A young swordsman, just stepping into the martial world, encountered a female warrior of equal inexperience and was utterly defeated, left begging for mercy. After being sent back with a roasted sweet potato to nurse his wounds, Xu Fengnian had no intention of indulging in carnal pleasures atop the dragon throne anytime soon. A woman’s first time should not be treated so carelessly; it would be heartless to subject her to daily, exhausting intimate battles. Xu Fengnian returned alone to sit atop the palace roof, lost in thought. At midnight, he cultivated his sword, Xuanlei, and then proceeded to drip his blood into the swords Chun, Mei, Zhu, and Ma, one after another.
As dawn approached and the morning sky over the eastern horizon bloomed with brilliant colors, Xu Fengnian gazed at the magnificent view from high above the heavens. At that moment, the resonant morning bell of the Giant Immortal Palace rang out, one chime following another, echoing endlessly in his ears. For some reason, perhaps because the fierce battle at Changle Peak had vented his pent-up anger, Xu Fengnian felt a surge of noble and righteous energy within his chest. The circulation of his internal energy moved far faster than usual, especially when he stood up and witnessed with his own eyes the morning light sweeping across the sky from east to west. As a ray of dawn fell before him, Xu Fengnian sat cross-legged, summoned his sword Chaolu, and with a flick of his sleeve, sent his flying sword soaring with a brilliant flash.
This sword, considered only mediocre among his twelve flying swords, flew uncontrollably, spinning joyfully through the air.
Like a supernatural creature from ancient tales, after centuries of arduous cultivation, it had finally attained enlightenment and sentience in an instant.
The sword’s spirit had reached perfection.
A sword came from the east.
Overcome with joy, Xu Fengnian thought, “How hard I’ve searched for something that now comes so effortlessly!” At that moment, without needing to rely on his energy to guide it, with merely a thought, the sword Chaolu vanished in a flash, going exactly where his heart willed. After playing with it for a while, Xu Fengnian, filled with a thought so undignified that no true martial expert would ever admit to, muttered, “Damn it, finally one less sword to cultivate!” He did not hastily recall the sword but remained seated quietly, watching its flight path, his eyes gradually widening in shock. He pressed his lips tightly together, gritting his teeth, and muttered, “What an amazing fellow, Deng Tai’a! The true brilliance of the flying sword lies not in the sword itself, nor even in its cultivation, but in the hidden sword techniques!”
With a self-mocking tone, Xu Fengnian remarked, “If I had known this earlier, my nature would have driven me to seek shortcuts relentlessly. Guess it’s better I didn’t know.”
Smiling brightly, Xu Fengnian waved his fingers, and the flying sword danced around him like a young maiden in the first bloom of love. The more he watched, the more amused he became. Perhaps this was the joy of martial cultivation—those who toil diligently in the martial path will eventually be rewarded by heaven. If one is fortunate enough to encounter the right opportunities, there will be moments of sudden revelation and unexpected breakthroughs, like a frog leaping from the bottom of a well to behold the boundless sky.
After sheathing Chaolu, Xu Fengnian leapt from the roof and walked through the palace grounds, heading back to Qingliuzhai. Thanks to his only notable memory before he began training with the blade, he could now view the palace complex from a higher perspective, easily navigating without getting lost. Perhaps Renshen had issued some instructions, for the palace maids and eunuchs who were up early all stood respectfully aside, bowing their heads without daring to look at him directly, though they did not kneel.
Seeing her leaning against the courtyard gate waiting for him, Xu Fengnian was momentarily taken aback.
Renshen spoke softly, “Master, I’ve already prepared a bowl of plain rice porridge and a few side dishes just the way you like.”
Xu Fengnian tapped her forehead gently, “Don’t you know anything about taking care of yourself? Why not take it easy once in a while?”
Renshen smiled, “That’s the life of noble ladies, not something I can envy or want for myself. I don’t like it when someone catches a chill from a little breeze or gets heatstroke from standing in the sun. I certainly don’t want to be like those palace women who cry at a few lines of poetry. That’s not the way of a woman from Beiliang.”
