Chapter 867: A Duel at the Summit of the Sword Dao!

The campfire crackled from time to time.

Zheng Fan sat on a flat stone, his back straight and both hands resting on his knees.

It was not that he still cared about maintaining his bearing at a time like this. Rather, for this fugitive column, he was now the support upon which everyone else's faith rested.

It was not that he feared they would abandon him. He simply hoped that when they saw him like this, their hearts might feel a little steadier.

Living in this world meant putting on a mask every so often. And the original purpose of a mask was not for yourself. It was to give other people something to "see."

The Qian pursuit had never stopped. This was Qian territory, after all, and the Emperor of Qian still possessed supreme legitimacy here.

Yet Zheng Fan had not chosen to flee due north or northeast. Instead, he was moving west.

This was not some attempt to hide in the darkest place beneath the lamp, nor was he deliberately walking a tightrope for the thrill of it. There was a concrete plan behind the choice.

Xue San and Chen Xiong's force, which had been sent out earlier, was one part of it. More importantly, after Chen Yang's force broke Shangjing, it too would take this route, circling west before turning north.

The original plan had been for Chen Yang's troops, fresh from sacking Shangjing, to serve as bait—or, more accurately, the object that drew all the hatred. The Qian main forces would rush toward them, freeing Zheng Fan's side, while Zheng Fan would be responsible for receiving Chen Yang afterward.

Zheng Fan had simply misjudged his own weight in the Qian Emperor's heart. The man had truly been willing to ignore everything in Shangjing and think only about smothering Zheng Fan to death.

But whatever the case... at least Zheng Fan was free now.

Before setting out from South Gate Pass, Zheng Fan had joked with the Blind Man that the troops he was bringing this time were not his own direct-line forces anyway. So long as their loss produced value, then if they were lost, they were lost.

In a certain sense, even if all fifty thousand troops he had led into Qian were annihilated, trading them for Shangjing and destroying the center of Qian's imperial government would still be worthwhile from a strategic standpoint.

The Qian might still be sending armies everywhere to search mountains and comb the countryside for him now, but before long, once news of Shangjing's fall could no longer be suppressed and the side effects of a hollowed-out central government began to appear, the enormous State of Qian would quickly fall into internal disorder.

Yes, the Emperor was still alive.

But how could a country this large possibly be governed by the Emperor alone?

Years ago, even the late Emperor of Yan, when he used the most brutal methods imaginable to ride down the great aristocratic houses and uproot their local power, had still treated most people at court lightly apart from the direct core members of those clans.

In other words, Qian at present was being propped up only by a ball of false fire. Before long, it would have no choice but to contract inward.

Unfortunately, Yan was exhausted too. Its armies on campaign now had to rely on plunder for supplies. "Living off the enemy" sounded clever and carefree, but in reality it could not guarantee long-term operations. The entire logistical chain rested on a stack of eggs.

Still... considering the present balance across all Xia, this was enough.

After Jin was destroyed, only Yan, Chu, and Qian remained among the great states.

After his thousand-li strike on Fan City, Chu had been beaten back into its shell.

Now, after Shangjing was broken, Qian would inevitably have to pull back as well.

The momentum and strength of a state could not truly be measured by some single, isolated figure. Those who stood at the top generally carried only a vague number in their hearts.

In that respect, it was not so different from Qi Refiners reading celestial signs—mysterious and difficult to explain to anyone who did not stand at the same height.

But at the very least...

Yan could finally guarantee itself some breathing room.

There had been twists.

There had been accidents.

At one point, he had nearly dropped the entire board and smashed it.

But in the end... he had preserved the situation.

He could continue developing and managing eastern Jin. Old Sixth Ji could continue accumulating national strength in Yanjing. If all three states entered a period of recovery and development, then even Qian and Chu combined could not truly match Great Yan's ability to focus everything in one direction.

"Pa. Pa. Pa."

Zheng Fan lightly slapped his own forehead.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He had not even escaped the real danger yet. A Qian army might burst out of the darkness at any moment, and here he was, sitting beside a campfire pondering affairs of state.

For his old self, that would have been unimaginable.

Outside of two armies facing one another, even while fleeing he would still have had the mood to look at the scenery. When they stopped to rest, he could have thought about the unborn children in the bellies of his two wives.

The somewhat damaged Black Dragon Banner fluttered lightly in the evening wind.

Zheng Fan turned his head and stared at it for a long while.

Then he shook his head.

In the end... something really was different now.

The Sword Saint walked over and sat down beside him.

"Baili Sword is coming."

The Prince did not start trembling the instant he heard the name.

A man away for three days should be looked at with new eyes.

Years ago, beneath the walls of Shangjing, when Baili Sword and his younger sister walked toward Zheng Fan, even though the Demon Kings and some guards were still around him, his heart had sunk straight to the bottom.

