Chapter 1086: The Old Wine in the Clay Vase

Chapter 1086: The Old Wine in the Clay Vase

Chen Ping'an stood where he was.

An orphan from Mud Vase Alley, raised by the kindness of neighbors, had finally arrived here, tasting his own bitterness and sweetness, knowing how hard-won this journey had been.

This courtyard was enormous in scope, truly worthy of being the former residence of a prime minister from a previous dynasty. Deep shade from the trees, the sun blazing high overhead, countless fragments of golden light scattered on the ground like gold-thread embroidery stitched onto the tightly fitted blue brick surface. The bricks were laid so seamlessly that the ground showed no sign of warping—the craftsman's skill was clearly not inferior. This was the study of the family head, Ma Yan. It followed the architectural style of seven bays in width and eight rafters in depth. Perhaps this was a case of "when the granaries are full, one learns propriety." A study of such jaw-dropping proportions was filled with precious books that had never been opened since purchase. There were several priceless antique zithers, jade mountains half a man's height, and a gold tower-ship. Every noble and high official of the capital who came here to drink tea or wine declared it elegant—so richly cultured. As they revealed a hint of dazzled admiration, it always made the owner feel like a genuine man of letters. In truth, Ma Yan had long wanted to roof his house with green glazed tiles, just like those Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries, which would look beautiful—but his wife had dissuaded him, saying such an act would be overstepping. The Emperor was neither deaf nor blind, and there was no need to put on such lavish displays that invited jealousy. When the family ancestral hall was finally filled with plaques of those who passed the imperial examinations, that would be a true scholarly family. And when their eldest son returned home and saw it, he would be happy. Ma Yan thought this reasonable, so in recent years he had sent his second son, Ma Yanshan, to take the imperial exams. He indeed passed and became a Tanhua—third in the list—bringing great face to the family. If Ma Che this year could go further and win the Zhuangyuan—first place—then the family would truly have that so-called "generations of official caps and tassels" described in books, wouldn't it?

The woman, who enjoyed silks and fine food, though nearing seventy, maintained herself like a woman in her forties. She was clearly more composed than the man beside her, having spent years among titled ladies. She even managed to squeeze out a smile, feigning familiarity. Qin Zheng, with her still rather fair wrist, wore a jade bangle of emerald green. She reached up to rub the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, as if trying to force out some bitter tears. "Chen Ping'an? You're the son of Master Chen from Mud Vase Alley, right? Chen Quan was one of the finest porcelain masters in our hometown. So young, yet with such outstanding skills. Back then at our Golden Goose Kiln, if he hadn't been so open and taught a batch of good apprentices, I don't know what would have happened. He was the pillar of our dragon kiln. I remember at that time, the kiln workers all said that only Master Yao from Baoxi Kiln dared to claim his porcelain was slightly better than Chen Quan's. Lord Lin of the Kiln Supervision Office—what a discerning man—was willing to have meals and drink wine with Chen Quan often, and they got along very well. How many old masters from other kilns envied that! What a good man Chen Quan was—why did he have to die? Heaven has no eyes; good people don't get good rewards. It's you who suffered. Oh yes, if I remember correctly, my mother-in-law helped deliver you at Mud Vase Alley back then. Mother and child were safe. Now look at how accomplished you are—extraordinarily so—better than our Ku Xuan. I believe Chen Quan and Chen..."

Qin Zheng's intention was clear: stall for time. This mud-vase alley upstart, who had suddenly become rich by sheer luck, had arrived far too quickly. At the front of the estate, the useless defenders—dogs that couldn't even be brought to the dinner table—had let him walk straight to the rear residence. Fortunately, Ma Yan had already sent several secret letters, both to the National Master of the Yuxuan Kingdom and to the Capital City God Temple. Before this, the more people Chen Ping'an killed in his sudden outburst, the more in the wrong he would be today—this fellow who somehow hadn't died at the hands of the desolate wilderness demons.

The rise of the Apricot Flower Lane Ma family was built on the Golden Goose Kiln, and the top master of that kiln was Chen Quan of Mud Vase Alley.

It was Chen Quan who had led those skilled kiln workers and apprentices, gradually reviving the Golden Goose Kiln, which had been at the bottom and nearly had its kiln fires extinguished.

In an instant, a blue-clad figure appeared before the woman named Qin Zheng. There was no respect for the elderly, no thought of fellow townsmen, and no hesitation about striking a woman. He directly hit her neck with the edge of his hand.

The force was not heavy, but it struck the Ma family matron as if she had swallowed a mouthful of strong liquor—burning pain that turned her face red. Qin Zheng was covered in tears, clutching her neck, making inarticulate sounds. Whether she was cursing or lamenting, the pain was so intense that snot flowed from her nose. It was obvious that if this mud-vase alley commoner truly wanted to kill, her neck would snap instantly, and her head would be separated from her body.

Chen Ping'an smiled. "I wasn't going to reminisce with you."

Ma Yan, already drenched in sweat, didn't dare wipe the sweat from his forehead. Trembling, he said, "Chen Ping'an, let's talk this out calmly. It's all a misunderstanding. Don't listen to those rumors."

Chen Ping'an chuckled. "Misunderstanding or not, it's no big deal."

Ma Yan was momentarily speechless.

A young woman with a face seven or eight parts similar to Qin Zheng's came rushing in, sword in hand, followed by a group of spirited maids in blue, all carrying swords on their backs—white scabbards, golden yellow tassels. Whenever they appeared in the Yuxuan Kingdom capital, accompanying Ma Yuemei on horseback—whether for spring outings outside the city or sightseeing—they were always a beautiful sight.

Seeing her mother's pitiful state, Ma Yuemei, who had rushed upon hearing the news, shouted in anger, "How dare a villain come to our door and cause trouble! Draw swords and engage the enemy!"

A crowd of young, beautiful women drew their swords in unison. The long swords clanged out of their sheaths, humming with momentum. Several of the swords flew through the air, emitting inch-long sword light.

Within the Ma family, thanks to Ma Yuemei's patronage, these women held an elevated status. They had been selected as children by the Ma family's experts for martial training. Over the past decade or so, this group of "sword attendants" had practiced diligently, guided by eminent teachers who taught boxing and presented sword manuals, and they lacked nothing in terms of celestial medicinal diets to nurture their bodies. Now they employed a rather flashy technique of controlling swords with Qi. It was certainly beautiful to watch, somewhat reminiscent of the sword immortals of the mountains.

