Chapter Fourteen: What Does It Matter If Snow Falls in March?

The so-called Three Surnames and Ten Houses referred collectively to the ten great families of the borderlands. The three surnames were Wu, He, and Tian.

Among them, the Wu clan had the largest number of people, divided into five branches: the Upper Wu, as well as the East, South, North, and Lower Wu Houses. However, sheer numbers did not equate to the greatest power. In the years when wars still raged, the Wu clan members knew some martial arts, which lent them a certain standing. Yet in recent times, the Tian family produced a prodigy who rose to become the Chancellor; naturally, his kin back home also soared to prominence, basking in his reflected glory, and thus the Tian clan became the most powerful among the ten. The He family, too, fared better than the numerically superior Wu, thanks to the patronage of Magistrate He.

But as for Sun Longhu, he cared nothing for these so-called Three Surnames and Ten Houses. To the eyes of the armored lancers, the only command that mattered was that of the General atop the scaled-dragon steed. At his order, blades flashed as they surged forward again.

Sun Longhu’s Tang blade gleamed with a cold brilliance. In that fleeting moment, the youth seemed to perceive three inches of azure light bursting forth from the blade—a mere flicker, like a shaft of blue radiance, as it struck straight at the broadsword in the Wu patriarch’s hands.

The youth was certain he hadn’t been mistaken. The Tang blade, shimmering with blue light, sliced effortlessly through the broadsword, severing it in two.

With a single stroke, the Wu patriarch was subdued. Sun Longhu’s blade pressed against his throat—one inch closer, and it would have opened his jugular.

“Behave yourself!”

Sun Longhu kicked the Wu patriarch behind the knee, forcing him to kneel. At once, the lancers surged forward, disarming him and restraining him firmly.

In an instant, the situation shifted dramatically. The sobbing Lady Wu-Li fell silent, covering her mouth in terror as she looked upon her husband.

High upon the dais, Magistrate He breathed a sigh of relief, absentmindedly twirling his sparse goatee. A smile lit his eyes, born of satisfaction.

Yang Yanlang stood at the front of the hall with an unruffled expression, as if he had foreseen these developments. Meanwhile, Zhong Ming was still marveling at Sun Longhu’s miraculous swordplay; the three inches of azure radiance upon the blade was just like the legendary inner force of the martial world, opening the youth’s eyes anew.

Standing beside the Wu patriarch, Tian Xingjian had retreated a step, avoiding the clash. A smile played about his lips as he gently waved his folding fan, unhurried and detached, as if none of this concerned him in the least.

Sensing danger, the Wu patriarch cried out, “Young Master Tian, save me!”

Only then did Tian Xingjian close his fan and take a step forward, bowing in the scholar’s salute to Yang Yanlang. “I am Tian Xingjian. Greetings to Lord Yang.”

Everyone’s gaze now converged on the young master of the Tian family. Even Yang Yanlang looked on with interest; he, too, had heard of this young prodigy.

Tian Yizheng, the Chancellor, was well known to Yang Yanlang, who served alongside him in court. Though civil and military officials often clashed, Chancellor Tian’s wisdom and skill in governance were widely acknowledged, and Yang Yanlang held him in great esteem, addressing him with respect in the imperial court.

As for the Chancellor’s treasured grandson, Yang Yanlang had long heard rumors, though never met him until now. Thus, he took the chance to study the youth carefully.

Tian Xingjian was nonchalant, and after the formalities, he had the leisure to say to Zhong Ming, “Zhong Ming, I didn’t expect to see you here. It seems you and Lord Yang are quite close. Is this your rise to fame and fortune? Congratulations, congratulations!”

His words sounded flattering, but a closer listen revealed a note of mockery.

Zhong Ming, of course, heard it. He looked at Tian Xingjian as usual, unperturbed. This young master was known for his lofty standards and had only contempt for those mired in poverty. If not for a clever idea that once caught Tian’s attention, Zhong Ming would have never been worthy of his notice.

The young prodigy had every right to be arrogant; Zhong Ming understood the privilege that came with that pride, and saw no reason to waste words in pointless rivalry.

With calm composure, Zhong Ming replied, “Not as impressive as you, Young Master Tian. With the Chancellor’s name, you can carouse in the Hongxiang Pavilion as you please. Even if I were to rise to prominence, I could never match the depth of your family’s wealth, nor your extravagant ways with gold and women.”

When it came to sharp tongues, the youth was never one to concede.

To be generous in spirit is to feel no anger; to never yield in words is a matter of pride.

Tian Xingjian, unexpectedly provoked, laughed in exasperation, fanning himself as he replied, “Well said—truly, Master Zhong, you never cease to amuse. You are indeed an interesting fellow!”

“Young Master Tian, please, save me!” cried the Wu patriarch again, oblivious to the subtle contest between the two youths.

A look of displeasure flashed across Tian Xingjian’s face. He closed his fan, bowed again to Yang Yanlang, and said, “I beg Lord Yang to spare the Wu patriarch. I would be most grateful.”

Yang Yanlang smiled. “This Wu scoundrel has shown contempt for the court and disregarded the New Tang Constitution. Tell me, cousin Tian, how can a man who deserves beheading be spared?”

“So Lord Yang refuses to release him?”

The humility had vanished from Tian Xingjian’s bearing, his expression growing cold.

As one of the Three Divine Generals of New Tang, Yang Yanlang was hardly one to be cowed. Sensing Tian’s disrespect, his own tone turned icy. “Give me one good reason to let him go! Even if Chancellor Tian himself stood here today, he would not dare ask me to release a prisoner for no cause!”

