Chapter 939: Sword-filled Rack

Beyond the Northern Liang Pass, the sound of galloping hooves echoed like the cries of an old bird, unceasing for twenty years.

Within the pass, the voices of scholars rose, clear and bright, like the song of a young phoenix surpassing its elder. These voices came from newly established academies. In Liangzhou City, the newly founded White Horse Academy stood apart from the earlier Qinglu Academy, which had been nestled in scenic mountains. This one was built in the bustling heart of Liangzhou. The renowned Neo-Confucian master Yao Baifeng, who had recently retired from the capital, became its first head. Not only did the Prince of Qingliang Mountain bestow six thousand volumes of books, but the Northern Liang King, Xu Fengnian, personally inscribed its plaque. The Northern Liang’s Chief Administrator Li Gongde, the newly appointed Governor of Liangzhou Lu Dongjiang, and the Governor of Youzhou Huang Yan all donated books from their private collections. In no time, the elite and noble families of Northern Liang followed suit, each taking pride in contributing rare editions to the White Horse Academy.

This allowed the academy to achieve an unprecedented feat—on its very first day, its library boasted over ten thousand volumes, earning its name, the “Ten Thousand Scrolls Pavilion.” Meanwhile, Yao Baifeng broke new ground by establishing a Hall of Sages within the academy, enshrining statues of Confucius, the Ten Philosophers, and the Thirty-Six Worthies. He also erected a stele declaring the academy’s mission: to prioritize the pursuit of virtue and wisdom over the usual focus on imperial examination techniques. This was a bold departure from the conventional path to scholarly success.

In addition to Yao Baifeng, the academy was co-led by the esteemed Southern scholar Bai Yu of Longhu Mountain and the former Governor of Lingzhou, Xu Beizhi. Prominent scholars like Huang Shang of Qinglu Academy also pledged to lecture at the White Horse Academy. Rumor had it that even the famed scholar Wang Jijiu, who once led thousands of scholars to Northern Liang, had promised to arrange for a distinguished scholar from the prestigious Shangyin Academy—known as the “cradle of the world’s finest minds”—to teach in Liangzhou annually.

Initially intended for only eighty students, the academy was overwhelmed with applicants and had to expand its enrollment to over two hundred, evenly split between locals and outsiders. The scholarly Governor of Liangzhou, Lu Dongjiang, enthusiastically supported the academy, even donating six hundred acres of prime land under the prefecture’s name. This gesture earned him newfound respect in Northern Liang’s political circles, even from those who had previously distanced themselves from his family.

On an early autumn day, an unassuming carriage made its way through Liangzhou’s bustling streets. Inside, a young man lifted the curtain slightly, quietly observing the changing cityscape—new signs, vanished stalls, familiar taverns still selling green-ant wine, and inns passed down through generations.

When the carriage paused near a newly opened shop, the young man recalled buying spiced beef there in his youth. It was also where he first met the enigmatic “Hehe Girl” and learned that the shop’s former owner was none other than Huang Sanjia.

Back then, her peculiar giant cat was still alive.

He remembered reuniting with Dongxi near here and meeting the little monk Nanbei, who dreamed of attaining Buddhahood. A monk from Luotuo Mountain had even tried to persuade him to travel west and “dual-cultivate” with the ethereal White-Clad Bodhisattva—an offer he had refused, though later, he sometimes regretted it. Now, the memory only brought a faint smile.

He lowered the curtain and softly said, “Steward Song, to the White Horse Academy.”

Steward Song—Song Yu, the chief steward of Qingliang Mountain’s royal residence, a man of unparalleled influence in Northern Liang.

As the carriage stopped at the academy’s gate, Xu Fengnian stepped out and suddenly asked, “Have there been fewer assassins sneaking into Qingliang Mountain these past years?”

Song Yu bowed slightly. “Your Highness, it seems even the reckless fools of the martial world have finally learned their lesson. This year, not a single assassin has dared approach. The mountain has been peaceful—so much so that many in the residence find it unusual.”

Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Indeed, it’s taken some of the fun out of fishing. And it seems there are fewer wandering swordsmen making a show of themselves?”

Song Yu smiled. “For any martial artist to flaunt their skills before you now would be nothing short of folly.”

The academy had not prepared any grand reception. Standing at the street’s edge, Xu Fengnian gazed up at its plaque and sighed. “Who would have thought Liangzhou would one day have its own academy?”

Song Yu replied, “All thanks to Your Highness. Not everyone in the world is blind or foolish. Justice lies in the hearts of men.”

Xu Fengnian nodded solemnly. “Song Yu, your flattery hasn’t lost its touch over the years. Others may try, but none can match your effortless sincerity.”

