Chapter 868: A Place to Live but Nowhere to Feel at Ease

When a gentle breeze swept through the Western Chu capital, from the city’s main gate to the Imperial City gate, almost all pedestrians paid it no mind. Only a disheveled old madman froze on the spot.

This old man was even a source of amusement for officials as far away as Tai’an City. At that time, the ragged old man would walk through alleys and lanes, striking his watchman’s gong as usual. Unlike typical night watchmen who worked at night, he only walked his rounds during the day, and whenever he met someone, he would declare, “You’re all dead men.” In the first few years, some elegantly dressed and dignified old people would stop their carriages or pause from a distance, watching this eccentric old watchman and weeping sorrowfully. As years passed, a crowd of idle children would follow the old watchman, chanting “Dead men! Dead men!” but they were usually quickly pulled away by their parents, their ears pinched tightly. After a few more years, almost the entire city grew accustomed to him. When Western Chu was restored during the Xiangfu years, the old watchman, whose voice was already hoarse from shouting, inexplicably began to wail heart-wrenchingly again, his sorrow and bitterness even more profound than before. Before the restoration, Grand Tutor Sun Xiji, Cao Changqing, and Jiang Si, who had not yet been crowned empress, once encountered this elderly madman on the street. The old watchman, holding his gong hammer, called Sun Xiji a “dead man” and Cao Changqing a “dying man.” Only when he gazed blankly at the former princess, Jiang Si, did he weep uncontrollably, sobbing and urging her, the sole survivor, to leave quickly. After the old watchman had run off, Sun Xiji revealed the mystery, and Jiang Si learned that the old watchman’s real name was Jiang Shuilang. At just thirty-nine, he had presided over the Chu Imperial Library, overseeing three academies of scholars and six hundred compilers, and was known as a scholar whom the former emperor of Western Chu praised, saying, “In literature, there is Jiang Shuilang; in chess, there is Cao Deyu.” Unlike many loyalists of the former Western Chu who advocated for Daoist tranquility or sought refuge in wilderness monasteries, Jiang Shuilang simply went mad. He remained insane for over twenty years, striking his watchman’s gong for over two decades in what was once the foremost city of the Central Plains.

At that moment, the old man’s clouded eyes gradually regained clarity. The bronze gong and watchman’s hammer in his hands unknowingly fell to the street. The old man suddenly turned and started running, sprinting wildly, ignoring the pain of several falls, picking himself up to continue. When he finally reached his dilapidated, solitary thatched hut, his eyes became vacant again. He clutched his head, eventually squatting on the ground, sobbing hoarsely like a scarred, mangy dog. His cries of pain were not from his mouth, but emanated from a heart filled with old memories, each gasp a lament. Clutching his head in agony, the old man staggered to his feet and stumbled into the hut. He ransacked chests and cabinets until, from a pile of junk under his bed, he painstakingly pulled out an erhu. Its python skin had long since faded, and its strings were broken. The old man held the erhu, which was missing even its neck, and stared blankly into space. After an unknown period, the old man slowly exhaled a turbid breath. He then moved a small, broken stool and sat on it in front of his hut, which had no steps. The old man adjusted his clothes, closed his eyes, and then dipped a finger in his saliva as if turning the pages of a music score in front of him. Only then did he begin to play the erhu—an erhu without a neck or strings.

The melody in the old man’s heart was called "Spring and Autumn."

The great river of Western Chu, the majestic mountains of Eastern Yue, the frontier of Northern Han, the lychees of Southern Tang, the silks of Western Shu, the giant timber of Later Sui...

When the old man was still called Jiang Shuilang, Western Chu was known as Great Chu!

Our Great Chu boasted Li Mi, the foremost master player in the world; Ye Baigui, the military strategist of Spring and Autumn; Li Chungang, who flew across the Guangling River on his sword; Zhao Dingxiu, whose calligraphy was unparalleled; Wang Qing, whose poetry crowned the capital; Cao Changqing, the Cao family's most cherished; Sun Xiji, who, in his youth, held a central position and wore purple and yellow robes; Zeng Xianglin, the most courteous man in the world; and Tang Jiahe, who mastered a hundred schools of thought...

The old man wept ceaselessly.

Great Chu was gone, a solitary, wandering ghost with no refuge or destination in the Spring and Autumn Wilderness.

The old man stopped, and for no reason, burst into laughter.

