Under the night sky, the capital of Western Chu was aglow with countless lights. Some were filled with joy, others with sorrow.
The palace gates, already locked for the night, swung open one by one. A carriage that defied both protocol and propriety slowly rolled in, and from it stepped a gaunt old man who wore no official robes. The newly appointed Chief Eunuch of the Rites Directorate moved forward to assist, only to be waved off by the old man’s raised hand.
The old man followed the inexplicably promoted Chief Eunuch—now the highest-ranking eunuch in Great Chu—whose heart was uneasy. He didn’t know why the Grand Preceptor insisted on visiting the palace to see the Emperor in the dead of night, nor why the Emperor had chosen to receive the Chancellor in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.
The grand doors of the Hall of Supreme Harmony stood wide open. Sun Xiji struggled step by step up the stairs. Inside, the flickering candlelight revealed the faint silhouette of His Majesty.
The Chief Eunuch sensed a heavy, storm-laden atmosphere. The Emperor of Great Chu neither sat upon the dragon throne awaiting the old man nor stepped out to greet this pillar of the dynasty.
She stood behind the threshold of the hall, clad in imperial robes.
Her hands clasped behind her back, her posture was one of aloof arrogance, as if pushing the world away.
Sun Xiji halted a dozen steps from the entrance, gazing at her. The weathered lines on his face deepened with bitterness. Not just because of the treacherous assassination attempt at his residence earlier that day, but more so because of the woman before him—her overt rejection, so stark and unyielding, left him both disheartened and guilt-ridden.
After the Chief Eunuch bowed and retreated, Sun Xiji spoke slowly, “Your Majesty, the Song family has betrayed Great Chu and shamed its scholars. This old minister, Sun Xiji, with his dimming eyes, bears the blame…”
The woman, her face obscured by the shadows cast by the hall’s candles, interrupted him. “When meeting the ruler of a nation, should a subject not kneel?!”
The old man, who had even been treated with respect by the late Emperor of Liyang, felt no anger. Instead, a strange calm settled over him. Sun Xiji clapped his sleeves together and knelt without hesitation. “Your subject, Sun Xiji, Chancellor of the Central Secretariat of Great Chu, pays homage to Your Majesty!”
She sneered. “Chancellor Sun, you enter the palace without official robes tonight. Given your age, We shall not punish you. Speak your mind. We are listening.”
Sun Xiji kept his head bowed, his voice heavy with effort. “Your Majesty, the Song family cannot be trusted. Many of the civil officials in the court’s inner circle cannot be trusted. Even this old minister, Sun Xiji, cannot be trusted. But I beg Your Majesty to believe in the two hundred thousand soldiers on the front lines. I beg Your Majesty not to vent your anger on all those who have died for Great Chu, not to—”
The female Emperor of Great Chu, Jiang Ni, cut him off for the second time. “Vent my anger? Do not forget that I stand before you now, just ten steps away! If I truly wished to vent my anger on you, do you think any of you would live to see the sun set?”
Her voice rose. “The Song family may be blind, but I tell you this, Sun Xiji—even without Cao Changqing in the capital, even without the Imperial Guards loyal to me, I could still slaughter every traitor who dares betray the Jiang clan of Great Chu!”
Sun Xiji pressed his palms against the cold floor. His hands were cold, but his heart was colder.
After a moment of silence, the old man heard her voice, filled with boundless sorrow. “I alone possess a hundred thousand swords. They were meant for the armies of Liyang, not for the people of Great Chu, and certainly not for—”
Her words trailed off into indistinct murmurs, too faint for the aged minister to hear.
Sun Xiji knelt there, speechless.
The doors suddenly slammed shut. From behind them, the female Emperor’s mocking voice rang out. “Leave. Rest assured, Sun Xiji, rest assured, Great Chu—as the daughter of the late Emperor, I will die in this palace, just as he did.”
The old man rose with difficulty and stared at the closed doors.
The Chancellor, rejected, turned and walked away. Descending the vermilion steps adorned with golden dragons and auspicious clouds, he found the Chief Eunuch waiting like a silent night owl, his head bowed in deference.
This old man, who had risen to the heart of Great Chu’s government in his youth, realized for the first time how rarely he had ever spoken to eunuchs over the years. He smiled self-deprecatingly. Tonight, as always, he exchanged no pleasantries, leaving the palace in silence.