Later, in bed with Siniang, Zheng Fan had talked about that scene.

Back then, he had been like a court lackey or hunting dog, while the Baili siblings had resembled wandering heroes of the jianghu come to uphold justice on behalf of Heaven.

Now... that feeling was gone.

Because the old hunting dog had become a Prince.

Why did villains in martial-arts dramas always seem to make so many brain-dead decisions?

In truth, if the director were not determined to force out a "righteous" ending, those villains could usually crush the so-called sons and daughters of the jianghu with absurd ease.

This did not even have much to do with how many soldiers now guarded him or how many experts stood at his side.

His position was different.

His perspective was different.

Even if he had to face the Baili siblings alone... the present Prince Pingxi probably would not kneel down, kowtow, and beg for his life.

In the old days?

Heh.

He really would not have felt much psychological pressure about doing it.

"Nearby?" Zheng Fan asked.

The Sword Saint shook his head. "Still very far away."

"How far?"

"Hard to say. In any case, very far."

"You can tell even from very far away? Don't tell me you've secretly learned a little sorcery like Old Tian did."

"Not because of that. It's because he and I both stand at the summit of the Sword Dao. You've climbed mountains before, haven't you?"

Zheng Fan raised a hand.

"Stop. I understand what you mean. You and he are both standing atop two mountain peaks. Around you is an endless sea of clouds hiding every other summit, but from where you stand, you can see him standing across from you. Something like that?"

"Very apt."

"Naturally."

"In any case, he can sense me and I can sense him. Unless the distance between us is truly enormous, of course. It also helps that we've fought before. We're familiar with each other's sword intent."

"So what do you plan to do?"

"You're running for your life. We can't let him catch up, because he may have a large army behind him. I plan to draw him away."

"What if there really is an army behind him?"

"Then I simply won't fight him. Sensing someone is one thing, but it's hazy at best. We're probably still dozens of li apart. It isn't as though he can tell exactly which table I'm sitting at inside a restaurant."

"Good."

The Sword Saint nodded.

"Be careful, Old Yu..." Zheng Fan reached out and patted his shoulder. "No amount of empty fame is worth more than the smell of your son's diapers."

"There's an image."

"Heh."

"Don't worry. I may not have time to regroup with you afterward. You go first. I'll return home."

"Dahu."

"This subordinate is here!"

"This Prince orders you to follow your father now and help him draw away the pursuit."

Liu Dahu looked startled. His first reaction was that the Prince was telling his father to take him along and escape first.

But he immediately realized the Prince would never do something so muddled at a time like this.

He accepted the order at once.

"This subordinate obeys!"

The Sword Saint looked at his son and could not help sighing.

His cub really was a burden.

The Prince said, "Think about how many FLAGS you've raised recently. And I accidentally raised one for you too—something about remembering to go home and look after the children. Fuck. What a crow's mouth. Bad luck."

"Heh..."

After spending so long together, the Sword Saint had come to understand this particular "taboo" shared by the Prince and those gentlemen around him.

"With your son beside you, you'll restrain yourself a little, right?"

Liu Dahu was a burden, but for safety's sake Zheng Fan had no choice but to strap that burden onto the Sword Saint.

"I'm not the man I used to be," the Sword Saint said.

"I'm afraid you'll suddenly decide to let this old man indulge in one last burst of youthful madness. Dahu, take good care of your father."

"This subordinate understands!"

The Sword Saint looked at his son, then at Chen Xianba sitting nearby with his eyes closed as though dozing.

"If I have to bring someone, I might as well take him. That boy was born with the body of a Martial Artist. On the martial path, his talent is no worse than my disciple's talent for the sword. An opportunity like this is rare. If I take him along and temper him once or twice, I can't say what he'll become as a commander, but in the Martial Dao he genuinely has a chance to become the next Tian Wujing."

Chen Xianba opened his eyes.

He looked at the Sword Saint.

Then at his own Prince.

The Prince, however, looked at Liu Dahu.

"Your father isn't attacking you personally. Don't take it to heart."

Liu Dahu grinned honestly and nodded.

The boy was simple and practical. He understood perfectly well that in terms of natural talent, there was genuinely no comparing him with Chen Xianba.

"Dahu isn't a narrow-minded child," the Sword Saint said.

"Pay attention anyway. When you're old and paralyzed in bed, pissing and shitting yourself, you'll still have to rely on him to look after you."

"Heh."

"Don't take Xianba. He's too hot-tempered. I'm afraid he'll ruin something."

Hearing that, the Sword Saint asked in return:

"If you say that, aren't you afraid that one day, when you're surrounded, he'll choose to watch the fire from across the river?"

The instant those words came out, Chen Xianba woke completely from his half-doze.

He dropped straight to his knees.

