Before Xu Fengnian could ask, Xu Xiao revealed everything in one breath. “Back then, the Academy was a magnificent sight, claiming to have three thousand worthies from a hundred schools of thought. In truth, only nine schools truly held power—Dao, Confucian, Legalist, Military, Yin-Yang, and so on. Our dynasty emphasizes Legalism, while the other eight kingdoms each had their own backing.

“You could say the real warfare took place within Shangyin Academy. For instance, Western Shu believed in Huang-Lao non-contention, occupying natural defenses with no great ambitions. At the time, the Academy had already reached consensus that Western Shu could continue secluding itself in its corner, but I led troops and crushed them anyway.

“For a time, popular resentment surged throughout the empire. The nickname ‘the Butcher’ was cemented. Together with the palace eunuch Han Diaosi and the reclusive scholar Huanglong Shi, I was called one of the three demon heads that everyone had the right to execute. My relationship with the Academy has always been terrible, except for that Master of Jixia we just met, whose go etiquette is utterly abysmal—he spoke many words on my behalf that defied the empire’s consensus.

“At that time, Master Wang had just won the debate on name and reality. His reputation was at its zenith. If nothing had gone wrong, winning the heaven-humanity debate would have made him the next High Priest, allowing him to plant a merit tree in the Virtue Grove. What a pity. That’s why I sent your second sister to Shangyin Academy.”

Within the dynasty, there were several long-renowned forbidden and sacred sites. Besides the Imperial Palace, there was Dragon-Tiger Mountain, which had usurped Wudang’s position as Daoist orthodoxy; the Prince of Beiliang’s Palace with its Tide-Listening Pavilion martial treasury; the relic pagodas of the Two Zen Temples; Wu Family Sword Tomb; and finally, the Virtue Grove of Shangyin Academy that all scholars in the empire aspired to visit. This Virtue Grove symbolized “ten years to grow a tree, a thousand years to cultivate virtue.”

As for the three demon heads, the eunuch surnamed Han was cursed as inhuman, his reputation within the dynasty no better than Xu Xiao’s, if not worse.

However, Huanglong Shi in his white robes was the most controversial. He had personally stained his hands with relatively little blood—even less than some martial world knights-errant. But this man’s mouth was truly formidable. During the chaos of the nine kingdoms, more than half the conflicts were instigated by him. And he had once been Shangyin Academy’s most outstanding student, styling himself “Yellow Third-Class Scholar.”

This wasn’t self-aggrandizement. Huanglong Shi was publicly recognized as first in nineteen-path go, first in cursive calligraphy, first in Yin-Yang divination—his fame resounding throughout the empire. In the end, scholarly circles widely stolen contentcirculated that Shangyin Academy nearly erected a stele forbidding Huanglong Shi from ever setting foot there again.

And Xu Fengnian’s second sister, Xu Weixiong, was now secretly called “the second Huanglong Shi” by many Jixia Scholars within the Academy. Her brilliance was evident.

Xu Xiao said softly, “Master Wang came today to ask a favor, but I didn’t agree.”

Xu Fengnian said helplessly, “You really don’t give Shangyin Academy any face.”

The hunchbacked, limping Great Pillar of State tucked his hands into his sleeves, looking like an old farmer, but his words were arrogant to the extreme. “Those scholars curse me from thousands of miles away. They’ve been cursing to this day—several large vats full of spit. I feel nothing.

“But your second sister slaps their faces every day in their own home—crack, crack, loud and crisp. In debate, they can’t out-argue your second sister. In go, even more so. As for fighting, your second sister’s sword could cut down a hundred or so scholars without the strength to truss a chicken, and the blade wouldn’t even get nicked.

“Those people from Shangyin Academy are only good at cutting people down with words. As for actually cutting people? Utterly third-rate.”

Xu Fengnian said with a headache, “Don’t slap people’s faces, leave them some dignity—but you go all out.”

Xu Xiao laughed. “Your father read few books—where would I understand so many grand principles?”

Xu Fengnian said disdainfully, “That’s disingenuous.”

Xu Xiao turned to glance at the Embroidered Winter blade in his son’s hand and smiled. “Genuinely not disingenuous. Speaking with a blade works best.”

Xu Fengnian said quietly, “Is that how you speak to that person in the capital too?”

Xu Xiao had always been utterly uninhibited with this son. He spoke bluntly, “Of course. Three hundred thousand Beiliang cavalry—even their farts shake the heavens. Whether you want to smell them or not, you have to.”

Xu Fengnian prepared to head to the lake bottom to practice his blade. He couldn’t very well chime in with “Emperors take turns, tomorrow it comes to my house,” could he?

Xu Xiao asked, “You’re really going to keep practicing?”

Xu Fengnian said, puzzled, “Otherwise?”

Xu Xiao withdrew his hands and breathed on them, slowly building suspense. “Then Read on Jormuntlmake a trip to Wudang. Someone’s waiting for you.”

Xu Fengnian said in surprise, “Surely you don’t want me to go learn the Jade Pillar mental technique from Hong Xixiang? That would be too embarrassing. That glazed world scenery is nice enough, but making me practice blade there wouldn’t be satisfying. He won’t descend the mountain so I ascend it—how does that make it seem like ‘if the mountain won’t come to me, I’ll go to the mountain’? Honestly, I’m not interested. I’d rather endure Old Kui’s scolding and get sprayed with his spittle than live under another’s roof on Wudang Mountain.”

The Great Pillar of State smiled lightly. “That little Daoist surnamed Hong doesn’t have that ability. The one you’re meeting is Wudang’s sect leader, Wang Chonglou.”

