Chapter 146: Backing and Helpers
A waterfall crashed down directly overhead.
The white-robed youth was stunned, and this youthful body, being at the prime age of vigorous blood and energy, inevitably influenced part of Cui Chan’s temperament. Moreover, inside the ancient well, as his body sank deeper into the water, the speed of his descent was destined to be no faster than the sword aura descending upon him. With no room to retreat, Cui Chan did not flinch in the slightest. He formed a hand seal in front of his chest with one hand, and with the other, he pressed his palm toward the well opening, producing a life-saving talisman that could be considered his ultimate trump card.
A mirror appeared on the boy’s jade-white palm. Its surface was only slightly smaller than the well’s opening, emitting a faint yellowish halo. Some strands of the white rainbow sword aura slid down along the mirror’s edges, instantly vaporizing the well water. The entire mirror surface blocked the vast majority of the sword aura. Upon collision, the mirror burst into dazzling, blinding electric light.
With a bang, the white-robed youth’s form plummeted downward, sinking more than half a zhang. His entire arm trembled violently, then was slowly bent by the oppressive force of the sword aura, until his palm gradually lowered to the same level as his head.
Young Cui Chan tilted his head sideways, shifting to bear the ancient mirror on his shoulder. At the same time, he used both hands to prop up the mirror from below. He could tilt his head, but if the mirror tilted and the sword aura poured over him, he would not only lose this priceless, spotless body—he, this “young Cui Chan,” would perish here and now, leaving only the Great Li State Preceptor, Cui Chan, in the world.
His naturally perfect “golden branches and jade leaves” skeleton—every joint emitted a dull popping sound like dried soybeans cracking. Young Cui Chan’s face twisted in anguish. His shoulder was scraped bloody by the mirror’s base. His complexion was deathly pale, and his form in the well was pressed downward inch by inch. Yet he still laughed hoarsely: “So even I end up like this? Old scholar, Qi Jingchun, you two bastards, you’ve done me in! One ruined my drop from the twelfth realm to the tenth, the other from the tenth to the fifth! If you’ve got the guts, have your disciple and junior brother reduce me, Cui Chan, to a complete mortal! Come on, if you dare! I don’t believe a single sword aura from a second-realm martial artist’s youth can break this Seal Mirror of the Thunder Ministry!”
When a terrestrial sword immortal unleashes a sword strike, it often surges into the heavens, rising from the earth and lighting up the sky.
Chen Ping’an’s strike, being directed down into the well, was relatively inconspicuous. But the water channel at the bottom of the well, which connected to the great river, had suffered greatly. Even the grand water mansion on the distant riverbank began to shake with fortune.
The blue-robed man, serving as the Cold-Food River God, had thought this night’s encounter was a blessing in disguise. He had been celebrating with his two trusted subordinates, the old scholar river god Sui Bin and the river deity Toad-blocking-the-river-guard, when disaster fell from the sky with this sudden blow. The three golden characters on the plaque reading “Grand Water Mansion” had already begun to crack, forcing the blue-robed man to quickly fly to the gate and support the plaque with both hands to prevent it from shattering and causing the river’s fortune to scatter and dissipate.
At the bottom of the well, the handsome young man with a mole between his eyebrows supported the mirror with his shoulder, his face twisted in agony: “Chen Ping’an! If you can’t kill me this time, even if I have to sacrifice half my life, once I get out, I’ll kill you with my own hands! I’ll peel away your soul bit by bit and make you wish for death but fail for a hundred years!”
Back in the town, the one named Cui had stolen the Spring Festival couplets from Song Jixin’s wall. Later, in the backyard of Yang’s shop, when Chen Ping’an had mentioned the titles “Embroidered Tiger” and “Uncle-Master,” Old Man Yang had said nothing. Chen Ping’an didn’t press further, assuming the old man was unfamiliar or completely uninterested.
Because the young man with the mole between his eyebrows, when he announced his name under the archway earlier, had said only two characters, adding that the second character was obscure and hard to understand. So Chen Ping’an only knew the surname “Cui” from start to finish.
Later, Chen Ping’an recalled something Ning Yao had mentioned casually: there was a guy nicknamed “Embroidered Tiger” in the Great Li State who was extremely good at Go and was the only one who could make the top Go player of the Great Sui State consider him a real opponent.
Chen Ping’an had asked Li Baoping, Li Huai, and Lin Shouyi if they had ever heard of “Embroidered Tiger.” The three children, who had grown up in the town just like him, all shook their heads. Later, Chen Ping’an even asked the Yin Spirit about this, but although the Yin Spirit clearly knew the answer, it said it had rules to follow and could not speak. If it violated those agreements, a thunderclap would rise from the ground and scatter its soul. Chen Ping’an certainly didn’t want to force the issue, so he set the question aside.
Seeing the Yin Spirit’s attitude toward the young man named Cui—distant and calm throughout, at least not treating the white-robed youth as an enemy—Chen Ping’an felt a little reassured. He thought that whether it was Cui Dongshan or the Go-playing Embroidered Tiger, whatever they wanted from him, it was ultimately “a one-on-one fight between the two of us.” Even if he lost the “game,” he could always unleash his sword aura and destroy everything together. If one wisp wasn’t enough, he could use another. If both wisps were exhausted and still couldn’t kill the white-robed youth, then Chen Ping’an would just have to let fate decide.
But when Chen Ping’an saw that line on the map, the unease in his heart grew stronger and stronger. He was afraid that this line, starting from the government office, actually had a much more distant source—a conspiracy beyond his imagination. For example, why had Qi Jingchun suddenly died? Then Ma Fuzi, the tutor from the school, had died suddenly on the way to the Cliff Academy with Li Baoping and the others. And in the end, Chen Ping’an had become the richest man in the town, owning five mountain peaks!
