Chapter 56

Beiyang is located in Liang territory.

To set out for Xi Qin, the fastest route is naturally to cross through Zheng territory.

But Dou Changsheng outright rejected this route; the longest detour was to go south, through the capital, down to Jiangnan, then cross the river into Xi Qin.

This route required crossing the river repeatedly—the Yangtze, which cuts straight across the east-west axis of Shenzhou.

Zheng territory is Chen Qingyao’s fiefdom, his stronghold; Dou Changsheng was precisely avoiding his surveillance, so he chose to go north, then west into Xi Qin.

Beiyang was a place of trouble, and Dou Changsheng did not wish to linger.

Yet the Wang Fu lay within the city, and they had to wait until dawn when the gates opened to leave.

At dawn, the sky brightened.

Dou Changsheng rolled up the loyal-to-the-king calligraphy scroll in his hand.

He dared not stare long at the character “loyal,” but the character “king” after it held little taboo.

In recent days, Dou Changsheng had been studying it.

Dou Changsheng originally thought the Gengjin Thirteen Swords written on the back were merely Chen Qingyao’s deliberate imitation, knowing Dou had cultivated the Wuliang Sword Art—but after practicing the Gengjin Thirteen Swords himself, he realized Chen Qingyao had spoken the truth.

This Gengjin Thirteen Swords was intimately tied to the character “king.”

The Gengjin Thirteen Swords emphasized momentum, and this “king” was not the king of gentlemen, but the king of emperors.

It was the momentum of an emperor.

Dou Changsheng studied it daily and felt profound benefit.

Just as he rolled the scroll back up, placed it in the tube, and stowed it in his pack, a thought suddenly struck him.

This calligraphy was Chen Qingyao’s imitation, capable of replicating the aura of the Heaven List’s master, San Shan Elder.

It proved Chen Qingyao’s ambition had grown—he had become so immersed in it.

Silently, Dou Changsheng left the Wang Fu and walked toward the city gate.

Only when he stepped beyond the gate did the tension in his chest finally ease.

In the past, his bad luck might have dragged him into some conflict; now, with a good younger sister sharing his burdens, things had become far more normal.

After leaving the city, Dou Changsheng headed north along the imperial road.

This reminded him—he had lost a fine horse during his trip to San Yang Mountain.

Now he could only rely on his own two legs; after walking about half a day, he spotted a tea stall beside the road ahead. In the wilderness, Dou Changsheng would never have glanced at such a place—it must mean trouble.

But now, travelers on the imperial road were growing more numerous; clearly, they were approaching a city, so a tea stall was perfectly normal—people always wanted to rest, drink cool tea in summer, or warm tea in autumn.

Dou Changsheng walked to the stall, chose an empty table, sat on the bench, placed his Hero Sword on the table, unslung his pack beside it, and ordered something.

He planned to rest briefly, then buy a Ma Pi or join a caravan once he reached the city.

Walking purely on foot was not only slow—it wasted too much time; even a bumpy carriage allowed him to focus on studying the calligraphy or contemplating martial arts.

No sooner had he sat down than a warrior nearby suddenly stood up.

His clumsy motion triggered a chain reaction.

Eyes turned toward him involuntarily.

Dou Changsheng’s hand had already gripped the hilt of his Hero Sword.

Not just him—many travelers who dared linger at roadside stalls were armed warriors with swords or sabers.

The man who stood was tall and slender, of average height, and noticeably thin.

His long fingers had already grasped the center of his scabbard; his bright eyes locked onto Dou Changsheng, grew hotter as their gazes met, and he spoke: “Dou Changsheng, No. 79 on the Ren List—the Wuliang Sword Lord!”

“I’ve long admired your name.”

“I am Gao Yang of Beiyang, here to test you!”

Dou Changsheng’s gaze softened—he had feared another entanglement, but now realized this was merely the aftereffect of making the Ren List.

The Ren List was a stage of fame and fortune; those who made it gained renown across the land, and few could resist such temptation.

Every Ren List warrior had faced challengers.

For the unknown, the fastest way to rise was not to accomplish great deeds for fame, but to climb over Ren List warriors.

If a challenger succeeded, he would replace the defeated warrior on the next Ren List.

Dou Changsheng knew his debut at No. 79 had drawn skepticism—some believed him strong, others doubted him; after all, in a large forest, any bird may appear, and the wise were few.

This was his first challenger, and Dou Changsheng felt genuine interest.

Slowly rising, Dou Changsheng studied Gao Yang carefully.

Anyone daring to challenge No. 79 on the Ren List must possess real strength—he had cultivated the Five Qi and was a Xiantian Zhen Realm martial artist, likely had formed one of the Three Flowers; in pure realm, Gao Yang was roughly equal to him.

But his age was far greater—he was at least twenty-eight, possibly twenty-nine.

This displeased Dou Changsheng, for such men saw only his youth, his unlined face, and believed him an easy stepping stone to climb.

Dou Changsheng scanned the crowd and noticed many with eager expressions—they were clearly fascinated by the coming fight.

He could faintly hear whispers: “No. 100 on the Ren List, the Gale Sword, Gao Yang…”

He too was a Ren List warrior, though ranked far lower.

Dou Changsheng slung his pack back, drew his Hero Sword, and stepped onto the open ground nearby.

Gao Yang had already drawn his sword—a slender blade, no thicker than a pinky, resembling a thick steel needle, about five feet long, unusually distinctive, a rare weapon.

Dou Changsheng asked calmly: “Ready?”

Gao Yang flicked his wrist, spun a sword flourish, stepped forward, and said: “Draw your sword!”

“Let me see the difference between No. 79 and No. 100!”

Dou Changsheng flicked a finger—a sword qi coalesced, three feet long, howling, faintly infused with divine intent, beginning to erode the heavens and earth.

This was a sword strike infused with divine intent.

Gao Yang’s fierce spirit faltered; his eyes grew distant.

He began recalling his homeland.

His movements slowed.

The sword qi struck instantly, slicing across the finger gripping his sword hilt.

His thumb severed, blood spurted, falling to the ground.

Gao Yang cried out in pain, snapped back to reality—it was divine intent’s ripple—and instantly regretted his challenge.

Such a young boy, and he had already grasped divine intent—Heaven was unjust.

Dou Changsheng said calmly: “The weak draw their swords against the strong.”

“This is the price.”

Dou Changsheng’s gaze swept the crowd, then asked:

“Anyone else wish to challenge?”