Chapter 153: State of Mind
The old scholar tapped the tip of his foot, crossing eight hundred miles of mountains and rivers in a single step, landing gracefully at the spot where Chen Ping'an had delivered his sword strike earlier. He began to stroll, raising his arm and bending his fingers, tapping seemingly at random, as if knocking on a door. Yet there was no response. He withdrew his hand and said helplessly, "How improper. This behavior is no different from pitching a tent in someone else's home. Enough, I'll wait."
The old scholar began to wait patiently for the Sword Spirit to appear. The wait was long, but the old man stood still, pondering a difficult problem, showing no sign of impatience.
A faint ripple appeared in the air, and the tall woman emerged from the ethereal void, gripping Chen Ping'an's shoulder as she stepped out.
The old scholar came to his senses and blurted out, "I surrender. I won't fight anymore. It doesn’t matter whether the remaining two swords come out or not, right?"
The Sword Spirit gave a faint, sardonic smile, "And what about your two provocations? How shall we settle those?"
The old man laughed heartily, "Three strikes and you’re out, right?"
She looked toward Mount Sui, "Is that the new God of Mount Sui? How long has he held that divine position?"
The old scholar replied, "Exactly six thousand years. In the three thousand years prior, they came and went in a chaotic mess, losing all authority. Mount Sui, this Eastern Peak, changed masters three times. At its most chaotic, it was even regarded as a branch of the demonic cult, outright usurped. It was true anarchy. The current God of Mount Sui has been able to hold steady for six thousand years. Though there’s an element of luck, it’s more due to his terrifying personal combat power. His fists are hard enough, and he’s got nothing to lose, so who wouldn’t be wary?"
The Sword Spirit sneered, "Anarchy? Was it that the Three Teachings couldn’t divide the spoils fairly? Or was there a confrontation between righteousness and evil within the Haoran World? And what about that Saint of Rites? With his temper, how could he have stood idly by?"
The old scholar sighed, "It’s a long story. Let’s not dwell on it."
The tall woman clasped her hands behind her back, her contempt deepening, "Once the overall situation is settled, infighting is only natural. Ha, what a grand 'Struggle for the Great Dao,' a hundred schools of thought contending! Lively as it was, what was the result? Did the world truly become better?"
The old scholar glanced at the white-clad Sword Spirit, speaking bluntly with remarkable backbone, "Within the Confucian lineage, of course, it’s not crystal clear. Not all are benevolent gentlemen. But our Confucian sages have poured countless efforts into it, exhausting their hearts and minds. Hence, the foundation has always remained pure and the source clear. You cannot dismiss it all with a single word."
The Sword Spirit said with amusement, "Does this count as the third time?"
The old scholar, who had previously been so flippant, now showed no sign of backing down. He said calmly, "On this matter, if you think it’s wrong, I can argue principle with you for a hundred or a thousand years. You’re welcome to argue your own principles with your sword."
She scrutinized the thin, unremarkable old man. "Have you truly dispersed all the sage fortune, leaving only your soul, and taken to parasitizing this mortal world?"
The old scholar was silent for a moment. "Yes."
She suppressed the sudden surge of killing intent within her, her expression complex. "In all these years, only you two have done this. But I’m curious: do you admire that fellow’s choice? Or was it a last resort? The former seems very unlikely; it touches on your Great Dao. I suspect the old men within the Confucian tradition would never have let you succeed, even if it weren’t a pleasant assignment."
The old scholar replied calmly, "To see the virtuous and think of equaling them is only natural and right."
She pondered for a moment, then turned to look at Chen Ping'an, smiling, "Not only have your original intentions been fulfilled, but they’ve far exceeded expectations. Considering you made that choice, and most importantly, for my master’s sake, the remaining two swords can stay on credit? If one day I suddenly find you displeasing again, we’ll settle old and new scores together."
The old scholar, who had been tense all along, instantly lost his composure. He slapped his thigh and laughed, "On credit, on credit! That’s a good thing. In common households during New Year’s Eve, they like to leave a bit of food in the bowl, deliberately saving it for the next year. It’s a good omen, a good sign."
The old man looked every bit like someone who had just escaped a narrow brush with death.
The Sword Spirit paid it no attention, saying coldly, "Open up."
The old man flicked his sleeve and strode forward in big steps, proclaiming loudly, "With a laugh, I go out through the gate."
Chen Ping'an recalled something and asked in a low voice, "Was that sword strike of mine really that bad? That big mountain didn’t seem to move at all. Senior said earlier that one’s talent in sword arts is measured by how many characters one receives. Even though I didn’t want to accept them, they weren’t willing to come to me either. Does that mean my talent in swordsmanship is as ordinary as my boxing?"
The more he spoke, the more dejected he became. "Senior also said that if I were dead weight, even with a Tenth Realm cultivation base, that strike would only have had the effect of a Seventh or Eighth Realm."
Big words could be spoken easily, but the hard things under heaven were hard precisely because they required one step at a time.
Chen Ping'an, the mud-legged boy from Mud Vase Alley, understood this principle all too well.
The Sword Spirit reached out and pinched the boy’s cheek, smiling playfully, "You’ll understand later."
Chen Ping'an flushed red, wanting to speak but hesitating.
She was already in tune with the boy’s heart. Taking his hand, she led him slowly toward the door of the landscape painting and said softly, "Master, I know. In the future, when in front of a certain young lady, I definitely won’t act so boldly, so she won’t wrong you and think you’re a fickle roustabout."
