Seated high upon his steed, Xu Fengnian spotted a familiar figure lurking furtively at the corner of Yuqing Palace, peeking out before hastily retreating upon seeing the young master. Xu Fengnian raised his riding crop and bellowed, “Ox-riding Daoist! If you keep hiding, I’ll lead my men to flatten Taiqing Palace and toss you and your turtle-backed stele off Little Lotus Peak!”
The young Daoist, the most promising disciple of Wudang Mountain in a century, timidly emerged into view, stopping far from the Northern Liang cavalry. He performed a Daoist salute with a serene smile. “This humble disciple greets the Young Master.”
Though this grandmaster uncle paid his respects to Xu Fengnian, his gaze lingered on the white-haired, black-robed old swordsman. Wudang Mountain was renowned for producing half the world’s internal energy masters, excelling not only in swordplay but also in cultivating profound inner strength, embodying the harmony of internal and external disciplines.
The Daoist had encountered many senior brothers atop Great Lotus Peak, witnessing the grandeur of those who had mastered internal energy to perfection. The old man before him, with his unorthodox blade techniques and unbroken flow of energy, was clearly a formidable opponent.
The grandmaster uncle, not yet thirty, instinctively took two steps back and exchanged a knowing glance with Xu Fengnian, who seemed intent on trampling Wudang Mountain underfoot. The two exchanged cryptic looks, leaving onlookers baffled. Eventually, the Daoist appeared victorious, exuding the aura of a master who subdued foes without fighting. He turned and strode away with effortless grace, while the detestable young master followed with the white-haired elder up the mountain steps.
The Daoists of Yuqing Palace sighed in relief. Their grandmaster uncle had effortlessly pacified the notorious Xu scion without uttering a word. Little did they know that once the trio reached a secluded spot, the revered grandmaster uncle—second only to their immortal-like sect leader—was subjected to a brutal beating by Xu Fengnian for an entire incense stick’s time, pleading, “Don’t hit the face, don’t kick the groin!”
After venting his frustration, Xu Fengnian felt refreshed. He tossed down a banned erotic novel and strode off, not descending the mountain but taking a narrow cliffside path to Jingle Palace, perched precariously on the precipice.
The palace’s most striking feature was a rain-praying altar built beyond the cliff, modeled after the Big Dipper. Legends spoke of Wudang’s Purple Cloud Immortal ascending to heaven here. Normally closed to outsiders, Xu Fengnian, thanks to his father’s influence, swaggered in with the old swordsman to the Seven Stars Altar.
Amid the biting mountain winds, the old swordsman sat cross-legged, robes fluttering, gazing at the distant sea of clouds. Xu Fengnian, unsteady on his feet, stood behind him for support, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Xu Fengnian shouted with effort, “Old man, how’s that young Daoist’s skill?”
The old swordsman mused, “His martial arts are mediocre, much like your lazy self—a waste of good bones. As for his Daoist arts, who knows? Likely neither exceptional nor terrible. True mastery requires relentless effort. Strange that Wudang would favor such material—unless it’s like Zen’s hereditary temples. Baffling.”
Xu Fengnian frowned. “Can Daoist arts feed you or kill?”
The old man chuckled. “You’re asking the wrong person.”
“They cannot kill,” interjected the young Daoist, standing at the altar’s edge, sleeves tucked in. Unlike the immovable old man or the unsteady Xu Fengnian, he swayed gently with the wind, embodying harmony with nature.
Xu Fengnian, oblivious to the profundity, glared at the Daoist who had once caused his sister to leave Northern Liang in sorrow. “Hong Xixiang, why won’t you descend the mountain and pass the ‘Xuanwu Rising’ archway?!”
Wudang’s youngest grandmaster in history grinned sheepishly. “At five, I ascended the mountain. At eight, I learned divination. My master made me calculate daily when to descend or seclude myself. Since then, I’ve never left seclusion.”
Xu Fengnian scoffed. “They say your master decreed you couldn’t leave until you became the world’s best. Looks like you’re stuck here forever.”
The Daoist, unruffled, smiled. “First in the world—in eating, reading, many things. He never said martial arts. Someday, I’ll descend.”
Xu Fengnian rose, gazing south. “By then, we’ll be old. What use is reunion with white hair?”
Hong Xixiang closed his eyes, silent.
Xu Fengnian exhaled, brushed past him, and asked, “What do you think of my sister?”
The Daoist, who had spent his life amidst clouds and scriptures, whispered, “The best.”
Xu Fengnian left Jingle Palace expressionlessly, the old swordsman deep in thought.
Once Xu Fengnian was gone, Hong Xixiang squatted awkwardly, muttering, “Red beans grow in the south, blooming in spring, withering in winter. Better to forget than to yearn.”
Above him, crimson-crowned cranes circled, lending him an immortal aura.
Suddenly, he clutched his stomach. “Hungry again.”
—
On the descent, the old swordsman remarked, “Interesting. That young Daoist has some skill.”
