The heir apparent, bearing a root-flesh mask, was naturally far from handsome. His pair of phoenix eyes, which lent him an air of softness, still suited the atmosphere of Feihu City well—even if he wore a sword at his waist. Still, it was the first time in his life that a little girl had found fault with his age, a reaction that left him both amused and perplexed. Old Sun, the innkeeper, laughed heartily to smooth things over, muttering twice, “Children speak without restraint—don’t take offense, brother.” The little girl, apparently hating most of all to be seen as a child, added another jab by saying bluntly that he was just plain ugly.
It was a warm, sunlit afternoon, and time passed leisurely over cups of tea. Old Sun, a native of Feihu City and a talkative sort, was full of local tales, jokes, and anecdotes. He wasn’t the kind of parochial fool who blindly adored his hometown—he delighted in both mocking others and himself. With a plate of salted peanuts before him, he shared every celebrity scandal and embarrassing secret Feihu had to offer. The heir’s sharp tongue was well known in Beiliang. Nearly every border official who had come groveling to the Prince’s Mansion had been ridiculed by him. But those old foxes with real power simply pretended not to hear, unwilling to retaliate or take offense. Some even took pride in it, treating the mockery as a badge of honor and retelling it gleefully to friends. Over time, it became a kind of status symbol—if you hadn’t been teased by the heir, you clearly weren’t close to the Beiliang King, and thus held in lesser esteem. This left many young officials—those who hadn’t earned their place through military exploits during the Spring and Autumn Period—seething with resentment, too proud to associate with the old guard of the bureaucracy.
As for the young heir, who had once only indulged in verbal mischief, he later reflected with a bitter smile. Ever since his first journey outside the Prince’s Mansion and his coming-of-age ceremony, he had reined in his tongue. Especially after his best friend Yan Chiji’s family fled far from Beiliang, the heir’s biting sarcasm had vanished. Even Li Gongde, the newly appointed governor of Beiliang, had grown so used to it that his absence felt strange.
On this afternoon, Xu Fengnian chatted with Old Sun, a man content with simple dreams of a peaceful, prosperous life. Xu occasionally asked a question, nodded in agreement, or chimed in with laughter. The conversation was warm and pleasant. Old Sun’s daughter, Sun Xiaochun, uninterested in the chatter of two old men, went off to play with Tao Manwu, who was even younger. She indulged in the joy of playing the older sister, offering snacks and bringing out little trinkets from her small bedroom for Tao to play with. It was a similarly heartwarming scene.
As dusk approached and dinner time neared, the restaurant grew busier. Old Sun and his apprentices got to work. The kind-hearted old man offered to have one of his apprentices guide Xu Fengnian to Bottle Alley if he planned to go. Xu didn’t refuse, though he understood the unspoken motive. Old Sun’s praise for Bottle Alley likely meant it was decent enough, but having an apprentice guide him was a calculated move. Feihu City was known for its seventy-eight brothels, home to over a thousand courtesans eager to attract customers. The lower-class brothels had no shame in sending madams and girls to flirt openly on the streets. But places like Bottle Alley couldn’t afford to stoop so low—it would be beneath their dignity. Hence, the brothels formed “alliances” with inns and restaurants, sending clients their way in exchange for a cut of the profits or by having the girls visit the restaurants under the guise of sightseeing and then charging the clients exorbitantly.
Xu Fengnian, a nobleman with no shortage of wealth, had long navigated the world of courtesans. He hadn’t spent all his time in bed with women who cost hundreds of gold coins a night. He had also shared tea and conversation with courtesans and their maids, learning many of the not-so-secret secrets of the trade. He knew a great deal about the vulgar, down-to-earth affairs of the three teachings and nine schools of thought. If he really wanted to talk, he could fill a dozen baskets with stories of the embarrassing secrets of so-called upright scholars and noble families. These weren’t just rumors—he had seen and heard them firsthand. As the unrivaled ringleader of Beiliang’s young rakes, he wasn’t boasting.
Xu Fengnian had good reason to look down on the sons of noble families and scholarly elites, but in recent years, after traveling far and wide, he had learned not to judge everyone with the same broad brush.
