Chapter 1017: To Whom Again to Ask for News of Plum Blossoms

Chapter 1017: To Whom Again to Ask for News of Plum Blossoms

Revisiting an old haunt, all things remained the same but the people had changed; past events seemed like nothing but a dream.

Shujian Lake, Suling Island.

Tian Hujun, the island master who had been in seclusion, quietly emerged from isolation. In a pavilion atop the mountain peak, she laid out a feast and sat opposite a young Confucian scholar dressed in a soft robe and wearing a silk headband.

Tian Hujun’s face was slightly pale, and she did not even dare to speak a few words of pleasantries. It was as if she were a willful and mischievous child in a village school, listening to the teachings of a master.

The young man collected his thoughts and smiled. “Senior Brother Qin is still this busy?”

Since his tone was questioning, Tian Hujun quickly and carefully chose her words. Her voice trembling, she replied, “Qin Que is an old acquaintance of Zhao Fuyang of Chuiyuan Mountain. I am not unfamiliar with Yu Chunque of Fenwan Manor, Hehuan Mountain, myself. More than a hundred years ago, Yu Chunque once visited Qingxia Island, and my master had me entertain her in his stead. In recent years, Yu Chunque’s son, Yu Zhen, also secretly traveled through Shujian Lake and visited my Suling Island. So, for this marriage recruitment at Hehuan Mountain, Qin Que couldn’t very well refuse and went alone to attend the banquet. I needed to go into seclusion and had no wish to be entangled with that Hehuan Mountain, so I declined the invitation. The Hehuan Mountain feast is being held tonight.”

She answered truthfully in full detail, but Tian Hujun absolutely did not say a single extra word, afraid that adding feet to the snake would only complicate matters further.

For instance, that Hehuan Mountain now called itself something like “Little Shujian Lake.” Would Tian Hujun dare to say a single word more?

For a moment, she hated Yu Chunque to the bone. Of all the times to get to know such a woman.

The young man took a sip of wine. It was Crow-Cry Wine that he had specially bought from Chishui City before boarding the island. He teased, “More than a hundred years ago? In recent years? It seems Senior Sister Tian is still this vague when she speaks.”

Tian Hujun’s face instantly turned deathly pale. She hurriedly reported two precise numbers.

The young man raised his palm and wiped his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. Casually, he said, “Senior Sister doesn’t need to be so nervous. It’s just called Little Shujian Lake; it’s not the real Shujian Lake. And anyway, what of the real Shujian Lake? Isn’t it right under Senior Sister’s and my backsides right now?”

The former snot-nosed brat from Narrow Alley, now Gu Can of White Emperor City.

He had left Shujian Lake many years ago and had only recently returned from the Barren Wastes to Bottle Gourd Continent.

Gu Can suddenly asked, “Teacher didn’t agree to let Liu Laocheng succeed as the fourth sect master of True Realm Sect. Is it because he has ambitions to start his own sect, or is he afraid of something, hiding from something?”

Tian Hujun felt as if a heavy hammer had struck her chest. She could barely breathe. The fault lay entirely with that time her master had taken her to visit Zhang Ye, where she had overheard things she shouldn’t have.

Otherwise, she could have feigned ignorance to Gu Can’s question.

“Senior Sister hasn’t done anything that would give her a guilty conscience, so why be so nervous? Is it a case of ‘three hundred taels of silver buried here’? If I weren’t clear on Senior Sister’s character, I would be suspicious of you.”

Gu Can set down his wine cup and stood up, leaning against the railing. “The pair of Flower Spirit cups on the table can be considered a congratulatory gift for Senior Sister successfully emerging from seclusion and one day entering the Nascent Soul stage. They are not imitations or fakes.”

Tian Hujun rose as well.

Gu Can said, “Zeng Ye and Lü Caisang of Huangli Island are probably not what could be called friends, but compared to you, Senior Sister Tian, and Senior Brother Qin, they are still somewhat different in my heart. In the future, regarding the Five Island Sect, Senior Sister Tian, remember to look after them more. Once you become a Nascent Soul earth immortal, on the cultivation path of the next hundred or few hundred years, do one or two things for Zeng Ye that are like sending charcoal in the snow. As for adding flowers to silk, forget it. I don’t want to owe Senior Sister a favor for that kind of thing. By then, there will naturally be someone beside Zeng Ye to remind Senior Sister Tian to act and help the Five Island Sect through its difficulties. So Senior Sister doesn’t need to trouble herself with when or how to act.”

Tian Hujun, far from feeling heavy-hearted, instead breathed a sigh of relief and said softly, “I won’t shirk my responsibility. I will do my utmost.”

Gu Can smiled. “Senior Sister Tian is still the same—saying things as decisive as chopping nails and shearing iron, but doing things as light as a wild goose feather.”

Tian Hujun’s scalp went numb.

Gu Can said, “But still better than me.”

This time, after escaping from the Barren Wastes, he had gone to a certain ferry crossing and seen that Song Banchai, who had already become a noble prince of Great Li. They had been neighbors in the same alley for many years, but now meeting again didn’t seem to have much meaning. It was less interesting than when they were children, shouting curses at each other from behind their doors.

Gu Can suddenly raised the back of his hand and gently pressed it against his chest. His handsome face twisted, and he muttered a curse: “Damn that Cao Ci and his teacher.”

Because he had fought with that Cao Ci, who had already reached the first level of spirit, and had lost miserably.

Gu Can gazed into the distance at the island that had once been Liu Laocheng’s training ground.

Palace-Willow Island was now the ancestral temple of True Realm Sect.

The current sect master was Liu Laocheng, a Martial Master realm cultivator. He was also the first Upper Five Realm rogue cultivator in Bottle Gourd Continent in over two thousand years, and it was universally acknowledged that he had great fortune.

The chief guest elder was Liu Zhimao, whose Dao name was “Cutting the River,” at the Jade Pu realm. The law enforcement patriarch was Li Fuju. Among the front-row seats in True Realm Sect’s ancestral temple, only this Nascent Soul stage female cultivator, who had originally come from the Jade Gui Sect’s registered lineage, held a position.

Now, almost the entire vast waters of Shujian Lake were the private territory of this subordinate sect of Jade Gui Sect.

The “almost” was because five of the islands had established their own sects and were not under True Realm Sect’s jurisdiction, thus making them particularly conspicuous.

Gu Can turned his head to look elsewhere. Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi were now cultivating over there.

When Jiang Shangzhen had been the sect master of True Realm Sect, he had once, without deliberation by the ancestral temple and without notifying the superior sect, privately made a shady deal with the Great Li imperial court. He had “sold” five islands, including White Tassel Island of Shujian Lake, to Fallen Mountain at an extremely low price. The Ministry of Rites secretly recorded it and transferred the deeds. If anyone really wanted to pursue the matter, there were many loopholes. This contract lacked both the signature and personal seal of Chen Ping’an, the mountain master. Both True Realm Sect and Jade Gui Sect had been kept in the dark. It was a done deal.

Because Jiang Shangzhen had acted simultaneously in his capacity as sect master of True Realm Sect and as Fallen Mountain’s chief guest elder, Zhou Fei, it was like selling from his left hand to his right.

Back then at Fallen Mountain, when Zhu Lian learned of this, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Chief Zhou’s handiwork is truly a work of art. Breathtaking, utterly breathtaking.”

Of course, Jiang Shangzhen had paid for this himself. It was only a hundred Guayu coins anyway.

At the time, neither True Realm Sect nor the Great Li imperial court had made this public. Afterwards, the five islands had remained under the name of Zeng Ye, a local ghost cultivator of Shujian Lake.

Later, when Jade Gui Sect sensed something amiss, they were about to make a big deal out of it. They planned to drag that corrupt Jiang Shangzhen back to the ancestral temple on Divine Seal Peak and spit in his face.

But before anyone could call him to account at the first assembly after his return to the sect, Xun Yuan resigned as sect master, and Jiang Shangzhen succeeded him, not Wei Ying of the Nine-Day Peak. So the matter was dropped. Afterwards, when the great war broke out and the Barren Wastes monsters besieged Jade Gui Sect, there was even less energy to spare for such a trivial matter.

Nevertheless, so many years had passed, and Fallen Mountain had not taken possession of this “enclave.” It seemed they intended to let Zeng Ye establish his own sect there, independent and self-governing.

In truth, this did carry some hidden risks. If Jade Gui Sect and Wei Ying pursued the matter, dragging the Great Li imperial court into a three-party lawsuit, True Realm Sect would very likely reclaim these five islands.

After all, aside from his identity as the head of the Jiang clan, Jiang Shangzhen now seemed to be a complete nobody in both the upper and lower sects.

