Chapter 25: Arriving at the Capital
Chen Ping'an raised his left arm, clenched his fist, stepped back with his right foot, and stomped heavily on the ground, opening a fist stance. It was the Xiao Da Long stance he had learned in the Lotus Petal Paradise. His spine, the human body's pillar, hummed like metal and stone. A stream of pure true qi drove his skeleton to tremble incessantly. The skeleton pulled the muscles, the muscles drove the blood and qi, and the blood and qi in turn nourished the meridians. What seemed like a simple lifting of the arm and a step back was actually Chen Ping'an fusing six different stance frames into one, all smelted together in a single furnace.
Chen Ping'an no longer deliberately concealed his pinnacle vigor. His thick, unparalleled fist intent surged like a flood bursting through a dam, cascading violently onto the snowy white divine platform. Layers of ripples frantically spread outward, instantly extending beyond the platform, so much so that the cloudless blue sky around him was like an ancient mirror being repeatedly scrubbed clean by clear water.
From the initiation of the stance to the flow of fist intent, Chen Ping'an made no attempt at concealment. It was as if he were a wordless fist manual.
Future generations who wished to learn this fist technique only needed to study, to record and imitate, to keep their eyes wide open and watch closely.
The fist he delivered was precisely the unstoppable Divine Man Beats the Drum style.
His two blue sleeves billowed like bellows, flapping loudly.
Ancient martial arts were founded by Jiang She, the first ancestor of the Military strategists. His contribution was immense, carving out a third path distinct from divine powers and magical techniques.
If this ancient witch symbolized a solitary peak in the realm of ancient martial arts, then what of Chen Ping'an, who replaced Jiang She to stand guard at that pinnacle of the martial path?
Then let ancient martial arts be invited.
Receive this fist.
The onlookers saw that within that snowy white realm, the blue figure charging forward in a straight line had actually sliced a near-perfect divine platform in two, which slowly fell towards the earth.
The ancient witch, whose blood and qi surged within like boiling water, stood still. His vision blurred. The hempen robe on his body turned to dust. The flesh and blood on his entire face instantly dissolved, revealing white bones on his body. In the blink of an eye, he turned into ashes, falling with a rustling sound. His soul wavered and scattered with the wind.
After one fist, the ancient witch's formidable physical body, like a wildflower on the desolate plain, bloomed and withered in a finger snap.
But it seemed that the ancient witch had poured all his lifelong martial arts attainments, his entire essence, energy, and spirit, without reservation, into one arm, into this soft and feeble fist that gently smashed onto the face of the man in blue.
It was as if a persistent obsession supported the ancient witch: not only would he receive this fist, but he would also strike back.
Whether it was due to his own excessively abundant fist intent or the effect of taking the ancient witch's fist, Chen Ping'an's hair bun came loose.
In a blue robe, hair disheveled, expression calm, barefoot, he stood alone on the snowy white divine platform.
Chen Ping'an smoothed out his two sleeves, then rolled them up.
At the same time, he used his intangible fist intent to hold together the divine platform broken in two, preventing it from crashing directly onto the Greater Li capital territory.
Then, looking around, Chen Ping'an applied what he had just learned. Earlier, even after learning Liu Xianyang's dream-delivering sword technique, the results had been minimal. But today, after exchanging fists with the ancient witch, he had an idea for a different approach. He visualized the appearance of that White Bone Daoist. Within his somewhat chaotic heart-lake heaven and earth, flames sparkled, like lighting a stick of incense. The incense smoke curled, and a portrait was suspended.
This was the benefit of having actually exchanged several fists with this clothes-rack earlier.
Otherwise, relying solely on a quick glance at the visualization method would absolutely not have this effect.
He tilted a fist towards the boundary where sea and land met. In an instant, the commotion was like throwing a string of firecrackers into the sea of clouds beneath his feet, thunder rumbling repeatedly.
He searched according to the clues, but unfortunately still could not grasp the true body.
No matter.
Chen Ping'an reached out again, his five fingers like hooks, gently pulling back.
He actually directly dragged the White Bone Daoist, who was seated on the dugout canoe, out of a vortex in the River of Time.
