Xu Fengnian felt his scalp tingling.
What was destined to come had finally arrived. Yet among the countless remnants of the fallen Xichu dynasty, why had he encountered precisely this one figure in a green robe?
Cao Changqing’s history as a remnant of the fallen Xichu dynasty was scarcely recorded. It was known only that he came from a commoner family, was frail in his childhood, and became famous in the capital for his Go skills. At nine years old, he was summoned to the imperial palace. On a whim, the Xichu emperor tested him with the grand philosophical question of life and death. Such a question might even stump elderly men of sixty; how could a child possibly answer? Cao Changqing responded with, “The square board represents order and righteousness, while the round stones symbolize wisdom and agility. When moving, they display talent and vitality; when still, they signify mastery and finality.” The emperor bestowed upon him the title “Cao’s Little Joy,” elevated his family into the aristocracy, and because his family hailed from Longli County, Cao Changqing later became known as Cao Longli.
At twelve, he played three games of Go with the national preceptor Li Mi. He lost the first two games quickly, but in the final game, he fought fiercely until move two hundred, growing stronger with each move. Huang Sanjia remarked that Li Mi, who had no equal in the empire after his death, called Cao Changqing a prodigy destined to dominate the Go world for thirty years. Despite his brilliance, the young genius Cao Changqing could not shoot arrows or ride well. He remained in the imperial academy without official rank, awaiting the emperor’s summons for a game of Go. Under Li Mi’s complete tutelage, Cao’s scholarship surpassed all others in the academy. As a young man, the archer who could not string a bow and the rider who could not mount a horse began to teach in the inner court, but he could not escape the confines of court service. After Li Mi’s death, his favored disciple Cao Changqing returned to obscurity, remaining unknown within the palace walls until he was thirty.
Among the warring states of the Spring and Autumn period, Xichu had the most scholars, and it was said, “Only Chu has talent!” For twenty years, Cao Changqing immersed himself in the art of Go, earning his third title, “Cao Toutiu,” meaning “Cao the Outstanding,” reflecting his unparalleled scholarship. From a young age, he entered the capital and did not go south until he was thirty-two, where he commanded an army alone on the frontier, resisting the barbarians with clever strategies and always winning against superior numbers. He gained the title “Cao Beima” (Cao the Northern Horse). Unfortunately, after the decisive battle at Xilei Wall, Xichu’s fate was sealed. When the great house fell, Cao Toutiu could not hold it up alone. The world only knew that he fled to rivers and lakes, unaware of how the man who could not ride or wield weapons became a supreme martial artist, known as “Cao Guanzi” for his mastery of Go and “Cao Qingyi” for his martial prowess. Over twenty years, he ranked steadily among the top three in the martial world rankings, unmatched in fame. For the first ten years, this green-robed remnant of the fallen dynasty assassinated no fewer than twenty high officials of Liyang. Each time, he came alone, leaving with their heads. In the next ten years, he entered Taian City three times, twice penetrating the imperial palace to face two emperors, killing hundreds of guards. The last time, he came within fifty paces of the current emperor. Had it not been for the protection of Han Diaosi, the eunuch known as “Cat,” Cao Qingyi might have taken the most precious head in the world from amidst a thousand soldiers. It was said that this Cao Qingyi once laughed to the emperor, “The wrath of an emperor can cause a million corpses to fall across nine states. What can the anger of a commoner do?”
“As long as there is still a green robe in the world, I shall ensure that you, who have gained the empire, shall never know peace.”
What kind of magnanimity must a martial artist possess to reach such a state?
With the fall of Xichu, titles like Cao Deyi and Cao Longli faded into obscurity, leaving only Cao Guanzi and Cao Qingyi. The former was Cao Changqing, undefeated in the endgame of both martial and Go circles. The latter was the only man in the world who regarded the head of the Liyang emperor as his own. Either name alone could inspire awe and longing.
And now, this legendary figure, said to wear only plain clothes and disdain music, knelt before the pavilion, kneeling before the princess of the fallen kingdom. Heaven, earth, sovereign, parents, and teacher—his family had perished with the nation, and his mentor Li Mi had long since passed away. Now, apart from the eternal heavens and earth, who else was worthy of Cao Changqing’s kneeling?
The answer lay before him.
