Sitting high atop his warhorse, Xu Fengnian spotted that familiar, furtive figure lurking at the corner of Yuqing Palace, poking out his head. The moment this person saw His Highness the Crown Prince, he shrank back. Xu Fengnian raised his riding crop and bellowed furiously, “Ox-rider! Hide again and I’ll bring men to flatten Taiqing Palace and throw you along with that turtle-carrying stele off Small Lotus Peak!”

Wudang Mountain’s young Daoist—the one who’d carried the sect’s greatest hopes for a century—appeared timidly before everyone, stopping at a considerable distance from the Beiliang iron cavalry. He performed a respectful bow, his face wreathed in smiles as he said, “This humble Daoist greets Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

Though this patriarch uncle showed Xu Fengnian such courtesy, his eyes never left the white-haired, black-robed Old Kui. Wudang Mountain claimed that half the world’s internal power flowed from Jade Pillar Peak. Beyond their sword techniques’ great renown, they emphasized internal power cultivation even more—they were exemplars of both external and internal mastery.

On Great Lotus Peak, the Daoist had seen many martial brothers of equivalent rank and witnessed the magnificent bearing achieved when internal power reached the realm of transformation. This blade-wielding old man was clearly such a master—his energy flowed endlessly without cease. One look and you knew he was a tough opponent.

The Wudang Mountain patriarch uncle, not yet thirty, instinctively retreated two steps. He cast the Crown Prince—who seemed ready to flatten Wudang Mountain—a knowing look that said you know, I know, heaven and earth need not know. Xu Fengnian tossed one back. The patriarch uncle returned another glance. Back and forth this went, leaving onlookers completely baffled about what medicine these two were peddling.

In the end, in the eyes of the Yuqing Palace Daoists, their patriarch uncle had undoubtedly won—truly the bearing of a grandmaster who subdues enemies without battle. Everyone watched as their patriarch uncle turned and walked forward with carefree grace, his entire being radiating ineffable transcendence, while that detestable Crown Prince merely followed up the stone steps with the white-haired old man.

The sacrificial wine Daoists breathed sighs of relief. Patriarch Uncle was indeed Patriarch Uncle—without uttering a word, he’d made that Xu fellow yield. What these Daoists didn’t know was that once the three reached a secluded spot, their patriarch uncle—whose status in their hearts was second only to the sect leader who’d split the Canglang River with his Immortal Pointing the Way finger technique—received rolled-up sleeves and a full incense stick’s worth of fists and feet from Xu Fengnian. All that could be heard were Patriarch Uncle’s pleas: “Hit anywhere but the face, kick anywhere but the bird!”

Having finished the beating and performed an exercise of circulating energy to his dantian, Xu Fengnian finally felt refreshed. visit our site He tossed down a forbidden erotic novel and strode off with swagger—not down the mountain, but taking Old Kui along a narrow goat path of blue stone steps carved into the cliff face, climbing up to Jingle Palace suspended from the precipice.

What made this palace hall most remarkable was a rain prayer altar built extending from the cliff, arranged according to the Big Dipper pattern. Daoist scriptures recorded that Wudang Mountain’s Ziyun Zhenren once ascended in radiant clouds from this very spot. Jingle Palace was ordinarily closed to outsiders—even refined scholars seeking scenic wonders could only return disappointed from outside its gates. However, thanks to his Great Pillar of State father, Xu Fengnian could swagger right in with Old Kui to reach the Seven Star Altar.

Mountain winds howled fiercely. Old Kui sat cross-legged, his garments whipping about, eyes narrowed as he gazed at distant peaks and seas of clouds. Xu Fengnian, his steps unsteady, stood behind the blade-bearing Old Kui before finally stabilizing, barely able to keep his eyes open against the wind. He could only sit down, taking shelter in Old Kui’s shadow.

Xu Fengnian shouted with effort, “Grandpa, how’s that little Daoist’s skill?”