Finally, the old man lowered his head and murmured to himself, “I’m not mad. When Great Chu fell, some pretended to sleep, some pretended to be foolish, and some pretended to be dead. I, Jiang Shuilang, merely could not get drunk enough to forget.”

The old man haphazardly wiped away his tears, looked up into the distance, his fingers trembling.

He recalled those distant years, when he was not yet old, and the “dead men” were still alive. He remembered a melody that once echoed throughout the court and the land, sung from north to south. That piece was written for General Ye Baigui: Jiang Shuilang composed the music, Wang Qing penned the lyrics, and Zhao Dingxiu inscribed it.

The song was titled "General's March," and wherever there was a well, someone would sing it.

The old man began to sing robustly, but after just one line, he choked up, unable to continue.

“A youth, not yet of age, left his homeland with valor!”

In Tai’an City, the capital of Liyang, the Imperial City, Palace City, and Inner City—all three layers, from innermost to outermost—had defenders. Liu Haoshi was one of them back then, and now the Old Ancestor of the Wu Family Sword Tomb is another. Apart from those martial arts grandmasters, Tai’an City itself had two major formations, with the Imperial Astronomical Bureau as their core, constantly operating. The magnificent grand formation of the Western Chu capital had long been completely destroyed by Zhao Yi, the Prince of Guangling, who had usurped control after the kingdom's downfall. Yet, even now, there were still guardians at the city gates. Lu Dantian, the paramount figure in Western Chu swordsmanship, was one of them, though unfortunately, he had not yet returned. The remaining two, usually elusive, appeared in broad daylight that day, clearly visible to everyone. One stood behind the Imperial City gate, ancient and frail, small in stature, wearing a wide-sleeved robe and wooden clogs, like a scarecrow by a rice field. The other stood before the palace gate, gazing at the former’s back from a distance. Also an old man in his seventies, he wore a python robe that neither matched the style of Liyang’s vassal kings nor conformed to the current Western Chu imperial etiquette. Instead, it was the python robe of a vassal king, seen only in the old Great Chu imperial court. This tall, yet lifeless, elderly man, surnamed Jiang, had once been expelled from the Great Chu imperial clan.

Between the two old men stood sixteen hundred elite Imperial Guards. Sixteen hundred gleaming sets of iron armor shone brilliantly under the sunlight, as if draped in the golden armor of celestial beings.

On the two city walls, nearly a thousand bows and crossbows were poised and ready.

Before them stood the audacious young man, alone outside the great gate.

On the city walls, several generals in magnificent armor stood behind the battlements, each dripping with cold sweat. No one dared to make a move, nor to issue the first command.

The common folk of the world’s two largest cities were the staunchest believers in the existence of terrestrial immortals: one was Liyang’s Tai’an City, and the second was the very city beneath their feet. This was largely due to one man, the Grand Official Cao Changqing.

The common folk of Wudi City in the East Sea, however, did not share this belief as much as those in the two cities, because Wang Xianzhi, who proclaimed himself second only to heaven and earth, never claimed to be an immortal. Over six decades, countless masters came and went, all defeated by the mortal man Wang Xianzhi. Consequently, the people of Wudi City lost interest in so-called immortals.

But whether it was Cao Changqing or Wang Xianzhi, regardless of how high their martial arts cultivation reached, the young man standing below, with both hands on the hilts of his waist-worn blades, was at the very least a grandmaster on par with them, on the same fundamental level.

Xu Fengnian stood his ground. Only at that moment, on that day, did he suddenly realize that the old man in the sheepskin coat was from Western Chu.

Xu Fengnian cracked a smile.

He recalled that after the battle of three in Tai’an City concluded, top grandmasters like Cao Changqing and Deng Ta’a both asked him the same question:

Had that old man, who shattered two thousand six hundred sets of armor with a single breath by the Guangling River, truly crossed the heavenly threshold of “one breath, a thousand li”?

At the time, Xu Fengnian did not give a direct answer. He simply smiled, held up a single finger, and let the two guess.

The length of one breath, a thousand li and then a hundred more beyond.A single sword qi, stirring thunder a thousand li away.

Whenever one’s conscience was clear—like the Green-Robed Sword God from six decades ago, or the old man in sheepskin who resolved his inner turmoil six decades later—it was always effortless to become the foremost master under heaven.

Because you are Li Chungang.

The martial world is vast, yet for you, it is merely the short three-foot length of the sword in your hand.

