Chapter 982: Confucius Said

In the deep of night, the young feudal lord, who had just been kicked off his small wooden bed, moved a bamboo chair to sit under the eaves. He didn’t treat himself too poorly, bringing along a pot of green ant wine and a plate of peanuts. Though he didn’t drink, he placed the small dish on his robe, leisurely tossing the peanuts into his mouth one by one. The long night stretched ahead—better to savor them slowly.

Xu Fengnian sighed. Haste makes waste. He had thought that helping her earn so much copper would put her in a good mood, and indeed, it had even earned him a spot on her small bed. But the moment his hand ventured to a place that was “finally not so peaceful,” before he could even savor the moment, disaster struck.

Glancing down at his crotch, Xu Fengnian lamented, “Ah, the chivalrous youth of the martial world—you enjoy the blessings, and I bear the hardships! Isn’t that loyalty?”

After muttering to himself, Xu Fengnian leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head, and looked up at the bright moon overhead. Autumn had arrived, and the night was as cool as water.

He had sensed the confrontation between Gu Jian Tang and the white-robed monk earlier that day, as well as the commotion caused by Tantai Pingjing on the twin Lotus Peaks afterward. He even knew that Gu Jian Tang and Tantai Pingjing had eventually met at the foot of the mountain. Some things were beyond his control, and dwelling on them would only bring unnecessary trouble.

Outside Liangzhou’s northernmost Hutong City, the Northern Mang’s central army advanced in three disciplined, watertight formations. Fortunately, Cao Wei and Xie Xichui had joined forces to pull off an unexpected victory at the Miyun Pass in the Western Regions. However, Xie Xichui’s two cavalry divisions and the bandits gathered by Han Wenbao and Chai Dongdi had been nearly wiped out. The Huaiyang Pass Protectorate had already ordered Xie Xichui’s unprecedented promotion to deputy general of Liuzhou, temporarily commanding all forces from the Linyao and Fengxiang garrisons, along with 20,000 monks from Mount Luantuo. With Xie Xichui’s cavalry largely intact, after a hasty decision by Qingliang Mountain and the Protectorate, he was ordered to advance north, coordinating with Yu Luandao’s elite cavalry from Youzhou, which was nearing the Junzi Pavilion area of Northern Mang, to form a pincer movement aimed directly at the Western Capital of the Southern Dynasty!

Outside Youzhou’s Hulu Pass, things remained relatively calm. Both Liang and Mang knew this battlefield would no longer decide the overall outcome—it would only see minor skirmishes. The twenty-some swordsmen who had left the Wu Family Sword Tomb took the opportunity to lead small cavalry units patrolling outside the pass. Though their contribution was minor, it was still a positive development.

North of Liuzhou’s Qingcang City, Huang Man’er and Kou Jianghuai’s cavalry forces were poised for action.

That afternoon, Xu Fengnian had reached a verbal agreement with Su Su. The 20,000 Shu Zhao infantry couldn’t be called insignificant, but they could only serve as a surprise force outside Liangzhou’s passes, with little room for maneuver. If the battle reached a point where such desperate measures were needed, it would hardly be a good sign. Xu Fengnian fervently hoped those 20,000 would never have to see the battlefield. As for Wei Miao’s later message on behalf of Chen Zhubao, claiming he wouldn’t obstruct Zhao Dingxiu’s troops from passing through Shu into Liang—it was credible, but not entirely trustworthy. The situation near the Guangling River was a tangled mess, with the three major Liang vassals—Yan Chieftain Zhao Bing, Shu King Chen Zhubao, and Jing’an King Zhao Xun—rising together. Loyalists in the Liang court might still believe Gu Jian Tang, their “pillar of stability,” gave them the upper hand, but Xu Fengnian knew Gu’s ties with the Zhao family in Tai’an City were over. His son-in-law Yuan Tingshan’s defection at the Chunxue Tower victory banquet might seem like a problem for Gu, but that ambitious mad dog was likely acting in tacit agreement.

Beyond the imminent war outside the passes, Xu Fengnian was truly worried about the court’s promise to transport grain to Liang. Given his “friendship” with Jing’an King Zhao Xun—who was about to be pushed onto the throne—it would be a miracle if the grain made it to Lingzhou smoothly.

These issues hadn’t been problems before. Even if Zhao Xun wore the dragon robe, he’d still be a puppet—able to speak but not truly influence events. And while Yan Chieftain Zhao Bing might distrust Northern Liang, as long as Zhao Zhu was there, there was room for negotiation.

But after encountering Lin Hongyuan, Xu Fengnian had to prepare for the worst: Northern Liang might truly face enemies on all fronts.

Chewing a peanut slowly, Xu Fengnian said calmly, “Zhao Zhu, you’re forcing me to compete with you. Even if I never sit on that throne…”

He sighed, leaving the threat unspoken.

At dusk, a message from Qingliang Mountain’s Wutong Courtyard arrived via a sea eagle—just four words: “Arrived in Liangzhou.”

