Chapter 1089: Surplus
(Everyone, Happy New Year, and may you be safe and sound. Mwah mwah~)
Tree shadows swayed, casting mottled green across faces.
Just now, Yu Shiwu and Ma Yanshan each had a dream. Yu Shiwu dreamed he had become a lacquer-garden butterfly, caught in a spider’s web, regretting that he had ever broken free of his cocoon. Ma Yanshan dreamed he was drunk with a beauty, overnighting on a small boat, when a lone crane flew across the river, its cry startling, and upon waking he saw two Taoists in feathered robes, sleeves linked, dancing gracefully.
Ma Yanshan felt he had encountered a genuine immortal.
He had also seen with his own eyes the honored immortal masters enshrined by his family flaunt a few secret arts, but to Ma Yanshan, they still didn’t count as true recluses beyond the mundane world in his mind—they were just people with a bit more strength, a bit of magic.
The Taoist swept his fly whisk and said, “Fellow Daoist Yu won’t blame me for forcing you to stay, will you?”
Yu Shiwu laughed freely. “I was the one who broke the agreement first. I can’t blame Mountain Lord Chen for punishing me afterward.”
Chen Ping’an said, “If you were a wild cultivator from the mountains and marshes, you probably wouldn’t have this kind of grace, Fellow Daoist Yu.”
Yu Shiwu smiled but said nothing, pretending not to catch the sarcasm in the other’s tone.
Chen Ping’an looked at Ma Yanshan. “Ma Kuxuan chose to protect only you from this den of grudges. There is indeed a reason.”
Going over the ledger, although Ma Yanshan was debauched, he wasn’t a villain. The things he usually did were just absurd. Simply put, his hands weren’t dirty, nor his heart black.
Normally, such a pampered young master wasn’t exactly a good person either—at most, he refrained from doing things that were outright evil. But in the Ma clan of Wusha Alley, which had few good birds among its flock, Ma Yanshan suddenly became an outlier. Sure enough, living life was like drinking at a banquet—it all depended on others to prop you up.
Recalling Yu Shiwu’s earlier address, “Mountain Lord Chen”? Ma Yanshan finally caught on. “You’re Chen Ping’an?”
Chen Ping’an nodded. “That’s me.”
Hearing the answer he least wanted to hear, Ma Yanshan instead felt a strange sense of relief—like finally swallowing a calming pill. If it’s fortune, it can’t be avoided; if it’s disaster, it can’t be dodged. He asked, “Where is this place?”
Chen Ping’an smiled. “Beside Handan Road, where fame and profit swirl; on a celadon pillow, where a golden millet dream unfolds. Whether it’s real or false lies with you; whether it’s false or real lies with me.”
Ma Yanshan was confused.
Yu Shiwu gave a definitive answer. “We are in Mountain Lord Chen’s mind-realm. You could say it’s false, or you could say it’s true. True or false, it’s all according to Mountain Lord Chen’s will.”
Ma Yanshan asked, “Mountain Lord Chen came to seek revenge against our Ma clan? The first one to deal with is me?”
Chen Ping’an smiled. “You’re not even worth that much. The one I’m looking for is Yu Shiwu, who broke his agreement. Ma Yanshan is just an extra.”
Yu Shiwu asked, “Even coming to the doorstep to slay the enemy and take their head—do you still think that’s not enough to quench your hatred?”
Chen Ping’an said, “Yu Shiwu, you’re a decent person. You treated Ma Kuxuan as a close friend. You advised what you could, helped what you could, and even risked your life. That’s not easy for a friend. Zhenwu Mountain is also a reputable immortal sect. If you’re willing to stop here, I can let bygones be bygones. I’ll even let you take Ma Yanshan and leave. As for whether Ma Yanshan will enter Zhenwu Mountain to cultivate in the future, or whether he will seek revenge on me later, I’ll be frank with you now: I don’t care. Do as you please.”
Yu Shiwu smiled slightly. “When it comes to making friends, I’m far inferior to Mountain Lord Chen as a true friend. I’ve seen people who observe hidden rules—you can entrust yourself to them, or even entrust your family.”
