Xu Fengnian had just asked Murong Xiongci whether he had scared himself into wetting his pants, when he soon received his karmic retribution, frightened by his own thoughts.
The notion that a beautiful woman brings calamity and topples a nation is sheer nonsense. Those graceful beauties who stood beside emperors during the Spring and Autumn period, whether queens who allowed the power of in-laws to flourish or concubines who bewitched rulers, were nothing more than scapegoats. The scholars of fallen dynasties, loyal to their former lords, dared not or simply failed to dig deeper into the root causes, unable to see the rot at the very foundation. Instead, they vented their frustrations through poetry and prose upon these so-called temptresses, blaming female demons and evil spirits for the downfall. To the clear-eyed, such reasoning is absurd. How could Murong Tonghuang, a handsome youth who couldn’t even rival the Xuan Yuan family, possibly bring down a flourishing dynasty?
Regaining his composure, Xu Fengnian smiled wryly. The Empress Zhao Zhi in the inner palace, who embodied the virtues of a queen, wielded an iron hand no less formidable than a great general commanding troops. There was no way the palace could descend into chaos. In the capital resided the emperor, a master of political intrigue who skillfully manipulated factions and parties. Within the palace, the virtuous Empress managed affairs with grace; outside, a court of officials and generals kept watch in all directions. What a tightly sealed empire it was.
Murong Wuzhu, whose face flushed and whose schemes were shallow, breathed quickly and cautiously observed this young master she had only known for a short while. North Liang’s heir prince? What an important official was that? She didn’t understand such things. Yet, while entertaining scholars from Jianzhou, she had occasionally heard harsh words about North Liang—that the King of North Liang was a cruel butcher who had once delighted in razing entire cities, and that his eldest son was a useless playboy, too inept to wield a brush or a sword, who only bullied innocent girls in North Liang and would inevitably squander the family fortune. Murong Wuzhu, though simple-minded, understood that hearing is not believing until seeing with one’s own eyes. Her first impression of Xu Fengnian, who had rescued her and her younger brother, was not bad at all. Under circumstances where he already held their lives in his hands, he had resisted temptation and refrained from mistreating them. Compared to those aristocratic scholars who spouted morality while secretly leering with lustful eyes, he was a thousand times better. Thus, she accepted her fate as it was—once fated to be taken by the old patriarch of the Xuan Yuan family for amusement, now fated perhaps to warm the prince’s bed one day. As Murong Wuzhu gazed at his refined and handsome face, she couldn’t help but think—after all, he was quite good-looking, wasn’t he? Her younger brother, Murong Tonghuang, who had always made the big decisions for the siblings, saw the look in her eyes and felt a sense of helplessness.
Xu Fengnian loathed the practice of male lovers among the literati with utmost disgust, so he kept his distance from Murong Tonghuang, the pretty boy. Yet, he admired the young man’s ruthless determination to achieve his goals, for true ruthlessness begins with the ability to endure revulsion and flirt with another man. If only Murong had been born into a greater family, given a larger stage, he would surely dance with long sleeves and flourish. Since Murong Tonghuang spoke directly and bluntly, Xu Fengnian did not wish to disappoint him. With a gentle kick, he sent the Tiger-Kui Vajra, which had been biting at his robe, flying away, and said with a smile, “If you want to wave the banner of North Liang and play the fox pretending to be a tiger, there’s no need to hide it. Since I’ve taken on this mess out of boredom, I won’t mind losing a bit of face. But let me make one thing clear—we’re on the same side for now, so don’t stab me in the back and try to curry favor with Mount Hui later. You two can’t expect to take all the advantages.”
Murong Tonghuang nodded grimly. “We never intended to seek refuge with the Xuan Yuan family after leaving home. But since the prince has spoken, I also hope you won’t use us as bargaining chips to appease Mount Hui. If that were the case…”
Xu Fengnian waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head. “You underestimate me, Murong Tonghuang.”