※※※
In the quiet of a secluded courtyard, where the lights were dim, she sat alone on the threshold in her imperial robes. A pair of finely crafted boots lay neatly by her feet, and across her lap rested a sword. Head bowed, she carefully took out copper coins she had treasured for years, arranging them one by one from one end of the scabbard to the other.
She was seen as the ruler of Great Chu’s vast lands, but the only things she truly felt were hers were these coins.
The two mentors she trusted most in life—the old man in sheepskin and the chess-playing uncle—both regarded her as a once-in-a-century genius of the sword path. Yet, during her last and only journey through the martial world with him, she had always been reluctant to train under Li Chunyang. Sixty years ago, countless martial masters would have given anything for a few words of guidance from the Sword God. She didn’t know why she felt this way—perhaps it was because she had seen that man practice his blade, and it seemed too arduous, too terrifying. She was afraid. She had been timid for so many years, bullied for so many years. Why should she train with the sword and fight when she could easily make a living reading books? Deep down, she dared not admit one thing: if she ever became a terrestrial immortal through sword training, would she really have to stab him to death?
Today, the old scoundrel Song Wenfeng, who had shed all pretense of civility, had voiced the sentiments of many of Great Chu’s surviving elders: even if Northern Liang was a refuge for Jiang Ni, it could never be her sanctuary.
The Xu and Jiang families were not like ordinary neighbors with petty squabbles. The Xu family’s iron cavalry had trampled Great Chu’s rivers and mountains. Xu Xiao had personally driven the late Emperor and Empress of Great Chu to their deaths. Xu Fengnian’s father had killed the parents of Jiang Ni, the new Emperor of Great Chu.
But if that were all, she—who had long since blurred memories of Great Chu and was accustomed to hiding from trouble—could have left the capital.
Sandwiched between Liyang and Northern Mang, Northern Liang was already in dire straits. The man who had taken up his father’s burden not only faced the million-strong army of Northern Mang but also the wary Central Plains and imperial court behind him. If he took her away today—if he took the Emperor of Great Chu—how would he face the world?
How would the world revile him?
In the first great battle, the Northern Liang cavalry had already lost over a hundred thousand men. Would many more have to die on the Liang-Mang battlefield just because of her, a fox spirit who brought ruin to nations and people? Could he truly live with that guilt?
She was a coward who feared responsibility. Once, she had been a maidservant who secretly cursed while washing clothes. Even if she could feign ignorance and hide behind him, pretending everything was fine, Xu Fengnian’s sanctuary would vanish.
She knew that across Great Chu’s lands, for twenty years, many whispered that the fall of Great Chu was her mother’s fault—the mother whose face she could no longer remember. Otherwise, how could mighty Great Chu, with its wise ruler, brilliant ministers, valiant generals, and contented people, have lost to the barbaric Liyang in the north, where even the rites between ruler and subject were unknown? She refused to believe it, but sometimes she feared—feared becoming his femme fatale.
If it were her from three years ago—naive, believing that a man and woman in love should simply be together—she would have gone with him.
But after entering Guangling Dao, though she understood little of the grand schemes of the world, she had imagined countless scenarios of their reunion. In the end, she realized she dared not leave, could not leave.
How many times had she hidden under her blankets, crying silently? How many times had her palms been slick with sweat when meeting her ministers? How many times had she wanted to ride her sword straight to the northwest frontier, just to see him—or at least catch a distant glimpse of Qingliang Mountain or the little vegetable garden on Wudang Mountain?
She pressed a hand to her chest, but the ache remained.
In the dim light, she missed him terribly.
That he had come for her—it made her happy.
She wanted to tell him: stabbing you with that sword, she regretted it.
In the years to come, he could hate her.
But he must not stop liking her.
She lifted her tear-streaked face and whispered between sobs, “Even if you don’t like me, you can only dislike Jiang Ni of Western Chu. You cannot dislike Jiangni.”
※※※
From the city walls, the view stretched over countless lights.
A young man sat quietly on the battlements like a wandering ghost with nowhere to go, his back to the outside world, facing the city.
Every so often, his body swayed slightly, and fresh blood seeped through the hastily bandaged wound on his chest.
A tall woman in white hesitated for a long time before finally approaching him. “Why torment yourself like this?” she said sorrowfully. “You’re fighting an entire nation alone.”
The young man remained silent.
The woman, towering and strikingly beautiful, sighed. “Western Chu’s fate may be dwindling, but it’s still not something one person can easily oppose—especially after your battle with Chen Zhibao on the Guangling River. You were already injured. Since things have come to this, why stay and make it worse?”