Chen Ping’an frowned. “Still not giving up?”
Yu Shiwu held his hands loosely into fists and rested them on his knees. “At this point, how dare I keep entangling? It’s neither interesting nor meaningful.”
Yu Shiwu gently exhaled a puff of mist. “But as an onlooker, let me casually remind you, Mister Chen: back then, not killing Gu Can will carry a heavy price in the future.”
Chen Ping’an smiled. “If you have the guts, go say that to Gu Can himself. He’s in the imperial palace of Yuxuan Kingdom right now. It’s on the way.”
Yu Shiwu shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He would rather provoke Chen Ping’an than ever make an enemy of Gu Can.
Yu Shiwu spoke with his mind: “Can you not kill Ma Kuxuan?”
Chen Ping’an said, “You and I both know that whether he lives or dies depends on Ma Kuxuan’s own decision.”
Yu Shiwu looked at the dissipating mist before him and asked, “Can I see the respective fates of the Ma clan members?”
Chen Ping’an refused directly. “No.”
Me being polite doesn’t give you the right to be presumptuous.
Yu Shiwu still wouldn’t give up. “As I said earlier, I have some golden essence copper coins. Consider it paying to watch the show. One coin per person.”
Chen Ping’an said, “Fellow Daoist Yu, you’re talking big. Do you know how many descendants the Ma clan has across its branches? Is that what you call ‘having some golden essence copper coins’?”
Yu Shiwu smiled. “After all, I’m a cultivator at the Jade Purity Realm, and I rarely have opportunities to spend money, so I do have a small surplus.”
“What meaning does watching these tales of others hold for you?”
“Mountain Lord Chen and I are completely different types of people. You’ve traveled far and wide at a young age, while I’ve spent years cultivating in the mountains, rarely descending. I want to take this chance to observe more of life’s myriad forms. Wealth is an external thing—you don’t bring it at birth and don’t take it at death. Mister Chen, don’t overthink whether there’s any hidden malice. If you don’t trust me, I can swear a solemn oath.”
Ma Yanshan heard this. Usually, according to books, swearing an oath would be skipped if mutual admiration existed. Unexpectedly, that Mountain Lord Chen said directly, “Then swear it.”
Yu Shiwu did indeed swear a heart-oath facing the ancestral hall of Zhenwu Mountain from afar.
After that, Yu Shiwu took out a golden essence copper coin from his sleeve and placed it gently on the floor between them.
Chen Ping’an gestured with his chin toward Ma Yanshan and smiled. “Since Fellow Daoist Yu is so wealthy, wouldn’t it be better to share the joy alone than to have it all to yourself?”
Yu Shiwu was taken aback, then chuckled, and indeed took out another golden essence copper coin, stacking it on top of the first.
Mist filled the courtyard. The locust tree vanished, replaced by a scene of Wusha Alley. A vendor walked by carrying a pole with a small charcoal stove, making sugar figurines. Another sold dough figurines. There were stalls with puppet shows and shadow plays. There was even a monk with a back-basket bearing a statue of Skanda, his face gaunt, his eyes clear, passing through this alley. To Ma Yanshan up to this point, it was a perfectly normal street scene, only with the flow of time sped up—like a patchwork… brocade heap of ashes. Then the scene shifted. Beside Wusha Alley, deep winter, heavy snow. Wind whipped the large cloth banner of a tavern back and forth. Inside, a quaint cricket cage hung. The tavern keeper was a young widow with some charm. Ma Yanshan immediately recognized her—she was the mother of Ma Lu, and Ma Lu was the most promising martial youth among the younger generation of the Ma clan. He had soaked in medicinal baths for over ten years, honing his physique and bones year-round, then presented a letter to a Yuxuan Kingdom general and took the martial official path. But now the woman was younger, and her status had changed. She was no longer the shrewd old crone who gave orders and secretly practiced usury. Now, her face was sallow, lacking luster. It was as if she had never been young, as if her skin had never been fair, her cheeks never flushed with shame. The winds and clouds scattered, gone without a trace. Who knew how many men still remembered her youthful beauty? In the bitter cold, there were quite a few drinkers inside. Ma Yanshan gradually recognized them—lowly servants of the Ma mansion, possibly sedan-chair bearers or carriage drivers. But in “today’s” tavern, they weren’t just pawing at the woman or spewing crude talk. Among them was