Song Yu grinned, recalling the wild days when he had served the young prince in his reckless youth.

Though his talent for flattery remained, Song Yu’s composure had only grown over the years. He understood the young king’s temperament well and harbored no displeasure at the academy’s lack of fanfare. He knew better than anyone how much Xu Fengnian had favored scholars in recent years—without that, the White Horse Academy would never have risen to prominence.

Other powerful princes in the empire, like the bold Yanchi King Zhao Bing or the once-mighty Guangling King Zhao Yi, had never managed to gather such esteemed scholars in their domains. Even the Qing faction in Jing’an, close to the Shangyin Academy, had failed to establish a noteworthy institution.

Song Yu discreetly noted the other carriages nearby—unassuming yet drawn by prized steeds from Northern Liang’s finest pastures. These horses, reserved for the military elite, had found their way into civilian hands through unofficial channels—a practice both the old and new kings of Northern Liang had tacitly allowed.

Among the academy’s visitors today were veteran generals like Wei Tieshan and Liu Yuanji, recently returned to the border forces. Only Xu Beizhi and Chen Xiliang, the true “dragons’ companions” of Northern Liang’s rise, could have persuaded these old warriors to share their battlefield tales with scholars—an unheard-of practice even in the venerable Shangyin Academy.

The heart of the White Horse Academy was not Yao Baifeng but Xu Beizhi, the former Governor of Lingzhou.

As the steward of Qingliang Mountain, Song Yu was the young king’s most trusted confidant. At just over forty, he might yet serve three generations of the Xu family—a position of immense influence, regardless of official rank.

A young scholar in blue robes hurried out of the academy, scanning the street. Spotting Xu Fengnian and Song Yu, he hesitated. A newcomer from Huainan, he had been tasked with greeting guests but had never seen the famed Northern Liang King.

He had expected a grand procession, not this unassuming figure in white robes with a single attendant.

At the academy’s entrance stood a simple wooden rack adorned with jade hooks, meant for hanging swords and blades—a rule Xu Fengnian had once established with Huang Shang of Qinglu Academy: no armed warriors in Northern Liang’s academies.

Now, seven Northern Liang blades hung there.

None were the latest “Xu Six” model. One, its scabbard worn and battered, might even be the rare first-generation Xu blade—a relic so scarce that not even Qingliang Mountain possessed one.

Xu Xiao had once tried to buy them back, but few remained. Only seven thousand had been forged, crude and short-lived, lost in countless desperate battles.

Xu Xiao had loved boasting of his victories to his son but never spoke of the hardships—how he had fought like a stray dog, scavenging armor from the dead just to survive.

Xu Fengnian stood before the rack, gazing at those blades—each a silent testament to a past his father had never shared.

Many things Xu Fengnian only learned much later, during casual conversations with people like Chu Lushan and Yuan Zuozong.

Sometimes, Xu Fengnian would wonder—if he ever had children and the chance to watch them grow up—he would probably be like Xu Xiao. He would only tell them how their father had defeated one martial arts grandmaster after another, but never mention the countless wounds and blood spilled in those life-or-death battles.

Such is the way of fathers and sons in this world.

One cannot truly understand the hardships of a father until becoming one himself.

As Xu Fengnian slowly removed the saber from his waist, he turned to Song Yu with a smile and asked, “Manager Song, do your ten-year-old twins ever get tired of your nagging?”

Caught off guard by the sudden question, the usually quick-witted Song Yu was momentarily flustered but soon chuckled knowingly. “Of course they do. Every time I tell them about the great figures their father has met, they roll their eyes and cover their ears. But when I talk about Your Highness’s heroic deeds, even if they’ve heard them a hundred times, they still listen with relish.”

Xu Fengnian had seen the exquisitely delicate twins a few times on Qingliang Mountain. Unlike their elder brother, who had already come of age and entered officialdom, or their second sister, who had married into Lingzhou, the twins were lively and mischievous, always running wild up and down the mountain. He’d heard they got along well with the little girl Chen Xiliang brought from Jiangnan, the daughter of Huyan Dagan, and the little green-robed girl left behind in the palace by Yu Xinlang. They often played together. Once, while walking alone on the lake’s causeway at dawn, Xu Fengnian caught them crouching stealthily by the shore, fishing for carp with their crude homemade rods. A small wooden basin already held four or five plump koi. When he deliberately coughed from a distance, Song Yu’s youngest immediately overturned the basin, tossed all the rods into the lake, and the whole group scattered like the wind. Amused and exasperated, Xu Fengnian had to retrieve the rods and basin from the lake himself and left them where they were.