The Prince waved a hand without concern.

"Only this once. In the future, no one is ever going to make this father look this miserable again."

The Sword Saint said nothing more.

He picked up Longyuan and turned away. Liu Dahu followed close behind.

Watching father and son leave the crude temporary camp, Zheng Fan said to Chen Xianba:

"Why are you still kneeling? Get up."

"Yes."

Chen Xianba rose.

As he did... he suddenly heard the Prince murmur to himself:

"Could a day like that really come?"

Thud!

The young man whose ambition was high enough to chase the great Peng bird in the heavens felt his knees go soft again and dropped straight back down.

...

One side fled.

The other pursued.

The Prince's escape was arduous. On the day of the breakout, the Pixiu beneath him had gotten too excited and overdrawn itself. That left its long-distance endurance rather poor over the following days.

But the beast refused to lose face in front of this whole collection of red, white, black, and yellow horse underlings. Still less would it permit the Prince to ride any of those coquettish little sluts.

So all the pain and sorrow could only be borne on the back of one Pixiu.

The Qian side was finding the pursuit difficult too.

For one thing, nobody had expected Prince Pingxi not to take the ordinary road. At first, everyone had cast their net northward.

Instead, he moved laterally west.

For another, as the pursuit went on, people began worrying that Prince Pingxi might simply travel incognito in disguise. No one could be certain whether the target they were chasing was really him or merely a decoy.

After all, this same Prince Pingxi had used exactly that trick years ago after stealing the Princess of Chu.

Qian was enormous.

Qian was also in chaos now.

If Prince Pingxi truly disguised himself and traveled alone, the Silver-Armored Guard were not immortals. Searching for one man in an ocean of people would come down to Heaven's will.

And if Heaven's will truly stood with Great Qian... how could the fires of Shangjing ever have been lit?

Whatever the case... the pursuit had to continue.

And outside this ongoing chase... there was also one small interlude.

It happened on another night after the two groups separated.

Beside a riverbank... a woman was roasting fish, filling the air with a rich fragrance.

A man sat nearby, waiting to feast.

It was summer, but because the river's upper reaches had been diverted and relocated, its waters had diminished considerably. The exposed riverbank was wide, while the remaining stream looked almost too pathetic to mention.

Across the river... a middle-aged man and a young fellow stood there, apparently drawn over by the smell.

The Sword Saint said regretfully, "If I'd known we'd be coming out alone, I should have asked that Zheng fellow for some spices. Then we'd be the ones roasting fish right now and could make them die of envy."

Liu Dahu asked, "Father, are you hungry? I still have mantou."

"Put it away."

"Mm?"

"They're eating roasted fish and you pull out a mantou. You'll embarrass us."

"Oh. Right, Father."

Naturally, both sides had noticed each other long ago.

At their level, eyes were almost optional.

Baili Sword raised a hand and called across the river:

"Old Yu! Want to eat together?"

"No. You used too much spice. Not suitable for a child."

"Heh-heh."

Baili Sword waved.

Two skewers of roasted fish flew from the rack and sailed over the river.

The Sword Saint crooked a finger backward.

Both fish landed directly in Liu Dahu's arms.

"Ow, ow, hot! Father!"

The Sword Saint tilted his head back slightly.

Once again, he regretted not insisting on bringing Chen Xianba that night.

It was not that he disliked his son.

Nor was he comparing the two boys.

He had left the jianghu for so long. Now, meeting old friends from those days again, his state of mind inevitably rippled just a little.

Sabers, spears, clubs, and staves were obviously more practical.

So why did young heroes and heroines of the jianghu remain obsessed with wearing swords at their waists?

Among the Four Great Swordsmen of the old days, Li Liangshen belonged to the military and could be set aside.

But Baili Sword?

The Swordsmith of Chu?

Which one of them did not radiate the air of an "immortal swordsman"?

Even the Sword Saint of Jin himself, before entering Shengle City, had habitually dressed in flowing white robes, his long hair dancing together with his sword tassel in the wind.

What had they wanted?

At heart, it was no different from street thugs bullying merchants and monopolizing a market.

You wanted the scene.

You wanted the style.

Perhaps sensing its master's thoughts, Longyuan gave a faint tremor.

Those had once been years when it too enjoyed incomparable glory. Heaven knew how many young swordsmen of the jianghu had spent fortunes buying imitation swords modeled after it.

Unfortunately, the glory had faded.

The same Longyuan that once came and went like the wind could now only serve as a shoulder pole or fire poker. Whenever it occasionally wanted to taste blood, it had to speak to a pig.

Liu Dahu had been burned by the hot fish.

But Dahu was a polite child.

When someone gave you something, you naturally thanked him.

"Many thanks, Big Brother Baili!"

Across the river, Baili Sword raised an eyebrow.

