Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Golden Blade King

His blade was forged of gold, shining with a dazzling brilliance that might even appear gaudy to some. But if you were to mistake him for a mere upstart, you would be grievously wrong.

This man hailed from a noble lineage, a direct descendant of one of the twenty-four founding heroes immortalized in the Portrait Gallery of Lingyan Pavilion—the illustrious Prince of Jiangxia, Li Daozong. His name was Li Jinglong.

Renowned for his mastery of the horse-chopping blade, his swordsmanship was peerless and ferocious. He was a first-rate general, having joined the army at sixteen and guarded the borderlands for forty years. His martial exploits on distant frontiers earned him the title Marquis of Hexi County and the rank of Grand General of the Left Martial Guard upon retirement. The heads he had claimed with his blade were beyond count; the mere mention of his name silenced the children of foreign tribes. He was hailed as the "King of the Blade."

In his twilight years, he retired to Luoyang, avoiding political entanglements. Yet, though he had withdrawn from court affairs, he remained active, passionately mentoring the young and talented. He was one of the chief instructors at the "Divine Martial" Martial Academy, where Feng Xiaobao had once witnessed his public demonstration of the golden blade technique—hence, Feng recognized him now.

Feng Xiaobao had hoped to become his disciple, but at the time, his reputation was obscure, his family background unimpressive, and his arrival too late to join the ranks of applicants—there were simply too many ahead of him.

He never expected to encounter the old King of the Blade blocking his path today. What did this mean?

Not daring to be disrespectful, Feng Xiaobao saluted him with the etiquette due a master. "Lord Jinglong, Xiaobao pays his respects!"

"From time immemorial, heroes have emerged young!" Though Li Jinglong was already in his sixties, his voice was as resounding as a bronze gong. He praised loudly, "I've seen you before! But I never imagined you would make your name so quickly. When I was your age, I was still watering horses and cutting grass in the barracks!"

"Lord Jinglong flatters me!" Feng Xiaobao replied with a wry smile. "But surely you’re not here to reminisce about old times?"

"Of course not!" Li Jinglong shook his head repeatedly. "Someone of great influence has asked me, as a personal favor, to apprehend you. I have no choice in the matter!"

"Life in the martial world leaves one little choice," Feng Xiaobao said in understanding.

"Well said! Life in the martial world leaves one little choice!" Li Jinglong echoed, clearly pleased. "But you are so young, and I am so old. If I fight you, people will say I bully the young and disgrace my age!"

"Exactly!" Feng Xiaobao hastily agreed, secretly hoping the old man would let him pass if he thought so.

But he had underestimated the old man's thick skin. He continued, "On the battlefield, age matters not. The old can falter, the young can kill just the same. Besides, you already have a reputation as a youthful hero—more than enough to face me!"

So, after all that, he still wanted a fight. Feng Xiaobao leveled his spear and said, "Hold on!"

"What? Admitting defeat? If you surrender, I'll just chop you down!" The old King of the Blade's tiger eyes gleamed fiercely.

"Not at all. But if I manage to win even half a move, might you tell me who wishes me harm?"

"You think you’ll win even half a move? Dream on! Prepare yourself!"

"Very well!"

Li Jinglong's eyes narrowed, and with a flourish, the golden blade caught the sunlight, sending a blinding flash into Feng Xiaobao’s eyes.

"I detest this gaudy gold," Feng Xiaobao muttered, sidestepping to avoid the glare and thrusting his spear in return.

The moment their weapons met, Feng Xiaobao realized the old King of the Blade’s reputation was anything but hollow. His swordsmanship was savage, relentless—each strike as cold and inexorable as snow, leaving no opening unexploited.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

Feng Xiaobao’s spearwork was sharp, but from the very start, he found himself suppressed. The golden blade attacked from every direction—up, down, left, right, slashing and sweeping with dazzling precision. Feng Xiaobao was forced onto the defensive, unable to keep up.