The boy beamed a radiant smile, both relieved and happy to have become such close friends with her.
The tall woman suddenly turned around, a hint of grievance in her eyes, "But aren’t you afraid of making your Fairy Sister feel wronged?"
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment and said seriously, "I would say sorry to you. But there are some things that, in my opinion, should just stay that way."
She put on a sorrowful face, almost on the verge of tears.
Although Chen Ping'an felt a bit flustered, his gaze was resolute. He pressed his lips together tightly, unwilling to change his mind because of this.
The Sword Spirit suddenly laughed joyfully, giving the boy a thumbs-up, and praised, "Handsome!"
Chen Ping'an asked timidly, "You’re really not mad?"
She held the boy’s hand and stopped at the doorstep. Suddenly bending down, she hugged him tightly. Her face beamed with a warm, radiant smile, like someone who loved sleeping in, hiding in a warm blanket in the dead of winter, snoring away. That feeling of happiness was truly inexpressible. She didn’t care what Chen Ping’an felt and said cheerfully, "Ahh, my little Ping’an is just too adorable!"
The boy instantly felt as if struck by lightning, frozen stiff, his mind blank, thinking of nothing at all.
Fairy Sister.
‘Fairy’ was only the first impression; in truth, ‘sister’ was what Chen Ping’an felt in his heart.
She finally let go of Chen Ping’an and stood up straight. Turning around, she saw the strange old man who had vanished and reappeared in the landscape painting, facing away from them. He coughed and said, "Don’t look at improprieties. Rest assured, I saw nothing and heard nothing. I just forgot something and had to come back for it."
The tall woman was in such a good mood that she couldn’t be bothered with such things.
Ritual, morality, karma?
These things—so broad, so elevated, so distant—had never bound her.
On the Great Dao, there was once someone who carried nothing but a sword and walked straight ahead.
Whatever blocked the path, the sword opened the way.
Whatever injustice existed, the sword leveled it.
After a ten-thousand-year slumber, she had finally found another person.
Two people, worlds apart.
But she wasn’t disappointed.
If initially she believed in Qi Jingchun and bet on a slim chance, a ‘one in ten thousand’ possibility, then now, even if Qi Jingchun came back to life and said he was wrong, that she shouldn’t have chosen that boy—no matter how grand his reasoning—she wouldn’t listen.
She released his hand and signaled for Chen Ping’an to go first.
The boy stepped out of the door first.
The Sword Spirit looked at the boy’s still-frail shoulders and followed close behind.
All people have a state of mind. Qi cultivators call it the elixir chamber; common folk call it the heart’s door.
The heart lake was only one part of it.
Back then, standing on the boy’s heart lake, she looked around. All was white, pure and clean.
Then she saw a scene that was no longer so monotonous—the ‘true reflection of the heart mirror’ that even the boy himself didn’t know he had.
It was a lonely child, about four or five years old, sitting curled up, hugging his knees. All alone, with a pair of little straw sandals at his feet. He often just sat there in a daze.
Beside the child was a small grave mound with no headstone.
Near the small grave mound were two ‘little mounds of earth’ even smaller, arranged like peaks.
Whenever the child had rested enough, he would put on the little straw sandals and run far away to move a small mountain back beside the grave. It was very hard; each time he could only move it a short distance.
When he went to move the mountain, a small seal hung from his waist, and he wore a little bamboo hat.
The small seal would sway back and forth with the child’s steps.
Strangely, there was no reflection of Mud Vase Alley’s ancestral home in the heart mirror.
Probably, deep in the child’s heart, after his parents passed away, he no longer had a home. So he always stood guard over that small grave.
The child’s face was stubborn, habitually frowning, lips pressed tight.
But occasionally, this child would smile—truly happy moments. For instance, he would quietly talk to the little grave, his lips moving soundlessly, but the Sword Spirit, attuned to his heart, naturally understood the content of the silent words.
"Mother, I met a Fairy Sister. When she smiles, she looks so much like you."
Apart from moving the mountain ‘home,’ the child rarely left the area near the grave. Sometimes, he would walk a short distance south, as if holding a little girl’s hand. But after each step, he would still sneak a look back at the grave, reluctant to leave.
Only one thing would make the child sprint far, far away, always tilting his head up high, staring intently at the sky, as if chasing someone who was leaving him from above.
—-
Inside the landscape painting, the old scholar’s expression was solemn.
"The student may surpass the master. It’s not without possibility."
The old man nodded. "Excellent."
He was silent for a long time, then felt the whole world begin to tremble slightly. He said helplessly, "You have so much patience for that kid, can’t you spare a little for us? Oh, and now you can even laugh. If the ancient legends about the Sword Immortal are true, and those big shots you near-killed back in the day saw you like this now, they’d probably pop their eyeballs out!"
The old scholar looked up at the sky of this little world, as if his gaze pierced through countless layers of heavens. He suddenly said with self-mockery, "‘As Heaven’s movement is ever vigorous, so must a gentleman ceaselessly strive for self-improvement.’ Truly well said, it will never be wrong, even after ten thousand years. No wonder our Confucian forefathers had to go to you for teachings about principle. It seems that when it comes to the truth, we scholars not only started speaking a bit late, but we’re also far from having said everything or made it fully clear."