Chapter 6

Ahead, Huo Sijiu looked stunned, unsure where he had gone wrong, and quickly turned to Master Qu.

Master Qu knew Zhao Ti well; both he and the owner of this Ding family tea house were aware of Zhao Ti’s true identity, so they could not directly ask for an explanation, only saying: “Younger brother, please recount it from the beginning for the young master to hear.”

Huo Sijiu obeyed and began again from the start, concluding: “Currently, in the Jianghu and among the outlaws, the two most celebrated young heroes are described by a famous saying: ‘North Qiao Feng, South Murong.’”

Zhao Ti’s expression shifted unpredictably; he took a deep breath and said nothing this time.

Seeing this, Huo Sijiu continued cautiously: “‘North Qiao Feng’ refers to Qiao Feng, the current leader of the Beggar’s Sect, and ‘South Murong’ refers to Murong Fu, the young master of the Murong family of Gusu. Both possess extraordinary martial skills, their cultivation reaching a level of divine mastery and flawless perfection…”

Though Zhao Ti remained silent, his mind exploded like thunder—North Qiao Feng, South Murong, North Qiao Feng, South Murong—how could there be a North Qiao Feng and a South Murong?!

Xiao Feng was tolerable; history did record such a person, though he never reached the Song realm.

As for Murong Fu, his ancestors Murong Chui, Murong Bao, and Murong Ke were real, but Murong Longcheng, Murong Bo, and even Murong Fu himself—where did they come from?

Zhao Ti’s chest churned with thoughts; his mind twisted and turned inward—could it be… that this place is actually Tianlong?

If this were Tianlong, then Zhou Dong’s account of Emperor Taizong’s southern campaign to subdue Jianghu sects and martial clans, seizing martial scriptures, might well be true!

But why had he never found them in the palace over the years? Had previous emperors destroyed them, or were they hidden somewhere extraordinarily secret?

If this were Tianlong, then perfecting martial arts might greatly increase his chances of ascending to the supreme throne!

Even if forced into desperate, risky moves, his odds of victory would rise—worst case, superior martial skill would ensure his safety; where in this vast world could he not go?

If this were Tianlong, then his lifelong martial path had not been wrong—but he had never encountered any of those powerful martial arts. Had he sent men to search earlier, he might already have secured them!

As he listened to Huo Sijiu continue recounting the deeds of Qiao Feng and Murong Fu, interwoven with Jianghu feuds, grudges, and romantic entanglements, and as other figures appeared, Zhao Ti was nearly certain this place was Tianlong.

He closed his eyes slightly, even abandoning his tea, listening to Huo Sijiu’s voice while mentally sifting through every detail of his life since childhood, searching for any trace linking to martial arts or the Jianghu.

Bai Zhan and the others had never seen Zhao Ti like this; they grew cautious, scanning their surroundings for threats.

After another half-hour, the storytelling ended. Zhao Ti rose, ordered Bai Zhan to pay the tea bill, rewarded Master Qu and Huo Sijiu, then stepped out through the tea house’s front door.

Outside, daylight still shone brightly; the crowds on Dongmen Street had thinned, the shops and stalls still busy, yet the noise had diminished.

Zhao Ti said to Zhou Dong, who followed closely behind: “Master Zhou, do you believe what Master Huo said about the Jianghu?”

Zhou Dong nodded: “Young master, it is largely true.”

Zhao Ti turned to look at him: “Master Zhou, you also know of North Qiao Feng and South Murong?”

Zhou Dong replied: “This humble subject knows. These two are the brightest prodigies of today’s Jianghu; though young, their martial prowess is extremely high—even many famed elders may not be their match.”

Zhao Ti paused thoughtfully, then walked ten steps further before asking: “How do they compare to you, Master Zhou?”

Zhou Dong blushed: “This humble subject has never seen them, but from their legends, I fear I could not stand against them.”

Zhao Ti smiled: “Master Huo said Qiao Feng and Murong Fu’s martial arts are rare under heaven—losing to them would be normal.”

