The Beiliang Royal Palace coiled like a dragon and crouched like a tiger upon Qingliang Mountain, its thousand gates and ten thousand households representing the pinnacle of architectural splendor.
As the last surviving non-imperial prince of the dynasty, King Xu Xiao of Beiliang—both praised and condemned in court and among the martial world—had obtained everything short of the imperial throne itself. A meritorious military commander, he was the undisputed master of the three northwestern provinces, capable of covering the sky with one hand and turning clouds into rain with the other.
No wonder those court officials who disagreed with this non-imperial king's politics would privately curse him with refined elegance as "the Barbarian Xu," while those with darker intentions even slapped upon him the more damning title of "Second Emperor."
Today the palace was abuzz with activity. The powerful King of Beiliang had personally opened the central gates and arranged a magnificent procession to welcome an elderly man of immortal bearing and Daoist grace. The servants had only heard that this celestial being from Longhu Mountain, the sacred land of Daoism, had taken a fancy to the foolish young prince and wished to take him as a closed-door disciple. This was fortune beyond measure; the entire Beiliang Palace explained it as "a fool's blessing."
Indeed, the young prince had never cried since birth, understood nothing of reading or writing, and only began speaking at six years old. His name, however, was mighty and imposing: Xu Longxiang. Rumor had it that the old immortal from Longhu Mountain had bestowed it years ago, promising to return in twelve years to accept him as a disciple. And now, true to his word, he had arrived.
In a courtyard within the palace, the Daoist ancestor of Longhu Mountain—equivalent to a grand master—twisted a strand of snow-white beard, his brows furrowed tightly. Upon his back rested an uncommon peach-wood sword of the Zhong Kui style. Combined with his appearance, he truly embodied the word "transcendent." Anyone who saw him would sincerely praise him as a master beyond the mortal world.
Yet this disciple-taking had encountered considerable obstruction. Not from the palace, but from his future disciple, whose stubborn temper had flared up. The boy squatted beneath a pear tree, presenting his backside to this cheap master whose rank placed him among the top three in all of Daoism. As for martial prowess... ahem, surely he ranked within the top thirty.
Even the Great Pillar of State, King Xu Xiao himself, had to squat there and persuade him with gentle words, a hint of deception woven into his coaxing: "Son, go to Longhu Mountain and master extraordinary skills. Then, whoever dares call you foolish again, you beat them. Civil or military officials below the Third Rank—kill them without fear. Father will back you."
"Boy, your strength is tremendous. It would be a pity not to learn martial arts and become one of the Ten Great Masters under heaven. When you return triumphant, I'll make you a Superior Cavalry Commander. Riding a five-colored horse, clad in heavy armor—how magnificent that would be."
The young prince paid no heed whatsoever, staring fixedly at the ground as if thoroughly engrossed.
"Huangman'er, don't you love candied hawthorns? Longhu Mountain is covered with wild hawthorn trees. You can pick and eat them as you please. Master Zhao, is that not so?"
The old immortal forced a smile and nodded repeatedly. To recruit a disciple under such circumstances was utterly humiliating. If word spread, wouldn't the entire world laugh?
Yet even after the Great Pillar of State—who held the super-first rank and whose word was law across twelve commanderies—had spoken until his mouth was dry, the youth showed little reaction. Perhaps annoyed by his father's noisy chatter, he lifted his hips and released a resonant fart with a puh sound, not forgetting to turn his head and grin at his father.
This enraged King Xu Xiao enough to raise his hand as if to strike, but after holding that pose for a moment, he lowered it. First, he could not bear to hit the boy. Second, hitting would accomplish nothing.
This son truly lived up to his name. Xu Longxiang—drawn from "among water creatures, the dragon possesses the greatest strength; among land beasts, the elephant ranks first in power. Fierce as Vajra, thus called Dragon-Elephant." Though his nickname was Huangman'er, and though this foolish son appeared clumsy and dull, unable to recognize even large characters, his skin an unhealthy dark yellow, his frame thinner than peers his age—his strength was terrifyingly supreme.
