Xu Fengnian chewed lazily on a licorice root, rubbing off the dirt with his fingers. Perhaps it was the warmth of the fire nearby, but his face bore a drowsy smile. Twelve flying swords: Xuanjia, Qingmei, Zhuma, Chaolu, Chunshui, Taohua, Emei, Zhuque, Huangtong, Pifu, Jinlou, Tai’e.
These names were quite poetic indeed. Compared to the maids of Wutong Courtyard, named like Sweet Potato and Cucumber, these were infinitely more elegant.
On his second journey outside, he had met many remarkable martial artists. The young prince was like a mischievous child wandering through a bustling market with a golden treasure, drawing the attention of many top martial experts, just as the Prince of Guangling, Zhao Yi, had once described. These famed martial artists, in the prince’s opinion, were indeed impressive in their skills, but none could match Old Huang’s warmth and simplicity. Only that old man with the sheepskin cloak, who scratched his nose and picked his feet, came close. As for the bearing of a true martial grandmaster, Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City was like a thunderous rainbow soaring into the Eastern Sea, raising the sea level by twenty zhang. To uproot mountains and overturn rivers was no exaggeration. The great scholar Cao Changqing also fit the image of a Confucian gentleman. But the famed swordsman from Peach Blossom Valley, who gifted him the sword, left the prince somewhat disappointed. Deng Tai’a, who supposedly rode a donkey and carried a peach blossom branch, was said to possess both celestial and earthly charm. Yet upon meeting him, the man was unremarkable in appearance and always smiling—an utterly harmless middle-aged man, far from the image of the Peach Blossom Sword Sage he had imagined.
As the prince mused, Gongsun Yang sat down silently beside him, holding two leather flasks of strong liquor. The young Wang Dashi, seeing that Xu had not reacted, worried that he might anger this esteemed guest of the Yu Long Sect, second only to the old master and Xiao Qiang, and hastily coughed twice.
Gongsun Yang glanced at this young disciple of Yu Long, whose martial potential was nothing special. For once, the usually gloomy-faced man cracked a rare smile. He did not rush to speak with Xu Fengnian but instead asked Wang Dashi about his family matters. It was then that Wang learned his father had once been a half-disciple of Gongsun Yang. In fact, it was Gongsun Yang who had strongly recommended Wang’s acceptance into Yu Long. No matter the sect or faction, recruitment was always a serious matter—nothing was trivial.
Nowadays, the imperial authorities strictly regulated the martial world. All members of martial sects had to be registered in official records. Thus arose an unwritten but universally understood rule—”collective punishment.” Once, a notorious bandit was captured, and the authorities followed the trail, discovering that in twenty years of wandering, he had passed through no fewer than ten sects. The matter escalated to the governor of Qingzhou, and tragically, seven or eight sects within Qingzhou territory suffered severe repercussions. This served as a grim warning to the entire martial world. Moreover, since sect members were expected to fight for the sect, many taxes and burdens fell upon the sects themselves. Large sects with hundreds or even thousands of members naturally had the resources to manage such burdens. But for a small sect like Yu Long, struggling to survive, these expenses were like a noose around the neck—any day, it could tighten and choke the life out of them.
Yet Wang Dashi had managed to join Yu Long and live a stable, worry-free life. Gongsun Yang had never once claimed credit for this. In the early days, when the boy first joined, he certainly had no right to receive even a single coin of monthly stipend. In fact, those copper coins, worth nearly eight or nine taels of silver, had all come from Gongsun Yang’s own purse. Only when Wang grew older and became eligible for the stipend did Gongsun Yang quietly stop his support. Xiao Qiang once said Gongsun Yang was a silent gourd—hardly an unfair description.
Seeing Gongsun Yang bring two flasks of wine, Xu Fengnian smiled and asked for one. He took it, sniffed, and chuckled—indeed, it was the beloved green-ant wine of Beiliang, enjoyed by both rich and poor, young and old. In high spirits, he tilted his head back and took a swig. With narrowed eyes, he asked, “Master Gongsun, is the second sect leader off training in seclusion again?”
Gongsun Yang’s voice was hoarse—whether from the harsh winds of wandering in Beiman as a youth or from years of drinking, no one knew. He waved his hand and said, “I’m just a crude martial artist who earns a living by brute strength. I don’t deserve the title of ‘Master.’ Though I don’t practice swordsmanship, I know that diligence can make up for lack of talent. Sect Leader Xiao’s sword skills have improved in recent years, even in old age, likely due to his perseverance.”
