Seeing the young swordsman’s arrogance, Mao Rou gritted her teeth in fury. In other times, encountering such a proud and handsome youth would have been a delight, one she’d eagerly tie to her bed for some tender lessons. But now, amidst clashing steel and blood, all she felt was a searing, bone-deep rage. She spat out several commands: “Kill him!”
The warhorses charged like rolling thunder. Xu Fengnian, without pausing for breath, unleashed his Dragon-Rolling Wall technique. Though he couldn’t match the old man Li’s sword qi that stretched dozens of zhang, he had grasped the Azure Dragon from his sleeve during the life-and-death struggle against Tuoba Chunsun on the grasslands. His sword qi surged like a dragon, his form darting like a fish at the crest of a wave. Facing the first wave of cavalry, he cleaved through man and horse with Spring and Autumn in hand, then dashed sideways, ignoring the iron spears aimed at him. Using his qi to conjure a mirage-like illusion, he had prepared for a prolonged battle, not fixated on killing men but horses. For heavy cavalry, mounted combat was unmatched, but dismounted, they became burdens.
The cavalry line, charging like a tidal wave, was shattered by Xu Fengnian’s slaughter of the horses. Dozens of riders were thrown as their mounts collapsed. Forced to retreat slightly under the second volley of iron spears, he quickly surged forward again, his sword swirling like a painter’s bold strokes. Mao Rou, watching from atop her horse, clenched her teeth in frustration. In what felt like mere moments, nearly twenty of her prized cavalry had fallen. Once dismounted, they were butchered by the scholar-swordsman, their heads severed or armor pierced by his sword qi. It felt like someone tearing at her own flesh. She longed to crush the arrogant young man’s groin and scream at him: “Do you know how hard it is to raise these cavalry like sons? Do you?!”
Mao Rou quickly steeled herself. Even five hundred riders against a single first-rank Jingu warrior would likely wear him down, though only if the formation held and the riders didn’t break in fear after losing a hundred or so men. She had confidence in this. Her five hundred Jinwu cavalry were her personal guards. She had trained them rigorously, emphasizing real combat and discipline, often deploying them to hunt bandits and raiders. Whether fighting lightly armored skirmishers or mixed cavalry, she rewarded them lavishly—wine, meat, silver, and even the finest courtesans from Dunhuang’s pleasure houses.
Frustrated, Mao Rou exhaled sharply and snarled, “Boy with the sword, after you die, I’ll have your corpse trampled into pulp by my horses!”
She bellowed, “Don’t let him catch his breath—ram him with the horses! Whoever strikes first shall have every famous courtesan in the city for three days and nights until your legs give out! And whoever kills him, I’ll personally give that lucky bastard a flute performance!”
The Jinwu riders were now bloodthirsty.
Xu Fengnian, expressionless, wielded his sword to sever heads and slay horses at close range.
Mao Rou, watching the one-sided carnage, sneered coldly, “Fall back thirty paces and hurl your spears—pick them up and throw again!”
The semi-circle of riders surrounding Xu Fengnian instantly withdrew. The second wave hurled their spears. Unlike arrows from a hundred paces, these were hurled by powerful arms, each strike heavy and forceful.
Unceasingly, his sword cut through the chaos. Xu Fengnian seized two passing iron spears mid-shaft, spun them like circular shields, and deflected all incoming spears. After the volley, he hurled the spears back, felling two riders with iron armor pierced.
Mao Rou, watching in horror, began to numb herself to the losses, coldly ordering, “Surround him!”
The ruthless female general scoffed, “I don’t believe you can be like the Wu family two hundred years ago, breaking ten thousand cavalry with nine swords. How can one man form a sword formation?”
She gave a silent signal to five elite cavalry commanders beside her.
The five riders charged forward, hidden among the sixty cavalry circling Xu Fengnian, all avoiding his terrifying flying sword. At thirty paces, they hurled their spears.
