On the post road appeared a peculiar group of travelers. Eight men carried a strange piece of furniture that resembled neither a bed nor a couch, similar to the eight-bar palanquin favored by the imperial relatives of the old Southern Tang dynasty. Over it was a wide silk canopy, and within the silk curtains, barely visible at shoulder height, sat a graceful woman whose alluring figure was enough to captivate any man with just a glance. Ahead of the palanquin walked a refined ceremonial official dressed in green, holding a white ivory tablet, with a golden fish-shaped pouch tied at his waist—a style from the old Southern Tang uniform. He appeared to walk slowly, yet his steps were surprisingly swift. The eight bearers of the palanquin were unusually tall and strong, running swiftly even in the bitter cold of winter, bare-chested and bare-backed, contrasting sharply with the young, delicate official in green, making the procession even more eye-catching.
Beside the palanquin walked a middle-aged swordsman wearing a black silk headpiece with curled footrests, his thick beard nearly long enough to hang a small bow. To be so ostentatious on an imperial post road meant they were likely high-ranking officials or noble families. If they were martial artists, then they were truly formidable. In today’s chaotic martial world, where heroes carve out their own domains, things are not like the Spring and Autumn Periods, when martial artists would brazenly defy authority, and a commoner’s rage could spill the blood of nobles within three feet. Even the top martial sect in the empire, Longhu Mountain, which shares the same surname with the emperor, dares not act too arrogantly despite having Taoist sages in the wild and court ministers in the capital, with northern and southern branches supporting each other.
This procession was so unconventional that many travelers on the post road turned to watch, including a pair of young martial artists who had recently met and joined forces. Each rode a horse, and the older one, riding a poor steed, pulled his horse aside at the roadside to make way. With a look of envy, he whispered to his companion, “Look at them! They must be martial heroes heading to Kuaisnow Villa for the martial arts summit. If I’m not mistaken, they must be the Dragon Palace, the most prestigious sect in the old Southern Tang. Only they would dare to display such an extravagant and improper procession. After all, the Palace Master of Dragon Palace is the wet nurse to the young concubine-born son of Prince Yan Chi, who is one of the most powerful feudal lords in the empire. Not only local officials, but even the military commanders holding imperial tiger talismans in the Southern Tang provinces would not dare to say much when they see them. I heard the Dragon Palace has produced a remarkably gifted woman in this generation. Heh, if she ever took a fancy to me, my life as Huang Quan would be worth it. It wouldn’t even have to be her—any of the fairies in Dragon Palace would do.”
Huang Quan’s companion was a young man with prematurely white hair, a nobody in the martial world. Huang Quan was poor and stingy, having failed to find any profitable ventures this year, living a destitute and pitiful life. Earlier, in a small town, he had met this young man drinking alone and shamelessly joined him for a drink. They hit it off, and the young man, who introduced himself as Xu Qi, might have been a fledgling martial artist. Upon hearing of the martial summit at Kuaisnow Villa, he earnestly begged the senior Huang Quan to take him along. Since then, Huang Quan had no worries about food and drink, and even stayed in luxurious inns several times, all thanks to Xu Qi’s generous purse. Huang Quan began to view him differently, or more accurately, to view his wallet with newfound respect. Deep down, he regarded this generous young man as a fool to be taken advantage of. Huang Quan was happy to play the seasoned martial elder, spouting all sorts of rumors and tales he had heard.
Seeing Xu Qi’s blank expression at the mention of Dragon Palace and Prince Yan Chi, Huang Quan was even more convinced that this young man was a naive newcomer to the martial world. He took out a wine pouch, bought with Xu Qi’s money, and took a big swig, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve and laughed, “You’ve never even heard of Dragon Palace? Then I, your senior brother, will have to give you a proper lesson. In our Liyang martial world, besides the great sects like Longhu Mountain, Wajia Sword Tombs, and Liuchansi Temple, which are free to come and go as they please, the real top-tier martial sects are Dongyue Sword Pool, the Xuan Yuan family’s Gutniu Gang, Yan Fortress on the border of Ji Province, and Chuntie Caotang in Xishu. Then come the Dragon Palace and a few others, and Kuaisnow Villa is certainly among them. As for third-rate sects and factions, they are usually dominant forces within a single province. Though called third-rate, they shouldn’t be underestimated, as they often have one or two minor masters to serve as stabilizing pillars. As for the fourth-rate and lowest-rate sects, there’s no need to talk about them. Back then, I was favored by a high-ranking member of Chengxin Tower, who saw my excellent martial potential and was about to make me a direct disciple. But that opportunity was snatched away by some spoiled brat who only wanted to learn martial arts for show. That good-for-nothing never practiced seriously, only harassing the female disciples and rarely showing his face at the sect. Truly despicable!”
The young, inexperienced companion beside him looked genuinely indignant, as if ready to stand up for Huang Quan’s injustice. This secretly amused Huang Quan, who wore a heavy frown. What he said was true—Chengxin Tower was indeed a well-known martial sect, but the person he described wasn’t himself. He had only heard this story from others during idle chats in the city. The young man whose place was stolen had a tragic fate—merely speaking a few angry words, he was beaten to a pulp by the spoiled brat’s henchmen the same day, his limbs broken, and left by the roadside like a dead dog in the bitter cold.