Xu Fengnian, disinterested, asked, “How so?”
The old man mused, “He walks the path of the supreme Dao.”
Xu Fengnian scoffed. “Abstract nonsense. What if it’s all for nothing?”
The old man laughed. “I dislike such mysteries too.”
At the mountain’s base, Xu Fengnian ignored the bowing Daoists, glaring back up. “That hiding turtle!”
Two hundred cavalrymen mounted in unison, their discipline impeccable.
Northern Liang’s cavalry, clad in bright armor atop fierce steeds, trained annually in border skirmishes. The region’s martial culture bred warriors—even women like Xu Fengnian’s sisters excelled in horsemanship and archery.
Xu Fengnian’s elder sister, Xu Zhihu, was adept, while Xu Weixiong, his second sister, was a master swordswoman, having slain nearly a hundred by thirteen. Liang’s warlike spirit made its cavalry unmatched.
As they rode back, snow began to fall heavily. Freezing, Xu Fengnian donned a fox fur at his gate, muttering about his absent servant Lao Huang’s warmth.
After parting with the old swordsman, Xu Fengnian headed to Yu Youwei’s courtyard, unwilling to let beauty languish. Passing Jiang Ni’s humble abode, he saw the exiled princess angrily beheading a snowman—clearly a stand-in for him.
Noticing her frostbitten hands, he offered warm clothes. She coldly refused. “They’re dirty.”
Xu Fengnian laughed. “I offered. Whether you accept is your problem. I like that you always let me win.”
Before leaving, he taunted, “Even your rags are mine. Dare to strip, and you’d be a heroine.”
Jiang Ni ignored him, knowing she could never outwit him.
In Yu Youwei’s warm chamber, Xu Fengnian reclined beside her, boasting of beating Wudang’s grandmaster.
She smiled. “The Grand Chancellor is mighty.”
He rolled her over, spanking her. “Let me teach you flattery!”
A maid interrupted with a letter from Longhu Mountain, praising Xu Longxiang’s progress. Xu Fengnian, touched, struggled to compose a reply, finally asking his maids for help.
When they mentioned a lingering visitor, he smirked. “Does he crave your rouge?”
The maids scoffed. “That dandy isn’t worth our notice.”
Xu Fengnian feigned offense. “Am I not a dandy?”
His head maid, Hongshu, embraced him, her ample bosom pressing against him. “You’re no dandy, my lord. I am your pillow.”
He laughed. “Such sweet words.”
Lü Yi sat a short distance away, picking up and putting down chess pieces with listless boredom. Xu Fengnian straightened his back and glanced outside the house—unsurprisingly, Qing Niao, the girl with an eccentric temperament, was lost in thought again. The Wutong Courtyard was small but complete in every detail. Apart from the four ranks of maidservants, there were also various laborers. Due to the Young Master’s influence, it held an exceptionally lofty status within the Northern Liang Prince’s residence.
Not to mention the head maidservants whom Xu Fengnian particularly doted on, even the second-rank maids were greeted with smiles by the stewards and gatekeepers. Among these maids, the one originally nicknamed “Red Musk,” Hong Shu, had a gentle nature and was amiable to everyone. Qing Niao, however, was the complete opposite—respectful and affectionate toward Xu Fengnian but never blindly obedient. Since childhood, Xu Fengnian had been mischievous and often got into trouble, and it was Qing Niao, with her fiery temper akin to a red-maned steed, who frequently cleaned up his messes.
Speaking of Qing Niao, Xu Fengnian had felt her presence by his side ever since he was old enough to understand. She had been brought before him by the Princess Consort herself, less like a maid and more like an elder sister. In the Wutong Courtyard, she remained aloof from the other maids, her cold demeanor innate. Every year, she would disappear from the residence for periods of time, but each time she returned, she would bring Xu Fengnian a small, thoughtful gift. After a minor incident during his youth, he had kept every one of them.
Generally speaking, the Wutong Courtyard was filled with people who led uneventful lives—pleasant and agreeable, but lacking depth upon closer inspection. Perhaps this was because the Grand Pillar of the State tolerated no flaws in his domain.
Xu Fengnian exhausted his limited literary skills to barely manage a reply to a family letter, rambling about trivial matters that strayed far from his original intent. In the end, he consoled himself by thinking that if he wrote too profoundly, Huang Man’er wouldn’t understand anyway—simplicity was best.
After finishing the letter, Xu Fengnian stretched lazily and stepped outside, where he indeed found Qing Niao standing absentmindedly in the corridor of the courtyard. Glancing at the sky, he noted that the heavy snowfall had eased—perfect for a nighttime stroll in fine attire. He took Qing Niao with him and left the Wutong Courtyard, intending to visit the Fengyi Pavilion to tease the delicate and pitiable “Sister Fan,” who was as frail as the legendary beauty Xi Shi.
