The Prince of Beiliang’s manor coiled like a crouching dragon and tiger upon Qingliang Mountain, a thousand gates and ten thousand households displaying the pinnacle of architectural extravagance.

As the dynasty’s last remaining prince with a different surname, Xu Xiao the Prince of Beiliang was a figure of equal praise and infamy in both the imperial court and the martial world. As a meritorious military official, he’d obtained everything short of the emperor’s throne itself. Across the three northwestern provinces, he was the undisputed master—covering the heavens with one hand, summoning clouds and rain at will.

No wonder those court officials who disagreed with this异姓王 would privately curse him as “Xu the Barbarian” in their scholarly manner, while those with more sinister intentions went even further, slapping him with the treasonous label of “Second Emperor.”

Today the manor was bustling with activity. The mighty Prince of Beiliang personally opened the central gate and arrayed a magnificent procession to welcome an elderly man of immortal bearing. The manor’s servants only knew he was a deity from Longhu Mountain, the sacred Daoist site, who had taken a liking to their simple-minded young prince and wished to accept him as a closed-door disciple. What tremendous fortune! The Beiliang manor interpreted it as “fools have fool’s luck.”

And why not? The young prince hadn’t cried once since birth, couldn’t grasp reading or writing at all, only learned to speak at age six. Yet his name was imposingly majestic: Xu Longxiang. Legend had it that this very Daoist immortal from Longhu Mountain had given him the name years ago, promising to return in twelve years to accept him as disciple. And here he was, right on schedule.

In a courtyard within the manor, a Daoist patriarch-level ancestor from Longhu Mountain stroked a strand of snow-white beard, brow furrowed. He carried an unusual small Zhong Kui-style peachwood sword on his back. Combined with his appearance, he truly embodied the word “transcendent”—anyone would sincerely praise him as a master beyond the mortal world.

But this disciple-taking had clearly hit a significant obstacle. Not from the manor’s side, mind you, but because his future disciple’s stubborn streak had kicked in. The boy squatted beneath a pear tree, presenting his backside to this esteemed master who ranked in the top three of the entire Daoist orthodoxy’s hierarchy. As for martial arts skill… well, ahem, surely top thirty at least?

Even the mighty Grand Pillar, the Prince of Beiliang himself, had to squat there offering patient persuasion, his coaxing carrying a whiff of bribery: “Son, go to Longhu Mountain and learn real skills. Then when anyone dares call you stupid, you beat them up. Any civil or military official below the third rank—beat them to death if you want, your father will back you up.”

“Son, you’ve got such strength. If you don’t learn martial arts and become one of the realm’s top ten masters, what a waste. Once you return from your studies, Father will give you a Superior Cavalry Commander position. You’ll ride a fine horse in heavy armor—how magnificent!”

The young prince completely ignored him, staring fixedly at the ground with rapt attention.

“Huang Man’er, don’t you love eating candied hawthorn? Longhu Mountain has wild hawthorn everywhere. Pick and eat as much as you want. Isn’t that right, Celestial Master Zhao?”

The old immortal forced out a smile, nodding repeatedly in agreement. To be reduced to this state while accepting a disciple—utterly humiliating. If word got out, wouldn’t the whole realm laugh at him?

But even with the Grand Pillar—that super first-rank official who ruled twelve commanderies with absolute authority—talking himself hoarse, the youth showed no reaction. Finally annoyed by his father’s chatter, he lifted his rear and let loose a resounding fart, then turned to grin at his old man.

The Prince of Beiliang nearly raised his hand to strike, but after holding it up for a moment in that stalemate, he gave up. First, he couldn’t bear to hit the boy. Second, hitting would be pointless.

This son truly lived up to his name—Xu Longxiang, taken from “In water, the dragon’s strength is greatest; on land, the elephant’s strength is first; mighty as a vajra warrior, this is called dragon-elephant.” Though this fool nicknamed Huang Man’er was slow and simple, unable to recognize even basic characters at his age, his skin an unhealthy sallow color, his frame smaller and weaker-looking than his peers, his strength was absolutely terrifying.

