Xu Fengnian drank three flasks of wine one after another and then immediately fell into a deep slumber on the stone table. Qingniao gently draped a sable fur coat over the prince’s body and sat quietly by his side. At dawn, Xu Fengnian awoke and saw Qingniao sitting with perfect posture and dignity. He offered her a faint smile of apology, while she responded with a warm, bright smile. Xu Fengnian then unsheathed his blade, Xiudong, and spent an hour in the courtyard practicing swordplay. He attempted to extract only the most exquisite sword techniques from a collection of secret martial arts manuals, including “The Compendium of a Thousand Swords,” “The Slaying Whale Sword,” “The Dunhuang Flying Sword,” and “The Lüshuiting Ji Zi Swordplay Record,” integrating them into his saber techniques. He combined these with the foundational internal martial method taught by the ox-riding master, striving to fuse all these elements into one seamless movement.
However, putting Zhao Gu Gu’s suggestion into practice—perfecting the first fifty initial moves—was far easier said than done. Right now, Xu Fengnian’s training was rather clumsy, his sword techniques awkward and unnatural, the blade movement stiff and sluggish. This inefficient training yielded little progress. Yet, Xu Fengnian possessed a subtle but essential trait: a deep, innate focus cultivated since he was a child. He had been raised copying calligraphy, playing the game of go, and over three years of traveling more than six thousand miles, he had shed the impatience typical of noblemen. Without that discipline, how could he maintain the patience needed for such dedicated training, especially considering his background, which afforded limitless resources and martial talents within his family? Otherwise, how could he have only cracked through six layers of refined armor by now? Any other arrogant nobleman would likely have already cursed his fate and given up in frustration.
After working up a sweat, Xu Fengnian returned to his room and changed into fresh new clothing, purchased the previous day by Qingniao from the Qingfu Brocade Shop. Feeling refreshingly clean and comfortable, he was just about to have breakfast when he noticed something surprising: Wang Chudong, who normally loved sleeping more than any mortal thing, had risen unusually early and stood by the courtyard gate, fidgeting nervously with her sleeves. Xu Fengnian beckoned her over and they shared a meal. Wang Chudong’s table manners were cute and careless, prompting Xu Fengnian to repeatedly wipe stray food from the corners of her mouth. Since today was the day Xu Fengnian would leave Mount Lao heading to Xiangfan, known to many as the second Fengdu—a ghostly city—Wang Chudong’s expression grew increasingly sorrowful as the meal drew to an end. Her emotions were evident, and she made little effort to hide them. Xu Fengnian did not attempt to console her.
Once the meal concluded, he brought her along for a final visit to the white jade statue of Guanyin. As Xu Fengnian gently told her not to accompany him during his departure, Wang Chudong became genuinely heartbroken. Sobbing quietly, she wiped her face like a little kitten, her voice choked with sobs: “Wait until I grow up—remember to come see me again then.”
Xu Fengnian flicked her nose teasingly: “Look at you, crying like a mess. No wonder people say a grown girl is hard to keep. Your father must be heartbroken to see you like this.”
Wang Dongxiang, the most celebrated female poet in the land, had once written a character who embodied deep and enduring love, and that woman had wept in secret. But after some crying, sleeping, eating, and playing, the grief grew lighter. She didn’t realize, however, that when she was no longer Wang Dongxiang the celebrated writer, but simply the young maiden Wang Chudong, even a gentle separation that promised future encounters would pierce so deeply. She wanted so desperately to tell Xu Fengnian that perhaps she’d stop sleeping so much from now on, and she longed to ask what she should do when she missed him and couldn’t see him. But all she could do was cry—she couldn’t bring herself to say a word.
Xu Fengnian could never stand to see a woman cry or hear trembling voices. He raised his voice and firmly said, “No more crying!” And obediently, Wang Chudong immediately stopped.
Amused and helpless at the same time, Xu Fengnian reached out with both hands and pinched her flushed cheeks. Lowering his face to hers, nose to nose, he gently said: “Don’t worry. As I head southeast, I’ll make sure many small rumors about me reach Qingzhou. Wait for me, and there will be surprises for you.”