Startled, the White Bone Daoist reached out to hold the gunwale, exasperated: "Surnamed Chen, this seat has already voluntarily backed off. Why must you be so aggressive?!"
Chen Ping'an's fist intent not only maintained the two halves of the divine platform in the blue sky, but even had the spare strength to rejoin them.
If he had such means back then, at the Jubo Continent ruins, why would he have had to carry that caisson ceiling around?
Chen Ping'an shook his sleeves and said with a smile: "I intended for you to die all along. Can you avoid death or not?"
The White Bone Daoist looked sinisterly askance at the giant fox still besieging the city, "Why spare her life? Only oppose this seat?"
Chen Ping'an dismissed it with a smile, too lazy to explain a single word.
If you had first gone to the Wilderness, looking at the human world with the eyes of a farmer viewing cropland, considering the world a chopping block and all things fish and meat, then so be it. Go ahead, be happy.
Here in the Bright World, especially within the territory of Greater Li, to still have such a mindset, that is, Fellow Daoist, you find your life too long.
Chen Ping'an raised his arm to signal Xiao Mo to put away that sword light.
Without any hesitation, Xiao Mo moved his mind slightly and commanded that brilliant sword light to immediately retreat to the snail shell cave dwelling on Gray Mist Mountain.
The Old Lord of Qingqiu, meanwhile, bristled again.
This skeleton frame was so venomous, actually trying to drag her into the water with him!
Her human-shaped Yin spirit narrowed her phoenix eyes slightly, harboring great hatred in her heart.
The girl in the sable hat, crouching inside the battlements, chewed the wedding candy daintily and said with a giggle: "Eat candy, eat candy, calm down."
The Old Lord of Qingqiu could only obtain limited words and thoughts from the Greater Li capital. She was indeed curious why Chen Ping'an was comparatively... polite to her. The ancient witch had already perished, body and Dao extinguished, but it seemed his residual soul had been gathered into Chen Ping'an's sleeves. Then he had forcibly driven the Three Cloisters Dharma Lord out of hiding to confront him again.
Her detached Yin spirit, carrying the embroidered pouch, was somewhat hesitant in her heart. Could it be that he wanted to recruit her, to gain a powerful ally for Fallen Mountain?
Xie Gou said cheerfully: "You've just arrived, so you don't know. Our Mountain Lord is famously gentle and kind to the fairer sex."
The Old Lord of Qingqiu was skeptical.
The White Bone Daoist had his own hidden worries and was even more puzzled. Since it was a life-or-death situation, why wasn't the other party in a hurry to throw a punch? What exactly was he waiting for?
Those two strange fist techniques? Sword techniques? of this person earlier? Finding his trace was indeed extremely divine and unfathomable, but to think that by relying on this he could injure the foundation of his Great Dao was, not to be arrogant on his part, nothing short of wishful thinking on the other's side.
The White Bone Daoist was deeply distressed. Being led by the nose was an extremely frustrating feeling. Thinking back to the old days, when had he ever suffered such humiliation?
Zhu Su was utterly amazed. She became even more curious: between the white-clad Cao Ci and the blue-clad Chen Ping'an, in their fifth fist exchange, who would win and who would lose?!
Liu Cha was much more direct. He asked Cao Ci via heart voice: "If you faced Chen Ping'an as he is now, what would be the outcome between you?"
Cao Ci smiled: "We'll only know after we actually fight."
Old Deaf didn't bother to join Zhu Su and Xu Xie. There was nothing to chat about with these sword immortals who had become famous so young.
He needed to wait for Chief Xie's orders before he, as the Second Seat, could make a move.
Old Deaf had also seen the white-clad youth at the peak of the mountains.
Back then, when the young Cao Ci had built a thatched hut atop the city wall, living next to the Old Chief Sword Immortal, Old Deaf had occasionally participated in meetings and had met Cao Ci a couple of times. At that time, Old Deaf thought this outsider, whose appearance and bearing were not too different from his own younger self, was the most suitable match for Ning Yao. Unfortunately, neither of them had such intentions. He only heard that Ning Yao had gone outside and after returning home, she often stared blankly into space.
