The arrival of a peerless beauty at the Dragon Gate Inn became the second most sensational news in Lingzhou City, surpassed only by the return of the Young Master from his travels.
Curious onlookers nearly trampled the inn’s threshold, and business boomed. Whenever the stunning beauty emerged from her room to dine, the place would be packed with gawkers. At first, only young wastrels gathered to admire her, but soon even wealthy old merchants—whose vigor had long faded—joined in, sighing in unison that her beauty alone could be a feast.
Gossips claimed this woman was even more captivating than Lingzhou’s top courtesan, Yu Youwei. Even well-traveled gentlemen who had ventured beyond Lingzhou swore they had never seen such a breathtaking woman in their lives. Some scholars even splurged to secure prime seats in the inn, sipping wine in a self-intoxicated daze while sketching her likeness on rice paper.
The out-of-town beauty remained unperturbed, treating everyone as if they were invisible. She drank only the finest aged Huadiao wine from Lingzhou, ate with deliberate grace—neither coy nor overly reserved—but the two mismatched blades on her table deterred many would-be harassers.
What proper maiden traveled alone, let alone armed with two swords?
The more dazzling the flower, the harder it is to pluck—this was a truth every spoiled young heir knew, a lesson learned from years of mischief. Just like the two princesses of the Northern Liang Palace—who dared to ogle them without fearing their eyes being gouged out?
As the ringleader of Lingzhou’s wastrels, Young Master Xu had long declared: *”Being a wastrel isn’t as easy as commoners think. It has its own rules, paths, and principles. You’ve got to respect the head on your shoulders—it’s not for shitting, that’s what your ass is for.”*
Thus, when Lingzhou’s wastrels ventured into neighboring prefectures, they took pride in looking down on the local rich and powerful, boasting that they had lineage, wealth, and—damn it—brains too.
Now that the Young Master had returned to the city, how long before he graced the scene with his presence?
The answer defied expectations. The infuriating yet admirable Young Master arrived three days later than anticipated, but he did come. The moment he appeared, everyone else promptly vacated the inn. Who in their right mind would dare compete with the Young Master for a beauty or a courtesan? Hadn’t the lesson from Dengzhou’s Young Master Tang—who lost an arm for challenging Xu over Yu Youwei—been bloody enough?
The inn emptied in an instant, its doors deserted. Yet the innkeeper fawned with a flattering smile, presenting his finest Huadiao wine as a “bold” welcome gift.
To his shock, the Young Master—who had never paid a single coin for drinks before—handed him a 5,000-tael silver note as a tip. The trembling innkeeper hid behind the counter, clutching the note. He had no fear of the Young Master pretending generosity—once silver left Xu’s pocket, it never returned. That was the unyielding princely style.
While Lingzhou feared the Young Master, none had ever been driven to suicide by his antics. Even the young women “invited” to the Northern Liang Palace later testified that they had merely strolled the gardens with him, leaving behind only their undergarments—nothing more. Some even lamented why they hadn’t been chosen.
Xu Fengnian sat across from the ethereal “White Fox Face,” uncorking the Huadiao wine. The aroma filled the air as he pushed a bowl toward his companion, who ignored it.
With a wry smile, Xu set it down. *”Relax, I’ve drugged drinks before, but I know better than to humiliate myself against an expert like you. Normally, I’d test my luck, but today I’ve only brought Old Huang. I’d rather not have you bash my head in with those blades. Besides, I’ve no interest in men—why the fear? Worried I’d steal your swords? That’d be underestimating me.”*
White Fox Face finally smiled faintly, lifting the bowl for a sip. The simple motion nearly dazzled Xu, who cursed the heavens for making such beauty male.
*”Someone who casually gifts the demonic sect’s *’Golden Devouring Scripture’* wouldn’t covet my Spring Thunder and Winter Embroider blades,”* White Fox Face mused, his voice soft and melodic.
*”Not ‘wouldn’t,’ but ‘doesn’t,'”* Xu corrected.
Over five months of reluctant acquaintance, White Fox Face had spoken sparingly—until today. Their first meeting had been a thunderbolt: *”I am a man.”* Xu hadn’t believed it at first, but time proved it true.
White Fox Face kept his word—whether slaughtering bandits or escorting Xu to Lingzhou despite no obligation. His demeanor was unmistakably masculine—drinking like water, killing like plucking weeds. Xu, stung by his condescending gaze, had once boasted, *”I’m a noble-born wastrel, not some beggar!”*
The reply had been chilling: *”I don’t lie, nor tolerate liars. Deceive me, and I’ll kill you in Lingzhou and place the scripture on your corpse.”*
Xu had concluded that White Fox Face was a breathtaking, insane, blade-obsessed martial monster.
And worst of all—a man.
Xu’s heart shattered. He’d vowed to find his foolish younger brother the world’s most beautiful bride. If White Fox Face had been a woman, it’d have been simple—even a top-ten martial artist wouldn’t refuse on Xu’s turf. Now, he could only hope the rumored “Four Great Beauties” lived up to their fame—one for his brother, two for himself, and let the martial world fight over the last.
White Fox Face cradled his bowl while caressing Winter Embroider—a masterpiece among short blades, weighing an improbable ten pounds. Its counterpart, Spring Thunder, remained sheathed, a mystery Xu longed to solve.
*”A toast,”* Xu raised his cup.
White Fox Face tilted his head slightly—a silent question.
*”Not for escorting me. That debt’s cleared with half the scripture. But you proved that single-handedly crushing a hundred bandits isn’t just tavern tales—or my three years of suffering would’ve been for nothing.”*
Another micro-tilt. Xu elaborated: *”My palace has experts like you—probably more—but they’ve never shown off. Made me doubt if flying rooftops and snowless steps were just myths.”*
White Fox Face drank in silence.
*”Out with it,”* Xu grinned. *”You waited for me. What do you want?”*
The so-called “world’s most beautiful man” smiled outright for the first time. *”I wish to enter the Listening Tide Pavilion and read half the world’s martial secrets.”*
Xu gaped. *”Why? Martial arts are tedious! I refused to learn—why sweat through winters and summers when being a wastrel’s so comfortable?”*
White Fox Face’s lips curled slightly—their paths clearly diverged.
*”To become the world’s strongest?”* Xu pressed.
A shake of the head.
*”To steal someone’s woman?”*
A look of utter disdain.
Defeated, Xu drank morosely, remembering to order top-grade yellow wine for Old Huang—a man of peculiar tastes, yet no martial genius like White Fox Face.
*”I want to kill four people,”* White Fox Face finally said.
Xu blinked. *”Even you find it hard?”*
Another withering glance. *”Right… top-ten masters, then?”*
*”Two are first-rank—your so-called top ten. The other two might be stronger. Half aren’t from your Liyang Dynasty.”*
Xu slapped his thigh. *”Damn, White Fox Face, you’re impressive! I like you!”*
The nickname earned a faint smile—apparently not unwelcome.
*”The Pavilion isn’t open to all,”* Xu cautioned. *”Every year, ‘heroes’ try and end up as corpses. But I can fetch scrolls for you one by one—if Father agrees, you might even stay. Assuming you tolerate the guardian zombies—far less charming than me.”*
Those peach-blossom eyes gleamed: *Name your price.*
Xu hesitated. *”Just one—tell me your name.”*
A pause. Then, softly: *”Nan Gong Pushe.”*
(Note: “Nan Gong Pushe” is pronounced with “ye” in the fourth tone.)
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