Chapter 667: The Distance of the Jianghu

Journeying Solo to Beiliang

A streak of purple, like a bolt of purple lightning falling from the sky, suddenly plunged from the peak of Daxieping to the ferry crossing, startling countless mountain climbers and tourists.

Xuanyuan Qingfeng, having emerged from her seclusion, stood at the ferry, gazing at a Yellow Dragon warship under the command of the Qingzhou Naval Force. At the bow of this majestic vessel stood an armored officer. The ship bristled with swords and halberds, exuding an aura distinct from that of the local Qingzhou soldiers. As the vessel drew closer, martial artists on shore with good eyesight spotted a flag bearing an utterly unexpected character: "Xu!" Upon recognizing this royal banner, which fluttered prominently in the northwest of the dynasty, the names of the sabers worn by these soldiers—unfamiliar in the Central Plains—became evident: "Liangdao!" Xuanyuan Qingfeng narrowed her long, slender eyes, her mood far more complex than her serene expression let on.

She paid no heed to Hong Biao, the Beiliang officer standing at the bow. Hong Biao had once been the second-ranking guest elder of Huishan, surpassed only by Huang Fangfo. Though a martial artist, he was skilled in military strategy, particularly cavalry tactics. He later followed 'that person' to Beiliang, willing to bear the shame of being called a 'two-master's slave,' hoping to achieve military renown on the battlefield. However, after joining the Beiliang army, he had remained largely obscure. Xuanyuan Qingfeng had initially thought Hong Biao would simply fade away, but then a secret letter arrived at Daxieping. The letter stated that before the martial arts convention began, Hong Biao, the newly appointed Cavalry Captain of Youzhou, would lead a hundred elite soldiers to escort over ninety large gift boxes to Queyue Tower. These gifts were meant to congratulate Xuanyuan Qingfeng on ascending to the position of Martial Arts Alliance Leader, and the letter even used the highly sarcastic phrase "unifying the martial arts world."

Xuanyuan Qingfeng sneered, murmuring to herself, "You're clearly on your deathbed, yet your words aren't any kinder."

Aboard the multi-decked vessel, within the large boxes, were treasured secret manuals from the Tidal Sound Pavilion, the martial arts library of Qingliang Mountain. All were first-class rare and unique copies.

Xuanyuan Qingfeng gazed at the vast, rolling river before her. "The great river flows east and never returns. Are you going to squander all your wealth and never retrieve it?" She thought back to that year when disaster struck. Facing the Human Cat Han Shengxuan, she had left him for the sake of Huishan's legacy and her father's dying wish. Back then, he was merely an ant in the eyes of the martial arts list's top ten, yet he still didn't hide or retreat. "What? Now that you're the foremost person in the world, commanding three hundred thousand Beiliang iron cavalry, you face mere Beiliang and begin preparing for your own demise?"

Xuanyuan Qingfeng, who had achieved great mastery of the Heavenly Dao through secluded cultivation, inexplicably felt a surge of anger.

Deep down, she had always seen him as her target to pursue. Both of them were almost unlike any other top martial arts experts in Liyang and Beiliang. Their training time had been too short, and their talents weren't considered once-in-a-century. They had reached the pinnacle of the martial arts world step by step, relying solely on opportunities earned through repeated life-or-death struggles. After almost all experts at Daxieping perished, Xuanyuan Qingfeng, in an effort to turn the tide, willingly descended into the demonic path, almost destroying herself. She then made a deal with him in Beiliang, drawing on the qi luck of the jade seal to stabilize her cultivation. After her battle with Wang Xianzhi, she used his divine power to sever her own emotions, cutting off all worldly ties and karma. She dangerously passed through the 'self-gate,' returning to her true self, a step higher than even the Buddhist Son, Dao Fetus, or Sword Embryo. Finally, because of his spirit's distant journey to kill a celestial, Zhao Huangchao—who had significant ties to the Zhao imperial family of Liyang—escaped as a broken black rainbow before his death and demise, entering Kunniu Jiang's Daxieping. He poured all his lifelong knowledge and understanding into her, allowing Xuanyuan Qingfeng to advance another step. This made her confident she could fully contend with Tuoba Pusa and Deng Ta'a, albeit with slightly lower odds of victory. However, she was not yet thirty, and her realm was progressing at an astonishing speed. The Beiliang God of War, the Peach Blossom Sword God—sooner or later, they would all be trampled under her feet, becoming stepping stones for Xuanyuan Qingfeng, a Heaven-Human on earth.