The title of “invincible under heaven” is a heavy one, yet only you, Li Chungang, could discard it at will and reclaim it when you wished.

Xu Fengnian suddenly felt a surge of anger.

Unfortunately, the object of his wrath was no longer in this city; by now, he was likely far outside Tai’an City.

Cao Changqing, you shouldn’t have been allowed to take her away back then!

If that time were today, would you dare try to act like a master in front of me again?

Xu Fengnian placed his palms on the hilts of his Northern Liang saber and "Crossing River Rook" blade, and took a deep breath.

His aura pierced the heavens like a rainbow.

As Xu Fengnian tightened his grip on the hilts, in an instant, the majestic and solemn Imperial City gate was shattered by his single kick.

In the Western Chu capital, thunder erupted from flat ground.

Dust and fragments from the gate flew wildly.

The short, wide-sleeved old man guarding outside the Imperial City gate remained unmoved. Holding his breath, he spread his hands forward, bent his middle fingers, and flicked them one after another.

With each flick, the old man, whose wide sleeves billowed as if filled with wind, slid backward several yards.

Between the slender old man and the tall city gate, two flood dragons, one black and one white, emerged from his fingertips, one on the left and one on the right.

One black, one white.

In the exquisite Waterside Pavilion by the Jianghu Lake in the northwest of the Imperial Palace, the atmosphere was tense. He Taisheng, the Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guards, clad in golden armor, stood awkwardly at the foot of the steps. Although Lu Dantian, a sword grandmaster, was nominally in charge of the four thousand Imperial Guards and outranked the three third-rank deputy commanders, including He Taisheng, by one official grade, Lu Dantian held only a titular position and did not actually perform duties. Thus, the real military authority lay with Gu Sui, who was currently responsible for guarding the palace gates, and whom He Taisheng now served. As for the other deputy commander, surnamed Qi, he had long been marginalized, spending his days drowning his sorrows in drink, rarely appearing for roll call or commanding troops since the beginning of the year. He Taisheng was different from Gu Sui. Gu Sui was from an influential family with two old loyalists who held immense sway in the court, allowing him to navigate officialdom with ease. He Taisheng, however, came from an ordinary scholarly family and had painstakingly climbed to his current position through significant military achievements amassed during the past two years of warfare and by secretly aligning himself with powerful figures. The harder it was to obtain, the more precious it became, and He Taisheng’s mood at this moment was particularly complex. He felt both guilt towards the young empress and a hidden darkness deep within. Having been a subject of Liyang for about twenty years, He Taisheng no longer held the same fervent loyalty to Great Chu or Western Chu as the older generation. Whether the imperial surname was Jiang or Zhao was irrelevant to the ambitious He Taisheng, who was in the prime of his career. At that time, he believed he had a chance to become one of the founding heroes, a “dragon-supporting minister,” which spurred him to bravely fight the enemy. He distinguished himself in the battle where Yan Zhenchun’s cavalry was annihilated. Upon returning to the capital to report, he was quickly recruited by Song Maolin, the talented young man from the Song family, who was beside him. After joining the Song family’s formidable ship, He Taisheng’s career soared. Even the Song family, who considered him a shrewd person and a valuable asset, didn’t realize that there was also a powerful Zhao Gou figure hidden in the city who had already promised him the title of Garrison General. One should know that while Liyang had countless miscellaneous generals, there were few with real power. The “Four Conquests” and “Four Pacifiers”—eight individuals—were considered “Great Generals.” Following them were the “Four Garrison” and “Four Tranquilizing” Generals. After that came generals like Song Li, who had obtained the “Crossing River General” title last year, and the “Garrison General” title that He Taisheng was on the verge of acquiring. Generally, below those sixteen generals, a Garrison General or Crossing River General with real authority was in fact no less significant than a Provincial General.

From the corner of his eye, He Taisheng cautiously glanced at the woman.

The Empress of Great Chu.

And a beauty acclaimed by the rouge rankings.

Plus, her identity as a female sword immortal.

The heart of this Imperial Guard’s second-in-command burned like a roaring furnace.

“Why could you, Song Maolin, a weak scholar, a useless man incapable of tying a chicken, openly express your admiration? Why must I, He Taisheng, humble myself before you, always ensuring my wine cup is half an inch lower than yours during toasts, just to feel at ease?”

After hearing He Taisheng’s report on the urgent “military situation,” Song Wenfeng still looked composed. He remained standing near a corridor pillar, and the old man smiled slightly, saying, “Does Your Majesty believe that because he suddenly appeared in the capital, all will be well?”