Wang Chudong nodded, forcing a smile: “I’ll write poems for you!”
Xu Fengnian didn’t take her seriously, humorously promising they’d trade every head from Beiman for a poem. If that ever happened, she’d be far too busy indeed!
Xu Fengnian suddenly felt a little regret for leaving such a deep impression on her. He remembered how Yu Youwei had once sung a lyric: In naive youth, one knows no yearning; once knowing, one is stricken by longing. Was it not describing the young girl before him? Even within the Wutong Courtyard of the Prince’s Mansion, except for Qingniao and Hongshu, Xu Fengnian had never allowed himself to love any of the servant girls deeply. He had always been careful, showing just enough affection but never allowing himself to fall too greatly. He had always feared the unpredictable disasters of fate. Once a beloved woman departed, he never wanted to feel such loss and pain.
Xu Fengnian did not know that this very lyric praising longing actually came from Wang Dongxiang’s “First Snow,” making Wang Chudong eerily prophetic about their situation.
The procession made its way grandly to the dock. Xu Fengnian boarded the ship, gradually distancing himself further from Mount Lao. Yu Youwei approached and softly asked, “You’ve never heard of Wang Dongxiang?”
Xu Fengnian was puzzled, replying, “Who?”
Yu Youwei smiled playfully: “You’ve never read *The First Snow of Dongxiang*?”
Xu Fengnian frowned: “Li Hanlin mentioned it ends with the characters dying one by one. I wasn’t eager to read it. Last time my elder sister returned to Liangzhou, she brought *Dongxiang* with her and practically forced me to read it to her. I barely managed to escape that ordeal.”
Yu Youwei gently stroked the white cat, Wu Meiniang, and said softly: “That young girl, Wang Chudong, is Wang Dongxiang herself—the author of *The First Snow*. The phrase, ‘May all lovers finally attain union,’ from her work is even widely known in the Beiman territories.”
Xu Fengnian said softly: “No wonder.”
Yu Youwei looked up and added: “Wang Dongxiang writes more than tender verses; though she’s never been near the borderlands, she composes frontier ballads with a unique charm. ‘When I arrived in Liangzhou, I stopped composing poetry—for Liangzhou itself is already poetry.’ Even the Great Column General praised that line.”
Xu Fengnian joked with a smile: “How would Xu Xiao know anything about poetry and lyrics?”
Still, the young prince quietly added, “That girl’s line does ring true.”
Yu Youwei smiled, as the increasingly plump Wu Meiniang lazily stretched in her arms.
Xiangfan, the ghost-like city, was guarded by the Sixth Prince Jing’an Wang.
Zhao Heng, among royal princes, was rare in balancing both literary and martial talents, but he remained mediocre in both fields. Not quite reaching the literary elegance of his younger brother, the Huainan Prince, nor the physical prowess of princes Yanchi and Guangling, he seemed disheartened. Around the age of sixty, he turned to Daoist philosophies and once considered becoming a Daoist priest at Longhushan. Recently, he shifted his faith to Buddhism, actively seeking imperial permission to visit the Liangchan Monastery. He even volunteered to become a disciple of the black-robed monk Yang Taishui under the Bodhisattva Precepts, though the ailing monk ignored him entirely.
Zhao Heng nowadays immersed himself in Buddhist teachings, his hands always wrapped around a string of 108 pearls, as temperamental and changeable as a woman.
Xu Xiao had once called Zhao Heng a resentful, dark-hearted woman, noting that his pursuit of faith was merely a convenient mask to soothe a conscience burdened with past sins. Among the six regional kings, he was considered the least manly.
The three large ships had barely left Mount Lao when two warships from the Chunshen Lake Fleet approached. Compared to them, Xu Fengnian’s vessel was dwarfed.
