Xu Fengnian stirred from a daze, not opening his eyes immediately. First, he turned his awareness inward to examine the flow of his internal energy. There was both good and bad news. He had unlocked the new acupoint, Jueque, which was fortunate. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown, his internal energy burned like fiercely blazing firewood. Though it had not yet turned to ash, it carried a sense of impending, uncontrollable danger. This unsettled the young prince, who had always been accustomed to maintaining control over every situation at his disposal, leaving him anxious and puzzled beyond comprehension. He then extended his senses outward, listening to the breathing rhythms around him, before finally opening his eyes.
The first thing to greet his vision was a peerlessly beautiful face. He had been stunned by her beauty upon first sight in the valley, a beauty so rare it seemed otherworldly. Her uncommon emerald-green eyes were like verdant mountains and flowing waters. She must have scored at least ninety-five points, perhaps only slightly less exquisite than the white-furred youth, Chen Yu, and Jiang Ni. If her figure matured further, gaining fullness and charm, she might rival them evenly. In the Northern Marches, the wind and sand were harsh, and women rarely possessed delicate beauty, their frames often broader and more rugged than their southern counterparts. Could it be that Cao Guanzi, with his famed eight-dou share of charm, had monopolized all the grace of Northern Marches women?
This thought flitted through his mind, and Xu Fengnian briefly wondered if sealing himself within the Golden Coffer had turned him into a monk who abstained from worldly pleasures. He felt no desire to admire the beauty before him. Slowly rising, he distanced himself from the warmth and softness of her body. After cultivating his sword, his body had become as precise as a water clock. Even in deep meditation, he would automatically awaken every hour. He leapt into the valley, silently guiding his sword. A single drop of blood landed on the blade, but the sword suddenly plummeted. There went three days of effort. Xu Fengnian suppressed the urge to curse, frowning at the bloodstain on his palm. The red hue was strangely tinged with a faint gold. Even at the peak of the Great Huangting cultivation, he had never heard of such a strange phenomenon. He dared not recklessly continue sword cultivation. Sheathing his slender, elegant sword—fine as a woman’s black hair—he soared back to the mountaintop.
Most of the rescued herdsmen were young children, gathered around the girl. They looked at Xu Fengnian with awe and reverence, but he ignored them. His gaze fell upon a white bowl whose base shimmered under the sunlight. He squatted down, ran a finger across it, and sniffed. He guessed the truth. The reason the Buddha was called the Golden Buddha largely stemmed from the so-called Indestructible Diamond Body, said to repel evil spirits and ghosts from the underworld, making them prostrate in submission. Xu Fengnian had learned from Li Chungan that the Diamond Body was mostly a false realm in the mortal world. Only the two monks of the Lincan Temple, Li Dangxin and his younger brother Xu Longxiang, possessed the true Diamond Body. When Li Dangxin returned from his western pilgrimage, someone spread the terrifying secret that consuming a piece of the flesh of the meat-eating white-robed monk could grant eternal life. Demonic figures swarmed to him, but none succeeded in harming him. Finally, as Li Dangxin approached Chang’an, he publicly cut a piece of flesh from his body and gave it to a starving, freezing man. Years later, the old man passed away peacefully, still without gaining immortality, and the rumors finally faded.
Xu Fengnian sat cross-legged, gazing thoughtfully at the white bowl. The girl and the two dozen children and youths beside him dared not disturb him, simply sharing in his silence. Xu Fengnian stood, grabbed two children, and soared down into the valley. The bison herd had been stunned by the lion’s roar of the Buddhist practitioner, frozen like a river instantly halting its flow, completely motionless. Finally, they turned and stampeded away. The herdsmen could now safely select the bison carcasses for winter meat storage. Xu Fengnian successively transported the herdsmen from the mountaintop down, during which several cheerful children felt as if they were soaring through the clouds, laughing joyfully.
Only the graceful girl remained. Further north in Longyao Prefecture, the climate was harsh. In autumn and winter, the rich wore furs of sable, fox, and squirrel, while the poor wore garments made from cattle, horse, pig, or sheep hides. In spring and summer, they wore cloth garments, with distinctions of quality between the rich and poor. The woman before him wore a left-side fastened narrow-sleeved tunic and black leather boots, dressed simply and neatly, far from the luxurious embroidered attire of noble households. However, she was naturally beautiful, with an exquisite Qiang flute tied at her waist. With no one else at the mountaintop, Xu Fengnian finally had the leisure to take a good look at her, not rushing to send her down into the valley. She blushed prettily, lowered her eyes, and nervously twisted the hem of her robe with two fingers.
Xu Fengnian smiled slightly, approached, and pinched her chin, lifting it upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. He had witnessed the Northern Marches cavalry hunting and did not intend to get involved in this messy affair. “Beauty brings calamity,” and Xu Fengnian lacked the ability to indulge in romantic entanglements in the Northern Marches, where even a sword of love could wound. Even someone as broad-minded as Li Chungan had suffered similarly.
Xu Fengnian’s actions in stopping the bison herd were clearly self-serving. He simply wanted to leave a decent impression on the monk Longshu, one of the two sages of the world. To expect the young prince to go the extra mile—to save these herdsmen from their plight—was too much to ask. After all, who could maintain a good relationship with him? Xu Fengnian embraced her, leapt down, landed lightly, and released her without another word. He ignored the herdsmen who knelt in gratitude, his energy flowing like the Kunlun mountain range, vanishing in a flash as he pursued the bison herd. After turning a corner, he slowed his pace, planning to return. He thought of a method to practice the sixth page of the sword manual, envisioning himself gliding through the bison herd like a fish in water.