The old man received no answer and continued on his own, “His appearance is somewhat unexpected. Logically, if he were to stand outside the capital, he should have waited for those ten thousand Northern Liang barbarians to desperately break through Wu Zhongxuan’s army and our Great Chu’s several defensive lines. But this old subject can only say that this young vassal king’s courage is commendable. What a pity, though, his luck is truly bad. After this old subject learned from the palace that Cao Changqing had indeed left the capital and headed north, our Song family, leading the three great influential clans, began to lay out a plan. It was originally intended for the worst-case scenario, should Cao Changqing rush back upon hearing the news, not to deal with that young man surnamed Xu. Your Majesty is newly enthroned and, in the end, still too young. Many secrets are unclear to you. And of course, Your Majesty has never really cared for court affairs...”

At this point, a hint of sarcasm appeared in Song Wenfeng’s voice for the first time: “After all, it is a woman wielding the reins of power. How could her mind truly be set on the rise and fall of the nation?”

Song Maolin, pale-faced, was about to speak when Song Qingshan, who knew his son better than anyone, grabbed his sleeve and glared at him furiously.

Song Maolin hesitated, but under his father’s warning gaze, this dashing figure, famous throughout the north and south, finally lowered his head, clenched his fists, his face contorted in pain.

Song Wenfeng, as the current head of the Song clan, reached out to stroke the vermilion-lacquered corridor pillar. “Human hearts are fickle,” he mused. “When Great Chu fell, Zhao Yi took control of this city and quickly leaked the details of the grand formation. But when we drove that Liyang vassal king out, someone else voluntarily came forward to reveal inner details of the formation, saying that Zhao Yi had only destroyed half of it back then. Your Majesty, look at this: one thing sold in two parts, both fetching astronomical prices. Isn’t that clever? This old subject used to be nothing more than a pedantic scholar, buried in books, no better than Tang Jiahe who fled to the deep mountains. But after twenty years of detached observation, I’ve come to understand that amidst all the bustling pursuit of fame and gain, who isn’t a merchant? Ordinary merchants seek profit, while we scholars seek fame, wishing to be remembered in history even after death. In essence, it’s all the same.”

The old man seemed to feel a chill and subconsciously tugged at his collar and sleeves. “Your Majesty,” he said, “this old subject asks you to look around. On the Great Chu court today, who is not waiting to be bought? Who is not plotting their own retreat? Those truly loyal to Your Majesty—yes, there are quite a few—but unfortunately, they are already on the battlefield, not in the capital. They cannot escape death, and even if they miraculously survive the battlefield, we here will certainly not let them live. I believe the Zhao imperial family of Liyang will be pleased to see this unfold. Whether scholars kill scholars, or scholars kill warriors, they always kill without shedding blood. The key is to kill opponents in such a way that they cannot overturn their historical condemnation even after death.”

Unbeknownst to them, the Great Chu Empress remained cross-legged, but had turned to face the lake, her back to the others. She had also put away the stacks of copper coins she had so carefully arranged earlier.

She uttered a childish remark, neither too soft nor too harsh, that spoiled the mood: “Are you trying to scare me?”

Song Wenfeng didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was like a master calligrapher pouring his heart into a magnificent, flowing masterpiece, only for an uneducated brute to stand by the desk, ask how it was written, and reply that he couldn't understand a single character.

She continued, “Although I don’t quite understand what you’re saying, I truly wasn’t raised to be easily frightened.”

There was actually something she didn’t say aloud.

_I was raised by being bullied._

Feeling like he was casting pearls before swine, Song Wenfeng, for some reason, was overcome with a surge of violent anger. He suddenly raised his hand, intending to slap the young woman.

In that moment, the old man had never felt such soaring courage.

But suddenly, the ground shook violently, and the old man nearly slammed his head into a corridor pillar.

At the Imperial City gate, two ferocious flood dragons lunged forward.

Xu Fengnian did not draw any saber. Instead, he raised both hands, fingers spread, and directly seized the monstrous heads of the two massive flood dragons.

Light erupted between his fingers.

The two currents of fierce winds were incredibly powerful and sharp, causing Xu Fengnian’s temple hair to stream backward.

Xu Fengnian pressed his hands down.

The black and white flood dragons, like clumsy old oxen forced to drink by having their heads pushed down, plunged into the water with no power to resist.

