# Chapter 1027: Do Not Disturb My Dao Heart
Within a cramped courtyard in a humble alley of Yongjia County, within the capital of the Yuxuan Kingdom.
The middle-aged Daoist who claimed to have been passing through while catching demons in the night sniffed the air and chuckled. "Earlier, outside the courtyard in the alley, this poor Daoist caught a whiff of medicinal herbs. That's why I stopped. If I'm not mistaken, among them are aconite and ginger. What's this—are you a folk healer?"
Ning Ji blushed with embarrassment. "I wouldn't dare call myself a healer. It's just that while fleeing, I stumbled upon an abandoned pharmacy and found a few medical texts. I've been studying them as I traveled, but I wouldn't even say I've learned the surface."
The Daoist said, "If you don't mind, let me have a look."
The young man quickly stood up and grinned. "There's nothing to mind about that. Daoist Wu, wait a moment—I'll go fetch them."
His grandfather was elderly and slept lightly, so the young man tiptoed into the house, gently took out a homemade camphorwood box, returned to the courtyard, and handed it to the refined-talking Daoist Wu.
Chen Ping'an took the wooden box but didn't open it immediately. Instead, he smiled and said, "Let this poor Daoist make a guess first. The medical texts in this box were mostly compiled by the Fire God School, which rose to prominence in the last three hundred years."
The young man was stunned, his face filled with shock. "Daoist Wu, you truly are a divine being who knows the future!"
Chen Ping'an shook his head and laughed. "Practitioners of this school of medicine and folk healers are particularly skilled in using ginger and aconite. Based on the herbs you were drying, it wasn't hard to guess. It's not as mystical as you think—nothing to do with immortal arts."
Ning Ji suddenly understood. Although this Daoist Wu had "revealed his own trick," the young man instead gained even more respect for this Daoist immortal who never engaged in obfuscation.
Had it not been for Lu Chen revealing the celestial secret, Chen Ping'an would never have imagined that this skinny young man before him was the very escaped fish that the Confucian Temple had mobilized so much effort to find.
Chen Ping'an teased, "You actually know about the Fire God School?"
Ning Ji nodded shyly. "I often sell medicinal herbs to shops. Over time, I've picked up some things from the doctors there."
Chen Ping'an smiled and opened the box, picking up the books. It seemed that in the years since this young man had left his hometown, these medical texts had allowed him to both treat illnesses for himself and gather herbs to earn money.
However, these were cheaply printed thread-bound editions from market booksellers—crudely carved, with frequent errors. Medical texts were different from miscellaneous books; a single wrong character could lead to a thousand miles of error.
"The proverb says, 'When a book is copied thrice, 'fish' becomes 'big,' and 'emperor' becomes 'tiger.'"
Chen Ping'an quickly flipped through a few pages and laughed. "This means that no matter how good the original manuscript, once it's copied or carved into printing blocks many times, errors will inevitably appear—misplaced characters, omissions, inverted characters. If you have the chance, try to find better original editions to compare against. Study the way the collators of the Imperial Library carefully emend texts and correct errors, so that later generations don't pass on falsehoods."
Ning Ji nodded vigorously, committing this to memory. But when the young man thought about his meager savings, he began to worry—he had no idea when he'd ever have enough money to buy those so-called good editions.
Chen Ping'an said casually, "The aconite you gathered in spring—actually, the same medicinal herb, when gathered at different times and places, has different names and properties. This principle cannot be ignored. For instance, this aconite, in the ancient Shu region of Huangting Kingdom and in Greater Li's Dragon Province—recently renamed Chu Province—has better properties than elsewhere. It's best to gather and sun-dry it in the ninth month of the year. However, in Chu Province it's called 'mud aconite.' Just as one region's waters and soil nurture its people, so too for medicinal herbs that are most particular about the soil—the principle is roughly the same."
Ning Ji's eyes sparkled. "Daoist Wu, I've only heard of Greater Li's Dragon Province before. Someday I'll definitely go visit those places."
"A young man with vigorous blood and lofty ambitions should indeed read ten thousand books and travel ten thousand miles."
Chen Ping'an nodded, placed the books back in the camphorwood box, and returned it to the young man, smiling. "Life's journey is long. Finding a place to rest and a gourd of water to quench your thirst is a good karmic connection. Let me say a few more words that may seem off-topic. Throughout history, the various schools of medicine have never lacked for disagreements. When they quarrel, they curse quite fiercely. But when scholars curse, it's not about the volume of their voices—the more refined they are, the more caustic they become."