a man who had come to collect debts. He made the woman sit and drink with him, always grinning when he spoke—perhaps he thought he was witty, or perhaps because he had a gold tooth. When his eyes hinted at something and got no response, he leaned in and whispered, telling her that if she took him to the back kitchen, he’d waive that month’s interest. The woman refused to the death. The man, who hadn’t tasted a scrap of meat in ages, gave her a hard slap across the face. Her child, still in elementary school, tried to stand up for his mother, so the man gave the child a resounding slap in return for justice. Cursing, the man dropped a harsh ultimatum: if the money wasn’t paid back, he’d make her work as a prostitute. The woman, her cheek swollen, dared neither to retort nor to report it to the authorities. She just sat blankly on the ground, holding her poor child with blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. Women with such harsh fates had long stopped thinking about right and wrong things done in the past, or the good and bad fortune of tomorrow.
The middle-aged Taoist with a copper-coin sword on his back smiled and asked, “Should we keep watching, or switch to another picture?”
Yu Shiwu nodded. “Let’s switch.”
The Taoist said, “Then settle the bill first.”
Yu Shiwu turned to ask, “Yanshan, how many in that picture are members of your Ma mansion?”
Ma Yanshan reported a number: six.
Yu Shiwu was very generous, pulling out twelve golden essence copper coins at once.
“Actually, it’s eight.”
The Taoist smiled, correcting him. “When a clan is too big, it’s no good—you can’t even recognize your own people. No matter, consider the four extra coins a gift.”
A reed marsh in wild waters, lush and lovely. When people passed, unknown birds often startled up, emerald green, fast as arrows. Government officials led a group of exiled convicts along a muddy road, all wearing heavy cangues, strung together like grasshoppers by a rope, stumbling along. On the water was a colorful boat, three decks high, where a banquet was in full swing. Sleeves of emerald urged wine, golden cups clinked as they drank the rosy clouds, jade hands played pipa, twittering and chattering, thick wine scent mingling with powder and perfume. Someone on the boat spotted the scene on the shore. A young noble immediately ordered silver pieces brought over, had the boat approach the bank, and let the women throw them at the convicts. Whoever hit a convict would get a gold ingot.
Yu Shiwu asked, “Ma Yanshan?”
Ma Yanshan snapped out of his daze, his expression complicated. “Only two: one on the boat, one on the shore. In the Ma mansion, they are father and son.”
Yu Shiwu took out four golden essence copper coins and said to the “middle-aged Taoist with a sword on his back and a fly whisk,” “You can switch.”
Later, an empress from a military lineage but born with a jealous disposition, within the harem of the imperial family where consorts had skin fairer than snow and hair buns piled like crows, had a eunuch’s hand fondled by the emperor. The next day, the emperor received a box containing the eunuch’s pale white hands. She also had sturdy palace attendants bind a noble consort and bring her before her, gouged out the consort’s eyes, cut off her breasts… torturing her to death. The most gruesome scene showed the venomous empress ordering a group of sturdy women to bring wooden mallets… Ma Yanshan’s face was paler than those eunuch’s hands—he nearly vomited on the spot.
Yu Shiwu couldn’t help asking, “Is it always this brutal?”
The Taoist said, “There are some bland ones too, but I worried that Fellow Daoist Yu might feel cheated, so I deliberately picked these pictures. Next will be that empress receiving divine punishment: she’ll be demoted into a giant python, haunting a mountain, then smoked out of her cave by a group of snake-catchers (both men and women), hacked to death, and her gall bladder cut out and soaked in medicinal wine. In her next life, she’ll still be born as a woman, die suddenly, have her tomb robbed, her bones scattered, and sold to coastal fishermen. Part of her skeleton will be used on a ship, according to custom, to calm the tides at sea. One evil deed repays another—retribution never misses. As for why that noble consort suffered that calamity, there were causes and effects, but you missed them. If you want to see, you can rewind the picture. As for the identities of the emperor, empress, and consort, you can ask Ma Yanshan—he’ll surely recognize them this time. Should we keep watching, or switch?”