Immediately, two massive craters formed on either side of Xu Fengnian, as deep as the flood dragons were long.

Xu Fengnian looked at the small, expressionless old man. “I didn’t come to kill,” he said, “but don’t push your luck.”

The old man twenty yards away smiled coldly. Crossing his hands, he drew a large circle in front of him.

Aura rotated, creating ripples.

Eventually, a thick, wide mirror-like surface formed, as if a basin of water had been lifted, then the basin removed, leaving the water suspended in mid-air.

The old man stared intently at the young vassal king, who seemed to dominate the martial world, and said with a forced smile, “This old man is merely a ghost from a desolate tomb, but I still have an unresolved knot in my heart: I’ve never had the chance to compete with Han Shengxuan, the Human Cat. So, to this day, I don’t know who is truly the foremost master of the Zhi Xuan realm.”

Within the mirror, tall buildings and palaces appeared lifelike, like pavilions in the sky, like a mirage, like a misty immortal realm.

Only upon closer inspection would one realize it was the precise image of the entire Western Chu capital, down to the smallest detail.

The old man extended a finger and tapped lightly downwards.

Tap after tap.

Five times in total.

High above the Western Chu capital, it was as if a heavenly thunderbolt, piercing through the clouds from the nine heavens, plummeted straight down, targeting the young vassal king’s head.

It was as if an immortal’s wrath had called down five thunderbolts.

The first heavenly thunderbolt, which had drawn forth an anomalous celestial phenomenon, shattered explosively three feet above Xu Fengnian’s head.

The turbulent aura, scattering in disarray, flowed around Xu Fengnian and seeped into the ground, instantly scraping away three inches of earth.

A flicker of surprise appeared in the old man’s eyes.

But the old man quickly became astonished.

The second heavenly thunderbolt, surprisingly, did not strike the young vassal king’s head but landed ten feet above it. The third was even higher. As for the last one, it was truly a case of “much thunder, little rain.”

This unknown old man’s heaven-defying feat was clearly an expedient shortcut to the Celestial Phenomenon realm, powered by the remaining destiny of Western Chu.

This dwindling inheritance belonged to her.

And that foolish girl would fret or rejoice for a long time over the gain or loss of even one or two copper coins.

So, without a word, Xu Fengnian surged forward.

The next moment, Xu Fengnian stood behind the small old man. “You?” he scoffed. “You think you’re fit to contend with Han Shengxuan for the title of foremost master in the Zhi Xuan realm?”

It turned out the old man’s head was no longer on his shoulders; it was held in the young vassal king’s hand.

The elderly man surnamed Jiang, who had been in seclusion for many years, suddenly opened his eyes, and his aura surged.

Xu Fengnian casually tossed the head onto the ground in front of the sixteen hundred armored guards.

The head rolled, and blood flowed.

At that moment, three riders bearing swords galloped along the Imperial Path. A booming voice from behind Xu Fengnian called out, “Xu Fengnian! Retreat from the capital!”

As the three riders approached the Imperial City gate, they each drew their long swords, and for a moment, sword energy crisscrossed the Imperial Path.

These were all the grandmasters of Western Chu swordsmanship, apart from Lu Dantian.

Xu Fengnian, without changing his expression, uttered the three words, “Get out.”

As the three galloping horses were about to charge through the gate opening, they seemed to collide with an iron-hard wall, their heads shattering.

Though the three sword grandmasters, long renowned in the martial world of Great Chu, perceived the danger, they abandoned their horses and leaped, each thrusting their swords at the invisible wall.

But without exception, all their long swords, wielded without reservation, snapped with a resounding crack. The strongest swordsman even crashed fully into that wall of aura.

It was like three fine needles piercing a large sheet of xuan paper: the paper remained unbroken, but the needles snapped.

The disparity in skill was immediately apparent.

The three Western Chu sword grandmasters, whose internal organs were already injured, exchanged glances.

Xu Fengnian didn’t even turn his head. Looking at the numerous, yet battle-ready, armored Imperial Guards in the distance, he said coldly, “Move aside.”

As Xu Fengnian took a step forward, the first layer of armored guards in front of him began to retreat a step.

As Xu Fengnian’s right hand gripped the “Crossing River Rook” at his left hip, the densely packed infantry formation grew even more cramped.

Finally, generals on all four city walls ordered archers to fire.