In fact, among the more than forty seats in True Realm Sect’s ancestral temple, those who truly came from the superior sect’s registered lineage were very few, less than twenty percent.

Even so, True Realm Sect had never faced any hidden concerns about losing control. After all, its three successive sect masters—Jiang Shangzhen, Wei Ying, and Liu Laocheng—each alone was enough to intimidate all rivals.

The Five Island Sect now had nearly two hundred registered cultivators on the books, almost all of them ghost cultivators and yin spirits. However, if someone used qi-viewing techniques elsewhere, they would find that these islands were not heavily tainted with filthy evil qi but were quite pure and spiritual instead.

Inside the ancestral temple, only one portrait hung—not that of the founding master Zeng Ye, but of a thin-faced young scholar in a blue robe, a jade hairpin in his hair, hands clasped behind his back, with a serene expression.

Within this Five Island Sect, Zhang Ye held the title of guest elder, and his Langhuan Sect had formed an alliance with the Five Island Sect.

As for the name “Five Island Sect,” which was crude enough to be downright rustic, it had long been a target of criticism. Ma Duyi had often complained to Zeng Ye about it. But changing a sect’s name was a major matter requiring dealings with the Great Li imperial court. They would have to go to the Ministry of Rites in the capital for filing, verification, and approval—a cumbersome process. Ma Duyi was a bully at home but a coward abroad. Being a ghost, she dared not venture to the Great Li capital to see the world. Her previous visit to Chen Ping’an’s Fallen Mountain in Old Dragon Prefecture had already been the limit of her courage, and that was only because she and Zeng Ye had been with Gu Can at the time.

The female ghost Ma Duyi, as the second-in-command of the Five Island Sect, had lived for years inside that foxskin talisman, unwilling to move. She had no ambition or aspiration for breaking through cultivation realms. Instead, her greatest interest lay in being a “baggage peddler,” spending small money to make big profits.

She was also the island master of Cloud Pigeon Island, the name taken from the allusion “cloud pigeon drags rain.”

Gu Can suddenly asked, “The marriage recruitment feast is tonight?”

Tian Hujun nodded. “If I remember correctly, it is tonight.”

Gu Can teased, “Is it the youngest, Zhao Yan, or the third daughter, Yu Youyi? If I recall correctly, she has a thing with the mountain goddess of Chuiyuan Shrine?”

Tian Hujun shook her head in bewilderment. “It is Yu Youyi who is to be married, but I haven’t heard of any such private affairs of Hehuan Mountain. Qin Que only said that the son-in-law has actually been decided in advance. He is the youngest son of a water mansion lord at Hundred Flowers Lake within Miyun Kingdom in the south of Bottle Gourd Continent.”

At this, Tian Hujun suddenly remembered the two Flower Spirit cups on the table.

Sure enough, Gu Can knew everything.

Miyun Kingdom was a land of rivers and lakes. Within its borders lay a great lake called Hundred Flowers Lake. Despite its gentle name, the lake had extremely turbulent and treacherous waters. It was also known as Gourd Lake because the connection between the larger and smaller lakes resembled a waist, forming the shape of a gourd. At the center of this “waist” waterway stood a Dragon King Temple, a shrine that had enjoyed a thousand years of offerings. The front hall enshrined a General Yuan, tasked with calming the waves and protecting the region’s favorable weather. Because the lake experienced heavy fog and rainy weather for at least half the year, boats passing through this area often found themselves in pitch-black darkness, unable to see their hands before their faces. In times of great storms, the temple’s wardens would light lamps and strike bells and drums, allowing boats to follow the light and sound and safely dock until the storm passed. For their meritorious service in protecting the land and calming the waters, successive emperors of Miyun Kingdom had repeatedly bestowed titles and honours upon the two generals enshrined in the temple, eventually making one a king and the other an earl.

But in recent years, for some unknown reason, the statue of the Dragon King in the temple had inexplicably toppled. The two “generals” enshrined in the front and main halls had also disappeared. Then, a water fiend that had survived the great war occupied the temple. In just a dozen years, countless official and merchant ships had capsized and sunk here. Now, whenever boats passed through that gourd-waist waterway, local boatmen, travelers, and merchants would burn incense and paper money in the direction of the old Dragon King Temple, sacrifice cattle and sheep, and set off firecrackers to pray for smooth sailing.

Gu Can smiled. “Fortunes change, haven’t they? Now even a fine Hundred Flowers Lake is not as good as our Shujian Lake.”

Tian Hujun kept her eyes fixed on her nose and her nose fixed on her heart, saying nothing.

Gu Can said, “I still envy people like Zeng Ye. They muddle through to become generals and ministers without a clue. That’s probably what they mean by ‘fools have good fortune’?”

Tian Hujun hesitated, then spoke from the heart. “Indeed enviable.”

Gu Can said, “If you want to break away from the registered lineage of True Realm Sect and Qingxia Island, I can help.”

Tian Hujun waged a fierce inner struggle, but in the end she shook her head. She truly dared not get too entangled with Gu Can; it was better to seek stability and strive for Nascent Soul.

Gu Can chuckled. “Forget it, then. That elder martial aunt of mine, Han Qiaose, originally wanted me to find her a direct disciple. I thought Senior Sister would be the best candidate.”

Tian Hujun opened her mouth as if to speak, but finally remained silent.

The weather was warming, the spring sun gentle and pleasant. In such fine weather, all things seemed auspicious.

Ma Duyi, carrying several long wooden boxes and a bundle on her back, arrived at the Cloud Pigeon Island ferry landing, intending to take a boat to the ancestral island of Bleached Bones and its subordinate Gut Island.

Nowadays, Shujian Lake had so many rules that registered cultivators had to carry a manual with them and consult it frequently to avoid violating codes or prohibitions. Even flying had its intricacies—different routes for cultivators of different statuses. True Realm Sect had clear regulations, which was the might of a sect.

The Five Island Sect was their own territory, free from such restrictions. Still, Ma Duyi preferred taking a boat slowly across the lake rather than flying.

Cloud Pigeon Island housed almost exclusively female cultivators. The boat was rowed by an old woman who looked frail but had considerable strength. She smiled. “Island Master, another good haul?”

Ma Duyi joked, “Whether it’s gain or loss depends on luck. If I picked up a bargain, you’ll get a reward on the way back. If we lost money, I’ll deduct it from your monthly salary.”

She had just acquired a few scrolls of calligraphy and painting and several albums of flower-and-bird paintings, intending to have two experts appraise them.

The old woman laughed. “Island Master really knows how to manage a household. I wonder which man will be so fortunate as to have such a good wife and marry the island master.”

Ma Duyi laughed with delight. “Whether it’s gain or loss, there will be a reward!”

Over at Bleached Bones Island, the “ancestral mountain” of the Five Island Sect, there was a guest elder—a ghost Ma Duyi had “picked up” from the roadside years ago. He was raggedly dressed but had an imposing air; his poverty couldn’t conceal an innate nobility beneath the surface. His name was Deng Linjiong. He was taciturn and timid by nature, but he had a keen eye for appraisal. His catchphrase was, “This thing, it’s not quite right.”

But when asked in what way it wasn’t right, Deng Linjiong couldn’t articulate it like Yuan Yue could. Nevertheless, any antique he deemed “not right” turned out to be a fake or a high-quality imitation.

Over time, Yuan Yue, who had initially looked askance at Deng Linjiong, went from merely accepting it verbally to being genuinely convinced on the inside.

By day, the wind was gentle and the sun mild; by night, the moonlight and sky were the same. Here, humans and ghosts coexisted harmoniously, like a paradise on earth.

Zeng Ye had become a highly legendary cultivator in the Shujian Lake region.

It wasn’t because his talent was outstanding—he hadn’t even formed a golden core yet—but because his luck was simply too good.

Back then, the boy with a special constitution had been noticed by Zhang Ye and taken away from Maoyue Island. He should have died at his master’s hands, but instead he transferred to Qingxia Island. There, he was chosen as an assistant by the accountant Chen Ping’an—the later young Hidden Official—and they lived next door to each other at the sect gate. Later, when Chen Ping’an left Shujian Lake, Zeng Ye followed Gu Can. Then Gu Can left his hometown to travel to other continents and eventually became a direct disciple of Zheng Juzhong of White Emperor City. Before leaving, Gu Can “lent” Zeng Ye a Peaceful Nothing Tablet issued by the Great Li Ministry of Justice.

Only much later did Zeng Ye realize that Gu Can had such extraordinary means—he had directly transferred the ownership of the tablet to Zeng Ye.

Zhang Ye was full of admiration for this. First, a Peaceful Nothing Tablet from Great Li was considered more valuable than a sect registration; the latter was only a talisman of protection, while the former was a certificate of immunity. Second, that Gu Can could transfer the tablet to Zeng Ye was extremely difficult—it was not like buying and selling real estate or transferring deeds.

