Immortal Pointing the Way to split a great river?

Canglang River—that was the largest river in all of Beiliang territory!

Xu Fengnian spat a mouthful of tea onto the face of the Daoist immortal opposite him. The old Daoist who had led Wudang for thirty years merely wiped it away gently and turned to glare at his loose-lipped junior martial brother. Xu Fengnian hastily apologized several times. Wang Chonglou had a good temperament and paid it no mind, continuing to drink his tea. Xu Fengnian secretly studied this foremost figure of Wudang—his brow center flushed red like a vertical mark. Though his hair was crane-white, his face showed no signs of age.

Xu Fengnian suddenly remembered that as a youth, he had casually browsed through a heterodox Daoist text called Three Thousand Phenomena in Tide-Listening Pavilion. It mentioned that Wudang possessed a profound and mysterious internal cultivation technique—Supreme Jade Liquid Form Refinement. First forming a cinnabar infant that travels through the five organs, then penetrating the four limbs, it could transform red blood into white milk, maintain a youthful appearance, and be immune to cold and heat. This was called “initially entering the realm of longevity.”

Xu Fengnian had never taken such fragmentary textual records seriously, but hearing those “two fingers” with his own ears, then seeing with his own eyes the majestic aura Wang Chonglou faintly emanated, he had no choice but to believe.

After the old Daoist finished his tea and departed, Xu Fengnian saw Hong Xixiang still squatting to the side in a daze. He frowned. “Ox-rider, aren’t you leaving?”

Hong Xixiang made an acknowledging sound and slowly walked back to Small Lotus Peak. Along the way, passing through three palaces and six temples, countless Daoists of all ranks respectfully addressed him as “Patriarch Uncle” or “Supreme Patriarch Uncle.” He acknowledged them all, and with some familiar juniors, he’d even stop to chat a few words.

Slowly reaching Ascending Immortal Cliff, he discovered his sect leader martial brother standing beneath the turtle-carrying stele. Hong Xixiang quickened his pace and called out, “Elder Martial Brother Wang!”

On the mountain, their generation was the highest. Unlike Dragon-Tiger Mountain, which had reclusive true masters above the sect leader who were ancient beyond measure and no longer concerned themselves with worldly affairs, Wudang had another martial brother surnamed Wang who was supreme with the sword on Wudang. Hong Xixiang habitually called him “Junior Martial Brother Wang.” He had been silently comprehending the sword on Great Lotus Peak for sixteen years.

Wang Chonglou, nearly a head taller than Hong Xixiang, turned to see his dejected junior martial brother and teased, “Did your Martial Brother Chen confiscate your secretly hidden forbidden book again?”

Hong Xixiang shook his head, wanting to speak but stopping himself. Wang Chonglou patted his junior martial brother’s shoulder and departed, treading upon moonlight.

Xu Fengnian practiced a routine of Rolling Blade technique. It had no fixed pattern—the most important aspect was the angle and momentum of the first blade strike. The subsequent dozens or hundreds of consecutive moves all followed naturally from that first blade. He sought to strike as quickly as [visit our site]possible with the most economical use of strength, striving for seamless continuity without gaps.

Using the least strength to execute the swiftest blade—this wasn’t Old Kui’s private instruction but a simple blade method Xu Fengnian had figured out himself. Calling it Rolling Blade was quite apt. It seemed somewhat different from both the Standing Sword and Walking Sword that Sect Leader Wang had mentioned.

Returning to the thatched cottage and lying down on the hard board bed, it was as unbending as Wudang Mountain itself. Xu Fengnian bore no resentment about this, thanks to having grown accustomed to sleeping rough in wilderness and wasteland with Old Huang.

On the table, besides an oil lamp, were two stacks of yellowed books—two sword manuals, one copy of the Essence-Plucking Formula, and at the bottom, the Sixty-Year Sword Practice Record of Green Water Pavilion. Xu Fengnian had no nightclothes, so he simply stayed up all night memorizing everything by rote.