When ordering dinner, Xu Fengnian thought of Old Sun, who had spent the whole afternoon chatting with him and even refused to take payment for the tea. So he ordered a few expensive meat dishes. At lunch, he had only left the vegetarian soup with five branches of flavor, and in the afternoon, he had asked specifically what lay beyond the branches of mulberry, locust, willow, and peach trees. He learned it was the unremarkable fox tree, after which Feihu City was named. Every summer, its large white blossoms filled the streets with fragrance, like suspended fox fur—beautiful and moving. The improved meal pleased Tao Manwu, who ate heartily, though the shy little girl was too embarrassed to ask for a second bowl of rice.
Perhaps Old Sun had given instructions to a young apprentice, for it’s only natural for a well-fed man to think of lust. As Xu Fengnian’s table neared the end of their meal, the apprentice came over to greet them, clearly ready to guide them to Bottle Alley. The young waiter seemed even more excited than the customer himself. Xu Fengnian didn’t want to disappoint him. In Wen Hua’s hometown slang: “A young man’s ass is good for nothing but baking pancakes—if you keep it locked up too long, you’ll hurt it.” For the apprentice, being able to tour a place where every girl was a fairy-like beauty, even if only from afar, would give him something sweet to dream about later.
The sturdy apprentice introduced himself as Li Liu, the sixth child in his family, and asked Xu Fengnian to call him Xiao Liu. Seeing that Xu actually intended to bring a little girl to a brothel surprised him, but he didn’t question it. After all, if this visit brought unexpected business to the inn, the boss might be in a good mood—not necessarily raise his wages, but maybe give him an extra meat dish. Besides, the women there were incredibly beautiful. Even their walk was enchanting—their swaying hips and ample bosoms could steal a man’s soul. It was strange—did they not only practice singing and playing instruments, but even walking? Li Liu didn’t dare voice this thought, fearing others would call him ignorant.
Jiaqing Bottle Alley was in the northeast corner of Feihu City, not far from the inn. Before reaching Bottle Alley, they passed a street lined with brothels, where many brightly dressed girls and madams tried to lure in customers. Li Liu benefited from Xu Fengnian’s presence. Though the heir wore a mask, Shu Xiu’s personal taste had made the root-flesh mask into a refined scholar rather than a crude brute. Compared to Xu Fengnian’s true, more refined appearance, it was still quite handsome. Xu’s tall, slender frame and clean, white-black robe gave him an air of ease and grace that Li Liu could never hope to possess. The courtesans, who lived by the rule “better to mistake than miss,” couldn’t let such a man pass without trying to catch his attention.
They dared not grab the sword-bearing nobleman’s sleeve, but poor Li Liu had no such protection. He was pushed and pulled by aging madams and young beauties, his arms brushing against their soft, full curves. He didn’t mind at all—deep down, he wished Xu Fengnian would walk slower, ever slower.
Of course, Bottle Alley wouldn’t be in such a vulgar, crowded place. It was nestled quietly by Jiaqing Lake, a row of secluded courtyards that stood above the muck like lotus blossoms.
After finally passing through the heavily perfumed crowd, Li Liu took a deep breath as Xu Fengnian walked ahead on the lakeside stone path. The scent was intoxicating, filling his mind with the girls’ smiles and voices. He knew they weren’t decent women, but he couldn’t help imagining how wonderful it would be if his future wife looked like them. As he walked, he noticed the little girl holding Xu Fengnian’s hand looking back at him a few times. Embarrassed, he gave a nervous smile. The girl stuck out her tongue and made a mocking gesture, so pure and lovely. Li Liu, though shy before Xu Fengnian, couldn’t afford to lose face in front of a little girl. He stretched his fingers over his mouth and nose, making a silly pig face in return. Xu Fengnian, glancing slightly, saw the playful “battle” between the two and smiled to himself, not interrupting.
Li Liu had mentioned earlier that the shores of Jiaqing Lake were lined with private mansions of Feihu’s elite. He couldn’t quite express the phrase “hidden beauty in a golden house,” but that was the idea. Xu Fengnian wasn’t surprised—similar clusters of mansions existed in several cities in Beiliang, housing the mistresses and concubines of noble families. They visited occasionally to relax, showering their “golden nightingales” with jewelry and gold, while their neighbors—fellow nobles—visited each other’s homes to compare the beauty of their new concubines and chat over tea.
