Chapter 189: Outside the Fierce Character Tower, Speaking of Swords and a Few Matters
(A ten-thousand-character chapter.)
Behind Ruan Xiu came an old, hoarse voice: "Kill them? Why dirty your hands over that?"
The women, who had been frightened by the sight of an angry Ruan Xiu for the first time, relaxed when they saw the old man appear. After all, he was a familiar face to everyone in the small town. Over the years, every household, rich or poor, had to deal with him—or rather, with the Yang family pharmacy he ran. After all, even if the King of Hell came to claim someone, he had to first ask the doctors at Yang’s pharmacy for permission. But they charged steeply, which made people dislike them.
Ruan Xiu turned to look at the old man but said nothing.
Old Man Yang took long, deep drags on his pipe and stared at the gossiping women. They weren’t exactly evil-hearted, but to call them kind would be a stretch. Back when Chen Ping’an was young and destitute, having lost both parents and barely surviving, many neighbors had indeed lent a hand. Chen Ping’an’s parents had been decent folk, and people’s hearts are made of flesh. For instance, Gu Can’s mother and a few now-deceased elders had often taken the boy to their homes for meals. The food wasn’t good, and when the weather turned cold, they’d give him old clothes, patched and mended. But at least it helped him hold on to life.
That’s the irony of the world: those who truly helped never expected anything in return. When they saw the boy making something of himself, they were simply happy and would remind their own children that good deeds are rewarded. "See? Heaven has eyes," they’d say. "That young couple’s son is now reaping all the blessings their parents earned." It gave them hope and something to look forward to, believing that their own families might also be so lucky one day.
As for those who had contributed little—and likely even mocked him—after the Mud Vase Alley boy made his fortune, they came roaring back, demanding everything like lions. Each one acted as if they were a bodhisattva who had saved him from suffering. Take the three women before them, for example. They often went to the shop on Dragon Riding Alley to take things for free, even bringing their whole families. Ruan Xiu endured it, not wanting Chen Ping’an to be the subject of gossip. Nor did she want the shop’s accounts to suffer, so she used her own savings to cover the losses. The sum wasn’t astronomical—about four or five hundred taels of silver per year. But in a poor place like Mud Vase Alley or Apricot Flower Alley, where people at the bottom of society hardly saw a few bits of silver all year, that was no small amount.
Old Man Yang turned to one of the women, who had not brought any children with her, and said, "Go tell your husband, the one working at the county office, to pass along a message to the people behind him: Heaven watches all. Stop this disgusting behavior. Be careful, or your sons might be born without anuses. If real disaster strikes, no one will be able to save you."
The woman looked guilty. "Old Man Yang, what are you talking about? I don’t understand."
"Then forget it." The old man blew out a hazy smoke ring. "Let me say something you’ll all understand: from now on, when you come to the shop for medicine, the prices will be doubled. If any of you come down with a serious, life-threatening illness, the doctors at Yang’s pharmacy won’t even step through your doors. Just prepare the coffins."
The women were stunned.
Old Man Yang glanced at a boy with delicate features and a sturdy build, standing timidly beside his mother. Shaking his head, he sighed, "What a pity. Your mother’s hundred taels of silver have cut off your path to longevity. You won’t be able to settle in the western mountains now. When you leave your homeland and wander, think back on what I just said today."
The old man strode away. "Miss Xiu Xiu, if they don’t leave now, you can go ahead and kill them. It would be reasonable, fair, and proper. No one could fault you. After you kill them, no need to collect their bodies. Just remember to toss them out of Mud Vase Alley. If you dirty your hands, you can wash them in Dragon Beard River."
Ruan Xiu had had a decent impression of Old Man Yang before, though not overly favorable. She always felt he was obscure, impossible to see through, which made her cautious. But now her fondness skyrocketed. She smiled and said, "Next time, I’ll come with Chen Ping’an to pay respects at your shop."
Old Man Yang grunted in acknowledgment, nodding without refusal. He walked through the alley, past old, dilapidated houses—many like the Cao family’s ancestral home, crumbling and ownerless. But houses like the Cao’s that had been revived from the dead were rare. Many families withered away, their lineage broken, their incense extinguished. A home would simply cease to exist.
