Chapter 117: There is an Old Scholar in the World (Part 2)

Chapter 117: There is an Old Scholar in the World (Part 2)

Luan Juzi and the old man with the tall hat walked back into the White Jade Capital together, climbing straight up to the twelfth floor. On the ground lay two woven straw cushions, common items that even ordinary folk could afford, not some magical treasures to help cultivators enter a state of meditative trance. The two sat down facing each other, and the old man surnamed Lu asked with a smile, "When did you ever consult Qi Jingchun about the knowledge of building the White Jade Capital?"

Luan Juzi shook his head with a laugh. "Never. If I hadn't said that, who knows if that eccentric A Liang, without a word of disagreement, would have just chopped us all down with one swing of his blade."

The old man with the tall hat was stunned for a moment, then asked doubtfully, "Surely it wouldn't go that far?"

Luan Juzi laughed heartily. "Of course I was joking. A Liang probably isn't that kind of person. But what I said afterward wasn't a lie to him. Qi Jingchun's efforts truly remain in the Dali Dynasty, and he held high hopes for the future of Dali and Baoping Continent. I believe A Liang himself understands this clearly. Otherwise, Qi Jingchun wouldn't have built that Cliff Academy here, staying in Dali while teaching all the scholars of Baoping Continent. Most of the scholars who walked out of that Cliff Academy have died of old age, and some are still alive. All these seeds of learning, passing on their teachings, resolving doubts, and imparting wisdom to the next generation of scholars—each one carries a part of Qi Jingchun's hope."

Luan Juzi paused briefly, then asked, "Do you really think those scholars harbor not a shred of resentment over Qi Jingchun's death?"

The old man with the tall hat was silent for a long while, then slowly said, "Under those circumstances, Dali could only choose the lesser of two evils."

Luan Juzi chuckled lightly, skimming over the matter like a dragonfly touching water, then immediately changed the subject. "In my view, the root of this turmoil that has worn us both down isn't really about Dali wanting to establish its authority and launching that siege against him. With A Liang's level of cultivation and the temperament he's shown while roaming the various continents, he simply wouldn't care about such a trivial matter."

"I don't know what A Liang thinks," the old man with the tall hat sighed. "But as for the unspoken words you didn't say, let me say them. Ultimately, that man's knot lies with Qi Jingchun. It's about how Dali, facing pressure from all sides back then, chose not to step forward and speak a few fair words for Qi Jingchun. And once Qi Jingchun left, the Cliff Academy was disbanded—the tea cooled far too quickly after the man left, with even a hint of taking advantage of the crisis. But you and I know that, for the Dali Emperor himself, this was truly the wise course. If it were an ordinary emperor or monarch, I doubt they'd even feel that bit of guilt. They'd just think, 'Isn't this only natural?'"

"Come to think of it, if we put ourselves in his shoes—us and Dali going to all this trouble to pick this fight—doesn't it look to A Liang like a fifth-tier cultivator strutting around, acting as if he's ready to fight us to the death? And that little fellow is perfectly confident, sure of victory."

The old man with the tall hat raised his hand to adjust his sleeve, shifted his sitting position slightly, and said with a bitter smile, "When you put it that way, I feel a bit ridiculous myself."

Luan Juzi laughed heartily. "If one day, there could be people like us—well, people with a bit of status—talking about something we've done and marveling at it, applauding it, that would be wonderful."

The old man with the tall hat sighed emotionally. "If the White Jade Capital had managed to build the thirteenth floor smoothly, there might have been some hope. Now it's tough."

Luan Juzi remarked with feeling, "I wonder which of these Dali children will achieve the most unexpected things in the future."

The old man with the tall hat smiled slightly. "I bet on Song Mu. What about you?"

Luan Juzi grinned, half-jokingly and half-seriously. "I bet on little Wang Zhu. What do you think?"

The old man, a descendant of the Yin-Yang family surnamed Lu, shook his head and laughed. "A single branch can be outstanding, but it's hard to form a forest."

