Chapter 102: Comfort and Discomfort

Xu Fengnian had just finished speaking when he noticed that the Avalokiteshvara standing beside him was actually a bit taller than himself. She was walking barefoot, yet her height was imposing. Xu Fengnian, always tall and commanding, hailed from the rugged lands of Liang where men were generally broad-shouldered and robust. His physique was especially noticeable in Jiangnan where his elegance stood out further still. Among the women around him, Jiang Ni was still growing and thus need not be considered, while Youwei Yu and Xiushiu Shu, despite being tall themselves, still stood half a head shorter. Yet this female Dharma King surpassed Prince Xu himself in height. Regardless of her outfit and aura’s uniqueness, her sheer stature alone was enough to draw attention.

After the two passed each other, Xu Fengnian rudely turned around and stared at the Red Sect Dharma Queen of Lantuo Mountain. A monk named Longshou, his expression blank, passed by again and clasped his hands in greeting, a silent acknowledgment between him and the Prince. They had met twice previously in Beiliang City. While Xu Fengnian’s reputation was notorious, he held a deep reverence for Buddhist teachings, a fact widely known in Beiliang. Thus, the monk Longshou, despite being an ascetic, harbored no aversion towards the Prince.

The red-robed monk Longshou threw him a polite smile, to which Xu Fengnian politely and slightly nodded in response. Due to his late mother’s devotion to Buddhism, Xu Fengnian had cultivated a deep understanding of the doctrines of the Buddhist schools. He did not look down upon Daoist philosophy; in fact, he agreed with the view that Daoism formed the spiritual foundation of Central China. However, having witnessed from a young age the deep animosities between his father Xu Xiao and the Daoist sects, he couldn’t help developing some critical opinions toward certain Daoist figures.

Buddhism had long been referred to by the Han literati as the foreign religion, bearing strong derogatory connotations. After the great wars of the Spring and Autumn Annals era, many exiled scholars who initially had little desire for fame or fortune sought to retreat from the world. Once they chose the Buddhist path, they were often heavily criticized by society, described as escaping death through monkhood. The general populace insulted them with the phrase, “their true calling is no more than that of a performer hiding beneath robes.” However, with the current emperor’s growing reverence for Buddhism, the attitudes slowly started changing. In the capital alone, there were now no fewer than ten thousand wandering monks. Yet Buddhism had always lacked a centralised leadership; it did not have a hierarchy as clear-cut as the Daoists’ with Longhushan as its primary stronghold.

Yang Taishui, the black-robed old monk, was the imperial teacher of two dynasties, with both his wisdom and experience sufficient for him to be regarded as the leading authority within Buddhism. Unfortunately, this monk—dubbed the “ailing tiger”—was akin to a drifting weed without roots, having even severed ties with his family early on. Even when he taught the royal offspring the complexities of various disciplines, he remained stern and unforgiving. It was said that within the inner palace, more than a few feather dusters had been broken over his harsh discipline. The princes and princesses all feared him greatly. In the imperial court, the Princess Sui Zhu was known for her domineering nature, yet even she, fearless of anything under heaven, feared this old monk. Moreover, the black-robed monk had consistently declined visitors for over a decade, so how could he possibly be accused of forming factions? Without factional support, standing alone, how could he build any real influence?

The white-robed Avalokiteshvara glided away gracefully, completely ignoring Xu Fengnian’s brazen declaration of seeking comfort wherever possible. As she left, Longshou, who had been willing to wait thirty years, had no reason left to continue “confine himself,” and thus followed her back to Lantuo Mountain. Except for the monastery at Emei, virtually all monks wished to be able to say, “I come from Lantuo Mountain.” Yet fewer than one in a hundred actually made it there.

Xu Fengnian noticed Jiang Ni gazing dreamily at the female Dharma King’s departing figure, her expression blank and besotted. Unable to suppress his amusement, he teased her, “Do you want to follow her back to Lantuo Mountain? Would you like to become a concubine or a nun? Let me clarify beforehand, living the life of austerity and chanting mantras is far tougher than studying or earning a living.”