Chen Ping'an pressed his palm on the camphorwood box. "The disagreement isn't really in the books, but in the people. It lies in the different climates where the patients live, and in the different teachers and understandings of the physicians. Ning Ji, you've read a few medical books now, so let me ask you a question: with all these doctors from different schools arguing, who is right and who is wrong?"
The young man pondered carefully for a moment, seeming to want to speak but hesitating.
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Just say what's on your mind. This isn't an imperial examination—I'm not an examiner, and you're not a candidate. I'm not a teacher, and you're not a child. There's no test here. We're just chatting casually, no need to be tense."
Words and language—they are bridges between people, yet simultaneously obstacles and boundaries.
Ning Ji scratched his head, hesitated a moment, then said, "Daoist Wu, is there a possibility that there's no right or wrong, only what's better and more correct?"
Chen Ping'an laughed. "As for the answer, you'll have to find it yourself slowly. In short, when it comes to scholarship, you can argue until you're red in the face. But when it comes to being a person, you should maintain a certain blandness and equanimity."
The young man seemed thoughtful.
The Daoist teased, "Oh? You actually understand such profound principles?"
The young man grinned. "I don't really understand, but I'll remember it first and think about it later."
The Daoist stroked his beard and nodded in praise. "The child can be taught."
As the conversation with this Daoist Wu meandered here and there, unconsciously, the young man's state of mind became peaceful.
It was as if a new place had appeared in his mental landscape, named Greater Li's Dragon Province—as if there were bookshops in the distance along his mental path, with a few medical texts resting inside, though not cheap... all waiting for the young man's distant travels and meeting. And on that road he had yet to set foot upon, there seemed to be a few doctors arguing passionately, spittle flying, most amusing... And along the road, a warm, mellow voice seemed to repeatedly say one thing: "When being a person, maintain a certain blandness and equanimity..."
But these subtle sights and mental images, the impoverished young man named Ning Ji was not yet aware of at this moment.
The Daoist said, "Meeting is karmic. Since my youth, I've traveled widely, setting up fortune-telling stalls and occasionally acting as a wandering healer. Today, I'll teach you a few prescriptions: the Left and Right Restoration Pills, the Center-Supplementing Qi-Boosting Decoction, the Honeysuckle and Forsythia Powder, the Four-Reverse Decoction, and the Purple Snow Elixir. Too much to digest at once—I'll teach you just these for now. If we meet again by fate... we'll talk then."
Upon hearing this, the young man's face flushed crimson with excitement. In a trembling official accent tinged with local dialect, he said, "Daoist Wu, I only know about the Four-Reverse Decoction. The text says it has the effect of warming the middle and dispersing cold, restoring yang and rescuing from collapse."
The Daoist smiled and continued, seemingly to himself, "These prescriptions, to varying degrees, all require dealing with money. Since you know the marvelous uses of the Four-Reverse Decoction, let me also teach you a method of back-roasting that costs almost nothing. In the future, when you go up mountains where miasmic vapors are heavy, before gathering herbs, first light a fire at home. When you return from the mountain, sit with your back to the fire and roast your back. The principle is similar to moxibustion. Continue until sweat appears at the tip of your nose. This can open the Governing Vessel and has the effect of restoring yang."
The Daoist smiled gently. "I am a man beyond the secular world. I've always seen through wealth—gold and silver are mere external possessions. Naturally, I don't covet your meager savings. If you feel indebted and your conscience is uneasy, worry not. After we part today, you only need to cultivate a kind heart and perform good deeds. Keep a merit-and-demerit ledger within yourself, and repay one by one to the world—that will settle this debt of gratitude."
The young man was bewildered, pondered for a moment, then nodded vigorously.
Chen Ping'an asked, "Do you have paper, brush, ink, and inkstone here?"
Ning Ji nodded. "I have all of them!"
As the young man hurriedly ran into the house to fetch the writing materials, the Daoist looked up toward the small alley outside the courtyard. A woman's figure flickered past the wall. The Daoist smiled, pretending not to notice.
Xue Ruyi curled her lips and muttered quietly, "Swindling and deceiving, playing tricks on people—utterly uninteresting."