But the arrows from over a thousand bows and crossbows, less than ten feet from their strings, eerily froze in mid-air, then slowly turned their arrowheads.

Over a thousand cold, sharp arrowheads looked like a thousand venomous, slithering snakes.

Some swallowed, some broke into cold sweats, some trembled.

But no one made a sound, and no one retreated.

The elderly man of the Jiang imperial clan stepped forward, crushed an item in his palm, and then raised a fist to heavily strike his chest.

His already tall and robust figure suddenly grew to a height of fourteen feet—a size no mortal body could naturally achieve—and flowed with golden light.

Seeing this familiar sight, as if he were once again at the entrance of the Imperial Academy, Xu Fengnian said in a deep voice, “You truly deserve to die!”

That celestial war god raised both arms to block in front of its head.

Xu Fengnian flashed past the armored infantry formation, and his “Crossing River Rook” in his right hand cleaved into the golden giant’s arm.

The latter crashed through the Palace City gate.

As Xu Fengnian stepped through the gate, the golden giant, which had been kneeling slightly in the dust, straightened its body and declared loudly, “Again!”

Xu Fengnian vanished in a flash.

The golden giant retreated again, carving a gully into the hard ground.

This time, the golden giant didn’t even need to speak a warning; Xu Fengnian had already slammed this indestructible golden body, formed from Western Chu’s destiny, into the ground with a single strike.

Xu Fengnian advanced, holding his saber.

Behind him, shattered stones and golden light erupted from the crater. The giant strode rapidly towards the young man’s retreating back, moving like thunder, each step shaking the earth.

Xu Fengnian’s left hand gripped the Northern Liang saber at his right hip.

In fact, this Northern Liang saber had already broken during his battle with Chen Zhibao by the Guangling River, and the “Crossing River Rook” had also developed tiny cracks.

In that battle, Xu Fengnian had stabbed Chen Zhibao.

The cost was a plum wine spearhead, turned from green to purple, striking his shoulder.

Xu Fengnian turned and swung his saber with his left hand.

That half-saber of Northern Liang lay horizontally across the world, like a crescent moon in the night sky.

The golden giant, struck in the neck, was not decapitated but instead sent flying with a crash, its entire body smashing into the city wall.

This giant, mighty enough to rival a Buddhist Vajra, tore at the city wall with both hands, about to break through and continue the fight.

Xu Fengnian leaned forward, gripping his sabers with both hands, and shot away.

Near the waterside pavilion, news kept arriving, and He Taisheng’s expression grew increasingly grave.

Song Wenfeng’s face flickered between various emotions.

The young empress seemed completely unconcerned by the fierce battle. She gazed at the still surface of the lake, where occasionally a jet of water would splash up.

Perhaps no one noticed a detail: the water level of this small lake had risen several yards in just over half a month. However, because the palace eunuchs and maids were all new to Western Chu and unaware of its past conditions, they simply assumed the lake was naturally this way after spring began.

She rested her chin in her hands, gazing into the distance, where greenery flourished, vibrant with life.

This time, it was her turn to mockingly say, “What, are you already afraid?”

Song Wenfeng sneered, “Does Your Majesty truly believe that the King of Northern Liang can escape unscathed? Do you truly believe you can fly away with him?”

It was a beautiful season, when the grass grew long and orioles flew.

But for some reason, a golden oriole fell onto the lake surface.

She murmured in a voice only she could hear, “I’m not leaving.”

Song Wenfeng sternly declared, “Jiang Si, don’t forget that you are a child of the Jiang clan of Great Chu! Even in death, you should be a ghost of the Jiang clan of Great Chu! In this world, you can die anywhere, but never in Northern Liang! That place is neither a refuge nor a peaceful resting place for you, Jiang Si!”

Song Wenfeng, angered to the extreme, laughed instead, turning to glare fiercely at the young woman. “Haha, what a preposterous joke! Xu Xiao’s eldest legitimate son is going to rescue the Empress of Great Chu, a member of the Jiang clan, from this cage?! Your Majesty, this is the last time I, Song Wenfeng, as a minister of Great Chu, ask you: even if no one in Great Chu obstructs you, do you, Jiang Si, dare to go with him? And what face would you have to present to the ancestors of the Jiang clan?!”

Just then, an unfamiliar yet warm voice rang out nearby, “Old bastard, would you kindly shut up?”

Song Wenfeng was struck as if by lightning, not daring to turn around immediately.