Old Kui seemed somewhat puzzled. “His martial arts are mediocre—seems he’s the same sort of wastrel as you. What a shame about the excellent bone structure his parents gave him. As for his Daoist arts, there’s no way to test them, so I don’t know, don’t know. Presumably neither too poor nor too great. Most difficult matters in this world can’t escape the pattern of rowing upstream—not advancing means retreating. Without willingness to eat bitterness, how can one achieve anything? Strange, truly strange—how did Wudang Mountain take a fancy to this material? Could it be like the Zen school’s descendant grove system? Can’t figure it out, can’t figure it out.”

Xu Fengnian was even more puzzled. “Can this Daoist mysticism feed you? Or can it kill people?”

Old Kui thought for a moment and laughed. “Boy, you’ve asked the wrong person.”

“It cannot kill people.”

The young Daoist of equivalent rank to Wudang Mountain’s sect leader stood at the altar’s edge, hands tucked into his robe sleeves, smiling as he provided the answer. Observing his form—he wasn’t immovable like a mountain like Old Kui, nor did he stagger and struggle like Xu Fengnian. He simply swayed with the wind, rocking back and forth, the magnitude neither too large nor too small, [noodles]perfectly matching wind movement with his own movement. This actually carried some profound meaning of unity between heaven and man.

Xu Fengnian’s eyes were too crude to perceive the intricacy. He merely turned to stare fixedly at this ox-riding Daoist who’d once left his sister with lifelong regrets upon departing Beiliang, asking darkly, “Hong Xixiang, why won’t you descend the mountain and pass through that ‘Dark Martial Flourishes’ memorial arch?!”

The youngest patriarch uncle in Wudang Daoism’s thousand-year history grinned awkwardly, his face lacking all dignity as he spoke: “I came up the mountain at five, learned some divination basics at eight. My master had me perform a small calculation daily, a medium calculation monthly, and a large calculation yearly—to determine when I could descend the mountain and when I needed closed-door cultivation. But ever since I learned this art, there hasn’t been a single day I didn’t need closed-door cultivation.”

Xu Fengnian certainly wouldn’t take this seriously. He mocked, “I heard your master specifically set you a rule before dying—you can’t descend the mountain until you become number one under heaven? Looks like you won’t need to descend this lifetime.”

The Daoist with his transcendent name kept his hands tucked in sleeves, unmoved by the eight winds, chuckling. “Number one under heaven isn’t false—but eating the most, reading the most, these are also number one. There are many kinds. Master never specified martial arts number one. There will always be a day I descend the mountain.”

Xu Fengnian struggled to his feet, his gaze turning toward Jiangnan, saying softly, “But by that time, people will be old. Meeting again, white hair seeing white hair—what use is that?”

Hong Xixiang closed his eyes and said nothing.

Xu Fengnian exhaled a long breath and snorted coldly. Walking out of the altar, as he brushed past the Daoist he paused slightly to ask, “What do you think of my sister?”

The Daoist who’d lived in this glazed world since he could remember, cradling the Yellow Court and riding his ox backward watching clouds roll and unfurl, said softly, “The best.”

Xu Fengnian walked out of Jingle Palace expressionless, the blade-wielding Old Kui behind him lost in thought.

Hong Xixiang waited until the Crown Prince had gone far. Then he squatted in an undignified posture, hands supporting his cheeks, staring blankly as he murmured to himself, “Red beans grow in the southern lands. When spring comes they sprout branches, in winter they wither and die. Yearning is not as good as not yearning.”

Above the Daoist’s head, over a dozen spirit-filled red-crowned cranes circled and cried out, making him appear like an immortal from heaven.

He suddenly clutched his stomach, his brow furrowed miserably. “Hungry again.”

…

Descending the mountain, Old Kui suddenly remarked with interest, “Somewhat interesting—that little Daoist has some real cultivation.”

Xu Fengnian’s spirits were low. He asked perfunctorily, “How so?”

Old Kui said uncertainly, “That boy cultivates the Supreme Heavenly Dao.”

