Chapter Four: The Young Prince of the Nine Mountains

The guard seemed to have his pride wounded by Wang Yuanfeng, as if he’d been slighted by a god. His knuckles cracked twice in his clenched fist. He considered that, as one of the more favored attendants of the young prince, he’d been repeatedly humiliated by the Marquis’s household. Since his prince and the Marquis of Wu’an were already at odds, the heat of anger rushed to his head. His body tensed with a series of cracks, and he stared at the Marquis’s servants like a wild beast sizing up prey.

“If I don’t teach them a lesson, what’s the point of all my martial training? Let them not think a sword in hand makes them true experts. I might not dare strike at the young master, but surely I’m not forbidden to take it out on a few house servants.”

Wang Yuanfeng sensed the guard gathering his strength; his own sword trembled ever so slightly in his grip. The way of the Sword Immortal he cultivated valued purity above all, and his blade was especially sensitive to malice, demonic intent, and murderous energy.

He tightened his grip on the sword hilt, thumb pressed to the guard, turning his body to the side to give the guard an opening, calming his breath and masking his presence, feigning obliviousness. The moment the guard moved, he’d have an excuse to test whether this Young Master Li truly was lawless.

“The son of the King of Jiushan is a tough adversary, but does he really think I’m easy to push around?”

The guard saw Wang Yuanfeng turn aside, exposing his flank, while the house servants braced themselves, ready to retaliate at any moment. Though his skills might not be top-tier, handling a few lackeys would be effortless.

A good opportunity, he thought. In a flash, he launched off his left leg, body shooting forward like an arrow, right hand clawing for a servant’s shoulder.

The servants instantly assumed defensive stances. Wang Yuanfeng, watching, thought, “Just what I was waiting for.”

He felt a gust of wind rush at the household men. At last, he could act. He spun toward the attacker, mind clear as a mirror, left thumb flicking out. Mind and spirit guiding his sword, he sent it flying.

The guard, thinking he was about to seize a servant, allowed a hint of glee to flash in his eyes. Suddenly, a streak of light appeared before him, and the sword hilt slammed into his chest.

A wet sound, and blood spattered from his lips. The guard felt as if a giant hammer had struck his chest. His breath caught, darkness crept into his vision, and a surge of rage filled his heart.

Blood splattered, his eyes rolled back, mouth open in desperate gasps for air that simply wouldn’t come. His body convulsed as he writhed on the ground.

From the distant sedan, three sharp claps rang out.

The scarlet curtain was lifted, and a young nobleman in resplendent robes stepped out. His brows were sharp and his eyes rimmed with white—a face that, by any physiognomist’s reckoning, belonged to a difficult and capricious man.

He glanced at Wang Yuanfeng and said, “They say the Marquis of Wu’an’s fourth son is a lover of wild talk, eccentric in behavior, possessed by demons. Now that I see you, I’m truly astonished. You are indeed as strange as the rumors say, surely possessed.”

Because he retained memories of a previous life, Wang Yuanfeng had, as a child, occasionally spoken or done things that defied common sense. Somehow, word had spread and, thanks to Li’s embellishments, the story had become that he was possessed. Wang Yuanfeng looked at the prince of Jiushan and replied, “Isn’t this the future Crown Prince himself? Why hasn’t your father rebelled yet?”

Wang Yuanfeng threw back at Young Master Li the popular rumor that the King of Jiushan possessed an imperial destiny, needling the prince with the talk from the streets.

At this, Li’s face changed and he hastily replied, “One may eat what one pleases, but must not speak recklessly. My father is loyal to His Majesty, and to malign a pillar of the realm is a crime punishable by exile.”

Wang Yuanfeng eyed him, a little surprised at this show of restraint. Judging by Li’s smugness, though, the rumors were not entirely unfounded. He pressed on, “Then, Young Master Li, why do you come to my house flaunting your power, demanding we kneel as you arrive? What’s the meaning of this?”

Li laughed. “I heard your elder brother Wang Yuanhong has returned to the capital, promoted to general, a hero in battle, famed for his martial prowess. The news piqued my interest—I merely wished to spar with him. As for what the guard said, he must have misunderstood my intentions. That’s why he spoke so.”

Li’s eyes flickered with calculation as he added, “But regardless, my men are not for you to touch.”

As a martial artist, the young prince of Jiushan was a master of refined force. Martial cultivation followed the path of training strength—first establishing the foundation, training the body, adjusting the posture, unifying the power of the whole body, bones drawn like strong bows, sinews like taut strings; “the body a single bowstring, the whole body’s dantian everywhere.” The dantian referred to this strength, which, once generated, could be used to temper muscles, bones, and membranes—this was the stage of “manifest force,” with strength enough to lift five hundred catties. Next came the “internal shock,” or “hidden force,” in which power was directed into the organs; at this stage, internal organs were strengthened, breath grew long—this was “dark force.” Further, with the organs generating vital blood, marrow nourishing the blood, strength became as thick as mercury and visible as an aura—this was the pinnacle, “transformative force.” If one could further unite spirit, energy, and blood into a single great elixir, one reached “elixir force,” the so-called “human immortal.”