Then there was the time Zeng Ye, walking alone on Bleached Bones Island, happened to pick up a manual on the ground. On the preface page was written a prophecy: “Five hundred years later, one surnamed Zeng will obtain it by fate.”

But the ink wasn’t even dry. That really was deceiving ghosts.

Of course, it was Jiang Shangzhen’s handiwork.

The manual was indeed extraordinary. It was a secret scripture that even Jiang Shangzhen valued. For Jiang Shangzhen to consider a Dao book valuable, its rarity was unimaginable.

Originally, it had been a relic obtained by Jiang’s ancestors from the Cloud-Cave Blessed Land. Because only ghost cultivators could study it, and the requirements for the practitioner’s aptitude were extremely high, it had long been considered a chicken rib—useless but hard to abandon. Yet even so, it still enjoyed the reputation of “opening a new path within the ghostly way.” But chicken rib or not, there were still many ghost cultivators in the world, especially those shadowy but wealthy ghost immortals. If Jiang Shangzhen had wanted to make money, he would have had no trouble selling it.

Escaping from Maoyue Island, serving as a page boy for Accountant Chen of Qingxia Island, receiving a Peaceful Nothing Tablet from Gu Can, obtaining a high-grade ghost cultivation manual, and gaining five islands on which to establish his own sect—

In less than thirty years, these five consecutive events had made Zeng Ye the sect master and founding patriarch of a sect.

Not long ago, a female ghost named Qutang had joined the Five Island Sect. She was beautiful, at the Cavern Dwelling stage.

The Five Island Sect was a small sect, with very few Middle Five Realm cultivators, so she was quickly promoted to ancestral temple elder after registration.

For ghosts to wander in the daytime, unless they had achieved significant cultivation or could rely on certain protective artifacts that block the sun and allow them to move in harmony with the natural flow of celestial qi, the consequences would be dire. At best they would lose cultivation; at worst they would be destroyed. But some ghosts with minor achievements needed to travel through hills and rivers under the fierce sun. This was akin to “water-walking”—water tribes walking water to transform into dragons—while these ghosts were trying to avoid certain unavoidable weapons-tribulations. They had to leave their original “yin residences,” or else unexpected calamities would befall them. A clap of thunder, for instance, or a flash of lightning, and they would vanish into smoke, centuries of hard cultivation lost. To protect themselves, they needed a talisman, a passport to walk the human world. The best candidates were scholars with abundant literary spirit. If they could find someone with the “wealthy and noble destiny” described in feng shui books as “one within the green silk curtains,” that would be even more fortunate.

As for those with strong martial arts prowess, avoid them. That would be like moths flying into a flame. Martial artists had heavy fist intent and plentiful yang qi, from which ghosts fled. They would not actively seek their own deaths.

Previously, Qutang had left a long-abandoned haunted house in the city, hiding inside an umbrella. She wanted to follow a scholar across a river, hoping to evade the river god and the nearby city god. But before crossing, she encountered a blue-robed immortal master who saw through her. Though it was a close call, he didn’t genuinely trouble her. Instead, he gave her a stack of Yellow Seal talismans and told her that after crossing the river, she could find a cultivator named Zeng Ye at Shujian Lake.

The largest of the five islands, Gut Island, was said to be the mortal shell of a great demon of Shujian Lake who had achieved liberation by death. It had numerous caves and winding, twisting paths like an underground labyrinth.

Though it sounded unsettling, it was actually a place of beautiful scenery.

Yuan Yue, the current island master of Gut Island, was one of the many Shujian Lake cultivators who had died at Gu Can’s hands. But Yuan Yue had always been easygoing by nature, and after death his resentment toward Gu Can wasn’t that strong. Over the years, he had stayed by Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi’s side. He had been familiar with both Chen Ping’an and Gu Can. Whenever they traveled, Yuan Yue often accompanied Ma Duyi as a “baggage peddler,” buying cheap antiques and calligraphy and helping verify authenticity and estimate prices. They had picked up many bargains. Yuan Yue, as one of the few founding elders of the Five Island Sect, now served as an elder much like a “dog-headed strategist.” His training ground was a cave on Gut Island with a plaque reading “Utmost Sincerity.” Ma Duyi ate the meat and he drank the soup, so he too had accumulated considerable wealth. He had taken in a few orphaned ghosts, boys and girls, as disciples.

Ma Duyi hadn’t expected to find Yuan Yue and Deng Linjiong together, playing a game of Go while Zeng Ye, a terrible player, looked on from the side.

Also there was Qutang, brewing tea. Her jade hairpin coiled in a snail-shaped bun, lightly powdered. She was truly a great beauty.

Ma Duyi opened her bundle and laid all the treasures she had just bought cheaply on the table. Not in a hurry to have the two experts appraise them, she pulled over a chair and said seriously, “Qutang, Sir Chen must have taken a liking to you. Who could help but pity you? Even a woman like me would fall for you. Sir Chen is most compassionate and cherishes the fair.”

Zeng Ye said crossly, “Don’t talk nonsense! Sir Chen would never do such a thing. Don’t make jokes like that anymore, or you’ll be insulting Miss Qutang.”

Qutang smiled. “Sect Master Zeng, as long as that Sir Chen doesn’t mind, I don’t mind at all.”

Ma Duyi gave Qutang a thumbs-up, then turned to Zeng Ye with a “tch” sound. “Sect Master Zeng, oh Sect Master Zeng. You followed Sir Chen for so many years and didn’t learn a single useful thing. But this pedantic scholar’s air, you’ve picked it up almost completely.”

Zeng Ye smiled. “If I can learn even a little, it’s good.”

Qutang asked curiously, “Is Sir Chen a Daoist adept who has preserved his youthful appearance? How many cycles of Dao age has he spent on the mountains?”

She had a peaceful, non-competitive nature, and kept to herself here, without many friends. Besides, the ghosts of the Five Island Sect nowadays all preferred to cultivate alone and seldom visited one another.

Yuan Yue and Deng Linjiong exchanged a glance, both a little envious of Qutang.

She had been personally recommended by the young Hidden Official.

But it seemed she was still in the dark about Sir Chen’s true identity. The sect master and island master had deliberately kept it from her.

Yuan Yue was born into an old noble family from a small southern kingdom. He was known as a child prodigy, becoming an inspector in the National History Academy at sixteen. Later he was promoted to an attendant scholar in the Hanlin Academy, compiling the histories of the previous dynasty. He served in the court for over forty years, drafting many imperial decrees and epitaphs for the nation’s meritorious officials.

Yuan Yue had loved refined conversation and valued moral learning. When serving as a local official, he disdained practical administrative matters like criminal investigation, finance, grain, and census registration.

The Yuan family library was extremely rich, at one point said to be the best in the kingdom’s southeast. Yuan Yue personally collected ten thousand scrolls and built a new library called “Pure Talk Residence.” He compiled catalogues of the family’s rare books and valuable calligraphy. One important sign of a true collector was whether the family collection could be compiled into a book just from its entries. But after Yuan Yue left his hometown to cultivate, he lost his freedom at Shujian Lake. Cut off from correspondence, he could no longer look after his family. Within two generations, the family had declined miserably. The collection was poorly kept; some was pawned by unfilial descendants, some stolen by cunning servants, and more than half was destroyed by concubines and maids. A few years ago, Yuan Yue went back to his homeland, but the sight only saddened him.

Because of Zeng Ye’s connection with Chen Ping’an and Gu Can, and with the backing of Fallen Mountain, the cultivators of the Five Island Sect were relatively comfortable in the now radically changed Shujian Lake. Compared to the uncertified outer disciples of True Realm Sect, they were not exactly superior, but at least they were not looked down upon.

As for why Ma Duyi refused to reveal her true face, she was extremely magnanimous about it. She would only say, “As Su Shi said, ‘This body is like a traveling inn.’ Since the principle is so, why worry about it?”

Zeng Ye suddenly said, “Ma Duyi, I’m planning to go to the Great Li capital.”

Ma Duyi asked, “Have you thought of a new name, and want to register it with the Ministry of Rites in person? Or have you been corresponding with Sir Chen behind my back?”

Zeng Ye shook his head. “How could I trouble Sir Chen with such a small matter? I just want to travel and broaden my horizons.”

It turned out that Sir Chen had previously sent a letter, telling Zeng Ye to visit the capital if he had time, to gain experience. The letter also introduced an old immortal master named Liu Yi, saying he was the gatekeeper of that alley. Zeng Ye only needed to stop at the alley entrance, state his identity as an acquaintance of Chen Ping’an, and he could also have Zhao Duanming, a youth from the Zhao clan of Heavenly Water, show him around the capital. He just needed to say it was Chen Ping’an’s wish.