When Xu Fengnian heard about this Dao nonsense, his head ached. He frowned. “There are actually people who split hairs over such mysterious upon mysterious, empty upon empty things? Aren’t they afraid they’ll discover in the end it was all drawing water with a bamboo basket?”

Old Kui laughed heartily. “I don’t like these incomprehensible playthings either.”

When Xu Fengnian reached the mountain foot memorial arch, he ignored the sacrificial wine Daoists’ obsequious bowing and looked back up the mountain once, cursing, “That turtle hiding in its shell!”

The two hundred cavalry soldiers standing respectfully at the base of the steps remounted upon seeing the Crown Prince. Their movements were uniform and efficient, without any excess.

The Beiliang iron cavalry were uniformly equipped with spirited horses and bright armor. Moreover, each year the Great Pillar of State would drag them to the border for real combat training. Combined with the fierce folk customs of the cold lands—where even many women excelled at horsemanship and archery—this was their most distinctive advantage.

For instance, Xu Fengnian’s sister Xu Zhihu had been skilled in riding and archery since childhood. Even more so his second sister Xu Weixiong—not only was her horsemanship superb, but her swordsmanship was first-rate. Her agility surpassed even apes, and she had the reputation of an antelope hanging from great horns. At thirteen she’d drawn her sword to kill, and to this day her blade had severed nearly a hundred heads. The people of Liang were warlike—this had been so since ancient times. Therefore, in expert eyes, the Beiliang iron cavalry was far more battle-ready than the troops under the Yan Thorn King or Jiaodong King—they were the undisputed battle-hardened lions.

Once Xu Fengnian mounted his horse, Old Kui laughed. “Boy, I won’t return to the palace. Without Huang Laojiu, it’s deadly boring.”

Xu Fengnian blinked and tried to persuade him. “Why not wait until I’ve completed my coming-of-age ceremony? Without Grandpa, Fengnian would have died at the lake bottom long ago. There’s probably half a year’s time. I’ll prepare plenty of good food and drink for Grandpa. I ​unauthorized copy​can repay my life-saving debt as much as I’m able. How about it?”

Old Kui thought for a moment and nodded in agreement.

One could tell this blade-wielding titan actually didn’t dislike Beiliang’s greatest dandy.

They galloped all the way back to the palace. Just as they entered the city, goose-feather snow began falling from the sky again without reason—it was snowing like mad. Xu Fengnian shivered from the cold. The moment he reached the palace gates, the gatekeeper who’d been waiting anxiously presented a fine fox fur with both hands and carefully draped it over the Crown Prince, more attentive than if serving his own parents.

Xu Fengnian muttered something about not knowing whether Old Huang had brought enough clothes.

After bidding Old Kui farewell, he walked directly alone toward the courtyard where Yu Youwei resided. Beautiful women shouldn’t be neglected, spending all day admiring themselves in solitude—too wasteful, not good, inconsistent with Xu Fengnian’s temperament of watering flowers as needed.

Along the way he passed Jiang Ni’s impoverished dwelling—not really worthy of being called a courtyard. He saw the thinly dressed fallen princess half-crouched building a snowman. The snowman stood half a person’s height. After completing her great work, rather than appearing pleased with it, she stared at it with a face full of resentment. Then she drew out that Divine Talisman dagger she depended on for life and slashed down, severing the snowman’s head. Watching this gave Xu Fengnian goosebumps—could it be this mad girl was treating the snowman as him?

After coughing several times, Xu Fengnian walked over. Jiang Ni’s expression was initially panicked, but seeing it was the Crown Prince, she relaxed and slowly put away her weapon. When Xu Fengnian drew near, he saw her reddened hands covered in unsightly chilblains, looking exactly like a pitiful maidservant bullied by all in the laundry bureau. Xu Fengnian sighed, squatted down, and rebuilt a head. In Jiang Ni’s eyes, this was naturally affected pretense, detestable to behold.

After patting his hands and rising, Xu Fengnian asked noodles gently, “Should I have some warm clothing made for you?”

