Chapter 604: A Great Phenomenon Unseen in a Thousand Years

Perhaps it had been too long since a junior had boasted so grandly in his presence, for Wang Xianzhi was momentarily lost in a harmless reverie. He recalled Cao Changqing's first ascent, who had said, "I seek a measure of your renowned skill, Senior." Deng Tai'a had been even more forthright: "I have a sword to ask you about." As for others, most were considerably more respectful and constrained. A few arrogant youngsters, who had made extravagant boasts before ascending, had their sharp edges dulled by the time they finally reached the summit of Martial Emperor City and stood before him. Wang Xianzhi's thoughts, traversing from distant memories to the present, took but a moment. He glanced at Xu Fengnian, standing close by, then looked towards Wudang in the distance. He understood, though it was impossible to tell if the old man’s expression held regret or mockery.

Wang Xianzhi had not traveled quickly on his journey to Beiliang, fearing that Xu Fengnian might not even be able to fully incorporate the physical and spiritual power of someone as formidable as Gao Shulu. What would be the point of merely killing an ordinary first-rank master?

Nor did he walk slowly, for he did not wish Xu Fengnian to consume the essence of the martial world outside Beiliang, swallowing up all its fate. In Wang Xianzhi’s eyes, this would be an act of overreach.

Wang Xianzhi nodded at Xu Fengnian, a gesture that likely signaled the young prince could now make his final arrangements.

A centenarian, who had suppressed the martial world for a full sixty years, indeed possessed that much patience.

Xu Fengnian picked up Hehe Girl and swept past the boundary marker. Without him needing to act, the hairpin, sable hat, and sunflower floated on their own, following them from a distance. Xu Fengnian’s original intention was to carry Jia Jiajia as far away from the battlefield as possible, because he couldn't be certain whether Wang Xianzhi would use ninety percent or one hundred percent of his power, or how wide an area would be affected by the collateral damage if Wang Xianzhi exerted his full strength. Xu Fengnian suddenly stopped. In the distance, he saw an old man—both unexpected and yet perfectly logical—and felt a wave of relief. He took the floating hairpin and other items. When the old man rushed forward, he handed them all to him. Then, instead of immediately turning away, he pressed his chest with his fingers like hooks, forcibly drawing out a ball of purple-gold energy, which he slowly pressed into the girl's forehead. “This was the tribulation Zhao Xuansu once sought to impose on me,” he whispered. “She took it upon herself. This time, it was dispersed by Wang Xianzhi. I gathered some while Wang Xianzhi was momentarily distracted. Don't worry, I've done my best to ‘cleanse’ it; it will temporarily benefit her by extending her life.”

Huang Longshi’s face was grim, and he was unforgiving. “What good is it to only solve the immediate crisis?” he demanded furiously. “If you die by Wang Xianzhi’s hand, my daughter will have to be buried with you all the same!”

Xu Fengnian lowered his head, looking at the pale, trembling girl, and smiled openly. “If I truly lose to Wang Xianzhi,” he said, “I will certainly leave a bit of my cultivation behind before I die to help her continue her life.”

Huang Longshi still wouldn't let it go, pressing aggressively: “First, tell me, how long will her life be extended?”

Xu Fengnian replied with a bitter smile, “Ten years, ten years at most. That is my limit.”

Huang Longshi let out a heavy, cold snort, clearly displeased with the answer.

Xu Fengnian turned, his back to Huang Longshi, who had come seeking an explanation, and the unconscious Hehe Girl. He paused briefly, seeming about to speak, but ultimately held his tongue.

He began to move forward. At first, there were no world-shattering moves; each step was deliberate. His initial strides were slow, transitioning from slow to fast with a remarkably measured, progressive rhythm.

This was Liu Haoshi’s method for entering and breaching cities, which, combined with Song Nianqing’s Earth Immortal’s single sword strike, had almost gravely wounded Luoyang in white.

As Xu Fengnian moved faster and receded into the distance, Huang Longshi sat down, holding his daughter, and reached out to brush away the bangs that fell over her forehead. The old man’s anger gradually subsided. He looked up in that direction, his face seeming to show a mix of emotion and surprise, as well as regret and remorse.

Wang Xianzhi had anticipated meeting Xu Fengnian later, but since the latter appeared early, Wang Xianzhi was not so bored as to deliberately avoid the confrontation.

