Before arriving at Wudang Mountain, Xu Fengnian believed that the top ten martial artists in the world, ranked eleventh and below, were the most formidable figures in the realm when it came to killing and arson. Only upon ascending the mountain did he realize that true masters often hid in seclusion among forests, disdained rankings, or concealed their true strength. Thus, when Xu Xiao mentioned that the old demon suppressed beneath the Listening Tide Pavilion was one of the few truly peerless experts, Xu Fengnian understood that once this monstrous entity was unleashed, no one could stop his rampage.
Xu Fengnian weighed the situation—perhaps only Old Huang and the blade-wielding old man at the lake’s bottom combined could stand a chance. But Old Huang was dead, his sword case mocked atop the Emperor City’s walls, and the white-haired old man had left. Given his temperament, he would never willingly serve as the Young Master’s vanguard. Alone, how much could Xu Fengnian truly accomplish in subduing demons?
Counting on his fingers, he recalled those whose skills he had witnessed firsthand. Wang Chonglou, the Wudang Sect Leader, certainly qualified. The sword-obsessed Wang Xiaoping counted as half, and the cow-riding Daoist perhaps another half? As for the guardians within the Prince’s Manor, they barely amounted to a fraction.
Gazing at the Listening Tide Pavilion, Xu Fengnian pondered the old demon’s origins but found no clues. With a smirk, he asked, “What other treasures does the manor hold? Don’t hide them—give me the full picture.”
Xu Xiao took a sip of scalding yellow wine, wiped his mouth, and replied, “That’s about it. Everything I’ve gathered over half a lifetime—still not enough for your antics?”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “No family heirlooms?”
Xu Xiao sighed. “There are, but you’ll only inherit them after I die. Unless we’re utterly destitute, they won’t be brought out.”
Xu Fengnian murmured softly, “It’s almost New Year’s—say something auspicious.”
Xu Xiao stared at the calm lake, finding it dull, and scattered bait to summon a vibrant spectacle of leaping koi. Sighing, he said, “My body isn’t what it used to be. In my youth, I could devour three or four pounds of beef with wine without a second thought, or finish half a roasted lamb in one sitting. Now, I can’t even chew properly—greasy food turns my stomach.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “The good die young, but villains live a thousand years. A scoundrel like you, reviled by thousands, should at least make it to a hundred, right?”
Xu Xiao remained silent.
Xu Fengnian straightened, grabbing bait to toss into the lake. Hundreds of koi had already gathered around the pavilion, leaping at the mere motion of his hand. In the past, bored, he would row a boat with boxes of bait, creating a breathtaking scene of koi swarming the water. Yesterday, he had indulged in this spectacle with a young girl, who was both awed and terrified—her expressions delightfully vivid. Over the years, the young nobles of Northern Liang had competed with the Young Master for courtesans, only to humiliate themselves. Even if these women entered the Prince’s Manor, Xu Fengnian would at most gift them a small box of bait, watching amusedly from the sidelines without joining.
At year’s end, after tolling the bell at Jiuhua Mountain and enduring a lukewarm New Year’s feast, Xu Fengnian visited the Banana Courtyard. Yu Youwei sat by the window, teasing the plump white cat Wumeiniang, now round as a snowball and utterly adorable.
Xu Fengnian extended the sheath of his embroidered blade, Xiudao, and Wumeiniang obediently clung to it.
Lifting the cat, he remarked, “Must weigh ten pounds now. Let’s call her ‘Fat Wumeiniang.’”
Yu Youwei hugged the charmingly chubby cat, glaring at the insensitive Young Master.
Seated, Xu Fengnian tossed a osmanthus cake into the air, catching it perfectly in his mouth. These cakes, made by Yu Youwei herself, were uniquely flavored and beloved by the entire manor. During autumn, she would gather fresh osmanthus blossoms, extract their essence, and preserve them in honey. The resulting cakes melted in the mouth, delicate and sweet—a taste Xu Fengnian adored. His gaze at Yu Youwei deepened with unspoken meaning.
No longer the courtesan or the elusive Yu Xuanji, she tensed under his stare, clutching Wumeiniang tightly—her ample bosom pressing enticingly against the cat.
Xu Fengnian mumbled, “Impatient, aren’t you?”
Yu Youwei arched a brow, responding with a soft hum.
Xu Fengnian grinned. “I knew it.”
Confused by his cryptic words, she asked, “Knew what?”
Leaning closer, he murmured, “It’s getting late.”
Instead of blushing or panicking, Yu Youwei stroked Wumeiniang’s head and said softly, “Before anything even happens, the entire Wutong Courtyard already resents me. You only got these cakes because I begged a maid under the osmanthus tree. If I stayed the night, Wumeiniang and I might as well drink the northwest wind.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Was it Lü Yi or Huang Gua? I’ll scold her later.”
Yu Youwei smiled—a knife hidden in her grin—but refrained from pressing the matter.
