A traveler in a green robe approached from the southwest, shouldering a thin bamboo pole. After carrying it for a while, he lowered the pole and used it to gently stir the reeds, humming a rustic folk tune, “I patrol the mountains on behalf of the king” and “Upon seeing a maiden, I’d take her to share my mountain fortress,” repeating the melody a few times while hopping about playfully. When nothing exciting appeared before him, he grew bored and slung the bamboo pole over his shoulder again. Without even glancing back, he asked, “What do you think—can I block that Jianghu legend Li Chungan’s sword strike?”
No one answered. He was not discouraged and continued talking to himself, “Back then, I thought the old swordsaint had broken through his limits to reach a new height, attaining the realm of earthly immortality. Later, when I learned he had only managed it through a fortuitous convergence of timing, opportunity, and circumstance—just a lucky fluke—I realized it wasn’t that impressive. When you and I left the Sword Tombs, one sword from me and one from you each brought us to the threshold of the swordsaints. If we clashed with the old master now, what do you think our chances would be?”
The silence behind him remained unbroken, except for the endless rustle of reeds in the wind. Indeed, the gaunt fellow in his green robe had single-handedly overturned a boat at the entrance to the underworld, arriving and departing upon a solitary leaf of a boat with effortless grace. The martial world, ever hungry for news, had taken to this tale with relish. Just as the old swordsaint made his triumphant return, the new sword prince of the Wu clan now boldly headed south to challenge him. It was the kind of sensational drama that had already earned the gossip of countless Jianghumen.
While common martial heroes were merely awestruck by the sword prince’s unbeaten march southward, more perceptive onlookers were already trying to uncover the identity of the mysterious sword attendant accompanying him. Unfortunately, the Sword Tombs of Wu were an elusive, secretive place, and no one had yet succeeded in finding a definitive answer. It was only vaguely known that this generation’s sword prince, Wu Liuding, had an attendant far superior to the previous one. Serving as a sword attendant to the sword prince required unwavering loyalty—faithfulness to a single master for life. From childhood, sword attendants were chosen by the elder swordsmen of the Tombs based on innate talent and raised alongside the Wu clan’s heirs. They trained together, learned the Way of the Sword together, and even chose their swords together. Across the generations, dozens of sword prince and sword attendant pairings emerged, but only when a swordsman became the sword prince—the top blade of the Sword Tombs—was he granted the right to walk the martial world. The sword prince’s strength was unquestionable, but the tragic air surrounding the sword attendant only made the mystery more tantalizing. Moreover, the Sword Tombs had long held a tradition where the attendants occasionally surpassed their masters in skill. Who could possibly fathom what ruthless sword techniques the unseen attendant of Wu Liuding might have mastered? That was why those who resented the Sword Tombs’ dominance and considered themselves rivals hesitated to provoke this duo lightly unless they were absolutely certain of victory.
It was written in the stone tablets of the Sword Tombs that the sword prince would cultivate the Royal Sword Way, and the attendant the Tyrannical Sword Way. In terms of killing techniques, there were no swordsmen in all the lands more formidable than the attendants of the Sword Tombs.
Wu Liuding sighed, “We’re a perfect match. As a child, I refused to study the Royal Sword under my grandfather—the Way of Outer Majesty and Inner Sage. I always thought, if even our ancestors, with their supreme talents, could only earn the title of ‘Unadorned King,’ what use was there for me to learn the Royal Sword Way? I’d rather follow my aunt’s path and train in the Tyrannical Way, the sword of the world. But you, by sheer chance, were given the Royal Sword from the start. Even my grandfather’s ‘Unadorned King’ was retrieved by you from the Sword Mountain for me. I wield the worldly Tyrannical Sword, while you must stay bound to the Royal Sword, accompanying me into the realm of men. It must be hard for you. The Jing’an King said that my aunt’s Dragon and Phoenix sword resides in someone else’s hands. I care nothing for the scheming of the imperial court, but that sword—I will reclaim it for you, no matter what it takes.”
Finally, a tall figure emerged behind Wu Liuding, her silhouette carrying a longsword so sharp its very presence exuded an aura even while still sheathed. She wore the same scholar’s robe as Wu Liuding, her plain features marked by sharp, commanding eyes.
The ancient sword “Unadorned King,” the second most celebrated blade in all the land, surpassed all sixteen thousand swords entombed beneath the Sword Tombs through the ages.
Though the swordswoman’s eyes were always shut, her gaze never wandered. A breeze brushed past her face, tugging at the loose ends of her ponytail, bound carelessly with a red ribbon.
Wu Liuding turned, a playful grin on his face, pole still in hand. “Cuifa, even though you’re not all that pretty, why do I like you so much anyway?”
Without breaking her steady pace, the swordswoman answered solemnly, “Probably because you like the pickled cabbage I make. Without it, you wouldn’t like me at all.”