Wang Xianzhi’s hands hung naturally at his sides, but his formerly loose hemp sleeves invisibly and slowly tightened, clinging to his arms.

Of the Thirteen Armor rankings of Spring and Autumn, Wang Xianzhi never claimed a single one. Even though he proclaimed himself the second strongest under heaven and was widely acknowledged as the greatest, he never held the Sword Armor. Regarding the use of sabers, people praised Gu Jiantang as the foremost saber master, and Wang Xianzhi never disputed that claim outside of Martial Emperor City. However, this did not mean that Wang Xianzhi, who “melded all worldly martial arts into his own furnace,” was not a grandmaster of both sword and saber arts. On the contrary, Wang Xianzhi was an undisputed master with any weapon; otherwise, he would not have been able to train such a gifted swordsman as Yu Xinlang. It was simply that the older Wang Xianzhi grew, the less he relied on external objects.

Wang Xianzhi raised his hands, lightly clenched his fists, and for the first time ever, he smiled.

“This time,” he thought, “I might finally get a truly satisfying fight.”

Xu Fengnian borrowed Liu Haoshi’s method for entering cities, but not only that, he also incorporated Liu Haoshi’s staggering sword strike.

This made his figure appear somewhat absurd—swift, yet simultaneously resembling a heavily intoxicated drunkard.

I have no sword in my hand, for I am the sword.

Along Xu Fengnian’s path, yellow sand from both sides continuously churned up, surged, and crashed together, then swiftly covered his steps.

Wang Xianzhi also began to stride boldly towards him, face to face.

It was a fight to the death.

It was that simple.

Not only the martial world, but the entire realm began to hear a rapidly spreading rumor.

Wang Xianzhi, having left the city, was going to kill Xu Fengnian, the new Prince of Beiliang.

Most people would find this extremely satisfying.

In any case, many places where alcohol was forbidden had begun to turn a blind eye.

Tai'an City.

Returning to the imperial palace from the flourishing Jiangnan, Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan had to send his Crown Princess Yan Dongwu a fresh item daily. Today, he had finally completed his task for the day. Yan Dongwu stood under the parrot cage, watching her husband make a silly face, then spread his hands to show they were empty. She smiled charmingly.

The Crown Prince then chit-chatted with his beloved wife about various trivial anecdotes. Even his slight infatuation with the purple-robed woman from Huishan, who had refused to see him, was openly shared by Zhao Zhuan. Yan Dongwu neither feigned ignorance nor got angry; instead, she gave him a coquettish look. The elegant and handsome man laughed heartily, gently grasped her wrist for a moment before releasing it, saying he had to go out and meet Yu Xinlang, the eldest disciple of the old eccentric Wang. This swordsman, making his first journey away from the East Sea, was only passing through the capital on his way north, and if he missed this opportunity, he might never get a chance to witness his prowess.

Zhao Zhuan hurriedly left the room, gradually slowing his pace. He plucked a leaf and twirled it between his fingers. Only the influential eunuchs of the palace knew that the Crown Prince enjoyed creating art by affixing leaves. Walking between two tall palace walls, Zhao Zhuan held up the leaf, blocking his view and the dazzling sunlight, and chuckled, “Died so quickly, huh?”

Southern Sea.

The Peach Blossom Sword God, who had overturned the sea with a single sword strike after returning from his pilgrimage to immortals, stood on a cliff edge on the isolated island where the Guanyin Sect was located, gazing towards the northern mainland.

Sui Xiegu, the old man who ate swords and had once exchanged an arm with Li Chungang, stood beside this unassuming sword immortal after his recent contest with Deng Tai’a, and curiously asked, “Among the top masters, you and that young man are quite close. Why didn’t you lend a hand?”

Deng Tai’a shook his head. “Wang Xianzhi is not in the wrong,” he said.

The one-armed old man nodded. “A martial world where a master of the Finger-Profound Realm could be the strongest is indeed a sorry sight.”

A woman, perpetually youthful and remarkably tall, walked not far from them and countered, “Is such a martial world truly undesirable?”

Deng Tai’a, who was neither good at nor fond of reasoning with women, chuckled softly. “The answer lies with those two,” he said. “Whoever remains standing will determine the trajectory of the martial world for hundreds, even thousands of years to come.”

Dragon Tiger Mountain.