Xu Fengnian, his hands moving in a perfect circle, redirected the spears with an unexpected spin. Left hand brushing past, the sixty spears were hurled back.
Though the heavy cavalry were slower than light riders, they were not helpless. A dozen spears struck with deadly precision, killing or wounding several riders. Most, however, were merely grazed or deflected with effort. Yet the innermost circle began to crack. In that gap, six elite cavalry commanders, the finest in the Jinwu ranks, burst forth, hurling spears and drawing their swords. One was struck by Spring and Autumn, his face half torn away, falling lifeless. The next horse charged fiercely into the swordsman’s chest, but only forced him back a few steps before he regained his stance. Another horse struck from the side, finally knocking him back. Then, another commander seized the rare opening, swinging his sword downward with all his might!
Blood finally flowed!
The frustrated Jinwu riders, battling for so long, were nearly moved to tears.
The fierce commander, having struck the scholar-swordsman’s shoulder, felt a surge of triumph. As he tried to press the blade further, aiming to sever the young warrior’s arm, he met the cold, emotionless gaze of his opponent. In the next moment, his sword was knocked aside, and he was yanked from his horse, his neck twisted in two hands.
Xu Fengnian discarded the bloodied head and body, a faint smirk on his lips.
Mao Rou declared solemnly, “Commander Tang Kang has fallen. His family will receive fifty taels of gold, and his son will be admitted to the Mao family’s private academy, with a position as commander upon coming of age!”
The Mao family honored its word!
This was a golden promise heavier than gold itself, the very foundation of the Mao family’s enduring power in Dunhuang.
The soldiers’ morale surged again.
Xu Fengnian, gripping Spring and Autumn, began to sprint straight toward the commanding Mao woman.
The nearly matured Golden Thread and the fully formed Morning Dew finally left their sheaths.
Wherever he passed, blood blossomed from the necks of the riders on either side.
Mao Rou narrowed her eyes, this time not retreating.
Two unassuming heavy cavalry suddenly dismounted, swords drawn, charging at Xu Fengnian.
Mao Rou, meanwhile, spurred her horse and rode into the heart of the formation.
She was clearly willing to sacrifice every hidden elite of the Jinwu to wear down this swordsman who had appeared out of nowhere!
※※※——
Outside the White Elephant Gate of the palace, Tyrant gathered like wolves, their ambitions laid bare. Mao Rui, the head of the Mao clan, was a thin old man who arrived in a sedan chair. The curtain was drawn back, revealing an exquisite set of incense-burning utensils inside the carriage: a three-legged porcelain censer from the old Southern Tang court, its colors vibrant and famed as a national treasure; a sugar-segmented incense box containing a rare white dragon’s saliva, aged in the sea for centuries; and a vase holding golden chopsticks and silver incense scoops. Two graceful young women knelt beside, eyes lowered, delicately tending the incense.
Mao Rui narrowed his eyes, his face calm but his gaze burning. He gazed toward the city gate, one hand inside his robe pressing against a servant girl’s chest, the other caressing the soft curve of another girl’s bottom through the finest Shu brocade. Over the years, he had watched that woman transform from a girl at the city lord’s side into a seductive maiden and finally into a mature beauty of peerless charm. Not a night passed without him longing for her body and her unique fragrance.
The fragrance from the carriage drifted outward, reaching even a horse-riding old man ten paces away. The old swordsman, clearly unimpressed, wrinkled his nose in disdain. He was Lu Wu, once a general under the former governor of Jinxi Province, a master horseman and archer in his youth, and still formidable in his old age. He had always looked down on Mao Rui, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Lu Wu muttered to himself, “An old lecher.”
