Jiang Ni seemed utterly enchanted by the sight of vegetables and fruits growing bit by bit. Whenever she had a spare moment, she would squat in the vegetable patch, staring intently. Poor Shenfu Dagger had to serve as both a hoe and a machete.
One night, under a sky full of stars, Xu Fengnian kindly went to fertilize the vegetable patch, only to be caught by Jiang Ni, who couldn’t sleep. In a frenzy, she grabbed Shenfu and chased him halfway up the mountain.
For the next few days, Xu Fengnian didn’t dare return to the thatched cottage, surviving on wild game he roasted over a fire. At first, Hong Xixiang didn’t dare indulge in such feasting, but eventually, his cravings got the better of him. Once he started, there was no stopping him. Every time he saw the young master, he’d bat his eyelashes and ask with a grin, “What did you catch today?” This was a far cry from the ascetic discipline of the mountain.
Xu Fengnian marveled at his own patience in enduring the cow-riding Taoist’s incessant chatter, which buzzed in his ears like gadflies on the back of a green ox.
Having hauled hundreds of books up the mountain, Xu Fengnian had no intention of becoming a mere walking library. Whenever he encountered something obscure, he’d drag Hong Xixiang over for an explanation.
The most fascinating part was that many seemingly unbeatable techniques in one manual often had their counters in another. These contradictions, requiring patience to uncover, benefited Xu Fengnian the most. While it was hard to say how much his swordsmanship had improved, his insight had undoubtedly ascended several levels.
During this time, Xu Fengnian pulled out *The Great Bear’s Combat Techniques*, a long-lost martial manual from the jianghu, to use as a training guide. The moves were simple but overwhelmingly fierce, each strike designed to kill in one blow. He also acquired an unnamed fist technique from Wudang, which leaned toward softness—something Xu Fengnian initially disliked. But Hong Xixiang insisted, praising it to the skies, nearly claiming it was the best in the world.
At first, Xu Fengnian remained unconvinced. The desperate elder martial uncle had no choice but to demonstrate a final, breathtaking move. Even Xu Fengnian had to admit he was genuinely stunned: the cow-riding Taoist plucked a handful of bamboo leaves, scattered them into the wind, and then moved with them, his palm outstretched. To Xu Fengnian’s eyes, he swayed like a drunkard, “hopping around aimlessly,” yet somehow managed to gather every single leaf back into his palm.
Gnawing on a wild pheasant leg and still unable to grasp the essence of the fist technique, Xu Fengnian finally asked, “The more I practice this, the more it feels like something for women. Are you messing with me?”
The elder martial uncle, his mouth greasy from the feast, wiped his lips and said solemnly, “How would I dare deceive the young master?”
Xu Fengnian narrowed his eyes. “Who created this fist technique?”
The elder martial uncle’s eyes darted around as he swallowed a mouthful of pheasant meat and chuckled nervously. “Young master, I won’t keep you from your sword practice. I must go tend to the ox.”
Xu Fengnian pressed his scabbard against Hong Xixiang’s shoulder and smirked. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll beat everything you just ate right back out of you.”
The elder martial uncle lowered his voice mysteriously. “I stumbled upon it by accident in the top floor of Xuanyue Palace. It’s ancient, untraceable—likely the life’s work of some past master.”
Xu Fengnian sheathed his sword, steadied his breath, and executed six consecutive circles in the air, one inside the other, mimicking the fist technique. It looked decent, but compared to the cow-rider’s performance in the bamboo grove, it was worlds apart—lacking in both form and spirit.
As the elder martial uncle hurried off to fetch the green ox, he glanced at Xu Fengnian’s stance and nodded approvingly, beaming. “This fist technique evolves from the Eight Trigrams to the Four Symbols, Three Powers, and finally the Two Polarities—though it’s still far from the Supreme Ultimate.
“The young master’s movements are already remarkably light, fluid, and well-structured—far better than when I first started. There are just minor flaws to correct. If *The Great Bear’s Combat Techniques* are about overwhelming force, this fist technique is about finesse—using an ounce to move a ton.
“Remember this when practicing: the fist strikes within the space of a reclining ox. Seek smallness over grandeur, stillness over motion. Only then can you grasp the wonder of ‘one giving rise to all things.’ At its peak, not even a feather can be added, nor a fly alight. One leaf heralds autumn; a sprout foretells spring.”
Xu Fengnian mulled it over and scoffed. “Only the ‘fist strikes within the space of a reclining ox’ part is useful. The rest is nonsense.”