After Zhao Ningshen became the most influential figure in the Celestial Master’s Mansion, Master Bai Lian Bai Yu, whose eyes had been damaged from excessive reading, often invited this young Daoist priest, surnamed Zhao—whose life had seen few, but remarkably stark, ups and downs—to accompany him on walks up and down the mountain.

The two walked aimlessly to the foot of the mountain, then turned back to ascend. Bai Yu, whose eyesight was poor, walked slowly and always spoke in a gentle, unhurried manner. “After enduring countless hardships,” he said, “I finally took charge of all Daoist affairs in the realm. Now, we’ve lost half our domain; everything north of the Guangling River has been ceded to the King of Qingcheng. Yet, this might not be a bad thing at all. A sharp mountain isn’t necessarily high. Dragon Tiger Mountain should calm down and reflect on its surroundings. In the past, everyone in the Celestial Master’s Mansion said my words made sense, but truly sensible words often hurt people. I’ve spent years reading and cultivating on this mountain, full of grievances with nowhere to express them. Now, things are better. Two generations of Celestial Masters ascending together sounds very grand, but the reality is, it was merely an act of putting on airs. However, good fortune often accompanies misfortune. Many outsiders like me have been able to rise: Zhang Wenhan, Xue Jieqi, and Chen Quanyong have all truly integrated into Dragon Tiger Mountain. They are the true devotees of Dragon Tiger Mountain. Those purple- and yellow-robed nobles of the Celestial Master’s Mansion are inferior to them.”

Zhao Ningshen, still prone to drifting off, hummed in acknowledgment.

Bai Yu continued, “Your decision to let the Daoists on the mountain learn Wudang Mountain’s boxing techniques with peace of mind shows the magnanimity befitting a Celestial Master. Wheat flour is best enjoyed aged, corn flour when fresh—it’s time for us to try something new. We shouldn’t just stick to refined grains; coarse grains are also good for the stomach.”

Zhao Ningshen nodded and smiled. “Fine grains nourish the mouth, coarse grains nourish the stomach; there’s a saying to that effect outside the mountain.”

Gazing towards the mountaintop, Bai Yu said earnestly, “Dragon Tiger Mountain isn’t tall; look, it’s not even as high as our neighbor’s Guniu Dagang. They say a mountain doesn’t need to be tall to be renowned if it has immortals, and that’s true. But if we all single-mindedly pursue immortality, that’s not right either.”

“To become an immortal, first be a good person,” Zhao Ningshen said.

Bai Yu laughed heartily. “What you said makes sense, too.”

Zhao Ningshen stopped. “I’ve let go,” he said.

Bai Yu habitually squinted, turning to look at the young Daoist, and, increasingly relieved, said, “Then I am also at ease.”

Bai Yu extended a hand, indicating that he could now resume climbing.

Zhao Ningshen hesitated for a moment, then continued to ascend the steps.

Bai Yu, meanwhile, descended the mountain alone.

Western Shu, where the bamboo sea was unparalleled.

During summer, cool breezes rustled through the bamboo sea, as refreshing as late autumn elsewhere.

After Xie Lingzhen’s death at Kuaixue Villa, the Spring Scroll Cottage was left leaderless and experienced a period of turmoil. However, when the new King of Shu arrived and personally supported an unknown descendant of the Xie clan to become the Cottage Master, it instantly rose to the forefront of Liyang’s newest top ten martial arts sects, ranking only behind Huishan’s Daxe Pingque Yue Lou.

Two men and one woman sat together, drinking tea and listening to the wind, the delicate aroma lingering on their tongues and cool breezes filling their sleeves.

The woman, despite being nearly thirty, possessed a striking childishness. She was remarkably beautiful, with an aura full of peculiar contradictions.

She was indeed the fourth-ranked beauty on the Rouge Beauty List, with a name both common and unusual: Xie Xie. It was said that after she turned fourteen, a total of five men, including high-ranking officials like Intendants and Jiedushis, had fiercely contended for her hand in Western Shu. Yet, for over a decade, no one had been able to win her. Outsiders attributed this to the transcendent status of the Spring Scroll Cottage.

She was currently pouring tea for a man in white.

Not only were the people of Shu astounded, but even the Spring Scroll Cottage found it quite perplexing: this outsider, surnamed Chen, had inexplicably transformed that ‘vase’ into the master of two thousand mu of bamboo forest.

