Jiang Ni’s round trip of sword riding undoubtedly gave Feng Zongxi and his group an easy way out. Having truly witnessed the overwhelming sword intent of the young exiled immortal, they no longer had any desire for a spar. Feng Zongxi admitted that in a one-on-one fight, he would surely lose to Chen Tianyuan, the rising star whose reputation in the martial world was at its zenith. If he teamed up with Lu Jiejun, it would only become a joke—two men with a combined age of over ninety ganging up on a junior not yet thirty. Losing would tarnish their reputations, and winning would bring no glory. It simply wasn’t worth it.
Even Li Houzhong, the “Snow Hut Spear Saint” who had earlier announced his famed spear “Great Snow Cone,” hesitated for a moment. After glancing at Xu Fengnian, he quietly sheathed his spear, a weapon as renowned as Wang Xiu’s “Instant” and Chen Zhibao’s “Plum Wine.”
This martial arts master, known in the Central Plains for his immense strength but questionable virtue, was infamous for his fiery temper. Yet, unlike Feng Zongxi and Lu Jiejun—whose courage seemed to wane with age—Li Houzhong possessed an inexplicable intuition. He wasn’t particularly wary of the razor-sharp Chen Tianyuan but was far more concerned with the seemingly unremarkable young man carrying a sword.
Reaching the Zhixuan Realm meant possessing an almost psychic awareness, foreseeing events before they happened, and discerning the subtle from the minute.
As a pure martial artist with a Vajra physique, Li Houzhong’s Zhixuan Realm was grounded in reality, step by step, much like the obscure Northern Liang sword master Mi Fengjie. Far more adept at anticipating enemy moves than Daoist practitioners, he was also far more lethal.
Seeing that the “Snow Hut Spear Immortal” had abandoned thoughts of a life-or-death battle, Chen Tianyuan smoothly returned to his seat, his attention now fixed on the sword-riding woman. He mused aloud, “Since when did Wudang Mountain have a reclusive female sword immortal?”
Xu Fengnian, of course, had no intention of answering. There was no need to share deep thoughts with someone he barely knew. Admiring the young exiled immortal was one thing; how to interact with him was another. He pocketed his money pouch, picked up a jug of Green Ant Wine, and signaled to Fan Xiaochai, who silently placed a silver coin on the table. The two then headed toward their mounts—superior Northern Liang warhorses bred at Xianli Pasture, which needed no tethering and would neither stray nor allow strangers to ride them.
Chen Tianyuan hesitated, about to suggest they travel together, when Fan Xiaochai turned and gave him a cold glance. The young swordsman, confident enough to take on three martial arts veterans alone, suddenly felt deflated. He sat back down, took a sip of his calming tea, and found it utterly tasteless.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves approached from the distance—soft, rhythmic, almost comical compared to the thunderous gallop of warhorses. A middle-aged man rode leisurely on a donkey along the post road, gazing at the mountains and rivers.
Xu Fengnian froze, his expression complex as he watched the man.
Fan Xiaochai didn’t recognize the newcomer, but she deduced his identity from the subtle shifts in the young prince’s demeanor.
A man on a donkey, carrying a sword, who could make Xu Fengnian stop and wait—there was only one such swordsman in the world.
Unexpectedly, Chen Tianyuan’s usually expressionless face lit up with joy at the sight of the middle-aged swordsman. He sprang to his feet and rushed forward, overtaking Xu Fengnian and Fan Xiaochai, trembling with excitement as he exclaimed, “Greetings, Master!”
The man dismounted his donkey and sighed, “I’ve told you countless times—I’m not your master, and I only have one disciple.”
Chen Tianyuan grinned. “Whether you acknowledge me as your disciple is your business. Whether I acknowledge you as my master is mine.”
The man retorted, “It’s only because you’ve achieved some skill in swordsmanship that you haven’t been beaten unrecognizable by now with that stubborn attitude of yours.”
Leading his donkey to Xu Fengnian, the man scrutinized him and asked curiously, “Was Hong Jingyan really that tough? You look terrible.”
Xu Fengnian replied softly, “I took a full-force punch from Tuoba Pusa. Surviving was already a win. Then Chen Zhibao found me at Huaiyang Pass, and we had a brief, restrained fight. It delayed my recovery a bit.”
The man nodded in understanding.
This time, it was Chen Tianyuan’s turn to be stunned. Hong Jingyan, Tuoba Pusa, and Chen Zhibao?
