Lu Chen presented his credentials and entered the city alone on horseback. Unused to the bustling prosperity after years in the desolate desert where the wind and sand cut like knives, he felt dazed and nearly collided with a patrol of armored soldiers. After apologizing, he expected to have to reveal his influential background to avoid further entanglement, but to his surprise, the soldiers merely cautioned him to ride more carefully and not gallop through the streets, causing him some discomfort. Wu Hou City, the capital of the Xihe Prefecture, lay within an oasis and was known as the “Wallless City,” a name derived from the arrogance of its commander, Helian Wei, who boasted that even if the Liyang Dynasty dared to march into Xihe, he would have no need for city walls to repel them.
Lu Chen had heard of the valor of the soldiers of Wu Hou City even while living in the Southern Dynasties. If the Juzhou Prefecture had one shining figure—its governor, Murong Baoding—who alone captured the glory of an entire province, then Xihe’s prestige was divided between two military garrisons. One of them was the Kunbi Army, stationed at Wu Hou, which ranked just below the Emperor’s personal guard and the Baijing Army led by the legendary general Tuoba. Lu Chen had expected such a formidable force to breed arrogance among the soldiers, so he gave little thought to any unusual occurrences. He asked for directions and rode toward the Huanxi Spring. This spring, where it was said a female bodhisattva once bathed, had become a sacred site where every female lama of the Secret Sect came to purify themselves for centuries. Beside the spring stood the Leiming Temple, which roared with thunder during the rainy season, audible for miles around. The area around Huanxi Spring was lined with grand mansions, home to the most powerful and influential families of the province. After the refugees of the Spring and Autumn Period fled north, the northern side of the spring was reserved for northern immigrants, while the southern side gradually became home to the great southern clans. The Zhong family, however, had acquired a grand estate on the northern side, purchased from a northern royal relative, and lived next to the governor himself, a testament to their deep roots. Though the Lu family was also a prestigious clan, they had only managed to secure a residence on the northern side through borrowed prestige. As Lu Chen approached Huanxi Spring, a luxurious carriage draped in silk and adorned with bells came toward him. A hundred delicate jade bells chimed melodiously, far surpassing the sound of camel bells. Lu Chen looked up at the sound and saw a man in white robes and a scholar’s headscarf, his face rugged but his smile warm. Lu Chen recognized him—Zhong Tan, the eldest son of the Zhong family. Already in his thirties, Zhong Tan was a man of great achievement, holding the rank of General of the Jinglang Garrison and commanding three thousand cavalry. He was the heir upon whom the Zhong family pinned their hopes to become the first hereditary general of the Northern Wei. Compared to Zhong Gui, Zhong Tan was like the sun and moon compared to a mere firefly. In the Liyang Dynasty, the rank of General was common, with most commanding only a few hundred soldiers and constantly constrained by superiors. In the Northern Wei, however, a garrison commander of a strategic border town was already a major official, and Zhong Tan was still young, accomplished in both civil and military arts, and had even earned the favor of the Empress for his literary talent, making him a rare jinshi scholar and a man of boundless potential. Though his appearance was rugged, Zhong Tan preferred the attire of a scholar and wore it naturally, without pretense. He was close friends with Dong Zhuo and had once led three thousand cavalry to pursue and kill the traitor Chen Zhibao across the border. A man with such talent and noble lineage rising swiftly through the ranks was no surprise. Yet every time Lu Chen saw Zhong Tan smiling and chatting, she felt uneasy and instinctively feared him, though she could never pinpoint exactly what she disliked about him—she could only attribute it to a woman’s intuition.