Li Chungan, carefully tucking the talisman into his hair bun, mused with a smirk, “Does this Lantuo Mountain woman have intentions of spiritual union with you?”

Xu Fengnian replied with feigned regret, “Before, I was afraid she’d be an old cow munching on tender grass and stubbornly refused. Now, it’s my turn to be rejected. What an odd world we live in.”

Old sword saint Li seized this rare opportunity to mock Xu Fengnian without mercy, his tone laced with irony as he said, “Master Xu! She publicly declared before a gathering that you aren’t worthy of spiritual union. How can you, the prestigious heir to the Prince of Beiliang, take such an insult? What if this news spreads across the world, won’t the entire realm die laughing?”

Xu Fengnian simply replied, “Haha, excellent! That’d save me the trouble of learning to wield a saber. Whenever I meet someone I dislike, I’ll just tell them this joke. They’ll hear it and die laughing.”

Old Master Li was stunned for a moment, momentarily at a loss for words.

Jiang Ni, finally recovering from her bewilderment, couldn’t help but retort in disgust, “You are truly shameless!”

Xu Fengnian shrugged helplessly, “Well then, tell me how I should act noble! Should a hundred men rush forward and beat up this Goddess Avalokiteshvara? Or should I kneel on the ground, crying and begging her to accept a blissful union?”

As the old sword master regained his composure, the young girl, seeing Xu Fengnian disregarded by her celestial idol, felt a surge of pleasure. Turning her head to face him, she cheerfully repeated, “Not worthy! Not worthy! Not worthy!”

Xu Fengnian intentionally put some distance between himself and Jiang Ni, gazing toward the city wall with a sigh, “Tonight is an excellent night for a hundred thousand wandering ghosts to leave the city.”

At his words, Jiang Ni immediately silenced herself, instinctively stepping closer to Xu Fengnian. He strolled ahead onto the wooden bridge first. Xiangfan was a classic heavily-fortified city in military texts, its outer walls protruding with defensive towers. As Xu crossed the moat, he recalled those days of national warfare—the wooden horses and oxen used in sieges. He turned to the old sword saint behind him and asked curiously, “What’s the origin of the name ‘Wooden Ox and Horses’?”

After posing the question, Xu Fengnian seemed to remember that the topic might be inappropriate, for to a sword master, having his blade snapped was no small dishonor—especially broken with merely two fingers by Wang Xianzhi. Surprisingly, the old man took it in stride, nodding calmly: “The name ‘Wooden Ox and Horses’ does indeed come from the siege engines you imagined. It implies that all hostile forces are akin to city walls, and there is no fortress that the Wooden Ox and Horses cannot breach. The forging of the Wooden Ox and Horses was identical to that of the talisman. Both originated from a meteorite that fell from the skies. During the previous dynasty, the emperor sent envoys to search overseas for immortals when the stone fell into the sea, causing towering waves. It was later retrieved from the ocean depths and split into parts: half was used to forge the Wooden Ox and Horses, half to create the Red Armor of the Talisman Bearers, and the remaining essence was used to craft the dagger-talisman on my head. These three artifacts share the same origin, like siblings.”

Xu Fengnian joked, “Then Elder and Young Miss Ni really share a rare karmic bond.”

The old swordsman let out a chuckle: “Hehe.”

The fortress city of Xiangfan maintained strict curfews by night, but this was only for ordinary commoners. For someone like Xu Fengnian, who was a top aristocrat bold enough to confront the Qingzhou navy, or someone like the Six-Pearl Guru from Lantuo Mountain, a figure like a celestial being, the city gates naturally opened without question. The officer in charge of the city gates was likely following Prince Jing’an Zhao Heng’s secret orders, not daring to obstruct them—otherwise, any confrontation would only serve to boost Xu Fengnian’s prestige. After all, no one wanted to be the one to make the Heir of Beiliang suffer in such a trivial matter.