Xu Fengnian decided to postpone the mountain ascent and led the donkey-riding man back to the tea stall. Glancing at the sword at the man’s waist, he asked with a smile, “The first time at the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City, the second in the Northern Barbarians’ Dunhuang City, and the last in Tai’an City—you never carried a sword. Why now?”
Deng Tai’a said seriously, “It’s autumn. Where would I find peach blossoms to snap into a makeshift sword? Unless peach trees are blooming in Northern Liang right now?”
Xu Fengnian sighed. Whether it was the “Peach Blossom Sword God” or the exiled immortal Chen Tianyuan, why did swordsmen always insist on telling jokes that weren’t funny?
Deng Tai’a patted the sword at his waist and smiled. “A gift from my disciple. What do you think?”
Xu Fengnian glanced at the unremarkable sword and said diplomatically, “The thought counts.”
Deng Tai’a shook his head. “Twenty taels of silver—not exactly light.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “The Listening Tide Pavilion still has a few fine swords. If you’d prefer a newly forged one, I have connections with the Youyan Manor. Their Dragon Rock and Water Dragon Singing furnaces are still casting blades…”
Deng Tai’a waved him off. “What would I do with those swords?”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t take them, but I had to offer anyway.”
Deng Tai’a snorted. “Truly Xu Xiao’s son. Pity you inherited Wu Su’s looks.”
Xu Fengnian grimaced slightly and sat down. “Wine or tea?”
Deng Tai’a could drink but didn’t particularly enjoy it, and tea bored him. Since he was in Northern Liang, he opted for the local Green Ant Wine.
As he unsealed the jug, Deng Tai’a glanced at Chen Tianyuan and asked casually, “What’s with the disguise?”
Chen Tianyuan smiled, reached up with two fingers, and peeled off the flawless mask, revealing an extraordinarily handsome face—rivaling the Western Chu’s Song Yushu and Northern Liang’s Yu Luandao.
Xu Fengnian finally understood why the guy had taken such a liking to him—it wasn’t just because of his thick skin.
Xu Fengnian asked, “Rumors say you taught him swordsmanship. I didn’t believe it at first.”
Deng Tai’a said indifferently, “I wouldn’t call it teaching. After Li Chun’gang lent his sword across thousands of miles, I returned from the Northern Barbarians and happened to see him meditating on a mountaintop in Southern Zhao. I gave him a few pointers. Later, after visiting the immortals in the Eastern Sea, I landed at the Nanhai Guanyin Sect and met him again.”
Xu Fengnian studied Chen Tianyuan deeply and sighed. “No wonder.”
No wonder Chen Tianyuan had advanced so rapidly in swordsmanship. Li Chun’gang had refused ascension, and upon his death, his sword’s essence had scattered naturally across the world. Since the “Little Mud Figure” had been tied to the Western Chu’s imperial fortune, she couldn’t inherit the old man’s martial legacy. The lucky one must have been Chen Tianyuan, whom Deng Tai’a had found.
Impulsively, Xu Fengnian asked, “Chen Tianyuan, do you want to learn the ‘Two Sleeves Green Snake’ and ‘Sword Opens the Heavenly Gate’?”
Chen Tianyuan frowned. “Why should I?”
Xu Fengnian pressed, “You dare refuse?!”
Chen Tianyuan shot back, “Why wouldn’t I? So what if they’re Li Chun’gang’s signature techniques? So what if you’re Xu Fengnian?”
Fan Xiaochai found this odd. The young prince, though shrewd, wasn’t usually so domineering.
As for the exiled immortal from the Taibai Sword Sect, nothing he did could surprise her.
Yet even after seeing Chen Tianyuan’s true face, Fan Xiaochai disliked him even more.
*You like me—no reason needed.*
*I dislike you—a thousand reasons.*
*Such is the bittersweet nature of love since ancient times.*
The tension between Xu Fengnian and Chen Tianyuan escalated, the latter’s sword aura flaring like the rising sun. The onlookers, who had hoped the matter was settled, now braced for conflict.
Chen Tianyuan declared solemnly, “I came to Northern Liang to fight you.”
Deng Tai’a, who usually stayed aloof from martial world disputes, spoke up unexpectedly. “If it’s a life-or-death battle you can’t avoid, draw your sword. But if it’s a fight you’re bound to lose for no good reason, why bother?”
Chen Tianyuan gripped his hilt, his expression icy. “He provoked me first!”