Old Deaf knew at that time that something was wrong. He guessed that Ning Yao must have been deceived by someone from the Bright World side later?
Later, when a young man carrying a sword passed through Hanging Mountain and swaggered up to the Sword Qi Great Wall, Old Deaf immediately walked to the prison gate and stealthily watched the city wall a few times.
Xiao Xun, who was then serving as the Hidden Official, was also beside Old Deaf.
Old Deaf lamented endlessly, always feeling that a good cabbage had been rooted up by a pig.
The little girl with the goat-horn braids, however, said it was her idea of a "match made in heaven."
Old Deaf didn't understand; he just thought it was Hidden Official Xiao Xun's way of saying the opposite of what she meant.
A continuous heavy rain left mud splashing everywhere on the road. Old Deaf stood alone by the roadside. To avoid revealing his identity as a cultivator, he transformed an umbrella and held it up pretentiously.
Nearby, several groups of familiar fellow-villager vendors had set up a simple awning together, selling cheap but good-quality groceries and food inside.
The old saying goes that heavy rain doesn't last long, but today's storm was stubborn, showing no signs of stopping.
Rapid raindrops the size of soybeans pelted the awning roof.
Because of the heavy rain, the queue entering the city moved slowly.
An elderly vendor baking flatbreads, with a thick local accent, called out to Old Deaf outside the awning: "Old fellow, over here, come shelter from the rain here."
Old Deaf thanked the vendor, entered the awning, stopped, closed his umbrella, and shook the rainwater off it to the side.
He bought two steaming hot flatbreads, rolled them together, and got half a catty of local rough liquor from the next stall. All the tables and stools inside the awning were occupied by resting travelers, so Old Deaf tucked the umbrella under his arm, squatted at the edge of the awning where he wouldn't block the way, holding a bowl of wine in one hand and the rolled flatbreads in the other, eating and drinking.
A few lively children, holding torn oilpaper umbrellas, stretched their feet out to stomp in the puddles.
Their clothes were patched and mended, either too loose or with sleeves and pants too tight.
But that didn't hinder their childlike innocence and joy, finding happiness amidst hardship. However, once their elders finished their business, they were bound to be scolded, or even spanked.
Returning the empty bowl, Old Deaf took out a shriveled money pouch from his sleeve and fished out a handful of copper coins, intending to pay the two vendors. He was about to ask the price when the stall owner quickly waved his hand: "Old fellow, no need to pay, it's a gift. I called you in to shelter from the rain, not to make money off you. Business isn't done that way. We're all travelers out here, let's each be accommodating. It's nothing."
Old Deaf didn't insist. He put the copper coins back into the pouch, tucked it into his sleeve, and said with a smile: "Elder brother, you have a kind heart. You will surely have blessings in your later years."
"What kindness is this? Old fellow, are you a scholar?"
"Are you going to the capital to set up a stall for business, elder brother?"
"That's right. Places like White Cloud Temple and Flower Shrine might not have good spots, so I'll find a temple fair on the west side of the city to set up. That little one's father works in the Household Section of the Yongtai County office, so I can take a look at him too. The child is very playful. Every time he goes to the office to see his father, he has to touch the tail of a horse in the official stable. His father is well-liked there, and the officials are good-tempered, so they let the child play."
"Ho, that's impressive. An official who eats imperial grain is something extraordinary. I've heard that the magistrates of Yongtai and Changning counties have very high official ranks."
The elderly vendor grinned from ear to ear.
Old Deaf was utterly indifferent to the mountain sects and immortal mansions of Bottle Gourd Continent. For instance, he only knew of the Longevity Palace because he craved their Longevity Brew. He knew of Sunlit Mountain only because the Mountain Lord had made a scene there. He knew of the Divine Declaration Sect only out of curiosity about the unique products of that Clear Pond Paradise.
Probably because of the habit of loving one's work, having once been an emperor, Old Deaf was still very clear about the Bright World officialdom.
Things like "Golden Goblet Eternal Stability" — emperors of every dynasty would cast golden dragons and jade tablets into the water... Old Deaf heard that there were some unscrupulous wild cultivators from mountains and marshes who specialized in getting rich from this — no sooner had the court released them than they stole them.