A dozen or so swords noisily stabbed toward the blue-clad figure. But with a loud bang, they all changed course mid-flight, like mud hitting a wall, embedding themselves into the walls and beams of the study behind Ma Yan.

The maids, who had always looked down on others, were stunned.

Their swords were talisman swords meticulously forged by mountain immortals. With such priceless celestial weapons, slaying demons and eliminating evil should have been nothing.

Ma Yuemei bit her lip, staring intently at the motionless blue-clad swordsman. After a moment of silence, her expression complicated, she asked, "Are you that Chen Ping'an of Luopo Mountain?"

Having just heard a report from a close maid, Ma Yuemei was utterly bewildered. Could it truly be that legendary sword immortal of Luopo Mountain? There was no enmity or grievance—why would Chen Ping'an come to the Yuxuan capital? Why would he barge into their home and act so unreasonably? She had heard that those pure martial artists and resident cultivators who guarded the front had suffered fates too gruesome to describe. Did the Mountain Lord Chen, born in Mud Vase Alley, have some long-buried feud with their family? Was that why Ma Yanshan, that idle fellow, had always joked that the family mansion was like a turtle shell?

When she learned that the blue-clad swordsman was... Chen Ping'an of Luopo Mountain, those sword-practicing maids exchanged looks of disbelief, utterly incredulous.

A mountain sword immortal who seemed more distant than the figures in books—standing right before them?

In recent years, through their young lady's landscape gazettes, they had learned a little about Luopo Mountain in Chuzhou, neighboring North Sacred Piyun Mountain; about the youngest and last Hidden Officer of the Sword Qi Great Wall; about his joint challenge to Zhengyang Mountain with his friend the sect leader Liu... Their yearning for the name Chen Ping'an was more than just longing—in any other situation, meeting him would have left them trembling with excitement, unable to sleep for days, or else they would not consider their admiration and reverence for the legendary Sword Immortal Chen sincere enough.

He was the only great swordsman who was also a martial grandmaster in the history of Treasure Vase Continent!

Thus, they dared not continue their reckless behavior, all wearing uncertain expressions.

Chen Ping'an kicked Ma Yan's knee, sending him to the ground. Then he used the closed umbrella in his hand to smash into Ma Yan's face, sending him crashing through the door and into the room.

He had a rough idea now. That pair, Ma Yan and Qin Zheng, were indeed seeking a way out for themselves—perhaps trying to become mountain and river spirits in some part of Yuxuan. But more likely, the distinction between spirit and immortal was still too unreliable; they probably hoped to secure a place among the City God and underworld officials. That way, they would truly achieve the separation of light and dark. If they obtained an orthodox identity in the Fengdu Underworld, then Luopo Mountain would be committing an act of transgression by acting against them. From this, it was clear that the City God Temple's civil judge, Hong Zhongyu, being transferred to Lingzhou along with the yin-yang department chief Ji Xiaopin, was a forced step aside in officialdom. With Hong Zhongyu and Ji Xiaopin gone, a series of official changes would naturally follow, ultimately to make room for this couple. It was obvious that some expert within the Ma family had guided them.

No hurry. I'll let your dreams come true.

Chen Ping'an said with a smile, "Those strange people and extraordinary experts—aren't you going to show yourselves? Taking people's money and relieving their troubles—isn't that a matter of course?"

Ma Yuemei dashed into the room to help Ma Yan, whose abdomen felt like it was being twisted by knives. Pampered and spoiled, Ma Yuemei had never experienced such a catastrophe; tears streamed down her face like pear blossoms in rain, but she didn't make a sound.

Chen Ping'an glanced sideways at Ma Yan, drenched in cold sweat inside the room. If he couldn't even endure this pain, how could he hope to achieve a divine golden body relying only on the secret ointments from the Yang Family Pharmacy?

The blue-clad figure flashed, shrinking the earth and mountains, disappearing from the courtyard.

Inside the Ma family mansion in Yongjia County, the family's resident and hidden experts totaled three Earth Immortals—one Nascent Soul and two Golden Cores—with two of them living under false identities.

The old Nascent Soul was a former patriarch of an immortal sect destroyed in the wars of the old Bai Shuang dynasty in southern Treasure Vase. This old god had been in closed cultivation from start to finish, watching helplessly as their ancestral hall and deity were obliterated. Perhaps still having some face, after the great war ended, he didn't rush to restore the sect's lineage but instead wandered north, bypassing Luojing, crossing the Great River, and eventually entering the Ma family in Yongjia County of the Yuxuan capital as their chief resident expert. The other two Golden Core Earth Immortals—one array master and one ghost—each had their own disciples and followers. With such a small territory housing so many reclusive experts, the Ma family's wealth was evident.

There were also two martial arts grandmasters: one man, one woman. The man was Shen Ke, and the fifth-rank martial artist who served as the gatekeeper was his personal disciple. Ma Yuemei was his close-door disciple. Those twittering maidservants' swordsmanship was all taught by him. The female martial artist was likewise in the Golden Body realm, but compared to Shen Ke, she was less well-known. How she had entered the Ma family and endured grievances year-round was her own story.

Of course, from the Apricot Flower Lane Ma family to the Yongjia County Ma family, the family's greatest support had always been Ma Kuxuan.

Because the gatekeeper hadn't had time to announce his identity, and since Chen Ping'an had walked almost straight to the courtyard, with no one along the way able to make him stop, these big shots who looked down on nobles and princes probably still didn't know the full story.

In a simple study, a middle-aged scholar with an ugly face sat at a desk. On the desk lay a large inkstone of banana-leaf white, a colorful ink stick of gold standard, and a book—a literati notebook specializing in fox fairies and water spirits. Beside the scholar's hand was a plate of pastries from a famous old shop in the capital. As he flipped through the book while chewing a soft osmanthus cake, the scholar came upon a line and couldn't help sighing—not a good omen. The line was: "Pity the green grass born, its vitality exhausted in one night."

The child prodigy Ma Che, famous throughout court and countryside, was this tutor's proud student.

The middle-aged scholar sneered to himself, "Such heavy killing aura. A tall tree catches the wind? Sure enough, the generous monthly salary wasn't free for nothing; immortal money burns the hand most."

Why not return the salary to the Ma family untouched and just leave with a pat on the back?

Someone who could barge into the Ma family—regardless of identity or origin—didn't seem like someone a Golden Core ghost could safely see out with any certainty.

Bitterly seeking the Dao of immortality—truly a bitter death.

He was about to stand up, steel himself, and wade into that muddy water, when suddenly his back went cold, and he felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave. The next moment, someone pressed his head onto the desk.