Any hope of negotiation was thus extinguished. Perhaps, had Tian Xingjian not intervened, the Wu patriarch might still have been released with a few words of apology and deference. The general was no bloodthirsty man.

But the Wu family, arrogant for years, had never known humility or remorse, always turning to their allies for help rather than admitting fault.

Angering the general, the consequences were obvious.

Tian Xingjian’s face grew strained. He frowned, lowered his head, and began murmuring under his breath, words too soft to hear.

In the blink of an eye, a cool breeze rose within the hall, emanating from Tian Xingjian and sweeping outward.

Again, something miraculous unfolded. Zhong Ming’s eyes widened, scrutinizing every detail, while Yang Yanlang suddenly leaned forward, shouting, “Scaled Guard, fall back!”

From the general’s reaction, Zhong Ming knew this was no small matter. Tian Xingjian was doing something extraordinary; Yang Yanlang’s eyes blazed with anger and a new wariness.

Sun Longhu and his men quickly hauled the Wu patriarch away. Lady Wu-Li scrambled out, heedless even of her son’s corpse.

Soon, only Tian Xingjian remained standing in the hall.

The breeze grew colder, turning into a piercing wind, sharp as icy blades against the skin. Zhong Ming saw his own breath crystallize in the air; the temperature had plummeted as if winter had returned in the heart of spring.

Outside, the skies darkened, wind and clouds churning. A streak of blue light shot up from the Tian family estate, leaping across several streets, heading straight for the county office.

Standing atop the dais, Yang Yanlang seemed to sense its approach and lifted his gaze just before the beam arrived.

The blue light flashed and plunged into the crown of Tian Xingjian’s head.

At that instant, the cold reached its extreme. Zhong Ming shivered uncontrollably as white ice crystals drifted through the air. One landed on his hand; he frowned, pinched it, and then his brows rose in surprise. “A snowflake?”

Though it was still March and somewhat chilly, it was far from cold enough to snow. At most, there could be a cold spring rain.

Snow in March—it was simply inconceivable.

Was this some kind of martial art?

Zhong Ming was riddled with questions, but no one could answer, for even his uncle Yang seemed tense and ready for battle.

Tian Xingjian, standing alone in the hall, slowly raised his head. When he opened his eyes again, his irises were a deep blue, almost unearthly, exuding a chill that pierced the soul. Wherever his gaze fell, frost patterns spread.

After Tian Xingjian surveyed the hall, a world of ice crystals, etched with strange patterns, formed behind him. Drums and horns sounded, and the howling wind seemed to join the music.

Faintly, Zhong Ming heard someone chant:

“In the heavens, the Jade Capital gleams,
Twelve towers, five walled cities;
An immortal brushes my brow,
And grants me long life...”

The voice drifted in and out—distant as a dream, near as thunder at one’s ear.

Panic seized everyone in the hall. Someone cried out, “It’s an immortal! An immortal from the Jade Capital has descended! Kneel and welcome the immortal!”

Following Magistrate He’s lead, constables, bailiffs, and Wu family servants dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the floor, eyes tightly shut, not daring to show the slightest disrespect.

Witnessing this, Zhong Ming was dumbstruck. Who could doubt that a true immortal was present, one who could conjure snow in March?

As the youth hesitated over whether to kneel, he glanced over and saw Yang Yanlang’s grave expression—yet the general showed no sign of bowing.

Nor did the scaled lancers; their eyes remained fixed upon the blue-eyed Tian Xingjian.

It seemed they were well accustomed to such supernatural displays, and met them without alarm.

Observing this, Zhong Ming reasoned that if Yang Yanlang did not kneel, neither need he.

Finally, the blue-eyed Tian Xingjian turned his icy gaze on the general. “And if I tell you to release him?”

His voice was like a blade of ice, stabbing painfully at the ears. Zhong Ming had to cover his own, and the general’s face grew darker still.

Around the general, the floor was already covered in a thick layer of frost, glittering under the sunlight. Only he knew how much pressure he was under.

Yet he still managed a smile. “Even if the Lady Immortal Echan herself descended today, still I, Yang Yanlang, would answer with one word: No!”

With that, he extended a finger, pointing at the blue-eyed Tian Xingjian. “The New Tang Constitution stands. Even the Son of Heaven is equal before the law. The Jade Capital cannot stand above the law!”

“Insolence!”

Tian Xingjian swept his hand, and a wild gale roared through the hall. White crystals solidified into icy spikes, all aimed at the general.

Yang Yanlang only laughed coldly. Raising his right arm, he opened his palm and shouted, “Silver Dragon Spear, show your cold light!”

The Silver Dragon Spear, hanging from his horse, seemed to hear its master’s call. With a low, resonant hum, it shot into the air.

The spear’s silver brilliance pierced the walls of the county office, leaving a fist-sized hole, and flew to the general’s side, singing with a metallic note.

Grasping the spear, the general swept aside his robes and drove its butt into the ground. Instantly, the frost at his feet shattered with a crackling sound.

The ice seemed almost alive, struggling to reform.

But the general shouted, “You—a mere low-ranking immortal official—think you can threaten me, Yang Yanlang? The Jade Capital has underestimated me!”

As his words rang out, the Silver Dragon Spear in his hands let out a piercing dragon’s roar, louder than the immortal music from before.

A fresh breeze swept through the hall, and all the ice crystals vanished, leaving only the general in his white robe, his garments billowing majestically.

“Young immortal, do you wish to cross blades with me?”

Spear in hand, the general leveled its tip at the blue-eyed Tian Xingjian.