Xu Xiao had joined the army and killed men at ten years old, fighting from northeastern Jinzhou against the Xiongnu, southward to destroy six major and minor kingdoms, slaughtering through seventy-plus cities, then southwest to suppress sixteen barbarian tribes. What astonishingly powerful generals had he not witnessed? Yet a youngest son like this, born with bronze sinews and iron bones, capable of uprooting mountains with bare hands—truly, he had never encountered such a one.
Xu Xiao sighed softly in his heart. If only Huangman'er were slightly more intelligent, if only his mind were a bit more open, he would surely become an unparalleled general, first to breach enemy lines.
He slowly rose and turned toward the Longhu Mountain Daoist of extraordinarily high seniority, offering an awkward smile. The latter signaled with his eyes that it was of no concern, yet inwardly he felt desolate. To recruit a disciple under such circumstances was truly improper. Once word spread, wouldn't he be mocked by all under heaven? How could he still show his face before that great host of disciples and grand-disciples at Longhu Mountain?
Helpless, King Xu Xiao devised a plan. He chuckled: "Huangman'er, your elder brother has returned from his travels. By this hour, he should be entering the city. Don't you want to go see?"
The young prince suddenly lifted his head. His expression, unchanged for a thousand years in its dull rigidity, yet those ordinarily wooden and spiritless eyes burst forth with rare brilliance—sharp enough to pierce. He grabbed his father's hand and rushed outward.
Unfortunately, the Beiliang Royal Palace was famously convoluted, with a hundred corridors winding and a thousand paths twisting. Otherwise, it could not have housed the "Tide-Listening Pavilion" that so offended upright officials and scholar-officials of the court. With his hand painfully gripped by his son, Xu Xiao had to remind him repeatedly that they were going the wrong way. A full stick of incense's time passed before they finally reached the palace exterior.
Behind the father, son, and old immortal followed a troupe of servants carrying boxes large and small—all preparations for the journey to Longhu Mountain. King Xu Xiao was wealthy enough to rival nations, and he had always doted on his children, unable to bear them suffering any hardship or grievance.
Outside the palace, when the young prince saw the empty streets with no trace of his elder brother, disappointment came first, then fury. He released a deep, hoarse roar, rough and violent. Initially he wished to vent his anger upon Xu Xiao, but foolish as he was, he at least knew this man was his father. Otherwise, Xu Xiao's fate might have resembled that of the unfortunate black bear encountered during the autumn hunt not long ago—torn in half by a twelve-year-old youth, alone and unarmed. He glared fiercely at his guilty father, then turned and walked away.
Not wishing all effort to be wasted, Xu Xiao helplessly cast a glance toward the old immortal. The Longhu Mountain True Master smiled gently, extending an arm like withered bamboo. With merely two fingers resting upon the young prince's wrist, he spoke softly and kindly: "Xu Longxiang, do not waste your once-in-a-century heavenly endowment. Come with me to Longhu Mountain. Within ten years at most, you may descend the mountain to establish merit and virtue."
The youth said nothing more, merely snorting and continuing forward. Yet strangely and mysteriously, he found himself unable to break free from the old Daoist's seemingly casual restraint. That step taken, suspended in midair, simply could not touch the ground.
King Xu Xiao breathed a sigh of relief. This master of the Daoist lineage, whose seniority was absurdly high, truly possessed some ability. Knowing one's son best, Xu Xiao understood his youngest child's strength—it was domineering. He dared not assign too many servants or maids to his son, fearing one careless moment might result in crushed arms or legs. Over the years, countless tables and chairs in the courtyard had been sat upon until broken or slapped until shattered. Only the Beiliang Palace's substantial fortune could bear such losses; any ordinary wealthy family would have long gone bankrupt.
The young prince paused, then erupted in anger. With a light shout, he actually dragged the old immortal forward—one step, two steps, three steps. The True Master, yellow crown upon his head and Daoist robes upon his body, merely uttered a soft "Eh?" Not angry, but pleased, he subtly increased his strength severalfold, halting the youth's advance.