Xu Fengnian raised his wine flask and chuckled, “You wouldn’t come to me without reason, Master Gongsun. Please speak plainly.”
Gongsun Yang hesitated, then smiled bitterly. “At least you didn’t say I was flattering you without cause. That’s generous of you.”
Xu Fengnian was somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected the guest to have a sense of humor. He always had a soft spot for those who could laugh at themselves, unlike those half-baked martial artists who put on airs. He took another swig of wine and waited silently. Wang Dashi, sensing the shift in conversation, thought of slipping away. But as he lifted his bottom halfway off the ground, Gongsun Yang stopped him. “Dashi, you may as well listen too.”
Gongsun Yang sat cross-legged, placing the wine flask on his lap. He spoke directly, “To be honest, all along this journey, I have secretly observed your martial prowess, Xu Gongzi. I noted your walking pace, how you mount and dismount a horse, even your breathing while riding. If I had detected something, it wouldn’t have been strange. But your aura is so deeply concealed that I noticed nothing. At first, I assumed you were just an ordinary martial artist who had learned some basic military techniques in the General’s Mansion. But that night in Daoma Inn, the young lady told me that you killed a Beiliang soldier with a single strike. That truly startled me. Though her sword skills have not yet tasted the blood of life-or-death combat, she has already reached a high level in the sword path. She used the Liu family’s secret technique, “Master Three Bows,” combining it with her “Flying Sword” technique, and still claimed she couldn’t defeat the assassin Zhao Yingchuan. Whether you had the advantage of surprise or not, to kill him with one strike was no small feat. Before Zhao’s body was removed, I secretly examined his back and saw the shape of his shattered spine. Even in my prime, I could not have done better.”
Wang Dashi’s face turned pale. Second Tier! To a low-level martial artist, that was a godlike level of cultivation. Even Liu, the founder of Yu Long, who built the sect with his bare hands and maintained his strength in old age, was barely approaching Third Tier. In Lingzhou, that was enough to command respect. The top sects in Lingzhou, whose masters were all Third Tier, had no hope of reaching Second Tier in this lifetime. Yet here was Gongsun Yang, a guest in his forties, whose feet were afflicted with damp poison, making him walk with a limp, claiming he had once been a Second Tier expert? Wang Dashi dared not doubt, but his heart churned. Looking at Gongsun Yang now, his respect was no longer just for the man’s status.
In the martial world, Fourth Tier was the first threshold, and Second Tier the second. To cross these was extremely difficult. How much fortune must a martial artist possess to leap through these two thresholds? To reach near Third Tier was already considered an expert. Poor Wang Dashi never even dared to dream of reaching Fourth Tier.
Some people, while eating from the bowl, still think of the pot, and even the crops in the field. But there are a few who are content just to enjoy what’s in the bowl. Everyone knows the value of contentment, but few truly embrace it.
Only now did the boy realize. He gulped, slowly turned his head with a stiff neck, and stared at Xu Fengnian in daze. The guest had spoken plainly. Even a simple-hearted youth like him could grasp the meaning. Could it be that the refined, handsome, and easygoing Xu Gongzi by his side was also a hidden master of great skill? And not just any master—perhaps a truly formidable one? But weren’t all martial experts like Xiao Qiang’s deputy sect leader—aloof and untouchable? The boy wasn’t clever to begin with. He hadn’t even taken a sip of wine, yet just from its aroma, he felt a little dizzy.
Xu Fengnian gazed at Gongsun Yang and softly said, “Master Gongsun, please speak plainly. If it’s something I can do, and if I can help, I will.”
Gongsun Yang visibly relaxed. He rubbed his rough, unshaven face. He was naturally bearded but never bothered to groom himself. His clothes were as ragged as a poor farmer’s. He sighed and said, “For half a month now, the journey to Liuxia City in Beiman has been too quiet. That worries me. I fear something unexpected may happen in the coming days. If that happens, I won’t ask you to fight for Yu Long. I only ask that, if the sect reaches a point where it cannot survive—even if I die—you take the young lady and Wang Dashi back to Beiliang. Of course, as long as I still draw breath, I won’t ask for your help.”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Alright.”
The heavy stone that had pressed on Gongsun Yang’s heart for half a month finally lifted. He smiled genuinely, clinked his wine flask against Xu’s, and both took a swig.