Lu Chen was, in name, already half a member of the Zhong family, so riding together with Zhong Tan was not considered immodest. Moreover, with the prestige of both families, they had no need to concern themselves with idle gossip. Inside the carriage was an ice chest—ice was worth its weight in gold in this region, and only the wealthy could afford it. A servant girl with an unremarkable appearance sat quietly nearby, offering no particular service to the heir of the Zhong family. Zhong Tan, however, used silver tongs to place ice chips on the laps of both Lu Chen and the servant girl. Lu Chen politely declined, but the servant girl, unfamiliar with etiquette, accepted hers and began to crunch it, making a soft “crunch” sound. Realizing there was a guest present, she hastily covered her mouth to muffle the noise. Zhong Tan, tall and long-armed like a monkey, bent down and lifted the carriage curtain, hooking it open so Lu Chen could enjoy the view of Huanxi Spring. A wide stone path ran alongside the spring, shaded by trees. Though the desert winds were harsh and the sun fierce, the shade provided quick relief, unlike the stifling heat of Jiangnan, which offered no escape.
Zhong Tan turned to Lu Chen and spoke softly, “Miss Lu, I know you’ve suffered.”
Lu Chen lowered her gaze and remained silent. Zhong Tan sighed and turned his head, “It’s the Zhong family that wronged you.”
Lu Chen looked up, hesitating as if to speak. Zhong Tan smiled slightly, straightened his posture, and with a solemn air, slowly waved his hand and said, “I have no desire to salt wounds unnecessarily. As for the details of this journey, if Miss Lu is unwilling to speak of them, just write them down and have someone deliver them to me. There’s no need to face those old gossips. But I must warn you—our family is large, and there will naturally be idle talk. Miss Lu can simply let it go in one ear and out the other. I will also inform the elders that we have never formally sent a marriage proposal to the Lu family, so your reputation will remain untarnished. I can assure you, should you ever find happiness in marriage in the future, the Zhong family will not hesitate to send our blessings.”
Lu Chen lifted her head and fixed the future head of the Zhong family with a determined gaze. “I was born a daughter of the Zhong family, and I shall die a spirit of the Zhong family. I will remain a widow for Zhong Gui. When I see my father, I will persuade him to allow a symbolic marriage ceremony.”
Zhong Tan turned his gaze toward the window, his brow furrowed.
Lu Chen’s voice was filled with sorrow. “It is my fate, and I cannot escape it.”
When they arrived at the Zhong family estate, Zhong Tan stepped out first and stood by the carriage door, personally assisting her descent. To the many servants at the gate who spent their lives studying people’s hearts, this act was surely laden with meaning. Zhong Tan escorted her only as far as the ceremonial gate, not crossing the threshold. He said he was going to Leiming Temple to burn incense and, after bidding Lu Chen farewell, returned to his carriage. The servant girl smiled brightly—not a trace of flattery, but like a long-lost friend. Zhong Tan was used to it. She held a piece of ice in her mouth, her cheeks puffed out, and mumbled softly, “You’re going to clear Lu Chen’s name and pull her out of the mess. But by merely provoking her, you’re forcing her into the Zhong family, causing Zhong Gui’s branch to collapse without truly falling apart. Be careful not to lose the big picture over small gains.”
Zhong Tan sat cross-legged, his expression calm. “How Zhong Gui died, and who killed him, is of no interest to me. The Zhong family has too many enemies. For a woman, being disfigured and disgraced is already the limit of what she can endure. To provoke her further would not only break her spirit but also anger the Lu family. The marriage between our two families is inevitable. As the eldest son, I must think long-term. Lu Chen has the resolve to face a symbolic marriage and widowhood, proving she is no shallow-minded woman. A woman like her should not be ruined in Xihe. Helping her weather some storms is only right, reasonable, and beneficial.”
The servant girl held an ice chip with her tongs, the other hand hovering beneath it in case it fell. Zhong Tan leaned down and bit into it, chewing heartily. She finally set down the tongs and said, “Women’s hearts are fickle. this small favor may not ensure her loyalty to you in the future.”
Zhong Tan said calmly, “She’s not the kind to stay obediently in one place. She will surely stir up trouble in the future. I’ll just keep protecting her.”
She suddenly covered her mouth and laughed. “Actually, if you just take her body, everything will be settled.”