That white-robed young man named Cui, before entering the well tonight, had mentioned in the room a seal inscribed with the words “The World Welcomes Spring.” And Chen Ping’an happened to have one given to him by Qi Jingchun: “Quiet Heart, Attain Intent.”
It must be related to Qi Jingchun.
It must be related to Li Baoping, Li Huai, and Lin Shouyi!
It might even lead to a situation where people die.
Chen Ping’an had already experienced the ruthlessness of cultivators in person in the town.
He simply could not imagine the regret he would feel if the adorable Li Baoping, the timid Li Huai, and the clever Lin Shouyi died before his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.
Chen Ping’an’s Go skills were slow and uninspired; he admitted he wasn’t even fit to carry Lin Shouyi’s shoes.
In the end, he hadn’t fully untangled the entire chain of events, but since he had already envisioned the worst outcome, he absolutely could not allow the fiercely skilled Go player, “Embroidered Tiger,” to methodically lay out his plan. At the moment of reaping, even with two wisps of sword aura, Chen Ping’an might not be able to change the outcome.
If the plot were merely about the possessions on Chen Ping’an’s person or the so-called illusory Great Dao of Lin Shouyi, Chen Ping’an wouldn’t have been so determined to strike first!
At this moment, after unleashing this wisp of sword aura, the energy mansion where the sword aura had resided was swept clean, empty. The body’s self-generated vital energy took advantage of the gap, rushing in wildly. This back-and-forth movement stirred the blood and energy of nearby acupoints, causing a violent turbulence that sent a stabbing pain through Chen Ping’an’s chest. The boy staggered and sat down on the edge of the well, gasping for breath.
Because of the ancient mirror’s obstruction, the sword aura’s rainbow light lingered inside the well for a long time.
Chen Ping’an stared fixedly at the bottom of the well, quickly trying to regulate his breathing. He attempted to force a breath—failed. He tried again, over and over.
His eyes were bloodshot, his ears ringing. His heart pounded like a drum. All the meridians in his body were like rivers and streams after a torrential rain, surging wildly. With only one thought in his mind, the boy staggered to his feet, telling himself: “Again. I have to do it again. I must make this last wisp of sword aura ready to strike in the energy mansion. Otherwise, if that person still has strength to counterattack, he will kill everyone! I promised Qi Jingchun—none of them can come to harm. I must keep my word…”
The straw-sandaled boy, his consciousness blurry, drove by an obsession, first stood up unsteadily, then stepped onto the well’s edge with one foot, followed by the other.
No matter how his upper body wobbled, Chen Ping’an’s two feet were rooted firmly on the well’s edge.
Unfortunately, no one witnessed this scene.
The boy pointed his two fingers together like a sword, trembling, toward the bottom of the well.
—
On the western side of Bottle Gourd Continent, at the shore of a great sea, a shabby old scholar was about to leave Bottle Gourd Continent and return to the distant Central World Continent. Feeling a certain situation, he sighed helplessly: “This kid, the younger the age, the more he courts death. If teaching is not strict, it’s the teacher’s fault. Ah, never mind. I shat, I wipe.”
“Let me see where he is. North of Huangting Kingdom, not yet to Great Sui. Eh? Very close to that river. Good, good. I happened to pass by that Thunderclap Cliff before, so I can save a lot of time.”
“Too much ability, too many skills—that’s not good either. It’s troublesome to make choices. Let me think… I’ll use the Taoist technique of reducing ground to an inch.”
The old scholar adjusted the bundle on his back, sighed, stretched out his toe, and scraped a pile of sand in front of him. He muttered something, then stamped the small sand pile flat with his foot.
At the same time, his figure vanished.
In the blink of an eye, on the great cliff at the site of the ancient Shu Kingdom, inscribed with “The Heavenly Emperor’s Admonition to the Flood Dragon,” an old scholar appeared stumbling, his front and back feet lightly landing on the mountaintop. After steadying himself, he looked into the distance, his expression full of self-satisfaction. He remarked, “Without this human body as a burden, I really am a bit stronger.”
The entire cliff began to rumble and shake. The waters of a great river, like a silk ribbon laid out on a table, were grabbed by someone and shaken violently. Every few dozen zhang along the river, waves several stories high surged up.
Not wanting to disturb the people on both banks, the old man quickly pressed down with his hand.
The river, which had been churning like an evil flood dragon, fell silent in an instant.
It was then that the old man noticed two scholar-like tourists—one old, one young—standing at the very edge of the cliff, staring at him with wide eyes. The old scholar could only smile awkwardly: “Beautiful moonlight, beautiful moonlight. I won’t disturb your sightseeing. Just pretend I was never here.”
The old scholar then glanced into the distance and nodded: “That’s the place. Fortunately, it’s not far.”
He was about to take a step, the sole of his shoe barely off the ground, but he stopped right there. The shabby old man suddenly grew serious: “Eh?”
Taking the cliff as the center, on a circular line about ten li away, strands and wisps of sword aura appeared out of thin air. Thousands of threads—countless sword auras gathered together, forming an astonishingly massive circular sword formation.
Anyone who touched even a hair of the sword aura would be reduced to dust.
That was the first impression of Cui Minghuang from the Lakeview Academy.
This was a minefield that absolutely could not be crossed.
That was the thought in the mind of the old man who had just returned to the mortal world from the starry river.
Then the two looked at each other, both smiling bitterly and filled with doubt.
They said mortals suffer when gods fight, but they themselves were genuine mountain immortals. So what was going on now?
The old scholar sighed, his head aching. He muttered, “What the hell is this?”
A woman’s mocking voice rang out, “What’s the matter? Only you are allowed to have helpers and backing, and my little Ping’an isn’t allowed to have any?”