Xu Fengnian exhaled softly and sneered, “Fine, don’t learn it. I doubt someone like you could master Li Chun’gang’s ‘Two Sleeves Green Snake’ anyway.”
Chen Tianyuan retorted, “There’s no sword technique in this world I can’t master!”
Xu Fengnian turned to Fan Xiaochai. “Don’t you think this guy has a punchable face?”
Fan Xiaochai nodded.
Then, with near-insubordinate boldness, she added, “Just like someone else.”
Chen Tianyuan felt gratified—women’s elbows always bent toward their own.
Ignoring Fan Xiaochai’s double-edged remark, Xu Fengnian glanced at Chen Tianyuan. “You’re ugly. Far uglier than Li Chun’gang.”
Chen Tianyuan scoffed. “Takes one to know one.”
Xu Fengnian took a sip of wine and smirked. “Who’s ‘one’? Do you even have a proper wife, Chen Tianyuan?”
Chen Tianyuan looked at Fan Xiaochai, so close yet so far, then at the smug young prince, and felt a pang of melancholy. For the first time in his life, he wanted to drown his sorrows in drink.
Deng Tai’a poured some Green Ant Wine into his palm and turned to his donkey, which eagerly licked it up.
Xu Fengnian asked, “Why come to Northern Liang?”
He didn’t believe a mere martial discussion on Wudang Mountain could draw the aloof Peach Blossom Sword God.
Deng Tai’a said flatly, “I don’t care how Liyang and the Northern Barbarians fight. I don’t even care how Northern Liang and the Barbarians clash.”
Xu Fengnian waited, but Deng Tai’a left the answer hanging.
Finally, Deng Tai’a seemed to realize the prince was waiting and remarked, “This Green Ant Wine… really packs a punch. Let me recover.”
Then both Xu Fengnian and Deng Tai’a looked up—but in opposite directions.
From the direction of Taoshu Town came Dongyue Sword Pool’s Chai Qingshan and Longhu Mountain’s Qi Xianxia. The two sword masters had quietly arrived earlier, staying at Wudang’s newly opened Qingshan Temple without drawing much attention.
From the eastern post road came a carriage, its elderly driver carrying a sword on his back rather than at his waist.
Chai Qingshan and Qi Xianxia’s arrival was quickly recognized by Feng Zongxi and Lu Jiejun, especially the former, who had visited Dongyue Sword Pool multiple times and was acquainted with its previous master, Song Nianqing. Back then, Feng Zongxi had been the junior. After Chai Qingshan took over from the Spring Snow Tower’s chief guest, Feng Zongxi was among the first to visit, addressing him respectfully as “Master.” Lu Jiejun recognized Chai Qingshan due to Piaomiao Peak’s close ties with the Ministry of Justice. He had missed the grand event when Cao Zhangqing besieged Tai’an City because he was in seclusion, but he had long proclaimed that Dongyue Sword Pool surpassed the Wu Family Sword Mound in both heritage and swordsmanship philosophy, making him a well-known critic of the Wu family.
As Chai Qingshan approached, Feng Zongxi and Lu Jiejun rose respectfully, their demeanor deferential. Dou Changfeng and the Piaomiao Peak disciples didn’t dare remain seated either, like local officials awed by visiting dignitaries.
Chai Qingshan wasn’t the aloof type. He exchanged pleasantries warmly with Feng and Lu, introducing his young friend Qi Xianxia.
Qi Xianxia, gentle as jade, had been waiting at Taoshu Town for the White Lotus Scholar from Longhu Mountain when he sensed the dense sword aura and came with Chai Qingshan.
At this moment, two of the four top martial artists from the latest rankings were present—Xu Fengnian and Deng Tai’a.
Of the four rising stars, Chen Tianyuan and Qi Xianxia were also here.
Simultaneously, the current leaders of Dongyue Sword Pool and the Wu Family Sword Mound had arrived—Chai Qingshan and Wu Jian.
The carriage stopped by the post road, and Wu Jian stepped out slowly.
Deng Tai’a, his back to the old man, snorted coldly. The Peach Blossom Sword God, who had emerged from obscurity, held no affection for the Sword Mound.
In the past century, only three had left the Wu Family Sword Mound: Li Chun’gang, who swaggered out with the wooden horse and ox; Wu Su, who severed ties completely; and Deng Tai’a, who departed invincible.
The old man unceremoniously sat beside Xu Fengnian and grinned. “Little Tai’a, how many years has it been?”
Deng Tai’a kept his head down, drinking silently.