Hong Xixiang chuckled but didn’t argue.
Xu Fengnian smirked. “Cow-rider, since you love meat so much, why not trick one of Wudang’s yellow cranes down here? They’re everywhere.”
Hong Xixiang laughed awkwardly. “No, no. Wudang’s cranes are sacred, and they were my childhood playmates. Killing them would hurt me more than killing myself.”
Xu Fengnian teased, “Can you ride one? Don’t Taoist immortals ascend to heaven on cranes?”
Hong Xixiang shook his head. “Never thought of it. I’ve been afraid of heights since I was a kid.”
Xu Fengnian sneered. “Afraid of descending the mountain, afraid of heights, afraid of women—is there anything you’re *not* afraid of?”
Hong Xixiang sighed heavily, his face gloomy.
Suddenly, the cow-rider perked up and whispered cautiously, “Young master, I’ll go fetch the ox. You’d better check on the cottage.”
Xu Fengnian gripped Xiudao tightly and sprinted back. Who on this mountain would dare provoke him? And if someone did, they wouldn’t be ordinary.
When he reached the cottage, Xu Fengnian halted abruptly and advanced slowly through the bamboo grove.
Outside stood three unfamiliar intruders, none wearing Wudang’s hemp or silk robes. The one in the middle was a delicate-looking young noble, dressed in extravagant finery.
Xu Fengnian, well-versed in the ways of the wealthy, could tell at a glance that this boy came from immense riches. His Shu embroidery was exquisitely crafted, a rare treasure beyond price. But what truly stood out were the two luminous pearls he toyed with—top-tier “dragon pearls and phoenix eyes,” each a masterpiece, and nearly impossible to find as a pair. Even imperial tributes rarely matched them.
The arrogant young noble was flanked by two middle-aged men. One was a burly giant with a thick beard, fierce eyes, and a pair of ancient swords at his waist—one long, one short. He stood slightly apart.
The other was a pale, clean-shaven man with a sinister air, dressed in plain white robes. He hovered closer to the noble, slightly hunched, hands behind his back, exuding the cold menace of a silver-ringed snake.
Jiang Ni stood in the ruined vegetable patch, her eyes red, lips bitten bloody. A bright red handprint marred her delicate cheek.
Her carefully tended garden was destroyed—supports toppled, seedlings crushed, the earth turned upside down.
If Xu Fengnian had merely watered or fertilized her patch, she’d have chased him halfway up the mountain. For it to be ravaged like this, she must have fought desperately—but outnumbered and outmatched, she’d suffered in silence.
To Jiang Ni, the Northern Liang Palace might have been a gilded cage, but aside from its bird-keeping young master, who dared lay a finger on her? Let alone slap her?
Xu Fengnian, his hands wrapped in cloth and gripping Xiudao, strode barefoot toward the trio, his face like still water.
*Jiang Ni—this young master may bully you, but no one else can.*
*Whoever your parents are, it doesn’t matter.*
The elegant noble tilted his head slightly, revealing faint freckles on his nose. He glanced dismissively at Xu Fengnian, but when his gaze landed on Xiudao, his eyes lit up. “Oh, what a lovely sword. I want it. Break his hands—the sword is mine.”
The giant looked at Xu Fengnian with a hint of pity.
From start to finish, Xu Fengnian didn’t utter a word.
Ten paces from the giant, he suddenly charged, Xiudao flashing from its sheath. Three steps in, he delivered a clean, whistling slash.
The giant, who hadn’t planned to draw his sword, narrowed his eyes in surprise. Without seeming to move, he blocked the strike with the short blade at his left waist.
The dagger’s hilt was wrapped in gold and silver threads—a finely crafted weapon for close combat.
Blocked, Xu Fengnian didn’t waste energy in a contest of strength. Instead, he rebounded, his blade tracing a dazzling arc as he pivoted into a sweeping second strike.
The giant’s expression flickered with surprise. He abandoned his underestimation, stepping back half a pace and swinging his left arm in a mighty arc, aiming to crush Xu Fengnian’s momentum and send him flying, never to lift a sword again.
But Xu Fengnian, taught by the White-Haired Monster when to conserve and when to release energy, dodged the brute force. With a hidden burst of speed, he narrowly avoided the giant’s devastating swing.
Unconsciously, Xu Fengnian began weaving the cow-rider’s fist technique into his swordsmanship. His body spun like a top, one revolution after another, accelerating instead of slowing. Combined with his self-taught rolling-blade style, the result was seamless. Faced with imminent danger, he reached a level he’d never achieved before—his movements flowing effortlessly, his breath steady and calm. The second slash from Xiudao carried far more power than the first.