She had noticed the Daoist sneaking out of the residence late at night. Bored as she was, she had followed him all the way to Yongjia County, wanting to see if he was a flower thief or a housebreaker. Unexpectedly, after winding through back alleys, he had come to see this young man.
Just then, a high-minded voice rang in Xue Ruyi's ears. "Miss, you've misunderstood our Daoist Wu."
Xue Ruyi was startled but remained expressionless. She turned her head and saw a shabby Daoist in a cotton robe—young, with a decent appearance.
She asked, "You are?"
The Daoist cleared his throat and said, "This humble Daoist's surname is Lu. You may call me Daoist Lu. Not to boast, but in the business of fortune-telling from a stall, the Daoist Wu in that courtyard is practically a junior to me. So I am only stronger, not weaker. Moreover, I am proficient in yarrow-stalk divination, planchette writing, Plum Blossom Divination, and so on—none I don't excel at. Especially in the art of 'casting hexagrams,' I have the most skill. Whether tossing copper coins, reading texts, listening to bird calls, discerning wind sounds—probably due to my utmost sincerity and reverence, the spirits all respond to me."
Unable to guess the other's identity, Xue Ruyi patiently listened to this Daoist Lu blather shamelessly.
Whether it was an illusion, she felt that this self-proclaimed Daoist Lu spoke in a flowery, glib manner—annoyingly so.
That was it—he was cut from the same cloth as Wu Di. No wonder it felt so familiar.
Xue Ruyi, being perceptive, had already carefully observed his attire.
The young Daoist wore a wooden hairpin, a bun styled with the Taiji topknot, and a cotton Daoist robe. At his waist hung a black pouch, and slung across his body was a cloth bundle.
Noticing her glance at his black pouch, the young Daoist smiled. "A gift from an old friend who was once a prison warden. Seeing it reminds me of him—I treasure it. Since ancient times, medicine and Daoism have been inseparable—seeking immortals, finding the Way, carrying medical herbs and selling fortunes."
Xue Ruyi feigned surprise and asked, "Daoist, do you also read feng shui? Can you determine the auspiciousness of houses and graves?"
Lu Chen shook his head. "This humble Daoist is not particularly skilled in that art."
He stressed the word "particularly."
Xue Ruyi smiled. "If you're not good at it, forget it. I was going to invite Daoist Lu to take a look at my residence."
Lu Chen tugged at his bundle's rope and laughed. "To be honest with you, miss, inside are a few catties of dried Solomon's Seal. Excellent quality, and the key is—affordable. Originally, I had a use for them, but if you're a discerning customer, you could buy them. I'll just have to make an extra trip up the mountain. Earlier, in an ancient mountain called Quanjiao, a man of the Way told me that if one consumes Solomon's Seal with the proper method, one could ascend to the heavens."
Lu Chen looked at the female ghost lingering in this place.
In this world, whether man or woman, human or ghost, immortal or monster—those who live long have many stories.
Near the pass of love, a beautiful woman waits a thousand years to be seen, and a thousand years of longing for her...
Xue Ruyi sneered upon hearing this. Eat a few catties of Solomon's Seal and achieve Daoist ascension?
Couldn't he find someone better to imitate than Wu Di, with his knack for getting close and then fleecing the familiar?
But Xue Ruyi couldn't help speculating—was this young swindler surnamed Lu the person Wu Di was looking for in the capital of Yuxuan Kingdom?
Given their ages, could he be Wu Di's illegitimate son who had drifted away?
But their looks didn't match either.
Lu Chen was a bit awkward. What was this Miss Xue thinking?
Chen Ping'an's appearance was merely passable, but this poor Daoist could fully claim to be handsome!
Xue Ruyi asked with a laugh, "Daoist Wu likes to plant flowers in his courtyard. Does Daoist Lu like to pick herbs in the mountains?"
"Occasionally, occasionally. After all, healing the sick and saving lives involves life and death. Used well, it brings the dead back to life, opening a shop at the gates of hell. Used poorly, three fingers can kill, resentment deeper than any blade. How could I not be cautious?"
Lu Chen smiled. "Miss may not know, but one of our trade's founding patriarchs once established a rule: one must thoroughly understand the past and present, know the heavenly and human, and if one's skill does not approach immortality and one's heart does not approach Buddhahood, one must never practice medicine."
