Xu Fengnian, staggering with difficulty, wished desperately that Chen Zhibao would appear before him at this very moment.
The false Heaven’s Insight he had stolen using all his fortune and the Yin objects along with his Danying (Dan Ying), could not last long. His body felt like a breached dam, collapsing and losing not only the cultivation restored by the Danying (Dan Ying), but also the enlightenment and blessings gained from temporarily attaining the Heaven’s Insight.
This was not like borrowing money, where repayment ensured future ease. Xu Fengnian had gambled everything against Heaven itself. It would be next to impossible to deceive Heaven again with Yin objects. Unless he was truly ready to perish alongside everything else, and even if the Yin objects, having attained true Heaven’s Insight and resonated with Heaven and Earth, were willing to lend their strength, at that point, Xu Fengnian would surely die.
His hard-earned foundation had always been meager, and now, counting his losses finger by finger, it seemed as if he had nothing left. He had gone to the Northern Desert with two heads: one buried by the Ruoshui Riverbank, the other given to his second sister, Xu Wei Xiong. His strength was squandered. Even if he survived past Iron Gate Pass, the dream of becoming a great martial hero from childhood had become a madman’s ramblings. Yet since he had come this far, Yang Taishui must die, Zhao Kai must die. If Chen Zhibao appeared and attempted his vile act of slaying both dragons and serpents, he too must die. Yang Taishui had already revealed the truth: a deadly knot can only be undone by death. If they did not perish, then Xu Fengnian would die, and with him, the foundation of Beiliang would crumble. Any hesitation or mercy would be akin to stabbing himself in the heart.
The identity of the heir to Beiliang was predestined; Xu Fengnian could not escape it. But becoming the King of Beiliang was not something he could easily attain. This seemingly illogical truth was well understood by both Xu Fengnian and his father, Xu Xiao. Every family has its own difficult sutra to recite, let alone with many envious eyes adding fuel to the fire, making the sutra even harder to chant.
Xu Fengnian walked slowly, desperately clinging to every last fragment of insight, until he reached the battlefield where the Baima Yicong and the Imperial Cavalry clashed. A fallen light cavalry soldier from the Fengzi Camp lay beneath his feet, his eyes still open in death. Clearly, he had dismounted to fight to the death and had his arm wielding the Beiliang saber severed by enemy cavalry. His chest had been trampled by horses, leaving his body a bloody mess. Xu Fengnian knelt down, gently closing the soldier’s eyes, and looked up. Of the two hundred Imperial Guards, only a few remained. The more skilled a general was on the battlefield, the quicker he often met his end. All the golden knife guards were dead, not one left alive. Nearly five hundred Baima Yicong still fought, half on horseback and half already engaged in prolonged infantry combat. Bosu Bodhisattva was held in place by Huang Man’er and Qing Niao, while Fu Jiang Jin Jia was engaged by Yuan Zuo Zong wielding a long spear. Prince Zhao Kai, sitting dejectedly in the driver’s seat, seemed uncertain whether he was waiting for Han Diaosi to arrive and turn the tide, or simply resigned to his fate.
A dozen heavily wounded Imperial Guards swore to protect the carriage at all costs.
Earlier, the rolling black clouds had failed to obscure the Thunder Pool Sword Formation, and many had witnessed the killing of the black-robed monk Yang Taishui. History has always judged by success or failure. The once-regal national teacher, now without his robe, had become a withered log, while Xu Fengnian survived. Prince Zhao Kai’s fate, carrying a bottle to the Western Regions, was clear. Xu Fengnian did not let his guard down. From the Sword Pavilion, the commotion involving Wan Zhi’s three thousand cavalry against Han Diaosi’s two thousand riders, might not be enough to stop Han Shengxuan, who had placed all his bets on Zhao Kai. He should have appeared by now. Yet Xu Fengnian, with the Chunlei sword at his waist, gazed northward across the endless yellow sands. Was Chen Zhibao waiting for another The quarrel between the snipe and the clam (Yùbàng xiāngzhēng)? Indeed, his patience was maddeningly good.
Zhao Kai stood up, watching the approaching heir of Beiliang, and calmly asked, “Xu Fengnian, do you really dare to kill me? Is Beiliang truly going to rebel?”
Xu Fengnian ignored this prince who had once participated in the ambush at the reed marshes of Xiangfan City and instead looked toward the female Bodhisattva battling Huang Man’er at the valley entrance, causing the earth to tremble. “Zhao Kai can give you a silver bottle symbolizing the Liyang Dynasty, but I am not the emperor of the Zhao family, so I cannot do the same. However, I can lend you one hundred thousand iron cavalry from Beiliang. You can subdue the Western Regions, and I will leave two thousand troops to garrison the northern and southern Tian Mountains. This deal, will you take it? Of course, you must pay me a deposit—kill Zhao Kai. I cannot bear the accusation of rebellion, but if the Western Regions are in chaos with a large group of wandering monk soldiers intercepting the prince, then I will have the justification to lend you troops. You gain freedom in the Western Regions, and I give you that freedom.”
Zhao Kai’s expression darkened.
Yuan Meng tore a strip from his inner shirt to bandage his arm, where bone showed through the wound, and grinned sinisterly. This was truly their prince, the one who had left Prince Zhao Heng of Jing’an speechless after swallowing bitter gourds.
Hong Shuwen, still mounted and covered in blood, held two Beiliang sabers, both in hand, gently patting his horse’s belly.
Bosu Bodhisattva remained expressionless, repeatedly sending Huang Man’er flying. The entrance to Iron Gate Pass was already mostly collapsed.
Each time Huang Man’er retreated, Qing Niao’s instantaneous arc-shaped spear followed, leaving no gap.