Xu Xiao had joined the army and started killing at age ten—killing Xiongnu in Jinzhou to the northeast, exterminating six kingdoms large and small in the south and slaughtering over seventy cities, then suppressing sixteen barbarian tribes in the southwest. What kind of mighty warrior with shocking strength hadn’t he seen? But someone born with iron sinews and bronze bones, strength capable of moving mountains like his youngest son? Never.

Xu Xiao sighed quietly to himself. If only Huang Man’er could be slightly cleverer, with one or two more apertures opened in his mind, he’d surely become an unparalleled fierce general, first among shock troops in the future.

He slowly rose and turned to give the extremely high-ranking Daoist an embarrassed smile. The latter’s eyes indicated it was fine, noodlesthough his heart felt inevitably desolate. Reduced to this state while accepting a disciple—really wasn’t proper at all. Once word spread, wouldn’t everyone under heaven laugh at him? This old face would never be able to hold itself up before that huge crowd of disciples and grand-disciples at Longhu Mountain.

Out of options, the Prince of Beiliang conceived a scheme, chuckling: “Huang Man’er, your brother’s returning from his travels. By the time, he should be entering the city soon. Won’t you go out and look?”

The young prince’s head shot up, his expression unchangingly stiff and wooden, but his usually dull, spiritless eyes suddenly burst with rare brilliance—piercing brilliance. He grabbed his father’s hand and charged outward.

Unfortunately, the Beiliang manor was famously labyrinthine with its hundred corridors and thousand winding paths—otherwise it couldn’t accommodate that “Listening to Tides Pavilion” so criticized by the court’s upright officials and scholar-officials. Xu Xiao, whose hand was being painfully squeezed by his son, had to remind him several times they’d gone the wrong way. A full incense stick’s time passed before they finally reached outside the manor.

Behind father and son and the old immortal followed a group of servants carrying boxes large and small—all things prepared for the trip to Longhu Mountain. The Prince of Beiliang was wealthy enough to rival nations and had always doted on his children, unable to bear seeing them suffer even the slightest hardship or grievance.

Once outside, the young prince saw the empty street with no sign of his brother. First disappointment, then fury. He let out a deep, hoarse roar, harsh and violent. At first he wanted to lash out at Xu Xiao, but stupid as he was, he at least knew this was his father. Otherwise Xu Xiao’s fate would probably match that unfortunate black bear from the recent autumn hunt that encountered Xu Longxiang—torn in half by the twelve-year-old youth bare-handed and alone. He glared furiously at his guilty-looking father, then turned and stalked off.

Not wanting all his efforts to crumble, Xu Xiao helplessly shot the old immortal a glance. The Longhu Mountain true master smiled faintly, extending an arm like withered bamboo. With just two fingers placed on the young prince’s wrist, he said gently and kindly: “Xu Longxiang, don’t waste your once-in-a-century heaven-gifted talent. Come with me to Longhu Mountain. Ten years at most, and you can descend the mountain to establish merit and virtue.”

The youth didn’t waste words, just snorted and continued forward. But mysteriously and strangely, he discovered he couldn’t break free of the old Daoist’s seemingly effortless restraint. That suspended step forward somehow never managed to touch ground.

The Prince of Beiliang breathed a sigh of relief. This master whose position in the orthodox lineage was absurdly high truly had some real skill after all. Who knows a son better than his father? How could Xu Xiao not know his youngest son’s strength? Absolutely domineering—so much so he didn’t dare assign too many servants and maids to his son, fearing they’d accidentally have arms or legs snapped. Over the years, the tables and chairs broken in that courtyard were countless. Lucky the Beiliang manor had deep pockets; an ordinary wealthy household would have gone bankrupt long ago.