So Zeng Ye wanted to follow Sir Chen’s advice and make a trip to the Great Li capital.

Ma Duyi fumed. “A small matter?! How is this a small matter?!”

Zeng Ye smiled. “A sect’s name—if it’s passable, that’s fine.”

In the night.

An ancient temple surrounded by water on all sides. In front of the mountain gate was a narrow stone staircase winding upward.

A young Daoist sat on the steps. At the mountain gate, at the water’s edge at the foot of the island, lay a stone turtle carrying a stele on its back. The stele weighed ten thousand catties and was inscribed with a Daoist text on governing clouds and rain.

This place had once been one of the many temporary shrines of a true dragon. She had rarely stopped here, but it was one of the few remaining traces.

She had cast a seal upon her forehead, and there was a slight blemish on the cicada-like horn of her headdress.

Lu Chen sighed. Clouds and water drifted together; blown here and there, all were autumn in the heart.

Looking at the giant turtle, Lu Chen smiled. “Don’t pretend to be asleep over there. Tell me, how did you escape that calamity? How did Zhu Yan not strike down with his staff?”

The stone turtle actually came to life. It twisted its neck to look at the Daoist wearing a lotus crown. The old turtle seemed very guilty and said hoarsely, “Back then, a tribulation was indeed upon me. I told Zhu Yan and Fei Fei that I was an old acquaintance of the Lu Cult Leader, that I was acting under his decree and guarding the Hundred Flowers Lake temple here, meanwhile practicing Dao arts and contemplating the heavenly text on my back, and that I would one day go to the Jade Capital to pay respects to the Cult Leader. I said if they dared to cause trouble here, they should beware the Cult Leader’s wrath. I did not dare to hide anything; that’s roughly what I said. Those two throne-level demons let me go after hearing that, and even Hundred Flowers Lake was spared. It was all borrowed glory—borrowing the Cult Leader’s glory.”

Lu Chen “tsked.” “You’re quite arrogant in your speech. And they actually believed you?”

The turtle bowed its head to the ground and said in a muffled voice, “It was luck, luck. All thanks to the Cult Leader.”

Lu Chen waved his sleeve, and a painting of a lady appeared, done in meticulous brushwork. It was the figure of that female martial artist surnamed Lü. He said, “My memory isn’t great, and it’s not convenient for me to divine frequently these days. Take a look—is she one of the many palace maids by his side?”

The turtle’s eyes immediately glittered with golden light. He fixed his gaze on it and nodded. “Yes, yes. Her appearance has changed quite a bit, but her temperament hasn’t changed much. Especially those eyes—no mistake about it.”

Lu Chen dispersed the painting and smiled. “Old friend, this is a rare meeting. If you want to complain, get on with it.”

“I beg the Cult Leader, in your mercy, to remove this stele.”

The turtle said cautiously, “I beg to be reborn as a human.”

Lu Chen put his hand to his ear. “What? The wind is too loud, I can’t hear clearly. Speak up. No favors asked? Good, good. Farewell.”

By the time the Cult Leader left the island, the turtle had turned its head back to the lake. After a full hour, he spat.

Another half hour later, the turtle’s heart-lake echoed with the Cult Leader’s laughter: “Cultivators are too full of frivolous energy; they are not vessels for condensing the Dao.”

The turtle was not particularly alarmed. One good thing about the Cult Leader was his magnanimity; getting cursed at a couple of times didn’t matter.

At the same time, the Daoist text on the stele fell off like autumn leaves. In a moment, the stele was still on the turtle’s back, but the stone-carved text was gone.

The old turtle then condensed into human form, radiating water luck and Dao aura. He held a miniature stele in his hand as his lifebound treasure, raised his arm high, and hurled it heavily toward a water mansion at the bottom of the lake. He said slowly, “With my temper, do you think I can stand you lot?”

Hehuan Mountain, at the foot, Fengle Town.

In an alley, Liu Tie and the girl walked in front, with Lü Mo behind them, about five or six paces away.

She saw a blur before her eyes. The young Daoist appeared, his form hazy, a smile on his face.

He breathed a gentle breath toward her.

Like wind blowing sand, before Lü Mo, a Small Grandmaster of martial arts at the bottleneck of the Fifth Realm, could react, the Daoist simply exhaled. Her flesh and blood instantly dissolved. Her bones turned into countless golden specks of starlight that scattered along the wall.

After taking two steps, Liu Tie abruptly turned around.

Because the sound of Lü Mo’s even, fine footsteps had vanished.

Liu Tie relaxed. Lü Mo was still in the alley, but she seemed somewhat distracted.

Lü Mo shook her head. She seemed to have dozed off inexplicably. Yet she felt something had been missed.

Unbeknownst to the woman, after the Daoist’s breath of true qi had passed through her limbs and bones, she had undergone a death and rebirth.

From that moment, she was remade, reborn with a new bone structure. She, who was originally destined to reach only the Sixth Realm of martial arts, now possessed a fairy bone of golden branch and jade leaf.

Throughout the entire Hehuan Mountain region, no one could detect a strange scene.

The golden snake, no more than a foot long, manifested at her fingernails—the residue of sinews. This was the sign of attaining the Dao that the Daoists of the Golden Immortal Nunnery endlessly pursued.

In this mountain-foot alley, a slender golden line suddenly lit up. A tiny crimson-gold snake shot up into the sky, dragging an extremely long tail across the night—a thousand miles or more?

In an instant, the golden line connected to a young acolyte in a Daoist temple of the Divine Proclamation Sect.

On Lü Mo’s shoulder and on the boy’s wrist, a golden lotus bloomed one after another.

Qi Zhen, the Celestial Lord of Divine Proclamation Sect, abruptly opened his eyes. He rose and, in one stride, spanned the landscape. He looked at the fading golden line in the temple on the mountainside—this was Daoyuan.

The origin seemed to be Hehuan Mountain on the border of the Qingxing Kingdom.

Qi Zhen didn’t even dare to divine in his heart. He was only stunned. Had Lu Cult Leader returned to the Righteousness Continent?

But why would he go to such a tiny place?

In the humble alley of the town, the young Daoist, hands tucked in his sleeves, leaned against the wall. He yawned and smiled. “Returning your original face from three thousand years ago.”

Shujian Lake. A small boat rose and fell with the waves.

Someone had moored the boat. Light mist and wind veiled the water. He fished at dusk while boating, with the new moon above and below the sky and lake.

Besides an old fisherman, at the bow sat an extremely handsome youth with an effeminate face, slender and delicate, dressed in white. He held no fishing rod, merely accompanying and enjoying the scenery.

The youth asked, “Senior Zhang, I heard there used to be a Wave-Running Island here?”

The old man nodded. “You are a rare scholar among the readers of Shujian Lake. I hear you’ve been secretly compiling a local history and chronicles of Shujian Lake in recent years?”

The youth hummed in agreement. “Just idle amusement, to entertain myself.”

The old man suddenly jerked his rod, pulling a pale golden carp into his hand and tossing it into the basket.

The youth asked, “Senior Zhang, may I trouble you with a question?”

It was a simple question, but the old man seemed to have heard the greatest joke. He couldn’t help but laugh, then burst into open laughter. It was a long time before he reined in his mirth and said apologetically, “Island Master Lü, I’m sorry.”

The youth, respectfully addressed as Island Master Lü, asked in confusion, “Senior Zhang, why are you laughing?”

The old man gazed at the silver moon on the lake. “If I remember correctly, Island Master Lü was the last little tyrant before Gu Can came to Shujian Lake. Relying on a senior martial brother who was likely to break into the Nascent Soul stage at any time, you ran amok with no regard for law. Yet now Gu Can has gone to White Emperor City, and you, Lü Caisang, have taken over Oriole Island and even compiled local histories. In those days, before any of you spoke, would you have asked me, Zhang Ye, ‘May I ask a question?’ Probably none of you would have wasted a single word before killing someone, right?”

Lü Caisang did not get angry at this but nodded. “More or less. We decided life and death on a whim. The Shujian Lake back then had no rules.”

The old man sighed with emotion. “The Shujian Lake of once was very like the Barren Wastes. The only rule was that there were no rules.”

This old fisherman had been a founding figure of Qingxia Island, having followed Cutting the River True Lord Liu Zhimao from the beginning. They had fought their way through a sea of blood. Zhang Ye assisted the latter in becoming the brief lord of Shujian Lake. Then Liu Laocheng returned to Palace-Willow Island, and the Great Li iron cavalry marched south. Ultimately, True Realm Sect took over Shujian Lake. Zhang Ye then changed his identity, unexpectedly leaving Qingxia Island and becoming the sect master of Langhuan Sect. However, in the peripheral territories of Shujian Lake, Langhuan Sect was a third-rate mountain sect, not like Lü Caisang’s Oriole Island, which had a seat in True Realm Sect’s ancestral temple.