Thinking of Li Er’s sharp-tongued wife, then looking back at this sensible girl, the old man felt a mix of emotions, both good and bad.
In this small town, probably only that muddle-headed, ignorant woman had the guts and the gall to spew filth at him. And the worst part was, he couldn’t out-argue her.
Once, after she had cursed him out from his own doorstep, he couldn’t take it anymore and told Li Er to control his wife’s foul mouth. Li Er had mulled it over for a long time before spouting some infuriating nonsense: "Master, if you’re really that angry, just beat me up. But don’t hit my face. If my wife sees the bruises, she’ll come back to curse you again."
If not for Li Er’s daughter, Old Man Yang would have flattened that woman into a meat patty with one slap.
The three women in the alley didn’t dare stay any longer. They left in disappointment, then started arguing among themselves outside the alley, cursing and shoving each other.
The boy Old Man Yang had singled out remained calm as his mother shouted abuse at the others. He turned to look back into the deep, narrow alley, feeling a strange emptiness in his heart. He couldn’t explain it—like something very important had been lost. Like when his mother forgot to salt the vegetables, or when a woodcutter left his axe behind on the mountain.
After the women slunk away, Ruan Xiu noticed that the two painted door gods on Chen Ping’an’s house had lost their spark of true spirit.
That was strange. Even ordinary paper door gods sold at the market, as long as the spirits they depicted hadn’t faded from the river of time—if their golden bodies still existed and their incense still burned—would carry a sliver of spiritual energy. But that energy would quickly be worn away by wind and rain, unable to block much evil or malevolent force. That was why people replaced their door gods every New Year—not just for festive cheer.
But in Ruan Xiu’s eyes, the civil and martial sages painted on these two door gods were the founders of the Yuan and Cao clans, two pillar surnames of the Great Li Dynasty. Their families were still thriving today, their incense burning bright. By all rights, the true spirit shouldn’t have vanished so soon after being pasted up. Frowning, Ruan Xiu stepped forward and gently brushed her palm over the crude colored paper. Golden light flowed across the surface, righteous and awe-inspiring, though invisible to mortal eyes.
Only then did the girl in green leave, satisfied. She didn’t even glance at the door gods on the house next door, Song Jixin’s place.
She strolled to the alley where Liu Xianyang lived and whistled. Soon, a mongrel dog happily ran out, circling around her. She laughed and tossed it a fiery red pill that gave off a fragrant aroma. The old dog quickly swallowed it and followed behind the girl with the ponytail, its steps light and silent, tail wagging gently.
"When one attains the Way, even their chickens and dogs ascend to heaven."
If people said, "Comparing people drives you crazy," then a cultivator seeing this scene would say, "Comparing even a dog drives you crazy."
She hadn’t been able to see the person she’d wanted to see, so Ruan Xiu had been a little downcast. But now she cheered up.
See? He had asked her to take care of things—whether those chicks in the cage or this dog—and she had done a good job.
The girl in green walked on the bluestone path, her ponytail tied with blue-black hair. The sky was high, the land far, and the scenery here was the finest.
After escorting Chen Ping’an back to Fallen Mountain, Wei Bo disappeared again. But instead of returning to Cloud Wrapped Mountain, he went straight to the peak of Fallen Mountain. In his line of sight stood a majestic mountain god’s temple, its square vast and paved with luxurious, peculiar stones that looked like jade and felt like fine iron. Inside, the golden idol had been sculpted, but it had not yet formally received the people’s incense and offerings.
Wei Bo strode forward, his wide sleeves flowing like water. A travel-worn assistant director from the Ministry of Works of Great Li, hearing of his arrival, hurried over to pay his respects. Wei Bo looked at the exhausted official, whose fingers were covered in chilblains, and walked alongside him, speaking kindly about the project’s progress. Inwardly, he couldn’t help but marvel. The Song family of Great Li had risen from a vassal state of the Lu Dynasty to dominate the north—not by relying on vague luck alone.
The assistant director didn’t enter the temple but remained outside the threshold. After Wei Bo crossed the threshold alone, the official quickly left, going back to personally oversee the construction, handling every matter, big or small, with his own hands.