Jiang Ni replied with a cold face and cold voice, “Too dirty.”

Xu Fengnian laughed heartily. “I was just saying it casually anyway. I’ve played the good person—whether you appreciate it or not is no concern of mine. I just love how you are—always letting me take advantage. Doing business with you is most profitable.”

Before leaving, Xu Fengnian jabbed at this little maidservant: “No matter how shabby you dress, aren’t they still my things? If you’ve got the ability, strip them off—that would make you a heroine.”

Jiang Ni pretended not to hear. In verbal sparring with the shameless rogue Xu Fengnian, she always lost more than won. Thinking carefully, she might never have gained the upper hand even once.

In high spirits, Xu Fengnian’s mood improved even more upon seeing Yu Youwei. His mother had said that beautiful girls, whether they had the heart of a bodhisattva or the belly of a snake, should all be cherished. In nearly twenty years of life, Xu Fengnian had never cruelly destroyed flowers. On the contrary, he’d directly or indirectly saved the humble lives of a dozen or twenty maidservants.

Yu Youwei lay languidly in her warm-as-spring bedroom, teasing that plump, snow-white Wu Meiniang. Whenever it snowed, Xu Fengnian wanted to throw Wu Meiniang into the snow to see if one could distinguish white cat from white snow. He’d always restrained this perverse interest, thinking that someday when Yu Youwei and Wu Meiniang were separated, he’d definitely try it.

Xu Fengnian removed his boots and lay beside Yu Youwei, leaning against her warm jade-like graceful figure with eyes closed, speaking softly, “Went to Wudang Mountain and gave a Daoist of equivalent rank to their sect leader a thorough beating. Impressive, no?”

Yu Youwei smiled faintly. “The Great Pillar of State is impressive.”

Xu Fengnian opened his eyes and turned her around, giving her round, peach-shaped bottom a firm slap as he chided, “This lord will personally teach you how to kiss ass!”

Yu Youwei’s pretty face reddened slightly. Just as Xu Fengnian was about to press his advantage, the clear voice of Lüyi, a second-rank maid from Wutong Courtyard, came from outside saying a letter had arrived from Dragon-Tiger Mountain. Xu Fengnian couldn’t be bothered groping Yu Youwei further. He hastily pulled on his boots and ran out, receiving the letter. Seeing snowflakes covering Lüyi’s slender shoulders, he smiled and gently brushed them off for her, then walked together with her.

Arriving at his own Wutong Courtyard—where the best underfloor heating was installed, warm enough to walk barefoot without being too hot or cold, even better than Xu Xiao’s room—Xu Fengnian enjoyed Hongshu’s massage while extracting the letter. Hey, that old Daoist surnamed Zhao from Dragon-Tiger Mountain could write excellent calligraphy.

Reading carefully, his younger brother’s cultivation at Dragon-Tiger Mountain was described as “vigorous and diligent progress, advancing a thousand li daily.” Such lavish praise, to someone like Xu Fengnian who’d heard plenty of official talk, even after discounting it by half, was still quite remarkable. It seemed the Silly Yellow Barbarian hadn’t gone in vain. At the letter’s end, the old Daoist carefully mentioned that Xu Longxiang missed home, so he respectfully requested the Crown Prince write a family letter to let his disciple cultivate with peace of mind. After setting down the letter, Xu Fengnian waved his hand grandly: “Grind the ink.”

The room immediately bustled with jade-like hands grinding ink and crimson sleeves adding fragrance. But after taking up the brush, Xu Fengnian began to hesitate, momentarily at a loss for how to begin. He nearly scratched his ears and cheeks—truly proving the saying “books are valued only when needed, matters understood only through experience.”

Xu Fengnian simply set down the brush and nuzzled his head against the fragrant, full-figured bosom of his head maid, asking, “Has that rouge-eating Lin family fellow met with Xu Xiao?”

Hongshu replied coquettishly, “He met him but refuses to leave.”