In high spirits, Gongsun Yang opened up, as if he wanted to pour out all the words he had kept inside for years. He looked up at the starry sky and sighed, “There’s always someone stronger. In that Daoma Inn, within fifty steps, I considered my archery skills passable. Yet twenty arrows were casually batted away by a figure near a Beiman princess. Truly a Second Tier expert. I was humbled. Hmph, perhaps you didn’t notice the jade belt hook on that woman’s waist. It’s a unique mark of Beiman nobility—the ‘Xianbei Head.’ Even a high-ranking official of Beiman cannot wear it unless they are of royal blood. That’s what worries me. That girl is spoiled and capricious. The most dangerous thing is that when she takes a fancy to something, she acts on it. In Daoma Pass within Beiliang, she might still have some restraint. But in Beiman, Yu Long is no mighty dragon crossing rivers. If she takes an interest in us, and something happens to the young lady, I’ll have failed the old master’s trust.”
The prince, who had already guessed the identity of the woman with the sable fur on her forehead, said nothing but nodded with a look of sudden realization. “They say it’s not the thief you should fear, but the one who keeps watching. And this one isn’t even a thief—it’s a noble robber with official backing. No wonder Master Gongsun is so worried.”
After a silence among the three, Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “With Master Gongsun’s chain-shooting archery skills, it wouldn’t be hard to secure a position like the deputy commander of Daoma Pass in the Beiliang army. Why not take that path to wealth and honor?”
Gongsun Yang’s face turned bitter, and he shook his head.
Putting the pieces together from Gongsun Yang’s words, his willingness to remain hidden in Yu Long, his exquisite and fierce archery, and his lingering strong accent from ancient Shu, Xu Fengnian began to understand his plight. There was an old poem: “In Shu, Gongsun’s chain arrows flew like thunder.” The prince murmured to himself, “The iron cavalry of Beiliang marched to the gates. The former emperor of Shu hanged himself. His royal uncle died in battle before the city walls, refusing to surrender. The emperor guarded the nation’s gate. The king died for his land. The great scholar Wang Yan, the minister of war, the minister of rites, the officials of the six ministries, generals, deputy generals, governors, county magistrates, great scholars, poets, wandering knights, righteous men, and even women—each met their end. Before the emperor and the Sword Emperor fell, the officials of Shu who died, whose names can still be found in the records, numbered over two thousand. Among the Nine Kingdoms of the Spring and Autumn Periods, Shu was the smallest. Yet in terms of those who chose death over surrender, it led all eight other fallen kingdoms. What a nation that perished, yet never lost its dignity.”
Gongsun Yang lowered his head to drink, tears streaming down his face. He muttered, “If even the king dared to die for his land, why should we, the people of Shu, not dare to die? But I was young then, taken to Beiman by my clan. I wanted to die, but could not.”
Suddenly, he lifted his head, his eyes sharp.
Xu Fengnian smiled bitterly. “Master Gongsun fears that I, a petty official of the General’s Mansion, might hand your head over for a reward to buy wine?”
Gongsun Yang realized his lapse, shook his head, and offered an apologetic smile.
Xu Fengnian took another sip of wine and said, “This flask of green-ant wine is truly delicious. What use is wine bought with the heads of friends, no matter how expensive?”
Gongsun Yang burst into laughter, pointed at Xu Fengnian, and said heartily, “If you were merely a martial artist, I would call you brother without hesitation.”
After finishing their wine, they parted ways—gathered for a purpose, yet leaving in high spirits.
Xu Fengnian warmed his hands by the fire, glanced at the sky, and stood up without disturbing anyone. He slowly walked toward a quiet place, descending a hill as if strolling to clear his mind.
But once out of Yu Long’s sight, the prince, whom Gongsun Yang mistook for near Second Tier, moved swiftly. Each step covered several zhang, as smooth as flowing clouds and water.
He ran ten miles in one breath.
He pressed his ear to the ground—this was the listening technique of the Beiliang scouts. Xu Fengnian smirked coldly, then crouched like a wildcat in the night, gradually slowing his steps. At a hundred paces from a tall earthen hill, under the starlight, he saw a man yawning at the top. Xu Fengnian suddenly accelerated, appearing in an instant. The lookout, still yawning, barely saw the unexpected guest before a knife-hand strike to the neck knocked him out. The man remained seated, slumped lazily.
Xu Fengnian leisurely lay beside him, plucked a licorice root, placed it between his teeth, and listened. He could hear Xiao Qiang’s voice.
Indeed, it was the same jianghu, yet rice nourished a hundred different kinds of people.
The small Yu Long Sect, though modest in size, was a complete world in itself.
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