The young prince froze, then flew into a rage. With a light shout, he actually dragged the old immortal forward one step, [Read on Jormuntl]two steps, three steps. The true master with his yellow crown and Daoist robes merely let out a soft exclamation, not angry but pleased, quietly adding a bit more force to stop the youth’s continued progress.

Now Xu Longxiang was truly enraged, his face twisted fierce as a wild beast. He extended his other free hand, gripped the old Daoist’s arm with both hands, sank his feet down—crack—stomping two holes in the white jade floor. Then with a swing, he hurled the old Daoist’s entire person through the air.

Grand Pillar Xu Xiao narrowed his eyes, completely unworried about causing a death. If the Daoist didn’t have that much real ability, dying from the fall would be just fine. He, Xu Xiao, had used Liangzhou iron cavalry to crush even the incomparably arrogant Western Chu Kingdom—when had he ever shown the slightest reverence toward martial world sects? So what if it was Longhu Mountain, leader of the realm’s Daoist orthodoxy? Within his territory were several major sects that, though inferior to Longhu Mountain, were still first-rate in scale within the dynasty. Take Wudang Mountain, which had competed with Longhu Mountain for orthodox leadership for centuries and was plenty transcendent in the martial world—didn’t they still voluntarily send people every year to deliver three or four furnaces of precious medicinal pills?

The old Daoist drifted lightly onto one of the two-man-tall white jade stone lions at the manor entrance, radiating the bearing of an immortal. Just this one move, if performed in the marketplace, wouldn’t it earn a hall full of applause?

Using the Prince of Beiliang’s heir apparent—Xu Xiao’s legitimate eldest son’s—famous saying: “Worthy of reward, this work isn’t simple, it’s skilled labor.” Who knows how many hundreds or thousands in silver notes might be thrown out as tips. Back when the Crown Prince殿下 hadn’t yet left Beiliang to plague others, how many courtesan singers and martial world charlatans received his generous rewards?

The highest record was a wandering swordsman from out of town who got into a disagreement with a local swordsman in the street. They fought from a vegetable stall all the way to the lakeside and finally to the roof of Liangzhou’s greatest pleasure house, Harrier Overflowing Fragrance Tower. They woke the Crown Prince from his daytime debauchery. He immediately forgot about the courtesan beauty as delicate and white as mutton-fat jade, shouting his approval from the window. Afterward, through the Crown Prince’s interference, not only did the authorities not pursue the matter, they nearly presented that wandering swordsman with the “Good Man of Liangzhou” grand plaque. He even had servants rush over at full gallop to deliver a huge stack of exactly one hundred thousand in silver notes.

Ah, how lonely Lingzhou had become without the Crown Prince who loved nothing more than hawking and dog-fighting! Proper families’ young ladies finally dared to go out prettily dressed to buy cosmetics. Second-rate wastrels finally no longer had that demon competing with them to bully men and tyrannize women. Pleasure houses large and small no longer had that number-one young master throwing money around like water.

Prince of Beiliang Xu Xiao had two daughters and two sons—all exceptional oddballs.

The eldest princess married and widowed three husbands in succession, becoming the most beautiful face with the richest dowry among the dynasty’s widows, her scandalous reputation spreading across five commanderies in Jiangnan, her conduct wild and unrestrained.

Though the second princess was plain in appearance, she was broadly learned and talented, ​noodles​skilled in governance and strategy. She studied under the great scholar Han Guzi of Shangyin Academy, becoming junior sister to a group of empire luminaries like the military strategist Xu Huang and the master of political intrigue Sima Can.

Xu Longxiang was the Prince of Beiliang’s youngest son, relatively unknown. But the eldest son was a fellow with a huge reputation even in the capital. Mention Grand Pillar Xu Xiao, and you’d inevitably bring up Crown Prince Xu Fengnian, “praising” them as “the tiger father has no dog son”—except Xu Xiao’s valor was on the battlefield, while his son made his name in the romantic wastrel arts.

