Chapter 152: I Shall Paint the Dragon, and You Add the Eyes

Xu Fengnian entered the carriage, where only Xu Zhihu and the Jing’an Princess remained. Xu Fengnian sat cross-legged, leaning against the wall of the carriage, his brows tightly furrowed.

Xu Zhihu felt a pang of heartache and reached out to gently smooth her younger brother’s furrowed brow.

Xu Fengnian smiled faintly, though it was tinged with bitterness.

Had the delicate balance of power in Beiliang become so transparent that even Cao Changqing could see through it at a glance? How many emperors, especially those founding emperors of dynasties, had not recalled the sword after using it to kill? They would turn their blades upon those who once wielded them. Dogs are kept to bite thieves; once the thieves are gone, why waste food on them? Yet Beiliang was not a dynasty—it was a border fiefdom, isolated in a corner of the realm. No matter how Xu Xiao was called the “Second Emperor,” outwardly, he still had to show utmost reverence to the Son of Heaven in the capital. The imperial court allowing the “Butcher of Men” to carry a sword into the palace hall was a grand gesture of imperial favor, meant to show the Northern Barbarians that the court would not foolishly destroy its own legacy. Xu Xiao was indeed a ruthless hero, but not the kind to discard loyal companions once their usefulness had ended. He was not unkind to his old generals and their descendants. In fact, Xu Fengnian knew better than anyone that Xu Xiao had spent much of his energy over the years soothing and caring for the families of his old subordinates. The imperial court, for its part, seemed all too willing to keep this delicate balance—applying just the right amount of pressure. It would not push the King of a Different Surname to rebellion, but neither would it allow Xu Xiao to rest easy. Yan Jiexi, who had defected from Beiliang, was a classic example.

Unintentionally or not, the white-robed general Chen Zhibao had gradually seized sole authority, building his own faction. Though perhaps not quite to the exaggerated extent of “a host of generals and a sea of scholars,” it was close enough. Moreover, the saying that a single Chen Zhibao could rival half of Xichu was a phrase spoken by the late emperor himself in the Baohedian Hall, in front of Xu Xiao and the entire court of officials.

Chen Zhibao was widely acknowledged as a master of large-scale warfare, commanding over ten thousand troops with divine precision. It was said he remembered the names of every officer under his command and knew their strengths and weaknesses in battle. When opportunities arose, Chen Zhibao always made the decisive move. In the battle of Xilei Wall, which raged for three days and nights, Chen Zhibao did not sleep or rest. Behind him, the signal bearers holding the flags rotated through six shifts, totaling eighteen men. The military scribes recording the battle broke more than ten writing brushes. Throughout it all, Chen Zhibao remained seated in his white robes, unmoving. Under his precise and repeated commands, he exhausted and devoured the last of Xichu’s hundreds of thousands of young soldiers.

It was said that the current emperor read the records over and over, circling the most brilliant passages. At the end of the scroll, he wrote in heavy strokes: “Truly inspiring, worthy of the title ‘War God!'”

In recent years, Xu Fengnian had been forced to consider: if Chen Zhibao, whose reputation and prestige once rivaled that of another white-robed warrior, had accepted the emperor’s summons to the southern frontier, would Beiliang have been simpler? Xu Xiao had never mentioned anything about his adopted son Chen Zhibao, and even as the Crown Prince, Xu Fengnian could not fathom his father’s true thoughts.

If Xu Xiao had kept Chen Zhibao as a whetstone, it would not resemble the typical tactics of an emperor who eliminates meritorious elders to smooth the path for his heir. Once Chen Zhibao, the “White War God,” grew too powerful, he had already become a threat too large to control. Was Xu Xiao truly unafraid that Xu Fengnian might lose to Chen Zhibao? After decades of tying his life to his waist, would it all end in utter defeat? As long as Chen Zhibao remained in Beiliang, watching coldly from the sidelines, how could Xu Fengnian ever live freely and without restraint?

Xu Zhihu gazed quietly at her thoughtful younger brother. Only later did she realize with a sudden jolt, “That Cao Changqing, who could make Old Sword Saint so uneasy—could it really be the legendary Master Cao?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Xu Fengnian replied helplessly, “Unfortunately, you guessed right. That man is indeed the illustrious Master Cao, the one who finds the palace too dull and plays hide-and-seek with Han Renmao in the imperial harem.”