She firmly believed that the next hundred years of the martial arts world would be solely about her and him.

Yet, in the end, he emptied the martial arts library and his family's coffers, leaving her only his back, facing north. "I stopped the river to settle scores with you. Are you giving me books to settle scores with me?"

For some unknown reason, only in the Huishan area did a heavy rain suddenly begin, turning the mountainside into mud. Also for some unknown reason, Xuanyuan Qingfeng showed no sign of releasing her qi to block the sudden downpour. However, the moment the raindrops touched her, her figure flickered and vanished. The next instant, she was already walking on a mountain path, letting the heavy rain drench her. Her purple robes became soaked, trailing through the mud and water.

As the Yellow Dragon vessel was about to dock, Hong Biao looked up at the large boulder on Kunniu Jiang, his lips curling into a smile. "Does this count as returning home in glory?" In the Liyang Dynasty, let alone a Captain, even miscellaneous generals and commanding officers were countless. But who would dare to slight a current Beiliang Captain, especially a Cavalry Captain who held one of the sixteen highly respected veteran officer titles? This title had been held by senior cavalry general Xu Pu, by the current cavalry commander Yuan Zuozong, and even by the King of Shu, Chen Zhibao, for a time. Hong Biao was stout and robust. Just by his appearance, he looked like a middle-aged village farmer who spent his life toiling in the fields. In Huishan, Huang Fangfo had always overshadowed him. He himself had never considered Daxieping a place to retire. Within Beiliang, Hong Biao kept his eyes on one person: General Huangfu Cheng of Youzhou. This frontier official, who rose from the martial arts world by betraying his peers for glory, had practically paved a wide and clear path for Hong Biao to follow. Speaking of Huishan, aside from Xuanyuan Qingfeng whom he dared not underestimate, the 'house dog' Huang Fangfo, who merely guarded gates and courtyards, was no longer in his eyes. It was hard for Hong Biao not to feel pleased. Nevertheless, Hong Biao still had to act cautiously, reading the expression of a young woman beside him: Liu Nirong, the leader of the Fish-Dragon Gang. Her martial arts skills and family background were negligible, but Hong Biao had naturally heard about her intricate ties to the King of Beiliang. Truth be told, throughout the journey, Hong Biao simply couldn't understand why Xu Fengnian, with his discerning taste, would choose such an ordinary-looking martial artist. After Chen Zhibao entered Shu, he at least supported a beauty named Xie Xie, who was on the Rouge List. Even if she was just a pretty face, she could at least be pleasing to the eye. So what was the King of Beiliang after? Hong Biao racked his brains, completely baffled. Could it really be, as the Beiliang martial artists claimed, that he was merely toying with the martial arts world?

Hong Biao, the outsider, did not understand, and Liu Nirong, the insider, understood even less. Her and the Fish-Dragon Gang's current standing felt like an untimely spring dream in autumn.

Liu Nirong looked up, gazing at Huishan in the distance. From the mountain peak, only the elegant, upturned eaves of the high-rise buildings were visible. The purple-robed woman earlier had descended like a purple bolt of lightning, a grand display indeed. Liu Nirong admired such a magnificent woman, who surpassed even men in spirit, from the bottom of her heart. She felt that Xuanyuan Qingfeng, who had ascended to the Martial Arts Alliance Leader's throne on her own, would only be truly well-matched if she could roam the martial arts world with 'that person.' Liu Nirong inexplicably recalled that journey beyond the Great Wall from years ago. Over the years, in her midnight dreams, for some reason, she had forgotten the tumultuous battles, yet she vividly remembered the well water in that small fortress town and the comical scene of 'that person' squatting by the well, haggling with a water vendor. Liu Nirong withdrew her gaze, looking at the vast, muddy river flowing eastward. Occasionally, a few fish would leap from the water, flash briefly, and fall back into the great river, unclear whether they were returning home or leaving it. As the multi-decked vessel docked, slowly bumping against the ferry, Liu Nirong, whose body swayed slightly, murmured to herself, "How pleasant would it be if you left the court and stopped being the King of Beiliang, just living as a martial artist?"