Xu Fengnian grinned wickedly. “Could it be this libertine noodles wants to eat your rouge instead?”

Lüyi’s face showed disdain. “That broken embroidered pillow doesn’t catch the sisters’ eyes.”

Xu Fengnian rolled his eyes. “So I’m not an embroidered pillow then?”

Hongshu’s soft hands gently encircled the Crown Prince. Her prominent bosom was pressed into an astonishing arc as she said with natural seductiveness, “Your Highness isn’t a pillow—this servant is.”

Xu Fengnian laughed. “This little mouth is quite accomplished.”

Lüyi sat at some distance, picking up and setting down go stones, thoroughly bored. Xu Fengnian straightened his back and glanced outside. As expected, that girl Qingniao with her peculiar temperament was spacing out again. Wutong Courtyard might be just a small sparrow, but it had all five organs complete. Beyond the fourth-rank maidservants and female servants, there were various types of menial workers. Thanks to the Crown Prince, it held an exceptionally elevated status within the Beiliang palace.

Not to mention Xu Fengnian’s especially favored head maid—even second-rank maids had to be greeted with smiling faces by stewards and gatekeepers. Among these maids, Hongshu, originally nicknamed Red Musk, had a gentle nature and was easy to talk to with everyone. Qingniao was the complete opposite—respectful and close to Xu Fengnian but not blindly obedient. Xu Fengnian had been mischievous since childhood, getting into trouble many times, and it was often Qingniao with her temperament like a red-maned spirited horse who’d cleaned up his messes.

Speaking of Qingniao, ever since Xu Fengnian could remember, she’d been by his side—led before him by the Princess Consort’s own hand. She wasn’t like a maidservant but more like half a sister. She wasn’t particularly close with the other maids in Wutong Courtyard, naturally cold-faced and cold-hearted. Every year there were several periods when she wasn’t in the palace, but each time she returned, she’d bring back some thoughtfully chosen small object for the Crown Prince. After one small incident during his youth, Xu Fengnian had preserved them all.

Generally speaking, everyone in Wutong Courtyard were people without great stories—pleasant and agreeable, but upon chewing and savoring, stolen contentbland and thin. Presumably all because the Great Pillar of State couldn’t tolerate a grain of sand in his eye.

Xu Fengnian exhausted all his meager learning to barely complete a family letter, rambling on about trivial matters completely contrary to his original intention. In the end he could only console himself that if he wrote too profoundly, the Silly Yellow Barbarian wouldn’t understand anyway—straightforward was best.

Having finished the letter, Xu Fengnian stretched lazily. Going outside, he indeed saw Qingniao standing lost in thought in the courtyard corridor. Glancing at the sky—the heavy snow had eased somewhat, most suitable for traveling in fine clothes by night—he pulled Qingniao along out of Wutong Courtyard, planning to go to Phoenix Ceremony Hall to tease that Sister Fan who was sickly as Xi Shi and aroused pity.

As for Scholar Lin, Xu Fengnian felt he’d suit Li Hanlin’s appetite perfectly. Along the way, Xu Fengnian remembered today seemed to be his scheduled “dog-releasing day.” He asked with a smile, “Any movement in the palace?”

Qingniao’s reply was as concise and clear as always: “Yes.”

Xu Fengnian perked up and laughed. “Are they after Tide-Listening Pavilion, or looking for Xu Xiao?”

Qingniao shook her head. “Don’t know.”

Xu Fengnian sighed with regret. “Fewer and fewer are taking the bait these days.”

Over the years when the Crown Prince had nothing to do, he’d deliberately have the normally heavily guarded Beiliang palace relax during certain periods—but Read on Jormuntlremain internally tight. This was called “fishing,” specifically to lure jianghu heroes coveting the martial treasury’s ultimate techniques and secret manuals, or hot-blooded revenge-seeking assassins.

Four or five years ago during one open-card day, they’d lured in as many as four batches of unwelcome guests. After closing the door to beat the dogs, supposedly the next day they dragged out twenty-six corpses to be chopped up and fed to dogs.

