A thousand cavalry arrived at the Laodu Mountain defense line with the momentum of sweeping across the plains. Leading them was the main commander, Wu Zhongxuan, who held the title of Grand General of the Southern Expedition and concurrently served as the Minister of War. This veteran general of the Spring and Autumn era dismounted and stood amidst the devastated military camp, gripping his horsewhip, squinting in silence. The bodies of the fallen soldiers had already been cleared, but the bloodstains on the ground remained a harrowing sight, a stark testament to the brutality of the previous battle.
Not far away, four or five high-ranking officers, resembling colonels, approached in unison. A burly armored man in the center knelt abruptly five steps before Wu Zhongxuan, holding a severed head, sobbing uncontrollably. Wu Zhongxuan’s face darkened at the sight, his heart churning with turmoil. Wang Tongshan had been a key figure used by the King of Yanchi to counterbalance the northern border forces—essentially, a move by Zhao Bing and Zhao Zhu, father and son, to prevent Wu Zhongxuan from monopolizing power in the north. Wu Zhongxuan’s recent “recruitment” by the court might have seemed glorious, but it was actually a precarious position. The notorious Wang Tongshan was supposed to be a crucial pawn for Wu Zhongxuan, drawing attention from the Liyang court, especially the upright scholars. To this end, Wu Zhongxuan had even proposed an unexpectedly generous condition to the young emperor—one that even Wang Tongshan himself hadn’t anticipated—granting him a noble title and military rank. Though not yet a marquis, once the Guangling campaign concluded, Wang Tongshan would be stationed south of the Guangling River with the dual authority of a marquis and General of the Southern Garrison, restraining the southern forces of the King of Yanchi to prevent Zhao Bing from advancing north. Now, with Wang Tongshan’s sudden death, not only had the court lost a peerless vanguard for the western front, severely impacting the Guangling campaign, but Wu Zhongxuan’s future political maneuvers within the court were also jeopardized. How could Wu Zhongxuan not grit his teeth in fury, wishing he could skin that young prince alive?
Wu Zhongxuan stared at the wide-eyed, unblinking head, his own expression twisted with rage. Even now, seeing Wang Tongshan’s head with his own eyes, Wu Zhongxuan couldn’t help but feel a sense of unreality. Wang Tongshan, the unrivaled tyrant of the southern border, whose military exploits and sheer might had made him untouchable—the man who could single-handedly decimate entire barbarian tribes—was dead? Truth be told, not only did Wu Zhongxuan dislike him, but even the King of Yanchi, Zhao Bing, and Nalan Youci likely held no fondness for Wang Tongshan, let alone Crown Prince Zhao Zhu, who had once personally attempted to assassinate him. But such was the harsh reality of the world. No matter how cruel and tyrannical Wang Tongshan had been, his military prowess was undeniable. The southern barbarian tribes were notoriously difficult to subdue, frequently rebelling—today’s allies could be tomorrow’s enemies. Only Wang Tongshan, the “God of Slaughter,” commanded enough fear among them to quell rebellions with just the sight of his banner. There was even a legendary anecdote where a general spent 200,000 taels of silver to borrow Wang Tongshan’s banner to pacify a rebellious region. This forced the King of Yanchi to transfer Wang Tongshan to the northern border, where the southern officials viewed the unruly warlord as Liyang’s equivalent of Xu Xiao.
With Wang Tongshan dead and the matter settled, Wu Zhongxuan sighed, bending down to help the loyal infantry colonel to his feet. “Colonel Situ,” he consoled, “I swear to avenge General Wang. Even at the risk of court reprimand or demotion, I will dispatch five thousand cavalry to hunt down Xu Fengnian!”
The blood-soaked colonel holding the head replied solemnly, “I beg the Grand General to let this humble officer lead the vanguard!”
The other trusted colonels under Wang Tongshan also clasped their fists in unison. “We beg the Grand General to let us seek vengeance!”
Wu Zhongxuan’s face remained impassive, his mind racing. These colonels and their troops—over ten thousand in total—were Wang Tongshan’s elite forces brought from the southern border. While Wang Tongshan was indeed bloodthirsty, he was no hoarder of wealth, generously distributing rewards. He never withheld military merits when reporting to the King of Yanchi, even crediting his subordinates for achievements he had personally earned. Serving under Wang Tongshan meant faster promotions and greater rewards than elsewhere. Most commanders preferred loyal dogs over wolves unless they were tigers themselves, lest they be devoured. But Wang Tongshan’s fearsome reputation allowed him to command a pack of wolves. Wu Zhongxuan had long eyed these battle-hardened colonels, hoping to absorb them into his own forces after Wang Tongshan’s death. Yet now, it seemed they might not be so easily swayed.
Wu Zhongxuan patted the infantry colonel’s shoulder and pointed his whip toward the Laodu Mountain front. “Once you take Laodu Mountain, you may roam freely across Guangling. Moreover, any news of Xu Fengnian’s whereabouts will reach you immediately, and the cavalry under Tang He and Li Chunyu will assist in intercepting him.”