Yu Shiwu said nothing, just kept pulling out coins. Ma Yanshan’s mind was shaken; he was drenched in cold sweat. Trembling, he said, “Switch pictures, switch quickly!”
To make everyone in the Ma mansion resent each other.
But that wasn’t all—some would even be made to hate themselves.
In a rural area, children often flew kites over the graves. Nearby was a low forest, where on tender branches, quails or doves called and pecked.
Thousands of mountains blanketed with snow, tree blossoms a dull white. A young man of coming-of-age age rode a small cart, dragging ice from the mountains back to the city.
Under bean trellises and melon frames, women of different generations whispered. “Auntie, you’re beautiful.” “I was even more beautiful before.”
The girl’s crisp voice was like an oriole on a branch. The woman’s soft, alluring voice was like petals just fallen to the ground.
Towering green mountains soared into the clouds, as if grown from the earth itself, existing there for millennia. Within those mountains was an ancient mountain sect. During the scorching summer, the women of this immortal sect liked to wear crystal hibiscus crowns, also called summer-hating crowns. There was a genius cultivator with a jade-like face who went down the mountain for training and, upon returning, secretly fell in love with a daughter of his enemy’s family. That year, peach blossoms were all scattered, plum blossoms gone. He wondered where his beloved was. In a sudden dream, at a cold guest window by Qingming, he suddenly saw a household, its silhouette against crows at dusk.
It seemed knowledge could be accumulated slowly, but talent was something one was born with. There was a poor student with extraordinary talent, relying solely on his “intelligence,” utterly ignorant of worldly affairs. He grumbled while flipping through history books: wasn’t every treacherous minister a genius? Meanwhile, he went around with all sorts of people, never knowing exactly what he had said wrong, just complaining that heaven was jealous of genius, thus letting half his life slip away in idleness. The restaurant where he often ran up a tab would raise its prices and still ask him to write the menu each time. He loved liquor—you could say he was addicted to it—but was ordinary when it came to women. At temple fairs, he didn’t look at women, and women didn’t look at him.
Yu Shiwu kept pulling out coins, stacking them in uneven piles between them.
“What do you think? Having seen these scenes, don’t they all seem pointless? Of course, if you watch patiently all the way, there might be something worth chewing on.”
The Taoist smiled. “Ma Yanshan, do you want to see a few pictures that were originally yours? Relax, they’re free—no charge.”
Ma Yanshan felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave and quickly shook his head.
But his wish was not granted. The Taoist swept his fly whisk, and pictures unfurled.
Usually, it was old women or middle-aged ladies walking through the streets, buying rags and old clothes from households. But in this picture, there was a young man in ill-fitting clothes with exposed ankles, carrying a basket and hawking in the alley. Onlookers couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“The two remaining lives are relatively more turbulent. In one blessed land, you become an undefeated martial grandmaster under heaven, amassing two centuries of internal energy. With a bit of exertion, your sword gleam extends several inches. Emperors, generals, and martial heroes regard you as a mortal sword immortal from the legends. Then you leave that blessed land, encounter a fifth-realm Qi cultivator over a small dispute, and get casually killed. It seems sword gleams shouldn’t appear in a world with ghosts and gods.”
“The second life, I skimped on detail. It overlaps with that woman-averse scholar’s fate, but I changed your destiny at middle age, allowing you to befriend a prince who hadn’t yet become emperor. Within three years, you’re immediately famous. In that chaotic era, heroes kill tyrants, tyrants kill heroes, or heroes kill heroes, tyrants kill heroes. Want to see the last few years of that life? There’s a nice twist. With your brains, you’d never guess it.”
Hearing this, Ma Yanshan asked, “Chen Ping’an, can you erase these memories from me?”