After returning from his travels, he’d opened the cards twice without results. Presumably those rough heroes had caught on and wised up—few fish or shrimp were being fooled. Who knew what today’s harvest would be. Xu Fengnian’s boredom was evident.

Qingniao suddenly stopped and looked back toward Wutong Courtyard.

Xu Fengnian asked quietly, “What is it?”

She said softly, “Nothing.”

Xu Fengnian suppressed his doubts and arrived at Phoenix Ceremony Hall. Entering the room, he saw Sister Fan playing go with the Lin fellow. Seeing Xu Fengnian, Miss Fan seemed to freeze for a moment. Scholar Lin looked utterly devastated. From what he’d recently seen and heard in the palace, he’d finally learned that this person claiming to be a companion reader to His Highness was actually the genuine Crown Prince of Liang. He rose anxiously, bowing deeply in salute, voice trembling: “This one greets Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

Before Xu Fengnian could respond, the clamor of armored soldiers’ weapons came from outside. Young Master Lin was utterly confused, but Sister Fan smiled sadly, her expression complex as she gazed at Xu Fengnian.

Yuan Zuozong, ranked second only to Chen Zhibao among the Great Pillar of State’s sworn sons, walked into the room wearing armor, holding a portrait. This general who was Beiliang’s number one vanguard narrowed his handsome phoenix eyes. After addressing the Crown Prince, he noodlesturned to look at the young guests, his gaze instantly turning ice-cold as he sneered, “Fan Xiaochai, Lin Yu—come with me.”

Scholar Lin was dumbfounded. Suffering this calamity without understanding why, his legs immediately went soft and he collapsed into his chair.

Before being taken away, the frail Miss Fan spat at Xu Fengnian, displaying quite a backbone—then got slapped out of the room by Yuan Zuozong, sprawling in the snow like a lump of soft mud.

Xu Fengnian showed no reaction to this. He took the portrait from Yuan Zuozong’s hands—it was of himself, only six or seven parts similar in appearance but twelve parts similar in spirit.

One could see that in Sister Fan’s eyes, he was quite contemptible—she hadn’t been willing to give him a proper look. In her heart his bearing was even more despicable. Xu Fengnian sat down holding the portrait and smiled. After Yuan Zuozong took away both spies and assassins with their special identities, Xu Fengnian looked up and asked, “Qingniao, what about Wutong Courtyard?”

She replied calmly, “Nothing.”

Xu Fengnian said self-mockingly, “Once while drinking with Luqiu’er, I got him drunk. The fat man said there are two groups of death warriors protecting me. One group has four people with only four code names: Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding. The other group even he doesn’t know about. Tell me—how many are there in Wutong Courtyard? Are they maids or other servants?”

She kept silent.

Xu Fengnian stared directly at Qingniao. “Are you one?”

Qingniao still said nothing.

Xu Fengnian sighed and lowered his head to gaze at the portrait. “If it’s safe here, you may withdraw.”

She departed softly, soundlessly.

She came to Wutong Courtyard. The full-figured head maid Hongshu sat on the corridor railing, holding a small bronze mirror. Both her hands were covered in fresh blood resembling rouge, being applied bit by bit to her lips.

Qingniao’s eyes were full of disgust.

This head maid—recognized throughout the palace as weak and soft as a brocade carp who could only survive if her master fed her—likewise didn’t look at Qingniao. She merely tilted her head and asked the mirror with a smile, “Beautiful?”

Qingniao gave a slight snort of derision.

In the profound silence, it was exceptionally jarring.

Hongshu pressed her lips together. Under the moonlit night with snow reflecting light, that face appeared extremely seductive and alluring. She said coquettishly, “As long as I’m more beautiful than you.”

Qingniao turned to leave, leaving behind a faint remark: “You age quickly.”

Hongshu didn’t refute this. With misty seductive eyes she muttered to herself, “Never living to see the day when beauty fades—that’s truly good.”