During the Spring and Autumn period, despite the widespread smoke of war, it never reached this inconspicuous town. It was neither a strategic military stronghold nor, despite being in Jiangnan, did it possess much fertile land. A few traveling merchants said that the area north of Guangling River had suffered another disaster. But for the town's secluded residents, being like frogs at the bottom of a well was perfectly fine. The sky would always be as big as the well's mouth, and peace was a blessing, contentment a joy. Today, the small town was drenched in continuous autumn rain. Looking from the entrance of an inn, hurried pedestrians with umbrellas constantly walked across the bluestone bridge. Business was slow, so the inn's waiter, not needing to serve customers, sat idly by the door. He was waiting for the woman he admired to approach. She had said she would go with friends to the rouge shop next door to the inn today to pick out items, because her friend was getting married soon to a good family—a scholar with official recognition.

The waiter sighed, a touch of bitterness in his heart. The speaker may not have intended it, but the listener took it to heart. She certainly didn't care for wealth and glory, otherwise she wouldn't have looked twice at a disgraced cripple like him. But a man with at least some sense of responsibility would always want the woman he loved to live a good life. Though not a young lady from a prominent town family, she was a well-known kind-hearted woman, from a well-off family with no worries about food or clothing. Her temperament was excellent, and her needlework was one in a hundred. Everyone said that whoever married her was blessed for several lifetimes, yet she had chosen him. For this, several of her childhood friends were so angered they almost cut ties with her. While defending her, they couldn't help but make sarcastic remarks, like 'she met the wrong person' or 'she's blinded by lard,' saying them directly in front of him and her. At those times, she would look at him, her delicate hand timidly twisting her clothes, her eyes full of apology. Fortunately, he had thick skin and could force a smile, but how could his heart not be filled with guilt?

Someone patted him on the shoulder. He turned to see a familiar acquaintance plop down beside him, asking with a simple, smiling face, "Brother Wen, what are you thinking about?" He and this young man were kindred spirits in their misfortune, though the young man's situation was even more embarrassing. He had only moved to town with his mother last year. He couldn't recognize ten characters in an open book, and he was useless in a fight. He was constantly bullied by the neighborhood ruffians, who especially picked on newcomers, to the point that if he managed to buy a new pair of boots, they'd be stomped into rags. He was neither skilled in letters nor martial arts. Fortunately, his mother still had some savings and set up a cloth shop, so they could get by. They could survive, but it wasn't comfortable. He lived close to this fellow, and was probably the only local who didn't add fuel to his troubles. Over time, the two became what they called friends. He only knew the young man's surname was Wang, and that his father had gone on a distant journey and had not yet returned.

He smiled, watching the raindrops string together from the eaves, and asked, "Bamboo, have you heard the saying? 'Though the heavens' rain is vast, it does not nourish rootless grass.'" The young man paused, then shook his head, laughing. "Brother Wen, I didn't realize you were so learned! What does it mean? Is there a story behind it?" The waiter, surnamed Wen, laughed heartily. "I heard it from someone else too. I didn't quite understand it, and I was too embarrassed to ask him then, so I just pretended I did. I should have asked him." The young man nicknamed Bamboo asked curiously, "Brother Wen, you have scholarly friends?" The waiter rubbed his chin, smiling. "He's no damn scholar. He just couldn't beat me, so he bluffed with all that stuff." The young man chuckled. "Then that person really isn't much. He can't even beat Brother Wen, and he's not a scholar, so isn't he just like me?" The waiter rolled his eyes at him but said nothing.