Once everyone “wakes up” and retains all their memories of this? The Ma mansion folk would then be far more than just “mutual resentment, chaos, and clamor.”
Ma Yanshan even began to worry that once they all woke up, without Chen Ping’an lifting a finger, they would start slaughtering each other—literally.
The Taoist flicked his sleeve, extended his hand, and cupped it like a bowl. A white porcelain bowl appeared in his hand, filled with water or liquor, gently rippling. “You’re barely a smart person.”
“Fellow Daoist Yu, you haven’t finished setting up your copper coin formation yet. Can you give me a straight answer? How long do I need to wait?”
“You probably both know that when I was young in my hometown market town, I was hunted by the Mountain-Moving Ape from Zhengyang Mountain. But you likely don’t know that I personally killed Cai Jinjian.”
“To get a foothold in the art of formation, the never-fallen Azure Pearl Cave Heaven is the best ‘manuscript.’ So besides Liu Zhimao and a few others who were involved back then, I need to humbly consult them. They were suppressed during their time in the town, so afraid to use even a shred of spiritual energy. Originally, I’d chosen Zhong Chang. But now I’ll have to trouble Fellow Daoist Yu to ‘take a detour’ to Azure Pearl Cave Heaven, so I can test the effect and gradually patch up the flaws.”
“Yu Shiwu, who gave you the guts? A Jade Purity Realm Qi cultivator dares to set up tricks beside a Martial Dao stop-state warrior?”
“That’s three times already. The third time is the limit. This minor punishment ends here. Yu Shiwu, sleep now.”
Ma Yanshan turned to look at his sole lifeline. For some reason, without seeing any action from the “Taoist,” Yu Shiwu had already slumped his head, fast asleep.
Chen Ping’an reached out and grabbed a kettle full of boiling water, handing it to Ma Yanshan. “Go, pour it on that anthill.”
Ma Yanshan was so frightened he kept backing away.
Chen Ping’an sneered. “Because those ants have names and are related to you, you can’t bear it anymore?”
Ma Yanshan was pale as death.
Chen Ping’an said calmly, “How strange. I never saw these ants have any trace of compassion when they did such things.”
“It seems that in your eyes, this world has everything except people.”
The Nascent Soul Realm old crone Pu Liu could no longer distinguish whether she was the young hidden official’s accomplice or hanger-on.
Shen Ke was still running in circles within Yuxuan Kingdom’s capital. Old Grandmaster Shen, being a man who listened to advice, quickly found a few convenient weapons and killed until his blade was dull. But no matter how much he killed, it was all Shen Ke killing Shen Ke. That Sword Immortal Chen had used some insidious… divine ability. The pain of those being killed was clearly sensed by Shen Ke. This forced Shen Ke to not only kill people to protect himself, but to kill them quickly.
The credit-knife man Zhong Chang had already left this nest of trouble. The debt owed to him by the Ma clan of Xinghua Alley was bound to be collected sooner or later, as the town saying goes: first let it sit.
Yu Qing stayed at the immortal ruins, continuing to accompany the “mender” Xiao Xing. Somehow, this former injustice-investigator, whose real surname was Gongsun, felt it was hard to leave. Whether it was the barbarian female cultivator or the enigmatic Taoist crown-wearing “Lord Ren,” they spoke to her with such sincerity—so sincere they treated her like family.
Ma Chuan, Ma Bi, and that batch of Ma clan youths each had their own fortunes. The malice they had poured into the world was repaid several times, ten times over, within the illusions.
But the karma they had created in the real world could not simply be erased by a sudden awakening. There was no such easy thing under heaven.
The “female top scholar” met Jiang Gui, her clan’s private tutor, in the imperial garden. Jiang Gui’s words left Ma Che dumbstruck.
Jiang Gui, of course, was acting on orders, here to “enlighten” Ma Che. But before this, he could never have imagined that worldly training could be like this.
Onlookers see clearly, and thus the more he feared the Sword Immortal Chen’s methods.