Xu Fengnian squinted, watching the ships approach. Though the Iron Cavalry of Beiliang had conquered many cities and nations during the Spring and Autumn Wars, dominating all foes, they were weak in naval warfare. Therefore, Xu Fengnian had studied warship techniques across the Spring and Autumn states extensively. His understanding of the imperial navy’s lake warships ran deep. The approaching ship was a Huanglong-class warship, second only to the Qinglong and Liuya warships in Qingzhou’s fleet. Towering six zhang high, painted in vermilion, clad in iron armor, and complete with horse-running decks, they were awe-inspiring behemoths. Equipped with countless arrow slits along their battlements and giant paddle poles capable of smashing lesser ships to splinters with a single strike, their presence was terrifying.
Unfortunately, Xu Fengnian’s ships would not survive many such strikes. Yet, even more unfortunate was Qingzhou’s navy, for standing on the bow was none other than the Prince of Beiliang himself.
Xu Fengnian calmly said, “General Ning, fetch the halberd.”
Ning Emu, usually gentle in demeanor, rarely showed a fierce expression. He turned, retrieving the iron halberd of the Bu family from the cabin, even strapping on the short-halberd bag.
Lv, Yang, and Shu instinctively prepared to leap aboard the enemy ship. Ordinary soldiers would not be a challenge for three experts of the Second Rung, but a natural reluctance existed between civilians and officials, martial artists and legal order. However, remembering who had introduced such ruthless lessons to the martial world, they quickly relaxed.
Xu Fengnian sent Yu Youwei into the inner cabin first. Looking up, he spotted the arrogant Zhao noble from the previous day—the one kicked by Lü Qiantang—now standing with his friends on the third floor of the Huanglong warship, pointing and gesturing. Were they attempting to show off their dominance?
As the Huanglong warship drew closer, the massive paddle poles were clearly ready for action.
Before the poles could strike, the Zhao noble—who was the younger brother of the Provincial Governor of Qingzhou—held a white porcelain wine cup between two fingers. Looking elegant and unrestrained, he shouted at Xu Fengnian: “Outsider, do you dare provoke us again?!”
Xu Fengnian grinned: “I’d love to see how Qingzhou’s warship fares. Just be sure it’s more than just show.”
The Zhao noble’s gaze instinctively flickered toward a nobleman of similar age among his group. This young man, elegant in appearance and modest in behavior, remained free of arrogance, earning widespread admiration in Qingzhou. The son of a commanding general, he stepped forward and asked coldly, “Do you dare repeat what you said yesterday?!”
Though it was clearly a trap, Xu Fengnian smiled calmly: “What harm is there in speaking the name of the Jing’an King? Even if he stands here, I’ll beat him so badly that even Zhao Heng won’t recognize his son afterward!”
The Zhao noble’s heart surged with joy. Glancing at the young scholar who, despite being a nobleman of Qingzhou, had never shown arrogance, he concealed a hint of sinister coldness.
The fair-faced nobleman stepped forward. As he approached, the Zhao noble instinctively stepped back.
The nobleman glared at Xu Fengnian and said evenly: “Don’t regret this.”
At Xu Fengnian’s signal, all one hundred members of the Feng Battalion poured out from below deck, crossbows at the ready, each carrying a standard-issue Beiliang saber, its blade gleaming like fresh snow.
Thus, Qingzhou’s navy found itself in a difficult position.
Was war at sea truly about to begin today?
Captain Yuan Meng was delighted rather than fearful, giving clear commands for an organized assault. The Feng Battalion was among Beiliang’s finest cavalry units, excelling in mounted, foot, and night combat. The ship’s helmsman was already under control. The trio of ships quickly formed a curved arc, mutually supporting each other like interlocking corners. Though the Beiliang army was weak in naval battles compared to cavalry fights, Qingzhou’s navy still paled in comparison. Once, Beiliang’s cavalry had surrounded Xiangfan. The very soldiers manning the warships today were likely still infants at the time. In the Western Shu Kingdom, enemy forces had even cut through stone to erect three iron chains across the river, attempting to halt Beiliang’s hastily assembled fleet. Yet that naval battle ended before it even began as the natural defenses along the great river were swiftly shattered by the Beiliang troops. Truly speaking, the Beiliang army could be considered Qingzhou’s naval ancestors.
Xu Fengnian laughed aloud, challenging: “Are you ready to fight?!”
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