Murong Wuzhu murmured softly, “Xu Fengnian?”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it? The phoenix only perches on the parasol tree—don’t you two find that quite a coincidence? In the North Liang mansion, my courtyard is called the Parasol Grove. If you ever get the chance, come visit. Don’t worry, I have no ulterior motives toward you. Talking about it so much feels like a waste of breath. From now on, don’t keep suspecting me like that. See that white cat-holding lady? That’s my type. If you’re talking about beauty and soft skin, the Pei sister wearing the veil with you—maybe she’s even more attractive than you two. You keep treating me like a thief, and it really hurts my feelings.”
Murong Wuzhu couldn’t help but laugh. But she was immediately glared at by her brother. Yet, for once, she did not back down. Xu Fengnian looked at Murong Tonghuang helplessly and said, “You can’t protect your sister forever, you know. She’ll have to marry someday, and manage a household on her own. When that time comes, will you still follow behind her like a shadow? Won’t you worry that your future brother-in-law might resent your presence?”
Murong Tonghuang snorted coldly. “That’s only if she finds such a man. If she does, even if it costs me my life, I won’t hesitate!”
Xu Fengnian was momentarily speechless, then turned his head and smiled at Huangman’er. In the following days, the young prince surprisingly did not visit the Celestial Master’s Temple, nor did he go to Mount Hui’s Niulugang. Instead, he remained obediently at the Xiaoyao Monastery. He either sought advice from the old sword sage on the flaws and weaknesses in his life-saving sword techniques, or subtly questioned the old Taoist master about the essence of the Dragon Tiger sect’s talismans. The latter, who rarely met a younger generation willing to indulge his passion for teaching, answered every question thoroughly. During this time, he even specially went to the mountaintop library to fetch many Taoist scriptures and talismanic secrets. The old and the young could spend the entire night discussing until dawn, as if fearing the prince would think him lacking in knowledge. Zhao Xibo, in particular, even picked up several advanced talisman techniques that ordinary Taoists feared like tigers, while explaining the mysteries to the prince. It should be noted that Zhao Xibo was a brilliant young man in his youth, but unfortunately, like Xuan Yuan Dapan, he had the same flaw—he dabbled in various fields but never pursued any deeply.
One day, Xu Fengnian finally decided to leave the foot of the mountain, taking Huangman’er with him, and inviting Murong Wuzhu and Murong Tonghuang to accompany him to the back of a nearby Daoist temple. Only Qingniao followed, carrying a bamboo basket.
Perhaps after their heartfelt conversation that day, Murong Wuzhu, who was more at ease with the prince who wore a grand tiger skin than her younger brother, softly asked, “Your Highness, what are we doing here?”
Huangman’er answered naively, “Picking hawthorns.”
Xu Fengnian nodded with a smile. “Back then, the old Taoist master went to North Liang to take my younger brother as a disciple, but after much discussion, he couldn’t quite get to the point. Only hawthorns seemed to please Huangman’er.”
Murong Wuzhu found this utterly bewildering. Xu Fengnian chose a hillside to sit down, while Huangman’er darted back and forth like the wind, filling the small bamboo basket with hawthorns one handful at a time. Qingniao simply placed the basket on the ground. Murong Wuzhu, still young and lively, joined Qingniao in picking hawthorns. At a distance, Xu Fengnian and Murong Tonghuang sat apart, while two tiger cubs rolled and played wildly on the hillside. A gentle breeze brushed his face, and Xu Fengnian closed his eyes, caressing the Spring Thunder and Embroidered Winter blades placed across his lap. He thought deeply—stones from other mountains can be used to polish jade. Previously, locked away in isolation, even with the help of Jiudoumi’s Wei Shouyang, his research into the forbidden cloud patterns of the Red Armor had been difficult. But after these two days of guidance from the old Taoist master Zhao Xibo, many obstacles had been cleared away by the old, unkempt Taoist, bringing sudden clarity. The only pity was the lack of a high Buddhist monk who understood the hidden meanings. Otherwise, Xu Fengnian was confident he could fully master the Red Armor talisman.