Xu Fengnian said in shock, “That old Daoist who’s been hiding away cultivating the Great Yellow Court barrier? Did he really once split Canglang River with an Immortal Pointing the Way finger technique? That’s far too much like an immortal’s power—incomprehensible, truly incomprehensible!”

The Great Pillar of State thought for a moment. “I’ve never witnessed it myself, but Wang Chonglou single-handedly contends against Dragon-Tiger Mountain with its four Great Celestial Masters. He shouldn’t be someone seeking false fame. Moreover, in his early years, Li Yishan made his evaluations of generals and beauties, specifically mentioning this Daoist master, saying he had potential to penetrate the profound mysteries. Mind you, at that time Wang Chonglou was just an obscure middle-aged Daoist. As for whether the finger splitting the river is true or false—won’t you know once you reach Wudang Mountain?”

Xu Fengnian said, utterly confused, “Wang Chonglou is going to teach me blade technique? Impossible. Then is he transmitting Wudang’s most quick-learning profound mental technique to me?”

Xu Xiao smiled. “You’ll know when you get there.”

Xu Fengnian didn’t refuse. Wang Chonglou was a long-renowned master, one of the empire’s few supreme experts. Being able to observe him and absorb some Daoist immortal energy was always beneficial.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be another “man beyond the mundane world” like Master Wang from Shangyin Academy. Most importantly, Xu Fengnian had been practicing breath-holding blade work at the lake bottom, and thinking of [stolen content]Wudang’s unfathomably deep White Elephant Pool—carved out by a waterfall’s erosion over hundreds and thousands of years—Xu Fengnian wanted to practice his blade there.

That year, Xu Fengnian entered Wudang alone at dusk.

Below the “Dark Martial Flourishes” memorial arch stood only two Daoists of vastly different ages.

One was naturally the graceful young patriarch uncle Hong Xixiang. The other was an old Daoist with crane-white hair and a youthful face, exceptionally imposing in build—not inferior to Old Kui at the lake bottom in the slightest. Such physique was truly rare among Daoists.

Seeing Xu Fengnian arrive with his blade, neither Daoist exchanged pleasantries or made small talk. They simply led the Crown Prince up the mountain in silence.

Mountain climbing was physical labor. In the past, Xu Fengnian needed to rest several times during the ascent. After half a year of blade practice he’d improved considerably, but still couldn’t summit in one breath. Yet whenever Xu Fengnian’s stamina waned and he felt fatigued, the tall old Daoist would stop at precisely that moment. When he stopped, Hong Xixiang stopped.

Xu Fengnian sneered inwardly. This display was far more calculated than if hundreds of “ox-noses” had come out to welcome him.

The three stopped at Hanging Immortal Coffin, not far from White Elephant Pool. There was only a small thatched cottage—apparently the Crown Prince’s lodging—surrounded by a circle of green bamboo fencing. A table and chairs were set out in front. After Xu Fengnian and the old Daoist sat down, Hong Xixiang voluntarily went inside to fetch a simple tea set and squatted to the side brewing tea.

The old Daoist, whose identity needed no guessing, had kind brows and a benevolent gaze. He smiled and said, “The world’s sword techniques are divided into Standing Sword, Walking Sword, and Sitting Sword, noodlesincreasing in difficulty. The ultimate achievement of each is hard to determine. We at Wudang have never recommended that withered Sitting Sword method—it violates the Heavenly Dao. But we do have some insights into Standing Sword and Walking Sword. I wonder which the Crown Prince wishes to learn—Standing Sword or Walking Sword?”

Xu Fengnian said plainly, “I’ve come to practice blade.”

Hong Xixiang, brewing tea, rolled his eyes.

The old Daoist said amiably, “Sword arts and blade techniques—different paths to the same destination, both pursuing the way of hand combat where one person can face a hundred. Take that Deng Tai’a, for instance—he merely carries a peach blossom branch. You could call it sword or blade.

Xu Fengnian didn’t want to waste time debating philosophy with the old Daoist. It was truly tedious. So he asked, “What’s the difference between Standing Sword and Walking Sword?”

The old Daoist smiled genially. “Standing Sword, simply put, involves more starting and stopping of the sword, with fiercer sword momentum—like winter thunder rumbling, silent until it shakes the heavens. Walking Sword emphasizes movement, continuous and unbroken, like torrential summer rain, like splashed ink. If the Crown Prince prefers Standing Sword, the mountain has several modestly famous sword techniques that, combined with Wudang’s exclusive mental technique, the Essence-Plucking Formula, mutually benefit each other. If you favor Walking Sword instead, that’s also fine. Jade Pearl Peak has a manual called the Sixty-Year Sword Practice Record of Green Water Pavilion, whose words are subtle and exquisitely suited, deeply grasping the essence of sword arts.”

Xu Fengnian thought for a moment and asked, “What Sect Leader Wang calls Sitting Sword—what is it?”

The old Daoist said with difficulty, “This withered sitting method is the Wu Family Sword Tomb’s hereditary technique. Outsiders cannot know it.”

The young patriarch uncle handed each of them a cup of tea. The tea was wild mountain visit our sitetea, the water spring water.

Xu Fengnian took a sip and smiled. “I forgot to congratulate Sect Leader Wang on emerging from seclusion.”

The old Daoist smiled and nodded.

Hong Xixiang, however, quietly sighed.

Xu Fengnian hesitated, then asked in a low voice, “Did Sect Leader Wang truly split that Canglang River with one finger?”

The old Daoist shook his head. “I did not.”

Xu Fengnian felt relieved. Since this robust old Daoist ranked below Wang Xianzhi, having some weakness in his divine abilities was a good thing.

Hong Xixiang muttered, “It was two fingers.”