He glanced at Wang Tongshan’s head. “As for General Wang, once Laodu Mountain falls, I will petition the court to recognize him as having died in battle there, ensuring a posthumous marquisate.”
The colonels bowed in gratitude.
As Wu Zhongxuan rode away, he cast a final glance at the camp before calmly instructing his personal guard commander, “Send a secret order to Li Chunyu. Once Laodu Mountain is taken, he is to launch a night attack, eliminating all key colonels, including Situ Yushan. How many troops he can rally afterward depends on his skill. Also, warn him that if he fails and Wang Tongshan’s remnants revolt, Tang He will take over.”
The guard commander swiftly departed with a squad of elite cavalry. Wu Zhongxuan deliberately slowed his horse, allowing a lightly armored scout to approach. “Young Master Yuan,” he asked, “in your opinion, how many men would we need to capture the one who killed Wang Tongshan?”
The young man, addressed by name rather than rank, showed none of the usual deference. “Are you joking, Minister Wu? Or is this a serious question?”
Wu Zhongxuan’s two elite guards scowled openly, long irritated by this arrogant newcomer who had contributed nothing yet acted so dismissively toward their superior.
Wu Zhongxuan, however, remained unperturbed. “Dead serious.”
The young scout, temporarily serving as a ranger, smirked. “Three to five thousand might not be enough. Ten thousand elite cavalry would suffice.”
Wu Zhongxuan nodded thoughtfully. “But didn’t Li Chunjiang, after returning to the Land God Realm, only manage to cut through 2,600 armored soldiers at Guangling River? Are the current top four on the Martial Rankings truly so much stronger than those of sixty years ago that ten thousand are needed?”
The young man scoffed. “It’s not so simple. Li Chunjiang’s true strength aside, most martial masters who died on the battlefield were fools who refused to retreat—like the Western Shu Sword Emperor trampled by the Xu family’s cavalry. Even the Wu family’s Nine Swords only fought ten thousand northern barbarians because they were cornered. Wang Tongshan’s ‘invincibility’ in the south was merely due to the lack of real competition. With brute strength and a diamond body, he could exhaust any opponent below the Heavenly Phenom realm. Cheng Baishuang and Ji Liu’an were helpless against him, but had he ventured north, say, against Deng Tai’a? The Peach Blossom Sword God would have ended him in a strike or two. Frankly, even I could kill Wang Tongshan within a hundred moves.”
The two guards paled at this audacious claim, though Wu Zhongxuan remained composed.
The young man added coolly, “The southern border? That’s no true martial world. The sky is vast, not some well’s narrow view.”
This youth, who had once silently weathered the tides at the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City, now bearing the surname Yuan, gazed into the distance. “To be blunt, at Xu Fengnian’s level, unless it’s Cao Changqing, Deng Tai’a, or Tuoba Pusa, no one can stop him—let alone catch him. So my earlier estimate of ten thousand? Meaningless.”
Wu Zhongxuan sighed unexpectedly. “A martial world towering over the court is no comfort.”
For once, the young man agreed. “One day, where we stand, there will be no immortals or heroes—just pond carp where dragons once swam.”
—
In the northwest corner of the Western Chu imperial city lay a small but famous lake, aptly named “Jianghu” (Martial World), rumored to be bottomless, its waters connected to the Guangling River outside the capital.
A young woman in plain palace attire sat alone in a lakeside pavilion, the surroundings silent.
Freed from constraints, she sat cross-legged, having kicked off her boots. Ignoring the early spring scenery, she leaned forward, staring intently at stacks of copper coins before her—varying in denomination, size, age, and height.
Lost in thought, she reminisced about the past—the dilapidated hut, the tiny but lush vegetable garden, the arduous climb up the mountain with a heavy bookcase, the later days when each written character meant money, a far better feeling.
The Western Chu court, though quieter now, revealed to her that the once-pure gazes had vanished, replaced by shadowy, decaying figures. She only learned later that the court had undergone several reshuffles, with scions of noble families flooding in—fathers and sons, even three generations serving together. In that gilded hall, she sat while factions clashed—scholars against generals, scholars against scholars, generals under scholarly factions against each other. All claimed loyalty, all spoke righteously, all seemed fervent and blameless.
She didn’t understand.
Grand Tutor Sun Xiji grew older, now needing a throne-bestowed chair during court sessions.
The number of military officials dwindled as they marched to war, many dying, posthumously honored.
She didn’t understand why they chose to die so resolutely. Nor why, when she first ascended the throne, those white-haired elders wept with such sorrow, relief, and gratitude.
She didn’t understand much, but her chess tutor uncle said her mere presence on the throne sufficed.
She resolved to do this one thing well.
Today, she sat here, serene as the clouds.
Above the palace, a flock of sparrows darted past.