The chaos on the Spring God Lake still had no definitive explanation, and no one could say for certain that Xu Fengnian would face punishment. This time was different, for the Prince of Beiliang, dressed in a royal blue satin robe with nine dragon motifs, was currently stationed in the capital. In his first court assembly, this “Butcher of Men” strode into the throne room with his saber. Faced with questioning from senior officials like Zhang Julu and Gu Jantang, along with other esteemed ministers, as well as relentless interrogation from the three Imperial Academy scholars, he merely stood there, half-asleep, ignoring them all. This infuriated the ministers so greatly they nearly foamed at the mouth. Whether, behind their anger and fury, there lay any underlying fear or anxiety, however, was unknown.

In the capital, rumors spread that the Prince of Beiliang was residing at the Xiamaowei Inn, where his cavalry was resting. The inn was deserted, and the people of the capital were jubilant, clapping their hands and declaring it a just retribution—claiming that he who had lost the Way would surely find few allies, and that Beiliang’s time was up.

Indeed, the courtyard of Ximaowei was truly desolate. Inside, the Prince, dressed as a wealthy old merchant, sat drinking green ant wine with the black-robed monk. The wine, specially brought from Liangzhou by Xu Xiao, was paired with the old monk Yang Taishui—an unwelcome guest dragged into the gathering. Over the years, thanks to his second daughter Xu Wei Xiong’s poem “Brother Enjoying the Snow,” green ant wine had become quite available in the capital. Yet this journey of transporting fierce liquor across thousands of miles still held deep significance.

This was also Xu Xiao’s way of conveying a message to an old friend met in a foreign land: “Though you refuse to call me a friend, old baldy, forcing you to keep an eye on me in service to the emperor still doesn’t change how I see you—when you invited me to drink during my departure, this time I had to repay the favor with another jar of green ant wine.”

The spring chill in the capital had long dissipated, and cicadas had been singing nonstop, but Xu Xiao still seemed cold, exhaling into his hands as he sighed, “When I left the capital, I remember there were one thousand, eight hundred, and sixty-four postal stations. Now, with so many annexed states, they’ve dwindled instead of growing. Can they even remain at half that number?”

The black-robed monk responded flatly, “With the city of Tai’an living up to its name—peaceful and stable—why recreate the days of postal stations scattered like fish scales and urgent messages flying like shooting stars? Isn’t this a good thing?”

All knew of Xu Xiao’s deep ties to postal stations. After the fall of the Spring and Autumn era, the Liyang dynasty did not emphasize station construction. When Xu Xiao gained military authority, he proposed ten reforms, among which the development of postal routes and horse breeding flourished under his hand. However, other reforms, owing to the cessation of war, were never fully implemented.

The reduction of postal stations was only a small symbol of a larger trend. At the peak of Liyang’s military might, it was often said: a station passed another like overlapping fish scales, riders swiftly replacing riders like shooting stars. Thus, when defeated monarchs from various states were escorted to Tai’an after the war, they marveled at the efficiency of the stations, spaced merely thirty li apart. Many famous generals, who until then had blamed their defeat on fate and terrain, finally acknowledged Xu Xiao’s abilities. After all, maintaining such infrastructure involved countless complexities—like planting and maintaining roadside vegetation alone, which annually consumed vast sums from the national treasury. At a time of constant warfare, no matter how enlightened an emperor might be, most would focus solely on immediate gains like training soldiers and stockpiling armor, investing in short-term dividends. How many ministers could match Xu Xiao’s ability to persuade the emperor to invest in long-term national projects?

Xu Xiao chuckled: “It’s a good thing for now. As for whether it will be good after you and I are gone—well, that’s hard to say.”

Though the black-robed monk was a monk, he still drank. He took a sip and replied with a calm tone, “Why are you so concerned?”

Xu Xiao laughed dryly: “Unlike you, I’m not a man of detachment. If I don’t worry, how could I face those brave souls who fought beside me in the past? Who carved out this realm?”

