The rain fell softly, like a delicate beauty weaving a curtain of pearls with slow grace.
In the palm of the young eunuch’s hand, a deep blue sphere of condensed rainwater hovered in the air, faintly undulating, with flickers of lightning and the sinuous movement of a fire dragon within.
Xu Fengnian’s pupils contracted slightly as he gripped the hilt of his saber.
Heavenly Thunder.
A mortal wielding Heavenly Thunder?
Yet, such a thing happening to this ageless eunuch was hardly surprising.
At this moment, the young eunuch no longer carried his previous gentle demeanor. Facing Xu Fengnian, who stood half a zhang away with his hand on his saber, his expression was solemn, his eyes dark as ink.
Like a flood dragon gazing upon a python—there was both disdain and a brewing storm of fury.
Before this, when the two had sat discussing the Dao like frogs at the bottom of a well, the young eunuch had not seemed like a grandmaster whose mere step could shake the martial world. Instead, he resembled a stern, solitary young tutor, reserved and rigid, yet courteous and restrained in speech and demeanor.
But it was precisely such people who became most terrifying when they deviated from their usual selves.
It was like when Wang Xianzhi, who had long claimed to be the second strongest under heaven, suddenly declared his intent to become the first. In those sixty years, anyone who stood in his way perished. Had figures like Deng Tai’a and Cao Changqing risen to prominence earlier, they too might have met untimely ends.
Or, what would it look like if Hong Xixiang truly lost his temper after descending the mountain? That was unimaginable.
Perhaps Xu Fengnian, with his unyielding resolve to kill, also counted. That was why Hong Jingyan had died right under Tuoba Pusa’s nose.
This unnamed eunuch of Liyang was no different.
His fingers curled slightly, and the Heavenly Thunder in his palm seeped into his flesh, vanishing—yet his entire arm was now wreathed in the eerie spectacle of a coiling fire dragon.
The young eunuch’s breathing was deep and steady. Between his seven orifices, seven slender strands of white qi flowed in and out, like seven white snakes hanging upside down against his jade-like face.
At the same time, Xu Fengnian had not only drawn his saber but also spun forward in an instant, his feet leaving the ground, sleeves billowing, delivering a simple yet devastating slash toward the eunuch.
The latter merely raised the arm that had “devoured” the Heavenly Thunder, using two fingers to catch the blade imbued with Xu Fengnian’s formidable will.
Two fingers clamped around white radiance.
Between his fingers, sparks of lightning erupted wildly, illuminating the young eunuch’s face with a dazzling glow.
Xu Fengnian, whose brow seemed to open a celestial eye, silently recited: *Open Shu Style.*
The tip of the saber, aimed at the eunuch’s brow, suddenly unleashed a surge of energy as thick as an arm.
The young eunuch tilted his head. Though the attack was point-blank, and the force akin to a ballista bolt fired from a hundred zhang away, he dodged it effortlessly.
Only a few strands of hair, severed by the sharp qi, drifted slowly into the rain.
As he turned his head, the eunuch’s free left hand shot toward Xu Fengnian’s chest like a thunderbolt.
He had once heard the learned scholars in the palace speak of the great winds of the southeast, capable of toppling mountains and shaking city walls.
Xu Fengnian was struck squarely in the chest, seemingly unmoved—yet the purple-red mark between his brows rippled violently. This punch did not harm his body but his spirit.
The young eunuch, having landed the blow, whispered, “Drop the saber.”
As he spoke, his fist transformed into a palm, striking Xu Fengnian’s heart.
The force of the blow sent tremors through Xu Fengnian’s robes, and the jade pendant at his waist shattered into dust.
Yet Xu Fengnian remained steadfast, his left hand still gripping the saber.
The young eunuch frowned slightly. Keeping the blade pinned between his fingers, he stepped forward twice and struck Xu Fengnian’s forehead with his palm.
Xu Fengnian was sent skidding backward.
His feet carved a trench dozens of zhang long into the stone street, the furrow shallower the farther he went. Behind him, the rain was pushed aside by the overwhelming force, hanging at an angle, clearly visible.
Xu Fengnian planted one foot back, the other forward, steadying himself.
His feet touched the stone street lightly, as if two lotuses had bloomed upon a pond.
The young eunuch was briefly surprised but soon understood.
The young prince had still managed to pull his ordinary saber free from between his fingers.
Tonight’s battle in the rain was a contest of will at the highest level. Weapons were not the deciding factor, and this saber was no divine artifact—if anything, it was a burden.
Yet Xu Fengnian’s refusal to let go suggested that some deep-rooted conviction was tied to this blade.
Perhaps this particular saber held great significance, or perhaps any blade from Northern Liang would do.
To find out, all he had to do was shatter it.
The young eunuch raised his arm and casually swept it through the air.
Raindrops linked into threads, coalescing into a three-foot sword of pure will.
