There is no feast that does not end beneath the heavens.
The caravan arrived at the barren border where two provinces met. Hearing a faint stir from within the carriage, Qingniao halted the horses. Prince Shizi bent down to lift the curtain, stepped out, and gazed at the bleak northern scenery of Beiliang, so unlike the lush beauty of the south, and stood lost in thought.
After Frost Descent, trees withered and leaves fell; insects burrowed into their holes. Even the faintest breeze carried a chill that no clothing could block. Winter’s approach loomed near. When Xu Fengnian had set out, spring flowers were in full bloom, but now his return to Liangzhou marked the arrival of winter.
During his three-year travels, he had only scraped by at the bottom of the jianghu, enduring nothing but bitterness and heartache. This journey, though it seemed triumphant, brought him into contact with only the wealthy and powerful, or the most formidable martial cultivators and eccentrics in the jianghu. Indeed, how could ordinary shrimp who merely splashed about in the shallow waters of the martial world dare to greet the Beiliang heir apparent who had openly revealed his identity? That would be nothing but asking for a slap in the face. Xu Fengnian glanced back at the Murong siblings and Lady Pei Nanwei disembarking behind him, as well as the sword immortal driving the carriage who had never stepped down.
At the Guangling River, within just two li of road, two thousand six hundred corpses of elite cavalry lay stacked under Li Chungan’s blade. Few remained intact. The hem of the prince’s robe was soaked and stained red with blood. Except for the cavalry officer wielding a horse spear who barely survived, every Guangling soldier who faced them met their end bravely.
Whether it was Li Chungan’s words, “Let this old man kill another two thousand iron riders for fun, and if I must die, I shall drag down a feudal lord with me—then I shall die content,” that stunned King Zhao Yi of Guangling, or whether it was the sheer terror of Li Chungan’s desperate threat that unsettled his plans, in the end, no matter how that pile of blubber calculated, Zhao Yi did not stop Xu Fengnian from leaving.
On the tenth day of October, though Xu Fengnian had not killed anyone himself, it was the first time he felt true fear. For every life Li Chungan took, Xu Fengnian’s own life hung more precariously in the balance, like feeding fish in the Guangling River. Human strength has its limits. After all, near Dayanji, there were over six thousand elite cavalry, packed so densely they resembled a nest of ants. Worse still, countless warships of the Guangling naval force loomed nearby. If Zhao Yi had truly decided to silence them, even if Li Chungan could save Xu Fengnian alone, he wouldn’t have been able to protect Qingniao and the others. After returning to the carriage, Xu Fengnian looked down at his trembling hands, unable to stop their shaking.
Yet within that fear lurked a twisted, excited thrill. He had witnessed with his own eyes Li Chungan’s sword qi, his blade sweeping through the air, leaving behind a trail of blood and carnage. He wondered when he, through his own practice of the saber, would ever attain such power—the might of a single martial warrior facing down an entire army. After leaving Guangling, Li Chungan’s face immediately turned sallow, as if drained of life. Xu Fengnian knew full well that the old swordsman had already treated that riverside battle as his final act, his swan song. Only sages of the Three Teachings could borrow the mysteries of the heavens, using a mere four ounces of force to deflect a thousand pounds. For martial cultivators outside the Three Teachings, even one as mighty as Li Chungan, each sword stroke required immense expenditure of energy. Under the relentless charge of cavalry like a flood, there had been no chance for the old man in sheepskin to catch his breath or recover his rhythm. That was the true root of his decline.
The Wu Clan Sword Tombs once sent nine sword masters to slay ten thousand cavalry, but those nine were at the peak of their powers, and they supported each other, combining their strengths. Li Chungan had faced thousands of riders alone! The Bei Ku cavalry were the most elite force in the empire’s southeast. In half an hour, Li Chungan had pierced two thousand six hundred suits of armor—how could even the ancestors of the Wu Clan compare?
Xu Fengnian glanced upward at the circling white and black cranes, knowing Lu Qiuer was bringing the Beiliang iron cavalry to their aid. Li Chungan slowly stepped down from the carriage and stood beside the prince, asking, “What’s the matter? Don’t you want this old man to accompany you all the way to Liangzhou’s city gates?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head with a smile. “No need. Cao Lushan is already coming to meet me with his troops. I won’t trouble you further, Senior.”
The old man in sheepskin feigned surprise, rolling his eyes. “Xiao Xu, has your conscience, stolen by a dog, finally returned?”
Xu Fengnian could only offer a bitter smile.