On the road, line after line of carriages were bumper to bumper. From inside one carriage, the faint sound of a scholar reciting model essays for the imperial examinations could be heard.
The Greater Li imperial examinations, especially the metropolitan examination, had always been notoriously strict. Besides poetry and essays, they also covered questions of national economy, calculations, and even military strategy. Even if it was just armchair strategy for scholars, it was better than total ignorance. Otherwise, once assigned to local posts, they would inevitably be manipulated by petty officials.
This year's capital metropolitan examination had been temporarily moved from the spring session to the autumn session. The candidates quickly figured out the implication: perhaps the emperor had long wanted the new National Teacher to serve as the chief examiner for the Jiachen year, becoming the academic mentor for this session's new metropolitan graduates?
Thus, many quick-witted candidates had already begun searching everywhere to buy or borrow those two collections of seal impressions. If their calligraphy was similar, would they gain some extra favor?
After the rain, the sky cleared, and the light seemed particularly bright.
Old Deaf took out the umbrella from under his arm and handed it to a child who bore some resemblance to the vendor, saying with a smile: "Little one, it's for you."
The child was shy and didn't dare accept a gift from a stranger. He looked at his grandfather inside the awning.
The vendor smiled and shook his head, so the child shook his head too.
Old Deaf laughed: "I've heard of 'only the magistrate can set fires, not the common people can light lamps,' but I've never heard that only an elder brother can extend a kindness, but a stranger can't give a cheap umbrella."
The elderly vendor was taken aback. Could this really be a scholar without an official rank who liked to be particular about formalities?
Old Deaf said: "It will rain again. You'll need it."
The vendor nodded to his grandson: "Take it. Remember to thank the old gentleman."
The child then hugged the umbrella to his chest and thanked the old gentleman.
Old Deaf nodded and walked towards the capital.
Doing something like this in the Wilderness would feel very strange.
In the Bright World, this kind of thing was just a small matter.
On the road, who knows which scholar started reciting poetry first. Soon, others followed from elsewhere, echoing in a continuous chain, like the rain. There seemed to be a certain scholar's etiquette: someone would say, "The wind howls as if to overturn the roof, the rain comes as if to burst the dike." Then another voice would respond loudly, "Thunder rumbles over a thousand peaks, rain colors pour from ten thousand mountains." Soon, a clear and loud female voice sounded, "Lightning tails burn the black clouds, rain feet fly like silver threads." Next came the cheerful recitation of a child's voice, urgently saying, "The rain passes, knowing not where the dragon has gone, a pond of grass, ten thousand frogs sing..." The road burst into laughter, from those in carriages, those on horseback, and those in the muddy road.
An old gentleman lifted the carriage curtain, sat beside the coachman, and leisurely recited a line of poetry that didn't quite match the season: "The city snow first melts, shepherd's purse sprouts."
A poor scholar on his way to the exams understood and immediately continued: "The corner gate, the deep alley, few people walk."
Soon, a slightly heroic voice shouted: "From the willow tips, hear the oriole sing... Everyone wait, the last line must be concluded by our Greater Li's talented lady!"
And indeed, a woman's bright and charming laugh immediately followed: "This is the first sound of spring!"
Old Deaf, walking slowly on the road, also knew this poem. The title was neither extremely popular nor obscure.
It was simply called "Arriving at the Capital."
Even if Bai Jing still hadn't greeted him, Old Deaf of the Sword Qi Great Wall, the Dao transmitter of Fallen Mountain's Flower Shadow Peak, the always frustrated sword cultivator Gan Tang, suddenly wanted to meet this White Bone Daoist who called himself the Three Cloisters Dharma Lord.
---
Hanging high in the blue sky, the White Bone Daoist, now wearing a yellow Dharma robe, was silent for a moment. He had to force himself to lower his stance and said via heart voice: "Fellow Daoist Chen, there is no enmity between us. Why tear our faces apart and bring about a situation where both jade and stone burn together? Upon careful examination, that Dharma robe was snatched by sea thieves, and it is this seat who suffered the greater loss. What loss has Fellow Daoist Chen suffered? Is that not so?"
