Xu Fengnian held a cup in one hand and covered it with the other. A mark on his forehead shifted from red to purple. The others drinking with him assumed this wandering immortal, whose reputation in the martial world was not prominent, was simply lost in deep contemplation. They clinked their cups and drank amongst themselves, not daring to disturb him. Zhang Chunlin had always held himself in high regard. With the prestige of Youyan Manor, where even aging tigers still commanded respect, and his own exceptional talents and striking appearance, he had always maintained a polite distance from the many women who admired him. Yet, inexplicably, upon seeing that cold, frosty woman in purple, he had fallen instantly in love. He did not know what relationship she held with his benefactor, and his heart warred within him. His brows furrowed with indecision and sorrow as he drank alone. Knowing her son well, the woman who had defected from the Nanhai island sighed softly. Zhang Dongling, rough in temperament, lacked the subtlety to read expressions and gestures, and busied himself exchanging cups with the old friends Cao and Duan.
Xu Fengnian exhaled slowly. Cao Yu and Duan Mao paused their drinking and turned, their expressions bewildered. A thin wisp of vapor drifted like a slithering white snake, twisting and turning in the air as if swaying its head and tail. Wherever it passed, snow was crushed to powder. Xu placed his cup down and abruptly stood, bidding his farewells before striding directly toward the Chixue Courtyard. He passed through the courtyard gate without entering, his steps floating, nearly stumbling. His face contorted with inner turmoil, he hesitated briefly before soaring into the air. Like an arrow, he plunged straight into the lake and sank to its depths.
In the bamboo grove, unaware of the truth, the others exchanged glances, their eyes filled with confusion and shock. Could this be the legendary sight of sword qi spewing from the mouth like a dragon?
Wang Xiaoping had drawn his sword for the first time since ascending the mountain. Among the many disciples of Wudang, he had displayed extraordinary talent and was always considered a perfect candidate destined for the sword, even believing he would one day die by it. Carrying the Youyan Manor’s three swords—Fengsui, Xiaofei, and Gulu—the sword-obsessed man slowly approached the lakeside to guard the young man beneath its surface. When Xu Fengnian first arrived at Wudang, Wang had paid him no heed. A wayward son of privilege who had come to the mountain to train in the blade—what could he possibly achieve? When the eldest disciple sacrificed his mastery of the Great Huangting cultivation to declare “Wudang shall rise,” Wang had been filled with anger. In protest, he had descended the mountain to temper his sword heart, seeking peace by keeping his eyes shut to the sight.
Even now, setting aside the matter of Xu’s True Martial identity and the hidden plans for Wudang, Wang Xiaoping still held little fondness for Xu Fengnian. Yet, purely from the perspective of martial cultivation, he did feel a degree of admiration.
Lu Zu once said, “We cultivators must not become like trained performers or guard dogs.”
Wang Xiaoping sat cross-legged, unmoving until dawn.
Three hundred miles south of Youyan Manor lay the Jiangnan region.
An unexpected, prolonged snowfall blanketed the land in silver, and all things wore fox fur without spending a coin. On a cold, snowy night, a black-robed old man walked across the white expanse, his hands tucked into his sleeves. Wherever he walked, there were no villages ahead or behind. The nearest place to rest was over thirty miles away. A normal old man would likely have frozen to death in such conditions. Yet, judging from the old man’s gait, he seemed to possess some martial skill. Though he did not exude the arrogant aura of a high-level expert, he would not likely perish from the cold.
Clad in a wide-sleeved black robe and thick-soled brocade boots, his hair white as frost, snow continued to fall upon him, adding to the white atop his already silvered locks, giving him a quiet, desolate charm.