The Northern Marches cavalry, having waited a long time without seeing the bison, sensed something was amiss and charged into the valley with swords drawn. Xu Fengnian’s hearing was extraordinary, and he frowned slightly, sticking to the dark cliff like a gecko. He had intended to ignore the situation and return to the mountaintop to chase the bison. However, he caught sight of a rider turning into the valley’s curve, followed by a cruel laugh that every man understood.
Walking along the cliff ridge, Xu Fengnian observed the thirty-odd riders surrounding the girl below. Those skilled in horsemanship leaned sideways to tease her clothing. Muttering curses, Xu Fengnian descended once more into the valley. His feet touched the ground without raising a speck of dust. The arrogant cavalry did not notice someone appearing behind them. Xu Fengnian, without bothering to speak, floated forward, grabbing the tail of a galloping warhorse. The horse, feeling sudden pain, reared up on its hind legs, neighing in agony. The fierce cavalryman turned in shock, his sword slashing downward at the reckless intruder. Xu Fengnian seized the saber, dragged the rider from his horse, and kicked the sturdy warrior aside. The man’s body slammed against the cliff, instantly turning into a pile of flesh. Xu Fengnian was startled—when had he reached such a level?
The other riders were equally shocked. One bold warrior spurred his horse forward, but Xu Fengnian stood still, waiting until the horse charged. He placed a hand on the horse’s head, driving it into the ground, killing it instantly. The back half of the horse’s body flipped upward. Xu Fengnian slapped it away, sending both the rider and the dead horse crashing into the cliff. The only difference in their deaths was that the second pile of flesh was slightly larger.
The thirty-odd riders no longer thought of harassing the tender morsel before them and fled in panic, realizing that overwhelming their enemy with sheer numbers was futile. “Better to preserve one’s life than to fight a losing battle.” This simple truth applied anywhere. Since Xu Fengnian had already drawn blood, he could not allow any survivors to report back. He leapt into action, strolling leisurely as if in a courtyard, moving slowly alongside the warhorses. With a single palm strike, he sent them crashing against the cliffs like flies smacked against a wall. The canyon walls blossomed with splashes of crimson.
Indeed, Xu Fengnian could not match Chen Zhibao’s brutality at Xilei Wall, dragging the wife and daughter of Ye Baikui to their deaths behind a horse. Yet, killing some barbarians in the Northern Marches held no hesitation for him. If not for this, he believed he deserved to die in the Northern Marches!
Even with the hereditary title in hand, how could he possibly compete with Chen Zhibao for control of the Beiliang army without spilling blood? Seizing soldiers, supplies, public favor, and military loyalty required blood on one’s hands, not mere words of righteousness and morality. How many mass executions marked the Spring and Autumn Wars? How many cities were razed? How many resorted to cannibalism, mothers selling children, fathers cooking sons? Scholars, nobles, ministers, and martial artists—each took their turn on the stage. Even in death, many still managed a line or two in history books. Yet countless ordinary people, who merely wished for a peaceful life, perished without a trace, their descendants, who might have offered sacrifices in their memory, dying alongside them.
Could a leader guided by mere sentimentality command the thirty thousand iron cavalry of Beiliang? If the northern gate of the empire fell, allowing the Northern Marches to surge through, the first to suffer would be the hundreds of thousands of households in Beiliang. The loyal ministers of the Liyang Dynasty, who had always hindered Beiliang, would surely wear expressions of grief while secretly rejoicing.
Xu Fengnian’s face darkened. After eliminating the thirty-odd Northern Marches cavalry, he slowly approached the girl.
She was the only herdsman who had witnessed him single-handedly stopping the bison stampede. At that moment, she believed him to be the greatest hero in the world, descending like an immortal.
But when she saw him kill, not just bulls, and especially when she saw him approaching slowly, she instinctively averted her gaze and took two steps back.
Xu Fengnian smirked coldly, leapt back to the mountaintop, and decided he had done enough for the herdsmen, no longer caring for their fates. He set off in pursuit of the massive bison herd.
The girl suddenly realized what she had done, regret gnawing at her heart. She sank to the ground, eyes empty and lost.
Xu Fengnian reached the mountaintop at the canyon’s end and paused, gazing into the distance.
Saving one to kill ten thousand, killing one to save ten thousand—how could one weigh virtue against sin?
Even though Xu Fengnian believed in Buddhism, he neither sought nor wished to understand.
He remembered his second sister, Xu Wei Xiong, once pondering whether a white horse was truly a horse. His father, Xu Xiao, a man of simple tastes, had joked: “If your father says it’s a horse, then it’s a horse. Who dares say otherwise?”
Such was the unreasonable butcher of generals. Yet on that night, he had told the young prince: “There is no one in this world who deserves to die, especially no common people. As long as I, Xu Xiao, still draw breath, the people of Liang and Mang shall not perish needlessly.”
Xu Fengnian leapt from the cliff, sprinted forward, and followed the hoofprints to catch up with the bison herd.
First, he swam like a fish in a lake, gliding effortlessly, then leapt onto a bull’s back.
Riding the tide.
Finally, he stood atop the lead bull, riding the crest of the wave.
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