Upon hearing Xu Fengnian’s bold words, the woman resembled a fox spirit emerging from an ancient temple deep in the mountains. With delicate grace, she pushed aside the handsome youth in her arms, who bore the delicate features of a maiden, and clutched her chest in mock sorrow. Her eyes, brimming with feigned longing, gazed at him as she coquettishly murmured, “My dear, I wouldn’t mind you becoming the Sect Leader, but alas, I am but a humble woman, my words carrying little weight.”
Xu Fengnian, a masterful rider, halted his steed without even lifting his whip, as if the horse understood his thoughts. With a mocking smile, he asked, “Your cult once ruled the martial world for a century, until Qi Xuanzhen alone brought you to ruin. These past few decades, you’ve been like stray dogs—rumor has it even second-rate sects now dare to defecate on your heads. What benefit is there in becoming a title that holds no real power? Surely you don’t expect me to pay for your food and lodging? Look at you—your dear auntie here can’t even afford a decent coat, and that poor fellow with the copper ball has nothing but air beneath his shirt. And that man behind with the parrot on his shoulder—what a cheap breed! A mere few hundred taels for a Spring Announcer. If it were me, I’d only settle for the rare Xifei, worth a fortune and fit for a true martial artist.”
Hu Chunya rolled her eyes, muttering angrily, “This guy really doesn’t know when to shut up. A walking omen of doom! If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have run into these devils.”
The fox-eyed woman, addressed as “auntie,” smiled sweetly and cooed, “But dear, if your poor old auntie can’t afford warm clothes, isn’t that what you’re here for? We could always find a warm quilt, lie together, and share more than just body heat.”
Blushing furiously, Hu Chunya spat in disgust, “Shameless hussy!” The fair youth in the woman’s arms seemed to brim with jealousy, but before he could speak, the plump woman subtly reached out and dug her nails into his cheek. He winced in pain and fell silent. The woman turned her alluring gaze back to Xu Fengnian, her eyes brimming with desire, but the moment she glanced at Hu Chunya, her expression turned icy, filled with murderous intent. She raised her sleeve to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and from her sleeve fluttered a beautiful butterfly.
Delighted, Hu Chunya reached out instinctively to catch the charming creature. But before she could, Zhou Qinhu swiftly drew his Azure Rainbow Sword and sliced the butterfly in two. Yet, instead of dying, the butterfly split into two, both flapping their wings and flying toward her. Only then did Hu Chunya realize the danger. She hastily reined her horse back. Zhou Qinhu, now serious, changed his strike into a slap, and his sword struck the butterflies with a loud thud. The creatures were not destroyed but instead rebounded several zhang away, turning gracefully to face them again.
The woman laughed heartily, her bosom swaying like a fox spirit in heat. She called out, “Dear girl with your sword, no ordinary blade can slay my beloved Xiao Xiaodie. Unless you wield a talisman sword from the Daoist sect, you’re wasting your strength. A proper girl like you—why train with a sword? Don’t you know that men carry swords at their waists? That’s the real sword worth having. Alas, I suppose you’ve never tasted its power. Once you do, you’ll be begging for mercy, crying out for release, and surrendering your heart willingly.”
Turning to Xu Fengnian, she asked, “Don’t you agree, my dear?”
The leading rider replied calmly, “Enough.”
The butterfly-playing woman immediately fell silent. The least imposing among the devil sect riders stepped forward. “I am Lu Linggui, the Right Guardian of the so-called Devil Sect. I am here on behalf of our Sect Leader to welcome you.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “So the leaderless Zhulu Mountain has finally found a new master? Zhulu Mountain has long been like a court, with two kings and four dukes, each vying for power. They call themselves the Externalized Devils of Heaven, and you Guardians are nothing but their servants. Seems your sect’s sincerity is lacking.”
Lu Linggui did not anger. “If you join us, you will be made a Marquis immediately. And with great deeds, you may even ascend to King.”