She jeered, "By your logic, how many doctors in this world would be qualified?"
The young Daoist showed a look of shame. "This humble Daoist is clumsy of tongue. I really can't argue with you, miss."
Since Wu Di had only come here to ingratiate himself with some young man, Xue Ruyi couldn't be bothered to continue bantering with this Lu fellow in the alley. She turned and left.
After she turned, Lu Chen called out, "Miss Xue, please stay."
Xue Ruyi turned her head and found the young Daoist somehow holding two fresh stalks of mugwort, still seeming to carry dew.
She frowned slightly. Where had this come from?
Lu Chen extended his hand, offering the mugwort, and smiled. "On the fifth of the fifth month at noon, I offer you a pair of mugwort. Miss Xue can hang them at your door during the Dragon Boat Festival this year to ensure safety."
Xue Ruyi squinted and laughed. "Not to mention the customs of hanging mugwort—let me ask Daoist Lu one thing: if hung at the door, can it ward off evil and drive away ghosts?"
The Daoist nodded vigorously. "It absolutely can!"
Xue Ruyi snorted. His money-grubbing skills weren't even as good as Wu Di's. At least Wu Di recognized she was a female ghost. This Lu fellow was far off.
The female ghost drifted away gracefully. Lu Chen flicked his wrist, and the two stalks of mugwort disappeared, only to reappear at the gate of the haunted residence. They hung in the air, slowly approaching the door at a speed invisible to the naked eye. If an earthly immortal had seen it, they could have calculated that the mugwort would stick to the gate precisely at sunrise on the Dragon Boat Festival.
Lu Chen grabbed the low courtyard wall with both hands, gave a light shout, sank his qi into his dantian, vaulted over the wall, and landed in the courtyard with arms spread, standing elegantly.
The Daoist flicked his sleeves, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "This poor Daoist has such excellent body technique."
Xue Ruyi's form was concealed on a rooftop. Seeing this, she spat disdainfully.
Inside the courtyard, Chen Ping'an had already finished writing the prescriptions for the young man. Finally, he found a flimsy excuse and wrote an additional prescription with instructions on how to decoct the herbs—three sheets of paper in total.
He didn't even glance at Lu Chen, who was slinging his bundle and carrying the black pouch at his waist.
As for when Lu Chen had arrived and what he'd discussed with Xue Ruyi in the alley, Chen Ping'an had no knowledge.
Lu Chen jogged over and pressed down on the three sheets of paper, saying anxiously, "Daoist Wu, put those away. How improper! We Daoists stand tall as men of heaven and earth—how can we be so generous with other people's generosity?"
Chen Ping'an's intention was obvious: help Lu Chen with this favor and repay that old debt from years ago.
The young man was confused, not knowing who this young Daoist who had just vaulted over the wall was.
But judging by the situation, he seemed to be an old acquaintance of Daoist Wu? That meant he wasn't a bad person.
Lu Chen smiled. "Young man, please fetch another gourd of water. Remember to put it in a white bowl."
Ning Ji nodded and went to the kitchen to scoop water with a gourd ladle.
Chen Ping'an finished organizing all the prescriptions except the three sheets, stacked them neatly, and gently placed them on the stool that served as a temporary table.
Lu Chen sat on the steps, took the white bowl from the young man's hand, and smiled. "Whether using medicine to practice medicine or going up the mountain to cultivate the Dao, the skill simply lies in planning based on the two forms. Though the methods are myriad, they never go beyond the two principles of yin and yang."
Ning Ji felt a bit awkward and glanced at Daoist Wu beside him. Daoist Wu smiled and nodded slightly, indicating the young man need not be constrained.
Lu Chen swirled the white bowl in his hand and laughed. "I am Daoist Lu Chen, my Dao name is 'Nanhua.' I unworthily serve as one of the patriarchs of the White Jade Capital. I have come here tonight to accept you as my direct disciple. Ning Ji, are you willing to worship Lu Chen as your master?"
Ning Ji was stunned, utterly bewildered. The words tumbling from this young Daoist's mouth were things the youth had never even heard of.
He only understood one thing: the other party wanted to take him as a disciple.
Ning Ji's face flushed crimson as he once again looked at Daoist Wu.
But this time, Daoist Wu neither nodded nor shook his head—in short, he offered no hint at all.