Written in Xu Wei Xiong’s own hand, the brushstrokes heavy with meaning.

This was a long-planned secret, one even the Falconry Division of the Fushui Bureau knew nothing about. From start to finish, only Xu Wei Xiong had orchestrated it.

Years ago, during Xu Fengnian’s second journey through the martial world, among his companions—the old man in sheepskin, the little clay figure, the late Lu Qiantang of the Reed Marshes, and the now possibly empress Shu Xiu—one unremarkable plump woman holding a white cat stood out. Later, Xu Wei Xiong “borrowed” her, taking her to Shangyin Academy with the cryptic remark that she would use Yu Youwei, also known as Yu Xuanji, as bait to fish out a “thousand-year-old turtle” from the lake’s mud. Xu Fengnian hadn’t dwelled on it, nearly forgetting the matter until this year, when Yu Youwei, now a Jishang Scholar at the academy, led a group of students to Northern Liang for study tours, lecturing at various academies. Only then did Xu Wei Xiong explain: Yu Youwei’s background was far more significant than it seemed. Li Chungang of Great Chu had once casually mentioned that each generation of Great Chu had female sword attendants whose dazzling sword dances stood out in the world. Their cultivation wasn’t high, but their intent was profound—a strange phenomenon. Yu Youwei’s mother had been the last of these enigmatic sword attendants, her skill in chess rivaling that of Grand Tutor Li Mi. The mystery of why this was so remained one of Great Chu’s Jiang family secrets, lost to history after the Battle of Xilebi.

During her years at Shangyin Academy, Xu Wei Xiong had only honored three as “masters”: her two mentors—Han Guzi, the literary giant whose disciples were almost all recruited by Northern Liang, and Wang Jijiu, the first scholar to ally with the Xu family of Northern Liang and the organizer of the scholars’ migration to Liang. The third was an old blind qin master who lived in a thatched hut in the academy’s Forest of Virtue.

The message “Arrived in Liangzhou” referred to this man.

A transcendent figure, still in the mortal world.

Ordinary martial artists might dismiss this as nonsense.

But ever since Xu Fengnian encountered the eunuch in Tai’an City—who was as old as the nation itself—or even earlier, when he met the true celestial Gao Shulu, he had come to understand one truth.

Now, with Tantai Pingjing added to the list, the world had another who defied conventional logic.

That statement was far from nonsense—it was a lie!

Among the Three Teachings, Confucian sages, from the Northern Zhang Sage to Western Chu’s Cao Zhangqing, almost never met good ends. In contrast, Buddhism and Daoism saw generation after generation achieve enlightenment, either attaining perfection or ascending.

Why alone did Confucianism lack a “happy ending”?

Tantai Pingjing, as a Qi Refiner, explained it as the will of heaven.

Xu Fengnian agreed—but felt she hadn’t told the whole truth.

Lost in thought, Xu Fengnian suddenly remembered something. Setting aside the wine and peanuts, he got up to fetch water. Late at night, the Elephant Washing Pool should finally be quiet—time to fill the water vat.

But as soon as he pushed open the bamboo fence, he nearly cursed aloud. Even at this hour, two groups were heading toward the pool?!

After a moment’s hesitation, Xu Fengnian decided to ignore them. If those martial artists wanted to cause trouble, so be it. If they pushed him too far, he’d give them a taste of an autumn “cooling bath.”

Carrying his buckets, he continued toward the pool.

Under the fragmented moonlight filtering through the bamboo, as he neared the pool, Xu Fengnian pieced together the situation. Two groups of out-of-town martial artists had clashed during the day’s incense-burning. Fearing Liang’s harsh laws—and the bloody precedents—they’d avoided public brawling, instead agreeing to a midnight “sparring session” at the pool. They’d secretly signed life-and-death agreements, forbidding weapons and vowing not to involve the local authorities if things went south. By the time Xu Fengnian reached the bamboo’s edge, he saw the two groups facing off—seven or eight against over twenty. Though outnumbered, the smaller group was far more aggressive, while the larger one stood silent as their leader was berated.

Turning his gaze to the pool’s central rock, Xu Fengnian saw a curvaceous figure sit up from where she’d been lying on her back.

Her movement, though subtle, was noticed by the sharp-eared martial artists, and the atmosphere instantly turned awkward.

Sitting upright, she addressed the stunned crowd: “Don’t mind me. Carry on.”

Under the shimmering moonlight, her plain features took on an ethereal glow. Boots neatly placed to her left, a wine jar to her right, she cut a striking figure.

Her words emboldened the group that had been on the receiving end of the scolding. A burly man thumped his chest and roared, “Wang Songfeng! I’ve roamed the martial world for decades—what’s my creed? Loyalty! I don’t care who was right or wrong today. Since Li Bangxian came to me, he’s my brother! Even if you’ve brought Tang Bangzhu and Song Daxia, tonight we settle this by the rules—whoever falls admits defeat!”

The short man opposite him rolled his eyes and slapped him across the face.

In the martial world, striking someone was bad enough—but striking their face meant war.