Chen Ping'an looked up at the White Bone Daoist and beckoned: "Don't stand so high to talk with me. Come down here to speak."
The White Bone Daoist almost couldn't help but curse aloud. Was he supposed to be a naive three-year-old child on the street, not knowing the consequences of a "casual chat" at close quarters with an eleventh-tier martial artist?
In a fit of anger, he manifested his Dao technique, causing strange phenomena. The Dao body of this Three Cloisters Dharma Lord glowed with golden light. Five or six hundred of his qi apertures showed activity, revealing a considerable number of his innate treasures. Together, they formed a golden world scattered like stars. The strange lights and colors emitted by the various innate treasure Dharma artifacts seeped out one by one through the yellow Dharma robe, whose rank was too low to conceal the scene.
Chen Ping'an squinted and smiled.
Reading much but not knowing how to apply it is often mocked as being a two-legged bookcase. Who knew that this White Bone Fellow Daoist was also a two-legged treasure vault?
Earlier, according to Zheng Juzhong's words on the Night Boat, maintaining one's Dao body from turning to ashes within the River of Time was already extremely difficult. This Three Cloisters Dharma Lord had good methods. Apart from his own profound Dao power, could it also be due to the unique creation of that dugout canoe?
Sensing the change in the other's aura, the White Bone Daoist felt a chill run down his spine, a creepy feeling.
Because this feeling was all too familiar. The White Bone Daoist himself had it, and he believed Sword Immortal Bai Jing would have it too.
It was the feeling of an ancient Daoist, famished, wandering the world, rampaging in all directions, finally catching sight of an extremely nourishing piece of Great Dao provisions. Once the killing intent arose, it was time to feed!
Sure enough, that surnamed Chen fellow had already thrown a punch. His figure shot up from the ground, and the snowy white divine platform dropped a hundred-odd zhang in response.
The White Bone Daoist quickly raised his extremely wide Dharma robe sleeve, shielding himself, as if lifting a yellow curtain in the blue sky. Then, using his mind to command the dugout canoe, he sailed across the water, suddenly concealed his traces, and vanished.
Chen Ping'an's eyes burned intensely. He smiled: "Since you're here, don't leave."
Exchanging fists with the ancient witch was a martial arts honing between two pure martial artists.
Fighting this White Bone Daoist was purely to make him leave his life behind. How could it be the same?
In the unseen, a thread of connection.
It was the Divine Man Beats the Drum style, which had already broken its fist connection but now was unexpectedly reconnected.
In broad daylight, the methods of an eleventh-tier martial artist were completely revealed.
The Divine Man Beats the Drum style taught by Cui Cheng, in the hands of Chen Ping'an, who had already broken into the eleventh tier, underwent another astonishing transformation.
Earlier, this fist technique required consecutive fists, continuously layering the fist intent. But now, Chen Ping'an could fully "throw punches" first within his own personal heaven and earth, like compiling pages into a book, overlapping them into a single punch.
It was like when the old man taught fist techniques in the bamboo tower, he would occasionally have some unusual feelings of loss.
It was because many of the fist techniques that Cui Cheng had painstakingly developed, no matter how grand their scope or how lofty their meaning, were ultimately limited by his physical body as a Culmination Realm martial artist. They could not fully display the power of the fist techniques. It wasn't that the fists were bad, but that I, Cui Cheng, was too low in realm, and thus couldn't let the martial artists of the world see what true, magnificent martial arts truly were, and where their height lay!
Chen Ping'an silently counted a number.
Twenty-seven.
The White Bone Daoist, continuously forming hand seals, had one of his substitute avatars explode in the air with a bang.
Elsewhere, the White Bone Daoist's true body continued to steer the dugout canoe, drifting unsteadily in the fist-intent-thickened heavenly wind and cloud sea.
Chen Ping'an, with disheveled hair and bare feet, closed in and lightly landed on the dugout canoe.
Thirty-six.
The dugout canoe suffered a fate similar to the divine platform, torn in two.
