Xu Fengnian had come to a realization: the feeling of drawing one’s sword and gazing about in confusion was not only due to concerns for the nation and its people, but could also simply mean getting lost. Having altered their planned route, they could only stumble forward aimlessly, like headless flies, in a general direction. Fortunately, they encountered a group of scholars being ambushed by horse bandits. Without even drawing his blade, Xu Fengnian managed to assist them, and the two groups decided to travel together toward the border of Longyao and Juzi Provinces.
He chose to intervene because he recognized these people as descendants of the Spring and Autumn refugees, and also because he was familiar with the bandits—two of them had previously tried to kidnap someone to serve as a warm bedmate for the female bandit leader. These scholars, of varying ages, seemed to come from wealthy families. Whether through hired guards or temporary mercenaries, they had enlisted five or six strong martial artists to protect them. Against more than thirty swift horse bandits, they weren’t entirely helpless. Several sword-wielding scholars performed admirably, their swordplay flashy but effective enough to scare the bandits. Young women dressed as men watched in awe, but Xu Fengnian, who had delivered the decisive blow, received little attention.
This was probably due to the plain mask he wore. Romantic feelings in the world often begin with a dramatic sense of love at first sight, but in tales of scholars and beauties, how could the male protagonist not be handsome or exude an air of scholarly elegance? And how could the female lead not possess beauty capable of making fish sink and geese fall from the sky?
Xu Fengnian didn’t feel any disappointment about this. Instead, he found himself getting along well with several elderly Confucian scholars in the group. He learned that they were all descendants of several inter-connected noble families from Gusai Province. Inspired by the sage’s teaching that one must read ten thousand scrolls and travel ten thousand miles, several young men had come of age together. Coincidentally, one of the old scholars had a marriage alliance with a prominent family in Juzi Province and wanted to see the frontier scenery, so they set out together. The young men traveled to study while they were still full of vigor, and the elderly, not wanting to miss the chance before their feet were in the grave, joined the journey. As for the three young women, they had secretly fallen for the young scholars. Though themselves descendants of refugees who had fled north, after being influenced by the bold customs of the Northern Desert, they had bravely eloped. Xu Fengnian guessed that their families were probably slightly inferior to those of the young men, so they had taken this opportunity to try to form a bond during the journey and climb the social ladder, hence their families turning a blind eye.
Through casual conversations with the group, Xu Fengnian learned more about the social hierarchy of the Northern Desert, which was divided into four classes. The descendants of the Spring and Autumn refugees were all in the second tier. Later, the Northern Desert Empress had purified the nine streams and ten classes, arranging surnames and ranking them. While it was widely understood that this was paving the way for the Murong family, it wasn’t entirely without merit. In the Southern Court, aside from the three prestigious “Gao Hua” families ranked as “Jia,” most of the top noble families were ranked as “Bing” or “Ding.” The old Confucian scholar who had become close to Xu Fengnian came from a family that had risen to the “Ding” rank because his elder brother had once served as a senior official in the Ministry of Personnel of the Southern Court. The young nobleman leading the group, though from a third-rate family in the Central Plains, had thrived in the Northern Desert, where two family members had risen to high ranks in the Southern Court, making them a prominent “Bing” family. Two of the three women, whose families were not ranked as “Bing” or “Ding,” had both set their sights on this charming young nobleman, Luo.
During the journey, when they learned that the young man named Xu Qi was merely a bastard son from a minor family in Gusai Province, the women didn’t even bother to feign politeness. They feared that speaking to him might lead Luo to believe they were frivolous and shallow.
When they were still a day’s journey from the border city of Juzi Province, the group of about twenty people began to set up camp as dusk fell. Xu Fengnian quickly helped the elderly scholars erect their leather tents, further diminishing his appeal in the eyes of those who judged others by status. Only a few of the guards who had nearly lost their lives to the bandits occasionally exchanged a few words with him, acknowledging his martial prowess and his supposed mixed heritage as the son of a scholar and merchant.
The central and southern regions of the Northern Desert were relatively fertile, with lush grasslands and the mountainous ranges near Jinxī Province near the border of the Liyang Kingdom. However, they dared not venture too far, for encountering Northern Court nobles—whether tribal leaders or military officers—could lead to more than just a rebuff; they might not even survive to return to Gusai Province. After roughly setting up camp, they lit a bonfire to roast meat and warm wine, brewing tea as well. The day before, an archer among them had shot a lone wild horse and a few swans, and they hadn’t finished eating yet. Thanks to the old scholars, Xu Fengnian managed to taste a few bites of half-cooked horse meat. Sitting by the fire, the young scholars boasted of grand ideas, each word seemingly shaping the nation’s future, while the elderly scholars reminisced about their youth in the Central Plains. Somehow, the conversation turned to the military strength of the two kingdoms, and then to archery and strength. Luo, the elderly scholar from the “Ding” family, noticing Xu Fengnian’s apparent interest, smiled and explained, “The strength of a bow is measured by hanging weights from it. A bow is hung upside down, and the weight required to fully draw it determines its strength in pounds. There’s also a rarer method using a scale hook, which is more precise and usually used in military camps. The guard who shot down the swan has nearly two ‘shi’ of strength. While he may not be able to shoot an arrow through a target at a hundred paces, he can manage one or two layers of armor at eighty paces. He uses high-quality zhe wood, buffalo horn, and deer tendon—excellent materials for bows. Unfortunately, the fish glue and silk thread used were subpar, or else that bow would easily fetch three hundred taels of silver.”
Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “Master Luo, if that’s the case, wouldn’t a good bow have at least three hundred taels of strength?”
Luo, stroking his beard, replied, “Indeed, but a bow of three hundred taels requires a powerful general to draw it. If he could handle such a bow, he wouldn’t be working as a guard for an old man like me. Xu Qi, can you guess that this man was once a Crossbow hand in the Beiliang army?”
Xu Fengnian glanced at the silent man polishing his bow and shook his head. “I couldn’t have guessed that.”
Perhaps the nearby group of handsome men and beautiful women overheard the mention of the Beiliang army, and their conversation turned lively. They debated the martial prowess of Beiliang generals—some claimed Chen Zhibao’s spear skills were unmatched, others argued Yuan Zuozong was the strongest, and some insisted that the “Butcher of Beiliang” must have reached the highest level of cultivation, otherwise how could he have survived to become the Beiliang King? They argued endlessly, with most leaning toward the idea that Xu Shao was cunning and had hidden his true strength on the battlefield, certainly not a mere second or third-tier martial artist. A second-tier “Lesser Sage” might be impressive, but for a general with such great achievements, it seemed somewhat inadequate. Seeing Xu Fengnian’s silence, the old scholar asked with a smile, “Xu Qi, what do you think?”
Xu Fengnian wiped the grease from the roasted meat off his lips and said, “I think Xu Shao was at most second-tier, just lucky enough to survive the battlefield. I heard that after becoming a general, the Snow Camp suffered the heaviest losses whenever he led a charge.”
A young nobleman, deeply admiring the “Butcher of Beiliang,” pretended to throw a branch into the fire but instead aimed it at Xu Fengnian’s feet, sneering, “A little fish from a small pond, don’t speak nonsense if you don’t know anything!”
Xu Fengnian smiled and simply said, “Well said.”
Old Scholar Luo quickly interjected with a laugh, “Everyone has their own opinion. We’re all far from home now; there’s no need for a single voice.”
The young nobleman, clearly respectful of the elder from the “Ding” family, and several others who had wanted to challenge Xu Fengnian, swallowed their words along with their roasted meat. The second-generation descendants of the Spring and Autumn refugees who had migrated to the Northern Desert, though not as disdainful of military men as their Central Plains counterparts, still carried many of their old habits. For example, the young nobleman Luo, who was known as a “Scholar-Sword” but still valued scholarship over swordsmanship, regarded Xu Qi, merely a minor noble from Gusai Province, as someone who had failed in his studies and turned to martial arts out of necessity, hoping to gain favor with the border army to build a reputation. To them, he was a fallen noble, unworthy of discussing state affairs.
With a graceful wave of his branch, the charming Luo nobleman pointed at a gentle-looking woman and said with a smile, “Miss Su, isn’t there someone you greatly admire—the younger brother of the Beiliang Prince?”
The woman, playing with a jade pendant, replied softly, “They’re all the same—arrogant nobles who only know how to bully the common people with their evil servants. The Beiliang Prince may have a better background, but at heart, they’re all the same. Even if he stood before me, I wouldn’t even glance at him.”
Though the three women appeared to get along well, their dynamics were quite interesting. Miss Su, with her simple heart, had only wanted to travel and had unintentionally caught the attention of the Luo nobleman. The other two women, however, had tried everything to attract his attention—flirting and making eyes at him—but Luo merely teased them with words, never giving them any real encouragement. The two women were greatly annoyed and, when Miss Su was around, they united against her, but when she wasn’t, they turned on each other, trying to undermine one another. One of them couldn’t help but laugh when she heard Miss Su’s words, saying, “Sister Su, are you really not impressed by the Beiliang Prince? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t blush and stammer if he stood before you. I’ve heard he’s very handsome, though a bit of a rogue. When it comes to romantic tales, if he claims to be second, no one dares to call themselves first.”
Miss Su smiled gracefully but didn’t respond.
Another woman, whose charm was more overt than refined, added sarcastically, “Sister Su, don’t you love appreciating ancient paintings? Everyone knows that any painting stamped with the words ‘fake’ by the famous connoisseur Tianxia is actually genuine. How many disputed paintings have been authenticated thanks to him?”
Miss Su smiled again and said, “That is indeed a great contribution of the Beiliang Prince. After all, as the saying goes, ‘Even gold isn’t entirely pure.’ Isn’t it the same with Master Luo? Though he claims not to be skilled in playing the guqin, he still has his strengths, just like the Beiliang Prince.”
The two women were left speechless by her clever and flawless response, glaring at each other in frustration without finding any weakness to exploit.
Xu Fengnian gazed at the growing fire, a faint smile on his face.
It felt strangely pleasant to be mocked openly like this. In Beiliang, he wouldn’t have had such a luxury.
He couldn’t help but think of Li Yishan, the man who never admitted to being his master, and felt a pang of nostalgia for the feather duster that had once stung his palms during childhood lessons. That duster still sat in the uppermost floor of the Tingchao Pavilion.
Many lessons had been learned through those strokes. For some reason, during his ignorant childhood and youth, a few gentle scoldings from Xu Shao had made him feel wronged, driving him to sulk at tombs. Yet, he had never held a grudge against Li Yishan for his harsh teachings.
On his return to Beiliang, he would bring a few bottles of fine wine for him.
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