His internal spiritual energy congealed like ice, his three souls and seven spirits trembled violently. He tried to mobilize a few lifebound objects, but they were completely cut off, as if a heavy snow had sealed the mountain.

His Golden Core was utterly immobile; this Earth Immortal was as weak as a mortal.

Chen Ping'an spread his five fingers, pressing down on the back of the other's head, and said with a smile, "When I called you strange people and extraordinary experts, you actually believed it?"

The ghost scholar struggled to speak, "May I ask the honored immortal's name?"

Chen Ping'an took the heavy inkstone from the table and slammed it hard against the back of the ghost's head. The inkstone shattered into powder, sending stars dancing before the Earth Immortal ghost's eyes. He felt as if his brains had been beaten out by the assassin.

On the verge of having his soul scattered, the ghost scholar could only beg for mercy, "Honored immortal, forgive me—"

Chen Ping'an asked, "That method of accumulating yin virtue by robbing Peter to pay Paul over the years—was that your teaching? Helping them refine locust leaves into lifebound objects, thereby gaining some ancestral protection, and then tampering with the merit register at the City God Temple—was that also your doing? Quite clever, not bad, not bad."

The ghost scholar was stunned.

Chen Ping'an turned his head and said with a cold smile, "Trying to run?"

An oilpaper umbrella flew as fast as a flying sword, threading through corridors, trailing a stream of fireflies. It directly pierced through the chest of that Nascent Soul old god, who had been secretly using her palm-viewing technique, and nailed her firmly to the wall.

That old woman, a Nascent Soul-stage cultivator, was the confidante of the matron Qin Zheng. For years, she had managed the Ma family's rear-house maids and servants. Today, sensing trouble, she had tried to slip away.

Because the scene in the courtyard was shrouded in clouds and mist, heavily sealed off—the old woman couldn't see any of the interior. This terrified her. Could it be an Upper Five Realm cultivator?!

But just as she was about to use her earth-shrinking technique, it seemed the other party had been waiting for that moment. Instantly, an ordinary oilpaper umbrella, like a long sword, pierced her chest. The immense force sent her sliding backward until her back slammed into the wall. The heart-wrenching pain drove the old woman into a frenzy of wailing. She reached out with both hands to pull the umbrella from her chest, but the moment her fingers touched the oilpaper umbrella, she suffered a new agony, as if being scraped to the bone. Her head slammed heavily backward—it turned out the umbrella's sword qi had instantly swelled, and golden flames spread from her hands and arms across her entire body with lightning speed. What's more, those flames, flowing like water channels, seeped slowly into the old woman's soul without harming her flesh, sinews, or bones. This was an extremely refined fire method. Such domineering fire in the world—the old woman's entire personal world, her bodily mountains and rivers, seemed to rain fire.

Fire torture.

In a Nascent Soul cultivator's heart-lake, the water was instantly boiled, steam rising, turning it into a cauldron of oil.

Chen Ping'an released his fingers, straightened up, and walked over to see the old woman, who was likely the Ma family's chief strategist.

The ghost scholar lay on the table for a while. That honored immortal seemed to have gone elsewhere. As a mountain-field rogue cultivator, his principle had always been "may the Daoist die, not the Taoist"—his own safety first. This place was no good for staying; he had to leave quickly. He sat up, but immediately felt like crying without tears, wailing in despair, "A Thunder Formation of Dragon-Tiger Mountain!"

It turned out the honored immortal had left a Thunder Formation array in the room!

In a daze, this Golden Core ghost seemed to arrive at an ancient execution ground. The sky and earth were vast and blank.

The next moment, thunder roared. Suddenly, at the far edge of heaven and earth, a pitch-black lightning bolt tore through the white sky-curtain, followed by dozens, then hundreds of lightning bolts. Immediately after, a golden hand, as massive as a mountain, like a door being opened, pried open "a door" from the endless void realm, slowly revealing its full form. A majestic god, carrying an iron whip and clad in golden armor, stepped out. A golden body wrapped in multicolored lightning. Every step trembled the earth. The god's head slowly lowered toward the execution ground, looking down at the ant-like ghost lying paralyzed on the ground.

The god's cold golden eyes were like two golden suns suspended in the sky. For a human ghost, could there be a more terrifying sight?

Master of yin and yang creation; gods in the high heavens.

Was this what the honored immortal meant by "clever"?

Chen Ping'an, hands tucked into his sleeves, stood in a gloomy room, looking at the old woman nailed to the wall by the oilpaper umbrella.

This "sword-controlling technique" he had learned from the swordsman Pei Min.

He would need to practice more, practice makes perfect, so he could return the favor to Pei Min later.

Chen Ping'an smiled and said, "You won't die for a while—truly worthy of an old Nascent Soul god. Looks like you can hold out a bit longer. We'll talk later. I have to go meet the old grandmaster Shen Ke."

The old woman, whose soul felt like it was being sliced into a thousand pieces, whimpered, "Spare me, spare me."

Chen Ping'an said, "This is nothing—just a cold dish. The hard stuff is yet to come."

Not waiting for her reply, he returned to the courtyard.

A vigorous figure traversed roofs and walls with ease, as if walking on level ground, eventually stopping atop a wall. The old man stood tall, with a gleam in his eyes, a long saber at his waist, and a long cloth bundle in his hands. His aura was imposing.

Occasionally, strands seemed to writhe around his temples, like snakes coiling on mountains—a sign that this martial artist had reached such a state of spiritual fullness and completeness that it overflowed, an indication of an imminent breakthrough.

A martial grandmaster, once he reached Far Wandering, was only one step from the peak. Even a king could not match that.

Shen Ke wore a mutton-fat jade thumb ring. This anonymous martial arts grandmaster, besides teaching boxing, was also responsible for "hawk-taming" certain Ma family juniors.

The ring on his finger wasn't worth much, but it had sentimental value—it came from the finger of some small kingdom's emperor. During the war, when the world was chaotic, Shen Ke had broken the emperor's finger to take it. That night in the palace, Shen Ke had gone on a killing spree and thoroughly enjoyed his emperor fantasy. Even now, he remembered those women, savoring the memory. What a pity that such salacious affairs—sleeping with empresses and concubines like riding horses—couldn't be spoken of over wine; he could only recall them when drinking alone. A pity.

Shen Ke gently tapped the long cloth bundle, which presumably contained some weapon, against the wall, and asked with a laugh, "Where is that scoundrel?"

Then the martial grandmaster noticed that the atmosphere in the courtyard was off.