Zhou Dong bowed apologetically: “It is truly this humble subject’s lack of skill…”

Moments later, the group exited Dongmen Street and returned directly to the Yan Prince’s Mansion.

Upon entering the mansion, Zhao Ti headed straight for his study, ordered Bai Zhan and the others to guard the door, and invited Zhou Dong inside. After a few moments of thought, he spoke: “I have some matters I ask you to clarify, Master Zhou.”

Zhou Dong bowed respectfully: “Your Highness, ask freely—anything this humble subject knows, I will speak without reservation.”

Zhao Ti nodded: “Guangzu, sit down. You are now of the Prince’s household—no need to be so restrained. I have already submitted your name to court; official rank will soon be granted. You need no longer wander the Jianghu.”

Zhou Dong’s face lit with gratitude. To master martial and literary arts and sell them to the imperial house—any talk of wanting freedom or refusing to fight for others was mere pretense; he had simply had no path forward. He bowed again urgently: “Thank you, Your Highness! Your grace—I dare not fail to give my life!”

Zhao Ti tapped his fingers lightly on the desk and said slowly: “You mentioned Emperor Taizong collected martial scriptures and stored them in the palace. Where exactly did you hear this? Is it credible?”

Zhou Dong replied: “Your Highness, I do not speak lightly. If this were mere Jianghu gossip, I would not dare to boast. My master and several from the Hua Shan Chen family have both told me this old tale.”

“I know your master—he once protected Grand Chancellor Wang during his reforms, accompanying him closely. How is he now?”

“Your Highness, after the late emperor’s death and Grand Chancellor Wang’s exile, my master retreated to Shaolin on Songshan and has not been seen by anyone—even I have not seen him for years.”

“Retreated to Shaolin on Songshan?” Zhao Ti’s eyes narrowed. His master was a man of great renown; later generations said, “No king surpasses Xiang, no general surpasses Li, no fist surpasses Jin”—this ‘Jin’ referred to his master, Jin Tai.

He was a lay disciple of Shaolin on Songshan, deeply entwined with the temple, once held military office in court, guarded the Song-Liao border, and was personally commissioned by Emperor Shenzong to protect Wang Anshi during repeated assassination attempts. In the Jianghu, he was known as the “King of All Fists”—his martial prowess was evident.

“Yes. My master retreated to Shaolin; I visited several times but never saw him.”

“If he said this, it likely holds truth. Who are the Chen family of Hua Shan?” Zhao Ti asked.

“Your Highness, the Chen family is the lineage of Chen Tuan, the Patriarch who once lost a game of Go to Emperor Taizu, and who declined imperial appointments four times across the reigns of Taizu and Taizong.”

“So it is that Chen family…” Zhao Ti pondered. When Emperor Taizu once wandered the Jianghu, Chen Tuan had guided his future path, and Taizu had been deeply grateful. Whether he had truly lost the mountain or merely been granted it, Taizu never clarified. Since the founding of the Song, the Chen family had resided permanently on Hua Shan.

“Your Highness, it was one of these Chen family members who mentioned this to me in casual conversation—so I do not believe it false.”

“Then it must be true,” Zhao Ti mused. Whether Jin Tai or the Chen family, both had deep ties to the Song imperial court—this matter was likely real. But why, over the years, had he never found these scriptures in the palace?

“You mentioned Li Xian’s formidable martial skill earlier—elaborate further.”

“Your Highness, Grand Eunuch Li had a nickname: ‘Invincible in the North.’ Whenever dispatched outside the palace, even when commanding troops, he never suffered a single defeat against Jianghu outlaws or martial clans.”

“What weapons or arts did he specialize in?” Zhao Ti asked curiously.

“Grand Eunuch Li typically used a sword, but excelled especially in red-thread flying needles. His movement was ghostly, swift and invisible; his needles flew with uncanny speed and deception—ordinary martial arts and weapons could not defend against them.”

Zhao Ti’s expression turned strange. He leaned forward over the desk, hands resting on it, fixing his gaze on Zhou Dong: “You say Li Xian’s red-thread flying needles were swift and devious, his movement ghostly and invisible?”