The grand military review in Beiliang this time was perhaps the briefest and most succinct in the past twenty years since the Xu family took control of Beiliang. Yet, it was also the most spectacular gathering of generals and talents. The veteran warriors in the Martial Arts Tower almost wept with emotion, for they understood better than anyone how difficult it was to unite the morale of an army. Morale, like a soul, once lost, could never be reclaimed. Liu Yuanji, for example, cursed the heir prince bitterly, but his anger stemmed from concern—worried that the foundation they had built with blood and sweat would be squandered by a wastrel before the Zhao family of Liyang could even destroy it. Others, with more pragmatic concerns, like Han Tuizhi, feared that the new king would fail to earn respect, not even feigned admiration. Would they then have to relocate their entire families to the Central Plains, where enemies lurked everywhere, only to be targeted by the Zhao family one by one? Would they be rewarded with scraps when the emperor was pleased, or have their heads cut off to appease the public when he was not? Thus, when the heir prince, clad in his unique jade-white dragon robe, leapt his horse across the icy river and shouted “Draw swords!” atop the martial stage, the ten thousand armored soldiers of Beiliang drew their blades in unison. At that moment, everyone understood clearly—Xu Fengnian would be the rightful King of Beiliang. And so, the elders found peace of mind. Some even began to wonder: if the Great General could not lead a northern campaign to crush Beiman, could this young king accomplish it? With such a long-cherished hope, they no longer wished to die so easily, nor could they bear to watch their descendants squander their legacy. Many of these elders were not truly senile or blind to their descendants’ misdeeds, like Liu Yuanji, but they simply did not trust that the Xu family’s legacy would endure. If they could grab a little of the Xu family’s wealth for themselves, what harm could it do? But from now on, they would have to plan anew.
The Martial Arts Tower experienced no major turbulence, after all, it was filled with old veterans used to the chaos of war. But the foreign scholars in the Literary Tower were truly on edge. They had only heard of the unmatched might of Beiliang’s cavalry, but had never truly seen it. Those from the Yanki and Guangling regions, who had witnessed the military prowess of their local princes, remained skeptical that Beiliang’s forces could truly surpass others. Yet, when they beheld the endless sea of black-armored soldiers standing in formation, even from atop the tower, the chilling aura was suffocating. Especially when ten thousand blades were drawn in unison, it felt as if even the wind and snow had frozen in place. Half the people in the tower shuddered involuntarily. Earlier, someone had named each general standing on the martial stage, each name echoing like thunder. When those ten stood shoulder to shoulder, wielding their blades, it dispelled all doubts about Beiliang’s supposed lack of capable generals. The silent authority on the stage made the Literary Tower scholars question themselves: could Gu Jiantang, even after resigning as Minister of War, truly defeat Beiliang’s cavalry? Could the Yanki King, second only to Xu Xiao among the feudal lords, really stand against them? Even if that dragon-robed man could never reach his father’s legendary heights, as long as he commanded thirty thousand elite soldiers, who could possibly dare to provoke him? Yu Luandao, however, had no such tangled thoughts. He only saw that unique dragon robe, saw him leap across the icy river and throw his spear, saw his slow, deliberate steps as he ascended the stage. As his fingers traced the hilt of his famous sword, “Da Luan,” Yu Luandao suddenly felt there was no need to ask any more questions.
An hour after the parade, all swords were sheathed. The dragon-robed man vanished, and the Martial Arts Tower was greeted by the Great General Yan Wenluan. Yuan Zuozong, though both the adopted son of the Great General and commander of the cavalry, still walked half a step behind Yan Wenluan, only keeping pace with Gu Dazu, the famed general of the Southern Tang. Huangfu Ping, whose experience and reputation were lacking, trailed behind, appearing rather isolated. He did not exchange a single word or glance with the old General of Youzhou, “Brocade Partridge” Zhou Kang, who stood nearby. However, since Huangfu Ping had already secured a place on the martial stage, no one dared to openly challenge him. As for the underhanded schemes and secret rivalries, those would certainly not be lacking. The key was whether Huangfu Ping could successfully seize control of Youzhou’s military forces.