Song Qingshan and Song Maolin were in no better shape, and Imperial Guard Deputy Commander He Taisheng was drenched in sweat.

The young man, who had finally arrived, was travel-stained, and some blood seeped from his left shoulder.

So he subconsciously wiped his left shoulder.

Like a farmer working in the fields, wiping away his sweat before knocking on the door at home, so his wife wouldn’t see his exhaustion.

He Taisheng quietly took a step back.

As he moved, his armor clanked, making the deputy commander, who had previously been quite pleased with his magnificent armor, for the first time intensely hate its inopportune noisiness.

The young man glanced around, then deliberately avoided looking at the elegant Song family playboy, turning instead to the older middle-aged man, Song Qingshan, and smiling, “Oh, you must be… what’s-his-name, Song Maolin, right? You certainly look like a human-faced dog.”

Song Qingshan and Song Maolin’s faces instantly turned ashen simultaneously.

Song Wenfeng narrowed his eyes, his thoughts unreadable—truly an old fox who had navigated the treacherous waters of officialdom for most of his life.

Xu Fengnian crooked a finger at the middle-aged “Song Maolin” in his sights. “Song Maolin, you kid, step forward. I want to have a word with you.”

Song Qingshan was furious. He roared, “Xu Fengnian, how dare you! This is our Great Chu capital...”

_Smack!_

Song Qingshan, having been slapped, flew sideways, crashing heavily onto the ground several yards away. He twitched twice, then lay motionless, his fate unknown.

The real Song Maolin was about to speak but was also sent flying by an identical slap. Someone muttered, “Damn, he looks a million miles worse than me, yet he dares to come out in broad daylight pretending to be a ghost and scaring people...”

She, with her back to them in the waterside pavilion, seemed to secretly give a little shrug of her shoulders.

Xu Fengnian, whose gaze had remained on her, smiled knowingly.

Seeing her, even if only her back, made him very happy.

He Taisheng, hardly daring to breathe, kept his eyes downcast, feigning ignorance and turning a blind eye to the tragedy unfolding before him.

Unfortunately, he was still kicked by the unreasonable young man, sent flying through the air like a shrimp, crashing into a thick willow tree, and only passed out after spitting out a large bowl of blood.

Xu Fengnian walked up the steps, one by one.

Song Wenfeng retreated step by step until he backed against the corridor pillar, realizing he had nowhere left to go.

Xu Fengnian pressed his head and brutally shoved it against the pillar.

This first-rank official, who oversaw the Great Chu’s Bureau of the Imperial Secretariat, immediately rolled his eyes and collapsed limply to the ground.

She faced the lake; he faced away from it.

He tried to keep his voice level and gentle as he said, “Have you seen enough? If you have, come with me.”

She remained silent.

He continued, “If you haven’t seen enough, I can wait.”

She still didn’t speak.

After their reunion, they were speechless for a long time.

Xu Fengnian repeated his earlier words, but raised his voice: “Come with me!”

But she still wouldn’t speak.

Xu Fengnian lowered his voice. “Please?”

Jiang Si, no longer the pitiful maid, the “little mud doll” from the Northern Liang King’s residence, slowly lifted her head and said, emotionlessly, “They don’t know, but don’t you?”

The lake before her eyes.

Why had its water level risen in the past half-month since early spring? Why were birds frequently falling from the sky both inside and outside the capital? Why did staying by the lake’s edge for long make one feel a bone-chilling cold?

Because over a hundred thousand swords were hidden in the lake!

They had flown tens of thousands of miles from all corners of the world, landing one after another in the small lake.

She said slowly, “I’ve already had Grandpa Lu return the sword box to you.”

He didn’t know if he truly didn’t know or was pretending not to know. He softly hummed, “I received it. It’s waiting for you to pick up when you return.”

She said plainly, “You should leave.”

He said, “I won’t bully you anymore.”

He cracked a smile. “Truly.”

She was silent for a moment. “Go! Since I didn’t go to West Leibi, I won’t leave this place in this lifetime. If you don’t go, either I die, or you die!”

She suddenly stood up, still facing the small lake.

As she rose, so too did the more than one hundred thousand genuine longswords from within the lake!

Sword energy filled the heavens and earth!

She angrily demanded, “Go!”

Xu Fengnian quietly sat beside her, looking at her crookedly placed boots. He bent down and neatly aligned them.

As he bent down, he sniffled, his face wet with tears.

She couldn’t see them.