Wudang mental technique formulas circulated widely in the martial world. Most were forgeries that still sold briskly under the name of Jade Pillar Internal Cultivation. But there were indeed some genuine lower-tier Jade Pillar mental techniques known to martial world practitioners. Wudang Mountain never deliberately suppressed or blocked them, because while the Jade Pillar mental technique was indeed excellent, it was only the yin fish of the yin-yang symbol. It still required Wudang Daoists’ unique daily body-forging technique to complement it.

Xu Fengnian had no interest in the sword manuals and didn’t find the Essence-Plucking Formula beneficial. Only the Sixty-Year Sword Practice Record captivated him completely. This manual of sixty years of sword comprehension was the heart’s blood work of a Wudang ancestral master. The only problem was its obscure wording made it difficult to grasp.

Xu Fengnian glanced at the dimly brightening window, set down the Sixty-Year Sword Practice Record, picked up Embroidered Winter, and walked toward White Elephant Pool. The closer he drew, the fiercer the sound of the waterfall striking stone. Clear, cold water vapor assaulted his face. In the pool stood a stone jutting prominently upward. Xu Fengnian walked along the pool’s edge and actually followed a bluestone path directly into the waterfall. It turned out that the ancestors of Wudang had used supernatural craftsmanship to hollow out the interior of Hanging Immortal Peak, from which hung this Ivory Waterfall. Legend said a true immortal ascended riding a rainbow from here, leaving behind an ancient sword in the pool.

Xu Fengnian stood firm, only two arm-lengths from this white silk waterfall. His clothing gradually grew wet.

Xu Fengnian exerted all his strength to slash horizontally.

That old Daoist severed rivers with two fingers—what about my full-strength blade strike?

Xu Fengnian felt a piercing pain. Embroidered Winter had barely made contact with the waterfall plunging straight down three thousand feet before flying from his grip, tracing an awkward arc through the air and clattering to the ground. Xu Fengnian raised his hand to look—it had split open in a large bloody gash.

Xu Fengnian grinned, went to retrieve Embroidered Winter, whose reputation was destined to remain buried in his hands for quite some time. Taking a long breath, he slashed out again. The result was the same—Embroidered Winter flying from his hand. Xu Fengnian sucked in a cold breath, tore a strip of cloth from his clothes, wrapped it around his hand, sat on the ground gripping Embroidered Winter, and no longer hoped to steadily slash open a gap with one horizontal strike—he only sought not to lose his grip.

Switching to his left hand for another strike was even worse—both man and blade were thrown backward.

The young patriarch uncle appeared inside the cave at some unknown time, saying in surprise, “You’re exactly like my Martial Brother Chen practicing sword back then.”

Xu Fengnian said with bitter humor, “All masters are like this.”

Hong Xixiang said softly, “Except I heard that by your age, Martial Brother Chen could cut open a gap several inches wide with one sword.”

Xu Fengnian said irritably, “Help me send word to the Prince’s Palace. There’s a white fox face in seclusion there. Have him select forty or fifty martial arts secret texts and get someone to bring them up the mountain.”

Hong Xixiang asked curiously, “What for?”

Xu Fengnian lowered his head to tie the cloth strip on his left hand wound with his teeth, ignoring Hong Xixiang.

The young patriarch uncle obediently went to run errands for the Crown Prince. A mile away stood Purple Sun Temple. He planned to ask the juniors there for help. The patriarch uncle himself naturally wouldn’t descend the mountain.

Several days later, a slender female figure carried a heavy pack on her back, struggling to climb the mountain.

What’s the heaviest thing under heaven? Loyalty and righteousness? Filial piety? Bullshit—books are the heaviest.

Jiang Ni sat on a step halfway up the mountain. Her waist was nearly broken. Several nearby Daoists who had been watching her swaying form all along, ready for her to tumble down the mountain at any moment, finally breathed a sigh of relief.

This extremely beautiful young woman had been escorted by Beiliang cavalry to the mountain’s base, then ascended the stairs alone. At first, Wudang Daoists tried to help, but received no response from her—she only kept her pretty face cold. The Daoists could only follow carefully behind, afraid she and her pack would both come to grief. Women from the Prince of Beiliang’s Palace couldn’t be trifled with.