The fact that Bottle Alley could remain quiet and secluded in such a bustling area showed the strength of its backing. Xu Fengnian carried six or seven hundred taels of silver in his pocket, but he had sealed his wealth for the sake of the Great Huang Ting cultivation. He hadn’t come to chase women, but to investigate a famous sword said to be worth a thousand taels of gold. After all, even the life of Xu Fengnian had once been priced at a thousand taels of gold by Prince Jing’an of Xiangfan and the girl known as Hehe.
That night, Xu Ya had spoken of the man with rare guilt, and the words he passed on carried great weight. Xu Fengnian knew that this man had once been a general in the Beiliang army, standing alongside Chen Zhiba. He had won many battles during the Spring and Autumn Period. Like Aunt Zhao Yuzhu, who wore a mask of armor, he always wore a jade mask, hiding his true face. Besides his unusual military strategies, this man—whom Xu Fengnian had to call “Uncle”—was also a peerless swordsman. Among the many talented warriors of the Beiliang army, only the thirty iron riders who revered the Prince’s wife were his equals.
Even Old Li, the old man in the sheepskin coat, had once mentioned him by chance, saying that this young swordsman’s sword might be dull, but his intent was sharp—a talent the old man had rarely seen. Like a rich nobleman with too much wealth to spend, he had no choice but to waste it freely. Unfortunately, his sword intent was too cold and ruthless, so his path of the sword never fully blossomed.
In Xu Fengnian’s view, only someone praised by the sword god Li Chungan could truly be called “romantic.”
Since the Sword Pavilion forbade outsiders, the only way in was through the sword worth a thousand taels of gold. Once a noble swordsman, this man had become a romantic figure who painted and lived in brothels. Going to the brothel to ask questions was the shortcut. Bottle Alley wasn’t as famous as Bobowei, but for an outsider with a child, going directly to Bobowei upon entering Feihu City would draw too much attention. Being led to Bottle Alley first, then going to Bobowei, would seem natural—perhaps not entirely without suspicion, but at least not too obvious.
Bringing Tao Manwu was unavoidable. Leaving her alone at the inn was too risky. Losing a bag of silver was nothing, but losing her would bring endless trouble. The cold-hearted heir simply couldn’t trust anyone.
In his life, Xu Fengnian had had three close friends, boys who had grown up together, sharing both trouble and blame. He had thought their friendship would last forever. But now, except for Li Hanlin, the other two were no longer even friends. Fortunately, during his three-year journey, he had met a man with a wooden sword, or else he would have felt too lonely.
As for Wen Hua, every time he thought of him, he felt both amused and helpless. The boy had plenty of quirks. He kept calling Xu “Little Year,” making his skin crawl more than even the White Fox Face’s nickname “Xu Caobao.” Once, after stealing sweet potatoes, roasting them, and eating until full, Wen Hua would say, “Little Year, shall I sing you a song?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he would squat down, stick out his butt, and let out a series of loud farts. Old Huang, who had wisely kept his distance, would laugh with his missing front tooth showing. When Xu Fengnian kicked him over, Wen Hua still wouldn’t repent, saying, “A loud fart never smells!”
Though Wen Hua’s sword skills were terrible, he was an expert at climbing trees to steal bird eggs and diving into water to catch fish and shrimp. After sneaking into an orange grove and eating until his mouth was sore from heat, he would still stuff a couple of oranges into his arms, hold them up, and ask, “Are they pretty? Are they big?” Then he’d chase Xu Fengnian through the grove with a flower-hand gesture, shouting, “Master, come here, come here!” until the grove owner chased them with a stick and a pack of dogs. Or he’d pester Xu Fengnian with questions about how a woman’s breasts and hips felt. Xu usually ignored him, but when he occasionally had a few copper coins from fortune-telling or cheating at chess, he’d buy a steamer of buns. Every time before eating, Wen Hua would poke the buns with his finger, drooling as he asked, “Is it like this?”
This young man, whose greatest dream in life was to become a true swordsman, still went alone to the border after learning of Xu Fengnian’s true identity, saying he wanted to see the desolate scenery and practice his sword.
This made Xu Fengnian feel both relieved and regretful.
Xu Fengnian softly exhaled, regaining his composure. In the twilight, he could already see the brightly lit Bottle Alley.
I hope when we meet again, you are a swordsman known across the land, and I am the King of Beiliang. Who in the world would dare look down on us two old friends who once stole chickens and ducks together and peeked at women’s chests?
So, Wen Hua, don’t die.
Let none of us die in a foreign land.
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