Though Lu Wu did not command five hundred iron cavalry like the Maos, he had his own elite private forces. Known for raising adopted sons, he had two hundred private soldiers, half of them his own sons in all but blood. Several of these sons had been instrumental in turning two hundred Jinwu guards against the palace. According to their secret agreement, after the coup, the young girl and hundreds of palace maids would go to the lustful Mao Rui, Lu Wu would take the palace’s stock of hundreds of suits of armor, and the secret martial arts manuals collected by the martial arts-obsessed city lord would be taken by a hound from the Murong clan of Juzhou. This dishonorable coup was a joint effort, each party getting what they wanted, avoiding disputes over the spoils that might lead to infighting.
When a figure in embroidered robes appeared at the city gate, everyone involuntarily held their breath. Even Mao Rui, the old fox who usually remained composed, paused his fondling, gripping the tender flesh a little too hard. The incense girl, in pain, accidentally scraped off a few ounces of the precious dragon’s saliva with her golden scoop. Mao Rui’s eyes remained fixed on the alluring woman in the distance, while his withered hand pulled the servant girl’s hair, pressing her face into the hot censer. She screamed as she was burned, and Mao Rui slowly released her, ignoring the disfigured girl cowering in the corner.
Besides these powerful figures locked in a tense standoff, the five hundred Jinwu guards outside the palace were poised for battle. One group of two hundred riders was led by thirty golden-armored warriors. The other group, larger at three hundred riders, included many of Lu Wu’s adopted sons and loyalists.
Also present were over a hundred mercenaries lured by the Mao family’s gold. Half were local Dunhuang forces, the other half recent arrivals—desperate men from outside the city.
These men gathered densely, their presence no less imposing.
Tao Yong, a notorious hound under Murong Baoding, was a minor force in Dunhuang, having infiltrated the city only five or six years ago, far behind the Mao, Yuwen, and Duanmu families in influence. Yet he had gathered many famous martial artists under his banner and had a dozen Murong soldiers as his core force, making him a force to be reckoned with. He had brought his best men, asking only for the obscure martial arts manuals in the palace’s scripture pavilion, earning him a place in this conspiracy. He stood on foot, shouting, “Xing Yan! You secretly killed the city lord and concealed his death for two whole years! How vile your schemes must be, unworthy of your ancestors!”
Hong Dou, temporarily in charge of the Zijin Palace, simply smiled and said one word: “Kill.”
The Jinwu cavalry erupted into a bloody civil war.
When Lu Wu’s adopted sons, Tao Yong’s loyalists, and the band of martial artists joined the fray, even the golden-armored warriors were all slain. Yet the woman still casually waved her hand, sending palace maids and old eunuchs into the blood-soaked courtyard.
Mao Rui could no longer contain himself. He stepped out of his carriage and approached Lu Wu, asking gravely, “Are the Yuwen and Duanmu families truly not aiding the child?”
Lu Wu, closely allied with the two great families, shook his head. “Absolutely not. The only concern is the Bureau of Advice.”
Mao Rui exhaled in relief, sneering, “Don’t worry about that. I have spies in the Bureau. They won’t interfere this time. As long as Yuwen and Duanmu don’t stir the pot, I don’t mind giving them some leftovers.”
Lu Wu grunted coldly.
Tao Yong looked at the woman with pity. “Dunhuang’s visible forces are all here. Even if you have hidden tricks, you can’t change the outcome. A pity such a beautiful body will be wasted on that old bastard.”
Hong Dou stood alone at the empty palace gate.
She raised one finger and slowly dragged it across her naturally crimson lips.
She smiled sincerely, though she wished for snow—then the white expanse would be stained red with blood.
As Hong Dou prepared to strike, the crowd parted.
Five hundred riders did not enter the city, but one figure did—blood-soaked, sword on his back, dragging a blade.
His red clothes were so soaked they were unrecognizable.
He carried a woman’s head in his hand.
The young swordsman tossed the head forward, wiping blood from his face, and said, “This woman was called Mao Rou. She said she’d give my killer a flute performance. I cut her mouth to pieces. I guess she won’t be doing that anymore.”
Then he pointed at Hong Dou. “She’s my woman. Who wants to kill her? Come on, ask me first.”
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