Xu Qi, or rather, Xu Fengnian, looked ahead. The eight-bar palanquin had already passed like a fleeting bird over snow. After leaving Shangyin Academy, Xu Fengnian did not travel with Master Wang, but Yuan Zuozong was watching over him openly, and Chu Luxian secretly. There shouldn’t be any mishaps. If nothing went wrong, this might be the last time he had the leisure to wander the martial world. Xu Fengnian wanted to return alone to Beiliang, not even bringing his loyal follower Wu. This parting left the young man feeling melancholy.
According to Huang Quan, the martial world was finally stirring from its stagnation. This was because the top-tier sect Dongyue Sword Pool, with its lofty status, had taken the lead, with Chuntie Caotang in Xishu following suit. Kuaisnow Villa was hosting a summit to elect a new leader for the martial world, a position that had been vacant for decades. The resurgence of the Demon Sect, with its disciples emerging from hiding, and the mad monk traveling eastward, had already begun to ripple across the martial world.
Xu Fengnian paid no attention to these surface-level ripples. He wondered whether Dongyue Sword Pool and Chuntie Caotang had received secret orders from the imperial court, attempting to emulate the Northern Wei by consolidating martial forces. Dongyue Sword Pool had long been the emperor’s cudgel, striking down any who dared defy the court. Chuntie Caotang had been secretly aligning with Chen Zhibao since his arrival in Shu, their mutual interest obvious. Now that Chen Zhibao was the Minister of War, and likely to be enfeoffed as a king in two years, their restlessness was understandable.
As Xu Fengnian drifted in thought, the Dragon Palace ceremonial official with the ivory tablet suddenly turned and approached him. Her steps were light and silent, leaving no trace on the ground—something that would make ordinary martial artists wary. In the martial world, old monks, old Taoists, and old nuns were best avoided, as were beautiful women like this one. Any woman who dared to travel alone in the martial world must have some unusual martial skills.
The graceful woman bowed with both hands holding the ivory tablet, not performing the traditional woman’s bow but a formal courtier’s salute. She lifted her head slightly, her eyes shimmering like autumn waters, and spoke in a melodious voice, “My lady invites the young master to join her in the palanquin.”
Huang Quan’s mouth fell open in shock, jealousy rising in his heart, darkening his mood. For a martial artist without noble background to marry into a powerful sect and gain access to countless secret manuals was considered a great fortune. Zhao Hongdan’s marriage into Caishiji was a classic example—like a rootless drifting plant planted in fertile soil, his sword cultivation had soared.
Xu Fengnian did not hesitate. He dismounted and led his horse forward. Huang Quan, hoping to follow like a hanger-on, took a step forward, but the green-clad official blocked his way with a shake of her head. Huang Quan, barely off his horse, wanted to dig a hole and hide. Fortunately, Xu Qi did not turn back, and the green-clad beauty showed no mockery as she turned to lead the way.
The eight-bar palanquin stood quietly by the roadside. The green-clad official knelt beside it, extended her hand, and gestured for Xu Fengnian to step onto her palm to enter the canopy. Xu Fengnian smiled and shook his head, handing her the reins instead and asking, “Will my soles dirty your lady’s palanquin?”
The beautiful official, holding the reins and the ivory tablet, smiled gently. “No matter. Once the young master enters, I shall help you remove your boots.”
The bearded swordsman frowned, hand on his sword, watching Xu Fengnian warily.
Xu Fengnian bowed toward the silk canopy. “Xu Qi humbly greets the fairy.”
Then, with a flick of his foot, he entered the canopy. The woman inside was of average appearance, around thirty years old, with a dignified face. Even kneeling on her knees, her long legs and the round curve of her hips were visible. Only an experienced connoisseur would appreciate such subtle beauty. Seeing Xu Fengnian enter, she offered a quiet smile and calmly added a piece of incense to a thick, jade-like celadon censer beside her. Xu Fengnian did not wait for the official to remove his boots but took them off himself. The official had already put away the ivory tablet, handed the horse to the bearded swordsman, and accepted the stranger’s boots without any sign of discomfort on her pretty face.
The censer emitted a gentle fragrance, used to scent clothes and ward off impurities. Xu Fengnian unhooked the curtain and sat cross-legged opposite the Dragon Palace fairy. She remained silent. Xu Fengnian’s eyes caught sight of the ancient censer, but what intrigued him was the sword paintings on its surface. Under the drifting incense smoke, the painted swords seemed to move like reflections on water, like a vivid scroll of swordsmen in motion. This censer was, in essence, a supreme sword manual. Xu Fengnian smiled knowingly—Dragon Palace was indeed said to possess the finest treasures in the land, once a major drain on the old Southern Tang’s resources. It was no exaggeration.
The woman, whose marital status was unknown, smiled and asked, “Does the young master practice swordsmanship?”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “I’ve dabbled. May I ask why the fairy invited me here?”
She gazed at him and said calmly, “Do you know the prophecy left by Dragon Palace’s founding ancestor?”
Xu Fengnian laughed. “I’m afraid I’m too ignorant to know.”
She was not offended and continued, “It is said, ‘Painting the skin is easier than the bones; knowing the face does not mean knowing the heart.’ Our sect has always been known for drawing tigers and dragons and for discerning the true nature of people.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “A fortune teller once said I’d either become a great swordsman or be killed by one. I suppose my roots must be good. If you could see that from afar, then you truly are a fairy!”
The woman, clearly unaccustomed to such crude speech, was at a loss for words. Silence fell, broken only by the drifting incense smoke.
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