Lü Caisang continued, “Senior Zhang, why didn’t you continue to follow Chief Liu?”

Liu Zhimao was now True Realm Sect’s chief guest elder. In recent years, there had been a rumor that the current sect master Liu Laocheng had intended for Jade Pu realm Liu Zhimao to succeed him as sect master, but that Liu Zhimao had refused. Given Zhang Ye’s friendship with Liu Zhimao—he was acknowledged as his right-hand man—and Liu Zhimao’s high position in True Realm Sect, it would have been perfectly normal for Zhang Ye to follow him into the sect and rise like a chicken following a dog ascending to heaven. Getting an official post in True Realm Sect would be as easy as turning his hand. Maybe they could even make an exception for him, allowing him to become a member of the ancestral temple even without being a Golden Core earth immortal. Even if his seat was close to the door, the difference inside and outside the door was as great as heaven and earth.

Zhang Ye smiled. “Different people have different aspirations.”

Zhang Ye laughed. “You so-called Ten Heroes of Shujian Lake—in just twenty years, each of you has had your own opportunities. Our old-timers, with several dozen years of experience, seem inferior to you. It could almost be compiled into a strange tale with a tortuous plot, thrilling dangers, and even some erotica. If a publisher carved and printed it for sale, I believe sales would be good.”

Lü Caisang shook his head. “The so-called Ten Heroes have always only been nine.”

In the old days, with Gu Can at the lead, the nine of them had ruled the roost over Shujian Lake.

Lü Caisang’s senior brother Zhong Su had been the previous island master of Oriole Island. The two martial brothers were actually more than five hundred years apart in Dao age. Zhong Su had successfully broken into the Nascent Soul stage about a dozen years ago. Not long after emerging from seclusion, he went back into it. So whenever True Realm Sect’s ancestral temple had a meeting, it was usually the younger brother Lü Caisang who took his place. Because Lü Caisang was the final disciple of Oriole Island’s founding master, Zhong Su greatly valued and doted on him. He was both a younger brother and a genuine disciple, and was even treated like a son.

Just as Huang He had once joked, if Lü Caisang put on makeup and stuffed two big buns down his shirt, he would be more beautiful than any woman. He could even be the chief of the open-collar girls for Gu Can.

Lü Caisang was already at the bottleneck of the Dragon Gate realm, about to form a golden core. So this outing was his last relaxation before seclusion.

Tian Hujun, Liu Zhimao’s second disciple, had, after her senior brother was killed by Gu Can, taken advantage of the situation to become Liu Zhimao’s chief disciple and Gu Can’s eldest senior sister. But in recent years, Tian Hujun had hardly shown her face. Though she was a Golden Core earth immortal, she was less conspicuous than her two junior brothers, Qin Que and Chao Zhe, who had not yet formed their golden cores.

Fan Yan, the young city lord of Chishui City—everyone thought him a fool—turned out to be the cleverest person with the deepest schemes. He now served as a “walker” in the Ministry of Justice in the middle capital of Great Li.

Han Jingling, the former prince in exile, had become the emperor of Stone-Hedgehog Kingdom. Huang He had become his powerful minister. Father and son together held the reins of government. They had been the first to pledge allegiance to Great Li, following only the Song clan of Great Li. Yuan Yuan, the young island master of Drumming Island, was reborn into a good family; both his parents were Golden Cores, so Drumming Island had two seats in True Realm Sect’s ancestral temple. Unfortunately, Yuan Yuan himself had mediocre talent; he was still only at the Lake-Viewing stage. A few years ago, he received a large sum of immortal money and went out to do business. He was apparently cheated twice, coming home empty-handed. At the end of last year, with his wallet full again, he went out to make his fortune again. He was said to have become thick with a group of rich wastrels in the Great Li capital, becoming a regular at a tavern on Sweet Reed River. The friends he made were mostly the sons of officials who would say at first sight, “Brother, I can help you make big money.”

Zhang Ye turned to look at Lü Caisang and teased, “Success at a young age, smooth cultivation—why so downcast?”

Lü Caisang said softly, “I always feel a storm is coming, but I can’t prepare for it.”

Zhang Ye nodded approvingly. “If you can think that way, you’ve truly achieved something in cultivation.”

Lü Caisang grinned.

Zhang Ye suddenly asked, “Why not come to our Langhuan Sect as a guest elder?”

Lü Caisang curled his lip, about to refuse, when someone patted his shoulder and said with a laugh, “I think Mr. Zhang’s proposal is a good one. You should agree.”

Oriole Island.

The blue sky was like white silk, and light swayed on the Big Dipper’s railings.

An old man in Daoist robes, after a meal, leaned on the railing. Lake and mountains for a thousand miles could be seen at a glance.

Golden light shimmered—not from the law robe he wore, but from the Dao aura flowing from him.

The air rippled slightly beside the old man, and someone appeared out of nowhere, ignoring the island’s landscape prohibitions, and reached out to caress the green jade railing.

The old man did not turn his head. He sneered, “True Lord Liu, a rare guest.”

Liu Zhimao cupped his hands and smiled. “Forgive me, forgive me. I came uninvited, disturbing Zaiyang’s pure cultivation.”

In the early days, Qingxia Island and Oriole Island had never gotten along. One was called the True Lord of Cutting the River, an expert in water arts; the other styled himself Zaiyang the True Man, cultivating fire arts.

Zhong Su twitched the corner of his mouth. “True Lord Liu knows that already.”

“‘The oriole’s hue is already lovely, adding leaves’ depths with three or five sounds.’”

Liu Zhimao lightly tapped the railing. “Truly a place that cannot be better. Both pleasing to the eye and the ear. The former is easy, the latter difficult. So back then I wanted to swallow up Oriole Island. But I was wary of Zaiyang’s exquisite fire arts. I might have won, but at a heavy cost. I didn’t want us to fight like snipe and clam and let Palace-Willow Island be the fisherman.”

Zhong Su smiled. “Mr. Wu of the Water Lord’s mansion had just left when True Lord Liu arrived. What, is it by Liu Laocheng’s orders that the True Lord comes to browbeat me?”

The first lake lord of Shujian Lake, Xia Fan, had been a ghost—a battle spirit from the battlefield. He had been a scout in the Great Li border army, with many military merits.

And the strategist of that lake lord’s water mansion, Wu Guanqi, was very likely a Great Li spy. At Oriole Island, it was Wu Guanqi who visited and praised Lü Caisang endlessly, hinting that Zhong Su, as the senior brother, should plan a new path for his little junior. At Drumming Island, it was the lake lord Xia Fan himself who paid a visit. Earlier visits during the first month—the various department heads of the water mansion did not deliberately conceal their movements, as if they cared nothing for True Realm Sect’s opinion.

Liu Zhimao laughed heartily. “Younger Brother Zhong Su, since we’re both just dogs running for someone, why do we have to bite each other?”

Zhong Su was an anomaly in Shujian Lake. He was the least like a mountain-and-wild rogue cultivator—extremely elegant.

In the days when Liu Zhimao tried to unify Shujian Lake, Oriole Island contributed considerable resistance. It wasn’t a matter of interests; Zhong Su simply couldn’t stomach Liu Zhimao’s dirty means.

In Zhong Su’s words, even putting a dog on that throne would be better than Liu Zhimao as the common master of Shujian Lake.

Liu Zhimao smiled. “For so many years, you’ve still insisted that rogue mountain-and-wild cultivators are also Qi refiners. Tell me, what are you really thinking?”

Zhang Ye, his old friend, had a bona fide registered lineage, yet he had wanted to become a rogue cultivator all his life.

Zhong Su, on the other hand, was a native-born wild cultivator of Shujian Lake, yet always wanted to be a free cultivator who abided by rules.

An old friend and a sworn enemy—both were so baffling.

Palace-Willow Island.

A registered cultivator’s life was never without lessons.

And the greater the genius, the more extra lessons the master would give.

Guo Chunxi was one of those “oddballs” with remarkably poor talent but an extraordinary amount of extra lessons.

This was all thanks to Guo Chunxi being the direct disciple of Li Fuju, True Realm Sect’s second-ranked guest elder. But aside from that illustrious identity, he had nothing praiseworthy—talent, family, appearance, speech… among the swarm of immortals on Palace-Willow Island, he was wholly useless.