From childhood, Cuifa had been known in the Sword Tombs for her silence—her only joys were training and pickled cabbage. Wu Liuding’s taste for her sour cabbage had begun in his early years and never faded. Born into poverty, Cuifa had been the daughter of a small village family before being taken in. Some said her only vivid memory before joining the sacred Sword Tombs was the taste of pickled cabbage. Once there, she tried to recreate it. Whether it was good or not was beside the point—there was nothing with which to compare. For Wu Liuding, who grew up beside her, training sword in hand, her cabbage was always satisfying. To outsiders, her reply might have seemed absurd—but Wu Liuding listened intently, considering it with genuine thought. Cuifa’s sour cabbage—was there anything more delicious in the world? And when she put down her sword and focused on making cabbage, she—plain as she was—somehow seemed prettier.
“Cuifa, if I die today at the hands of Li Chungan, you don’t have to pour wine for me on Qingming anymore. I’m not much for drinking. Just bring a big bowl of pickled cabbage.”
“Alright.” It was customary for a sword attendant to serve a single sword prince, without the duty to seek vengeance or intervene in combat. Only after death would the attendant lay the sword to rest and guard its tomb. The ancient sword masters of the Wu clan had decreed this law to prevent future generations from growing complacent—believing in their support and losing the purity of a lone swordsman’s path.
“Cuifa, is sour cabbage only made from cabbage?”
“I only know how to pickle cabbage.”
“Change it up a little. We’re in the south now,” Wu Liuding said with a grin, drooling eagerly.
“Shouldn’t you focus on how to break Li Chungan’s ‘Twin Green Snakes of the Sleeve’?” Cuifa, the top sword attendant of the generation, asked softly, her brow furrowing slightly.
Indeed, it seemed rather undignified. Whether in the midst of an impending duel or merely an ordinary moment, it was unusual for a sword prince of the Wu clan and his attendant to be chattering about pickled cabbage, rather than discussing grand sword principles or uttering words that would inspire reverence among martial artists.
“I’d rather think about surviving so I can taste more pickled cabbage,” Wu Liuding laughed softly, resting his hands on the bamboo pole, eyes narrowing toward the end of the reed-lined path. “That way, I won’t feel guilty wielding the Unadorned King sword. Whether it’s Li Chungan’s green snakes or Deng Ta’ao’s Peach Blossom staff, their sword techniques will still fall within the realm of swordsmanship. There is no place in the world more worthy of the title of ‘masters of the sword’ than the Wu Sword Tombs.”
※※※
A burly farmer, waist coiled with a gleaming golden soft sword, approached diagonally from the northeast, making his way toward the center. His dark, sun-scorched face bore the look of a hardened tiller of soil, his expression empty, eyes slightly lowered. Beneath his cloak, something protruded—an object roughly the shape of a wooden box.
It was that very object that had brought him to Xiangfan.
Ten years ago, in the brutal siege of Xiangfan, he had cared little about right or wrong. Even when Wang Mingyang died at the Fishing Platform, he bore no grudge against Xu Xia, the Butcher. He had tried to persuade Wang Mingyang to leave, even saying that if he won the battle, the southern half of the empire would still crumble, and what could one man do against that tide? But the man had refused. In the end, he used twenty thousand corpses to preserve his honor. Was this not a cruel and terrible act, no different from the Butcher himself? Was it any more righteous? Upon hearing of the slaughter while in the Northern Desolate, he had made no move to avenge the fallen, merely saying aloud, “Let no one of the Xu clan set foot in Xiangfan again.”
And so he had done.
Besides, the Jing’an King Zhao Heng had given him a box containing his elder brother Wang Mingyang’s eyes. He was merely a martial cultivator, not one to meddle in the grudges of princes. But since the son of Beiliang dared enter Xiangfan, he would keep his promise.
Because Wang Mingyang had been his own true elder brother.
※※※
The two maids stood on tiptoe for an age before finally catching sight of the infamous heir of Beiliang. He was not lounging inside a carriage, as one might expect. Instead, he rode alongside an old Daoist master astride a horse. The two exchanged puzzled glances—was the prince not afraid of the dust? Even with flawless horseman skills, riding was still jarring. Was it not more comfortable to ride in a carriage?
They hurried back to the princess’s carriage, reporting that the prince had arrived. Princess Pei slowly dismounted, one hand gripping a secret letter with only a few words scrawled across it, the other fingering a string of prayer beads known as “Man Yi.” She remained composed, still the elegant lady from a noble house, standing tall beside the carriage, gazing toward the approaching youth. Whether she saw him as despicable, pitiable, or laughable, she did not know. Yet inexplicably, her palms were slick with sweat.
Long before she came into view, Xu Fengnian had already spotted the procession at the edge of the reed marsh. Before they were within full range, he turned solemn and whispered to the elder beside him, “Master Wei, are the peachwood swords ready? Will they be enough?”
The old Daoist priest, Wei Shuyang, who had been missing for days, stroked his beard and replied calmly, “Thirty-six peachwood blades are set. The formation stands ready.”
Xu Fengnian nodded, then muttered darkly, “Master Lu’s letter says Wang Mingyang’s younger brother has come. I don’t understand—during the ten-year siege of Xiangfan, he never lifted a hand. Why now, just to stand in the reeds like a spectator? Has he finally found a conscience?”
