Xu Fengnian walked out of the village, casting a backward glance. He recalled his teacher Li Yishan’s “Essay on the Courage of a Sword,” which depicted the myriad scenes of common life. It roughly said that while staying in a humble inn on a journey, he saw a few glimmers of firelight. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a weaver girl sewing by lamplight. Thinking of this, the young prince smiled. In his adolescence, he had spent hundreds of taels of silver on poems, only to acquire flowery verses devoid of real feeling. Looking back now, he found Li Yishan’s poems, simple and warm like the rice porridge, vinegar, and cabbage in a young maiden Xu Qing’s home, far more comforting to the heart.
Assured that no one was around, the prince suddenly surged with energy. Like a flying swan leaving traces on snow, he dashed toward Daoma Pass. Huangfu Ping was indeed a man of genuine talent, but more importantly, he was ruthless. With his family ruined, he had become indifferent to all familial ties, thus qualifying himself to be a crucial piece on the chessboard of open moves. Yet what truly moved the prince was Huangfu Ping’s audacious switch: apparently foreseeing that his own son, though honest and sincere, would not be able to carry the burden of the Huangfu family in the future, or perhaps out of remorse toward his elder brother, he resolutely chose to send his only son to die in place of his nephew, Huangfu Qingfeng. Such a cold and merciless figure, a true terror of the jianghu, would still thrive even in the murky waters of officialdom.
The title of a forth-grade general, Guoyi Colonel, was neither too high nor too low. A higher rank, such as that of a Huaihua General who wielded the Tiger Talisman and commanded half the forces of Youzhou, would provoke fierce resistance from the military in Youzhou. A lower rank, such as a fifth-grade Lang General, would leave him isolated and ignored, with no one listening even if he spoke until his lips blistered. Thus, after careful deliberation, the prince of the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion bestowed upon Huangfu Ping the title of Guoyi Colonel. Whether Huangfu would prove to be a fine steed or a stubborn donkey would soon be tested. Xu Fengnian’s father, Xu Shao, was clearly pleased with this decision.
In Youzhou, every position was like a radish in its hole, fiercely contested. Yet for the silent father and son of the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion, the rise and fall of individuals was not a matter of black and white—of virtuous officials staying and corrupt ones leaving. If an upright official was mediocre, and a corrupt one was capable, which would better serve the foundation of Beiliang? Such decisions required careful calculation, just like the recent Daoma Pass incident. Standing in the shoes of the prince, Xu Fengnian admired the methods of Zhou Ziru and his father more than the heroic deeds of Han Tao, who had saved the Yulong Gang. But should that mean keeping the former? If this vice-commander had intricate ties with someone surnamed Chen, beneficial to Daoma Pass but a festering wound for the Xu family of Beiliang, how should he be dealt with? Every move affected the whole, and every person had their patrons, connections, and debts of gratitude. The entire Beiliang was entangled in a mess of threads—how could Xu Fengnian simply slice through it with a few strokes of his knife?
The sage Zhang Fuzi once said that governing a great nation is like cooking a small fish—delicate and requiring care. But for those in power, it was merely a fine-sounding phrase, spoken by someone who stood shouting without feeling the strain.
Approaching Daoma Pass, Xu Fengnian slowed his pace. Upon reaching the inn, he learned that the Yulong Gang had already headed toward the pass. Hurrying forward, he found the gang members waiting impatiently. With an apologetic smile, he took the reins of a fine horse from Wang Dashi. The group passed through the pass smoothly that day, leaving the Yulong Gang with mixed feelings. Not only was Zhou Ziru present—having led troops in a deadly raid the previous night—but also Vice-Commander Zhou Xian, who had come in person to see them off. Yet the one who should have been their greatest safeguard, Lieutenant Han, was nowhere to be seen.
Xiao Qiang continued walking beside Liu Niran, observing his prized disciple’s expression. Glancing briefly at Xu Fengnian behind them, he murmured, “Last night, that Xu fellow secretly killed a soldier at Daoma Pass. What seemed like me sending him out to take the blame was actually a test to gauge the depth of this Lianzhou noble’s influence. When dealing with such high-stakes ventures, one must know the opponent’s strength before committing fully. Niran, you must understand the painstaking thought behind my actions.”