Zhong Tan looked pained. “I’m afraid of ghosts.”
She playfully kicked him, and Zhong Tan burst into laughter. “You’re much prettier than her.”
She sighed. “So Lu Chen has survived.”
Zhong Tan clicked his tongue. “Does that count as doing a good deed today? I’ll have the confidence to burn incense at Leiming Temple later.”
What could be a devastating catastrophe for ordinary people was merely a gentle breeze to others.
Outside the city, three miles from the gates, Xu Fengnian rode along the bustling Post Road, deliberately suppressing his aura. Without the mirage-like illusions, he was drenched in sweat, indistinguishable from any common traveler. Xu Fengnian did not rush into the city. Though the road was shaded by trees, it seemed there were strict rules in place, for watermelon vendors dared not approach the Post Road, instead setting up stalls twenty paces away and shouting their prices. Xu Fengnian dismounted and led his horse off the road, walking on the gravel path. Merchants and travelers haggled loudly, some skilled at driving prices down from fifty coins per jin to just ten. Xu Fengnian, still holding his horse, stopped at a stall where a sturdy old farmer had a wooden board with charcoal writing: “One melon for a hundred coins—choose freely.” Xu Fengnian glanced at the sun-scorched farmer, who, seeing the bulging money pouch, grinned and said, “Young master, pick one? If it doesn’t taste good, not a single coin!”
Xu Fengnian, who had intended to keep walking, paused to tease, “Even if it tastes good, what if I say it doesn’t? Will you still charge me?”
The old farmer’s eyes were not like those of a scheming rogue. “Still no charge.”
Xu Fengnian loosened the reins and squatted down. Facing a pile of melons with no idea where to start, he said, “Old sir, help me pick one.”
The old farmer offered a small stool, tapped and tested the melons, and finally chose a large one, weighing seven or eight jin. With a practiced fist, he cracked it open and handed it to Xu Fengnian. As Xu broke it apart and ate, he said, “Your melons are quite expensive.”
The old farmer laughed. “Elsewhere, prices drop to ten coins per jin, but my soil is good, so the melons are sweet. Look, all mine are over five jin, some even ten or more. Honestly, they’re not expensive. Some customers only care about size, so for them, a melon might only cost ten coins per jin. But I think the best ones are around seven or eight jin—about twelve or thirteen coins per jin. I have other ways to make a living, so I don’t need to profit from this. I also don’t want to quarrel with nearby farmers who rely solely on selling melons. Life is hard enough for everyone. A decent living is enough.”
Xu Fengnian hadn’t expected the old farmer to be so eloquent. He smiled and said, “No wonder you have such a spirited air. It must be because your heart is wide.”
Though already in his sixties, the old farmer showed no sign of weariness. He split a melon himself, not eating the sweet center first but starting from the edges, saving the best for last, just like Xu Fengnian. His manner was somewhat petty, but when the old farmer saw this, he smiled knowingly. “I’ve read a bit, not much, but I like to quote from books. I’m afraid you scholars might look down on me.”
Xu Fengnian joked, “So you’re scolding me.”
The old farmer wiped his mouth with his sleeve and laughed heartily. “No, no! I truly admire scholars.”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Scholars talk about governing the country and conquering the world, as if they can do anything. Without them, nothing could be done. But in reality, they can’t do anything. Old sir, if a scholar tried to sell melons, could he compete with the local farmers?”
The old farmer shook his head. “Young master, you generalize too much. There are indeed scholars who are both learned and martial. During the Spring and Autumn Period, there were many Confucian generals.”
Afraid his words might offend the young master and cause him to refuse payment, the old melon farmer quickly added, “Scholars have their own path, earning their riches in books and speaking for the people. Selling melons is better left to old men like me. If we each stick to our own paths, everyone can live well. Like you, young master, carrying books and traveling the world, reading ten thousand scrolls and walking ten thousand miles—that’s the best way to live.”