Lu Chen smiled, first set down the white bowl, then raised both hands, curling them into loose fists. "Ning Ji, guess left or right—choose whichever you like."
Unconsciously, Ning Ji's peripheral vision once again sought out Daoist Wu, who gave a slight nod.
The young man looked left and right, then said softly, "I guess right."
Lu Chen turned sideways, his back to Chen Ping'an, and simultaneously opened both hands. In each palm was a seal, the bottom inscriptions facing Lu Chen himself. The young man could only see the two lines on the side—they differed by just one character.
"Inward journeying" and "outward journeying."
Lu Chen clenched his fists again, raised his sleeves, then opened his hands—the two seals slid back into his sleeves. He laughed. "Ning Ji, look at our Daoist Wu. He makes himself comfortable in his own way. Though he busily moves all day, appearing laborious, his spirit and qi remain unchanged. This is what the books of immortals and marvels call a man of the Way—his body travels within the realm, but his Dao-heart travels without."
Chen Ping'an smiled and let it be.
Three thousand years ago, before his distant journey to the Green Beryl World, Lu Chen had long written in his books: "What is the Great Sage? One who journeys beyond the realm."
This was a profoundly pure and sublime Daoist saying. Perhaps, just perhaps, it also contained another meaning—that a pure martial artist who becomes a god is the Great Sage.
Chen Ping'an suddenly sensed that a river of time seemed to have frozen.
The young man Ning Ji had stopped moving entirely.
Naturally, this was the method of Patriarch Lu Chen.
Lu Chen reached out and once again brought out two jugs of wine—Crow-Cry Wine from the Pool Water City of the Book-Scroll Lake area, and Spring-Sleep Wine from the Plowing Cloud Peak of Cloud-Gown Mountain.
At the same time, three hanging scrolls appeared in the courtyard, all depicting Chen Ping'an, but slightly different: one showed him in a sword-furnace standing stance, one with fingers pinching a talisman, and one carrying a sword on his back.
In the years after the young man from Mud Vase Alley left his hometown, the foundations of his life had followed this sequence: martial arts, talismanic arts, sword arts.
First, learn fist techniques to preserve life, then cultivate talismans for protection, finally practice the sword to ascend.
"This Ning Ji is naturally suited to cultivating talismanic arts. In fact, he can cultivate virtually anything—there's almost no threshold. Because whenever he wants to learn, opportunities will come to him. Just like how you came here tonight, and so I had to follow."
After this opening remark, Lu Chen paused, pointed to the scroll of Chen Ping'an pinching the talisman, and laughed. "That's a Lantern-Lighting Talisman. Like traveling with a candle in the dark—it suits us... people quite well."
Then, as if flipping through images, what his eyes saw were scenes of Chen Ping'an using various talismans in different years and settings.
Back then, on the ferryboat traveling through the underground river's dragon path, when Chen Ping'an practiced his fists, he would separately write a Calm-Heart Tranquility Talisman to focus the mind, and a Purifying Dust Talisman from the early pages of the "True Trace of the Cinnabar Book." Whenever night fell deep and dark, the straw-shoe-wearing youth would also offer up a Yang-Burning Lantern Talisman to determine if there were fierce ghosts or evil spirits in the surrounding mountains and waters, using it to seek good fortune and avoid calamity. During his traveling journey, over long distances, when facing opponents in fist fights and deadly battles, he would use either a Ground-Contracting Talisman to shrink distances, assisting the God's Drum-Thunder Style, or, when encountering ghostly beings, he would offer a Pagoda-Repressing Evil Talisman.
Then, a cultivator afraid of heights appeared in the scrolls—handsome in appearance, difficult to distinguish as male or female.
Lu Chen said lazily, "Lu Tai, your good friend. After parting with you, in one of the four partitions of the Lotus Paradise—Furong Mountain—he raised a dog and named it Lu Chen."
Chen Ping'an watched those scenes of "himself" constantly shifting. He didn't think much about it, just realized how many places he had traveled.