Gently tapping her forehead, Xu Fengnian said, “Why quarrel with those girls? It’s unbecoming. A woman’s grace is what truly captivates.”
Yu Youwei froze.
Standing, Xu Fengnian stretched, stuffed the remaining cakes into his mouth, and swaggered off with Xiudao in hand.
Last year, the heavens had been stingy, granting only two light snowfalls—hardly satisfying. Thus, Jiang Ni’s courtyard boasted the smallest snowman in years.
Entering the desolate yard, Xu Fengnian glanced at the tiny snowman—at least its head remained intact. After a moment’s contemplation (which yielded no epiphanies), he left.
As for whom to take on his upcoming journey, Xu Fengnian remained uncertain. Guards and escorts were no issue—his status allowed for a hundred cavalry without much scrutiny. Xu Xiao would arrange everything seamlessly, leaving no room for criticism. With the Prince’s Manor’s trained hounds deployed openly and covertly, any assassin would be laughably outmatched. Yet, having suffered before, Xu Fengnian still felt it insufficient.
Bai Hu’er? Unlikely to leave the Listening Tide Pavilion. Their friendship was transactional—no favors without reason. Xu Fengnian couldn’t think of any martial secrets more enticing than the Pavilion’s archives.
Would he truly have to seek out the half-immortal, half-demon beneath the Pavilion?
Lost in thought, Xu Fengnian suddenly found himself beneath the imposing “Nine Dragons” plaque—a gift from the late emperor. The plaque’s calligraphy wasn’t majestic; to him, it was simply… unsightly.
His mind drifted to his second sister, Xu Wei Xiong, far away. Often more vindictive than him, she was paradoxically clear-headed in major matters yet petty in minor ones. For instance, she insisted he drop the “second” and call her simply “sister.” Xu Fengnian never understood why she and their eldest sister, Xu Zhihu, competed over such trivialities. Birth order was fate.
While he and his brother Xu Longxiang got along well, the sisters’ relationship was strained. The younger sister deemed the elder frivolous and vain, while the elder, magnanimous by comparison, enjoyed teasing Xu Wei Xiong about her beauty and calligraphy.
Women’s minds were more inscrutable than the heavens themselves. The young Daoist ancestor on the mountain would surely agree.
Xu Fengnian chuckled to himself. “Leaving the mountain, I actually miss that cow-riding fool.”
Laughing aloud, he added, “I sent him a chest of forbidden romance novels the other day. Wonder if his second brother strung him up for a beating?”
“Xu the Beggar, still as tedious as ever.”
Bai Hu’er’s cold voice drifted from the pavilion.
Entering, Xu Fengnian found him standing before a white jade relief—*Dunhuang Feitian (Flying Apsaras)*.
Smiling, Xu Fengnian said, “Haven’t heard that nickname in over a year.”
The Young Master carried the elegant Xiudao, while Bai Hu’er wore the unadorned Chunlei at his waist.
With shameless amusement, Xu Fengnian mused, “Turns out we make quite a pair.”
Bai Hu’er slowly turned, shifting his gaze from the mural to Xu Fengnian—killing intent palpable.
Xu Fengnian hastily clarified, “I meant Xiudao and Chunlei!”
Naturally, no matter how beautiful Bai Hu’er was, the Young Master wasn’t about to fancy a man.
Bai Hu’er returned to studying the sixty-four life-sized apsaras, adorned with jeweled crowns or Daoist headpieces, their slender figures exuding grace. Bare-shouldered, draped in colorful ribbons, they held flutes, pipas, and konghous, floating amidst clouds—a celestial vision.
As a child, Xu Fengnian had often ridden on Xu Xiao’s shoulders to peek at the apsaras’ exposed chests. Such innate talent! Though as he grew older, these escapades dwindled—thanks to Xu Zhihu’s habit of dragging him into her bed until he was twelve or thirteen, fostering his peculiar sleep habits of clutching necks and fondling earlobes.
Bai Hu’er stepped closer, focusing on a one-eyed apsara in the northwest corner, adorned with bracelets and holding a phoenix-headed konghou.
Xu Fengnian, uneasy, warned, “Xu Xiao said an ancient monster is sealed beneath this pavilion. Be careful.”
Suddenly enlightened, Bai Hu’er drew Chunlei and struck the apsara’s eye. The blade rebounded, sheathing itself as the other sixty-three apsaras began shifting—revealing a hidden door.
Stunned, Xu Fengnian muttered, “Like painting the dragon’s dot?”
Bai Hu’er strode in without hesitation.
Xu Fengnian hesitated, then followed into the darkness. Moonlight from the hall revealed a staircase descending underground.
Bai Hu’er unsheathed Chunlei, its glow illuminating their path. Xu Fengnian drew Xiudao.
After sixty-three steps, the stairs brightened—a hall lit by four night pearls embedded in the walls.
Like a tomb!
Rows upon rows of spirit tablets—over six hundred—commemorating Northern Liang’s fallen generals.
