfathomable mastery of the Zhixuan Mystic Art. She didn’t need eyes to detect the subtlest ripples—even a wind chime hanging motionless in still air, she could sense its faintest tremble. A Confucian sage had once described this state as **”applying force at the most microscopic depths of the heart.”**
After battling three grandmasters—Hong Jingyan, Tuoba Pusa, and Chen Zhibao—Xu Fengnian’s Heavenly Physique was far from fully recovered, but his realm had not fallen. In the present world, his understanding of the Zhixuan Realm was second only to Deng Tai’a and Xue Songguan.
That was precisely why Xu Fengnian remained motionless, gripping his blade but not drawing it.
The hunched old man chuckled. “If you’re waiting for Deng Tai’a, I suggest you stop. The Peach Blossom Sword God is now atop the Sword Mountain of the Wu Family Sword Tomb… Hmm? Now he’s already flying westward on his sword. It’ll take him three hours to return to Wudang Mountain. Can’t be helped—Deng Tai’a’s swordsmanship is unmatched in a thousand years. Even I dare not take him lightly.”
Xu Fengnian finally spoke. “You’re here to drain my fortune?”
The old scholar shook his head. “Only half right.”
Xu Fengnian’s expression darkened.
The old man continued, unperturbed. “I’m also here for Wudang’s Sect Leader, Li Yufu.”
Xu Fengnian seemed to reach a decision. He suddenly drew the Liang Blade from his waist, planting it firmly before him. “Then have it your way. If I can’t find you, that doesn’t mean no one can!”
The old man narrowed his eyes. “Oh? Then I’ll watch with interest.”
In the Zixu Temple atop Wudang’s Great Lotus Peak, dust billowed from the millennia-old statue of the True Martial Emperor—a lifeless effigy that now stirred to life!
With a thunderous step, the statue descended from its altar, shaking the temple to its foundations.
Gou Youfang, who had just reached the temple square, stood dumbstruck as the three-zhang-tall statue burst forth like lightning, each step shaking the earth. It rushed past him, heading down the mountain.
The boy blinked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He pinched himself hard—it hurt. This was real.
Back on the steps, the old man clicked his tongue. “Interesting.”
A series of thunderous booms echoed across Wudang Mountain.
Behind Xu Fengnian, the True Martial Emperor’s statue, wreathed in violet-gold energy, leaped high into the air, its massive peachwood sword slashing down toward the aged scholar.
The old man, his robes immaculate, folded his hands before him and uttered calmly:
**”A gentleman does not speak of uncanny forces or chaotic spirits.”**
The statue’s sword descended like a divine strike—yet the moment it neared the old man’s head, it froze mid-air, suspended as if held by an invisible force.
Xu Fengnian finally moved. Without hesitation, he unleashed Li Chungang’s **”Two Sleeves of Green Snakes”**—though executed with his Liang Blade, it was identical to the original swordsman’s technique.
Between them, a torrent of emerald sword energy surged like a raging river down the stone steps.
The old man laughed freely. **”A gentleman walks the straight path!”**
As he took a single step upward, the frozen statue broke free, its sword descending ahead of the sword energy.
The old man raised his left hand, effortlessly catching the peachwood sword, while his right palm met the roaring green serpent of sword energy.
His movements were as natural as a scholar picking up a brush after years of study—effortless, without the slightest strain.
**This was the bearing of a Sage.**
The hunched Confucian now stood straight, ascending step by step—left hand holding back the True Martial statue, right hand deflecting the Two Sleeves of Green Snakes.
The statue’s sword.
Li Chungang’s overwhelming sword energy.
Under their combined brilliance, the old man’s ascent was slow but unrelenting.
He even had the leisure to remark, “Let’s see how long you can sustain this breath.”
The violet aura around the True Martial statue flickered, and the massive wooden sword began to crack, light bursting from its fissures.
This statue from Wudang’s Zixu Temple was no true divine manifestation—Xu Fengnian had long relinquished that connection. Yet, for reasons unknown, he had secretly infused it with his own fortune before this ascent.
Earlier, he had jokingly asked Deng Tai’a how he would distribute his fortune after death. The Peach Blossom Sword God, ever carefree, had dismissed the question—**”I care not for what comes after death.”**
But Xu Fengnian could not afford such detachment. He had too many people, too many matters to consider. Sending Fan Xiaochai to find the wandering swordsman, seemingly trivial actions—all were deliberate.