There were many private speculations among the disciples about why Li Fuju valued Guo Chunxi so. Some said he came from a small country in the southeast of Bottle Gourd Continent. He had once studied martial arts. Near his hometown, there was an immortal mansion called the Green Artemisia Sect—a tiny, unheard-of school. Somehow, he caught Li Fuju’s eye, and she broke the rules to take him as a direct disciple. He was old, already past thirty, and yet he was only a Second Realm Qi refiner. But Li Fuju still seemed to value this man greatly. Not only did she teach him Dao arts personally, but she also gave him a magic treasure to absorb heaven-and-earth qi. The other direct disciples, already at Middle Five Realm, were naturally baffled, both envious and puzzled. But they dared not question their teacher’s decision. When they met Guo Chunxi, they would smile and call him “Brother Guo,” with a hint of fawning in their closeness.

The Green Artemisia Sect held a “Flowers in the Mirror, Moon in the Water” session regularly, often in the lofty pavilion on the cliff’s edge with upturned eaves.

Guo Chunxi never missed one. If he didn’t watch, he felt uneasy; if he watched, he felt even more anguished. After ascending the mountain to cultivate immortal arts, they all said cultivators have shallow ties with worldly kin and deeper ties with mountains and lakes. But he still regularly sent a letter home to his parents, saying he was doing fine in a foreign land—the usual. He also sent a letter to the martial arts school, chattering about the customs of the mountain to his teacher Xu Yuanxia. After cultivation, Guo Chunxi had quit drinking—at first completely, abstaining for months. Then after watching one of those mirror-lake spectacles, now he “quit” almost every day.

Guo Chunxi had no interest in learning about the outside world’s mountain affairs. Just cultivation, the daily lessons, breathing and exhaling—that was enough to give him a headache. He knew full well the bitterness inside: his talent was too poor. His fellow disciples, who understood immediately, even the junior-generation ones, learned with joy, feeling at ease like fish in water. He couldn’t. Cultivation was a real hardship—both tedious and slow.

In class, when the master Li Fuju casually spoke a few lines of Dao formula and gave a terse explanation, his senior brothers and sisters could infer the rest, but he was left in a fog.

Take meditation and visualizing the caves within the human body’s little heaven—Guo Chunxi was hopeless, always deviating wildly. But for peers, even for the junior generation, such things were as simple as eating and drinking.

The master’s eldest disciple was a Golden Core land old immortal. He had several direct disciples, and they in turn had more than a dozen second-generation disciples—all quite good cultivation candidates. Walking down the road, even these cultivation geniuses would call Guo Chunxi, a mere Second Realm Qi refiner, “Grandmaster.” At first Guo Chunxi was thin-skinned and wanted to crawl into a hole. Over time, he became numb. Getting used to being humiliated was just something he had to do.

From initially blushing and stammering, he progressed to walking on without stopping, merely nodding in acknowledgement.

That Brother Zhou from the martial arts school, who had taken to him at their first meeting, had once given him a very light robe with a blue background woven with landscape and cloud patterns.

If not for that robe helping him absorb qi, the “Grandmaster Guo” would probably still be a First Realm Qi refiner.

Guo Chunxi was not clever, but he wasn’t stupid either. He knew that all his good fortune was thanks to this self-proclaimed “Brother Zhou,” who had suffered the same emotional wounds and felt a bond of fellowship with him.

But Guo Chunxi was still underestimating the significance of the robe.

It was a robe from the Engraved Color Workshop, one of the Eighteen Scenes of the Cloud-Cave Blessed Land. A fairy’s tapestry, with spring-water cloud patterns—famous in Tongye Continent. Since it came from Zhou Fei’s hands, it must surely be of magic treasure rank. Zhou Fei had used an immortal’s illusion to hide its true nature and suppressed the robe’s unique “drawing silk” divine power so that Guo Chunxi could wear it. Once Zhou Fei withdrew the spell, if the Green Artemisia Sect’s ancestral temple formation couldn’t block it, half of the mountain’s spiritual qi would be drawn into the robe’s warp threads.

No wonder Li Fuju had to be attentive and teach Guo Chunxi seriously—even if she knew it was a waste of both their time, she dared not slack off.

After all, this disciple was Jiang Shangzhen’s proud protégé “recommended” to her.

That robe Guo Chunxi wore—even an old Nascent Soul like Li Fuju would be envious. It was truly priceless.

From the Cloud-Cave Blessed Land’s Engraved Color Workshop, fairy tapestry, spring-water cloud patterns—a first-class magical treasure, both offensive and defensive. If Jiang Shangzhen hadn’t tampered with it, with Guo Chunxi’s meager cultivation, he couldn’t even wear it. The robe could actively absorb heaven-and-earth qi at a rate comparable to a earth immortal in closed-door qi training. Guo Chunxi just hadn’t opened enough caves. As his realm improved, he would better understand the robe’s rarity. Actually, to be precise, it wasn’t Guo Chunxi doing the qi training—the robe was refining his body and nourishing his soul.

But on Palace-Willow Island, or in all of True Realm Sect, the most special cultivator was a young female cultivator, and no one came close—her name was Zhou Caizhen.

In the moonlight, the girl walked alone along the shore, swinging a willow branch she had broken off. On this island, she was probably the only one who dared break a willow branch without fearing any punishment.

She stopped. Not far ahead on the path stood a gentle-looking young male cultivator, smiling at her.

Zhou Caizhen hesitated, then thought to detour around him, brushing past this unfamiliar face.

But he had already said, “You’re Zhou Caizhen, right?”

Zhou Caizhen nodded. “Do you need something?”

The young man shook his head. “No, I just came over here to see you.”

Zhou Caizhen stopped. “Who are you?”

The young man smiled. “Is anyone bullying you here at Shujian Lake? I mean, gossiping behind your back, wagging tongues. Of course, besides that, I don’t think anyone dares say anything unpleasant to your face.”

Zhou Caizhen laughed drily and shook her head.

The young man smiled. “Think again.”

Zhou Caizhen was amused. “There really isn’t any.”

Which True Realm Sect cultivator was so bad at hitting on her?

Seeing the young man not moving, Zhou Caizhen joked, “What if it were our old sect master, Liu Laocheng?”

The young man’s eyes were clear. He smiled. “Then within a hundred years, I’ll settle old and new scores together. I’ll find an excuse and kill him for you.”

Zhou Caizhen’s hair instantly stood on end. She stepped back instinctively.

Because her intuition told her that this seemingly polite, jade-like young man was absolutely not joking!

In a concealed training ground of True Realm Sect, Liu Laocheng sat opposite a woman who called herself Han Qiaose, a cultivator from White Emperor City.

Outside the door stood a beautiful young woman with the aura of the Barren Wastes monsters, claiming to be a newly recruited attendant of Gu Can’s, indentured to serve him for a hundred years.

On the shore, the young man blocking Zhou Caizhen’s way said, “Hello, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Gu Can. I’m from Huaihuang County in the Lizhu Cave Heaven. He and I both lived on Narrow Alley.”

Yuxuan Kingdom capital, Yongjia County. A dark, filthy alley full of chicken droppings and dog shit.

The young Daoist found a youth who had once been around the Changning County government office.

The Daoist in the lotus crown stood outside the door, muttering to himself, “I’ve finally found you.”

But the Daoist wasn’t happy.

An old man slept soundly inside the house, coughing occasionally.

The boy was grinding medicine by lamplight in the kitchen. His face was dark with gloom, making the thin youth look even more bitter. But whenever he was in a terrible mood, he would inexplicably think of a few words from Daoist Wu, and then he couldn’t help but smile. He thought, “If I could become a Daoist in the future…”

Lu Chen’s out-of-body Yin spirit silently set up a great formation here. What a headache, what a headache. It’s not that there is no retribution; it’s just that the time hasn’t come. Truly, debts must be repaid.

At the summit of Ink-Splash Peak, Zhao Fuyang and Yu Chunque arrived together, flying through the air. Since the two mansion lords hadn’t brought the three jade seals, they quickly reached an impasse after a few words.

Zhao Fuyang sneered, “Cheng Qian, do you really want to burn jade and stone together? Aren’t you afraid that Qingxing Kingdom will have its coffers cut off, and that your Chuching Peak will have its incense cease?”

“Don’t be so ungrateful.”

The old True Man, who looked like a youth, shook his sleeve and laughed. “A mere Hehuan Mountain—I wouldn’t call it burning jade and stone. At worst, it’s like an egg dashing itself against a rock. A bit of grime, easily wiped off.”

At the hot spring of Chuiyuan Mountain, Yu Youyi, about to be married, and the mountain goddess, laughing and joking, came out of the water arm in arm. The spring water slid over white, fatty, cream-like skin. Then they discovered with horror that their clothes had vanished without a trace. They looked at each other—not in embarrassment, but in terror. Who could have infiltrated this place unnoticed and stolen their clothes from within inches of them?!