After finishing his breakfast, Xu Fengnian reflected on how the world was generally divided—rich folk ate three meals a day, while the poor made do with two. As for those wealthy enough to maintain palace maids and eunuchs, they were already beyond the realm of ordinary wealth. By that standard, Renshen, who could even wear a dragon robe and play-act as an empress, was far more luxurious than any noble daughter. She had once wielded life-and-death authority over seventy or eighty thousand people in Dunhuang City, yet here she was, still serving as his humble handmaiden. Xu Fengnian couldn’t find a single reason to feel dissatisfied.
Arriving at the study, which resembled the Wutong Courtyard of the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion, he found the purple sandalwood desk piled high with scrolls and secret manuals brought by Renshen, along with handwritten letters from her aunt. Xu Fengnian noticed a painting scroll with a brass axis. Glancing at Renshen, who stood beside him with her sleeves rolled up, grinding ink and smiling faintly, he unfurled the scroll. As expected, it was a portrait painted by a court artist—clearly depicting a woman wearing a dazzling phoenix crown, exuding the air of a queen mother. Xu Fengnian looked back and forth between the painting and Renshen, clicking his tongue, “You really do look alike—seven and a half parts in appearance, six in spirit.”
Seeing the fiery intensity in Renshen’s eyes, Xu Fengnian waved his hand emotionlessly, “Rest for two days first.”
She turned her head and smiled.
Xu Fengnian gave her a playful slap on the behind, laughing, “You’re getting too wild! Once you’re out of the Wutong Courtyard, you act like a little wildcat. Just wait until I’ve rested up—I’ll make sure you beg for mercy next time.”
Xu Fengnian didn’t reach for the secret manuals that martial artists across the land would kill to obtain. Did he really lack them? Many martial artists with decent talent and potential were plagued by the problem of having no master to guide them into the inner sanctum of the martial arts. Without a teacher to open the door, and without secret manuals to help them progress, their path was indeed difficult, their martial aspirations stifled before they could bloom. But too many choices could also be a curse. For aristocratic disciples, such resources were not rare, yet many failed due to a lack of perseverance or because they were overwhelmed by too many paths to mastery. Distracted by too many techniques and manuals, they became jacks of all trades but masters of none. Xu Fengnian, aware of the dangers of greed, had always focused only on manuals that benefited his swordsmanship. Now that he had Wang Xianzhi’s sword manual, he was even more single-minded in his pursuit. He pushed himself so hard because he felt he owed it to someone—his old friend Wen Hua, who was still swinging a wooden sword and sneaking around stealing chickens and dogs while he was off training with real blades. If they met again and Wen Hua found out his identity, he’d probably try to beat him to death with that wooden sword.
Putting the painting aside, Xu Fengnian began reading through Renshen’s aunt’s writings. The uniform handwriting, clearly done with a brush made of Fox Fur (a type of animal hair) core wrapped in rabbit fur, revealed much about the writer. While people often say that handwriting reflects the heart, that’s not always true—many people have beautiful handwriting. But when someone insists on using only one specific type of brush, you can usually get a good sense of their character. This woman had once competed with the current Northern Liang Empress for the Emperor’s favor, and it showed. Though her script was elegant and refined, every stroke was pressed into the paper with intense force, as if trying to carve it into the wood. Xu Fengnian finally understood how she had raised a woman like Renshen. Slowly flipping through the pages, most of it detailed the exploits of the previous generation of Northern Liang martial experts. Just reading about them was enough to make one want to applaud in admiration. Thoughtful as ever, Renshen brought him a pot of green ant wine from Beiliang. Finally, Xu Fengnian came across the account of the Nine Swordsmen of the Wu Clan’s Sword Tomb. Renshen’s aunt had only heard secondhand accounts, but compared to the usual exaggerated tales, her version was far more credible. As a top-tier martial expert herself, her concise descriptions—just a few hundred words—left Xu Fengnian deeply shaken.
After reading it several times, Xu Fengnian sighed, “So that’s how it was.”