Right—on his instructions, the Ma couple always introduced him as a fifth-rank martial artist. So to these girls, he probably seemed unimpressive? No matter. After today's boxing bout, including Ma Yuemei that little wench, the entire Ma family's juniors would understand the truth: the Yongjia County Ma family had spent a little money to hire a true god.

Shen Ke's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Ma Yuemei inside the room. Since the sparring was imminent and he was about to demonstrate his skills, the old man circulated some pure true qi to suppress a few improper thoughts.

Yuemei was getting more beautiful every day—no need for makeup, a natural beauty. Her skin was as white as that empress from the coastal small kingdom of his homeland; white like pork.

A sword-attendant maid wanted to use sound-converging technique to inform the guardian coach that today's troublemaker was the Luopo Mountain Sword Immortal Chen.

But for some reason, Master Shen seemed to be ignoring the message. She was bewildered. Was Master Shen so bold that he feared not even Chen Ping'an?

Shen Ke squinted and turned his head toward the blue-clad figure on the rooftop. "Is it you who comes to make trouble?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "As the old saying goes, 'If you're not part of the family, you don't enter the same door.' Master Shen should have been born a Ma."

Shen Ke laughed heartily. "Since we're both martial artists of the same generation, why bother with a war of words? Let's see the skill with fists."

Chen Ping'an nodded. "It's really not easy to find a good person here."

Shen Ke untied the knot at one end of the long cloth bundle, lifted it horizontally, and swept his hand over it, revealing the weapon inside—a bronze ancient sword of exaggerated length.

Shen Ke said slowly, "Young man, bold indeed. You dare charge into any dragon's pool or tiger's den. So reckless—you won't live long."

Chen Ping'an looked at the long sword. "A good piece. Rarely seen."

"You're young, but the killing intent is heavy." The old man held the sword with both hands, twisted his wrists, and flourished it into a sword flower. "I don't kill nameless ghosts under my blade. Tell me your name and whether you have a master. If you do, I'll carry your head to your sect's doorstep as a gift."

In the martial world, revenge killings were handled more leniently by the Yuxuan Kingdom government compared to mountain qi refiners' spell battles.

"My name is Chen Ping'an. At forty, I'm not young anymore."

The blue-clad swordsman smiled. "If you can take my head to Luopo Mountain, like how Hao Su killed Nan Guangzhao and left the head at the mountain gate, that would count as your skill."

When Shen Ke heard this thunderous name, his eyelids twitched violently. His pure true qi and entire boxer's intent instantly broke down, revealing a visible decline.

The old man tried to steady himself, forgetting to use sound-converging technique. "I'm sorry, Sword Immortal Chen. Please go ahead and talk to whomever you need to. This old man won't meddle in personal grudges. I'll leave this filthy Ma mansion right now. If Sword Immortal Chen still finds me an eyesore, I'll leave the capital and never set foot in Yuxuan Kingdom again in this life."

Chen Ping'an extended a hand. "That's fine. Your legs are attached to you, Master Shen can go wherever you want."

Shen Ke hesitated, then asked cautiously in a low voice, "Really?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "It can be real, or not real—up to you."

Without another word, Shen Ke dropped the long sword to show sincerity, then touched his toes and fled in a long glide. The old man skimmed over rooftops like a dragonfly over water, leaving the Ma mansion, then the street, heading toward the bustling marketplace. Under the bright spring sun, when he finally stood on the crowded royal avenue, Shen Ke exhaled a long breath. He had turned around at the gates of hell, but surviving was good.

Yet Shen Ke seemed to have forgotten one detail: even if the sudden rain had stopped today, there should have been some puddles left in the capital of Yuxuan.

During the interval when Chen Ping'an left the courtyard and returned, Qin Zheng and Ma Yan exchanged glances. Ma Yan nodded, signaling that everything was arranged, that it would be accomplished without anyone noticing.

Qin Zheng then glanced as if inadvertently toward the blue-clad maids.

An old man with a wizened face carried a slop bucket that was still ninety percent new. Wealthy households naturally had finer utensils than commoners; the bucket looked inlaid with obsidian. The Ma family was rich, and the mansion was vast. The old man passed a remote corridor where a group of idle young servants had gathered, calling friends and playing bone tiles for money. They shouted, "Heaven and earth meet the tiger's head, the bigger the bet, the higher the rank!" All were red-faced and excited. The shabby old man set down his slop bucket, crouched behind them, and joined the side bets, tossing out a handful of copper coins. He lived frugally—"A horse won't get fat without night grass"—and he relied on this for some extra cash. The old man often smoked cheap tobacco mixed with elm leaves, which was very harsh. Within the family, only the second young master, Ma Yanshan, showed no airs; he'd often bring two jugs of good wine and chat with the old man about the past. The old man had once been a remnant of the defeated Zhuying dynasty to the south, an opera singer specializing in female roles. He said that in his youth, his figure, makeup, and voice were all excellent. He liked to paint his eyebrows and face, composed his own lyrics, and was on good terms with the eunuchs in the Palace of Rising Peace. But his voice failed. After wandering the old imperial city for over three years trying to recover it, to no avail, he couldn't make a living. Later, he accompanied and backed many famous actors, but year by year, things got worse. When the Zhuying dynasty was annexed by the Dali Song family, "a tree dies if moved, a man lives if moved"—a living man can't be held back by urine. So after many twists and turns, he ended up in the Ma family, begging for a meal.

The old man slowly turned his head and saw a blue-clad man with a sword on his back appearing over there. "Senior, you are actually a debt collector? Here waiting to collect accounts?"

The old man's heart shook violently. "You are—?"

Chen Ping'an laughed. "A chance meeting on the water; why bother with identities?"

The old man's face changed shades. "Then shall we each mind our own business?"

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "The Apricot Flower Lane Ma family enjoys blessings today, and senior has contributed greatly. This account must be carefully settled with you as well."

The old man's figure sank into the ground and disappeared. Chen Ping'an smiled.

When the old man emerged into the light again, he should have been near Zhe'er Mountain outside the capital. But instead, he found himself standing in... Apricot Flower Lane of Huaihuang County.

A young woman with peach-blossom eyes and a melon-seed face was just returning from carrying water from the Iron Lock Well. The old man stood dumbfounded, dazed. How could Ma Lanhua be so young?

The Ma family's kitchen, because the family didn't separate branches, now housed four generations under one roof—a lush, flourishing clan. Over a hundred mouths to feed were all prepared here.

If not for the strict ancestral hall rules, the number would likely double, counting the illegitimate children inside and outside the capital who weren't qualified to join the Ma family genealogy.