Xu Fengnian walked toward the valley entrance. Behind him, red clouds approached. He turned and saw the Yin object carrying a thin, withered corpse. The Yin object landed behind Xu Fengnian, its joyless expression becoming even more solemn. Xu Fengnian patted its head and pointed toward the cliff. The Yin object tilted its head, then soared high toward the cliff of Iron Gate Pass, kicking a large pit, and placed Yang Taishui’s remains inside. A master of The Art of Vertical and Horizontal Strategies (Zongheng Shu), his final resting place was a wild cliff.
Xu Fengnian waved his hand, signaling Huang Man’er and Qing Niao to stop. The Yin object flew like a goose circling a mountaintop, landing on the narrow path behind the valley entrance, blocking the retreat of the tantric Dharma King.
Xu Fengnian looked at the female Bodhisattva’s hand, where a Buddhist mirror image of the universe seemed to revolve like a small world. He smiled and said, “I don’t know when Chen Zhibao will arrive. Are you waiting for him too? If my words come true, then we won’t need to waste words.”
The female Bodhisattva frowned, her expression charming. She exchanged glances with someone from the northeast, her frown gradually easing.
Xu Fengnian, appearing relieved, took a step forward and said, “Don’t destroy that golden armor. I have use for it.”
She gathered sand into stars above her palm, nine sand spheres revolving mysteriously like celestial constellations. At this moment, the stars scattered, and countless grains of sand flowed and scattered between her fingers.
The female Bodhisattva said nothing, but walked toward Zhao Kai, who carried greater fortune than Xu Fengnian. As she walked, the Bodhisattva lowered her brows in contemplation. With her innate ability to calculate fate, she could not understand why Zhao Kai had fallen. The saying of climbing aboard a dragon or riding a tiger might be a common pursuit in the eyes of the people, but at her level, it was magnified infinitely. Just as Hong Xiang Xiang had cut the fortune with his sword, ordinary martial artists, even at the Zhixuan level, could not see any signs, but the three schools, especially the cultivators skilled in observing fortune, could see the collapse of those heavenly pillars. Likewise, the three schools attached themselves to the court for various gains. Take Zhao Danping, the Grand Master of Longhu Mountain, who had lived beside the emperor for years, bearing the title of “Prime Minister of Green Words,” gaining great benefits. One derivation gives rise to all things; some Daoists pursued simplicity, retaining only one path. Others filled in the gaps, creating their own systems from countless small paths. The mysteries here were even she could not fully explain. Since she had debated Zen and longevity with the white-robed monk Li Dangxin on the Demon-Slaying Platform of Longhu Mountain, she naturally had unique insights.
Xu Fengnian had used external forces to steal Heaven’s Insight, sacrificing his lifelong martial cultivation to kill Yang Taishui.
In her view, it was reasonable but not justified.
Not everyone had the qualifications to participate in this ambush. A Go board had only so many positions; it was impossible for both sides to leisurely place all 361 stones. Xu Shu of Beiliang and the Liyang Emperor would not personally enter the Iron Gate Pass area. Originally, the odds of Xu Fengnian and Zhao Kai winning were fifty-fifty, but some people did not intend to remain silent observers. These individuals, in the Red Sect Dharma King’s view, were precisely those who had the potential to become Immortal-on-Earth in the future, completely disrupting the game. One of them had blocked Han Diaosi. Two others had stalled a hundred miles north of Iron Gate Pass.
She had no intention of dying in this game. Since Xu Fengnian had given her an opportunity to step back from this deadly game, even though she deeply wanted to kill that young man in one move, she had to suppress her thoughts and go with the flow.
The white-robed Bodhisattva approached Zhao Kai and the Fu Jiang Jin Jia.
Zhao Kai did not become overly enraged. He simply lowered his head, muttering, “How could it be like this? My second master is dead, but I still have my first master. I shouldn’t die here. I should become the emperor!”
This ambitious prince wept bitterly.
He looked up, sobbing, and asked, “It shouldn’t be like this, right?”
The white-robed Bodhisattva remained silent.
Zhao Kai smiled bitterly, wiped his tears, and gently signaled the Fu Jiang Jin Jia to walk to the carriage. He took the giant sword from the Jin Jia and drew it across his neck.
Before his death, he gazed longingly toward the capital.
His last words were just one word.
“Father.”
With Zhao Kai’s death, the Fu Jiang Jin Jia, linked to its master’s life force, lost all vitality.
Xu Fengnian ordered the Baima Yicong to take the bodies and weapons of their fallen comrades, mount their horses, and leave Iron Gate Pass, dragging the Jin Jia behind Huang Man’er with one hand.
Next, they headed north. Han Diaosi could no longer decide the course of events. Even if he broke through Wan Zhi’s three thousand cavalry encirclement and came before Xu Fengnian, it would be in vain. As Xu Fengnian had told the female Bodhisattva, this ambush would be framed as the work of the tangled forces in the Western Regions. When the news reached the capital and the court, aside from the common people, probably no one would believe it, but what could be done? Xu Fengnian was not afraid of the emperor’s wrath, but he feared that this ambush was still within that man’s expectations. If, by some chance, Zhao Kai was merely a piece to be sacrificed, then who would be the enemy Xu Fengnian would face next? Would it be one of the hidden princes?
To the east of Iron Gate Pass, Han Diaosi ran alone across the desert.
He was stopped by a white fox-faced man carrying a Xiudong sword.
To the north.
The Confucian Sage Cao Changqing and Mei Zijiu Chen Zhibao were still facing off.
Xu Fengnian suddenly turned back toward Iron Gate Pass. Near the carriage, the female Bodhisattva, no longer free, grew a head of black hair.
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