The old priest’s expression grew grave. “That I cannot speculate upon. I only know the man possesses formidable martial cultivation. Otherwise, he would not have made the martial rankings twice, holding the rank of eleventh strongest in the world for twenty straight years. The outsiders laugh at the title, but I do not find it amusing in the least.”
Xu Fengnian let go of the reins, hands resting on the twin blades Xiudong and Chunlei. He narrowed his eyes, watching the two pretty maids guarded by Jing’an Prince’s Mansion warriors. If it was understandable that the eleventh-ranked swordsman had come to the city outskirts to “welcome” them, then it was odd that Princess Pei had come out as well. Had the old turtle Zhao Heng gone mad, placing her in a place practically guaranteed to be a death trap? Luring someone into a snare could be understood, but at what cost? After all, she was a first-tier princess, as delicate as a jade figurine. Or had Zhao Heng grown so desperate for succession that he was willing to gamble everything?
Xu Fengnian murmured, “At present, we know the eleventh-ranked swordsman is here, as well as four talisman-bound red armors. What other traps does Zhao Heng have in store? If he is willing to use Pei Nanwei as a disposable pawn, then he must have more surprises. Is he planning to claim afterward that I schemed to violate the princess while she admired the scenery? That I secretly followed her and disgraced the queen? Would that explanation not seem too shallow and childish? And does Zhao Heng truly believe he cannot defeat Xu Xiao, but that defeating me is a certainty?”
He turned to Master Wei, “Send word to Ning E’mei and the Feng unit to ride quickly and close the gap. We can’t afford to waste half a mile’s distance. Tell him—prepare for a fight to the death.”
The old Daoist priest immediately turned back on his horse.
Xu Fengnian now clearly saw the two maids from Jing’an Prince’s Mansion, their beauty plain to see. He slowed his pace and rode alongside the carriage, knocking on its side panel. Jiang Ni peeked out from behind the curtain, puzzled.
Xu Fengnian said, “Tell the old master—Wang Mingyiin, the eleventh-ranked swordsman, has come. The talisman-bound red armors are here too. There may be even more unknown Expert hiding in the shadows.”
Jiang Ni simply replied with an indifferent “Oh.”
“Stay close and don’t get out. Today is not the day for you to witness a spectacle.” With that, Xu Fengnian nudged his horse forward, escorted closely by Lu Qiantang, Yang Qingfeng, and Shuxiu. Yu Youwei had already been seated inside the carriage at departure, with Jiang Ni and the old swordsaint Li Chungan.
As he neared the reed marsh, Xu Fengnian saw Princess Pei standing alone at its edge. He did not dismount to engage in the usual courtesies. Hands resting on his blades, he merely sat atop his horse, silently gazing down.
Though the two maids marveled at the young lord’s handsome bearing, they were loyal to their mistress. Seeing him sit astride his horse, silent and unmoving, one of them—who, due to her proximity to the princess, held authority rivaling that of the average palace steward—glared up angrily and scolded, “Heir of Beiliang! Why do you not dismount in the presence of the princess!”
Xu Fengnian merely smiled, his gaze fixed on the famed beauty of the Pei clan, whose name ranked higher than even the famed courtesan Li Shuangjia upon the Beauty Rating. Though he had never seen the legendary Baiyu Lion Rolling the Embroidered Ball, he was certain that any man, when given a choice between Princess Pei Nanwei and that famed courtesan Li Baishi, would choose the princess. After all, the wife of a prince of the Six Great Princes of the Empire was in a class far above fallen imperial concubines—perhaps only the empress of a fallen dynasty could rival her allure.
Xu Fengnian searched her eyes for some sign, some clue. But there was none to be found. If she knew of the danger she now faced, she gave no indication—not even toward her husband, Zhao Heng, the mastermind of this deadly scheme. His curiosity deepened. He had no patience for riddles today. He asked bluntly, “Aren’t you running?”
The princess lifted her gaze, calm and composed, “Where would I run to?”
Xu Fengnian smirked, “You could hide.”
Princess Pei smiled faintly, “The Jing’an King has a letter for you. Please rest assured—the paper bears no poison, for I have already inspected it.”
Xu Fengnian extended the blade of Xiu Dong. The princess did not flinch at his impertinence, placing the letter gently upon the steel.
Xu Fengnian glanced at the letter’s contents and laughed, “So Uncle Zhao intends to send me straight to the underworld.”
Princess Pei smiled coldly, “My lord, you truly are a man of deep schemes. All these years spent playing the fool—you’ve certainly earned respect. But tell me, was it worth it?”
Xu Fengnian released Xiu Dong’s hilt and extended his right hand with a playful grin, “Comfortable?”
The composed princess flushed red with rage, gripping her lips tightly before spitting out, “Xu Fengnian, you truly deserve to die!”
Xu Fengnian remained astride his steed, still gazing toward the reed marsh, speaking calmly, “Fear not, Princess. Should I fall, I shall drag you down with me. In the afterlife, I shall teach your delicate little mouth how to play the flute properly. What Zhao Xun desired but dared not do, I shall accomplish with pleasure.”
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