The head cook was a woman in her thirties, with a high, full bust that showed no sign of sagging. Everyone thought she was a flirtatious hussy.

The women twisted their tongues to curse her in every way; the men all wanted to sleep with her.

She lived every day amid gossip, variously slandered.

If not for the fact that she could make special meals for Ma Che, and Ma Che was widely recognized as top scholar material, she might not have escaped the hands of some Ma men.

She had been a kitchen maid in the Ma mansion for years, always carrying a pair of scissors for self-defense.

A big forest has all kinds of birds.

A cesspit is just piss and shit.

That boy named Ma Che was a naturally gifted scholar. Throughout the court and countryside, everyone believed he was a sure candidate to become a virtuous man of the Guanhu Academy.

The future high official of Yuxuan Kingdom, young Ma Che, had once blushed, breathing heavily, and hugged the plump woman from behind for a while.

Today, the woman was busy in the kitchen again, steaming several baskets of buns with various fillings—soft-shell turtle only the skirt, mandarin fish only the tender meat behind the gills, and a type of fungus growing on termite nests with an incredibly rich flavor.

The other kitchen women kept their distance from this slut named Yu Qing.

She reached up to smooth the hair at her temples and turned to look at a blue-clad... swordsman sitting on the threshold.

She seemed a bit puzzled. The books said that a gentleman keeps out of the kitchen. The Ma family's various branch members never came to the kitchen—probably because they thought it was too crowded and full of eyes.

Not far outside the kitchen, on a stone slab under a flower shed, were a dozen pots of rare orchids. She had always tended them personally.

The Yongjia County Ma family's private dishes were praised even by the top noble families of the Yuxuan capital. Those picky gourmands rarely spoke well of anything, but they would always say, "Why is our cabbage more fragrant than from elsewhere? Because the five flavor gods under the kitchen god are only in the capital." Yet once they tasted the Ma mansion's private dishes, they would all exclaim in wonder.

Chen Ping'an transmitted his voice with a smile, "Originally I thought you were an agent placed here by Gu Can, but it seems otherwise. Surname Lu?"

He stood up, entered the kitchen, picked up a few purple-skinned garlic heads from a stove, crushed the skins, held them in his hand, and ladled himself a bowl of fish soup noodles. He laughed, "Eating noodles without garlic is like killing without blood—it's just not quite right."

Yu Qing only stared blankly at the inexplicable, uninvited guest. As for the other women in the kitchen, they were probably intimidated by his presence and didn't dare make a sound.

Chen Ping'an leaned against the stove. Before picking up his chopsticks, he said with a smile, "The Apricot Flower Lane Ma family owes our household a debt—not much, eight silver coins, less than a string of cash. But in our hometown at the time, it wasn't a small sum. I used to summon my courage, put on a thick face, and go ask for it twice, but still didn't get it. I passed by Apricot Flower Lane without knocking on the door many more times. After I eat this bowl of noodles, that first account will be settled. Ma Kuxuan is indeed resourceful, being able to invite you out of retirement to protect the Ma family."

The woman turned sideways and made a graceful curtsey, smiling coyly. "So you are Mountain Lord Chen?"

Chen Ping'an set down his bowl and chopsticks, burped, and said, "Going door-to-door to collect debts feels really good. Full and satisfied—time to start work."

Yu Qing smiled charmingly. "Can a disciple of the Confucian Sage act wantonly and kill under the bright sun?"

Chen Ping'an lightly patted the stove, and beneath his palm, golden light glowed. Countless fine golden threads spread out. He walked straight to the door, then turned and smiled, "I hope next time we meet, you can still chat like this."

Yu Qing's eyes narrowed. She pinched a golden talisman between two fingers and looked around. The scene of the world shifted; she seemed to have arrived at a celestial residence.

In her field of vision, a majestic green mountain stood alone. At its foot, a dark green river flowed. Amid the mountain, buildings were arranged like fish scales—dense and ornate. Cranes circled in the air above.

Yu Qing lowered her head and saw a strange caisson ceiling that didn't hang in the air but was pressed against the ground.

At the center of the caisson was carved a golden lotus, surrounded by two yellow dragons biting each other's tails. Further out were sixteen flying celestials. Rings of patterns extended outward, ending at a circle of ancient inscriptions she couldn't even recognize. Logically, with her cultivation level and family learning, she should have no fear of illusion-based arrays. But the problem was that in her intuition, she didn't even feel this was an array—it was a real, mysterious realm. Reason and deduction told her it was an array; emotion and instinct told her it was an illusion.

She held her breath, not daring to breathe freely. She lit that secret talisman used to measure time, shook her sleeve, and casually threw a spell at the empty distance. Dust flew up. She frowned slightly. Besides abundant spiritual energy, the world seemed unremarkable. Yu Qing crouched down, picked up some soil, and ground it to powder. She looked carefully—the soil was real. This left Yu Qing utterly bewildered. Could it be a technique like "sleeve universe" or "gourd sun and moon" used by peak cultivators? According to certain family secret records, some mountain-top cultivators could carry blessed grotto-heavens with them.

Yu Qing cautiously offered a miniature multi-eaved pagoda, gently tossed it into the air to protect her small area, then slowly rode the wind upward, trying to overlook this secret realm. As her height increased, she took in the full view of a white jade arch bridge ahead. On the bridge railings, various mythical beasts crouched. Under the bridge was carved a stone Bixi covered in dragon scales, crouching and gazing at the water.

Yu Qing finally spotted a "living person"—a young woman wearing an emerald feather robe. She wasn't in the mountain but was walking along that seemingly endless green water, strolling at a slow pace. Yu Qing hesitated, then rode the wind toward that emerald-feathered woman, landing on the opposite bank. The woman clearly saw Yu Qing but only raised her eyelids slightly before continuing to walk slowly along the riverbank. Yu Qing quickly noticed something: every time this young-looking, strange woman took a step, some subtle, barely noticeable scene around her would change from a line drawing to a colored painting. Or perhaps she added a few dewdrops to a clump of wild grass, or turned a snow-white carp leaping from the river into a dazzling gold. Was she... filling in the gaps, adding color to the scroll of heaven and earth?

Yu Qing looked down at the talisman in her hand. Sure enough, real time had only passed about a snap of the fingers. But Yu Qing, who had been counting silently in her heart, felt that nearly a quarter of an hour had already passed. This made her mood heavier. The woman across the bank turned her head—a young, still fair and flawless face, but with an eerie, dead-calm gaze. When she stared blankly at the "very lively" Yu Qing, the woman's expression was extremely complex: mockery, pity, envy, hatred...