In the Literary Tower, the Northern Guardian of Beiliang, Chu Lushan, ascended the tower. When the foreign scholars saw Chu the Fat dismounting outside, they were nearly frightened to death. They noticed even Li Degong, a second-rank official of the highest rank, wore a forced smile when greeting this man, a demon who devoured people without leaving a trace. Only Master Wang Da in the Literary Tower remained composed, while Huang Chang, a scholar from Liyang known for his integrity, simply turned away in disgust. As Chu Lushan, clad in heavy armor, climbed the stairs, the new tower creaked loudly, making people fear whether the steps could bear his weight. Fortunately, when this mountainous man reached the fifth floor, he decided not to waste more energy climbing further. He exchanged nods with Hu Kui descending the stairs and cast a glance at Yu Luandao beside the Governor of Liangzhou before turning back. When Chu Lushan finally mounted his horse and departed, the scholars exhaled in relief. If the heir prince’s infamy was limited to his antics within Beiliang, Chu Lushan’s reputation was truly horrifying—cutting off breasts, flaying skin, cracking open skulls to pour wine. How could such a man escape divine punishment? Yet this fat pig still smiled happily, having become the most powerful official in Beiliang. Truly, only a calamity could last a thousand years!
On his way back, Chu Lushan summoned the scout officers Li Hanlin and Lu Dou. One was the heir prince’s childhood friend, the other benefiting from his family’s impending marriage alliance with the Lu family of Qingzhou. Neither could be considered ordinary Beiliang soldiers.
Chu Lushan dismissed his dozen or so loyal retainers and rode with Li and Lu to the icy riverbank, where the ice had already cracked. Chu tugged at his cotton collar beneath the armor, gazing at the river for a long time without speaking. Li, the son of a noble family who treated Qingliang Mountain as his home, had interacted with Chu many times. But since becoming a scout who often faced death against Beiman riders, he now regarded the man with more fear and respect, unable to joke with him as freely as before. Not that he didn’t want to, but he simply dared not. Only those who had tasted the fires of war, who had faced life-and-death battles against hundreds of enemies, could truly understand the ferocity of this three-hundred-jin fat man who had single-handedly conquered a kingdom. In the Beiliang army, it was universally acknowledged that in battles involving fewer than ten thousand troops, no matter how dire or brutal the situation, Chen Zhibao could achieve the greatest victories, Yuan Zuozong could minimize losses, but this fat man, whose literary talents were overshadowed by his terrifying reputation, could end a battle the fastest. In the Battle of Bashi River against the Northern Han, Chu Lushan annihilated three thousand elite troops of the Northern Han in just half an hour, at the cost of one thousand eight hundred of his own two thousand soldiers. Such bloody battles were countless in Chu Lushan’s career. It was said that when he trained new recruits, he would always say, “Congratulations, lads. Either you die tomorrow, or you become a commander and enjoy life elsewhere the day after.”
After some thought, Chu Lushan finally spoke, “Some things are better left for the King of Beiliang to tell you himself.”
Li Hanlin, who had been tricked into the Southern Court and nearly kidnapped to Jizhou, squatted down, holding his helmet in his arms, grinning, “Before the review, my old man was cornered into mumbling, and I’m not stupid—I already guessed most of it.”
Li Hanlin continued with a grin, “As for those words of yours, I don’t want to hear them. Don’t think that just because you’re the King of Beiliang, you’re no longer the good-for-nothing Li Hanlin’s brother. No such luck. Anyway, in this life, I’ve decided to follow you for food and drink. If I somehow make a name for myself, don’t you dare not give me a grand official’s hat, or I’ll throw a tantrum and roll on the floor!”
Chu Lushan stretched out a hand and ruffled Li Hanlin’s hair, laughing, “Being a scout is a good thing, but don’t die, or the Prince will take it out on me, his Northern Guardian. Hanlin, we’re brothers, so let me speak plainly: if you dare to die before your old man, I’ll take it out on him!”
Li Hanlin stood up, spat several times, and rolled his eyes, “Guardian, don’t talk bad luck just because you’re the big shot!”
Chu Lushan waved his big hand and laughed, “You little brat, scram!”
Li Hanlin ran off without ceremony, while Lu Dou, born with the rare mark of double pupils, remembered to bow and take his leave.
Chu Lushan glanced eastward. To the east lay Taian City, the finest city under heaven. He sneered, “What a big piece of meat!”
As he walked toward his horse, Chu Lushan let out a cackling laugh, “Eating meat—I love it most!”
In the snowy winds of the borderlands, two carriages finally met.
The coachmen were the young new King of Beiliang and the Beiman military god, Tuoba Pusa.
The passengers inside—needless to say—were figures of supreme status.
The Empress of Beiman, Murong, and the former King of Beiliang, Xu Xiao.
The two carriages halted simultaneously. Xu Xiao did not even bring Xu Yanbing, the undisputed greatest martial artist of Beiliang, only his eldest son dressed in plain clothes. In the end, it was just two carriages, two men against two others.