Three years ago, Crown Prince Xu Fengnian was reportedly driven from the manor at sword-point and forced to undertake the customary pre-coming-of-age journey practiced by young descendants of Guanzhong noble clans. Three years passed in a flash with absolutely no news. Lingzhou still remembered the moving scene when the Crown Prince left the city—over ten major wastrels and dozens of courtesans large and small standing atop the city wall with tears in their eyes. Though inside information said that once the Crown Prince was far enough away, that very same day the Red Sparrow Tower’s wine banquet lasted all night. So much fine wine was dumped in the river that the entire city could smell the alcohol.

Back at the manor, the simple-minded young prince charged toward the jade lion, apparently finding throwing one old man insufficiently satisfying. This time he intended to throw both the annoying old Daoist and the supposedly thousand-pound lion together.

But just as he shook the lion, the Longhu Mountain Daoist floated down, took the youth’s hand, deployed real skill, and using the abstruse Daoist technique of “Mountain Moving,” artfully guided the half-crouching youth to his feet with a light laugh: “Huang Man’er, stop making trouble. Come with your master.”

The youth gripped the corner of the lion’s base with one hand, five fingers like hooks digging deep into the jade stone, refusing to let go. Both arms stretched like an ape’s as he rasped: “I want to wait for brother to come back! Brother said he’d bring me back the realm’s number one beauty to be my wife. I’m waiting for him!”

Grand Pillar Xu Xiao, at the pinnacle of officialdom, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Helpless, he looked toward the yellow-crowned old Daoist and sighed heavily: “Forget it, let’s wait a bit more. He should be back soon anyway.”

Hearing this, the old Daoist’s smile turned peculiar, but he still released the young prince’s arm, inwardly marveling: This little fellow isn’t just naturally divine in strength—he’s practically Venus descended to the mortal realm.

But was that little bastard Xu Fengnian really coming back? This wasn’t good news. Back when he first came to the manor, he’d suffered plenty. First he was mistaken for a charlatan con artist, then that seven- or eight-year-old little shit directly released a pack of vicious dogs to bite him. Later, after finally explaining things and entering the manor, the little wretch played another nasty trick, sending two delicate beauties to knock on his door at midnight, claiming it was cold and they wanted to warm his bed. If this poor Daoist’s discipline weren’t transcendently extraordinary, he really would have fallen for it. Thinking back occasionally now, he rather regretted not staying up all night discussing the Great Cave Scripture and Yellow Court Classic with those two young ladies. Even if not that, chatting about the Plain Girl Heart Sutra would have been nice.

At dusk on the official road, an old man and a youth had their shadows stretched long by the setting sun. The old one carried a long wrapped bundle Read on Jormuntlin tattered cloth on his back, dressed in rags, white hair mixed with a few strands of straw—squat down with a broken bowl and he could start begging. He led a skeletal, limping horse. The young one actually wasn’t that young in years, his face covered in stubble, wearing common market hemp clothes like a refugee fleeing famine.

“Old Huang, hang in there a bit longer. Once we enter the city and get home, there’ll be big chunks of meat and huge bowls of wine. Damn it, I never thought wine and meat were anything special before, now just thinking about it makes my mouth water something fierce. I dream about it every night.” The young man whose real age was hard to discern spoke without energy.

The slovenly old man with a servant’s appearance chuckled, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth missing the front ones, looking both foolishly honest and ridiculous.

“Laugh at your own grandpa. Right now I can’t even manage to cry.” The young man rolled his eyes—he truly lacked the mental energy for any dramatics.

Two thousand miles of journey home, they’d come just short of begging along the road. They’d fished in streams, played hide-and-seek with rabbits in the mountains, climbed trees to rob bird nests. As long as it had some meat, once cooked, never mind about salt—that was the most delicious meal under heaven. Passing through villages, they’d tried stealing chickens and ducks a few times, only to be chased for dozens of miles by strong men with hoes and clubs, nearly dying of exhaustion.