Since learning the spear, Feng Xiaobao had always been confident—his "Throat-Locking Spear" combined with great strength and agility had been unstoppable, earning him the reputation of a young hero. But facing the old King of the Blade, he realized how narrow his experience was, how he had underestimated the true masters of the world.

The old King of the Blade was ruthless but seasoned. His blade wove a net, trapping Feng Xiaobao completely. Each savage strike forced Feng Xiaobao to defend, throwing his spearwork into disarray. The old man's footwork was superb, always one step ahead, neutralizing Feng Xiaobao’s speed and agility.

Blade against spear, the weight of the sword left Feng Xiaobao struggling. The opponent always forced him on the defensive—if he did not block, a single exchange would see him cleaved in two, while his own spear might not even wound his foe.

Unable to muster any offensive momentum and suppressed on all fronts, Feng Xiaobao was horrified to find that even his much-vaunted strength was no match. The enemy's blade was heavy, yet his technique was fluid and effortless—when the heavy blade was unleashed, Feng Xiaobao could only retreat hastily.

Though aged, the old King of the Blade had lost none of his strength or agility. Coupled with the narrowness of the street, Feng Xiaobao could not make full use of his speed or create distance.

Before long, he found himself in dire straits, unable to gain any advantage and drenched in sweat, his former composure utterly shattered.

In less than thirty exchanges, the old King of the Blade had suppressed him completely. Feng Xiaobao's body became rigid as the golden blade pressed against his throat—he was utterly defeated.

As expected, Li Jinglong did not strike him down, but instead asked, "Do you know why you were defeated?"

Without waiting for a reply, the old King of the Blade gave the answer himself: "Yang Deqing’s spear technique is indeed precise, but its scope is too limited!"

"The 'Throat-Locking Spear' focuses all its attack on a single point—it cannot attack or defend a wider area. That's why Yang relied on his subordinates to guard his flanks, forming a spearhead charge. You, boy, are not bad—you can shift your attack and defend yourself by constantly moving in battle."

Li Jinglong's eyes were sharp as torches; after just one bout, he saw through Feng Xiaobao’s weakness.

Yang Deqing’s spear technique had a major flaw—suitable for solo duels, but greatly lacking in formation warfare. Yang himself had admitted this, and Feng Xiaobao had devised his own method: relying on agility to continuously shift his position and attack. It worked against ordinary foes, but against a true master, his method was quickly seen through and broken.

But why spend so many words? Suddenly inspired, Feng Xiaobao humbly asked, "May I ask, Lord Jinglong, how can this flaw be resolved?"

The old King of the Blade sheathed his sword and said quietly, "When you have time, come find me at Shangxiufang."

The King of the Blade's residence at Shangxiufang—was this an invitation to become his disciple? Feng Xiaobao was both surprised and delighted. He bowed deeply, exclaiming, "Thank you, Lord Jinglong!"

"Go on! And be careful ahead!"

With this warning, the old King of the Blade watched him leave. From the roadside, a burly man with a square face emerged, saluted, and asked, "Master, to just let him go—won't that make it hard to answer to the other side?"

"Such talent is rare, not seen in a hundred years. Give me three years to train him, and he will be one of the finest warriors of the Great Tang!" The old King of the Blade replied, ignoring the real question.

"Then congratulations, Master! We’ll soon have a new junior brother!" The man—Li Jinglong’s third disciple, Shi Yiwen—immediately offered his congratulations, understanding his master's intentions. Since his master planned to accept Feng Xiaobao as a disciple, the other party’s request could be disregarded—one could hardly ask a master to kill his own apprentice!

In terms of benefit, winning a great warrior for the Tang Dynasty far outweighed any other interests.

Feng Xiaobao proceeded alone, finding the street unusually quiet—no passersby, no signs of business.

The answer soon became clear. At the end of the street, yet another swordsman awaited him.