At this, Xu Longxiang was truly enraged. His face twisted like a beast's. With his free hand, he grasped the old Daoist's arm with both hands, sank his feet, and crack—two pits were stamped into the white jade floor. With a fling, he hurled the old Daoist's entire body outward.
Great Pillar of State Xu Xiao narrowed his eyes, not in the least afraid of causing a fatal case. If that Daoist lacked the skill and weight to survive, then let him die from the fall. Xu Xiao had flattened the once-unrivaled Western Chu Dynasty with his Liangzhou iron cavalry. When had he ever held the slightest awe for martial sects? So what if it was Longhu Mountain, leader of all Daoist lineages under heaven? Several great sects within his territory, though not comparable to Longhu Mountain, were still first-rate within the dynasty. Take Wudang Mountain, which had contested Daoist orthodoxy with Longhu Mountain for hundreds of years—sufficiently transcendent in the martial world, yet did they not still send three or four furnaces of precious pills annually?
The old Daoist drifted gently to land upon a two-man-high Han white jade stone lion at the palace entrance, full of immortal bearing. By this skill alone, had this occurred in the marketplace, would it not have won thunderous applause?
According to the famous saying of the Beiliang King's heir—Xu Xiao's eldest legitimate son—that would be: "This deserves reward. The work is not simple; it is a matter of technique." Perhaps several hundred or several thousand silver notes would be bestowed. In those years before the Heir apparent left Beiliang to wreak havoc upon others, how many courtesans or charlatans had received his generous rewards?
The highest record belonged to a wandering knight from elsewhere. After a disagreement with a local swordsman on the street, they fought from a roadside vegetable stall to the lakeside, then onto the rooftop of Yixiang Tower, the largest parlor in Liangzhou. This awakened the Heir, who had been indulging in daylight pleasures. Immediately forgetting the flower-queen maiden whose skin was as white and tender as mutton-fat jade, he cheered loudly from the window. Afterwards, through the Heir's mediation, not only did the authorities refrain from prosecution, but they nearly awarded that wandering knight the Great Brocade Plaque of Liangzhou's Finest Sons. Furthermore, he had servants deliver at express speed a great stack of silver notes—fully one hundred thousand.
Without the Heir, who loved hawking and dog-fighting, the wonderful Lingzhou was truly lonely. Decent families' daughters finally dared to walk the streets beautifully adorned to purchase rouge. Second-rate prodigals no longer had a demon competing with them to bully men and oppress women. Great and small brothels alike could no longer await that number-one young master's squandering of thousands upon thousands.
King Xu Xiao of Beiliang had two daughters and two sons, all extraordinary.
The Eldest Princess, upon marriage, had buried three husbands in succession, becoming the widow with the prettiest face and largest dowry in the dynasty, her wanton ways famous across the five commanderies of Jiangnan.
The Second Princess, though plain in appearance, was learned and talented, skilled in statecraft. Studying under Han Guzi, the Great Master of the Yin Study Palace, she had become the junior sister to famous imperial figures such as the strategy master Xu Huang and the vertical-horizontal scholar Sima Can.
Xu Longxiang was the King of Beiliang's youngest son, relatively unknown. But the eldest son was a figure of great renown even in the capital. Whenever Great Pillar of State Xu Xiao was mentioned, inevitably the Heir Xu Fengnian would be dragged into conversation, praised as "a tiger father breeds no dog son." Unfortunately, Xu Xiao's heroism lay upon the battlefield, while his son's distinction lay in squandering upon wind, flowers, snow, and moon.
