As Xu Fengnian advanced towards the palace gate with his spear in hand, the breath of the armored guards at the foot of the steps quickened noticeably. Fortunately, the mistress of Longwang Palace, Queen Yu Rou Rou, did not allow them to face certain death. With a soft, alluring smile, she said, “Since the King of Beiliang wishes to enter the palace, this humble servant shall make way for him.”
More than a dozen loyal retainers, including Mao Bishan, carefully guarded the Queen and willingly cleared a path for Xu Fengnian. He ascended the steps and strode across the threshold. As he did, Yu Rou Rou gazed at his retreating figure and smiled sweetly. The palace courtyard was paved with massive dark stones, and along the base of the walls were two rows of short peach trees. The variety was unknown to most, but their blossoms arrived far earlier than those in Jiangnan. Though the trees were small, their flowers were large, not the usual pink seen in the Central Plains, but streaked with golden and purple hues, contrasting vividly against the dark stonework. Scattered along the branches were many sword scabbards. When Xu Fengnian entered the courtyard, the “sovereign of Qingcang,” the Queen, sat upon the threshold, leaning against a pillar, her long gown trailing along the ground. With a sidelong glance, she smiled at this brash young King of Liang.
Mao Bishan and Gu Feiqing exchanged glances. They were both surprised by the Queen’s demeanor, for they did not believe that Longwang Palace had so easily submitted to Beiliang. Although both were esteemed guests within the palace, they were rarely privy to secret matters, which they considered perfectly natural. After all, when a household hires a dog, it is to guard the home, not to meddle in family affairs.
Xu Fengnian stepped onto a massive stone at the center of the courtyard and tapped the ground with the butt of his iron spear. The sound rang out like a chime. From the “Golden Hall” emerged only one tall old man clad in sheepskin and a wolf-hatted cloak. Xu Fengnian still had not seen the figure of Cai Junchen. Looking up at the empty-handed elder, Xu said, “Tang Hua Hall—one of the top spies of Zhaogou from the Liyang dynasty, skilled in Qi cultivation and sword arrays. I heard that Ruan Shandong died by your hand.”
The elder, whose identity had been revealed, gazed at Xu Fengnian and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Ruan Shandong was merely a spy planted by Li Yishan of Beiliang in Qingcang. His death was well deserved.”
A cluster of blooming peach blossoms suddenly shook violently, and a disheveled, burly man tumbled from the tree. Sitting heavily on the ground, he scratched his head with a scabbard that had fallen with him. In a rough, half-practiced dialect of the wandering folk, he grumbled, “Tang Hua Hall, what’s all the yapping for? I hate it when people chatter like old lovers before a fight. If you’re going to fight, just get on with it.”
Xu Fengnian glanced at the middle-aged man and furrowed his brows. It wasn’t hard for this man to recognize Xu Fengnian, but the intelligence reports from Beiliang had never managed to confirm his identity. Yet Xu guessed who he was, and that realization made him feel uneasy. During his journey to Beiman, Toba Chunsun had given him a hard time, but the one who left the deepest impression was not Toba Bodhisattva’s son, but a nobleman named Zhong Tan. At that time, a woman from the Princess Tomb had disguised herself as his personal servant and Xu had experienced her powerful calligraphic hand techniques. Zhong Tan’s father was Zhong Shentong, one of the twelve great generals of Beiman, and his uncle was Zhong Liang, ranked among the top ten martial cultivators of Beiman, second only to Luoyang in actual strength. Zhong Shentong would not abandon his position as a general to meddle in the small affairs of Qingcang, so it could only be Zhong Liang, whose ranking among the martial cultivators of Beiman fluctuated depending on his mood. Zhong Liang was a notorious figure in Beiman—wild and unrestrained. He could easily defeat the top-ranked martial cultivators among the ten great villains, yet he would also casually lose to weaker opponents. This Zhong Liang bore a strong resemblance to Zhong Gui, the nephew Xu Fengnian had killed, but even more so to his older nephew Zhong Tan. Luoyang herself had once said that among the nine villains behind her, only Zhong Liang was worthy of her attention.
Xu Fengnian turned around and looked at the bearded, burly man, smiling slightly. “Zhong Liang?”