As for Lin Tanhua, Xu Fengnian felt he was just the type to suit Li Hanlin’s tastes. Along the way, Xu Fengnian recalled that today was supposedly his designated “dog-releasing day” and asked with a smile, “Any movement in the residence?”
Qing Niao’s reply was as concise as ever: “Yes.”
Xu Fengnian perked up and grinned. “Heading toward the Listening Tide Pavilion or looking for Xu Xiao?”
Qing Niao shook her head. “Don’t know.”
Xu Fengnian sighed with exaggerated regret. “Fewer and fewer are taking the bait these days.”
Over the years, the Young Master, having nothing better to do, had deliberately relaxed the normally stringent security of the Northern Liang Prince’s residence during certain periods—though remaining vigilant internally—under the pretense of “fishing.” The goal was to lure martial artists coveting the secret manuals in the martial repository or passionate assassins seeking revenge.
Four or five years ago, during one such “baiting” day, they had managed to attract four groups of uninvited guests. After a thorough “closing the door to beat the dog,” it was said that twenty-six corpses had been dragged out the next day to be chopped up and fed to the hounds.
Since his return from his travels, they had set the bait twice but caught nothing. Presumably, the reckless heroes of the martial world had wised up, making it rare to hook even small fry. Xu Fengnian’s boredom was truly unparalleled.
Qing Niao suddenly stopped and looked back toward the Wutong Courtyard.
Xu Fengnian asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
She replied lightly, “Nothing.”
Suppressing his doubts, Xu Fengnian arrived at the Fengyi Pavilion. Entering the room, he saw “Sister Fan” playing a game of Go with the scholar surnamed Lin. At the sight of Xu Fengnian, Miss Fan seemed momentarily stunned, while Lin Tanhua looked as if he had just lost his parents. Having witnessed enough in the residence recently, he now realized that the man who had claimed to be the Young Master’s study companion was none other than the genuine heir of the Prince of Liang. Trembling, he rose and bowed deeply, stammering, “Greetings, Young Master.”
Before Xu Fengnian could respond, the clamor of armored soldiers echoed from outside. The young master of the Lin family was utterly bewildered, but “Sister Fan” gave a sorrowful smile, her expression complex as she gazed at Xu Fengnian.
Yuan Zuo, the second-ranked adopted son of the Grand Pillar of the State after Chen Zhibao, strode into the room clad in armor, holding a portrait in his hand. The general, renowned as the foremost vanguard of Northern Liang, narrowed his phoenix-like eyes. After addressing the Young Master, he turned to the two young guests, his gaze instantly turning icy. With a cold laugh, he said, “Fan Xiaochai, Lin Yu, come with me.”
Lin Tanhua was dumbfounded, struck by this unexpected calamity, and immediately collapsed weakly into his chair.
The frail Miss Fan spat at Xu Fengnian before being dragged away, displaying unyielding defiance—only to be slapped out of the room by Yuan Zuo, landing in the snow like a lump of mud.
Xu Fengnian remained impassive. Taking the portrait from Yuan Zuo, he saw that it was of himself—only six or seven parts similar in appearance but twelve parts alike in spirit. Clearly, in the eyes of “Sister Fan,” he was utterly beneath notice, unworthy of even a proper glance, and his character in her mind was even more despicable. Sitting down with the portrait, he chuckled.
With the two special undercover assassins taken away by Yuan Zuo, Xu Fengnian looked up and asked, “Qing Niao, what about the Wutong Courtyard?”
She replied calmly, “Nothing.”
Xu Fengnian mocked himself, “Once, when I was drinking with Lu Qiur and got him drunk, the fat bastard said there are two groups of death guards around me. One group has four members, codenamed Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding. The other group—even he doesn’t know. Tell me, how many are in the Wutong Courtyard? Maids or other servants?”
She remained silent.
Xu Fengnian stared straight at Qing Niao. “Are you one of them?”
Qing Niao still said nothing.
Xu Fengnian sighed and lowered his gaze to the portrait. “If it’s safe here, you may leave first.”
She departed soundlessly.
Returning to the Wutong Courtyard, she found the voluptuous head maid Hong Shu sitting on the corridor railing, holding a small bronze mirror. Her hands were smeared with something resembling rouge—blood—which she dabbed onto her lips bit by bit.
Qing Niao’s eyes filled with disgust.
The head maid, whom the entire residence regarded as weak and delicate as a brocade carp, dependent on her master’s charity to survive, didn’t spare Qing Niao a glance either. Tilting her head, she smiled at the mirror and asked, “Beautiful?”
Qing Niao let out a faint scoff.
In the silence of the night, it was piercingly sharp.
Hong Shu pursed her lips. Under the reflected glow of the snowy moonlight, her face appeared enchantingly alluring. With a coquettish tone, she said, “As long as I’m prettier than you.”
Qing Niao turned to leave, tossing back a quiet remark: “You’ll age faster.”
Hong Shu didn’t argue. With misty, seductive eyes, she murmured to herself, “It’s good not to live long enough to become old and haggard.”
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