This was news even to the twenty riders behind him, and their gazes toward Xu Fengnian now carried genuine admiration and awe. Even the dozing elder in brocade robes opened his eyes wide. At its peak, the Devil Sect was said to have thirty thousand members, a force rivaling a small nation. Sixty years ago, the martial world was a battlefield between righteous heroes and Zhulu Mountain. Nearly seventy to eighty percent of the martial champions fell to the Devil Sect. Each fallen champion led to another, until the title of Champion became a cursed seat, a poisoned chalice no one truly wanted.
If Cao Changqing’s drunken roar, Li Chungan’s famed cry for his sword, Deng Tai’a’s donkey ride across the land, or Wang Xianzhi’s claim as the Second Strongest stirred the hearts of generations, then Zhulu Mountain’s villains were no less infamous. Each devil had a long list of crimes—feasting on human hearts, practicing dark arts, or wiping out entire clans with a flick of the finger. Especially the successive Sect Leaders and the Six Heavenly Devils, who did not merely seek martial supremacy but also the throne itself. The name Zhulu Mountain came from the ancient saying: When the Central Plains loses its deer, heroes chase it. And that was precisely the ambition of Zhulu Mountain.
Xu Fengnian was momentarily lost in thought. Lu Linggui did not press him. But the man behind him, the copper-ball brute mocked by Xu, had no patience for winter delays. He raised the massive ball over his head and hurled it at the smirking young man.
The ball flew like a mountain crashing down. Yuan Zuozong rode forth, a spear suddenly in his right hand. With a flick of his left, he sent the ball flying. Charging forward with spear in hand, he rode like a storm. Lu Linggui, though annoyed, was not impressed by Yuan’s strength alone. But when Yuan took up the spear and charged, Lu’s expression darkened. The butterfly-playing woman was the first to dodge aside, unwilling to get involved. Lu, curious about the young man’s true strength, hesitated, then also moved aside. The others followed, leaving Yuan and the now weaponless brute to face off alone.
The brute tried to puff himself up with a grin, his arms bulging like coiled dragons. He aimed to wrest the spear barehanded and strike fear into his opponent. But in the next moment, he was airborne.
The spear pierced his body and, with immense force, flung him from his horse, tossing him into the air. With a swift pull, Yuan yanked the spear free, and the muscular brute crashed to the ground, lifeless.
Yuan, still atop his horse, spun leisurely in a full circle within the ring of devilish foes. Not a single one dared to challenge him.
Hu Chunya’s mouth hung open in shock.
Was it really over?
Wasn’t this supposed to be the group that would chase the white-haired boy into the dirt?
Xu Zhan’s eyes gleamed with realization. An old martial saying went: *Three parts Staff, Seven Parts Spear.* Though both were related, the spear was subtle—its thrusts and points were elegant and precise, while the staff was broad, sweeping like a storm. Xu Zhan had studied the staff for years, his father a renowned master. To the untrained eye, Yuan’s strike seemed only fast. But Xu Zhan knew it was the pinnacle described in his father Xu Daqiu’s *Treatise on Techniques*—the ultimate mastery of martial skill. Before reaching that level, martial artists were overwhelmed by countless techniques. But once they broke through, everything became simple. There were no more elaborate sequences or memorized forms. In a true duel, life and death were decided in an instant. The living gained fame, while the dead simply moved on.
Lu Linggui showed no emotion at the fallen brute. He merely said, “No wonder you are hailed as Yuan Bai Xiong, the greatest cavalry general of the Spring and Autumn Period.”
Yuan Zuozong slowly withdrew, dragging his spear behind him, his grace unmatched.
Even the stubborn Hu Chunya found herself entranced. What a sight! And yet, she couldn’t help but grumble inwardly—such a mighty hero serving a man who only knew how to talk big.
Xu Fengnian chuckled, “Thankfully, Wudang’s Wang Xiaoping isn’t here. Otherwise, none of you would leave alive.”
As he spoke, a middle-aged Daoist appeared behind the twenty riders, a fresh peachwood sword strapped to his back.
After the Battle of Shenwu City, the elusive Wudang sword fanatic had finally made his move, playing the waiting hawk.
Xu Fengnian grinned mischievously. “I told you I had a jinxed tongue. And sure enough, it always comes true.”
Today, the Dao was not merely a step ahead—it was three hundred steps ahead.
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