Xu Xiao bent down to lift the curtain and jumped out of the carriage. The old woman inside the other carriage simultaneously stepped down. Xu Xiao cast a sidelong glance at the second-ranked martial artist in the world, then turned to the “late-arriving” old woman, smirking, “Murong, back then you were so pitiful, crying and begging me for bread. Now look at you—making Tuoba Pusa your coachman! Look at me, I only brought my own son. Can’t compare to your grandeur.”
The old woman wore an old fur coat, no hat, letting the snowflakes settle on her aged face. Hearing Xu Xiao’s mockery, she did not retort, smiling gently. Such a sight would have made anyone in the vast Beiman empire stare in disbelief.
Xu Xiao snorted, “Spit it out quickly! I don’t have time to freeze to death with you.”
The old woman reached up to brush the snow from her white hair, smiling, “Old cripple, how many times have I told you—my surname is Murong, not Murong.”
Xu Xiao snapped, “How the hell should I know someone’s surname can have two characters! Didn’t know before, won’t know in the future.”
The old woman was not angered. She stepped closer, speaking softly, “In the Central Plains’ Spring and Autumn Period, there were ten great clans, two of whom had double-character surnames. If I recall correctly, weren’t they both destroyed by you, Xu Xiao? Did you eat them all? Xu Xiao, you’re getting old. At least you were never handsome to begin with—when you were young, you were ugly, and now you’re even worse.”
Xu Xiao chuckled, “What do I care about beauty compared to a woman? Besides, do you think you looked good back in Liaodong? Compared to my wife, you’re ten thousand miles behind! That old pervert in Beiman must have had his eyes clouded with lard to even look at you!”
The old woman still did not get angry. She smiled gently, “Whether I was beautiful or not is a matter of taste. I wasn’t truly ugly. Besides, even if a woman’s beauty fades with age, she can still wear a hairpin like a dragonfly. But who still believes in youth in this world? Xu Xiao, don’t you agree?”
Xu Xiao stuffed his hands into his sleeves, shivering slightly, mocking, “So sentimental. Ugh, so nauseating.”
The old woman lowered her hands from her forehead, spread them before her, looked down briefly, then gazed at the age spots on Xu Xiao’s face, speaking calmly, “We’re both old now. I’m ugly, you’re hunched. No need to fight over who’s better. I’ve always been too obsessed with winning, and I lost to myself—that’s not good. You’re too sentimental, not good either. Even though you’ve reached the peak of power, you still live unhappily. Otherwise, if you had bowed to me and come to Beiman, you wouldn’t have to endure anyone’s scorn. You know, even I wouldn’t dare to look down on you.”
Xu Xiao turned his head and spat hard into the snow.
The Beiman Empress smiled, saying, “Nothing major to discuss. Back in Liaodong, we said everything we needed to say. This trip south was just to see the living Xu Xiao before you die. Just one small thing—I’ve decided that after your death, I’ll cripple Beiliang first, then march south, and finally burn down Taian City as incense for your grave.”
A small matter to be discussed in casual conversation?
Even Huang Longshan and the Emperor of the Zhao family, along with Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang, would find it utterly absurd!
Xu Xiao narrowed his eyes, sneering, “Then Beiliang will be waiting for you. Just don’t end up with your own troops being slaughtered like melons by Beiliang’s cavalry, all the way to your own doorstep.”
The old woman laughed softly, one hand on her stomach, gazing at the falling snow, “When we parted in Liaodong, this fur coat you bought for twenty taels of silver. I turned back twice, only seeing your back. ‘Three strikes and you’re out,’ so I refused to look back a third time. Sometimes I wonder—what if I had turned once more, would I have seen you making a face behind my back?”
Xu Xiao turned and walked away without a word, saying only, “No.”
One carriage turned and departed first, heading south, vanishing into the heavy snow of the north.
The old woman stood still, silent. As the coachman was about to speak, the Beiman Empress suddenly roared, “Shut up!”
She covered her face with both hands, hiding her expression.
The wind howled like a weeping woman.
She lowered her hands, gently brushed the frost from her temples, and whispered with a faint smile, “The face is gone, but the peach blossoms still smile in spring breeze. Laughing like a stray dog.”
In the southern carriage, Xu Fengnian slowly guided the horse, idly stuffing a handful of snow into his mouth. Behind him, Xu Xiao asked for some, but Xu Fengnian ignored him.
Xu Xiao rubbed his cheeks, smiling, “Bringing my son to meet an old woman who’s been pining for me—doesn’t seem quite right.”
Xu Fengnian said nothing.
Xu Xiao reached out, gently placing his hand on Xu Fengnian’s shoulder, still silent.
After a long while, Xu Fengnian spoke firmly, “I can carry it.”
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