Bai Fuzhu, draped in crane feather cloak, was already inside Fenwan Manor. Even in a side hall, far from the main hall with its blazing lights, Bai Mao’s seat was in the most remote corner.

Lü Mo, bringing the girl named Ni Qing, left the town. The female martial artist was troubled, the girl constantly looking back.

Suddenly, the entire Hehuan Mountain region sensed a majestic aura exploding outward—like a blazing sun smashing to the ground, shattering and scattering like glass.

That aura surged like a tide. But before any Qi refiner, martial artist, or ghost could recover their senses, the tide flowed back even faster.

————
After the Cyan Lotus Sword Sect ceremony, a crowd of people traveled together in a grand group. At Peaceful Mountain they parted ways, and a smaller group continued southward, traveling together.

Of the Wen Sheng lineage, there were Li Baoping, Pei Qian, and Zheng Youqian. A pair of nominal master and servant—of course, the fat man Suzhou himself felt that he and Zhong Kui were sworn brothers who shared both hardship and wealth.

There was also a young girl from Iron Tree Mountain. Her master was the Martial Master realm Guo Ran, whose Dao name was “Dragon Gate.” Her grandmaster was Guo Outing of Iron Tree Mountain.

Guo Ran had stayed at Peaceful Mountain, confident that his disciple Tan Yingzhou would be safe with the group.

Forget traveling through Tongye Continent—even if they went to the Central Earth Divine Continent, that group could do as they pleased with no restrictions.

On a ferryboat named Colorful Charm, as they passed through a rain-curtain immortal scene, most passengers came out of their cabins. At the bow, a dashing young cultivator approached. He had the air of a noble son, a small bronze mirror hanging at his waist, a white jade crown, wide sleeves and a broad sash. As he walked, his clothes rippled like wind on water. He first made a unique Daoist salute, then asked softly, “May I ask the immortal sister’s Dao name and lineage?”

Pei Qian said flatly, “I’m no immortal. I’m just a martial artist.”

This happened often—registered cultivators or pleasure-seeking wealthy sons striking up conversations with Pei Qian. It had happened many times.

Li Baoping, resting her chin on the railing, watched from the side with her head tilted.

The man persisted. “Could the lady tell me her name?”

Seeing that Pei Qian seemed unwilling to speak, the man didn’t seem offended. He smiled. “My name is Chu Gao, my Dao name ‘Flying Frost.’ My ancestral home is Cuibai Commandery in Great Chong Dynasty. I cultivate at the Thunder Bamboo Sect on Cloud Summit Mountain. As a child, I followed my master, the ‘Thunder Flicker’ Immortal, up the mountain to cultivate. I’ve been on Seven-Paper Peak for nearly forty years. Because I’m dull in talent and mediocre in bone structure, my master didn’t trust me to leave Seven-Paper Peak, so I rarely venture out to gain experience.”

Rogue cultivators could choose Dao names of little value, but whether a registered cultivator was qualified to have a Dao name was a huge divide—like whether a merchant could afford a grand mansion in the capital.

Not far away, the fat man Gu Su clicked his tongue and sent a heart-message, “Brother Zhong, listen to that. In just a few words, he reveals so many key details. If this guy rarely goes down the mountain to train, I’ll eat shit. From now on, I’ll take care of all the honey buckets on this ferry.”

Zhong Kui laughed. “Even the ferry might not agree to such a request.”

Unlike cross-continent ferries, small boats like the Colorful Charm were reluctant to accept secular scholars and pure martial artists for one hard-to-express reason: they ate and drank, and thus had to relieve themselves. Those needs couldn’t be ignored. On such ferries, the menial workers—if secular scholars, that was one thing; if outer-discipline Qi refiners, especially women—having to deal with chamber pots and latrines every day was a nasty business. They naturally hated it.

Chu Gao had a Dao name, meaning he was at least a Cavern Dwelling realm Qi refiner. An immortal Master had selected him for talent, taken him up the mountain as a child, and at forty he was a Middle Five Realm cultivator. If that wasn’t genius, what was?

His surname was Chu, from Cuibai Commandery in Great Chong Dynasty. The Chu clan of Cuibai was a famous local noble family. Furthermore, the Thunder Bamboo Sect on Cloud Summit Mountain was one of Great Chong’s major immortal mansions, superior to the Green Seal Sect, which had only two Golden Core patriarchs. The peak master, whose Dao name was “Thunder Flicker,” though not the sect leader, was a Nascent Soul patriarch who had participated in the war and earned minor merits. Thus he enjoyed high prestige. He was an old immortal with a considerable name and realm in Tongye Continent.

Pei Qian smiled politely. “I have long heard of Cloud Summit Mountain’s Thunder Bamboo Immortal Mansion and the ‘Thunder Flicker True Lord’ of Flying Mirror Peak.”

Chu Gao said, “To be honest, I came down the mountain this time on my master’s orders to collect Heavenly Texts of the Thunder Letters manifesting in various places. My master intends to compile a Daoist book on thunder arts for the Great Chong Dynasty. Also, I heard that near Lanrao Kingdom, not too far from here, there are demons of considerable power causing trouble. Two prefectures have been suffering drought for three or four months, from the end of last year to this spring. The imperial court and the Imperial Observatory have no clue why. An old friend of mine on the mountains risked danger investigating and discovered that a demon has taken up residence at the gate of an abandoned prefectural City God Temple, arrogantly calling itself a dragon and deceiving people. I plan to go with a few friends, subdue it, and bring it back to the mountain.”

In Tongye Continent decades ago, a registered cultivator like Chu Gao, with a Nascent Soul master, wasn’t anything extraordinary. His master had more than twenty direct disciples, Chu Gao being just one. Moreover, Cloud Summit Mountain was not the leading immortal mansion in Great Chong. But now it was different. In Great Chong, or even southern Tongye Continent, as long as Chu Gao showed his sect, he would be a guest of honour to any kingdom’s emperor and ministers, all eager to curry favor.

Pei Qian nodded solemnly.

It was an obvious hint: you’ve said your piece, you can leave now.

Gu Su said, “If I were a young mountain maiden cultivator just starting out, with slightly shallow eyes, I’d be happy to bare myself for Master Chu.”

Zhong Kui teased, “With you at nearly three hundred catties of flesh, how desperate would Chu Gao have to be to take a fancy?”

Zhong Kui then laughed. “These little tricks are leftover plays from the marketplace, good enough to fool young fairies inexperienced in the world. In Pei Qian’s childhood words, they’re ‘sugar cane dregs not even a dog would gnaw.’ Trying such tricks on Pei Qian is a waste. To her, this Master Chu is like a petty crook meeting the ancestor of the trade.”

Gu Su asked cautiously, “Pei Qian is that formidable?”

Zhong Kui grinned. “If you had known the childhood Pei Qian like I did, you’d never have let your guard down at the Cyan Lotus Sword Sect.”

The fat man complained, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

Zhong Kui said, “Tell you what? I met Pei Qian before I met you. Do you think I’m a fool, dishing out secrets to outsiders?”

The fat man thumped his chest in mock pain. “Such a strong brotherly bond, worth nothing at all? You’re killing me!”

Zhong Kui frowned. “Strange. How did that old man bring up such a frivolous disciple? Isn’t he afraid of ruining his reputation late in life? I’ll have to ask.”

The Thunder Bamboo Sect cultivator—perhaps his cultivation of thunder arts made him so—was usually fiery and tough. During the great war, a group of ancestral temple direct disciples, led by the mansion lord, had joined forces with the troops of the young general later hailed as the pillar of the Yu Dynasty. They retreated while fighting, and whenever an opportunity arose, they harassed the Barren Wastes monsters, earning no small merit. But after the victory, the entire Flying Mirror Peak and Thunder Bamboo Sect’s direct disciples took no credit—they deliberately concealed the feat. There was a rumor among the mountains: that old man claimed, “I did this for General Huang, not for those Yu royalty who fled faster than rabbits at the first sign of danger.”

Tan Yingzhou sent a heart-message, “Youqian, this Senior Sister Pei of yours is too good-natured. If it were me, being pestered like this by a mere showpiece, I’d have already punched him in the face. I wouldn’t stop until his face was covered in blood!”

Zheng Youqian was also puzzled. He felt this Senior Sister Pei didn’t match the “Zheng Qian” he had imagined.

Especially after spending time together, he found that Senior Sister Pei didn’t talk much but always smiled, very gentle—far from the ferocious demon he had imagined.

She was more like a woman from a noble family: educated, virtuous, gentle, with excellent breeding.