Jiang Ni raised her head to look at the endless mountain peak, muttering noodlesunder her breath. The Daoists couldn’t hear—it was all caustic words cursing Xu Fengnian to die horribly. Compared to her daily routine of stabbing straw dolls, this was already considered gentle.

If that bastard Crown Prince dared stand before her now, she was absolutely certain she’d draw out that Divine Talisman dagger and perish together with him.

Jiang Ni rubbed her already reddened shoulders, gritted her teeth, and hoisted the pack that weighed as much as a thousand pounds back onto her shoulders. In this glazed world, it was a pitifully solitary scene.

The idle Hong Xixiang happened to be wandering the mountain and witnessed this scene. He ran over to help, but before he could speak, Jiang Ni said, “Good dogs don’t block the way.” Her tone was weak, but her brows and eyes blazed with wrathful bodhisattva fury—hardly like the lowest-ranking maid from the Prince’s Palace.

Hong Xixiang smiled and said, “I’ll show Miss the way.”

Seeing the thatched cottage, Jiang Ni froze for a moment.

This was that damnable Crown Prince’s sleeping quarters? Wouldn’t he jump up cursing and kick all several thousand ox-nose Daoists on Wudang Mountain down the slope?

She plopped down on the ground, gasping for breath, feeling she truly might die.

Hong Xixiang was about to speak a reminder when Jiang Ni glared at him. He could only swallow all his words back down.

The young patriarch uncle thought to himself—women brought out by this Crown Prince really are different. Or perhaps, as his eldest martial brother said so straightforwardly and thoroughly, it was because women down the mountain are all tigresses?

Though his kindness had been treated as donkey liver and lungs, Hong Xixiang still took the opportunity to lift the pack and carry it into the thatched cottage. This time Jiang Ni didn’t scold him aloud—she truly lacked the spirit for it. Right now she wished she could fall asleep sitting up. As for the pain in her shoulders and back, it had already gone numb. As long as she didn’t touch them, she could endure.

Speaking of the devil, Jiang Ni’s back was struck several times by a hard object. The motions weren’t forceful, but for Jiang Ni in her current state, it was like pouring oil on a small fire or piling thick frost on light snow. Her pain pushed to the limits of endurance, Jiang Ni turned around with a sob in her voice. Looking up to see that hateful, detestable, abhorrent, killable ugly face, she somehow summoned strength from nowhere, opened her mouth, and bit down—right on the calf of the barefoot, blade-carrying Crown Prince.

Xu Fengnian slapped her with the sword sheath, striking Jiang Ni’s cheek without the slightest courtesy and sending this fallen princess flying. The force was just right—neither too light nor too heavy, insufficient to truly in noodles jure. Xu Fengnian frowned and cursed, “Are you a dog?”

Jiang Ni, whose humiliation exceeded her pain, couldn’t move. She could only grab dirt from the ground and throw it at Xu Fengnian.

Xu Fengnian wasn’t angered. He simply used Embroidered Winter to bat each handful of dirt back. In an instant, Jiang Ni became a little mud figure.

“Xu Fengnian, may you die horribly!”

“Come, come, come, little dog Jiang Ni—bite me to death!”

“You’re not human!”

“Oh my, Jiang Ni, you look so fresh and adorable right now. If you’ve got the guts, throw that Divine Talisman over here too—that would prove you’re ruthless.”

“One day I’ll stab you to death!”

“Why not right now? I absolutely won’t fight back. Why are you still sitting on the ground, little dog Jiang Ni? You can’t possibly be so unreasonable as to make me press my neck against the Divine Talisman and slit my own throat, right? That method of death would be too tyrannical.”

One sat on the ground, one stood. One cried, one laughed.

Who could imagine these two young people of similar age were the eldest princess of a fallen kingdom and the eldest son of the Prince of Beiliang?

Witnessing this scene that was harder to comprehend than celestial texts, the young patriarch uncle said helplessly, “I’d better go ride my ox.”