Borrowing swords was no stranger to Xu Fengnian, who had mastered Li Chungang’s techniques. In fact, if he claimed to be second in this art, even the Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a would hesitate to call himself first.
But now, witnessing this, Xu Fengnian felt as though he were seeing something entirely new.
It wasn’t that the eunuch’s method was superior—both were celestial beings, neither above the other—but the sheer audacity of his approach was undeniable, even as an enemy.
If Li Chungang’s sword-borrowing, whether from men or heaven and earth, carried the arrogance of “I return what I please, and even the heavens cannot stop me,”
then this young eunuch had taken a different path: he did not contend with heaven and earth but created within it.
It wasn’t that Li Chungang couldn’t do the same—he was simply too brilliant, too lazy. The eunuch, however, was diligent.
The rain around Xu Fengnian seemed to pause for a moment before he vanished.
The young eunuch closed his eyes, listening to the rain.
Then he swung his sword backward casually.
The three-foot rainblade dissipated after the strike.
He drew another from the rain, this time slashing to his left.
Sword after sword.
The rain never ceased, and the eunuch’s blade reformed sixty times.
Xu Fengnian never reappeared. If not for the eunuch’s relentless strikes in all directions, Mi Fengjie and Fan Xiaochai might have thought the prince had fled.
The eunuch, at ease, spoke as he fought:
“In my eyes, aside from Lü Dongbin, whose very existence marks the pinnacle of humanity, only Gao Shulu, Li Chungang, and Wang Xianzhi at their peaks could claim true invincibility. Not that they were always unmatched—Li Chungang after his return at Guangling River, or Wang Xianzhi in Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City rather than Northern Liang. Even if I were in Tai’an City then, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Only Lü Zu could rival them, and their battles would be fierce, with victory uncertain.”
“As for you, Xu Fengnian, you still fall short. Had you not forsaken your past lives, you might have reached those heights. But you refused to live under another’s shadow, destroying that fortune. Otherwise, who in this vast world could stop you from doing as you pleased? Killing Emperor Zhao Zhuan, then roaming the martial world freely—would that be so hard? Whether Northern Liang withstands the million-strong cavalry of Northern Mang—what does that matter to you, a celestial being free of worldly cares?”
The young prince neither appeared nor replied.
Unfazed, the imposing eunuch flicked his sleeve.
The world fell silent.
The curtain of rain over the street froze completely.
Puddles on the stone pavement stopped flowing.
Xu Fengnian, now exposed, stood beneath the eaves at the street’s end like a passerby sheltering from the rain.
The eunuch extended a hand, flicking a suspended raindrop with his finger.
The illusion shattered.
The rain resumed.
He gazed at the composed prince, whose saber was now in fragments, held together only by sheer will.
Curious, he asked, “With the power of a terrestrial immortal and command of three hundred thousand cavalry, why does your heart remain so troubled?”
Xu Fengnian slowly sheathed his broken saber.
At Qingliang Mountain, it was known that this prince wore his saber at all times when seen in public.
Few pondered why.
After the battle at Longyan’er Plains, after Qi Dangguo’s death,
Xu Fengnian only removed his saber to sleep.
He would not be empty-handed the next time someone needed saving.
At his current level, a saber at his waist made little difference.
Yet he persisted.
Under the eaves, the prince stepped down and finally spoke:
“To live a life where every action follows one’s own desires—how is that different from mindless plants growing toward the sun?”
“To endure hardship for those you care about, to live less freely—it may seem stifling, but isn’t it also a form of happiness? At least there are people worth sacrificing for.”
“Zhang Julu for the common folk, Cao Changqing for the woman in his heart, my master Li Yishan for Northern Liang’s people, Xu Xiao for his children…”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly. “Do you have anyone?”
The eunuch’s expression darkened as if struck on a raw nerve. His eyes turned icy as he stomped the ground and growled:
“*Dragon, rise!*”
From the well burst a massive water dragon, thick as the well’s mouth, charging straight at Xu Fengnian.
The eunuch, most attuned to the workings of fate, knew this well: Lü Zu’s reincarnation was still a child, Wang Xianzhi had ascended, Li Chungang was but a memory. Xu Fengnian was far from his peak.
Thus, the eunuch was truly the strongest in the mortal realm—not some random child eating candy, as Xu Fengnian had jested.
His enemies were in the heavens, not among men.
Xu Fengnian glanced at the saber at his waist, took a deep breath, crouched, and pressed his palm to the street.
He closed his eyes—why, no one knew.
Then he stood and began to run forward.
Rain splashed beneath his feet, each step birthing a lotus.
The eunuch suddenly roared, “*Xu Fengnian, how dare you?!*”
Xu Fengnian charged ahead without hesitation.
Behind him, spectral riders appeared—armored warhorses, the heroic dead of Northern Liang.
Their spirits endured beyond death!
You seek to drain Northern Liang’s fortune with Zhao’s imperial destiny?
Then come!
On the battlefield, Northern Liang’s fallen heroes all faced north, their backs to the south.
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