Three years ago, rumors spread that Heir Xu Fengnian had been driven from the palace with blades at his throat, forced to undertake the customary journey that young heirs of powerful Guanzhong families completed before their capping ceremony. In a flash, three years passed, and all news ceased. Lingzhou still remembered the moving scene when the Heir departed the city: over a dozen great prodigals and dozens of flower-queens, large and small, standing upon the city walls with tears in their eyes. Yet insiders whispered that once the Heir had gone far enough, that very day, the banquet at Red Sparrow Tower continued through the night. Too much wine was poured into the river; the entire city could smell the fragrance of alcohol.
Back at the palace, the closed-minded young prince sprinted toward the jade lion. Apparently, throwing one old man was not satisfying enough; this time he intended to hurl both the obstructive old Daoist and the lion, reputed to weigh a thousand jun, outward together.
Yet the moment he began to shake the lion, the Longhu Mountain old Daoist drifted down, grasped one of the youth's hands, and employed true skill. Using the Daoist's obscure "Mountain-Moving" technique, he skillfully guided and pulled the half-squatting youth to his feet, smiling gently: "Huangman'er, do not make trouble. Come with your master."
The youth gripped the corner of the lion's base with one hand, five fingers like hooks, digging into the jade, refusing to let go. His arms stretched like an ape's as he hoarsely shouted: "I must wait for Elder Brother to return! Elder Brother said he would bring me back the most beautiful woman under heaven as my wife. I must wait for him!"
Great Pillar of State Xu Xiao, positioned at the pinnacle of the court, did not know whether to laugh or cry. Helpless, he gazed at the yellow-crowned old Daoist and sighed heavily: "Very well. Let us wait a while longer. In any case, it will not be long."
Hearing this, the old Daoist's smile turned peculiar, but he released the young prince's arm. Inwardly, he clicked his tongue in astonishment. This little one was not merely blessed with heavenly strength—he was essentially the descent of the White Star itself.
However, that little bastard called Xu Fengnian was truly returning? This was not good news. He remembered his first visit to the palace vividly—he had suffered greatly. Not only was he mistaken for a wandering charlatan seeking free food and drink, but that seven- or eight-year-old rascal had directly released a pack of vicious dogs to bite him. Later, after finally explaining himself clearly and entering the residence, that little bastard had played another wicked trick, sending two delicate beauties to knock on his door in the middle of the night, claiming the weather was cold and they needed to warm his quilt. Had his Daoist resolve not been extraordinarily transcendent, he would have fallen for it. Now, occasionally recalling it, he rather regretted not spending the night in deep discussion with those two ladies about the Great Cavern True Scripture and the Yellow Court Scripture. Even if not discussing those, talking about the Plain Maiden's Heart Scripture would have been fine.
In the twilight, an old man and a youth traveled the official road, their shadows lengthened by the setting sun. The elder carried a long bundle wrapped in tattered cloth upon his back, his clothes ragged, his hair white and interspersed with strands of straw—had he squatted on the ground with a broken bowl, he could have begged. He led a emaciated, limping horse. The younger one was not actually young in years—his face covered in stubble, wearing commoner's hemp clothes, resembling a refugee fleeing famine.
"Old Huang, hold on a bit longer. Once we enter the city and return home, there will be large chunks of meat and big bowls of wine. Damn it, I never thought meat and wine were such rare treasures before. Now, just thinking about them makes my mouth water unbearably. Every day I dream of them." The young man, whose true age was impossible to discern, spoke weakly.
The old man, resembling a servant, chuckled, revealing a mouth of yellow teeth with missing front ones, appearing exceedingly honest and comical.
"Laugh at your grandfather. I can't even cry anymore." The young man rolled his eyes. He truly lacked the spirit to struggle further.
A two-thousand-li journey home—they had nearly fallen to begging along the way. They had caught fish in the water, played hide-and-seek with rabbits in the mountains, climbed trees to raid bird nests. As long as it had some meat, once cooked, regardless of whether there was salt, it was the most delicious meal under heaven. Passing through villages, they had attempted to steal chickens and ducks several times, chased for dozens of li by burly men carrying hoes and wooden clubs, nearly exhausted to death.
Which son of wealth was not clad in fresh clothes and riding a fiery steed, magnificent and domineering?