Luan Juzi also shook his head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Remembering something, he asked, "Didn't Qi Jingchun also take on some students in Pear Blossom Cave Heaven? Like that Zhao Yao? And besides him, I recall the military and Taoist schools on Baoping Continent fought over a child surnamed Ma."

The old man with the tall hat said indifferently, "Let's wait and see. I just hope we two old fogeys can live to see the end of this chaotic age."

The maidservant Zhigui had remained on the tenth floor of the White Jade Capital the entire time, never stepping out.

When no one was looking, she climbed onto the windowsill, curled up, leaned sideways, and turned her head to look south. She looked up at the sky, then back south, repeating this over and over, never tiring of it.

'You like reasoning with ants, even when it comes to me, you liked to spout your big truths. You lived more tediously than anyone, died more miserably than anyone. This guy who seems to know you well is completely different—he doesn't give a damn about any of us, so free and easy. But why do I still think you were better?'

'But I suppose, good is good—I'll keep that in mind. As for how to actually live in the world, I should be more like this strange guy.'

The girl finally squinted her golden, double-pupiled eyes and said with a smile, "Eh, it seems I'm not human, am I?"

She stared blankly for a long time, then reached out a finger and wiped it across her cheek, beneath her brow and eyes.

On the city wall of the capital, the atmosphere between the two former allies was tense and hostile.

The woman in palace attire screeched, "Cui Chan, you recognized that person from the very beginning, didn't you? So you deliberately opened the capital's gates to please him, letting him slaughter his way all the way to the White Jade Capital?! This is a capital crime! Dying once isn't enough! Do you think you'll come out any better if I'm cast into the dust? Have you lost your mind?"

Cui Chan, appearing as a Confucian scholar in a blue robe, said calmly, "If I hadn't deactivated the capital's grand formation, do you believe that besides me ending up worse off, someone would definitely have died before the White Jade Capital? Unlike now, where at least no one has died."

Cui Chan sneered. "I know that Song Jixin's purpose for existence is now gone; he's lost his use value. Since you no longer need your other son—well, my good student—to become the master of the White Jade Capital, a position that would likely have destroyed both man and sword, you're probably wishing that boy would die early and find release."

The woman smiled charmingly, her expression composed. "How can the National Preceptor speak such blatant lies?"

Cui Chan didn't dwell on the topic. "That talisman sword famous across the continent in the capital—the one no one could pull out—was originally meant, on Mr. Lu's suggestion, to be the flying sword guarding the thirteenth floor of the White Jade Capital. First, Luan Juzi thought it was unsuitable as the pinnacle sword of the thirteenth floor—not weighty enough. Second, the Dragon Spring County, formerly Pear Blossom Cave Heaven, needed to consume two divine weapons to split that massive Dragon-Slaying Platform. The royal treasury was truly stretched thin, and that talisman sword was hailed as the most durable, able to withstand three strikes from a sword immortal if lucky."

The woman frowned. "Cui Chan, what exactly are you trying to say?"

Cui Chan continued as if to himself. "Unexpectedly, the Dragon-Slaying Platform was so enormous that after two strikes, the sword body was like the crackle glaze on a small town's dragon kiln porcelain. The sword's internal energy was shattered beyond repair, with no possibility of restoring it to its original state. Our Emperor was pained, but he didn't hold anyone accountable. Later, as if on a whim, he simply gave it to the woman named Yang Hua—the maidservant by your side, Your Highness. Simultaneously, he ordered that woman to become the River God of Iron Talisman River. And so, Your Highness lost a right-hand arm, didn't you?"

The woman in palace attire smiled. "Are you saying His Majesty was giving me a veiled warning?"

Cui Chan sneered. "Your Highness is indeed always outwardly beautiful and inwardly wise."

The woman laughed coldly repeatedly.

Cui Chan clicked his tongue. "Why not think about the fates of our Five Sacred Mountain Gods?"

Her originally fair and delicate face instantly turned pale.

The woman fell into deep thought, like a chess player beginning to review a game.

Cui Chan didn't disturb her thoughts.

The Dali Emperor had originally hoped to take advantage of the descent of Pear Blossom Cave Heaven to elevate the richly auspicious Cloud Wrapping Mountain directly into the Northern Sacred Mountain of the Dali Dynasty!

But that created a very awkward and subtle situation: all five of Dali's current sacred mountains were located north of Cloud Wrapping Mountain.

Although at the time, none of the mountain gods raised any objections, their positions were like being on the "hillside" between Dali's immortal clans and the martial world—a crucial pass like a nation's waist and spine. Overnight, the situation became turbulent. Many sects and cave dwellings, disguised as devout men and women, ordinary pilgrims, and literary travelers, visited the five sacred mountains, not discussing matters of incense but only wind, flowers, snow, and moon. Meanwhile, the lower-ranking mountain and river gods around the five mountains fell into a unanimous silence.

Finally, the Dali Emperor, for reasons unknown—that man who was extremely autocratic on major matters—suddenly changed his mind and revoked this major decision concerning the nation's destiny and fortune.

But then a very coincidental event occurred: an outsider appeared in Dali who dared to kill two assassin masters.

With the Dali Emperor's characteristic decisive and iron-fisted nature, this grand hunt and siege was launched. Because it involved Dali's southward expansion strategy, it would determine how many Dali soldiers could be spared in future campaigns. Otherwise, given Dali's entrenched barbarian image across East Baoping Continent, as the rolling tide of Dali's iron cavalry surged south, obstacles like river rapids would inevitably appear. Those lofty mountain immortals, for various reasons, would certainly come to test how sharp Dali's blade was, how powerful its cavalry truly was, and whether Dali was truly qualified to stand on equal footing with them.

Dali naturally had its own immortal clan forces, and many openly pledged allegiance to the Song Dynasty, plus more in secret. Yet this still couldn't stop those moths-like cultivators from throwing themselves into the flames. What was most feared were those thick-skinned and elusive cultivators who would indiscriminately slaughter ordinary Dali soldiers—a hammer here, a hoe there—and then flee decisively. What could Dali's court do about that?

Thus, the White Jade Capital Sword Tower was born, gradually emerging from the shadows. The first to know this great secret were the twelve mountain and river deities—the "own people" outside Dali's capital.

If earlier, the Dali Song clan had intended to make Cloud Wrapping Mountain the Northern Sacred Mountain, revoking the titles of the original five, even if the Dali Emperor had privately given the five vague hints and distinct promises, there was still a suspicion of burning the bridge after crossing the river. The five's silent stance was barely reasonable—after all, involving incense, golden bodies, and the foundations of their paths, who would recklessly trust verbal or written promises?

Then the matter of repelling and killing enemies became a righteous cause. Those twelve beings, whose honor and disgrace were tied to Dali's fate, had no excuse to refuse.

All of this, before actually fighting that foreign blade-wielder, seemed flawless.

Perhaps even the six Dharma Forms, now severely depleted, whose true bodies remained in the mountains and rivers, had seen no problem. Because the secret edict the Dali Emperor gave them clearly stated they were to kill a cultivator at the tenth or possibly eleventh tier—nothing more.

Even after the battle, it was the same.

Though the final outcome was obviously extremely bleak and embarrassing, with the Dali Emperor himself, the builder of the White Jade Tower, and the six mountain gods all appearing to be losers—it was because no one, including the Dali Emperor, had expected this enemy to be so powerful. By the time the truth came to light, it even inadvertently gave the impression that Dali's defeat was honorable.

But at this moment, the Cui Chan standing on the city wall was truly still shaken.

Because amidst the losses, the Dali Emperor had achieved part of his goal.

Among the five sacred mountain gods, only the Central Mountain God, eternally loyal to Dali's Song clan, and the Northern Mountain God, who had been in the most awkward position, had their Dharma Forms fully preserved. The other three were completely destroyed, their cultivation plummeted to the level of ordinary mountain gods, barely surviving, having lost the spirit and confidence to contend with the Dali Emperor over the matter of changing mountain titles.

The truly terrible subtlety wasn't even this. In his early years, during a pleasant game of chess with the Dali Emperor, Cui Chan had been asked about his insights. The National Preceptor, known for speaking freely, had shared some thoughts, including the idea that when a ruler uses ministers, it's sometimes good to employ those who have made mistakes and been punished—even promote them—because they'd learned their lesson and would be especially obedient.

So among the five sacred mountains, aside from the Central Mountain God, the other four—east, south, west, and north—if they ever chewed over the aftertaste of this tragedy, would mostly begin to harbor resentment toward the Dali Emperor. Only the old Northern Mountain God, who had originally made the wrong choice, would feel more fear.

If before today, Cui Chan had been willing to explain these subtle points to her one by one, now he didn't intend to share her downfall.

The filthy things this woman had done—Cui Chan could tolerate them. After all, if it didn't concern him, the more ruthless the ally, the harder for their enemies. Cui Chan wasn't foolish enough to advise her to have a bodhisattva's heart. To reach where he was today, he certainly didn't rely on benevolence. But the Emperor, if this hunt had succeeded, might have just given her a warning. Now, the situation was entirely different.

This woman, utterly without a trace of feminine benevolence, had had the surrendered general of the Lu clan remove Song Yuzhang's head and secretly place it in a wooden box, ready for any eventuality.

Targeting whom? Naturally, her son Song Mu—or Song Jixin, who grew up in Mud Vase Alley.

Song Yuzhang deserved death, of course. The matter of building the covered bridge involved a huge scandal in the Song royal family; the idea of redeeming his crimes through merit didn't apply here. After returning to the capital, Song Yuzhang served as a Ministry of Rites official for a time, but before his seat got warm, the Emperor sent him to Pear Blossom Cave Heaven. Ostensibly, it was to familiarize himself with local customs and facilitate the enfeoffment of river gods. In truth, Song Yuzhang knew clearly: this was giving him a relatively dignified death—not dying violently in his official residence, nor being executed on some trumped-up charge.

Song Yuzhang still faced death calmly.

Even as the Dali National Preceptor, though Cui Chan felt Song Yuzhang was utterly foolishly loyal, he couldn't deny a certain admiration for this bookworm's integrity as a pure minister.

Cui Chan privately believed that a dynasty's court always needed two things: inconspicuous paving stones and the beams and pillars that held up the halls—neither could be lacking.

Song Yuzhang belonged to the former.

He, National Preceptor Cui Chan, the vassal king Song Changjing, and the heads of the six ministries all belonged to the latter.

But this woman had "collected" that head, crossing the Emperor's bottom line for the first time.

Hence, her trusted lieutenant named Yang Hua was forcibly appointed as the River God of Iron Talisman River. While that palace maid was indeed exceptionally gifted, under normal circumstances, she certainly wouldn't have been promoted so hastily. With the Dali Emperor's frugality and shrewdness, he would have better utilized her potential.

This woman still steeled herself, racking her brains to make Song Jixin the master of the White Jade Capital, gaining recognition from the twelve flying swords, walking up floor by floor.

On the surface, it seemed like a mother compensating her long-lost son. In reality, it wasn't that simple. Song He was the one she truly regarded as her own flesh and blood, on whom she placed great hopes. After all, she had watched him grow up day by day, everything pleasing her; while the other was far away in Pear Blossom Cave Heaven, rolling around in the filthy alleys of the market town. She had tried to peek at the Emperor's secret dossier once, but was severely punished. It was probably from then that her feelings for the eldest son turned from heartache to indifference. Moreover, the Dali Clan Affairs Office had Song Mu clearly recorded as having died young, his name struck off with red ink—a shocking sight.

As for whether there was torment or pain deep in her heart—a woman's heart is as deep as the sea. Cui Chan didn't know. No one knew.

And how and why she used her eldest son Song Mu as a stepping stone for her younger son Song He—those unknown bloody details and mental journeys—Cui Chan wasn't interested.

The woman in palace attire smiled. "I already know where I went wrong. But do you know, Cui Chan?"

Cui Chan, one hand behind his back, the other lightly patting the arrow-slit wall, slowly said, "I do. When I opened the capital's grand formation and let the enemy in, my original intention was good—to let that A Liang see Dali's sincerity and willingness to yield. But I still put myself in a dilemma."

The woman looked at the National Preceptor with pity, gloating, "Is His Majesty's life something a 'dragon-supporting' minister can arbitrarily place on a gambling table?"

Cui Chan nodded. "Indeed it is."

The woman "kindly" said, "Great National Preceptor of Dali, once the foremost disciple of the Sage of Culture, if you wept bitter tears of regret now, perhaps His Majesty would show you leniency."

Cui Chan smiled. "I'm a poor fellow who has fallen many times. I can endure pain and I can bear loneliness. You, Your Highness, are different. Born into a family of bells and cauldrons, accustomed from childhood to a divine life of silk and finery—I'm afraid it'll be harder for you."

The woman's face darkened. Finally tearing off the mask of civility, she asked bluntly, "So, we're parting ways?"

Cui Chan said frankly, "A petty man's friendship is sweet as honey; when profit ends, the bond dissolves. What's strange about that? What, did Your Highness think ours was a pure friendship of wind and moon?"

The woman gritted her teeth. "Fine, fine, you're ruthless. Then you'd better pray His Majesty kills me with one blow, or else..."

Cui Chan waved his hand. "Don't try to scare me with words. You know my nature well, Your Highness. 'The mountain is high and the river long'—who knows what the future holds. If Your Highness can weather this storm, Cui Chan will naturally be willing to ally with you. If not, rest assured, I won't kick you while you're down. I have some understanding of His Majesty's mind. I won't harm others without benefiting myself."

The woman in palace attire said a rare heartfelt word. "Cui Chan, you are a terrifying person."

Cui Chan smiled but said nothing.

He just suddenly thought of that familiar figure.

Once, as a youth studying under that old man, Cui Chan often saw that wandering swordsman come to the old man. One would speak of sages' truths, the other of martial world stories—they were like a chicken talking to a duck. Many years later, Cui Chan went his own way, disowned his teacher, and even did a series of things like betraying his master, murdering his teacher, and harming his fellow disciples. Cui Chan never regretted it—all for the Great Path!

But losing that person's friendship made even Cui Chan, so cold of heart, feel regret—regret to the point of some remorse.

Yet if given the chance to choose again, it would still be the same. No change.

On the Great Path, once you take the first step, there is often no retreat.

At this moment on the city wall, before Cui Chan's words had even landed, a golden-feathered falcon tore through the air.

It stopped abruptly on the arrow slit.

Cui Chan stepped back slightly, lowering his head. The woman in palace attire quickly turned sideways and performed a graceful curtsy.

It stared intently at the woman.

A clear, childish voice rang out. "Song Zhengchun says: go to Eternal Spring Palace to build a thatched hut and cultivate. Once you reach the upper fifth tier, you may leave Eternal Spring Palace and return to the capital. However, during this time, you are not prohibited from interacting with anyone. At the same time, effective immediately, transfer all archives of the Bamboo Leaf Pavilion to National Preceptor Cui. You need only focus on cultivation."

Cui Chan bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Majesty, for your immense grace."

It turned its head to look at the Dali National Preceptor. "Song Zhengchun says: this is your last chance. Remember what he told you before: things must not go beyond three times. Treasure it."

Cui Chan nodded, without any superfluous words.

The woman in palace attire asked only one question. "May Mu'er and He'er visit me at Eternal Spring Palace from time to time?"

It nodded. "Of course. Song Zhengchun also said: Song He is to remain at the Nourish Heart Chamber to continue his studies. If you feel lonely alone on the mountain, you may bring Song Mu to Eternal Spring Palace to cultivate the Thunder Method. The decision is entirely yours."

The woman's eyes flickered uncertainly.

It was growing a bit impatient. "Song Zhengchun finally told me to tell you: the damage to Dali's national strength caused by that person was his own decision. It has nothing to do with you. Don't overthink it."

The woman in palace attire looked as if she was about to cry. She raised her head toward the palace, at this moment full of charm, and said in a trembling, delicate voice, "Your Majesty..."

Suddenly, its voice turned sharp and harsh. "You stinking whore, rotten bitch, fox spirit! Get out of the capital now! I've been putting up with you for too long!"

The woman in palace attire smiled. "Was that also spoken by His Majesty?"

It snorted coldly, flapped its wings, and soared away, vanishing in an instant.

After the golden falcon departed, the woman in palace attire stumbled, bracing herself against the city wall, her face ashen.

The Bamboo Leaf Pavilion was the intelligence network she had painstakingly built. It was a shadow pillar of the Dali Dynasty, almost her third son.

Cui Chan felt a sense of sympathy for one who suffers the same fate.

Killing a man is but a matter of the head touching the ground; the pain of destroying the heart lasts ten thousand years.

But even though Cui Chan now held the power of life and death over the Bamboo Leaf Pavilion, he couldn't muster any joy.

Because the boy's body that had regained a spiritual connection seemed to have completely vanished.

Even that Old Man Yang chose to look the other way, refusing to send any message back to the Dali capital.

......

At that stretch of turbulent rapids on the Chongtan River, it was no different from a demon's gate in the eyes of ordinary folk. Hence, every time a boatman ferried passengers back, he would be well compensated, his purse full. Mooring the boat by the riverside that ran through the town, he would disembark amidst singsong girls and brothels, interspersed with many small taverns selling cheap, low-quality spirits, often run by beautiful women who lured customers in so the boatmen could drink themselves senseless. If a boatman could persuade a traveling scholar to visit a tavern or brothel he frequented, he'd earn a tidy under-the-table commission.

Today, someone had hired a boatman to tour that stretch of river with its forest of stone pillars as stern as spears and halberds.

The boatman was a sturdy man of about fifty, still robust with bulging arm muscles, and talkative. The passenger who hired the small boat was an elderly gentleman, shabbily dressed, but his spending was decent—he paid a not too little, not too much ten taels of silver. At least in his sixties, he was traveling alone, which puzzled the boatman a bit.

The small boat rose and fell with the rapids, spray splashing onto both of them. The boatman watched the old gentleman twist sideways, both hands gripping the gunwale tightly, and chuckled inwardly. Scholars, no matter their age, all seemed the same. The boatman couldn't understand what was so interesting about those rocks in the water. Could they talk? Or were they prettier than the women on the banks of Red Candle Town? Spending money to suffer—scholars really had no sense.

After the boat emerged from the rapids into the calm waters of the Chongtan River, the boatman briefly recounted the old story of the Goddess Temple, then casually asked, "Old sir, are you from out of town? Where from? Though you speak Dali's official language passably well."

"Me? My hometown is far away. I just like to travel and look at the scenery—wander around with no attachments. It's comfortable."

"You look pretty old, sir. You should take it easy."

"I'm fine, fine."

"Old sir, let me ask you something. You've traveled far and wide, been to many places. How do you find Dali's scenery?"

"Very good, very good. A place of outstanding people and spiritual land."

"And is the wine in our Red Candle Town good?"

"Good wine, good wine. Just a bit pricey."

"Is our Emperor very formidable?"

"Formidable indeed."

"Is our National Preceptor's chess skill superior to those of the Great Sui?"

"Probably so."

"Is Dali the strongest in the north?"

"Absolutely, without a doubt."

Actually, after the first question, the boatman was deliberately teasing the old gentleman. He found the old man to be a truly good-natured fellow, always nodding in agreement.

As they neared the shore, seeing the old man nodding earnestly again, the boatman couldn't help laughing. "Old sir, you have a good temper—too good, in fact. How can you only speak well of everything? In the past, I've met scholars of all ages, big and small, at least a hundred of them. They all spoke in a stilted, sour way, hard to understand, making them seem very learned. Alas, I'm not clever, never went to school, never had a teacher to guide me. Even if I wanted to say something, it's difficult."

"It's fine as long as you have the heart. Nothing is difficult." The old man laughed heartily, then asked, "By the way, have you ever heard of Master Qi of the Cliff Academy?"

The boatman hesitated, sighed softly, and finally shook his head. "Never heard of him."

The old man nodded, smiled, and said, "Dali is indeed a bit different. Why? I passed by a small border beacon tower with only two men. An immortal descended, asking for food. In any other country, they'd have knelt and kowtowed, offering it with both hands. But your Dali border soldiers were different—they spoke to the immortal with straight backs. Of course, their hearts were pounding."

The boatman let out a "ho-ho" and laughed. "So you've seen immortals, old sir? Then this journey wasn't in vain. You're better off than me. Those out-of-town tourists all say there are water ghosts and river hags under our Chongtan River, but I've been rowing for thirty years and never seen anything strange."

The old man laughed. "Indeed, I have seen them. It's just that those immortals had bad tempers. The two beacon soldiers each got a slap, sent flying, smashing tables and chairs to pieces. But one immortal, after eating his fill, threw a gold ingot on the ground before leaving."

The boatman clicked his tongue in envy. "Then they'd be rich! If it were me, I'd take ten slaps for that."

The old man nodded approvingly. "You have a broad mind and a broad world. Good thing, good thing."

The boatman suddenly asked with concern, "By the way, those immortals didn't trouble you, did they, old sir?"

Looking at the sincere boatman, the old man laughed heartily. "No trouble, no trouble."

Relieved, the boatman wanted to tease this amusing old gentleman again. "Old sir, would you like a drink?"

The boatman winked, barely suppressing a laugh, and whispered, "I mean flower wine. I can lead the way."

The old man's eyes widened. He squeezed out three words. "Is it expensive?"

The boatman laughed heartily, deciding not to trick the old man further. "Very expensive!"

After a moment of inner struggle, the old man said, "No problem. Wait for me after we land. I'll go borrow some money from someone. Maybe I can get twenty or thirty taels."

The boatman was taken aback. Being a kind-hearted man, he naturally couldn't bear to take him to that money-guzzling den. "Old sir, I was joking. Flower wine is no fun. Just thinking about drinking a cup of wine and losing two or three taels would break my heart. I wouldn't even enjoy the wine. Let's not go. If you really want a drink, I'll take you to a small tavern on the shore for some authentic Red Candle Town homebrew at a fair price."

The small boat slowly docked. The shabby old gentleman stood up, patted the boatman on the shoulder, and said with a chuckle, "Speaking good words but doing evil deeds—that's a national demon."

The burly boatman instantly turned pale. He wanted to step back but couldn't move. He wanted to leap into the water, revert to his true form, and flee far away—but that was even more wishful thinking.

The old man continued, "Unable to speak but able to act—that's a national vessel. I hope you can hold fast to your original heart and move toward goodness."

A surge of inexplicable righteous energy seemed to well up in the boatman's chest. He wanted to speak but couldn't utter a single word.

The old scholar disembarked and slowly walked away.

The boatman was moved to tears. When he could finally move, he immediately leaped ashore, dropped to his knees facing the old man's retreating figure, and performed the grandest kowtow—three kneels and nine prostrations.

Legend has it that sages exist between heaven and earth, their mouths holding the ordinances of Heaven, their words becoming law.

The old scholar made inquiries all the way to the Pillow Inn. He asked if the young man named Chen Ping'an was still there.

The innkeeper asked who he was.

The old scholar thought for a moment and said he was the young man's half-teacher.

The innkeeper told him to get lost.

For some reason, a handsome young man with a mole between his eyebrows had been staying in an old schoolhouse these past few days, day in and day out just holding a book and reading.

Stranger still, the young man often read and then burst into tears, his face covered in snot and tears.