And so, spurred by the woman’s interruption, the two groups erupted into chaos. At first, some held back for dignity’s sake, but soon, all pretense was abandoned. Groin kicks, heart-piercing strikes, and other dirty moves flew freely—and with surprising skill. Bodies tumbled like donkeys rolling in dirt, the spectacle growing ever more absurd.

Xu Fengnian, watching from the sidelines with his water buckets, winced in sympathy for some of the “heroes.” Being slapped so hard you spun midair before crashing down? Ouch. Taking a kick to the crotch and rolling in agony while biting back screams? Truly tragic.

Seizing the opportunity, Xu Fengnian slipped to the pool’s edge and filled his buckets.

The woman, now booted and holding her wine jar, landed beside him with a curious look.

Pausing, Xu Fengnian smiled. “Village Head Tong, what brings you here?”

The young mistress of the Golden Saber Village replied solemnly, “Your parting words stayed with me, Your Highness. They say the Elephant Washing Pool was where the Sword Maniac Wang Xiaoping trained, using bamboo swords to slash waterfalls. I came to try my luck—but found nothing.”

Xu Fengnian said softly, “Everyone has their own destiny. Don’t force it, especially at bottlenecks.”

With the famed blades Wude and Tianbao at her waist, Tong Shanquan nodded. Her disappointment didn’t seem to weigh on her—fitting Xu Fengnian’s impression of her as broad-minded.

Adjusting his shoulder pole like any village water-carrier, Xu Fengnian added with a smile, “If you don’t mind, I’ll have someone send you Wang Xianzhi’s boxing manual and some of my own saber insights.”

Tong Shanquan blinked. “And what does Your Highness ask in return?”

“Of course!” Xu Fengnian said.

She waited.

“Become a saber master greater than Gu Jian Tang. And if, someday, you could mention you were guided by someone from Northern Liang, that’d be even better.”

Tong Shanquan smiled. “Deal.”

Just then, someone crept toward them.

Xu Fengnian turned and barked, “My father was the Green Forest’s chief for twenty years! You dare cross me?!”

The man froze, then wisely retreated.

Turning back, Xu Fengnian joked, “It’s true—my dad ruled both sides of the law in Northern Liang.”

Tong Shanquan was speechless.

As Xu Fengnian left with his water, she watched him go before vanishing into the night with a single leap.

The poolside was left in shambles.

Back at the hut, Xu Fengnian poured the water into the vat.

When he turned, Deng Tai’a stood there.

Without a word of reproach, Xu Fengnian said gravely, “I’ll get my saber.”

Deng Tai’a nodded.

After retrieving the Liang saber from his room, Xu Fengnian rejoined Deng Tai’a at the summit of Great Lotus Peak’s stone steps.

“Do you know who it is?” Deng Tai’a asked calmly.

Xu Fengnian shook his head. “No.”

The Peach Blossom Sword God, twin swords at his waist, fell silent again, eyes closed.

“Unless absolutely necessary,” Xu Fengnian said, “you needn’t intervene.”

Deng Tai’a remained quiet.

At the foot of Wudang Mountain, an old man and a youth passed through the archway and began their ascent.

The youth, Gou Youfang, had once been among the lowest of the low in Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City.

Until the day he met two strange men: one carrying a bowl into the city, the other plain-faced and unremarkable.

The youth still didn’t know the first was Xie Guanying, the second Deng Tai’a.

Later, after leaving the city, he wandered until meeting the hunched old man now beside him. Together, they’d journeyed west to Northern Liang.

The youth only knew the old man’s surname was Zhang and called him “Grandpa Zhang.”

A stern, unsmiling figure, the old man seemed like a strict schoolmaster. Fortunately, though illiterate, the youth was naturally polite and earnest, so they got along.

As they climbed, the youth recited, “The Master said: The way of heaven is vast, deep, lofty, bright, far-reaching, and enduring.”

Such phrases were all the old man had taught him on their travels. The youth memorized them by rote, understanding or not.

When he reached, “The Master said: So intent on learning that one forgets to eat, so joyful that one forgets sorrow, not noticing old age approaching,” the old man sighed.

Old age approaches. Death draws near.

Since the fall of Great Qin eight hundred years ago, generation after generation of scholars had recited the countless “The Master said” passages in the classics.

Now, with Liang’s imperial examinations flourishing, there were more scholars—and more “The Master said.”

This “Master” was none other than the Confucian Sage Zhang.

At that moment, the old man murmured, “So… I’ve said so much.”

The youth asked, “Grandpa Zhang, what did you say?”

For the first time, the old man smiled, patting the youth’s head. “Youfang, you’re my closed-door disciple. From now on, call me ‘Master.’”

The youth looked puzzled.

Taking his hand, the old man continued climbing. “You have many senior brothers. The youngest is named Huang Longshi.”

“Grandpa Zhang,” the youth asked, “is that the same Huang Longshi as the ‘Great Demon of Spring and Autumn,’ Huang Sanjia?”

The old man chuckled but didn’t answer.