The Jing’an Princess was no fool either. Jiang Ni bore the surname Jiang, nominally a servant girl, yet in her interactions with the Crown Prince, had she ever shown even a hint of servitude? Pei Nanwei sneered coldly, “Hiding the princess of a fallen kingdom is bad enough, but now you’ve been found by an old minister of Xichu. How will you explain this to the capital? If the scholars of Jiangnan learn of this and spread the news, provoking the emperor’s wrath, won’t you end up charging in triumphantly only to slink away in disgrace?”

Xu Fengnian’s mood was already at rock bottom. Irritated, he snapped, “You’re in no position to gloat. If I’m safe, your life will be a little easier. If I’m in danger, how far do you think you’ll get? With your temperament, becoming the legitimate princess of Jing’an Mansion—Zhao Heng must have been blind. Add to that Zhao Xun, who lusts after your body. Truly, your family has suffered misfortune. I rescued you from the depths of despair, and instead of showing gratitude, you dare to mock me here? Have you forgotten the sting of the Xiudong scabbard across your face?”

Pei Nanwei merely sneered again.

Xu Zhihu sighed, “In the tea room, Old Sword Saint revealed Master Cao’s name. With Xu Huipu’s cautious nature, she is sure to report it to the elders. Then the true identities of Cao Changqing and Jiang Ni will be exposed together. This is indeed a tricky matter.”

Xu Fengnian thought for a moment, then smiled, “Troublesome, yes, but not a big deal. Among the scholars of Jiangnan, those old foxes who’ve lived wisely all their lives may not be saints, but they love to stir the pot. However, they probably won’t want to break ties with Beiliang and make an enemy of Xu Xiao. After all, what good would come of it? The common folk fight with knives, while scholars fight with words. They won’t clash unless forced. I killed a few insignificant scholars, and now Master Cao has come to stir things up. Let’s just give those old masters a convenient excuse. That way, they’ll feel balanced. No doubt, before I leave Yangchun City, someone will come to remind me with words like, ‘Your Highness, killing people was wrong. We of Jiangnan have caught you in a small misstep, but it’s nothing we can’t overlook. So, Your Highness, perhaps you should calm down a little and stop causing trouble—it’s not good for anyone.’ Ha! Sister, wouldn’t you call that repaying evil with virtue? The elegance of a true gentleman?”

As Xu Fengnian mimicked the tone of an old scholar, Xu Zhihu nodded vigorously, unable to help laughing heartily.

The Jing’an Princess whispered in disbelief, “Is state affairs treated so lightly?”

Xu Fengnian sneered, “Lightly? This is no child’s play. Do you really think the foundation of noble families lies in imperial favor? Do they have to grovel at the emperor’s feet? State affairs are state affairs—how could they compare to family matters? If that were true, wouldn’t the princesses of various nations who failed to marry into noble families and the princes who couldn’t wed daughters of the aristocracy have all suffered in vain?”

Xu Fengnian tapped his head against the wall of the carriage, lightly flicked the Xiudong sword resting on his knee, and narrowed his eyes with a smile, “It’s only been twenty years. A centipede may die, but its body remains stiff. In the future, things may change. I must say, Xu Xiao was truly formidable. He cut through ten powerful families, each deeply rooted and valuing their own lineage over imperial favor, like cutting through melons and vegetables. Perhaps one or two of those emperors slain by Xu Xiao were clever enough to die laughing.”

“How could the emperor tolerate so many pits and bumps—like the four great families of Yangzhou—in his smooth, open courtyard? Granting titles and ruling distant lands was meant to slowly wear down these stubborn diseases. There are pros and cons, but even if these powerful princes with their own armies sought the throne, whether they won or lost, wouldn’t they still bear the Zhao surname? Isn’t the whole world still the Zhao family’s world? In truth, the families that suffered most in the Spring and Autumn Wars were those like yours, Princess Pei, who thought too highly of themselves. The scholars of today may shout and curse, but Xu Xiao isn’t afraid—he knows the emperor’s mind. I dared to kill in Yangzhou for the same reason. Princess Pei, how about we make a bet? Right now, the scholars of Jiangnan are joining forces with the students of the National Academy to impeach me for breaking the law and causing chaos. Let’s bet on who will be punished by the emperor?”

The Jing’an Princess nodded, “Fine! I refuse to believe the emperor won’t even scold you verbally!”

Xu Fengnian seized the moment, “You decide the stakes.”

Pei Nanwei was decisive too, her voice low but firm, “Fine.”