Two hundred years ago, the Wu Clan’s Sword Tomb had two generations of unparalleled sword talents. Nine sword masters, one at the Heaven’s Will level, two at the Fingertip Heaven level, one at the Realm of the Indestructible (Diamond Body), and the remaining five at the Lesser Sage level. If given just one more generation, even accounting for a couple of deaths from old age, the Wu Clan might have achieved the unprecedented feat of having five Grandmasters from a single family! Xu Fengnian had only heard of the Nine Swordsmen’s journey to Northern Liang from a gatekeeper, who said that a swordsman claiming to be a land-bound sword immortal had appeared in Northern Liang, declaring that there were no true sword masters in the Central Plains. But Xu Fengnian wasn’t convinced. Though the Wu Clan had always held themselves in high regard and looked down on other swordsmen, even in a fit of arrogance, they wouldn’t have sent all their top swordsmen to Northern Liang. He once asked Li Chungan, the old man in sheepskin robes, about it, but the old fellow had only muttered something cryptic about “the westward movement of swords” before refusing to explain further.
Based on what Renshen’s aunt had written, Xu Fengnian finally understood the general picture. The nine swordsmen faced off against ten thousand cavalry—not fighting alone, but under the command of the strongest among them, the Heaven’s Will-level sword champion, who served as the formation’s core. The other eight took turns acting as sword bearers and sword attendants, forming a breathtaking sword formation. One could imagine the scene: the dense cavalry surrounding the nine swordsmen, wave after wave of horsemen charging, countless sword strikes taking down heads—how tragic, how glorious.
Xu Fengnian marveled again and again, leaning back in his chair and muttering to himself, “That sword formation requires top-tier swordsmen to create. It’s not something you can use on a battlefield. Could it be simplified like the Taoist monk’s boxing techniques? Probably not. Martial experts don’t like being bound by rules. They only serve noble households for the sake of advancing their martial cultivation in peace. No one in their right mind would want to fight to the death. But if I could at least get a rough blueprint of that sword formation, it would be worth it. Where to find it? The Wu Clan’s Sword Tomb? Probably not. Maybe the Northern Liang royal court has some secret records? Even if they do, it’s not something you can buy with gold or silver.”
Renshen chuckled lightly, “If the young master really wants it, you could send the hidden agents in the royal court to get it for you.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head, “That’s too much of a waste of human life. It’s not worth it.”
Renshen simply said, “Oh.”
Without looking up, Xu Fengnian continued reading and said, “Don’t even think about it. You’re not getting involved in this. Understand?”
Renshen gave a soft, nasal “Mm-hmm.”
Xu Fengnian looked up with a teasing smile, “Don’t try to fool me!”
Renshen’s eyes sparkled with charm as she wrinkled her small, delicate nose in a childishly adorable way, saying, “Okay, okay, I know!”
In Xu Fengnian’s memory, she had always been a devoted servant, and at other times, a caring older sister—flawless, always bringing a sense of warmth and comfort. Among the other maids in the courtyard who had spent time with the young master, they had grown used to his gentle nature and would sometimes act a little mischievous or cheeky. But Renshen, who had never once shown anger or a cold face, and Qingniao, who was always composed and aloof, had remained perfectly proper for over a decade without ever overstepping.
Xu Fengnian resumed reading, but suddenly jerked his hand back as if burned. Curious, Renshen looked closer and saw the name Tuoba Busa written on the page, prompting a knowing smile. In the Northern Liang, how could one avoid encountering this martial god, this living Bodhisattva? Especially since the young master had once been in a life-or-death struggle with Tuoba Chunsun.
Three full pages were dedicated to recounting the deeds of this Northern Liang military god. Judging from the handwriting and formatting, it had been written in installments, each entry added after Tuoba Busa’s every breakthrough. Each time the martial artist reached a new level, the female ruler of Dunhuang recorded her insights and reflections.
Xu Fengnian read and reread, never tiring of the precious words. Renshen glanced at the dragon-shaped clepsydra on the table—it was time for lunch. She quietly left the room and soon returned with a tray of food. Xu Fengnian hastily ate, continuing to read the invaluable three pages. Renshen pulled up a chair and sat beside him, gently plucking a grain of rice from the corner of his mouth and popping it into her own.
Xu Fengnian didn’t mind at all. After years together, he could even recall the time when she had cleaned up after his first youthful ejaculation. Everything about her was warm and comforting. Even last night’s two passionate encounters had felt perfectly natural. What was there to be self-conscious about?
After taking away the tray, Renshen sat back down and softly asked, “If I were to die today, would you remember me forever, Master?”
Xu Fengnian replied calmly, “Renshen, if you dare to die, I’ll dare to forget you—completely and utterly. I mean it.”
Renshen’s eyes welled up, but she smiled happily, “Master is truly heartless.”
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