Inside, the Sword Saint felt a sudden satisfaction:

The child can be taught.

"Oh? Your son?"

"Yes."

"What's his name?"

"Dahu."

"His surname?"

Liu Dahu answered first:

"Yu. The imperial surname of Great Jin!"

"Heh-heh-heh."

Baili Sword laughed and let the matter pass.

"Old Yu, you've made life difficult for me. One sword before Snow Sea Pass cut down a thousand riders. You made my retreat beneath the walls of Shangjing back then look completely worthless. Not generous of you. Not generous at all."

"The situation was urgent at the time. Opportunity happened to line up. You know perfectly well there weren't really a thousand."

"Whether people know or don't know, what difference does it make?"

"I didn't expect Brother Baili would still care about it."

"Ai. A man lives one life. How can he truly free himself from empty fame? If I'd spent my whole life like an old man in the mountains, that would be one thing. But I did wander the jianghu once. I saw it. Lived it. Floated through it. Then suddenly I was compared until there was nothing left of me but holes. How could I possibly let that go?"

"Shangjing has been broken. Instead of thinking about going back to take a look, you're determined to recover face here?"

"Listen to you. What does Shangjing being broken or not have to do with me? Years ago, after I escorted Master Cang into Yanjing, I understood something. The jianghu is, in the end, only a lake. The waters of court are too deep. It's fine to watch. Better not truly jump in."

"I feel the same."

"It's been a very long time since the two of us met. A chance like this is rare. We ought to catch up properly. Ai... among the Four Great Swordsmen, the one with the best natural talent was actually me."

"Yes," the Sword Saint admitted.

"But you were the one who entered Second Grade first."

"What about you?" the Sword Saint asked.

Baili Sword opened his palm.

A thread of blue light appeared above it.

"By luck. After spending so long beside His Majesty, I finally managed to borrow a trace of dragon qi and the momentum of national fortune. As for the threshold of Second Grade... I can barely stick half my head through the door and peek inside."

"Heh." The Sword Saint smiled. "There are a few demon beasts in the rear residence of Prince Pingxi's household in eastern Jin doing exactly the same thing you are."

Baili Sword did not become angry.

"Ten thousand transformations never leave the source. Same principle. We're swordsmen. Our bodies are a little fragile. It's not as though we're Martial Artists who can take endless punishment. Naturally, we ought to use a few tricks, shouldn't we?"

The Sword Saint opened his palm too.

Longyuan flew out and circled around him.

"Since we haven't seen each other in so long, shall we exchange a couple of moves?" the Sword Saint asked.

"Naturally."

Baili Sword pointed toward one side.

"If it were only the two of us, wouldn't things feel a little too deserted? My younger sister's Sword Dao remains shallow, so she won't embarrass herself in front of Brother Yu."

The instant those words ended... a long-haired man walked out from the shadows across the river.

He wore the broad sleeves and loose robes of Chu, his temples left long with a touch of frost-white mixed through them. His face carried an aloof arrogance.

Chu clothing.

Chu hairstyle.

Then he opened both hands.

Seven famous swords of the age swept out from behind him together.

His identity no longer needed explanation.

In this age, only one man could scatter famous swords like this.

The Swordsmith.

The Swordsmith spoke:

"Brother Yu should have sensed that I was here too. Why did you still come out alone?"

The Sword Saint had lied to Zheng Fan.

He had not sensed Baili Sword alone.

There had been two of them.

What he told the Prince earlier had merely been an excuse.

Only the appearance of two among the Four Great Swordsmen could make it worth the Sword Saint personally coming out to draw them away.

"So you've finally decided to act?" the Sword Saint asked the Swordsmith.

The Swordsmith nodded.

"Prince Pingxi took my grandfather's head. I can set aside hatred between states for a while, but this family vengeance... I really can't endure it anymore."

The Sword Saint nodded.

The Swordsmith asked:

"If you were going to come, then come. Why bring your son? What, after you die, you'll conveniently have someone here to collect your corpse?"

Baili Sword laughed.

"Brother Yu, don't worry. Since the child said his surname is Yu, the two of us aren't so lacking in character that we'd drag a child into an adult affair."

"Dahu, hurry and thank your two uncles."

Liu Dahu instinctively wanted to resist.

Unfortunately, his father's authority ran deep. More importantly, he knew that in a situation like this, he was only a small fry.

"Many thanks, Uncles."

"Good."

"Good child."

The Sword Saint threw back his head and laughed.

Then said:

"Dahu, start digging."

"Father?"

Liu Dahu looked at his father in astonishment.

The next instant... the Sword Saint's aura erupted violently.

Fallen leaves on the ground spun into the air. Even the surface of the river began twisting in circles.

His voice rang out like a great bell:

"Dig two pits!"

[End of Chapter 867]