During his first journey to the Sword Qi Great Wall, after leaving Daoshan, Chen Ping'an had taken the cross-continent ferry "Swallowing Treasure Whale" to return to Old Dragon City in Vase Prefecture. During that time, besides being "pestered" by Lu Tai, at the Shade Garden Mountain Studio, Chen Ping'an had discovered that after breaking through to the Qi-Refining Stage as a martial artist, he could draw the "Mountain-River Sword-Talisman Script" and the "Rain-Praying Talisman." Though still lower-grade talismans among the True Trace of the Cinnabar Book, according to the text, they were quite miraculous and had many uses. But intentionally or not, Chen Ping'an, who had long been able to draw these two talismans, had rarely used them. Only when he had been in the Demon-Suppressing Tower where the Green Youth was stationed, in a Wutong Leaf illusionary world suffering severe drought, had he first offered this Daoist altar talisman, which could make "heaven and earth darken and torrential rain flood the land," the Rain-Praying Talisman.
Lu Chen smiled. "Actually, these two talismans that you've almost never used are precisely those with the most connections to you and the heaviest karmic ties to the Dao in the mountain world."
The Dragon Kiln in Chen Ping'an's hometown, where he had been an apprentice, had once had a Rain Master kindle the fire.
And it was that box of rouge buried in Mud Vase Alley by someone that had seemed to make Chen Ping'an innately close to the Dao of Water.
"On that ferryboat, you for the first time clearly perceived what it meant to truly 'settle the soul and calm the spirit,' because you could finally hear—clearly and distinctly—the sound of dripping water when the three souls passed through the heart lake. At that time, you were too busy being happy to know that not all cultivators, even earthly immortals, could detect the passage of the three souls. To be able to do so, of course, you had to thank that effeminate man's legacy."
Chen Ping'an reached out, took the hovering jug of Crow-Cry Wine, and began to drink silently.
Lu Chen then took the Spring-Sleep Wine and continued, seemingly to himself, "The Mountain-River Sword-Talisman Script—your experience was shallow back then, so you couldn't figure out what 'three mountains' meant. And you've always doubted—why would offering this talisman cause spirits and ghosts to respectfully make way for a cultivator?"
Last time, beyond the heavens, on the return journey to the Haoran World, Li Xisheng had appeared to help clarify things, allowing Chen Ping'an to finally confirm that he had some connections to Master Three-Mountains-Nine-Marquis, though not of the general karmic type. It turned out that this ancient member of the Ten Greats and four alternates had once settled in Mud Vase Alley of the Bead Bizarre Grotto-Heaven. But he'd had no interaction with any of the Chen lineages in the town.
"Even now, you still don't know—or more precisely, aren't sure—what 'river' in this talisman means. Your senior brother vaguely wrote in the text that in ancient times, there was a divine being who governed rivers, whose duty was to kill evil and devour myriad ghosts. You guessed it was related to Zhong Kui, the gentleman of the Great Vow Academy, but you didn't dare believe it—or rather, weren't particularly willing to."
"Ha, Great Vow Academy—'Great Vow,' dog days of summer—naturally, one often needs to pray for rain. And Zhong Kui happens to come from such a Confucian academy. Isn't that a coincidence?"
"Your first meeting with Zhong Kui was in Fox Town on the border of the Great Spring Kingdom, but the first time he displayed abilities beyond the Confucian tradition seems to have been at the Buried River, yes?"
"Back then, you had no real interest in the Rain-Praying Talisman, largely because you hadn't yet refined your five-element lifebound objects. Later, you acquired from Daoist Lu Yong of the Green Tiger Palace, at a cabbage price, a Five-Colored Gold Cauldron—which was a chicken rib to him but a priceless treasure to you. Heh, Five-Colored—how coincidental, wouldn't you say?"
Saying this, Lu Chen seemed to have gotten a dry mouth and throat. He quickly tilted his head to drink, gulping down a large mouthful of wine.
Chen Ping'an finally spoke, asking with a smile, "Does Patriarch Lu mean that these things are waiting for people, or that people are doing these things?"
Lu Chen said, "Excellent question, truly excellent. If it were Cao Rong, he wouldn't be able to ask such a question. Earlier at Mo Splash Peak, he kept calling himself dull and slow-witted, so I had to keep giving him looks of comfort, saying 'not at all, not at all,' when in fact it was 'yes indeed, yes indeed.'"
Chen Ping'an looked straight ahead, slightly moving his wine jug toward Lu Chen. Lu Chen clinked his jug against it, and each drank.
After drinking, Lu Chen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and thought for a moment before saying, "If you really think about it, it seems the same for everyone. Nothing worth getting worked up about. You, me, Cao Rong, Xue Ruyi in that haunted residence in Changning County, the scholarly youth next door to her, and here in Yongjia County, Ning Ji."