The yellow Dharma robe on the White Bone Daoist's body had already completely disintegrated. Hovering in the air, he grabbed the half of the dugout canoe that included the bow.
Standing on the other half of the dugout canoe, the blue-robed figure immediately bled from his seven orifices. Even the physique of an eleventh-tier martial artist had hundreds of fine cracks appearing on his face. The veins and flesh on his right hand were twisted and tangled together, a shocking sight.
This surnamed Chen seemed to have been stunned by this fist. He raised that arm and was looking down at it.
The White Bone Daoist was overjoyed and laughed heartily: "A mere brute who only knows how to wave his fists! How does it feel? Do you still dare to throw a third fist..."
Chen Ping'an raised his head. His eyes were fixed on the White Bone Daoist, whose divine powers were not weak. Interesting. He could actually spread the fist intent evenly.
Gone were the earlier calculations and distracting thoughts of making up for losses by killing the White Bone Daoist. Even the killing intent was gone, replaced by a more pure... ferocity and intensity.
When a fist was delivered between heaven and earth, there should be no rival before it!
Since you happened to be right in front of me, how could I not throw a punch?
This old man wants to see if your sneakily hidden fourteenth-tier cultivator's physique is sturdier, or if an eleventh-tier martial artist's physique can take more punishment!
Seventy-two!
Fist intent filled the blue sky.
The White Bone Daoist was frantic. An unreasonable brute! This man was insane, truly insane.
After one punch, heaven and earth were clear.
Chen Ping'an, with disheveled hair, hovered high in the sky. His fist energy was so dense it could be seen by the naked eye, like the sun at high noon.
He squinted at a corner of the sky's canopy, curling his lip. Old thief Pang Ding of the Jade Capital, did you see clearly?
---
Chen Ping'an did not mistakenly believe that the White Bone Daoist had fallen. These few uninvited guests—the nameless Daoist who threw the halberd into the sea, and the Old Lord of Qingqiu, the common lord of the fox clan—had all dropped in realm. On the surface, the White Bone Daoist was the same, but Chen Ping'an trusted his intuition.
There was no need for the Mountain Lord to remind him, or Bai Jing to urge him.
Old Deaf, walking alone on the official road outside the Greater Li capital, initiated his own sword strike.
And he simultaneously offered up his two natal flying swords, which were mutually exclusive in the Dao.
Actually, Old Deaf knew it well. Chen Mountain Lord's earlier few punches were like a demonstration, showing the left and right rotations of the Great Dao. They were not only a display of new martial arts for the ancient witch to see, but also for him, the Second Seat Supplicant... a sword path.
Was there an existence more unique in heaven and earth than the rotation of the Great Dao? Since that was possible, then how could Sword Cultivator Gan Tang's two natal flying swords have no chance to turn from mutual exclusion to mutual generation?
Even so, understanding implicitly and feeling quite grateful to Chen Ping'an, Old Deaf was still unwilling to draw his sword at that time.
How could his heart not be free?
Old Deaf, like someone with a cleanliness obsession, wanted to find a pure reason for himself, one that could be very grand or very small.
Let his own sword heart allow the Wilderness sword cultivator Gan Tang, with the Dao name Long Sound, to pour his full strength into a sword strike against a powerful enemy.
Perhaps because it was the first time he had simultaneously offered his two flying swords, the flow of sword light always gave the onlookers a slightly awkward feeling.
Wherever the two streams of sword light reached, one was black, one was white, like a sea of clouds or a curtain of rain: black clouds like dragon claws, white rain like chess pieces.
Old Deaf, with one step shrinking mountains and rivers, chose a small hill in the capital territory, manipulated his two flying swords, and crisscrossed the sky.
As expected, just offering the flying swords already cost him his own Dao practice. However, Old Deaf's sword heart was unusually clear.
With a sleeve, he knocked the snowy white flying sword back to the ground, and with half a dugout canoe, he beat away the second flying sword, which writhed in the sky like an ink-black flood dragon.
The hillside beneath Old Deaf's feet instantly crumbled like mud. Standing in the sunken pit, he re-manipulated his flying swords to kill the enemy, not forgetting to look up and say: "Gan Tang, Second Seat Supplicant of Fallen Mountain, Dao Transmitter of Jump Fish Mountain, Sword Cultivator, will show this senior a few rough sword techniques."