The next scene made Jiang Gui even more uncomfortable. The emperor himself came running, deliberately avoiding eunuchs and attendants, first telling National Master Jiang not to meddle, then grinning and chasing after the female top scholar. By now, Ma Che could speak without trouble. “She” and that infatuated emperor—or rather, herself—began explaining this absurd situation. Unexpectedly, “he” laughed heartily instead, praising “her” for being ingeniously imaginative. Ma Che’s heart finally died with despair. She slammed her head into a rockery… The next moment, she slammed into the emperor, the two merging into one. Ma Che collapsed limply, in an agony worse than death. Was this finally liberation? Or just the opening act?
Just then, Ma Che saw the green-robed swordsman standing beside Jiang Gui.
Ma Che looked at him as if seeing something more terrifying than “herself.” The ground was awash in the smell of urine again.
Chen Ping’an asked, “In your view, Teacher Jiang, could Ma Che have a meteoric rise in his official career? If he became a court minister or a feudal lord, what would be the outcome?”
Jiang Gui said carefully, “Ma Che could definitely become a high official, and his official reputation wouldn’t be too bad.”
Chen Ping’an suddenly asked, “Jiang Gui isn’t your real name, is it?”
The ghostly scholar replied honestly, “My original name is Guan Kui, from a small prefecture in the old Zhu Ying dynasty. As a youth I admired the Dao, and because my family was fairly well-off, I liked to travel to famous mountains and rivers. I was lucky to meet my master, who accepted me as his direct disciple. I cut ties with the mortal world and became the founding ancestor of a small sect. Later, a disciple of mine offended a great figure, and neither side knew their limits. In the end, we angered someone we absolutely shouldn’t have. As for my fate, I was killed in anger by a sword cultivator of the Dugu imperial clan. My soul barely escaped. I no longer dared to stay in Zhu Ying. Ghosts have a harder time than wild cultivators. I originally planned to establish a sect at Shujian Lake and carve out a niche, or attach myself to Gongliu Island, but Liu Laocheng wasn’t on the island at the time. That was when River-Cutting Lord Liu Zhimao was at his peak. But after thinking it over, I felt attaching myself to Liu Laocheng would be more profitable, so I traveled north. If I had known, I’d have stayed at Shujian Lake a few more years. It seems no matter whom I attached myself to, the result would have been decent. Now it’s all under True Realm Sect anyway.”
Speak too much, and he feared the Sword Immortal would lose patience; speak too little, and he feared being seen as insincere.
Chen Ping’an said, “Every family has a difficult scripture to recite.”
Guan Kui said, “I’m not making this up—not a word of falsehood. In the twenty years I’ve been in the Ma mansion, aside from teaching, I haven’t done any evil.”
Chen Ping’an smiled. “Actually, we’re in the same line of work.”
Guan Kui was baffled.
“But you’re not much of a teacher. After all this teaching, you’ve only produced Ma Chuan and Ma Bi, who got official positions. As for the civil service examination essays, even Ma Che, recognized as a child prodigy, didn’t need you to teach.”
“Mountain Lord Chen is quite right.”
“By the way, is your master’s surname Jiang, and your sect includes the character ‘Gui’? So you used the alias Jiang Gui? Didn’t think you’d be such a nostalgic person.”
Guan Kui sighed, sincerely impressed, and clasped his fists. “Mountain Lord Chen is truly knowledgeable—you even know all about a small sect like my Jade Cinnamon Palace.”
Inside the imperial palace, National Master Huang Lie, hands behind his back, strolled unhurriedly to the gate of the Sunlit Jade Hall, which had a golden-glazed-tile roof. Along the way, crimson pillars, blue-green and turquoise eaves brackets, and white jade steps never tired the old man’s eyes. Occasionally, he regretted being a Qi cultivator of minor achievement. If he had become emperor, wearing the dragon robe and sitting on the dragon throne—wouldn’t that be a different kind of pleasure? Huang Li put away that thought and poked his head in to look at the young man in Confucian garb who had “taken over” the place.