Xu Fengnian could not understand why this green-robed figure had seen through Jiang Ni’s identity at a glance. Was it the subtle leakage of fate’s mysterious design? Or was the little girl too much like her parents, the emperor and empress of Xichu? But these were not the most pressing concerns. For the young prince, the most urgent matter was whether his party could withstand the notorious remnant, Cao Qingyi, who was ranked among the top three in the martial world. He and Ning Emei would be lucky to delay him, much like their encounter with Wang Mingyin, the eleventh-ranked martial artist. In the end, it would depend on whether Li Chungan, the old sword immortal, could give his all. The problem was that the old man had only promised Xu Xiao that he would ensure the prince’s safety. From the old sword immortal’s perspective, he would rather see the little girl escape the confines of the Beiliang Mansion to learn swordsmanship with him. Why would he want to fight Cao Guanzi to the death?
Inside the pavilion, Xu Zhihu narrowed her autumn-water eyes, her expression somewhat dark.
During this sensitive period when her younger brother was about to unleash a massacre, the Yangzhou region was hosting a grand debate on kingship and hegemony. At the Huting County’s Yangchun City, no fewer than a thousand scholars from other regions had gathered. Within the Baoguo Temple alone, there were hundreds of prominent scholars from Yangzhou. This elaborate setup was undoubtedly the work of several senior advisors, waiting for her younger brother to provoke the Jiangnan Daoist sect once again, so that they could rally the masses. Although Liu Liting, backed by a palace lady, could not stir up much trouble, the collective retaliation of the Jiangnan scholars, especially if the three thousand students of the National Academy echoed their sentiments, could create a flood of criticism capable of drowning anyone. If the secret of the Beiliang Mansion harboring the princess of Xichu were exposed, even Xu Xiao, who disregarded laws and etiquette, would have a headache.
Xu Zhihu glanced at Jiang Ni, whose face was pale, and her brows relaxed. She stretched lazily, waiting calmly for the situation to unfold. Let Fengnian deal with this deadlock; after all, she had spent over a decade crafting this decisive move.
Though there were few outsiders around the pavilion, Cao Changqing’s arrival still drew some curious glances from afar. Xu Zhihu quietly instructed Ning Emei to drive away some of the Yangzhou scholars attempting to approach. She sat closer to Jiang Ni, ready to use the fallen princess as leverage should the formidable middle-aged man in green intend harm to her younger brother. Deep down, Xu Zhihu truly cared for Jiang Ni; those moments from the past were not entirely feigned. Of course, there was also an element of rivalry with her sister, Xu Weixiong, who had treated her harshly. Xu Zhihu deliberately showed some affection to Jiang Ni, as the two women’s personalities were so unlike those of real sisters.
Unlike the prince, Jiang Ni had lived under the roof of the Beiliang Mansion since childhood, without anyone to teach her how to survive. She could not learn the art of socializing with false smiles and pretense. When servants and maids insulted her or pinched her skin until it turned purple, she blamed no one but followed her instincts, hating the prince who always smiled at her, appearing so detestable. Who else could she hate?
As for Xichu, the once mighty empire whose territory was even larger than that of Liyang, her memories had long since faded. Many nights, lying on the cold bed, she struggled to recall the warm faces of her parents, and thinking of them brought tears to her eyes. The grandeur of the royal palace was distant and unattainable, and she had no desire to dwell on such things. Each day, she awoke to the trivialities of labor and fatigue, so where was the princess with frostbitten hands? Upon hearing the scholar in the green robe’s words, Jiang Ni was as if struck by lightning, frightened into retreating a few steps. When she saw the old sword immortal blocking the stone steps, she was even more at a loss. She leaped over the old man Li, who stood straight as an ancient pine, and over the kneeling middle-aged scholar, only to see the prince. The princess of the fallen kingdom, her palms sweating, was dazed and disoriented. This should have been the moment of triumph, yet she appeared so listless, surely disappointing the scholars of Xichu. Over these twenty years, aside from several waves of collective migrations like the Hongjia Northern Flight, countless scholars had remained in their homeland, refusing to serve the new regime, dying for their loyalty in writing. How could she face these pillars of Xichu who had repeatedly sacrificed hundreds of lives in noble defiance?
Fortunately, she now faced only Cao Changqing.
This extraordinary statesman and genius did not show anger at the young princess’s failure to maintain composure. As he lowered his head again and again, feeling the genuine fear from Jiang Ni, whose real name was Jiang Si, he felt not disappointment but an indescribable sorrow and self-reproach.