The koi in Tingchao Lake were no ordinary fish—they came from a natural pool atop a towering peak in Liaodong. To cultivators, these celestial koi were extraordinary, their golden scales said to carry the fortune of the mortal realm. Each was worth ten pieces of gold, and in recent years, they had become a coveted treasure among Northern Liang’s civil officials. The rough-and-tumble generals who followed Xu Xiao in the early days had no interest in such refined luxuries, while those like Yan Jiexi—who later betrayed Northern Liang for Tai’an City—disdained asking for them. Only Li Gongde once shamelessly begged Xu Xiao for a few. Xu Xiao waved his hand and said, “Go catch them yourself. Take as many as you can grab.” At the time, Li Gongde, already the high-ranking Governor of Fengzhou, actually went and did just that, hauling back seven or eight to raise in his own pond. Rumor had it his pond now teemed with a hundred koi. Of course, Xu Fengnian and Li Hanlin knew the truth—Li Gongde grinned ear-to-ear not because he adored the auspicious fish, but because each one was a living piece of silver!

The young scholar, overhearing this exchange, was stunned. He couldn’t believe the man before him was truly the King of Northern Liang—the one who had led the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry to hold back the million-strong army of the Northern Desert.

After removing the Liang Saber from his waist, Xu Fengnian gently hung it on the leftmost jade hook of the stand.

Whether by coincidence or not, this meant all six generations of the Xu family’s war sabers were now gathered here.

The young scholar, flustered, quickly bowed. “Dai Yuanjie of Fengtang County greets Your Highness.”

Xu Fengnian raised an eyebrow. “Fengtang County in Jizhou? What relation is Master Jiao’an to you? Are you of the Yuan generation of the Dai family?”

Dai Yuanjie was even more astonished that a prince of such stature would know of his grandfather. The Dai family had once been a prestigious lineage of the former Northern Han, their descendants for the past three centuries named according to the proverb: *”Live a simple life to manifest one’s ambitions; maintain serenity to reach far.”* By Dai Yuanjie’s generation, it was the turn of the character *Yuan* (far). But like many noble families of the Spring and Autumn Era, the Dais had fallen into decline after the “unjust” war that decided the victors and the vanquished. The family adhered strictly to Master Jiao’an’s rule: *Study, but do not serve.* Their library, the “Eight Hundred Iron Swords Tower,” had once been one of the six great libraries of the Spring and Autumn Period, housing over a hundred rare editions of the Feng version, along with countless fine prints and hand-copied manuscripts. After Xu Xiao’s army destroyed the Northern Han, the once-open library closed its doors to outsiders—even family members were restricted from entering freely.

The young scholar, steeped in his family’s scholarly traditions, looked up solemnly. “He is indeed my grandfather!”

Xu Fengnian’s expression turned awkward. “Half of the rare Feng editions in Tingchao Pavilion were… *borrowed* from your Eight Hundred Iron Swords Tower in the early years. If you’ve come to reclaim them, I’ll have them sorted and returned as much as possible.”

Dai Yuanjie, hearing this secret for the first time—his grandfather had never mentioned it—was even more embarrassed than Xu Fengnian.

A frail scholar like him wouldn’t dare seek restitution from the King of the Northwest!

Xu Fengnian smiled. “Those books are just gathering dust in Tingchao Pavilion. Better they return to the Dai family. But let’s be clear—they can be returned only if your library opens its doors to scholars of other surnames and outsiders. You may discuss this with Master Jiao’an first. Of course, this is an impertinent request—he may refuse. But it won’t affect your studies at White Horse Academy. If he truly disagrees, I’ll donate the Feng editions to the academy in your family’s name. You can explain this in your letter home.”

After weighing his options, Dai Yuanjie exhaled in relief and bowed again, sincerely impressed. “Your Highness is magnanimous!”

Xu Fengnian chuckled wryly, holding back his thoughts. In truth, Xu Xiao had “borrowed” those books at swordpoint. The only reason returning them now seemed “magnanimous” was because the Xu family still wielded hundreds of thousands of Liang sabers. At its core, the Xu family had no moral high ground here—but there was no need to say this to a descendant of the Dais.

The finest books, left unread, may seem priceless—but in truth, they are worthless.

Yet Xu Fengnian had also heard strange musings from Huang Longshi through Hehe Girl. The “Yellow Triad” once lamented that future scholars would take reading for granted, no longer cherishing the wisdom of their predecessors—hence the resigned sigh: *”The ancients have already exhausted all truths.”*

Following the young scholar into White Horse Academy, Xu Fengnian walked past the wooden stand.

The scholar glanced back inexplicably at it.

After the Spring and Autumn Era.

Six sabers of the Xu family.

Arrayed here.