The giant, his strike having missed, glared furiously. This brat was reckless but skilled—his unorthodox angles and unpredictable style were rare for his age. A shame such talent would go to waste.
Finally losing patience, the giant abandoned restraint. Though he still didn’t draw his long sword, his short blade lashed out like a fisherman hooking a whale from the East Sea, slamming into Xiudao’s gleaming edge.
Xu Fengnian’s mind flashed with the phrase *not even a feather can be added, nor a fly alight*. Instinctively, he poured all his strength into a retreat, his feet tracing chaotic arcs as he barely steadied himself.
He swallowed a mouthful of blood, but Xiudao in his hand didn’t waver.
The twin-bladed giant didn’t press the attack, standing firm.
The freckled noble whispered to his pale companion.
Xu Fengnian tore the cloth from his right hand, shifting Xiudao to that grip. He eyed the giant’s dagger and clicked his tongue. “Fine blade. I thought all the Gedang daggers—reserved for the royal family of the fallen Eastern Yue—had been confiscated for the imperial treasury. The larger ones were called Gedang savage blades, the smaller Gedang brocade blades. Never thought I’d see a pair here.”
The giant, with his savage and brocade blades at his waist, arched an eyebrow. “Sharp eyes.”
Xu Fengnian feigned innocence. “So you’re a royal remnant of the fallen Eastern Yue? What’s a stray dog like you doing biting people on Wudang Mountain?”
The giant, unmoved by the jab, replied coolly, “I gave you ten pauses to rest. Had enough?”
Xu Fengnian tightened his grip on Xiudao and said nothing.
The freckled noble snapped, “Enough chatter! I want that sword. Break his hands—whether he lives or dies is fate’s business!”
Unexpectedly, Xu Fengnian raised his scabbard with his bloodied left hand—perhaps fearing the twin blades would give his opponent an edge?
The Eastern Yue survivor smirked.
Xu Fengnian charged again, his rolling blade like a snowball, showcasing half a year’s training in full glory. The Eastern Yue ghost effortlessly dismantled Xu Fengnian’s chaotic strikes, waiting for the moment his energy faltered to deliver a killing blow—a torment like holding a blade to a man’s throat, forbidding him to breathe.
Just as Xu Fengnian’s dantian emptied, he endured a brutal slash and hurled his scabbard like an arrow at the noble’s chest. The Eastern Yue swordsman’s eyelids twitched. Breaking combat taboo, he glanced back to ensure this reckless throw wouldn’t bring disaster.
This was Xu Fengnian’s best chance to strike, but sensing the giant’s right hand twitch, he knew better than to gamble. He retreated again—just in time. As the Eastern Yue ghost turned, his savage blade left a two-foot-deep gash in the earth where Xu Fengnian had stood.
A chilling sight.
While catching his breath, Xu Fengnian glanced at the scabbard.
The pale man in white had calmly caught it midair.
The noble, either oblivious to the danger or born with unshakable poise, laughed. “You pretty fool! Did you think such a petty trick could kill me? Do you even know who these two are?!”
With the Eastern Yue swordsman momentarily still, Xu Fengnian finally got a good look at the freckled noble and smirked. “Little lady, why don’t you tell me? Let’s see if I’ll be scared.”
The noble flushed crimson and kicked the pale man. “Kill him!”
The man finally spoke, his voice shrill and eerie. “You seek death.”
Without visible movement, the scabbard shot like thunder toward Xu Fengnian’s throat.
The Eastern Yue swordsman sidestepped to avoid being skewered.
Xu Fengnian closed his eyes—not in surrender, but in gamble.
A sudden wind rose. The bamboo grove behind Xu Fengnian bent as if bowing, mirroring the Eighty-One Peaks’ reverence for the Great Summit—as if heaven itself had shifted.
An old Taoist drifted into view, his bearing transcendent.
He casually “caught” the scabbard and gently returned it to Xiudao, sheathing the blade with effortless grace.
The old Taoist stood serenely by Xu Fengnian’s side.
The one dressed as a nobleman—though Xu Fengnian had seen through her disguise as a woman—kicked the man who had lost his scabbard and cursed, “Useless fool! Kill them all, I command you!”
Hiding in the bamboo grove, the young martial uncle sighed. “Truly, one should never descend the mountain. The women below are all tigresses.”
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