Xu Zhihu didn’t mind this little game. Her younger brother was quite skilled at dealing with women. She shifted closer to the Crown Prince and asked, “Is Master Cao’s martial prowess really as great as people say?”

Xu Fengnian exhaled deeply and chuckled softly, “He’s terrifyingly strong—so powerful he makes a mess of everything.”

Xu Zhihu whispered, “And Jiang Ni?”

Xu Fengnian said nothing.

He could confidently make a bet with Pei Nanwei, even hiding tricks in the stakes, knowing he could profit more than what he had stated. He had the advantage over the proud Jing’an Princess, who was no shrewd businesswoman. But against Master Cao, whom he could neither fight, argue with, nor outwit, he was truly helpless. Once one reached the pinnacle of martial cultivation, they naturally stood above all others.

When Master Cao first stormed the imperial palace, he moved as if alone in the world, declaring boldly, “To slay Zhao is my lifelong ambition. Mock not the old scholar, though his hair be white. Even if Chu is reduced to three households, I shall enter the palace as if it were a corridor.”

For such a man, who lived like a madman obsessed with his cause, no one—not even Xu Fengnian—could do anything. Unless someone like Qi Xuanzhen, a terrestrial immortal, appeared, even Wang Xianzhi might not be able to stop Cao Qingyi if he were determined to do something. In that pavilion battle, it wasn’t that Cao Qingyi could certainly defeat Old Sword Saint, but for the man who had never forgotten Xichu, once he made a decision, not even gods or Buddhas could sway him. Thousands of imperial guards had stood in his way, yet he cut through them all. When Wang Xianzhi stood on the roof, Cao Qingyi climbed up in one breath. When Li Chungan stood before him now, naturally, he would walk forward again. Cao Qingyi’s righteous spirit and Li Chungan’s sword intent were different paths leading to the same goal.

Would he release Jiang Ni?

Xu Fengnian had not given an answer even when he reached the Xieyi Garden of Lord Lu’s mansion. Master Cao did not enter the estate, as if he had no intention of pressuring the Crown Prince. Xu Fengnian somewhat understood the psychology of the two emperors of the dynasty. In the capital, having a scholar like that appear at any moment created an indescribable sense of suffocation. Master Cao’s three visits to the capital, each time entering the palace, were meant to remind the Zhao emperor of the Liang dynasty that though the world was his, he might not be able to enjoy it in peace.

The entire afternoon, the Crown Prince, his expression calm, chatted idly with his elder sister Xu Zhihu in the Xieyi Garden. He spoke of the White Fox-Faced figure on the third floor, the female tantric queen he had met by chance outside Xiangfan City, the wooden-sword-wielding Wen Hua, whom he had unexpectedly met and then parted ways with, and the girl Li Zi, who had grown up in a temple. He spoke of the cheerful girl Wang Dongxiang and the giant turtle in the Chunshen Lake. As for the hardships of practicing swordsmanship, he skipped over them in just a few words.

At noon, after leaving the Baoguo Temple, the poor scholar and the little beggar girl crossed the threshold. In the meditation room, the debate on kingship and hegemony resumed. This time, the advantage was clearly on Yuan Honghu’s side, and indeed, Chen Liangxi lost. Yet the hardworking Chen Liangxi was not discouraged. Yuan Jiangyan’s reputation as the finest orator in Jiangzuo was well-earned, not merely for show. The scholars of Jiangnan had three favorite pursuits: collecting concubines, cultivating fame, and creating momentum. The pinnacle of this art was Yuan Jiangyan and the rare few who stood on equal footing with the esteemed Mr. Honghu.

Master Yin Daolin lived up to his nickname “Silent Monk,” remaining quiet throughout. But when Chen Liangxi rose to take his leave, Yuan Jiangyan merely nodded, while the venerable old monk of Jiangnan, highly respected, personally rose to see him to the door.

Of course, the little beggar girl could not enter the meditation room and stood at the entrance the whole time, still holding the empty watermelon in her hands, a comical sight. As they left the temple, Chen Liangxi glanced back at the gate, his expression tinged with disappointment. He murmured to himself, “Our paths are different. This is not the place for me.”

The little girl, full of curiosity, whispered softly, “Where’s that kind older brother?”

Chen Liangxi gently patted her head, tenderly replying, “He must have left the temple before us.”

The little girl let out a disappointed “Oh.”

Chen Liangxi bent down and took the watermelon from her, joking, “What’s wrong, Xiao Dingdong? Have you fallen for that older brother? Indeed, he’s a hundred times better-looking than me.”