Li, though lacking in character, was born with rare talent and had reached the stage of “transformative force.” His vitality was tremendous, his courage and strength far exceeding ordinary men. He’d heard that the Marquis’s fourth son, too, possessed such strength—equal to his own. Though sitting inside his sedan, he could observe the world outside with clarity. Such a rival must not be allowed to flourish unchecked—his edge had to be blunted.

Many young scions in Shengjing had been left broken-spirited after being crushed under Li’s heel—not wounded in body, but in heart. Defeat at his hands left a mark that didn’t fade quickly; their focus narrowed to obsession with besting him, neglecting all else, and often rendering themselves useless in the process.

Wang Yuanfeng had heard stories of young men growing withdrawn after being so defeated. In youth, the heart is not yet firm; scars left by such humiliation could haunt a lifetime. Like a student bullied or insulted by a teacher, the memory—even if dulled—would subtly shape their future. The only cure was to ignore the slight, cultivate one’s character, and gradually dissolve its hold.

Li was malicious at heart, using a martial artist’s presence to cow others. Most of Shengjing’s younger generation had been ruined by him. Wang Yuanfeng gripped his sword hilt, quietly on guard.

Sure enough, Li shot him a glance, then drew his sword and leapt forward like a great bird, declaring, “Let me see just how capable the Marquis of Wu’an’s fourth son really is!”

Wang Yuanfeng drew his own sword in a flash, assuming the “Incense to Heaven” stance—blade upright, tip to the sky, posture adjusted, hand, eye, body, stance, and footwork as one.

Li thrust at Wang Yuanfeng’s face, but his target vanished in an instant. A chill of panic seized him—his opponent was so strange that, despite his own mastery, he couldn’t even see where he’d gone.

A sudden prickling at his scalp—no time to defend—

A metallic ring. Li landed at the doorway, hair disheveled, looking utterly bedraggled. Wang Yuanfeng stood at his side, sword tip poised at his throat.

“Let the young prince go, or we’ll raze the Marquis’s household today!” barked the lead guard, pointing at Wang Yuanfeng.

With a wave of his hand, Li’s men began to gather at the door, four house servants blocking their advance.

Wang Yuanfeng ignored the guards. Li had attacked him—no one would fault him for defending himself. But if the guards laid hands on him, they’d be finished; not even the King of Jiushan could protect them. He looked at the tousled Li and said, “So this is all there is to the invincible First Young Master Li of Shengjing? You couldn’t even withstand a single move. Your reputation is well deserved—truly a braggart.”

“You—!” Li glared at Wang Yuanfeng with venom.

Just as he made his move, Wang Yuanfeng dodged with blinding speed and struck his hairpin, splitting it in two—scattering Li’s hair to the ground, along with the broken pieces.

“What’s wrong? Causing a scene in my house, getting beaten—see if you can defend your actions anywhere. I wonder what excuse Young Master Li will use now.”

“This isn’t over,” Li spat, voice cold and hateful.

Wang Yuanfeng, seeing Li still bluffing after his defeat, thought, Does he really think his father is the emperor? He was about to retort when a group approached from within the house.

At the head was Xiaocui, the maid—so she’d run to report them, explaining her earlier disappearance. His eldest, second, and third brothers, along with a crowd of servants, were coming, dozens strong. Xiaocui was whispering urgently to his brothers—this was bad.

Li also noticed the approaching group, his face growing even darker.

If he thoroughly humiliated Li now, in front of so many, it would leave a lasting scar—just as Li had done to others. Though Li was vicious and an enemy, pushing him too far would only make him more extreme. If he lost face here, all his hatred would turn on the Marquis’s household. How many of his brothers could withstand Li’s future revenge?

Killing him was out of the question. The emperor and the King of Jiushan had a delicate relationship, but the emperor would never sacrifice the realm for his sake—he’d hand him over to appease the king if it came to that. Then, not only would he die resisting, innocents would perish, and his family would be implicated.

He could not let Li hate the entire household. Wang Yuanfeng traced a light line with his sword across Li’s neck and said, “Let this be a lesson. Next time—” He pointed at the guard collapsed on the ground. “That will be you. Now get out.”

Li felt the shallow cut at his throat, breathed a sigh of relief, and said, “The green hills endure, the waters flow on—this prince will remember today!”

With that, he turned to return to his grand sedan, but Wang Yuanfeng called after, “Take your man with you.”

Li hesitated, then pointed at two of his men. “You, you—carry him.”

Without a backward glance, he vanished into the sedan. His retinue swept away like a storm, leaving the courtyard empty once more.