Murong Tonghuang asked softly, “I heard that Your Highness killed many upright scholars in Jiangnan.”
Xu Fengnian replied indifferently, “Compared to Xu Xiao, not nearly as many.”
Murong Tonghuang frowned. “Why oppose the scholars? Don’t you know that public opinion can tarnish your reputation for generations?”
Xu Fengnian slowly ran his long fingers along the Spring Thunder blade and said, “Victors write history. Think about it—don’t the histories of the Eight Spring and Autumn Kingdoms all come from the historians of the Liyang Dynasty? Those who wanted their ancestors recorded as loyal ministers would go to great lengths, even sacrificing their reputations, just to serve the new dynasty. Those who wanted to prevent their fathers from being labeled traitors would rush to the capital, desperately trying to please the Hanlin and Huangmen officials, even offering their wives and concubines. Isn’t there a story about someone asking his wife to remove her clothes and warm another man’s hands with her breasts?”
Murong Tonghuang said seriously, “Your Highness cannot generalize like that!”
Xu Fengnian opened his eyes calmly. “I understand that logic. Xu Xiao also admired many scholars from the bottom of his heart. But few of them met good ends. He Hui Prefecture’s Xu Ping, who submitted twenty-one memorials on governance, was boiled alive by the people. Zhao Guangling died of a hemorrhage in a military tent outside the Western Shu palace. Li Yishan, who compiled the rankings of generals and ministers, was framed by other scholars—his words literally killing him. He was only saved when he fled to Xu Xiao’s side. Of course, you can still argue this is generalization. But living in the North Liang mansion, I’ve seen too many famous scholars—excellent at writing beautiful poetry, masters at either condemning or praising with words, chasing fame and fortune. Do you know why ‘name’ comes before ‘profit’? The northern sage once said there are three immortalities: the highest is virtue, the second is words, and the third is achievement. That’s the answer, and also why scholars look down on warriors. How many scholars truly pursue virtue? Most just chase words and reputation, glorifying their families and leaving their names in history, caring little for the hunger and cold of the people.”
Xu Fengnian continued softly, “In Jiangnan’s Baoguo Temple, I listened to famous scholars discuss the principles of kingship and righteousness. Yet, it was only a poor scholar without the qualifications to attend who spoke for the people’s interests. Tell me, what kind of famous scholars were they? They only knew how to recite poetry about flowers and moons, indulging in lofty discussions while the entire nation cheered. Was it truly good? Reading thousands of books, knowing every scripture, but ignoring the starving and freezing outside the red gates—can that truly be called a scholar?”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “It may sound unbelievable, but the Confucian general Wang Yangming of Xiangfan committed suicide. Originally listed as the top traitor, it was Xu Xiao and the old prime minister who argued and personally struck his name off the list. As for the Western Chu’s historical records, not a single word was left about the scholar who once fished undisturbed in the Western Chu for ten years. This time, it was the late minister’s leader, the old prime minister of Western Chu, Sun Xiji, who personally erased his name.”
Murong Tonghuang still insisted, though not as confidently as before. He lowered his head and murmured, “Most scholars are still good people.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled wryly. “I didn’t say I had to oppose scholars either. Besides, many things aren’t simply right or wrong. If you get stuck in a rut and insist on choosing one side or the other, there’s no logic to it.”
Murong Tonghuang nodded softly.
Xu Fengnian, resting his cheek on his hand, gazed toward Niulugang and muttered to himself, “Still, that kid Wen Hua had it figured out. I wonder where he is now.”
Murong Tonghuang remained lost in thought.
Xu Fengnian turned his head and raised two fingers like a Taoist priest casting a spell, pointing at Murong Tonghuang and laughing, “Swiftly obey the command! You calamity-bringing scoundrel, reveal yourself at once!”
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