Yang Taishui frowned: “Zhang Julu will worry. Gu Jantang will worry. Besides, even if you helped our late emperor seize the world, without you, the lame Xu, there would have been other lame men like Li or Wang to take your place. Your pride in your achievements—was it not enough that the late emperor spared you the fate of a hound after the hare was killed? Why must you keep gloating about it?”

Xu Xiao said softly, “It’s enough. That’s why back then, although I was upset when you dragged me out for a drink, I didn’t hold a grudge afterward. I considered the debt of gratitude I owed both you and him as fully repaid.”

Hearing these words, the black-robed old monk felt a pang of guilt. He fell silent, his expression somewhat desolate.

The woman first entered the world with a sword case engraved only with the words: “This sword smooths all the world’s unevenness.”

Upon hearing of it, the late Emperor laughed and said, “Without this sister-in-law, there would have been no Xu Xiao, and thus no glorious realm for me.”

Only in her final days did the extraordinary woman carve the last nine characters. Every time this thought crossed the black-robed monk’s mind, guilt surged, for he was the one person in the world most burdened by remorse.

The monk asked, “Then why did you still invite me to share a drink?”

Xu Xiao snorted, “If it weren’t for my late wife repeatedly urging me those years after arriving in Beiliang, saying this bald monk must have his reasons, I might not have even spared you another glance, no matter how magnanimous I am.”

Yang Taishui gave a bitter smile.

Xu Xiao took another sip of wine and sneered, “If Gu Jantang dares to conspire with a bunch of scoundrels again in the next court assembly, don’t blame me for drawing my saber and slicing him in half!”

Yang Taishui frowned, “Even empty-handed, Gu Jantang would still overpower you. In the realm of saber masters, he remains supreme.”

Xu Xiao challenged, “But would he dare strike back if I slashed at him? When I once beheaded his protégé and displayed his head upon the city wall, did he dare to object? He didn’t dare back then, and this boy has only grown more cowardly, so he’ll be even less inclined to now.”

Yang Taishui chuckled, “It seems he wouldn’t.”

Xu Xiao laughed, “Exactly.”

Who would believe this was the Prince of Beiliang clad in a five-clawed dragon robe? He seemed more like a common ruffian!

No wonder he could raise a son like Xu Fengnian, whose character was equally unscrupulous.

Xu Xiao smiled and asked, “But what if I really kill Gu Jantang—what would your position be?”

Yang Taishui answered calmly, “The debts of loyalty and righteousness I owed were repaid long ago. Since you’ve invited me to share a drink today, I would not hesitate to help you escape the capital tomorrow after you’ve killed someone.”

Xu Xiao burst into laughter: “You bald monk, you still have a little conscience left.”

The black-robed monk said nothing.

In all the world, none were as dependable with their word as this ailing tiger.

Another flask of green-ant wine was soon empty.

Softly, the monk murmured, “You once made the Princess’s life unhappy. Now you’ve caused the same fate for all your children, especially Xu Fengnian. Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?”

Xu Xiao laughed freely and said, “If we weren’t a family, if we hadn’t entered through the same doorway and shared meals, then this notion of contentment or unhappiness would all be a matter of fate.”

The monk sighed.

Xu Xiao asked, “Do you know the Six-Pearl Guru from Lantuo Mountain?”

The monk nodded. “He initially cultivated his ear-root meditation, not seeking external sounds. Unlike most people, he entered the Great Liberation of non-attachment to motion and stillness. He is a great wisdom holder in the Buddha’s teachings, advancing from the first bhumi to the eighth in one leap. His case is similar to the new Taoist Master Wudang, who reached the celestial stage in one bound—both are rare living Bodhisattvas in the flesh.”

Xu Xiao grunted and furrowed his brows.

The monk asked, “I heard this Red Sect Dharma Queen has gone to Xiangfan. Are you not worried?”

Xu Xiao murmured, “How could I not be worried? If she unites with Fengnian, I worry. But if she does not unite, I worry even more.”