Liu Niran replied expressionlessly, “Deputy Leader, you flatter yourself. I naturally understand your intentions.”
At the cold, distant title of “Deputy Leader,” a flicker of displeasure crossed Xiao Qiang’s eyes. Yet seeing that she did not dwell on his momentary cowardice, he forced himself to endure. Without such restraint, how could he hold the position of Deputy Leader for twenty years? He and the Yulong Gang were like grasshoppers tied together—dependent on each other. If he wished to lead a comfortable life with his family in the future, he would have to deal with Liu Niran. A little humiliation now was worth it. Whether or not she acknowledged their master-disciple relationship mattered little. Xiao Qiang knew Liu Niran well—like her father, she had a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Last night’s incident had revealed her true nature when she threw herself recklessly into danger. Besides, this journey, which would determine the Yulong Gang’s prosperity for the next decade, could not succeed without his guidance. Could someone like Gongsun Yang, a stubborn blockhead who wouldn’t utter a word even if beaten with sticks, manage it?
Wang Dashi, feeling fortunate to have shared hardships with Xu Fengnian, now followed him openly, no longer fearing the elders’ disapproving glances. Running alongside Xu’s horse, he awkwardly muttered, “Master Xu, I finally memorized four or five hundred characters, but somehow I forgot some along the way.”
Seeing the boy’s guilt and frustration, Xu Fengnian smiled and reassured him, “It’s fine. Let it come naturally. If you force it too much, you’ll forget it all the more easily. Take your time. We still have a while before reaching Liuxia City in Beimang. But let me warn you—though this martial arts manual may not be valuable, it is a complete set. Don’t let anyone overhear it, or you’ll never be able to clear your name, even if you jumped into a river. If you talk in your sleep, I’d advise you to tape your mouth shut before bed.”
Wang Dashi secretly breathed a sigh of relief, “Luckily, I sleep like a log—thunder wouldn’t wake me. I just snore loudly, but at least I don’t talk in my sleep.”
Half an hour after leaving Daoma Pass, hoofbeats thundered behind them, causing the Yulong Gang to exchange uneasy glances. They hastily formed a defensive line. When they recognized Zhou Ziru, the top young noble of Daoma Pass, even an old hand like Xiao Qiang felt a chill run through his scalp.
But upon realizing that Zhou Ziru had only two personal guards with him, they relaxed slightly, sensing no sign of vengeance. Zhou Ziru halted his horse, raised his arm gracefully—a display that filled the younger members of the Yulong Gang with envy. A burly cavalryman dismounted and removed two boxes strapped to his horse, placing them before Liu Niran and Xiao Qiang. Zhou Ziru gazed at Liu Niran, smiling calmly, “This is a small token to make amends for last night’s misunderstanding. I hope Lady Liu will accept it. In the future, should the Yulong Gang pass through Daoma Pass again, I guarantee that the city gates will open wide, and no travel permits will be required.”
Liu Niran’s eyes reddened as she gripped the reins tightly. Yet she managed a stiff smile, forcing each word through clenched teeth, “On behalf of the Yulong Gang, I thank Lord Zhou for your magnanimity.”
Zhou Ziru sniffed slightly, his lips curving into a smile. Then, with a slow, leisurely motion, he turned his horse and rode away.
Watching the gang members, whose eyes held more fear than hatred, Liu Niran’s expression darkened. She spoke firmly, “Take the boxes. We move on.”
They say that feuds in the jianghu should be settled in the jianghu. But once entangled with the authorities, how many martial sects could avoid bowing their heads? Without bending the neck, one could only lose it. Especially after the Beiliang King’s brutal campaign against the jianghu, establishing the infamous rule of “bloody heads,” the situation had changed. Today, aside from the exalted sects like Longhushan, Wujia Jianzhong, and Dongyue Jianchi, all other martial schools were registered and lived under tight scrutiny. Gone were the days when one could say, “You’re an official? I couldn’t care less. Talk too much and I’ll cut you down and vanish into the horizon.” That wild, free spirit had long been swept away by the winds of change, and the heroic spirit had been trampled beneath iron hooves.