The old man walked with a blank expression, indifferent to all around him. Even when a group of white-robed cultivators drifted past like flying geese over snow, he did not glance their way. Nor did he spare a glance for the young woman trailing behind them, carrying a hundred flying swords in a grand display of sword-riding. The black-robed old man merely stared ahead. This caused the transcendental cultivators, who usually looked down upon the mundane, to glance at him more than once. Known for observing celestial phenomena, earthly auras, and human expressions, they studied him, yet could not decipher his aura. The elder female cultivator at the front lightly flicked her sleeve, pushing a younger disciple who had hesitated slightly a few meters away. She herself paused, the snow-covered ground offering no defined path. Yet this woman, who had not lifted a finger even when faced with Xu Fengnian’s formidable presence outside Youyan Manor, now displayed the respectful deference of a junior encountering a senior. The cultivators split into two groups: one had already passed the black-robed man’s path, while the other, behind the elder, remained still. The barefoot woman who rode the sword, her eyes darting in confusion, and even the disciple of Guanyin Sect who had mastered the art of finger-sword, were both astonished. The others on this journey of cultivation training all turned their gazes toward the old man who had passed them by.
The black-robed old man suddenly halted, not turning his head, but all sensed that the tall, dark figure had sent out a thread of energy, locking onto the Guanyin Sect’s Dripping Water cultivator.
The elder’s expression remained calm, though her feet sank deeper into the snow.
In an instant, the dark figure, like an ancient demon, withdrew the energy, looked northward, and resumed walking moments later.
The elder, a high-ranking elder of the Guanyin Sect, exhaled in relief. The first group of cultivators floated back, gathering around her, visibly shaken. Only after the black-robed figure had vanished from sight did she reveal the truth: “It was Han Diaosi.”
The youngest yet highest-ranking barefoot woman laughed playfully, “The Human Cat? I’ve heard my junior sister mention him. Because he excels in using the Finger-Sundering Technique to slay Heaven and Earth-level experts, he is called Han the Invincible beneath the Immortal Realm. Dripping Water, why did he target you?”
The elder’s lips curved slightly, but she remained silent. It was the elegant woman, a disciple of the finger-sword technique, who explained, “Senior Elder, you may not know: the reason this villain is called the Human Cat, infamous throughout the Spring and Autumn Period, is because he stands alongside the Three Great Evils of the era—Huang Longshi of the Three Rankings and Xú Xiāo of Northern Liang. Han Shengxuan is the most powerful eunuch of the Liyang Dynasty, the emperor Zhao’s most trusted servant. But more than that, he delights in hunting and killing first-rank martial experts. Among the previous generation’s Four Great Sect Leaders, the Red Armor of the Talisman Generals, feared by all cultivators, was stripped bare by Han Shengxuan’s bare hands. He tore the armor apart, ripped the body, and hung the head on a pole. If even the Talisman Red Armor met such a fate, how much more so for those mere first-rank Diamond experts? The Northern Meng established the Martial Rankings, roughly balanced in strength. But in the past two or three decades, countless Diamond-level experts have been secretly killed by this great eunuch, some even turned into cruel talisman armor, severely weakening the entire martial world. Otherwise, when the Martial Rankings were released, the Liyang Dynasty would not have only five names among the ten greatest!”
The elegant woman cautiously glanced at the elder, “My senior aunt, who has cultivated three supernatural abilities from the Heaven and Earth realm, including the Dripping Water in the Bottle, might have been seen through by Han Diaosi. But for some reason, he ultimately did not attack.”
The young woman hummed thoughtfully, lightly kicking the snow with her foot, her eyes bright with eagerness.
The male cultivator who had embarrassed himself at the lake snorted coldly, “Even if the Human Cat is invincible, he’s not truly invincible. Otherwise, how could Cao Guanzi repeatedly enter the palace? He wouldn’t dare provoke our Guanyin Sect alone.”
This was typical of the narrow-minded frog-in-the-well attitude, common in great sects where the well’s mouth is only slightly wider, yet they believe it equals the vast sky. Yet, though the Guanyin Sect was secluded on a distant island in the Nanhai, it truly possessed the foundation to look down upon the rest of the martial world with arrogance. However, when facing someone like Han Diaosi, among the rare top experts, this cultivator’s bravado was somewhat misplaced.