As a grandmaster of qi cultivation, she alone could see the towering pillar of destiny at the heart of Western Chu’s capital. From it, white dragon-like strands of energy continuously surged forth, crashing into him.
This was Western Chu’s true weapon against terrestrial immortals. The two city guardians were insignificant in comparison.
The young man gazed at the distant palace, his voice calm. “Tantai Pingjing, I know that according to fate, Heaven’s chosen adversaries for me, Xu Fengnian, are two. Besides Xie Guanying, who nurtures dragons in his bowl, there’s you—the leader of the Guanyin Sect. After the battle at the Imperial Observatory, Xie Guanying was beaten into a drowned dog. The Ancestor Lü, who chose earthly immortality over celestial ascension, returned. Unfortunately, Hong Xixian still refused Heaven’s second offer. So I know that after Xie Guanying’s fate was severely damaged, the one who benefited most in this world was you. That’s why I’ve been waiting for you to make your move. Rather than wait until we become enemies, rather than live in fear of you undermining Northern Liang’s destiny, it’s better to settle things cleanly between us now.”
Tantai Pingjing’s expression was complex.
Xu Fengnian coughed a few times before speaking slowly. “Before you decide to act, since we’ve shared some camaraderie, will you talk with me?”
Tantai Pingjing nodded. “Very well.”
Xu Fengnian, his legs dangling over the wall, smiled. “Of all the martial artists I’ve met, who do you think I envy the most?”
Tantai Pingjing pondered briefly before countering, “Surely it’s Li Chunyang?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “No.”
Tantai Pingjing hesitated, then allowed a faint smile. “Xuan Yuan Jingcheng of Huishan?”
Xu Fengnian turned sharply, feigning exasperation. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Admiration is one thing, but I’ve no desire to be Xuan Yuan Jingcheng!”
Tantai Pingjing chuckled.
Xu Fengnian looked back at the distant city, its countless lights twinkling like stars on a summer night. “The one I envy most is Deng Tai’e. Unconcerned with the martial world’s tides, indifferent to the court’s intrigues, he left the Wu Family Sword Mound with no lingering grudges. Unfettered, solitary, riding his donkey to see the world. I believe that if one day the Peach Blossom Sword God were to fall for a woman, the two of them would roam free and unburdened.”
Tantai Pingjing sighed. “I never would have guessed it was Deng Tai’e.”
Xu Fengnian folded his hands over his knees. “Neither did I.”
Tantai Pingjing sat beside him, her height slightly surpassing his. “Why didn’t she leave?”
Xu Fengnian thought for a moment. “Perhaps she’s grown up. I’m not as heartbroken as you might imagine.”
Tantai Pingjing said, “But you are heartbroken. Being stabbed in the heart by the one you love—it’d be strange if you weren’t.”
Xu Fengnian snorted but neither confirmed nor denied it.
Tantai Pingjing murmured, “In life, each has their own destiny. Some always do as they wish—how fortunate. Some always do as they like—how happy. And some can only do what they must, or even what others think they must.”
Xu Fengnian laughed, then winced as his wound protested. Tantai Pingjing hesitated, as if to reach out and pat his back, but her fingers didn’t so much as twitch—her heart was in turmoil.
Xu Fengnian, perhaps reading too much into her silence, shook his head with a smile. “I never thought you’d comfort someone. Will the sun rise in the west tomorrow?”
Tantai Pingjing’s face remained impassive, though her mood had clearly soured.
She had barely sat down before standing again.
Xu Fengnian looked up curiously.
She said irritably, “I’m hungry. Going for a midnight snack. Can’t fight on an empty stomach.”
With that, Tantai Pingjing leaped from the wall into the city.
Xu Fengnian called softly after her, “Silly giant, though your master’s memories are fragmented, I can tell you this: he cared for you deeply. At least when he left this world, he was still worried you might go hungry.”
Tantai Pingjing’s face flushed crimson, and she nearly tumbled mid-air.
After she left, he turned his gaze back to the palace.
To her.
Wishing for eternity.
Some Daoist sage once said: better to forget each other in the vast rivers and lakes than linger like stranded fish sharing meager drops of water.
How long he sat there, he didn’t know. Just as drowsiness threatened to claim him, Xu Fengnian suddenly stood, poised between the city and the world beyond.
※※※
The next day, a man lay sprawled across a beam, dozing contentedly, utterly at ease.
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