Bamboo was a young man with an uncontrollable mouth. He was very afraid of those who roamed the martial arts world, fearing their banditry and wild ways, yet he longed for it. He loved to frequent inns and tea houses all day, listening to those who claimed to be martial artists boast. Right now, he was telling the waiter, Wen, about a truly once-in-a-century martial arts event. He said he had just learned there was a woman in Huishan who loved to wear purple robes. She was not only as beautiful as a celestial, but also incredibly skilled in martial arts, commanding heroes and inviting all the world's brave individuals to her home for a martial arts convention. Bamboo was spitting with excitement as he spoke, oblivious to Brother Wen beside him, who was either rolling his eyes or had a dazed, smiling expression. Bamboo talked until his mouth was dry. He wasn't a fastidious person either, so he bent down, scooped up a handful of rainwater, drank it, and then feigned grandeur, "Good wine!" The waiter smiled playfully. "Did you even taste the martial arts world in that?" Bamboo turned to stare at him, asking earnestly, "Brother Wen, how did you manage to charm Miss Liu? Why don't you teach me, so I can find myself a wife later?" The waiter adopted a profound expression and said, "By looks." Bamboo spat. Seeing Bamboo's disbelief, he laughed. "You really shouldn't doubt it. Back when my brother and I were wandering, so poor we had nothing, he survived purely on his looks. Me? I was better than him at everything, except this face; I lost to him there. Back then, we argued over who would be the elder brother and who the younger, comparing everything from age to martial skills to possessions. If I hadn't lost on looks, I would have been the elder brother." Bamboo's mouth twitched. In the end, he was kind-hearted and refrained from mocking Brother Wen or his brother. The two then fell silent, listening to the rain drip steadily onto the flagstones. Bamboo suddenly whispered, "Brother Wen, I want to tell you something, but don't tell anyone else." The waiter interjected, "Tell me or don't." Bamboo hesitated. "When I moved to town at the beginning of the year, I heard a martial arts expert say that among the world's few top masters, there was someone with the same name as my father." The waiter was amused. "Bamboo, really? Is your father that old monster Wang Xianzhi from Martial Emperor City?" Bamboo grew angry, shouting, "Nonsense! It was the Eleventh Under Heaven from back then!" The waiter suddenly fell silent. After a long pause, he quietly said, "So it was Wang Mingyin." Bamboo's expression darkened, and he muttered to himself, "But I know my father is just a farmer with only a few pounds of strength. That's fine. It's better that he's not the Eleventh Under Heaven who died outside Xiangfan City. My mother and I can both wait for him to come home someday." The waiter sighed, unsure how to console him, and simply patted his shoulder. Bamboo suddenly stood up, pointed at the small bridge, and said playfully, "Brother Wen, I won't keep you. I'll head off first." The waiter, surnamed Wen, followed Bamboo's finger and saw a woman with an umbrella crossing the bridge, gracefully approaching. He stood up, a brilliant smile on his face.

He first met her during a chance encounter at the town market when he returned home. At that time, her friends were all laughing at him, the cripple, speaking unkindly and treating him like a lecher trying to take advantage. Only she was different. In the past, Xiaonian used to say that he fell in love at first sight with every woman he met. He himself had thought that the woman he met before returning home would be the last woman he fell for at first sight, and indeed it was so. After that, he never fell for anyone at first sight again. But after meeting her in this small town, he felt that if he could spend his life with her, in plain simplicity, it would be better than anything else. He jogged out. She had just stepped off the bridge. The small town had its own advantages; it didn't have the strict etiquette separating men and women. She wasn't afraid of such things either. She tilted her oiled paper umbrella, her face slightly flushed, sheltering him from the rain. With her, he was never glib. In fact, after returning home, he no longer spoke as recklessly as before; he was honest, dutiful, and ordinary. Perhaps this was what she liked about him. In the past, upon seeing a woman, he would dare to flirt brazenly, saying, "Miss, your brother here can help turn raw rice into cooked rice." If she ignored him, he would still say, "Miss, meeting me is a blessing you've cultivated over three lifetimes; not marrying me would surely be eight lifetimes of bad luck." If she became enraged, he had countless other tactics. But he was different now. Back then, whenever he saw a charming woman, his mind would be filled with thoughts of sleeping with her. Now, standing beside her, he didn't even have the courage to hold her hand. In the martial arts world, there was him. Outside the martial arts world, there was her. Heaven owed Wen Hua nothing more.

She lowered her head, gathering her courage, and said, "My father arranged a marriage for me, but I didn't agree." He scratched his head, saying nothing. She pursed her lips. He suddenly smiled and said, "How about we have a son someday?" She gasped slightly, her face full of astonishment. He exhaled slowly, not sounding like he was joking, and said, "My brother and I made a childhood betrothal arrangement years ago: whoever had a daughter would lose out. Of course, if we have a daughter, that's great too." She turned her head away, her face flushed, but seemed to nod. He inadvertently lowered his head and saw her hand, not holding the umbrella, habitually twisting her clothes again. He gritted his teeth, finally mustering the courage to take her hand again. She gently pulled her hand back, then let him hold it. Wen Hua grinned. No longer holding a sword. Holding her hand, this kind of martial arts world was better than anything.