In the Great Li bureaucracy, the Ministry of Rites officials were described as "having clean sleeves, carefree as immortals." The Ministry of War warriors were "eating big chunks of meat, killing with fast blades, and breaking through enemy lines to expand territory." The Ministry of Works officials were "eating dust, eating dirt, and drinking the northwest wind."
But for a powerful assistant director from a prominent clan to be so conscientious—that was a scene hard to imagine in other dynasties.
Wei Bo gently waved his sleeve to close the door. The mountain god’s shrine was filled with the refreshing fragrance of fine wood.
In the main hall, the golden head of the Fallen Mountain god was made of pure gold—a curious detail.
A man in a scholar’s robe manifested his golden body, drifting out from the statue. His neck bore a face with a faint golden hue, but not as glaringly obvious as the statue.
The mountain god was Song Yuzhang.
He had been the former superintendent of the Longquan kiln office, living in the small town for over twenty years. The boy from Mud Vase Alley, Song Jixin, had once been mistaken for his illegitimate son. The covered bridge with the plaque "Wind Rises, Water Flourishes" was built under Song Yuzhang’s supervision. Finally, he had left this place to return to the capital for a new post, only to return to Longquan town and have his neck twisted off by an agent of the Great Li empress, who kept his head in a box. Killing to silence, discarding the donkey after it had turned the mill—no different.
Song Yuzhang knew too many of the Great Li Song family’s ugly secrets. He had known from the start that he was doomed. Even when he was traveling back to the capital, this Great Li official, who deserved the title "unyielding," had prepared himself to die on the road. Loyal to the end, embracing death—nothing more.
So when Wang Yifu, the former Lu Dynasty general sent by the Great Li empress to silence him, had said those epitaph-like words, they came from the heart: "So even a scholar can have a head worth taking."
As the mountain god of Fallen Mountain, Song Yuzhang bowed to the future Northern Peak True Lord before him. "Lesser god pays respects to greater god."
Wei Bo laughed in surprise, stepped aside, and waved his hand. "Mr. Song, no need for this."
Song Yuzhang shifted his bow accordingly. "Rules are rules; no exceptions."
Wei Bo had no choice but to fully accept the bow. Helpless, he said, "You scholars—so foolish, in life and in death alike."
Song Yuzhang straightened up and smiled freely.
Wei Bo asked with a grin, "Did the people from the Ministry of Rites and the Imperial Observatory tell you the rules for being a mountain god?"
Song Yuzhang laughed at himself. "They didn’t dare say much. After the investiture ceremony, they left the mountain early. They treated me not as a mountain god but as a god of plague. I’ll have to trouble the Northern Peak True Lord to enlighten me."
Wei Bo nodded and motioned for Song Yuzhang to stand beside him. With a vigorous sweep of his sleeve, mist and water vapor rose from the ground, filling the hall.
Soon, a full map of Fallen Mountain’s jurisdiction appeared on the ground. Mountains and waters were inseparable. Although a mountain god’s rule was basically limited to the mountain itself, the streams that originated from the mountain or the rivers that passed by its foot fell under his varying degrees of jurisdiction. In the world, river gods—especially lower-ranking river elders and river matriarchs—were often less popular than great mountain gods. The former often had to actively court the latter for alliances, and this was the root cause.
Wei Bo pointed to the temple at the peak of Fallen Mountain on the ground map. "Let me be blunt first: being a mountain or water spirit isn’t all that interesting. You just lie on your laurels and enjoy the incense. No need to cultivate power or mind. Just accumulate a little merit. Help the court maintain the local mountain and water qi. Compare the last ten years—has the jurisdiction had more or fewer natural and man-made disasters? Has the population gone up or down? Have any provincial graduates or metropolitan graduates emerged? Have any cultivators settled here? If an auspicious omen appears, that’s even better. That’s the merit of a spirit, the political achievement of an official."
Song Yuzhang had been an official. When Wei Bo spoke of spirit affairs in official terms, Song Yuzhang quickly understood.