Yu Qing suppressed the strange feeling in her heart and asked, "May I ask your name, fellow Daoist?"

The woman said hoarsely, "You can call me Xu Jiaoqie. My true demon name is Xiao Xing, from the Desolate Wilderness. A sliver of my soul is trapped here—for twelve thousand 'snaps of the fingers' already."

Yu Qing was puzzled. According to her count, that was only one day and night—twelve hours.

The woman who called herself Xu Jiaoqie suddenly twisted her face, as if she had guessed the other's thoughts. She pressed her ten fingers against her cheeks. "Only one day and night?! Only!? Four million eight hundred thousand 'moments'—four million eight hundred thousand!"

She instantly withdrew her manic expression, pointed at the talisman in Yu Qing's hand, and with a gleeful look of immense joy, covered her mouth with her hands. Low, eerie laughter leaked through her fingers. "Sharing joy with others is better than enjoying it alone. Now that you're here to keep me company, it won't be so hard to endure. Have you noticed? The flow of time is getting slower, but your thoughts are getting faster. Here, both you and I are awake without sleep—pitiful indeed."

In that small world filled with ancient gods, Ma Kuxuan said, "It seems Yu Shiwu was wrong. You're not eighty percent likely to be Nascent Soul—you're Jade Perfected. When did this happen? Just these past few days?"

Over a hundred ancient Thunder Department golden-armored gods, summoned by Ma Kuxuan using talisman magic combined with the "summoning gods and descending truth" technique, seemed overwhelmed by the vast heavenly orthodoxy, forced to wait helplessly, not daring to move.

The illusion of the swordsman—a single sweep of his sword, brilliant light as if cleaving heaven and earth—instantly cut half of the golden-armored generals in two. Their golden bodies shattered, exploding into countless golden lights.

The Fire God raised his hand; heaven and earth became a furnace. The firelight merged and melded. Who knew the yin-yang coal that burned alone within?

In the blink of an eye, heaven and earth were clear.

Ma Kuxuan was unfazed.

Chen Ping'an said regretfully, "What a pity these golden body fragments are all illusions. Ma Kuxuan, aren't you very capable? Why not summon the true bodies of these gods?"

The small-world scene receded like a tide, and the two returned to reality. Ma Kuxuan sat back on the steps at the entrance of the shrine. Chen Ping'an stood in the courtyard.

Ma Kuxuan laughed. "So, Hidden Officer Chen went into seclusion specifically for me? Without Jade Perfected cultivation to rely on, just relying on the dual status of Nascent Soul sword cultivator and tenth-rank martial artist, you still felt that this revenge, walking alone into Yongjia County, might be... unreliable?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "You have such a big face."

Ma Kuxuan glanced at the "outside world." The true situation of the entire Ma mansion had already fallen into a state where the flow of time seemed stagnant.

Ma Kuxuan asked, "Your flying sword's innate technique—can it control an imitation of the long river of time? How large an area does it cover? How long does it last?"

He then asked, "Why don't you appear in your Sword Qi Great Wall form? Too ugly to show your face?"

He asked again, "You know I'm not particularly concerned about the Ma mansion's survival. Aren't you curious why I still chose to appear here?"

In fact, Ma Kuxuan didn't really enjoy chatting with people, but this fellow townsman of the same age was the only exception.

Ma Kuxuan sighed. "Why do you start playing the mute again?"

He stood up. "Fine, I'll play with you."

Chen Ping'an finally spoke with a smile, "Then I'll play with you. It's not the first time anyway."

Ma Kuxuan twitched the corner of his mouth. "Lost to me twice, lost to Cao Ci three times. Chen Ping'an, don't think that just because you've picked up a few more titles now, you can get your revenge."

Chen Ping'an asked with feigned confusion, "You didn't secretly break through to the Immortal realm, did you?"

Ma Kuxuan pretended to be surprised. "Even that you guessed? The Hidden Officer's mind is really sharp—no wonder you could sit in command at the Summer Pavilion."

Chen Ping'an fell silent.

Ma Kuxuan laughed. "Isn't this called 'the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind'?"

Chen Ping'an seemed about to put on a panicked expression, but suddenly burst out laughing. "No more pretending. No more acting. I've already fooled you twice, and I feel pretty bad about it."

Ma Kuxuan stretched lazily and walked down the steps.

Chen Ping'an said, "Oh, by the way, coincidentally, my lifebound flying sword is called 'Cage Sparrow.'"

As he spoke, a bright red robe appeared on Chen Ping'an.

In the courtyard, Ma Yan and Qin Zheng had exhausted all their sweet talk. Ma Yan in particular had sworn that even if Mountain Lord Chen misunderstood him deeply, and he couldn't defend himself, he was willing to exchange one life for Chen Quan's life. Qin Zheng suddenly knelt on the ground, following her husband's lead, and immediately followed with a sincere speech: "Chen Ping'an, if you think your mother's death from illness was also our fault, then I'll pay for it with another life. Just please spare our Ma family, and don't vent your anger on the innocent."

Chen Ping'an ignored them completely, only remarking with a smile, "Why do you keep stalling? What's the point?"

He then took several flying-sword letters from his sleeve and crushed them all. "If you're trying to summon reinforcements, it's not going to work."

A blue-clad maid, without warning, rushed toward Chen Ping'an. A dagger slid from her sleeve; with a flash of edge, she attempted close combat, displaying the spirit of a martyr.

Another sword attendant leaped, her figure mid-air, reaching out to grab a sword from the wall, and slashed toward Chen Ping'an's head.

Then the blue-clad maids, one after another, moved like startled hares and falcons, seeming to welcome death, charging at the Sword Immortal Chen without any regard for their lives.

Chen Ping'an raised an arm, two fingers together. In an instant, over a dozen blue-clad maids were all cut in half at the waist. Their bodies fell to the ground, the courtyard full of blood—a ghastly sight.

Even Ma Yan, who had mentally prepared, found this too bloody. Qin Zheng vomited on the spot.

Chen Ping'an said calmly, "As death warriors, you sought death and got it. You brought this on yourselves."

Qin Zheng, bent over and dry heaving, seemed utterly distraught, but the woman was secretly bright-eyed.

At the roadside tavern near Zheyao Mountain, the worried mountain goddess Song Ji drank alone, distracted.

The rain poured in sheets; broad daylight was as dark as night. Urgent raindrops pelted the windows, making a racket like new ghosts complaining about injustice.