Forced to reappear, the White Bone Daoist repeatedly beat back the two flying swords that clung to him like a bone-deep disease. He gritted his teeth and said: "One by one, relying on a bit of fist technique and swordplay, insisting on going your own way. Then don't blame this seat for starting a massacre."
He looked down at the mustard-seed-sized figure on the road. Another sword cultivator.
First you stab this seat, then you announce your identity, Dao name, and sect here?
This "excitement" falling from the sky included, besides the Old Lord of Qingqiu and this group who had entered the fray, another batch who either appeared openly or concealed their traces, temporarily watching from the sidelines.
Feng Yi and Su Kan, the two ancient gods within the capital, Xiao Mo, who was in the snail shell cave dwelling but had sent out a sword strike, Bai Jing, who had stabbed that fox vixen viciously, Liu Cha, standing on a cliff in the capital territory casually holding a sword in hand, Old Deaf waiting by the official road outside the city, the flying ascension realm sword immortal Xu Jun, and Zhu Su, who had just ascended to the Immortal realm.
And of course, Chen Ping'an and Cao Ci, the two eleventh-tier martial artists.
Chen Ping'an turned his head to look towards the Azure Xuan Cave. Seeing two figures, he was somewhat surprised.
It was Zheng Juzhong. It was impossible to tell if it was his true body, his Yang spirit, or his Yin spirit present here.
Beside him was the gatekeeper of White Emperor City, Zheng Dan, of the Yue Sword Art lineage.
Before one wave subsides, another rises. Furthermore, there was activity at the edge of the sky.
The White Bone Daoist's Dao heart shook violently. He sensed a Dao aura that was all too familiar.
His heart felt as if it were being twisted. He stared blankly upward. At the edge of the sky, there was a vague, ethereal tall Daoist Dharma image. Behind him, a jewel-like appearance was like a bright moon. His true body had not crossed the world; rather, it was his Yin spirit traveling far away, detached, forcibly "crossing the waters" with just his own formidable Dao power.
It was obvious that this old Daoist had not informed the Jade Capital or the Central Earth Confucian Temple in advance.
The White Bone Daoist was horrified. Sure enough, it was that stinking Daoist, the Cavern Lord of Falling Treasure Shoals, Bi Xiao!
That Daoist waved his sleeve, casually dispersing the Jade Capital's prying gaze on this place.
No longer harboring any thoughts of hiding his capabilities, the Three Cloisters Dharma Lord, who was temporarily maintaining the fourteenth tier through ancient Heavenly Court divine powers, looked into the distance once more. After a moment, he angrily prepared to flee far away.
From that bright, gleaming moon, a huge hand as white as jade slowly extended.
The owner of that giant hand spoke a single word, his voice full of sarcasm, instantly resounding through the skies: "Run?"
The Old Lord of Qingqiu first retracted her Yin spirit, then withdrew her true body that had surrounded the capital, transforming back into a graceful beautiful woman.
Xie Gou teased: "Sister Purple, what are your thoughts?"
The Old Lord of Qingqiu felt helpless. The human world today was truly not the same as it had been ten thousand years ago. She always felt that heaven and earth had become narrow.
She asked via heart voice: "Who is that who just arrived?"
Xie Gou laughed: "Him? A great demon. An extremely clever character."
The Old Lord of Qingqiu wondered: "What does he want here?"
Xie Gou pouted: "My brain isn't very sharp, so how would I know what he's thinking."
Not asking further, the Old Lord of Qingqiu hesitated for a moment, then opened the embroidered pouch, took out a piece of wedding candy, put it in her mouth, and chewed. She looked at the snowy white divine platform suspended in the sky. A blue-robed figure sat at the edge, at ease, a man tying his hair into a bun.
They had barely escaped the cage of time, seen the light of day again, regained their freedom. This trip to Bottle Gourd Continent, each had their own goals. Seeing or not seeing one thing no longer seemed so important. Arriving at the capital, entering the imperial palace, seeing the blue robe.