Tan Yingzhou had another inscrutable thought. If we talked about looks, Sister Baoping was clearly prettier. Why were all the men drawn to Pei Qian? She asked Zheng Youqian if he knew why.

Zheng Youqian hesitated for a long time. He clearly knew the answer, but it was inappropriate to say. They were both senior sisters. Talking about such things was impolite.

Tan Yingzhou scoffed, “The dharma is not transmitted to the six ears. What are you worried about? Do you think I’m Little Mimi, that I love being a tattletale?”

Only then did Zheng Youqian say carefully, “Sister Li is too beautiful, so most men think that striking up a conversation is useless, so they don’t bother. Sister Pei is pretty, of course, but not as good-looking as Sister Li. When the two senior sisters appear together almost every day, and a man sees them standing together, a man with restless intentions like Chu Gao can’t control his frivolous thoughts.”

Tan Yingzhou sneered, “You’re quite the expert!”

That made Zheng Youqian even less inclined to mention the second reason—it stayed hidden in his belly.

Some men might have ulterior motives to first get to know Sister Pei, then through her get to know Sister Li.

Ah, these dishonest rakehells really wasted their reading of the sages’ books.

The little master was formidable, foreseeing everything. He had long secretly told him to note down all the scenery and events along the road, especially the names and sects of those flirts.

Tan Yingzhou asked, “Did your little master ever send you secret letters?”

Zheng Youqian shook his head, quite frankly, saying no.

The little master was very busy and always doing big things. Besides, the little master wasn’t the type to boast to his elders. Even if he had recently fought someone, he wouldn’t mention it.

Tan Yingzhou looked at him with pity. “Youqian, I think the Hidden Official feels you’re not promising and can’t be bothered.”

Zheng Youqian grinned. “It’s true that I’m not promising, but the little master isn’t that kind of person.”

Tan Yingzhou sighed in a tone of both regret and admiration. “I heard from a friend on the mountain that the Hidden Official, besides cutting people down, is equally good at cursing people. He’s too lazy to curse you, and too lazy to praise you. You might have a little master, but the Hidden Official doesn’t want you as a disciple.”

Zheng Youqian hesitated. With the previous example fresh in his mind, he didn’t dare say more.

It’s not that the little master’s skill in arguing wasn’t famous—he had been the young Hidden Official on the Sword Qi Great Wall, participated in the Confucian Temple conference when the two heavens were at odds, and all heavens knew that the little master’s words flew like flying swords. But Cui Chan had once told Zheng Youqian privately that the little master’s arguing skills might not even make the top ten in his hometown town.

Zhong Kui told the fat man to redeem himself by helping Pei Qian get rid of Chu Gao. Gu Su claimed to be her distant uncle, then shouted for the bunch of worthless scoundrels including Chu Gao to get lost immediately.

Returning to Zhong Kui, the fat man asked, “How was that?”

Zhong Kui looked at the fat man pitifully. The fat man had earned a minor merit, but he had also earned a grudge. If he was Pei Qian’s uncle, that would make him Pei Qian’s master’s generational senior.

Pei Qian and the others went to Li Baoping’s cabin. The table was piled with countless different sorts of mortise-and-tenon joints. Some were as small as fingernails, some as tiny as moss seeds. There was also a wooden box filled with various sizes of planes, hammers, and mallets, making Li Baoping look like a carpenter and mechanic. On the table were several unfinished prototypes roughly shaped like wooden kites.

In addition, there was a thick booklet filled with “terms” Li Baoping had devised herself.

Zheng Youqian had seen this many times and was puzzled. What was Senior Sister Baoping doing tinkering with such clever contraptions day and night, forgetting to eat and sleep? What did she want to make? Wasn’t she a Confucian academy zhu shi?

Seeing their curiosity, Li Baoping smiled. “Suddenly there was heaven-and-earth qi, and then there were cultivators on the mountains. Suppose one day the heaven-and-earth qi suddenly disappeared—what would the Qi refiners do? How would they fly, how would they go underwater?”

Tan Yingzhou blurted out, “Impossible!”

Li Baoping smiled. “That’s why it’s called a ‘supposition.’”

Pei Qian laughed. “Baoping-jiejie had another supposition: a large group of Qi refiners suddenly find themselves in a ‘lawless place.’ This place is as large as the old Great Li territory in terms of mountains and rivers, with a population of over a hundred million, none of whom have seen any ‘immortals.’ The external cultivators are not high-realm—none above Middle Five Realm. So every time they fight, they have to consume their own stored qi. The qi they recover through their secret arts and treasures will certainly be less than what they expend—they operate at a deficit. So every time they act, no matter the purpose, they have to be careful, careful again.”

“Generally speaking, there are three types of immortal money: gold, silver, and copper coins. Their total amount, along with mineral reserves, can be roughly estimated. In the Confucian Temple, or in the secret archives of the Ai’ai Continent Liu clan, there might be two numbers that don’t differ too much. But heaven-and-earth qi—that can never be quantified. Fortunately, there are cave heavens and blessed lands in the world, and great cultivators can create small heavens.”

Li Baoping fiddled with the joints on the table and continued, “This structural model has several key points. First, suppose the total qi of all Lower Five Realm Qi refiners equals the total qi of one Golden Core earth immortal. Second, because there is no external qi and this heaven and earth is a closed system, it strictly follows the arithmetic rule one plus one equals two. Therefore, ‘creating something from nothing’ in Qi refining, talisman drawing, pill concoction, etc., is all excluded. Third, there must be a few narrowly defined ‘eternal’ reference points—direction, weight, length, etc.—that are as stable and constant as possible. Fourth, the internal functioning of the whole world requires several underlying computation methods as a basis for the expansion or contraction of a small but complete world. Specifically, connections between people, things, and heaven and earth, and certain feedback mechanisms—is it a compensation system, a random model, or a combination? We need to weigh them carefully. If the pattern is unclear, the great way is not revealed. Is it a circle or a line? Does it ultimately converge to ‘equivalence,’ or does it take disorder as the only order? Or is there a certain loss coefficient in the transformation between substantial and insubstantial? The computation method must embed this or these…”

Li Baoping saw that Zheng Youqian was staring wide-mouthed, and the little girl yawned, feeling sleepy. Tan Yingzhou was also dazed. This was too obscure, harder to understand than the Dao formulas her master had taught her. Only Pei Qian listened intently.

Li Baoping then stopped talking. “Forget it, it’s all impractical daydreaming anyway.”

If she continued, it would get even more complicated—involving ropes and knots, like the orthodox lineage of Qi refiners, the Confucian tradition of one generation to the next, two friends with their own friends, money transactions, past conversations and words, who remembers whom and who thinks of whom… Take just wealth, there’s the substantial and the insubstantial: business transactions settled in goods and money are substantial; the numbers in ledger accounts—credit and debit—are insubstantial. On top of that, there are the red strings of fate, the ancestral temple records of the mountains, the genealogies of secular clans… It’s like a tree growing on the surface of a calm lake. Above and below are reflections. Above the water can be the real world, below the water the illusory world. Or it can be the opposite. This tree’s trunk, branches, leaves, blossoms, fruits—they can be like a human body, with fallen leaves disappearing, turning into mud or water. There are withered branches falling to the ground, rotting, like human words and deeds disappearing into heaven and earth without a trace. Some seeds take root nearby, spreading further and further. Those thriving branches can be, but are not limited to, trains of thought or patterns. Each gradually formed cognition and idea—someone’s good or evil—can be a leaf, a flower. A person’s feeling of warmth and coldness, fragrance and stench, sweetness and bitterness, pleasure and pain, the beauty or ugliness of others… Each mature and fixed life experience is a fruit that never falls, hanging forever on the tree. A person long remembered can also be that. But whenever someone is forgotten, or some truth is changed, they fall silently and are gone. And the fundamental truths in one’s heart are the branches, yet the branches can also be the four seasons, the twenty-four solar terms, the seventy-two pentads—each one a branch. In short, Li Baoping was still classifying them. Nothing was final. It was like silently compiling a set of books without precedent and with no successors.

Tan Yingzhou had once said to Zheng Youqian privately, “What is this Baoping-jiejie thinking about all day?”

Zheng Youqian didn’t comment.

Only Pei Qian listened attentively every time Baoping-jiejie talked about these things with such enthusiasm.

After all, the first time she had met her match was when Pei Qian at the Shanya Academy in Great Sui saw the “mountain of books” in Li Baoping’s study.

Before that, Pei Qian thought she had perfected the art of copying books. But after one look, the little black charcoal avoided any thought of competing.

After Tan Yingzhou and Zheng Youqian left the room, Pei Qian stayed, hesitating.

Li Baoping asked, “What do you want to ask?”

Pei Qian said bashfully, “Baoping-jiejie, the Three Teachings debate is