Suddenly, one plummeted, landing with a soft thud on a rooftop, bloodied.
Simultaneously, the lake’s surface rippled inexplicably, as if struck by an unseen force, before calming.
Over the past fortnight, eunuchs and maids had found dead birds—some pierced as if by arrows, others with severed wings, most simply smashed beyond recognition.
Stranger still, the emperor often sat by the lake, lost in thought. Initially, guards stood watch, but soon an inexplicable chill drove them away—mistaken for lingering winter cold until they realized warmth returned only when they left the lake at night. Over time, the eerily still lake grew ominous, especially as rumors spread of falling birds citywide, spawning songs blaming the female ruler’s ill omen. Whispers even claimed she was a thousand-year-old fox spirit in human skin. Most painful for old Chu loyalists were claims that Empress Jiang Shi was a mere orphan propped up by Cao Changqing to fulfill his ambition as imperial tutor.
Three men, all surnamed Song—three generations: Song Wenfeng, Song Qingshan, Song Maolin—approached the pavilion under the lead of the Chief Eunuch.
Song Wenfeng, of the same generation as Grand Tutor Sun Xiji and former State Preceptor Li Mi, now headed the Secretariat. Song Qingshan, Minister of Rites, and his son were literary leaders, akin to the famed Song scholars of Liyang. Song Maolin, the youngest, was renowned as the “Southern Song” to Xu Fengnian’s “Northern Xu,” his fame spreading like wildfire. Last year, courtiers had even proposed a marriage between him and the empress, a notion Grand Tutor Sun Xiji eventually supported, urging Cao Changqing’s approval.
As the eunuch prepared to announce them, Song Wenfeng waved him off, signaling his son and grandson to wait below. Alone, he ascended the steps, standing unceremoniously in the willow-lined pavilion—not out of disrespect, but because he knew kneeling merchants earned no profit, a lesson learned twenty years late.
“Your Majesty,” he began softly, “I have words that may be hard to hear.”
The stunningly beautiful young woman remained indifferent.
Song Wenfeng admitted privately that her beauty alone justified his grandson’s infatuation. Even he, long detached from worldly desires, felt a pang of regret for being born fifty years too early.
Clearing his throat, he pressed on, “Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness, but the tide has turned against Great Chu. For the Jiang dynasty to endure, we must seek external aid…”
When she turned her gaze from the coins to meet his eyes, Song Wenfeng faltered.
Gritting his teeth, he confessed, “Many officials have betrayed us, leaking military secrets to Liyang’s Minister of War Wu Zhongxuan and Southern Campaign Commander Lu Shengxiang. In these dire times, I am willing to be the villain who saves our land…”
Calmly, she interrupted, “Are you saying your family is more loyal? That while others lean toward Liyang, you’ve chosen the King of Yanchi, Zhao Bing?”
Song Wenfeng flushed, stunned she knew such secrets.
She continued evenly, “I know not only of your choice but also that Minister of Personnel Zhao has secretly contacted Lu Shengxiang, while Ministers of Works Liu and Rites Ma have sided with Wu Zhongxuan.”
Cornered, Song Wenfeng dropped pretense, straightening with a smirk. “If Your Majesty agrees to my terms—”
“Leave,” she cut in, waving dismissively.
Song Wenfeng stood his ground, sneering, “Do you still think this is last year’s Western Chu? Where are Kou Jianghuai and Cao Changqing?! Compromise now, and the King of Yanchi promises you ten more years as empress before abdicating gracefully to him or his son.”
She stared at the coins. “Live as you will. But if you think Cao Changqing and Lü Dantian’s absence grants you free rein to pressure me…”
Song Wenfeng chuckled darkly. “Who would dare? The world knows Your Majesty is a sword immortal.”
Suddenly, she winced, paling.
The Chief Eunuch trembled, head bowed.
Song Wenfeng exhaled triumphantly, stepping to the water’s edge. “Grand Tutor Sun is likely dead by now, and Your Majesty’s energy is fading. Were it not for lingering respect for the late emperor, I could make this palace mine today.”
Smugly, he added, “Though who rules Western Chu—or the world—matters little. The Song family will endure, whoever sits on the throne.”
Her expression steadied. She barely glanced up, focusing on the coins, her lips quirking slightly, nose twitching.
She wasn’t afraid or worried.
Just a little hurt.
*Hey.*
*Whether I see you is one thing.*
*But whether you come is another.*
*So.*
*Where are you?*
—
At the gates of the Western Chu capital, a sudden breeze swept through all twelve entrances.
When the figure halted abruptly outside the imperial gate, sleeves still fluttering, the armored guards gaped.
An impossibly handsome young man, sleeves tucked, twin swords at his waist, cupped his hands to his mouth and called out—a simple “Hey.”
As if announcing to someone—or perhaps the entire city, the entire kingdom:
*I’m here.*
*Right here.*
*From the northwest to the southeast.*
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage