Chapter 1122: Twenty People and the Candidates (4)

Chapter 1122: Twenty People and the Candidates (4)

Chen Ping'an planned to go to the capital of Yunyan Kingdom to have a look. He first sent a flying sword letter to Zhong Qiu, roughly explaining the process and results of this search for Qing Rang and the others. He asked Zhong Qiu to pass word to that temporarily assembled Ancestral Hall, saying that the Great Sword Immortal Mi had personally taken action, but unfortunately he had only caught two accomplices—the main culprit, that talisman cultivator, had gotten away. However, it was certain that this Wilderness demon tribe no longer had the strength to cause trouble, and work on the Great Canal across the dozens of countries along its banks could safely resume. That ferocious-looking man with a face as white as paper, along with his mistress, for some reason or other, after some hurried discussion, rushed out of the desolate temple and found Chen Ping'an at the foot of the mountain. They said that the husband and wife duo were willing to serve the Immortal master hand and foot, as slaves or servants. Chen Ping'an chuckled, saying he was used to traveling alone and didn't like being attended to. They had the wrong person—they'd better find another patron.

Perhaps it was because they saw that this Immortal master, who had casually reduced three demonic cultivators to ashes with a smile, was relatively amiable, that they became even more resolute in their decision. On the mountain path, they kowtowed in worship, one howling, the other weeping pear blossoms, recounting the hardships and bitterness of recent years. But when they looked up, the scholar was already gone. They still refused to give up. Finally, as dawn was breaking, they spotted the Immortal master again in an abandoned post station, where he was using the stove to cook a meal.

The man was Fan Tong, the female ghost was Xie Sanniang. They asked the Immortal master if he was disgusted by their lowly origins and sordid past. Chen Ping'an didn't say anything, just invited them to a simple breakfast. Xie Sanniang had good eyes—she was quick and efficient, helping to clean up the dishes. Chen Ping'an didn't stop her, but joked, "Don't you two have any self-awareness? Who would dare keep you by their side? If anyone saw our group, wouldn't they mistake us for a band of vicious robbers and murderers?" The woman, with a sense of self-knowledge, smiled flirtatiously. The man frowned and scratched his head. In all fairness, what he said made sense. But his face was just naturally that way—ever since he was a child studying at the village school, even the teacher didn't dare slap his palm.

Chen Ping'an asked them a question: "If I had killed you on sight back in that desolate temple, who would you have blamed?"

The woman spoke rather formally, but the man was more honest. "Blame our faces?" He didn't seem to need a definite answer. Then the Immortal master just asked them about the recent situation in the surrounding countries down the mountain. Naturally, they told him everything they knew. Before setting off, Chen Ping'an said he was going to the capital of Yunyan Kingdom. If they wanted to follow, they could. Their eyes lit up—it happened to be on their way. They vowed to follow only from a distance and never let anyone mistake the three of them for being in league together. Xie Sanniang had already changed from her bundle into a dress that wrapped her figure more modestly. The man privately reminded the woman, "That Immortal master's arts are divine and his cultivation profound, that's true—but don't you go giving me a cuckold's hat." The female ghost, who walked the path of absorbing yang and replenishing yin, laughed heartily. "With this withered willow figure of mine, how could I catch the eye of a registered mountain god?" At this, the man's face darkened. The female ghost, who had once served as a foot warmer and beauty spittoon for a mountain immortal's descendant, also felt a pang of sorrow. The man sighed, feeling guilty, and patted her hand. She smiled sweetly, took his hand, and scratched his palm. His heart immediately stirred, his eyes grew lively, and he reached for the woman's ample bosom.

Chen Ping'an, walking ahead, coughed lightly a few times, and the two behind him restrained themselves.

Fan Tong was a Fourth Realm martial artist, not even a decent hand in the martial world—after all, the Fifth and Sixth Realms earned the reputation of "Little Grandmaster." This was the sole reason Fan Tong had been drifting so miserably.

Xie Sanniang was a Willow Sinew Realm ghost. With the man's strong yang energy by her side, as long as they did their nightly lessons properly, she could move about freely during the day, as long as she stayed away from City God temples.

The man used sound condensation to send a secret message: "Sanniang, why do you think he changed his mind and allowed us to follow?"

The female ghost replied with a mental voice, smiling. "There must be some benefit to be had. Otherwise, why would he drag along two dead weights? For fun?"

"Let's find a chance to visit a ferry and buy a few outdated landscape gazettes, see if there's any news about 'Chen Ping'an.'"

"Always jumping at shadows, what are you thinking? Someone important enough to have their name written in a landscape gazette—do you really think we'd run into them? And besides, just because he says he's someone, does that make it true?"

"I think that man and two women back in the temple were tough nuts to crack. Any one of them could have handled the two of us easily. Since this Immortal Master Chen was able to subdue them so effortlessly, he might well be a legendary Land Immortal."

Chen Ping'an let them "whisper" as they pleased.

To create a fully complete minor thousand world in the Cage Sparrow, Yu Shiwu and the other long- and short-term workers were still focusing on static, lifeless objects for now.

The "source material" for various characters was just getting started. As the old saying goes, the same rice nurtures a hundred kinds of people. To depict the myriad forms of the world, you need at least a hundred people with a hundred different lives.

For beauties, there are infinite faces, each needing its own unique appeal. Currently, there were only about fifty-odd characters like Xiahou Zan, who could serve as typical paradigms. As he had told Yu Shiwu before, events and people imagined out of thin air often turned out too rational, which was a flaw. So as compensation during breaks, Chen Ping'an would let the couple pick some old stories they were willing to tell—whether grand heroic deeds or trivial matters, anything was fine. After all, sifting through and collecting others' memories was something he could do effortlessly against people like Xiao Xing or Xian Zao, without any psychological burden. But to use such means on Fan Tong and the others? That was something he couldn't bring himself to do.

One day, once there were about a hundred key figures in the mindscape, he could connect all the scenery, buildings, and objects in the Cage Sparrow. For example, weeping willows tethering horses, dense candles burning high, the moon rising above the willow tips, garden shadows swaying—these were all frozen paintings. But once a person was added, it was like a fish in water, everything came alive. And collecting these character drafts would only get harder. When his true body returned to the Fuyao Hill Dao arena, one of the tasks in his upcoming seclusion would be to calculate how many tens of thousands—or millions—of different scenes a long-lived elderly person might see in a lifetime, and how many they would remember.

So Chen Ping'an also sent a secret letter to Qing Tong, arranging a meeting place in the letter.

A single parasol leaf was a whole illusory world. Qing Tong still had quite a few such parasol leaves. If he was dead set on not selling, he could lend them out—it wasn't like Chen Ping'an wouldn't pay, and the interest could be negotiated.

There wasn't a single immortal ferry nearby. The vitality of the various states was all converging on Fish Scale Ferry.

It was clear that after years of recovery, Tongye Continent had seen great improvement. The markets and professions were reviving. It might be too early to call it a peaceful era, but the atmosphere of chaos had definitely faded.

Along the way, short pavilions connected to long pavilions by willows. Occasionally, they saw finely dressed women and young girls out on spring outings, standing gracefully. In the villages, roosters crowed and dogs barked, cooking smoke curled upward. During this time, Chen Ping'an received a reply from Confucian Master Zhong, saying that within that Ancestral Hall, at least half of the members were skeptical about the matter. So after many small countries got the news, they gritted their teeth and braced themselves to resume digging the canal. It was easy to understand. Earlier, Mi Yu had been the most enthusiastic in pursuing Qing Rang. Now, with Zhong Qiu reporting the result of killing two and letting one escape, the Ancestral Hall members didn't doubt Grand Sword Immortal Mi's killing power—they just didn't believe Mi Yu had that kind of luck.

Would Huang Ting, who was a realm lower but rich in fortune, have been more convincing?

But Zhong Qiu also joked in the letter that if the mountain lord appeared once at Fish Scale Ferry, he guaranteed all doubts from the various powers would vanish.

That's what they meant by "the fame of a man casts a shadow as tall as a tree." The Hidden Official personally descending on Tongye Continent to kill demons was indeed a reassuring pill.

That day, stopping on a mountain plank road, Fan Tong finally couldn't help asking, puzzled, "Immortal Master Chen, are the trivial things we've been saying really that interesting?"

The woman was also intensely curious, pricking up her ears to hear the answer. Chen Ping'an said casually, "Scholars like to write literary notes, recording mountain-and-river experiences, court and countryside anecdotes, as well as palace secrets and official inner circles. Besides, water fairies, mountain ghosts, fox spirits, flower demons, grass and tree spirits—all of them need to be included. It doesn't have to be major events; trivial matters are fine too."

Chen Ping'an never expected that just one casually fabricated comment would get the couple excited, as if they'd been injected with chicken blood. The pair, who had thought they'd already emptied out all their stories, suddenly became inspired. After confirming that absolutely anything could be told, the woman even took out paper and pen, helping the man to organize by year. "Better a bad pen than a good memory." They muttered, wrote down on paper, and once they'd filled a few sheets, they went back to Immortal Master Chen and became storytellers.

Chen Ping'an, while recording, teased them about how they suddenly became so inspired.

The woman smoothed a strand of hair from her temple and said, "If we could have our names and stories in a book, that would be a beautiful thing."

The man clenched his fists, his eyes shining. "I never dreamed in my life that I could become someone with a name in a book."

So that was it.

The man started disliking his own name. Because it sounded like "rice bucket," he'd been laughed at since childhood. He asked Immortal Master Chen if he should change it.

Chen Ping'an said no. This name might not be liked outside a book, but inside a book it had an advantage—it was easy for readers to remember at a glance.

At an old luxurious mountain villa, now just broken walls and rubble overgrown with weeds, they took shelter from a sudden rain. When the rain stopped, the pond water gathered again like a silver nest.

The couple would sneak away from time to time, each time taking a quarter-hour or so. When they returned, they were always radiant and rejuvenated. Chen Ping'an moved a grand armchair to sit under the eaves. Behind him, the old residence was a five-bay broad library with ten thousand volumes inside, numerous bookcases and cabinets fallen and askew, books scattered on the floor, all worm-eaten and moldy. The scrolls that once hung on the walls had all fallen, blurred and broken. Perhaps many years ago, a well-read old man might have lived here, books arrayed like walls, wall paintings changed according to the seasons and flower seasons. Whenever a guest entered the house, not knowing where the owner was, they would have to call out his name loudly, and the old man would hobble out upon hearing it...

Sitting in the grand armchair, Chen Ping'an began to inspect the spoils from the battle at the desolate temple. That sword cultivator Doukou had a span object—a hexagonal jade amulet. Xian Zao only had a cun object, an ancient mirror of a special shape that Chen Ping'an had never seen before. But in terms of actual wealth, the latter was richer. Just in immortal coins, there were over two hundred Grain Rain coins, plus two dharma treasures.

In contrast, Doukou only had a few scattered discarded minor forging items, all of low rank. This matched her background as a rogue cultivator.

Sword cultivators really were poor.

He put both items back into his sleeve. He had to wait for the couple to "declare victory and beat the drums of retreat" before continuing the journey. With nothing else to do, he went inside the house and helped set up the fallen bookcases. It was clear that the former owner was a true scholar—the collected books didn't emphasize editions, but each had book collection seals and marginalia, prefaces, and postscripts. He was a real reader, not just a "looker" at good books.

The couple went to a secluded backyard again today. When they returned, they found a breathtakingly beautiful woman in blue robes had appeared. Xie Sanniang couldn't help feeling inferior.

The woman in blue sat side by side with Immortal Master Chen under the eaves. When the man saw such a celestial beauty, he didn't dare harbor any improper thoughts. He just thought that if Chen Ping'an walked the streets with her, people would inevitably guess: that man must be very rich.

The newcomer was none other than Qing Tong, who had come from the capital of Yunyan Kingdom. Actually, the meeting place agreed in the letter was still a few hundred li away, but Qing Tong couldn't stay idle. Chen Ping'an had deliberately restrained his own Dao aura, but he hadn't hidden his whereabouts at all. Qing Tong, at least as an Ascension Stage cultivator, could use the technique of palm-viewing mountains and rivers, so he had spotted him from afar. But he waited until Chen Ping'an took shelter from the rain here before deciding to appear early. As for why Chen Ping'an had those two men and women who were so easily ignited like thunder and fire by his side, Qing Tong wasn't curious. He had to admit, their realms were low enough to be negligible, but their skills in the bedroom were quite diverse—a true match of rivals.

Earlier, seeing that Chen Ping'an wasn't accompanied by that Little Mo in the yellow hat and blue shoes, Qing Tong couldn't help but relax a little.

The Tender Daoist could roughly be considered half his own man, and knowing more inside information, he was quite indignant about this: "You, Mountain Lord, are noble and don't care for fame—if that's the case, give it to me! If outsiders learn that I, the Tender Daoist, personally took action, what would they suspect?"

Now that Old Blind Man and Li Huai weren't around, the Tender Daoist seemed to have inflated quite a bit.

With a country the size of Yunyan Kingdom, the capital couldn't be that big, yet in such a small place, there were three Ascension Stage cultivators. Yang Zhi, under the alias Jing Xing, had become a guest elder of the Daquan Yao Clan. The Tender Daoist, who was both mountain-moving and mountain-mining, had left the Hundred Thousand Mountains and seemed to be having a run of good fortune. Plus, there was Feng Xuetao, whose Dao name was Qing Mi. He had been dragged down by Jiang Shangzhen's reputation, which was now completely ruined in Tongye Continent. Unwilling to go to the Yugui Sect or the Yunku Blessed Land, he stayed in Yunyan Kingdom on behalf of Zhang Fenggu, whose Dao name was Old Elephant, to act as a nominal guest elder.

Zhang Fenggu was the oldest and most senior patriarch of the Yugui Sect, a junior disciple of Xun Yuan. Whether it was Jiang Shangzhen or Wei Ying, the successive sect masters, had been watched growing up by the old man. Someone had to keep an eye on things for the Yugui Sect here and handle specific affairs. The Yugui Sect wouldn't dare order an Ascension Stage guest elder around like that, so the young master of Yunku Blessed Land, Jiang Heng, had to reside permanently in the capital. His father could speak freely with Senior Qing Mi, but Jiang Heng didn't dare show the slightest neglect. After all, he was a profoundly cultivated Ascension Stage cultivator.

Decades earlier, when Du Mao, the proud leader of Tongye Continent's immortal masters, visited as a guest, he probably wouldn't have dared to boss around a rogue cultivator like Feng Xuetao.

But here, only a few steps from Fish Scale Ferry, Qing Tong deliberately skipped over any mention of Yang Zhi.

Chen Ping'an pretended not to notice.

Qing Tong said, "Thanks."

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Helping others is helping yourself. There's an old saying back home: good deeds that cost nothing but a little effort—do them if you can, do them often, and you'll enjoy blessings in old age."

It turned out that besides moving away from the central region of Tongye Continent, there was also a new good place for local demon cultivators of the continent recently.

It was a newly established sect-level sect called Wutong Mountain, whose sect master had the Dao name Qing Yu, a Jade Pu Stage cultivator no one had heard of before.

Wutong Mountain publicly declared that it only accepted "turbid stream" Qi refiners of mountain and marsh spirit origins.

This quota for a new sect on Tongye Continent was, of course, something Chen Ping'an had helped secure.

Actually, given Qing Tong's seniority and record, if he really wanted to send a letter to the Central Earth Confucian Temple saying he wanted to create a sect and become its founding patriarch, it could go either way.

But Qing Tong couldn't swallow his pride, and even more so couldn't accept the possibility of being rejected by the Confucian Temple. So Chen Ping'an—or to be precise, Mao Siye of the Rites Academy—acted as the "matchmaker."

The Central Earth Confucian Temple allowed Qing Tong's new sect to open its doors wide, accepting demon cultivators native to Tongye Continent, giving those constantly fearful and miserable mountain-marsh spirits a place to belong.

When the various continents' Qi refiners conducted mountain searches, there were often unsavory things that happened in the dark. The same disaster—registered cultivators could see the light of day again and rebuild their Dao arenas, while they had to hide everywhere. There was no small amount of resentment. Now, the Dafu Academy was overwhelmed dealing with various conflicts. So to some extent, the excavation of the Great Canal on Tongye Continent, the massive construction, and the redefinition of mountain-and-water boundaries, was inadvertently helping Wutong Mountain "drive fish into the net," gathering local demon cultivators. So the only highlight of Qing Tong's rather modest sect-founding ceremony was that Academy Head Cheng of Dafu Academy personally came to congratulate.

Once Cheng Longzhou arrived, the demon Qi refiners who had submitted to Wutong Mountain finally felt at ease. This kind of official ritual was the same whether on the mountain or below it.

Fan Tong and Xie Sanniang were at a loss, standing silently under the eaves holding their breath. Even if they had no real insight and were ignorant, just Qing Tong's demeanor alone was enough to awe them.

Having spent time with Immortal Master Chen, they had grown familiar and couldn't help asking a few questions about realms.

Chen Ping'an claimed to be an Earth Immortal, and used a sword. The great demon he had slain in that desolate temple involved flying sword techniques, but their cultivation was insufficient and their Heavenly Eyes unopened, so they hadn't seen clearly...

Since this woman could sit as an equal with Chen Ping'an and converse pleasantly, she must also be an unattainable Land Immortal?

Qing Tong got straight to the point: "I know why you called me here. Tell me, how many parasol leaves do you want?"

Chen Ping'an was rarely embarrassed. "Don't misunderstand. Favor is favor, business is business—let's keep them separate."

Qing Tong asked, "Then let's calculate separately?"

If it weren't for the debt of gratitude, Mountain Lord Chen, who had been coveting the parasol leaves, wouldn't manage to cheat even one from him.

Indeed, those parasol leaves were probably less than chicken ribs in his hands, but they were still Qing Tong's treasures. He would take them out to admire whenever he had nothing better to do.

Just like here—wealthy families delighted in building mountain villas and city gardens tirelessly. Mountain immortals also tirelessly created offshoot estates and vassal properties. So weren't those parasol leaves, each a world in itself, even more precious?

Chen Ping'an rubbed his chin, saying nothing.

Qing Tong had actually already made up his mind. Business was pointless—he might as well round it up to a nice number and give Chen Ping'an ten parasol leaves.

Just then, a glaring streak of rainbow light descended from the sky, smashing straight toward the pond. It came menacingly, but a zhang above the water's surface, it turned as soft as a falling feather. The marten-capped girl said loudly, "Brother Bixiao is right. When Little Mo isn't around, I need to keep an eye on the mountain lord. I can't let even a tiny slip happen while my Little Mo is in seclusion, or else the cooked duck might fly right out of my mouth!"

Xie Gou had come neither early nor late, but exactly at this moment.

Chen Ping'an himself felt a bit guilty. "Don't misunderstand. I didn't call her here."

The more he said it, the more it sounded like "protesting too much." Even Qing Tong almost didn't believe him.

Xie Gou looked confused. "Mountain lord, misunderstand what? When a second-rank elder sees the mountain lord, do they have to sneak around?"

That parasol tree spirit—she recognized him, but not well.

Little Mo had told her: he's made it big now. After being neighbors with Elder Bixiao for ten thousand years, he liked to put on airs. Hearing that, Xie Gou had immediately taken a dislike to him. But then Little Mo said they had become friends after a fight, and the guy had become a nominal guest elder of the Qingping Sword Sect, regarded by the mountain lord as the behind-the-scenes guardian of the entire subsidiary sect. So Xie Gou said, "Really not picky, are you?"

But Qing Tong couldn't identify the girl with the bright rouge cheeks.

However, her casually saying "Brother Bixiao" and "my Little Mo" made Qing Tong understand the stakes.

Anyone who claimed to be close friends with Elder Bixiao and addressed him as "Brother" was either bluffing shamelessly or was the real deal. Once Elder Bixiao heard about it, he would make sure such a person got "close" indeed.

Chen Ping'an saw that Qing Tong didn't recognize Xie Gou's identity, so he didn't say anything more. Otherwise, it would seem like he was throwing his weight around.

Qing Tong didn't dare linger. Without another word, he took out a wooden box from his sleeve that he had prepared long ago and handed it to Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an thanked him. Qing Tong said he should come visit Wutong Mountain when free, and Chen Ping'an agreed. But Qing Tong didn't forget to remind him: "When the mountain lord arrives, there's no need to reveal your identity."

Chen Ping'an was speechless.

Is this how you invite a guest to your doorstep? Don't treat me like an outsider, huh?

After the meticulous Qing Tong left—using long-distance teleportation, not shrinking mountains and rivers—Xie Gou said grumpily, "What's with him? Does he find me annoying?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Probably Qing Tong already guessed who you are."

The couple didn't dare breathe too loudly. Chen Ping'an introduced, "I have a small mountain sect. She's the second-rank elder."

Before they could exchange pleasantries, Xie Gou waved her hand. "No need for formalities."

Xie Gou suddenly grinned. "You two are a couple?"

Fan Tong and Xie Sanniang were bewildered, but had to nod.

Xie Gou clasped her hands and beamed. "Congratulations on your union! Wishing you many children and grandchildren soon!"

Hardly had Qing Tong left when a yellow-robed old man came to join the fun. With profound cultivation, he crossed multiple mountain ranges in a single step. His feet landed on the water, his wide sleeves billowed, and his innate water-repelling divine ability stirred the entire pond, sweeping it clean as if opening a huge green water flower—but in an instant the flower dissipated and the pond refilled. The old man walked on the waves, treading water toward the house. He shook his sleeves and cheerfully said, "Never expected to meet Mountain Lord Chen in such a remote and barren place."

The Tender Daoist had followed the rainbow light phenomenon here, hoping to find a chance to make a name for himself.

The taste of fame after sparring with a Haoran Ascension Stage cultivator at Yuanyang Islet had been quite good.

But when he arrived and found it was Chen Ping'an, he was greatly disappointed.

Fan Tong couldn't help marveling inwardly: The Immortal Master Chen knows so many extraordinary people.

The woman, on the other hand, felt a strange mix of emotions. First, the demon-subduing in the desolate temple; then, one after another, friends from the mountain revealing their true forms in various ways. This Immortal Master Chen, who looked like a gentle scholar... appearances could be deceiving.

Xie Gou leaned against the wall, yawning.

The Tender Daoist asked with a smile, "Mountain Lord Chen, and this friend is...?"

Xie Gou interrupted, "You're that gatekeeper of Bro Zhi's..."

Chen Ping'an coughed, and the marten-capped girl had to amend: "That gatekeeper?"

The term "gatekeeper" was something she had learned from Zheng Juzhong back at the Sword Qi Great Wall.

Chen Ping'an really didn't dare let Xie Gou chat with the Tender Daoist. He explained via mental voice: "She goes by Xie Gou, Dao name Bai Jing. She and Little Mo are Dao companions."

The Tender Daoist kept his expression neutral and clasped his hands. "So it's Senior Bai Jing."

Xie Gou curled her lip and didn't respond.

She started daydreaming. If we're talking about looks, that Old Blind Man from the Hundred Thousand Mountains back then was truly handsome.

Strangely, she had seen Zhi a few times in his early years before he gouged out his own eyes, but she never felt toward him the same way she felt toward Little Mo.

Chen Ping'an pulled the Tender Daoist aside to chat about the Great Canal matters. The Tender Daoist was very modest, just sticking to the business at hand without mentioning his own contributions at all, like some righteous man who couldn't stand flattery.

Xie Gou didn't like listening to these mundane affairs. She went into the house to pick out books, tossing any that caught her fancy into her sleeve.

The Tender Daoist soon took his leave, disappearing in one step back to the capital of Yunyan Kingdom, feeling a lingering fear.

Chen Ping'an sat back in the chair and opened the wooden box. Inside were ten extraordinarily precious parasol leaves.

After this episode, the couple began to think of going their separate ways. Fan Tong was clumsy with words, so Xie Sanniang spoke up, making an excuse to take their leave. Chen Ping'an didn't try to stop them, just said, "Wait a moment." He went inside, fetched two books, and gave one to each. He joked, "In books, there are houses of gold and bushels of grain."

Wasn't this being generous at someone else's expense?

But they hadn't expected that this immortal master, who looked down on gold and silver, was actually quite frugal.

Still, this gesture was a polite courtesy, and it flattered Fan Tong and Xie Sanniang beyond measure.

Though they had originally thought of seeking refuge with this Immortal master and hoping for a fateful connection with the immortal path, having traveled together for a stretch and parted ways amicably like this was already very good.

Once they were far from that mountain villa, Xie Sanniang—unlike the rough man—pulled the book from her sleeve. Her eyes flew wide open. She turned to stare at Fan Tong.

So it was true about "in books"! Tucked inside each of their books was an immortal coin. Xie Sanniang was a ghost, but she had at least handled Snow Flower coins, seen Minor Heat coins, and heard of Grain Rain coins.

Xie Sanniang picked up the coin with trembling fingers and murmured, "A Grain Rain coin. It has to be a legendary Grain Rain coin. Worth a thousand Snow Flower coins!"

She suddenly remembered that during one of their casual chats, the Immortal master had seemingly offhandedly asked them what kind of life they would live if they had a bit of spare cash.

She stared at the man. Fan Tong squeezed his own coin, as if getting a feel for it, then handed it to her. He remembered privately chatting with the Immortal master, who had said that Xie Sanniang would die for him at a critical moment. Fan Tong had been baffled—how could he know such things? Could the Immortal master do fortune-telling? The Immortal master had said he used to have a fortune-telling stall and did know a bit about physiognomy.

Fan Tong didn't think the Immortal master had any reason to deceive him, so he believed it. Since the woman was willing to give up her life for him, he had no reason to begrudge her an immortal coin.

The woman raised an eyebrow, smiling seductively, and the man, blessed with such fortune, knew new diversions awaited him.

Actually, in the man's book, there was also a Minor Heat coin. He understood—it could be his private savings!

This Immortal master must have been someone who often found his purse empty at home!

No wonder Immortal Master Chen had been traveling so leisurely and unhurriedly.

Out on the mountain road, facing the direction of the old mountain villa, the woman, who now habitually went without makeup, curtsied deeply. The man clasped his hands in salute from afar.

Yesterday had been rushed, tomorrow would be leisurely. Being in the middle, they were completely at sea.

Accompanied by Xie Gou, Chen Ping'an reached the border of Yunyan Kingdom. He walked along a stretch of mountain range where five steep peaks rose like fingers touching the sky. This was a place of scenic grandeur, with many old sites bearing the style of immortals. In the mountains, there were numerous dilapidated temples, shrines, alchemy furnaces, and medicine-making traces. Unfortunately, the spiritual energy was now thin and mixed with turbid evil aura, unsuitable for reopening as a Dao arena.

The reason he came to look was that Chen Ping'an had sensed a flicker of divine light in the mountains, now bright, now dim—clearly a sign of an improper shrine.

Chen Ping'an said, "If you're bored, feel free to wander."

Xie Gou asked, "Are we taking a detour here to see whether the local mountain god is righteous or wicked? Then decide whether to help him out or seal off his mountain?"

If so, she wasn't bored at all. She cracked her knuckles, eager to try.

Chen Ping'an gave a strange answer: "I want to see something more."

Xie Gou glanced at the mountain lord's profile, thought for a moment, and didn't ask further.

Afterward, within the territory governed by the local mountain god, they saw a group of young cultivators out on a training journey. Xie Gou pricked up her ears and listened to their conversation. They came from several sects with intergenerational friendships. A dozen or so had agreed to travel together to the capital of Yunyan Kingdom. There was a temporary sect property at Fish Scale Ferry where they could rest. Chen Ping'an had never heard of the names of those sects. It was clear that this group had no guardian. The highest realm among them was a Cave Dwelling Stage red-faced man, short and sturdy, in hempen clothes and straw sandals, with bright, blazing eyes. His name was Zhao Tieyan. He wore on his belt an iron mace engraved with Thunder Department talismans. It wasn't exactly a dharma treasure, but a spiritual tool of decent quality. For a small sect, it was probably a mountain-guarding heirloom passed down through generations. Sure enough, while resting near the ruins of an ancient immortal's alchemy jade well, Chen Ping'an overheard more of their talk. The man was the sect's discipline master, not very old in Dao age, but looked prematurely aged. His sect was a branch lineage. Currently, they only had two generations of disciples, because back in the day, the main lineage's patriarchs, direct disciples, and immortal descendants had all taken the ancestral tablets, portraits, and all valuables and fled to the Five Colors World. So the man's job as discipline master was quite easy. In contrast, the sect leader and the treasurer senior sister had spent years begging from pillar to post, going to various countries to beg for alms, bringing back gold and silver like swallows carrying mud. Every time the senior sister returned, she complained bitterly, saying this life was impossible. If the sect wanted to recruit a third generation of disciples, she would have to go into the flesh trade.

Every family has its own hard scriptures. The sect leader had sent him on this trip to see if there was any way to make quick money, and also to make a few wealthy friends on the mountain. The fellow sect disciples traveling with him were also not well-off. If they were really loaded, they would have taken an immortal ferry long ago. They called it training, but it was really just propping each other up, hoping to become court guest elders in some small country or guests in some prominent household. During their travels, as soon as they heard of a haunted house or a place where demons and spirits were causing trouble, they rushed there—all the competition arrive before them. Each one wanted to raise a golden signboard for their own sect, proclaiming they would act on behalf of Heaven and were experts in subduing demons and monsters. Over time, if their reputation spread, the sect would have word of mouth. But after so many years of continuous mountain searches in Tongye Continent, finding remnants of Wilderness demons was no longer easy. Especially since the Great Canal excavation began, the native demon cultivators in the central part of the continent dared not court trouble and moved away en masse. Naturally, they cursed the culprits like the Qingping Sword Sect, Yugui Sect, and Daquan Yao Clan. Because that outsider named Chen, the upper sect master of the Qingping Sword Sect, was said to be an old acquaintance of the Yao Clan's female emperor, they made up scandalous romantic stories about the two of similar age. The content was certainly as spicy and seductive as possible. Book merchants printed them into pamphlets, and sales weren't bad—small profits, quick turnover. It actually became a source of income. Some smaller, unorthodox immortal ferries sold them, or certain immortal inns that also ran less legitimate businesses gave them away as freebies.

Chen Ping'an seemed to be waiting for someone, or something. He gave Xie Gou a suggestion. "I heard a masterless secret realm has appeared in the south of Tongye Continent. You could go check it out."

Rumor had it that it was the private Dao arena of an ancient golden immortal. Jade pavilions and ivory towers, like an imperial palace. Where ancients refined alchemy, either feathers left jade wells or weeds buried the land.

According to leaked little news, the inscriptions on steles and cliff carvings at the site were all quite boastful.

For instance, a stele at the mountain gate said: "Teach you the immortal formula, can refine essence and spirit. Yin and yang cook five colors, water and fire refine three flowers."

Taking elixirs to ascend was a feat with a few verifiable examples in ancient times. But in the three thousand-plus years since the ancient era, no one had accomplished it.

So the Yugui Sect had already made moves regarding this rumored site with a possible bottle of immortal pills, treating it as a sure thing.

The only variable might be that Huang Ting of Taiping Mountain had also gone there... to try her luck.

As for Cui Dongshan and the Qingping Sword Sect, they hadn't given him any news yet.

Xie Gou asked bluntly, "Mountain lord, are you interested in who gets that secret realm?"

Wandering around for fun was fine, but if it meant building achievements for their mountain as second-rank elder, Xie Gou didn't mind making the trip. After all, she would be acting on orders and had no scruples.

If the mountain lord thought it was worth contending for, then it definitely was.

The mountain lord was experienced in such matters.

Chen Ping'an smiled and shook his head. "I was just afraid you'd be bored here, so I suggested you go stretch your legs. It's already been proven on the mountain that this kind of place depends on fate. It's like a marriage—the melon isn't sweet if it's forced, and in the end, you just get a mess."

Xie Gou feigned shock. "Is the mountain lord hinting at me? Have I done something wrong?"

Chen Ping'an was exasperated. Where did she learn to talk like that?

Xie Gou put her hands behind her head, puzzled. "You keep trying to send me away. Could there be something shady you need to do? To be honest, I'm on the mountain lord's side. I won't look at what I shouldn't see, I won't say what I shouldn't say."

Chen Ping'an explained, "I just thought that with your realm and Dao age, you've seen everything, so tagging along with me aimlessly must be boring."

Xie Gou said, "No, it's not. Just wandering around with no particular goal is pretty interesting."

Whether our marriage with Little Mo will happen or not, whether we'll have a bridal chamber at night—ultimately, it's up to you, mountain lord. You have the final say.

The local mountain god's improper shrine had been taken over. It wasn't a spirit creature occupying the mountain and building a temple to enjoy human incense, nor was it a former dynasty martyr like Bai Mao of Xieziling. It was a rogue cultivator who had become a ghost. Starting last year, he had been sending out heroic invitations, summoning all sorts of bold figures to settle here and expand his power. The mountain god's palace naturally didn't claim to be an unauthorized shrine not yet recognized by the Yunyan Kingdom court. The female ghost in the desolate temple and the white-faced man had originally planned to come here to seek refuge, hoping to get a nice official or military post, securing an iron rice bowl and enjoying a stipend from the "imperial treasury."

With such a tiny domain, when he went out at night, he liked to put on a grand emperor's inspection procession—long-handled screens, beating drums and gongs, various banners and pennants collected from who knows where, all mixed together without any proper etiquette or rules. He just did it for the spectacle. He had probably read a few official histories, memorized the general idea of the grand imperial cortege, and made a clumsy imitation. The motley mountain god's palace partied every night, feasting visitors endlessly, presenting a picture of peace and prosperity.

This group of Qi refiners had just happened to pass by. At the very least, they didn't seem to be looking for trouble or here specifically to freeload. The mountain god's palace officers and soldiers on patrol, seeing the group was large, didn't dare cause trouble and maintained an attitude of mutual non-interference. When the mountain god himself heard the report, he thought for a moment and decided to avoid them. He had a plausible excuse: the residence was currently in a critical phase of "seeking enfeoffment" from the Yunyan Kingdom court, so it was better not to cause complications. In truth, he didn't dare to demand any travel permits from such a large group of mountain immortals. It was polite enough that they weren't climbing up to his shrine to demand an accounting.

The night was lovely, the moon bright as jade. The bright moon and beauty were both lovely, in heaven and on earth. A young female cultivator with the best bearing and temperament took out a rolled jade ice mat woven from ivory, spread it on the ground, and sat cross-legged. Several male and female cultivators from other sects, similar in Dao age, came to chat. The women whispered among themselves, the men tried to make conversation, talking about recent news. They wouldn't always travel together; there were many gatherings and partings, agreeing to meet somewhere at some time. Cultivators who descended the mountain and entered the mortal world—perhaps a sixteen-year-old beauty's face belonged to a hundred-year-old cultivator. In the rolling red dust, whether polishing the Dao heart or currying favor with court nobles, it was common. Seeing so many human affairs and scenes, everything beyond immortality seemed fleeting; it was easy to become hard-hearted, and perhaps that was inevitable.

Like the man who served as their sect's discipline master: he was leading two junior disciples in breathing and refining exercises, but their minds weren't on their work. The man was helpless. Cultivators generally didn't think much of mortal beauties. The reason was simple: their eyesight was too good. Even a tiny flaw would be glaringly obvious to a Qi refiner. The saying "pallor covers a hundred uglinesses" didn't apply here; a single fixed gaze would distinguish beauty from ugliness instantly. Moreover, if a mortal woman had even a slight odor, it would be practically stinking to a Qi refiner with sharp senses. So a marriage on the mountain, becoming Dao companions, demanded even more "matching family status" than in the mortal world—the couple's looks, status, and aptitude all had to align.

Chen Ping'an stood silently on the mountaintop, looking at the group of Qi refiners on the neighboring peak.

Xie Gou crouched beside him, fiddling with her marten cap.

Chen Ping'an suddenly asked, "Xie Gou, do you know how to tell fortunes?"

Xie Gou grinned. "Mountain lord, just call me Doggy."

Chen Ping'an was flabbergasted. Who taught you that? That guy—didn't he have a conscience? The old cook wouldn't do something like that. What kind of divine being was so bold as to fool Xie Gou like this?

Was it Chen Lingjun again?

Xie Gou was loyal and didn't reveal the person's name. Instead, she spoke up for him, laughing. "It's like how all those 'Zi' people are called by their surname plus 'Zi'—like Zouzi."

Chen Ping'an asked doubtfully, "Then why not 'Xiezi'?"

Xie Gou said, "Hey, that's true! Well, it doesn't matter. It sounds nice and intimate."

Chen Ping'an said, "Back to the point."

Xie Gou replied, "I don't know how to tell fortunes. I've always been lucky, so I never had to study it."

Chen Ping'an nodded.

Fortune-telling had many branches, each with its own strengths.

On the mountaintop, among the deduction and simulation techniques of great cultivators, there was one that was said to be the most accurate but also the most difficult and obscure.

It was to turn the "deduction" of deduction into its literal meaning—pushing.

Chen Ping'an had only heard of it and read about it a few times in books, but never witnessed it. So earlier, at the Fuyao Hill Dao arena, he had asked Old Temple Master about it. Old Temple Master had scoffed and told Chen Ping'an not to try to become fat in one bite. This refined skill was impossible to learn. Those deeply involved in the world, even if by chance they grasped a bit of this divine ability's surface, would only see more confusion and gloom.

Those who deduce and foresee fate: the lower the realm, the shallower the Dao, the more threads they see—countless forks—and the farther along a line, the blurrier the images become. At certain nodes, the image simply fades away.

At that time, Old Temple Master had slapped Chen Ping'an on the shoulder and given him a gentle push.

Chen Ping'an had tumbled far, dizzy and dazed. When he returned to his original spot, he asked curiously what Old Temple Master had seen.

Old Temple Master had smiled and said nothing.

Chen Ping'an immediately understood—he had just been itching to give him a slap, openly and honestly.

Old Temple Master had then said, seriously, "Take Little Mo, for example. Bai Jing. Not only are their realms higher than yours, but especially their fate is rock solid. Otherwise, they wouldn't have lived ten thousand years. So you can't push them no matter how hard you try."

Xie Gou asked, "Did Elder Bixiao pass you the oral formula?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "He did. But transcribing the Dao formula requires a lot of spiritual energy, and it stirs quite a bit within the microcosm of the human body. I engraved it on the leftover corner of a pair of seals."

Xie Gou reached out. "Let me see."

Chen Ping'an took out the seal with the formula carved on it from his sleeve. Xie Gou took it, scanned it, and tossed it back.

Chen Ping'an put it away and asked, "Is the threshold high? Hard to learn?"

Even with the Dao crown that carried divine nature as a foundation for studying this technique, Chen Ping'an only dared say he had learned a mere surface. He was far from truly entering the hall.

Earlier, he had tried it out on Qing Rang and Xian Zao a few times. As Old Temple Master had said, relying on the vast gap in their realms, he could only push Xian Zao a little bit, foreseeing her reunion with Xiao Xing in the mindscape. That was the only thread. Hundreds of "Xian Zaos" stood on that golden thread, their veins clear. But for Qing Rang and Doukou, he couldn't see far.

As for Fan Tong and Xie Sanniang, ten-odd threads extended from each of them. Their relationship to the threads was like a main mountain range to its branch dragon veins.

Two relatively solid golden threads might represent their two different fates: one led directly to the mountain god's temple here.

The other, however, extended to where Zhao Tieyan and Jian Xiu's group was now, intertwining like a knot. In the end, Fan Tong and Xie Sanniang died there!

That was why Chen Ping'an had chosen to enter the situation personally, brought them along, given them three immortal coins, slowed his pace, and waited for the moment when the two groups seemed to "connect like a dragon's line."

Chen Ping'an was waiting for people and for events. He was waiting for immortals, gods, ghosts, demons, and humans all to converge here.

Earlier, when deducing the martial artist Fan Tong and the female ghost Xie Sanniang, Chen Ping'an had seen some blurry images. For example, a Qi refiner later known as Chu Xi saw the short woman and recognized her as a wandering lonely ghost with no background. It seemed she maintained a faint spark of intelligence by relying on the man beside her, who was reckless for love, to supplement her yang energy. Another cultivator named Kuang Kui, who understood some aura-watching techniques from his family, saw that the female ghost showed signs of shifting from turbid to clear...

After that, Chen Ping'an had stopped deducing the fates of Fan and Xie. After all, fortune-telling shouldn't be done too frequently—it thins out the fortune.

Xie Gou glanced at the mountain lord.

Usually so clever, with a hundred schemes on his mind—how did he become so thick-headed when it came to cultivation matters?

Chen Ping'an silently chewed on a stalk of licorice root he had wiped clean of dirt.

He always did this—liked to meddle.

Probably because he himself lacked youthful spirit, he particularly liked people full of it.

He remembered that at the summit of Splashed Ink Peak in Hehuan Mountain territory, when he first met Bai Mao of Xieziling, there had been some sinister characters lurking in the mountains.

Later, the Heaven Realm sword cultivator Zhang Yujiao and Jin Lu of the Jinque Sect's Chuiqing Peak—a pair of beautiful youngsters—arrived together. Their appearance had terrified Bai Mao.

The mountain-forest rogue cultivator saw the young sword immortal, who was high and mighty, and the girl's divine abilities. Together, they slashed and cut, resolute and flawless.

This was what it meant for a cultivator to stand upright and vanquish demons.

That spirited youth needed no words.

Even though when they met again in the capital of Qingxing Kingdom, Chen Ping'an had acted as a stranger to Zhang Yujiao, probably leaving the impression of being arrogant.

But back at his own mountain, when chatting about martial arts world affairs with Yu Xuan, Chen Ping'an had specifically mentioned this and showered unsparing praise on the young sword cultivator.

Chen Ping'an had even delighted in telling how the youngster had practically said in front of him that if he ever met Sword Immortal Chen, he wouldn't even be worthy to carry his shoes—but then added that he wouldn't carry them anyway. Meaning he admired Chen but wouldn't grovel or pretend to be humble.

When Old True Man Yu heard this interesting story, he laughed heartily, stroked his beard, and nodded, giving the comment: "A young man should be like this."

Chen Ping'an crouched down, biting his fingers unconsciously when deep in thought.

Xie Gou roughly guessed what her mountain lord was thinking. After hesitating, she still couldn't help asking, "What are you thinking about?"

Chen Ping'an said softly, "Thinking about things I've thought about for years but can't figure out."

Xie Gou asked curiously, "Give me an example."

Chen Ping'an said slowly, "Like the bride ghost, the Book Case Lake, a martial artist named Huang Shi, and a principle a City God once told me."

Xie Gou said, "If you can't figure it out no matter what, then just stop thinking about it."

Chen Ping'an said calmly, "Walking a dark alley at night—there's only this one road, no way around it. Pitch black, I can only kill the bandits I meet, or this road won't open."

Xie Gou sighed. "You scholars are always so fond of splitting hairs."

Chen Ping'an murmured, "A sword-wielding wanderer once told a straw-sandalled boy a little story."