Based solely on appearance, the old man couldn’t recognize who he was. He didn’t match any of the figures he had in mind. Of course, the possibility that the other was using a disguise could not be ruled out.
The seemingly gentle and refined young man in Confucian robes was sitting near the gilded, cloud-dragon-patterned throne.
The man looked up. The central caisson ceiling was carved with a dragon, its head descending, mouth holding a pearl.
Huang Lie probed, “Is the immortal master a non-resident patron or guest elder of Lost Mountain?”
Gu Can withdrew his gaze, shook his head, and smiled. “I could never be a patron or guest elder of Lost Mountain.”
Huang Lie asked again, “May I ask the immortal master, is this trip just a sightseeing stop, or…?”
Gu Can smiled. “Is the old gentleman here to persuade me to leave quickly, or else something?”
Huang Lie laughed heartily. “No hurry, no hurry. The immortal master can take his time eating the palace pastries and fruits before leaving. I imagine His Majesty has already instructed the imperial kitchen. As soon as the immortal master nods, it will be here.”
Gu Can walked to a gilded dragon pillar, tapped it a few times, and clicked his tongue admiringly. “Don’t say I’ve seen gold before—I’ve never even seen it.”
Huang Lie simply crouched at the gate, letting the unknown “dragon crossing the river” wander about. Even if the man wanted to take the pillar away, that was fine—as long as he was cooperative.
Gu Can turned his head toward the door and smiled. “Speaking of imperial meals, I recalled something. I saw some scattered palace archives. Turns out the emperor also often ate tripe, offal, and such. You Yuxuan gentlemen and scholars always say that if someone treats you to a meal at a restaurant, a proper lamb hot pot, and offal appears on the table, it’s like being slapped in the face. The more irritable ones will even throw a fit and walk out, right?”
The old man laughed amiably. “This is my first time hearing about such things. I’ve learned something.”
If it were somewhere else, Huang Li would have been willing to invite this man to a restaurant for a few more chats.
“Why did you, senior, choose to serve here instead of the south?”
“Some small southern countries did make offers, but the Xue clan of Yuxuan gave the most money.”
Outside the Ma clan ancestral hall.
Ma Kuxuan asked, “Chen Ping’an, are we going to decide life and death in one bout, or warm up first with a best-of-three? Jade Purity Realm sword cultivator against non-sword immortal realm—that’s not unwinnable. Martial Dao stop-state against immortal realm—there’s a good chance too. Only in the last round do we go all out?”
Seeing that the guy was silent as usual, looking at him like he was an idiot, Ma Kuxuan smiled. “Don’t trust me? Afraid I’ll unleash my trump card in the first or second round?”
“Then you underestimate Ma Kuxuan of Xinghua Alley. My spoken word has always been more reliable than a cultivator‘s oath.”
“Chen Ping’an, aren’t you a fan of learning by stealth? Such a good opportunity presented to you—why not take it and be satisfied?”
Chen Ping’an was now wearing a bright red Dharma robe like an immortal’s slough. He smiled. “What ‘Ma Kuxuan’? You should be called Ma ‘Mysterious’.”
Ma Kuxuan’s face darkened.
Chen Ping’an said, “Just because she once advised your parents, that matter has nothing to do with her.”
Ma Kuxuan grinned. “I trust you. We’re cut from the same cloth.”
Chen Ping’an said with a smirk, “Ma Kuxuan, your mouth is still this foul. I can’t even learn to be like that.”
Ma Kuxuan, despite being “misread as a kind heart,” smiled even more brightly. “Chen Ping’an, I’ll tell you one last truth: Azure Pearl Cave Heaven gave birth to the two of us—that’s enough. If we didn’t have debts to settle, just a patch of land that size would have produced two Fourteen Realms, wouldn’t it?”
Chen Ping’an, in his bright red Dharma robe, struck a leisurely boxing stance. “A move I learned from Cao Ci. Called ‘Dragon Walking in a Ditch.’ It’s not light.”
Ma Kuxuan frowned slightly.
Chen Ping’an said, “Winning you three matches is still winning; winning you five is also winning. So there’s no need for so much trouble.”