Having said this, Lu Chen withdrew his divine power. The three hanging scrolls in the courtyard dissipated, and the river of time began to flow again.
Lu Chen pinched the water bowl between two fingers, but instead of drinking, he unexpectedly offered it to Chen Ping'an, smiling. "How about you take on a disciple?"
Chen Ping'an hadn't expected Lu Chen to pull such a move. He was speechless.
Upon hearing this, the young man's eyes lit up.
In the darkness of night, those eyes shone brightly, like a lit candle—the hope and longing of a youth whose heart was full of disappointment.
Lu Chen grinned slyly.
Chen Ping'an glanced at Lu Chen and smiled. "Patriarch Lu seems quite happy?"
Lu Chen immediately suppressed his grin and carefully placed the white bowl back on the step between them. "That disciple of mine once spoke from the heart, saying that Mountain-Lord Chen and Mountain-Lord Chen's teacher—you both excel at being fond of playing the teacher. He, Cao Rong, expressed his heartfelt admiration. This poor Daoist has taken on a good disciple who speaks frankly!"
Among his own disciples and students—from the earliest eager student Cui Dongshan to Zhao Shuxia, whom Chen Ping'an considered the last disciple of his martial path—Chen Ping'an was certainly satisfied with all of them. At the same time, he didn't hide that he was partial to each in different ways.
Having said that, in a certain sense, Chen Ping'an seemed to have yet to take on a disciple who "most resembled himself."
After all, the threshold wasn't low—one had to be a sword cultivator, be able to learn fist techniques, and also be a talismanic alchemist.
Otherwise, Chen Ping'an, with his extremely eclectic learning—mastering every skill to a respectable level—could pour everything into teaching, truly fulfilling his desire to pass on his knowledge through "personal transmission." Disciples and students were all too good; it made Chen Ping'an, as teacher and master, seem even more of a hands-off manager than his role as Mountain Lord of Desolate Mountain.
Thus, in the matter of personally teaching disciples, Chen Ping'an had no small regret. Cui Dongshan didn't need teaching, and Cao Qinglang's first teacher was actually Zhong Qiu and Lu Tai. As for teaching Pei Qian fist techniques? Or teaching sword arts to Guo Zhujiu, who by their next meeting was already a golden-core sword cultivator? Even Zhao Shuxia, who was now by his side, had mostly taught himself the basics of fist techniques. And when he'd finally encountered a young girl and wanted to show off a little, what happened with Chai Wu?
Chen Ping'an collected his thoughts, turned his head, and looked at Lu Chen. With his mind, he asked Lu Chen, "When we were young, did we survive some winter—or had we already frozen to death in the night?"
"We?"
What did that mean?
Lu Chen was stunned into silence. After a long while, he let out a deep breath and said gravely, "Chen Ping'an, don't imitate Zheng Juzhong. Really, take my advice!"
Zheng Juzhong was one of a kind. He would want to prove that he wasn't the Dao Ancestor—what did you, Chen Ping'an, need to get involved in?
Seeing Chen Ping'an silent, Lu Chen raised one hand, two fingers together, and said with great pain, "Between friends, is this how you treat me? Do I need to swear a poisonous oath?!"
Chen Ping'an gave an ambiguous smile.
A pair of golden eyes appeared—an omen that flickered briefly and vanished.
Chen Ping'an relaxed and nodded. That ruled out the most impossible yet most likely possibility.
Before this, Chen Ping'an had feared that he himself was the key dream—the Dream of the Butterfly—in one of Lu Chen's Five Dreams and Seven Mental Images.
"After so many years as friends, don't disturb my Dao-heart."
Lu Chen wiped his sweatless forehead and said cautiously, "Actually."
Chen Ping'an curled his lip and finished, "You've actually had similar thoughts?"
Lu Chen blinked.
Chen Ping'an asked, "Since you thought of it, why didn't you do it?"
Lu Chen grinned brightly. "Aren't you curious—why did my teacher, that master of mine, walk through the town with you and finally stop at the mouth of Mud Vase Alley?"
Chen Ping'an frowned slightly and asked in return, "Who lived next door to my ancestral home in Mud Vase Alley?"
Lu Chen burst into laughter, lightly tapping on his own chest, and said, "Dong dong dong."