Yet look at himself: a set of tattered hemp clothes, a pair of straw sandals, one limping horse—not even willing to slaughter it for meat, nor even to ride it. Instead, he had gained an extra mouth for begging meals.
As for evil servants, there were none. Old Huang, having lived sixty years in this small frame, made him anxious just to look at. He feared that one day during this two-thousand-li journey, the old man would silently perish, leaving him without even a companion to speak to, forcing him to expend effort digging a grave in the wilderness.
Before entering the city, not far outside the city walls, there was a stall selling Apricot Blossom Wine. He was truly exhausted. Smelling the wine's fragrance, he closed his eyes, twitched his nose, and wore an expression of intoxication. Truly, damn it, fragrant. Summoning his last resolve, he walked over, found the only empty stool, sat down heavily, and gritting his teeth, used his final strength to shout:
"Waiter, bring wine!"
The drinkers resting nearby, either departing or entering the city, all disdained this shabbily dressed master and servant, deliberately sitting farther away.
The busy waiter, upon hearing the voice, was about to respond with "Coming!" But upon seeing the master and servant's attire, his face immediately fell. Those in business must have keen eyes. These two guests did not appear to be the type who could pay for wine. The waiter was still reasonably kind; he did not immediately drive them away, but with a smile that was skin-deep and heart-cold, he reminded them: "Our signature Apricot Blossom Wine costs twenty coins per pot. Not expensive, but not cheap either."
In the past, treated with such dog-eyes looking down on men, the young man would have long since unleashed dogs and evil servants. But three years of worldly warmth and coldness, accustomed to a life without a single coin, had tempered his arrogance and temper considerably. Gasping, he said: "It is fine. Someone will come to settle the bill. Your tip will not be lacking."
"Tip?" The waiter raised his voice, his face full of contempt.
The young man smiled bitterly. Placing his thumb and forefinger to his lips, he expended the last of his nursing strength to blow a whistle. Then he collapsed onto the simple wine table, snoring—he had actually fallen asleep. The waiter found this utterly baffling. Only those with sharp eyes faintly glimpsed a shadow passing overhead.
A bird of prey, falcon-like, shot past the city ramparts like an arrow.
Approximately the time it took for a drinker to finish one bowl of Apricot Blossom Wine, the earth began to rumble without warning. The wine table shook. The drinkers widened their eyes, watching the liquid sway along with the wooden table. Carefully, they lifted their bowls, looking around in all directions.
At the city gate, a group of iron cavalry charged forth, stretching into two black lines that seemed endless. Amidst the flying dust, tall horses and mighty men—all were heavily armored elite riders of Beiliang, famous throughout the realm for being worth a hundred ordinary soldiers each. Looking at the royal banner held by the leading general who carried the flag, it was vivid as blood, bearing a single character:
"Xu"!
Good heavens—the personal army of the King of Beiliang himself.
Under heaven, who could contend with the Beiliang Iron Cavalry, which had galloped and fought across the dynasty's thirteen commanderies, north and south?
In the past, the Western Chu Dynasty believed its twelve thousand halberdiers dared to oppose their edge. But the result? At the Battle of Jing River, they were annihilated entirely. Surrendered soldiers were all buried alive, their wails like thunder.
Two hundred elite iron cavalry charged forth, vast and mighty, their spirit like a rainbow.
Above their heads, a falcon filled with spiritual energy seemed to lead the way.
The two hundred iron cavalry came to an instant halt, their movements identical. This proficiency far exceeded the category of ordinary soldiers or even battle-hardened veterans of a hundred fights.
A General of the Fourth Rank, a Colonel of the Folding Charge, flipped from his horse. Upon seeing the old servant leading the horse, he immediately galloped to the wine shop, knelt, and bowed respectfully:
"This humble officer, Qi Dangguo, pays respects to the Heir apparent!"
Meanwhile, the shabby young man who had arrogantly spoken of giving tips merely murmured in his sleep:
"Waiter, bring wine."