Cao Changqing, whose elegance and talent surpassed any of the Jiangnan literati, remained kneeling, his hands on the ground. Others saw only the frost in his temples, but this did not diminish the unique charm and grace of the world-renowned Cao Guanzi. Reflecting on his tumultuous life, his image as the foremost scholar of the fallen Xichu dynasty became even more pronounced. Cao’s most favored son led an army out of the capital at thirty-two. In his final game with the emperor, a powerful eunuch personally removed his shoes for the match, and the emperor’s uncle poured wine for the two players. Countless scholars across the land could not match this unprecedented and unmatched scene.
Cao Changqing slowly raised his head, tears in his eyes, gazing at the princess who, in his memory, was once a lively little girl.
He had once held her small hand.
Within the Layer upon layer palace walls, he placed the stones on the board, arranging the formations, guiding the Rivers and mountains with the monarch. Cao Deyi did not seek wealth and honor, only the smile of the beauty by the monarch’s side!
In his most spirited youth, he carried a qin and met her by chance in a garden corner. As the sun dipped behind the hills, she approached, humming a folk tune. In the Chess Edict Pavilion, she slowly rolled up her sleeves, gently placing each black and white stone, each move landing heavily on his heart. Later, she became the empress. In their final game on the board, when the emperor was about to lose, she playfully disrupted the complex game with a red cat in her arms. The emperor scolded her, but she simply smiled innocently, just as she had in her youth. He could only lower his head and not look. Otherwise, with Cao Deyi’s talent, how difficult would it be to replay the game? “Counting the stones after the game, who has the most? What benefit is there in having the most stones on the board?”
That day, Cao Changqing rose with a smile, left the capital alone, never to meet again.
Cao Changqing remembered her, naturally remembering her daughter, that little girl as innocent as her mother.
Looking up.
How much she resembles her!
Lowering his head again, Cao Changqing’s clear and cold voice rang out once more, “Who dares to stand in my way.”
Xu Fengnian smiled bitterly. This great Bodhisattva truly was unreasonable. With martial prowess as high as the ninth level, he was unmatched, even the emperor of the capital could do nothing. It was not shameful for him to feel humiliated. His thoughts raced. He could fear the eleventh-ranked Wang Mingyin, but among the four levels of the first rank, Wang Xianzhi was a peerless immortal, while the next two were acknowledged as great adepts close to the realm of earthly immortals. The new sword saint, Deng Ta’a, and Cao Guanzi were clearly separated from the remaining seven on the rankings. Thus, once they unleashed their power, Cao Guanzi could not simply be viewed as one and a half or two Wang Mingyins. Here, after all, was not Beiliang territory, where he could easily mobilize hundreds of armored soldiers and thousands of cavalry to surround them. Moreover, even if surrounded by thousands of armored soldiers, a grandmaster like Cao Guanzi, unique in the entire world, could easily escape or kill a few before retreating. He would not end up like the sword saint of Xishu, who fought until his strength was exhausted. This was the terror of a Heaven-reflecting realm master, who could emulate the laws of heaven and earth, achieving the Dao. This Dao was not the narrow Dao of the Daoist sect but was nearly the realm of a sage.
The old sword immortal sneered, “Cao Changqing, you may as well try.”
Cao Changqing’s hands, which had been pressing against the ground, suddenly clenched into fists.
Dust erupted violently.
With a Thunderous sound, two whirlwinds surged upward!
Rings of fierce energy radiated outward from Cao Changqing’s green robe as the center.
The fur on Li Chungan’s sheepskin coat flipped wildly.
Xu Fengnian, standing behind Cao Changqing, was pushed back three steps by the invisible force rushing toward him. Gritting his teeth, he placed both hands on his sword, his feet digging two pits into the ground before he managed to stop.
Cao Changqing merely stood up slightly, without any other movement. Xu Fengnian, who had just entered the martial arts realm, could not withstand this pressure and was forced back another dozen steps.
Li Chungan instantly reached the peak of his sword intent.
Cao Changqing looked at Jiang Ni and spoke softly, “Princess, shall I decide who lives and who dies?”
As soon as these words were spoken.
Xu Zhihu was furious, then her face turned pale.
If Li Chungan were still the sword saint of the past, perhaps he could stand against the unstoppable Cao Guanzi today.
But in the current martial world, Qi Xuanzhen had ascended to immortality, and apart from Wang Xianzhi, who dared to claim victory over the middle-aged scholar before them, whose expression was filled with sorrow?
Who in the world can ascend to the peak of Wudi City?
Only Cao Qingyi.
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