The little girl’s face turned bright red, her lips trembling adorably.

Chen Liangxi stopped teasing her.

Holding onto the poor scholar’s sleeve, the little girl walked beside him. After much hesitation, she finally gathered her courage to look up and speak. But before she could, Chen Liangxi gently looked down and said, “I know, Xiao Dingdong still loves Chen Gege the most, right?”

The little girl beamed with joy.

Chen Liangxi looked up at the sky, his smile radiant, “If one day I manage to leave my footprints in the mud of history, I’ll make sure Xiao Dingdong walks beside me.”

How many heroes and warlords throughout history had managed to leave their names behind? Even a few dozen characters had become a luxury! This poor scholar, who dreamed of being posthumously honored as a “Wenzheng,” clearly aspired not to be remembered in unofficial histories, but in the official annals. Yet the little girl understood none of this. To her, nothing was more valuable than having stir-fried watermelon for dinner. She simply thought Chen Gege had said something nice and skipped along happily, one of the rare moments of carefree joy in her life.

Chen Liangxi knew she wouldn’t understand, which was why he said it. He cast aside the Confucian teachings of investigating things, acquiring knowledge, sincerity, self-cultivation, family harmony, state governance, and world peace. He no longer cared about the foundation of inner virtue or the cause of outer kingship, nor did he think about whether his discussion on kingship and hegemony at the Qu Shui gathering had made him a valuable asset. He simply smiled and said, “Come on, let’s go draw a dragon on the stone slab outside the temple for you and your grandfather. As always, Chen Gege will draw the dragon, and Xiao Dingdong will add the eyes.”

The little girl nodded firmly.

Xu Huipu stood at the entrance of Baoguo Temple, gazing at the gradually fading figures of the poor scholar and the little beggar girl, lost in thought. As a noblewoman, she had met the impoverished scholar Chen Liangxi by chance—a chance encounter by the temple wall, where the little girl had fallen into the water trying to retrieve coins, and was scolded by the monks. Chen Liangxi, who had been sketching peonies using the temple scenery as a backdrop, happened to pass by and helped the girl. Xu Huipu, in a good mood at the time, had told the temple never to stop the girl from collecting coins in the pond. Later, she accidentally discovered that Chen Liangxi had secretly drawn dragons. At first, she was shocked by his audacity, but upon closer inspection, she was awestruck by his masterful brushwork, as if guided by divine hands!

In his painting, “The Dragon and the Serpent,” the dragon was hidden among swirling clouds above, its long whiskers and gaping mouth exuding majesty. Below, a great serpent rose from the water, claws extended, while a python coiled around the mountain, its tongue flicking toward the sky. When Xu Huipu saw the bizarre and fantastical scene, she was deeply frightened. Yet Chen Liangxi, upon being discovered, showed no panic. After a pleasant conversation, she grew fond of him. However, he was too sharp-edged, and Xu Huipu knew only men like her father, the top scholars of Jiangnan, could tame him. She had planned to wait until Chen Liangxi had been tempered by life’s hardships for a few more years before recommending him to her family as a clerk or aide, hoping he might one day rise like a dragon and be grateful to the Xu family for nurturing him. But then came the useless Crown Prince, who threw everything into chaos. Her years of careful planning were ruined in an instant!

Now, with Chen Liangxi having already gained fame at the Qu Shui gathering, his name would soon spread throughout Jiangnan. To recruit him now, the Xu family would not only have to act openly but also pay a far greater price than before. How could Xu Huipu not resent the Crown Prince? A deeper humiliation was that, had Lu Baijie not appeared, she might have ended up warming the bed of that unscrupulous prince. As a devoted Daoist, she considered this an unspeakable disgrace.

Earlier, when she saw the renowned Yuan Jiangyan in the temple, the great man’s eyes had held a hidden darkness, making Xu Huipu’s blood run cold.

A man who could say, “Scholars are not like dogs, but like hawks—hungry, they serve; full, they fly away,” was more than just a moral scholar skilled in lofty debates!

Xu Huipu sighed, her heart heavy with despair.

She stepped out of the temple alone, squinting her eyes, slowly walking toward the wall, her face pale with sorrow, “Cao Changqing? What does he have to do with me? I’ll pretend I never heard his name!”

The female Daoist lowered her gaze to a patch of weeds at her feet and sneered coldly, “Women are as cheap as grass.”