There was no other way: he was Chen Zhibao, the Minister of War before Lu Baijie took office, and now the King of Shu.

The middle-aged man sitting opposite Chen Zhibao was Xu Fengnian’s biological maternal uncle, whom Xu Fengnian was seeking in Beiliang. He was Wu Qi, a swordsman from the Wu Family Sword Tomb, and also one of the former commanders of the Xu family’s powerful cavalry.

Wu Qi, who had recognized his nephew Xu Fengnian on the walls of Beiliang City but had not acknowledged him at the time, asked with a half-smile and a hint of amusement in his voice, “The Liyang Emperor wants to give you his favorite daughter. Will you accept her or not?”

Chen Zhibao did not answer the question, nor did he pay attention to the woman’s sidelong glance. He merely remained silent.

Wu Qi asked again, “He just died like that. You have no thoughts on it?”

Chen Zhibao raised his teacup, drinking the tea as if it were wine, and drained it in one gulp.

Imperial Palace of Great Chu.

Cao Changqing, disengaging from his busy schedule, walked to his usual pavilion and saw Her Royal Highness sitting alone inside. On her lap rested the zitan sword box, which housed the Great Liang Dragon Sparrow. A string of copper coins, once unstrung, was neatly arranged on the sword box. She idly tapped it, and with each tap, the coins would stand upright, then roll back down flat, repeating the cycle.

Jiang Ni noticed the arrival of Uncle Qi Daizhao. With a swift motion across the sword box, she quickly gathered the copper coins.

Cao Changqing sat on the stone bench. He hesitated for a moment, then was about to speak when Jiang Ni forced a smile and whispered, “It’s alright. He is the Prince of Beiliang, and I am the Princess of Great Chu. I understand.”

Cao Changqing was silently disheartened.

Cao Changqing slowly closed his eyes, still wanting to speak but holding back his words.

Jiang Ni clutched the copper coins tightly and murmured to herself, “Scourges linger for a thousand years.”

Cao Changqing opened his eyes and sighed, “If only it had been a little later.”

The vast royal encampment of Beiliang, sprawling like a fortress city, was moved to the Southern Dynasty. They continued the ancestral tradition of deliberating by drawing on ash. After the meeting concluded, the Empress of Beiliang kept Dong Zhuo and Hong Jingyan, two rising military figures, and asked with a smile, “Who, over the past millennium, could be considered the ultimate martial artists?”

Hong Jingyan bowed and replied, “Eight hundred years ago, there was the mysterious shadow master behind the Great Qin Emperor. Between seven hundred and five hundred years ago, Lu Dongxuan was truly invincible. Four hundred years ago, it was Gao Shulu. One hundred years ago, Liu Songtao was only half a person. And then there is the current Wang Xianzhi. While these four and a half were alive, there were few equally matched masters who could contend with them in life-or-death battles. Even if there were reclusive masters, they never emerged, as was the case with Wang Xianzhi and Qi Xuanzhen.”

The Empress of Beiliang smiled. “This time, with Wang Xianzhi taking on that young man Xu Fengnian, is it a case of using a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken, or a grand spectacle unseen in a thousand years?”

Hong Jingyan whispered, “The odds of victory are nine to one.”

The old woman said, “Ah, so it’s a desperate situation, a one in ten chance of survival.”

Dong Zhuo, who had been standing silently beside Hong Jingyan, waited until the tent fell silent before saying with a gloating expression, “It would be for the best if he died. Without deploying a single soldier, half of Liyang’s northwestern gate would collapse. When the definite news reaches here, Hong Jingyan, shall we compete to see whose horses’ hooves are faster?”

Hong Jingyan completely ignored the plump man.

The Empress waved her hand, and the two simultaneously walked out of the large tent, departing left and right.

The old woman smiled. “Father and son, meeting so soon?”

At the peak of Zhulu Mountain.

White robe against red robe.

The woman in white sat on the topmost stone step, raised her wine pot, and tilted her head back to drink, with not a hint of worry on her brow.

For some unknown reason, the crimson-robed shadowy figure, now only partially formed, had its face turned towards Luoyang in white.

Luoyang said calmly, “It’s alright. No one in the world believes him, but I do.”

Luoyang suddenly stood up, raised an arm, and smiled with deep understanding. “Unchanged for eight hundred years!”