Even the Ten Great Aristocratic Clans had been shattered by the Beiliang cavalry. What hope did a jianghu consumed by internal strife have?
Wang Dashi whispered, “Master Xu, what do the Beimang barbarians look like? Do they have eyes like copper bells and hands like fans, towering eight or nine chi tall, as strong as oxen?”
Xu Fengnian chuckled, shaking his head, “Not really. They’re just ordinary people—no extra arms or legs. In about half a month, you’ll see plenty of them in the streets. You’ll find that even their young girls are delicate and tender. Pity you don’t have any spare coins, or you could visit a pleasure house in Liuxia City and sample their charms. That would be your way of riding and fighting on another battlefield for the Liyang Empire.”
Wang Dashi’s youthful face flushed red, stammering in embarrassment.
Unfortunately, Liu Niran had ridden up to discuss some official matters with Xu Fengnian and overheard his words. She angrily turned her horse and galloped away.
Further ahead, there were no more official roads, only paths trampled by merchants from both kingdoms. Yet they remained fairly flat and wide, accommodating two horses riding side by side.
At noon, the Yulong Gang stopped to rest on a high loess slope. For a large group traveling on the road, it was common sense to rest on high ground rather than low. In the borderlands of Beiliang and Beimang, where bandits roamed freely, a dozen horsemen charging downhill could slaughter countless people. As for small groups, without great skill, even standing on a mountaintop would be meaningless if faced with such raiders—they would still lose their money and their lives.
Xu Fengnian, still the solitary type, was even more disliked by the Yulong Gang after their losses at Daoma Pass. They blamed him as the main culprit for their journey to Beimang. Liu Niran and Xiao Qiang, who had some knowledge of the truth, naturally held no affection for him either. Xu Fengnian, however, was content with the solitude. He squatted at the edge of the slope, chewing on a wrinkled dry biscuit while gazing into the distance, the landscape bleak and desolate. He murmured, “The young should not go to Jiangnan; the old should not travel to Liang or Mang.”
Wang Dashi crouched beside Xu Fengnian, curious, “Master Xu, I never went to school. What does that mean?”
Xu Fengnian smiled and explained, “It’s from a romance novel called ‘First Snowfall.’ It says that Jiangnan’s scenery is too beautiful, a gentle land that becomes a grave for heroes. A young man whose heart is not yet firm, seeing such beauty too early, will find it hard to muster the ambition to achieve greatness. The borderlands of Liang and Mang are desolate and bleak. An aging man, reflecting on the world’s sorrows, will feel deep grief in his chest, and even heroes will feel the weight of their years.”
Wang Dashi nodded slowly, scratching his head, “Master Xu, I think I kind of understand now.”
Xu Fengnian teased, “Lady Liu must be fond of ‘First Snowfall.’ If you get the chance, go to a teahouse and listen to the storytellers. You’ll learn a bit about a woman’s heart.”
Wang Dashi nearly choked on the bite of meat pie he was swallowing, coughing and blushing with embarrassment, “I don’t drink wine.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled, took a sip from his water pouch, and didn’t tease the boy further. Wang Dashi, always feeling inferior in Xu’s presence, didn’t stay long. After a while, he quietly left.
Xu Fengnian put away his dry biscuit and water pouch. Turning his head, he saw the Yulong Gang still resting and chatting. Without any visible movement, a tiny dagger flew from his sleeve.
He pricked his finger with the dagger, letting the blood drip onto the blade.
Ordinarily, the blood would have slid off, but this dagger, two inches long and entirely green, seemed to possess a mystical life of its own, absorbing the blood into its body.
Deng Ta’a had twelve flying swords, and this one was Qingmei.
Xu Fengnian let three drops fall before retrieving Qingmei.
Nurturing the sword.
To one day wield it and kill, one must not slack for a thousand days.
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