At the center lay a straw mat for kneeling, concealing a massive yin-yang Bagua diagram.
Xu Fengnian scanned the tablets, recognizing few—veterans of the chaotic Spring and Autumn Wars.
*”One general’s success bleaches ten thousand bones.”*
A scholar’s platitude. Here, in this underworld, the truth was visceral.
Unfazed, Bai Hu’er asked, “Will you trade Xiudao for Chunlei?”
Sensing danger, Xu Fengnian refused.
Annoyed, Bai Hu’er narrowed his phoenix eyes, scrutinizing Xu Fengnian like another spirit tablet.
He knew Chunlei suited Xu Fengnian’s blade training better.
Ignoring the stare, Xu Fengnian feigned obliviousness. Beneath them lurked the legendary master imprisoned for twenty years. Bai Hu’er’s curiosity was piqued—he would surely investigate. Xu Fengnian had no desire to deliver himself to the tiger’s jaws. His second journey hadn’t yet driven him to such recklessness.
Bai Hu’er frowned, then unexpectedly compromised. “I wish to descend further. But this is your home. If you agree, I’ll trade blades and grant you an additional favor.”
Xu Fengnian seized the offer. “Deal.”
Bai Hu’er tossed Chunlei to him without hesitation.
Catching it, Xu Fengnian withheld Xiudao. “Can I state my condition now?”
Bai Hu’er nodded.
Xu Fengnian declared, “My condition is: we don’t go down! Break your word, and you’ll have to kill me—no, knock me out first!”
Unarmed, Bai Hu’er stared wide-eyed at the dual-wielding Young Master.
Then, for the first time, Bai Hu’er smiled.
The apsaras paled in comparison to his transcendent beauty.
Dazzled yet wary, Xu Fengnian held his ground.
Bai Hu’er’s smile turned coy—a distinctly feminine pout. “You win this round, Xu the Rogue.”
Relieved, Xu Fengnian exhaled. Brushing death’s door was no joke.
Bai Hu’er extended a hand.
Confused, Xu Fengnian blinked.
“Give me Xiudao,” Bai Hu’er snapped. “We’ll go upstairs. When your courage grows, we’ll return.”
Dumbly, Xu Fengnian handed over Xiudao, reluctant—it had been his loyal companion on Wudang Mountain.
Back upstairs, Bai Hu’er tapped the apsara’s eye again, restoring the mural.
As Xu Fengnian prepared to flee, Bai Hu’er—surprisingly unangered—said softly, “Drink with me.”
Xu Fengnian fetched fine wine from Wutong Courtyard.
They sat on the pavilion’s grand foundation, Bai Hu’er cross-legged, Xu Fengnian’s legs dangling over the edge.
The white-fox-faced man took a swig of wine. “The Prince of Northern Liang is the most formidable man I’ve ever met. But even after a year, I still don’t understand how Xu Xiao, despite enforcing Legalism and the Way of Might, became a powerful minister second only to the emperor. Just now, seeing those six hundred spirit tablets, I think I get it a little. If six hundred people are willing to die for you, even a fool could dominate a province. And if those six hundred are all heroes, ready to sacrifice everything for you—what then? Everyone knows Xu Xiao started with six hundred cavalry. How many are left now? Probably all up there.”
Xu Fengnian gazed at the night sky.
The white-fox-faced man said softly, “Having a father like that—must be exhausting, no?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head.
The white-fox-faced man swayed his wine flask mockingly. “Your father’s cunning, patience, and ruthlessness are top-tier in this world. You, on the other hand, are just a scoundrel.”
Xu Fengnian smiled bitterly. “No need to mock this fool. So what if I tricked you into trading Spring Thunder for Embroidered Winter? If you’re unhappy, we can swap back.”
The white-fox-faced man’s lips curled into a bewitching arc as he downed another fierce gulp, drinking with unbridled boldness. “Name your terms.”
Xu Fengnian replied softly, “Forget it. Go down if you want. Just let me know when, and I’ll have Xu Xiao assign you more men.”
The white-fox-faced man eyed him suspiciously. “Since when did you grow a heart of mercy?”
Xu Fengnian scoffed at himself. “I don’t have many friends to begin with. Last year, thanks to that loyalist Governor of Lingzhou, I lost another one. No matter how you see me, I consider you a friend.”
The white-fox-faced man remained expressionless, simply tilting his head back to drink.
The flask was soon emptied to the last drop.
He reached out, demanding more wine from Xu Fengnian.
Xu Fengnian shook his own flask, grinning. “I’ve already drunk from this. You still want it?”
The slightly flushed white-fox-faced man barked, “Hand it over!”
Xu Fengnian passed it to him.
Half delighted, half annoyed—delighted that someone as prideful as the white-fox-faced man was now so casual with him, annoyed because this surely confirmed he wasn’t a woman after all.
Then the white-fox-faced man said something that nearly made Xu Fengnian spit blood: “If only you were a woman. I’d marry you.”
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