In such a scene where the rain screen made it impossible to see one's hand, two guests arrived. One was a tall, robust man with thick eyebrows and big eyes; the other was a graceful young man in a Confucian scholar's robe, both wearing straw raincoats, braving the rain. At the tavern's eaves, they each removed their bamboo hats. Song Ji glanced at the road and saw that the young man, with the bearing of a banished immortal, led a very handsome white horse—its hooves amid the wind and rain.

Song Ji pointed at a wooden sign on the door and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, two guests, the shop is closed. I can't receive customers."

The tall man was the first to step over the threshold, smiling brightly. "We're just looking for a place to shelter from the rain and rest. We brought our own wine, and we have to wait for someone here. If you won't let us in, we'll go back and wait outside."

The gentle-mannered young man in Confucian robes reached out, took the wooden sign from the door, tossed it casually onto the counter, and said with a smile, "Since you're open for business, why refuse to make money?"

Song Ji hesitated. It was clear these two were no ordinary people.

She was a local mountain goddess, and her tavern was near Zheyao Mountain. If she couldn't see through someone's cultivation level, there was only one possibility: they were accomplished Daoists.

The tall man jerked his chin toward the counter. The Confucian-robed young man walked around behind the counter, took two jugs of wine from the shelf.

Song Ji was amazed. So this was what they meant by "bringing their own wine"?

Then a graceful young woman entered. She wore a wooden hairpin with cloud patterns, cotton dress and skirt, and embroidered shoes.

She stepped in from the heavy rain, her embroidered shoes completely dust-free.

She smiled at the mountain goddess and introduced herself, "My name is Gu Lingyan, my master's chambermaid."

Gu Lingyan took the liberty of going to the backyard, brought out a brazier, and a large bag of charcoal, setting it by her feet. With a rustle, she poured the charcoal in. She lowered her head and breathed softly—the charcoal caught fire.

She picked up iron tongs, skillfully poked some old ash to cover the burning coals. She leaned forward, warming her hands, gently shaking her snow-white hands, and looked up with a smile. "Auntie boss, do you have any taro strips or zongzi here? I'd like to warm myself while cutting window papers and stitching soles."

Song Ji shook her head. So these were the people they were waiting for? Now that she had been "waited for," what next?

Gu Lingyan looked at the mountain goddess sitting alone at a table and said in a soft voice, "Auntie, your butt is really big, and your waist is too slim. Sitting on that long bench, your butt cheeks look even fuller. If you get up at night to sit on the chamber pot... tsk tsk."

Song Ji was furious, but since she couldn't yet determine their background, she forcibly suppressed her displeasure. She forced a smile, pretending not to care, and didn't reply.

Liu Xianyang sprayed his wine, quickly apologized, "Sorry, sorry, I'm thin-skinned, haven't seen the world, can't handle this kind of talk."

Gu Can was calm.

Gu Lingyan kept calling her "auntie": "Changing Zhe'er Mountain to Zheyao Mountain—that was a nice change. It went from utterly vulgar to truly elegant. But I heard that Zheyao Mountain is under the jurisdiction of Deer Antler Mountain, the sacred mountain of the Western Sacred Mountains. That highest-ranking god, Chang Fengshan, seems to have lost his official position? Just a few days ago, wasn't it? Auntie, do you have any inside information? Might as well tell us—it can be a drinking snack for my master, and count as hospitality."

Song Ji's face was ashen. She said sternly, "Miss Gu, I don't care what sect you're from or what cultivation level you have. On this Western Sacred Mountains' territory, please watch your words. Be careful—trouble comes from loose tongues."

According to the Confucian Temple's landscape registry, Deer Antler Mountain, as the sacred mountain of the Western Sacred Mountains, had a third-rank divine position.

Logically, to strip such a high-ranking god of his official position would require a resolution from the Central Plains Confucian Temple and the Dali dynasty. Even Tong Wenchang, Chang Fengshan's direct superior, had no right to privately punish such a high-ranking mountain god. Therefore, Tong Wenchang's recent promotion to Great Banner God-King had not followed the rules at all.

So not only had Chang Fengshan already filed a complaint with the Central Plains Confucian Temple, but it was said that most of the chief officials of Deer Antler Mountain's twenty departments had jointly submitted a memorial to the Dali dynasty.

Whether Chang could keep his original divine position was still unclear. Since Tong Wenchang had just been promoted, the Confucian Temple and the Dali Song family had to consider that. Generally speaking, the most likely outcome was a compromise: Deer Antler Mountain would receive a reprimand from the Confucian Temple and Dali Ministry of Rites, and Chang Fengshan would be demoted a few ranks. But it was also possible that Tong Wenchang would take a big fall, and Chang Fengshan and Deer Antler Mountain would see no change, while Tong Wenchang's prestige would plummet.

Whichever the case, before the Confucian Temple gave its final verdict, Song Ji didn't think there were many cultivators on Treasure Vase Continent qualified to badmouth the Deer Antler Mountain god within his jurisdiction.

Gu Lingyan sneered. "Why struggle in vain? It's bound to be a case of 'when the tree falls, the monkeys scatter.' Filing a complaint? Against whom? Against Lord God Tong, or against Mountain Lord Chen? Don't let the complaint end up right in Mountain Lord Chen's hands. Ha, amusing—just like in some books: a slap of the gavel, 'Who dares to sue this magistrate?'"

Gu Can said, "That's enough. Play the mute."

Gu Lingyan cautiously glanced at Gu Can's expression—he wasn't angry; there was even some laughter in his eyes.

Liu Xianyang began to communicate by heart voice, "Why did we have to bring Pei Qian?"

"She is Chen Ping'an's junior."

"What kind of logic is that?"

"We have different concerns."

"How so?"

"You're worried he might encounter an accident. I'm not worried about that at all. I'm only worried that over there, he won't hold back, will be caught with something, and the mad dogs will bite."

"What's there to worry about with Chen Ping'an?"

"This time is a bit different."

"Afraid of what? Brothers fight tigers, father and son go to war. Doesn't Chen Ping'an have us?"

Gu Can was silent for a moment. "Liu Xianyang, do you know what I envy most about you?"

Liu Xianyang's eyes lit up. "Tell me. My biggest flaw is that I don't know my own strengths."

Gu Can said, "You go through life completely without a brain, relying only on instinct."

Liu Xianyang waved his hand. "I'll tell you something—don't spread it. Ruan the blacksmith is already in the Immortal realm."

"I can tell."

Liu Xianyang was puzzled. "Which eye can tell?"

Gu Can sneered. "I'm different from someone who only knows how to practice the sword. I also learned a bit of aura observation and deduction."