Under the glow of violet energy and sword light, the old scholar’s weathered face shone with mockery. “Prince of Northern Liang, your fortune alone seems insufficient!”
At the source of the mighty sword energy, Xu Fengnian said coldly, “Li Yufu, continue your seclusion.”
The old man strode forward, declaring loudly, “Xu Xiao led his army to trample six nations, breaking the spine of the Spring and Autumn Era, leaving graves across the Central Plains! Did you think his death would absolve the Xu family of this debt?!”
Endless sword energy shattered against the old man’s palm.
Now even the old man showed a flicker of anger. “Xu Fengnian! Do you truly believe no one in this world can kill you? That you can act without consequence?! As long as your ambition persists, after Xie Xie dies, there will be Tantai Pingjing—and after her, another will rise!”
A violet-gold seal appeared between Xu Fengnian’s brows as he spoke slowly:
**”A gentleman walks the straight path? My Northern Liang cavalry guards the borders—Hutou City, Wogong City, Luanhe City, Qingcang City! None of them died facing south!”**
The old scholar’s right palm thrust forward, while his left wrist flicked lightly.
The entire river of sword energy was repelled dozens of zhang, and the True Martial statue—its sword now dust—was hurled a hundred zhang away.
Even against a weakened Xu Fengnian, the old man’s overwhelming dominance was terrifying.
Finally reaching the top of the steps, the old man saw the young Prince of Liang standing in the distance, blood trickling from his lips.
Smiling, the old man asked, “Reduced to this state, and you still refuse to wield the fortune of all Northern Liang?”
Xu Fengnian spat out the blood and drew a fresh breath.
Had he not endured Tuoba Pusa’s devastating blow, even this old man’s profound cultivation wouldn’t have allowed him to repel the Two Sleeves of Green Snakes with a single palm.
Xu Fengnian smirked. “My fortune may be meager, but it’s enough to keep you here on Wudang Mountain.”
The old man’s eyes filled with pity as he saw through Xu Fengnian’s plan. “I expected you to say, *‘Even if I die here, another identical Prince of Liang will stand atop Qingliang Mountain.’* Is that your confidence? Since when did the master of 300,000 Northern Liang Iron Cavalry, a true grandmaster of the martial world, become so unambitious?”
Xu Fengnian tightened his grip on the hilt.
The old man seemed in no hurry to strike—perhaps wary of mutual destruction. “Aren’t you curious who I am?”
Xu Fengnian sneered. “A stray dog!”
The old man paused, then burst into laughter. “A fair assessment.”
At the foot of Wudang Mountain, violet energy surged upward—the True Martial statue, though shattered, now radiated even denser energy.
Xu Fengnian scoffed. “I’m only curious why you’ve abandoned your disguise as the blind old zither master in Shangyin Academy’s Grove of Virtue.”
The old man nodded in realization. “So Xu Wei’er leaked the secret. No wonder you were prepared. Given how I sheltered that fishmonger’s daughter at Shangyin Academy, you really shouldn’t see me as an enemy. But now, Tantai Pingjing won’t aid you. No matter your schemes, everything will come to naught.”
Xu Fengnian raised his Liang Blade horizontally, then drew two fingers along its spine.
The old man chuckled. “An ant trying to shake a mighty tree.”
Xu Fengnian replied, “One of your Confucian disciples once said, *‘Even the smallest defiance is worthy of respect.’*”
The old man flicked his sleeve. “Then I must have failed as a teacher.”
Xu Fengnian’s fingers reached the blade’s tip.
Silently, the Liang Blade seemed to seal the mountain itself—just as Gao Shulu had once been imprisoned by this technique.
The old man remained unshaken, glancing at the now-transcendent blade. Where it had once been ordinary, it now pulsed with boundless Daoist intent, a dark dragon coiling within its gleaming edge.
Yet the old man had the audacity to praise it: “Truly remarkable.”
The man before Xu Fengnian should have died eight hundred years ago.
When the Great Feng Dynasty rose, Confucianism flourished, and emperors of every era since had revered him as the **Supreme Sage**.
Countless officials, whether remembered by history or not, had considered it the highest honor to be enshrined beside him.
The Zhang Family’s Holy Manor, the Heavenly Master Manor of Dragon-Tiger Mountain—both had been revered as sacred for eight centuries.
But no one truly believed the Zhao Family could compare to the Zhangs. To scholars, the Zhao Heavenly Masters were unworthy even to carry the Zhangs’ shoes.
This unassuming old Confucian…
**Was the founding Sage of the Zhang Family.**
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