Xu Fengnian, chewing his melon, smiled. “Old sir, your words are truly insightful. Indeed, the streets are full of hidden tigers and dragons.”
Praised by a scholar, the old melon farmer was especially delighted, every wrinkle on his weathered face showing joy. “For a young master to listen to an old man’s ramblings, that’s true nobility.”
Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “So, how much for this melon?”
The old farmer hesitated, then said with a helpless smile, “Fifty coins. Not a single coin less.”
Xu Fengnian had already eaten most of the melon. He took a small piece of silver from his pouch—worth about a hundred coins—and handed it to the old farmer, whose words were neither overly refined nor crude. “Don’t give me change. Consider it payment for two melons, one for you.”
The old farmer was taken aback again but praised, “Who says scholars can’t sell melons? If you did it, you’d surely buy a grand house in the city in no time.”
Xu Fengnian smiled helplessly. “Old sir, I really couldn’t eat another melon.”
The old farmer was cheerful. “Then let me give you a bag. Take two melons and tie them to your horse. When you reach the city, find an inn with a well and chill them. They’ll be even better when cold.”
After finishing the melon, Xu Fengnian sat on the small stool and gazed at the view of Wu Hou City. Perhaps because it was an oasis, the clouds above were thick and heavy, pressing down like they were about to fall on the city, evoking the grandeur of nine heavens pouring down.
Among this scene, one building with upturned eaves stood out most prominently.
Following Xu Fengnian’s gaze, the old farmer said, “That’s Leiming Temple. As soon as you enter, you’ll see two rows of eighteen wrathful heavenly warriors. Those with a guilty conscience or weak hearts dare not even burn incense there. Outside the temple is the famous Huanxi Spring of Xihe Prefecture, a gentle contrast to the fierce deities—a serene bodhisattva’s smile. The noble and refined scholars and beauties all enjoy strolling around the temple. But in recent years, Huanxi Spring has become increasingly vulgar and noisy. Not much to see, really. If you’re a believer, you should definitely visit Leiming Temple. Don’t worry, there are many powerful people in the city, but open acts of bullying are rare—very few indeed. And as a scholar, you won’t be targeted either.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “By your words, Governor Zhong not only commands the army well but also governs wisely, truly a pillar of the court.”
The old farmer smiled and shook his head. “What I say doesn’t count for much.”
Xu Fengnian looked at the towering Leiming Temple and murmured, “An ordinary man seeks freedom in his lifetime.”
The old farmer, squatting and holding an empty melon rind, sighed, “A bodhisattva’s joy turns to emptiness.”
They looked at each other and laughed.
When Xu Fengnian stood up to leave, the old melon farmer indeed picked two melons and put them in cloth bags for him. Xu accepted them without hesitation, hanging one on each side of his horse. After mounting, he bowed from the saddle, and the old farmer waved him off with a smile.
Fleeting encounters—some are never seen again. To part without hatred and leave behind a good memory is already a rare blessing.
Xu Fengnian did not dwell on this chance meeting. He merely considered it an interesting encounter with an old man of the Northern Wei. His thoughts now turned to his upcoming covert mission in Wu Hou City, which might prove just as perilous as his previous assassination and hunting by Tuoba Chunsun.
In Beiliang, where the situation seemed calm but was in fact turbulent, countless people had sought his life. Stories of tragedy and joy were countless, enough to fill a book titled *One Hundred Ways to Kill Xu Xiao, the Tyrant’s Son*, and another titled *The Many Ways of Dying as an Assassin*. Most of these assassins died without regret, throwing their lives away like moths to a flame. Yet many of these so-called blood feuds stretched back generations, to the time of their grandfathers, and still, no one hesitated to kill the young prince.
Chen Zhibao may not have killed Xu Fengnian, but many others would, without needing the The White-Clad Battle Immortal to lend a blade.
With swords on his back, a box on his shoulder, and two melons on his horse, Xu Fengnian rode steadily toward Wu Hou City.
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