"Good aptitude, high talent, single-minded—nothing wrong with not learning those messy heterodox techniques!"

A black-clothed young woman with her hair tied in a topknot stepped lightly over the threshold, holding a green bamboo walking staff.

Gu Lingyan looked toward the door. Oh my, the main character had arrived.

Pei Qian clasped her fists in greeting to Liu Xianyang and Gu Can.

Liu Xianyang smiled and waved. "Sit down, have some wine."

Gu Can nodded in acknowledgment.

Song Ji's heart tightened. She recognized this person.

One of the four grandmasters in the Treasure Vase martial arts rankings—Pei Qian! Chen Ping'an's eldest disciple from Luopo Mountain!

Pei Qian then cupped her hands to Song Ji. "Greetings, Mountain Goddess Song."

Song Ji quickly stood and performed a graceful curtsey. "I am now called Song Ji, unworthily serving as the goddess of Zheyao Mountain."

Pei Qian pulled out a gold leaf and said with a smile, "I'd like to buy some wine brewed by the four corners market from the Mountain Goddess."

Song Ji said nervously, "No need to buy wine. For me to have the honor of treating Grandmaster Pei to a few jars of Panbin wine, brewed at Zheyao Mountain, is my honor and good fortune."

Pei Qian nodded. "Then I won't be polite. Thank you in advance."

Liu Xianyang marveled. The little charcoal-black girl from back then had become so well-mannered.

Gu Can smiled knowingly.

Pei Qian took the jars of celestial wine and placed them on the table.

Money is the pure boy of the upper realm. Wine is a fishing for poem hook, a broom for worry sweeper.

Out on the road, spending money on drink without asking the price—that's the spirit of the martial world.

Gu Lingyan's eyes curved into crescents. She said cheerfully, "Miss Pei, we parted at the ferry, but I didn't think we'd meet again so soon. What a fate."

Pei Qian smiled. "If we were to meet again on the battlefield of the Treasure Vase satellite capital, that would be an even greater fate."

In the courtyard, the family head Ma Yan began to curse Chen Ping'an for his indiscriminate killing, saying he was unworthy of being a sage's disciple.

Chen Ping'an laughed. "So what? What can you do? Today's massacre of the Yongjia County Ma family—heaven doesn't know, earth doesn't know."

Ma Yan shouted angrily, "Chen Ping'an, you are simply insane!"

Qin Zheng slowly straightened up and transmitted her voice, "You mud-vase alley mongrel, do you know that through a mirror-flower-water-moon transmission, soon the entire Treasure Vase Continent will know what you have done today?!"

The panicked expression she expected from Chen Ping'an did not appear.

This made the woman uneasy.

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Still both stupid and malicious. You're so busy scheming against me, but didn't you think—why was the first thing I said when I saw you was to describe forty ways to die? What kind of death lets a person die that many times?"

He smiled. "Should I cooperate and say a few more lines? Something like, 'In my eyes, you are mere ants, stepping on you would dirty my shoes'? Or, 'I will have you and Qin Zheng sliced into a thousand pieces, and even if some news leaks out, with my current status, who would dare seek justice for you?'"

Chen Ping'an pointed at the jade bangle on the woman's wrist and laughed. "As the pivot of this mirror-flower-water-moon transmission, have a good look and determine if there's any spiritual energy left inside."

Qin Zheng quickly touched the bangle; her fingers felt like ice. Her face changed instantly.

Chen Ping'an flicked his sleeve. The blood from the maids' cut bodies receded like an ebbing tide, flowing slowly back into their bodies. The severed halves "retreated" back into the air; the daggers and swords that had fallen flew back into the hands of the corpses. Every trajectory was exact. The bodies reassembled, retreated to their original positions, and the blue-clad maids came back to life, standing alive and well as before.

This bloody turn of events was like a clumsy performance by a shoddy troupe, or like reading two pages of a book, flipping a page forward and then back. How could the words differ? Only the feeling of reading those two pages lingered in the heart. For those maids, the pain of being cut in half and the lingering dread of near-death still seemed to cling.

A woman's scream suddenly broke out: Qin Zheng's wrist, with the jade bangle, was severed by a wisp of sword qi and fell to the ground.

Chen Ping'an walked over to Ma Yan, grabbed him by the neck, dragged him to the writhing Qin Zheng, and threw him to the ground. He raised a foot, pressed Ma Yan's head down, forcing him to stare at the severed wrist with bloodshot eyes. Chen Ping'an gently twisted the toe of his shoe. The flesh on one side of Ma Yan's cheek was instantly minced, white bone exposed.

Chen Ping'an asked calmly, "Do you know how many copper coins eight silver coins could have exchanged back then? How many medicinal herbs I could have bought from the Yang Family Pharmacy? Do you know why I often went to your Apricot Flower Lane, squatting by the roadside, why I saw that candied hawthorn vendor?"

Old Master Shen Ke, who thought he had escaped danger, was about to leave the Yuxuan capital when he suddenly turned around.

Behind him, on the bustling, crowded street, everyone—men and women, old and young—all turned to look at him with the same smile.

This made Shen Ke, a seasoned veteran, go cold from the back. The bright sun hung high, yet it felt like seeing ghosts in broad daylight.

A thousand faces, one expression. Different identities, different builds, different clothes, but all with the same face.

That hidden debt collector—the old man saw a stall suddenly appear in Apricot Flower Lane. A middle-aged man was selling candied hawthorns.

The middle-aged man met the old man's eyes and said with a smile, "All of you have dull eyes, not knowing that three feet above your head there are gods, not recognizing how high the blue sky is, how thick the yellow earth, only seeing the moon cold and the sun warm, coming to fry human life."

Inside that celestial mansion ruin, Yu Qing, her Dao heart shaken, left the riverbank absentmindedly and climbed the stone steps.

On the steps sat a young Daoist with a lotus crown on his head, his face constantly shifting, using different voices to repeat one line: "In the microdust of the world, why should I love or hate?"

At the same time, on both sides of the mountain path, "hanged ghosts" hung densely, tens of thousands of them, stretching up the mountain. Their deaths were identical: each had been pierced through the temple by a long sword, hanging in the air.

The old woman was suffering a fire torture.

The ghost scholar was inside a thunder formation.

Every bone-deep hatred in the world was a jar of old wine, waiting for the avenger to unseal the clay cap and drink deep.

The real Chen Ping'an had been sitting in the Ma family's ancestral hall the whole time. He had moved a chair to sit with his back to the door, a sword across his knees, holding a wine-gourd, taking small sips.