Xu Fengnian, facing this elder from his mother’s family, felt awkward and unsure what to say.
The old man patted Xu Fengnian’s hand gently, then smiled kindly at Deng Tai’a. “We wronged you by not letting you share our ancestral hall. You vowed never to share a grave with us when you left. Must it really be so?”
Deng Tai’a sneered. “What, does the mighty Wu Family Sword Mound need an outsider like me to save face?”
The old man chuckled. “You could always reclaim your lineage.”
Deng Tai’a nearly cursed but swallowed it with a gulp of wine.
The old man’s gaze grew distant. “At the peak of our Sword Mountain, four swords once stood: Wooden Horse and Ox, Tai’a, Great Cold Sparrow, and Heart’s Sorrow.”
He accepted a bowl of wine from Xu Fengnian, took a sip, and looked toward Wudang Mountain. “Li Chun’gang took the Wooden Horse and Ox, and it broke. Thankfully, Wu Su took the intact Great Cold Sparrow, and it found a successor. The ‘Plain King Sword’ was mine, later given to Cui Hua through Liu Ding. Only the ancient ‘Heart’s Sorrow’ remains unclaimed, still lonely atop the mountain.”
Not just Xu Fengnian, Deng Tai’a, and Chai Qingshan, but even Feng Zongxi and Lu Jiejun heard the distant hum of a sword in its sheath.
Clearly, a legendary blade was nearby, trembling faintly.
Deng Tai’a remained impassive.
The old man sighed but didn’t press further.
Deng Tai’a set down his jug. “I repaid Wu Su’s kindness on Sword Mountain by saving Xu Fengnian at the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City. I repaid her teaching me the Wu family’s sword arts by giving Xu Fengnian the Twelve Flying Swords. We’re even.”
The old man seemed weary. “As you say. I only regret for the Tai’a Sword—it, too, is an orphan.”
Deng Tai’a finally looked directly at the old man for the first time.
As a child, he had survived alone on the deathly silent Sword Mountain, descending only to scavenge for food. Otherwise, he endured the relentless sword energy, passing out and waking repeatedly in agony.
In those years, only two people had climbed the mountain: Wu Su, Xu Fengnian’s mother, who taught him swordplay in creative ways, and this old man, who had once carried the unconscious boy to the summit to gaze upon the Sword Mound.
Only when he left did Deng Tai’a learn the old man’s identity.
The sword’s hum grew deafening, like a woman’s muffled sobs—heart-wrenching, piercing.
Only the old man, Xu Fengnian, Deng Tai’a, and Chai Qingshan remained unaffected. Even Chen Tianyuan, Qi Xianxia, and Li Houzhong frowned, while Feng Zongxi and Lu Jiejun circulated their energy to resist the overwhelming sword intent. Dou Changfeng and the others covered their ears in pain.
The tea stall owner, an ordinary man, merely found the noise annoying.
The old man pointed at the carriage without turning. “In thirty years, that sword left the mountain three times on its own. First when you left the Wu family, though you forced it to stay. Second when you challenged Wang Xianzhi at the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City. Third when you fought Tuoba Pusa in the Northern Barbarians. During your battle with Xu Fengnian and Cao Zhangqing in Tai’an City, it didn’t leave but wailed in place—perhaps knowing its master would never wield it again. Legendary weapons have spirits. Few are as pitiful as the Tai’a Sword.”
Xu Fengnian suddenly said self-deprecatingly, “Among the four top martial artists, after Cao Zhangqing’s death, once I recover, I’d be closest to being the world’s strongest. Tuoba Pusa has likely peaked, and you…”
The old man looked between Xu Fengnian and Deng Tai’a and laughed. “Either way, it’s the same.”
Deng Tai’a sighed heavily.
Xu Fengnian teased, “Old Deng, don’t be so dramatic.”
The old man nodded. “Exactly!”
Deng Tai’a looked desolate.
The old man turned serious. “Remember, your ancestor Deng Tai’a was one of the nine Wu family members who shattered the Northern Barbarian cavalry—and he led the sword formation!”
Deng Tai’a took a deep breath and met Xu Fengnian’s gaze. “North of Jubei City, leave ten thousand Northern Barbarian cavalry to me.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “Ten thousand’s too few. Make it twenty.”
The old man muttered, “Just like Xu Xiao.”
Deng Tai’a raised his arm.
A white streak shot toward him.
Deng Tai’a grasped the Tai’a Sword.
The world filled with sword energy!
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