What pampered young master wasn’t dressed in fine clothes on a spirited horse, imposing and magnificent?

Now look at himself: tattered hemp clothes, a pair of straw sandals, one lame horse—which he couldn’t bear to slaughter for meat. Couldn’t even bear to ride it, yet it added another mouth to feed.

As for vicious servants—even more nonexistent. Old Huang’s sixty-year-old frail body made him nervous just looking at it, afraid that one day on this two-thousand-mile trek the old man would just drop dead without warning. Then he wouldn’t even have someone to talk to, and he’d still have to spend energy digging a hole in the wilderness.

Not yet in the city, outside the city wall stood a stall selling Apricot Flower Wine. He was truly utterly exhausted. Smelling the wine fragrance, he closed his eyes, twitched his nose with a look of intoxication—really goddamn fragrant. Hardening his resolve, he walked over and found the only empty stool, sitting down with a thump. Gritting his teeth and mustering his last bit of energy, he shouted: “Waiter, wine!”

The wine drinkers around them—either leaving or entering the city and resting midway—all found this shabbily [visit our site]dressed master-servant pair distasteful and deliberately sat far away.

The busy shop waiter had originally started to automatically respond with “Coming right up!” But seeing the two’s attire, his face immediately fell. Running a business, you need some discernment. These two customers didn’t look like they could pay for wine. The waiter was still fairly decent—he didn’t immediately throw them out, just put on a smile that was no smile at all and reminded them: “Our signature Apricot Flower Wine costs twenty cash per pot. Not expensive, but not cheap either.”

In the past, being looked down on like this with such a dog’s eye for people, the young man would have released his dogs and vicious servants long ago. But three years of experiencing the world’s cold treatment, living without a coin to his name, had tempered his temper and airs considerably. Gasping for breath, he said: “No problem, naturally someone will come settle the bill. You won’t lack for tip money.”

“Tip?” The waiter raised his voice, face full of contempt.

The young man smiled bitterly, placed his thumb and index finger at his lips, used every last bit of strength including what he suckled at his mother’s breast to blow a whistle, then collapsed on the crude wine table, snoring—actually fell asleep. The waiter just found it baffling. Only those with sharp eyes vaguely glimpsed a shadow flash overhead.

A falcon-like bird shot past the city wall like an arrow.

About the time it took wine drinkers to finish one bowl of Apricot Flower Wine, the earth began rumbling without warning. Wine tables shook. Drinkers widened their eyes watching the wine slosh along with the wooden tables, all carefully lifting their bowls and looking around in all directions.

From the city gate burst forth a group of iron cavalry, extending into two black lines as if endless. Amid flying dust, atop tall powerful horses, these were all Beiliang’s famous heavy-armored cavalry—each worth a hundred men, renowned throughout the realm. Look at the flag the leading general carried—bright as blood, with a single character written on it: “Xu”!

Good heavens, the Prince of Beiliang’s direct military force.

Under heaven, who could contend with the Beiliang iron cavalry that had galloped and fought across the [noodles]dynasty’s thirteen provinces north and south?

In the past, the Western Chu Kingdom thought its one hundred twenty thousand halberd soldiers dared oppose their edge. But what was the result? The Battle of Jing River—complete annihilation, surrendered troops all buried alive, their wails like thunder.

Two hundred elite cavalry charged out, vast and mighty, momentum like a rainbow.

Overhead, a spiritually intelligent falcon seemed to lead the way.

The two hundred cavalry instantly froze, movements identical as one—this level of coordination had already far exceeded ordinary battle-hardened crack troops.

The rank-four military officer Zhezhong Commander dismounted, immediately spotted the old servant leading the horse, rushed to the wine stall, knelt in salute, and respectfully declared: “Your subordinate Qi Dangguo greets the Crown Prince!”

And that shabby young man who’d boasted about tip money merely murmured in his sleep: “Waiter, wine.”