The elder did not encourage such arrogance among the younger generation, shaking her head and speaking plainly, “If Han Shengxuan truly wished to kill, only our sect leader, after breaking through seclusion, could stand a chance against him—and even then, victory would be uncertain.”
Her words silenced all around.
The black-robed old man walked until dawn, arriving outside Shenwu City, a major town in Jiangnan. The city gates were still closed, so he waited quietly outside with other commoners who had come from the countryside to sell goods. The snowfall during the night had reached a foot deep inside and outside the city. An elderly farmer, clad in thin clothes, drove a cart loaded with charcoal along the icy road at dawn, hoping to fetch a good price. Both man and ox cart had arrived early, well before the gates opened. The charcoal seller, knowing the bitter cold of winter, climbed down from the cart and stamped his feet, shivering. He was reluctant to use his shoes to sweep away the snow, so he bent down and cleared a small circle of snow by hand beside the ox cart. Then, he carefully lifted his young grandson from the cart, placing him within the circle so he could stand free of snow. The two clung to each other for warmth, neither willing to leave the other’s side, enduring the biting cold together. The child’s skin was dark, his body thin and frail. Sheltered by the cart from the wind, he still reached up to grasp his grandfather’s hand, trying to warm it with his own.
Inside the city, scholars and refined gentlemen, wrapped in luxurious furs, could gather around a warm hearth, composing poetry and drinking wine in comfort, speaking of how only through winter’s severity could spring’s warmth be appreciated. They might sigh about how the cold froze their brush handles and how they had warmed new wine over a clay stove. Yet few remembered how the poor suffered in such deadly weather, their fingers stiff and unable to bend.
The black-robed old man, his hair like frost, glanced at the city walls, then at the charcoal-selling grandfather and grandson. His expression remained unchanged. Since he was no longer of the palace, he no longer involved himself in martial affairs or killed martial experts. Since leaving the palace, he had not interfered with the martial world at all. Otherwise, with his temperament, he would have already attacked the group of cultivators who refused to submit to the imperial court the previous night, especially that elder woman—tearing them apart and severing their heads.
To him, he was no longer the powerful Han Diaosi who once commanded the palace. He was merely Han Shengxuan, a discarded eunuch.
Years ago, that pitiful woman, on her deathbed, entrusted Zhao Kai to him—not to the Emperor Zhao. A single meal’s kindness was enough for Han Shengxuan, a man who lived by vengeance and gratitude, to repay with his life.
Han Shengxuan’s eyes suddenly sharpened.
The city gates creaked open. A white-robed woman approached slowly, reaching the back of the charcoal cart and quietly pushing it.
The old charcoal seller noticed the change and let out a soft cry, pulling the ox to a halt. The young child, his fingers cracked and bleeding from the cold, jumped down from the cart and saw the fairy-like woman behind the cart, his face full of confusion.
The woman stood still, smiling gently as she asked, “Why has the cart stopped?”
The child dared not speak, too awed by the beauty before him.
The Guanyin Sect’s Senior Elder bent down and patted his head with a warm smile, “I’m called Charcoal Girl. What’s your name?”
The child hid his hands behind his back, timidly answering, “Shuibian.”
He hurriedly added, blushing, “My mother gave birth to me by the water’s edge.”
The woman chuckled, “Then you can call me Charcoal Sister.”
The child lacked the courage to reply, his lips trembling as he ran back to the front and hid behind his grandfather. The barefoot woman lightly leapt onto the tattered cloth covering the cart of charcoal and sat quietly. The old ox pulled the cart forward more swiftly.
Han Shengxuan, who had nearly unleashed a surge of killing intent, withdrew his hand from his sleeve and decided not to enter the city.
He remained still, waiting silently for Xu Fengnian.
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