Li Chungan chuckled. “Back at Guangling, when you were caught up in a surge of passion, this old man played mad with you. That we still stand here alive means we owe each other nothing. Without you, even if I had slain another two thousand riders, I would have died for sure, perhaps even worse than the Sword Emperor of Xishu. Your words struck deeper than a thousand of my blades. Indeed, the wrath of a common man cannot compare even to the anger of heaven, let alone the fury of a king or noble. This old man sees it clearly now: martial cultivators should stay within the bounds of the jianghu. Otherwise, no matter how great one’s skill, entanglements of grudges and favors become impossible to untangle. Those who grow old in the jianghu belong to the jianghu—that is the truth. As for the scheming of emperors and generals, the power plays of noble houses, anyone who gets involved will find themselves stained. Just look at them—Longhushan, Dongyue Sword Pond. They may seem powerful, but they are nothing more than turtles in a jar, carp in a pond. When the time comes, whether they are steamed or braised depends on whim. Looking around, only Wudang and the Wu Clan seem to have any dignity left.”
Xu Fengnian’s face darkened with sorrow.
Li Chungan glanced sideways and knew he had touched a nerve—the mention of Wudang Mountain. Feeling remorse, he changed the subject. “Back in Guangling, you dared to carve a piece of Zhao Biao’s fat for yourself. Even this old man finds Chen Yu’s beauty breathtaking. Yet you willingly spat the meat into the Empress’s big bowl in the capital. Are you truly at peace with that?”
Xu Fengnian replied calmly, “It’s that saying again, I suppose—there are things one must do and things one must not. The world doesn’t revolve around my whims. First came the threats from Zhao Gou, shattered by Cao Changqing. Then came the Empress herself, sending envoys bearing imperial decrees. A slap followed by a sweet—soft and hard tactics. What could I do? Without the Guangling incident, maybe I’d have dared to play stubborn with the Empress. In Xiangfan, I nearly came to blows with Prince Zhao Heng of Jing’an, even luring his legitimate princess to Beiliang. Then there’s Zhao Yi of Guangling—a deadly feud, one even the gods cannot untie. Right now, I’m sure Xu Shao is already holding a broom to beat me. If I stirred up more trouble, especially earning the Empress’s displeasure, I might not even be allowed through my own front gate. The matter of Princess Sui Zhu already earned that woman’s wrath—she’s said to be unmatched in palace intrigue, past or future. Honestly, I’d rather the Son of Heaven thought me reckless than keep provoking her ire again and again. When a woman’s heart turns cruel…”
Here, the prince abruptly fell silent.
Li Chungan stretched his waist and cracked his neck, unfazed. “The jianghu whispers of a new Martial Rankings list. This time, they’ll dig out all the deep-sea turtles like Zhao Xuanfu and expose them to the sun. They won’t focus on cultivation levels, only on killing techniques. Pity the rightful number one, Abbot Hong of Wudang, who has already passed away by his own hand. Otherwise, Wang Xianzhi’s title as number two would be even more deserved. As for this old man, I expect my Guangling feat might push me ahead of Deng Ta’a. Also, I predict Gu Jiantang, long underestimated by the jianghu, will finally be revealed. He’ll likely break into the top five. But none of this concerns me anymore. That girl from Laoshan, Wang, she’s the most gifted woman I’ve ever met. Her face bears both joy and shock, but beneath lies sorrow and lament. She toiled endlessly for wealth and fame, only to awaken and find it all a dream. A careless remark from the girl spoke for all the disappointed souls in the world.”
Li Chungan exhaled deeply. “This old man may last a few more years. But when Jiang comes seeking revenge after mastering the sword, don’t you dare resent me.”
Xu Fengnian smiled warmly. “If she becomes a female Immortal on Earth sooner, won’t I meet her earlier too? Otherwise, with her shy nature, how could she dare kill me? I must thank you, Senior.”
Li Chungan nodded. “You may lack many things, but your tolerance suits me just fine, boy.”
The old man with keen hearing caught the distant sound of hooves and sighed softly. “Xu, today’s parting means no further meetings in the jianghu. Is there anything you desire from me? Speak, and I shall grant it.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Senior, what do you have? You’ve already taught me the Two Green Snakes. As for the Heaven-Sundering Sword Intent, I cannot hope to learn it. What else remains? This old sheepskin coat older than myself? No, I won’t trouble you further.”
Li Chungan idly dug at his ear, gazed deeply at the prince, and chuckled. “Better this way. I can’t stand weepy farewells.”
The old man walked slowly down the road, hands behind his back, his hunched back receding into the distance. After a hundred paces, as if sensing the prince’s gaze, he waved without turning.
Xu Fengnian raised a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, lips pressed tightly.
Mumaniu. Fengdu Green Robe. Sword Immortal.
A single sword cry at Snowy Peak. Heaven-Sundering at Wudi City. Two thousand six hundred riders slain at Guangling.
And that old man in sheepskin, scratching his foot and missing an arm.
All now but fading embers in the jianghu.
Xu Fengnian murmured, “One man can make the entire martial world feel ancient. What a supremely arrogant feat, Senior. This prince has no reward to offer.”
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