The man uttered a surprised “Hmm,” but did not deny it. “How do you know me?”
He slapped his head, suddenly understanding. “So Zhong Gui was actually killed by you on your last trip to Beiman? No wonder I felt something was off about that woman who hadn’t even officially become his bride.”
As the two exchanged words that no one else could understand, Tang Hua Hall, the old guardian of Qingcang and a senior spy of Zhaogou from Liyang, silently squatted down and placed one hand on the ground. Xu Fengnian, however, fell into deep thought and paid no heed to Tang’s movements.
When the refugee lands were first taking shape, the region was a chaotic battleground where various factions rose and fell. These factions were primarily formed around the old noble families of Beiliang, quickly forming competing regimes. Then came a brutal internal struggle, during which powerful martial cultivators like Ruan Shandong, the former ruler of Qingcang, rose to prominence. These were ruthless warriors who swallowed smaller factions whole, consolidating power until the region stabilized. However, they soon hit an invisible barrier, unable to expand their influence further. Many saw these martial cultivators as formidable in combat but lacking in strategy, and thus more cunning individuals, better suited to governance, emerged. Cai Junchen was one such figure. In terms of martial prowess, Mao Bishan and Gu Feiqing could easily kill dozens like Cai Junchen, yet in the end, it was they who found themselves in subservient positions. However, there were some refugee leaders who possessed both martial skill and political cunning. In fact, Ruan Shandong was not as lacking in strategy as the outside world believed. But Qingcang was caught between the Southern Court to the north, Beiliang to the east, and several hostile forces to the west, making survival especially difficult. Just looking at the current three guardians of Longwang Palace—two of whom were a senior Zhaogou agent and a Beiman martial cultivator—revealed how complex and unpredictable the situation in Qingcang truly was.
Xu Fengnian understood clearly that his master Li Yishan had orchestrated the formation of the ten-thousand-strong refugee settlements, treating them like a small world within a larger one. For years, Li had watched their struggles unfold, observing the petty squabbles of the common folk like a spectator watching ants fight in a nest. From the top floor of Tingchao Pavilion, Li had seen everything. He had even written a book called *Zhiqiu Lu*, detailing the rise and fall of individuals and factions, so that Xu Fengnian, a scholar, could learn to “see the autumn in one leaf,” to understand the big picture from small details. Among the strategists of the Spring and Autumn period, Li Yishan was often considered inferior to figures like Nalan Youci and Zhao Changling due to his ruthless methods, earning him the nickname “Poisonous Scholar.” Many of Beiliang’s old generals even blamed Li for the late general’s decision not to declare himself emperor and rule from the south of the river after Zhao Changling’s death. As for the truth, perhaps only a few like Huang Longshi, Yuan Benxi, and Nalan Youci could truly judge Li Yishan’s legacy.
Xu Fengnian mused that after the Spring and Autumn period, Huang Longshan—who had remained elusive—had turned his attention to the Western Chu, Yuan Benxi, with the advantage of time, location, and people, had begun planning for the two Liaos, Nalan Youci, free from worries in the south, had dealt with the southern tribes, while Li Yishan, surrounded on all sides, had been “raising” ten thousand refugees. The question of who among the four was the superior strategist would likely take many more years to resolve.
This was truly a battle of immortals!
Zhong Liang interrupted Xu Fengnian’s thoughts. “Xu, watch yourself. Tang is useless in close combat, but if you get within ten zhang of him and he uses his sword-art ‘Rain of Flowers,’ even I would find it difficult to handle, let alone a Sky-Pointing expert.”
Zhong Liang chuckled. “I’m telling you this only because I’d hate for you to die too soon. I wouldn’t have the face to bring your head back to the Empress for a reward.”
Back in the reed fields outside Xiangfan City, the Daoist Wei Shouyang of the Nine-Dou Rice Sect had once used a Daoist sword formation to defeat the Red Armor of the Symbol General. This unique technique, which took a different path, was even praised by Master Lü as a delightful novelty created by a determined practitioner, and thus should not be underestimated.
Xu Fengnian exhaled lightly and prepared himself, waiting for what was to come.
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