Wei Bo laughed. "In short, all merit and fault are clearly recorded in the court’s ledgers—easy to see. Don’t think that as a mountain god, you only have to deal with me. In fact, the one you really have to report to is the Great Li court. Longquan Prefecture has a total of three mountain god temples. I occupy the Mountain Hall on Cloud Wrapped Mountain. You’re on Fallen Mountain. And there’s one in the northern area. In other places, this is rare—too many monks and too little porridge. You’ll have headaches ahead, fighting over believers and incense. Of course, you won’t be fighting with me…"
Song Yuzhang joked, "How would I dare? That would be insubordination. When I was alive, I could still tell myself not to be afraid—worst case, I’d resign. The biggest worst case was death. Now, it’s not so easy. I can’t even die if I want to."
At that, he bowed again in apology, his tone cheerful. "The mountain god has visited Fallen Mountain many times. I was too ashamed to show my face. I should have gone to Cloud Wrapped Mountain to pay my respects."
Having been a low-level official rooted in this town for so many years, and one who liked to do things himself, always staying around the thirty-plus dragon kilns, Song Yuzhang had long since worn away his official airs. He could crack jokes, and even knew a few dirty jokes.
Wei Bo shrugged helplessly. "Well, Mr. Song, you’ve seamlessly integrated from one officialdom into another. Quite perceptive."
Song Yuzhang smiled and asked, "The one in the north?"
Two tigers cannot share one mountain. Even the Buddha fights for an incense stick, let alone mountain and water spirits who live on incense. The twists and turns, the scheming—no less than in the secular official world.
Wei Bo thought for a moment and said quietly, "Not an easy opponent. In life, he was a military general of Great Li with outstanding achievements. Terrible temper. But I hear he’s on good terms with the two figures in the Martial Saint Temple at the Literary Pavilion."
Song Yuzhang joked, "That’s no way to be an official. Worshipping side doors instead of the true god. Going to the wrong temple, burning incense to the wrong deity—you’ll get burned."
Wei Bo laughed heartily and gave a thumbs-up. "That really vents my frustration!"
Wei Bo raised his fingers gently, and the mountain in the mist and water rose higher and higher, until a very detailed scene was revealed.
On a stream, a rope was stretched between two trees. A small bottle, its stopper removed, hung on the rope.
On the bank under a tree, a little girl in a pink dress would occasionally hop lightly, shaking the rope. The bottle on the river swayed along.
Wei Bo explained, "This is a decent Lingering Sound Bottle. It can collect many beautiful sounds from the world. This particular bottle needs someone to shake the rope gently to help it absorb the sound of water more effectively. Otherwise, it would take much longer to fill."
Song Yuzhang asked, "Is it Lord of the Mountain Chen Ping’an’s bottle?"
Wei Bo nodded. "Yes. What’s your impression of Chen Ping’an?"
Song Yuzhang answered without hesitation, "Because of Song Jixin… because of the prince, I know all about Chen Ping’an’s growth. So I have a very good impression. I think it’s good that I became the mountain god of Fallen Mountain."
Wei Bo suddenly turned and stared at the subordinate mountain god, addressing him as "Director Song" for the first time. Smiling, he said, "Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about one scenario: that Great Li needs you to keep an eye on Chen Ping’an, and maybe one day they’ll ask you to do something that goes against your conscience."
Song Yuzhang laughed freely. "Of course I’ve guessed as much. My Great Li put so much effort into this. To build that covered bridge, how many Great Li royal clan members died? I’m sure you know. So now that Chen Ping’an’s luck has turned and he’s riding high, how could my Great Li not be on guard against the unexpected?"
My Great Li! He was proud of it in life, and still unchanged after death. Perhaps that was called "incorrigible."
Wei Bo was silent for a long time. He gathered the mist back into his sleeves, like tired birds returning to the forest—so vividly that Song Yuzhang could feel their cheerful energy.
Wei Bo smiled. "Alright, I understand."
With that, Wei Bo’s form vanished.
Song Yuzhang was left alone in the mountain god temple. He sighed. Had he really been unsuited for officialdom? Everywhere, obstacles—life and death alike.
Wei Bo, that white-robed immortal, had taken Chen Ping’an on a tour of the surrounding mountains. What was his implication? Who didn’t know?
Song Yuzhang certainly knew. The idol in the northern mountain god temple knew it too. All the immortal forces that had bought up the mountain peaks—they were all veterans of the game, and they understood perfectly.
Wei Bo had deliberately taken the boy on a walk through every major peak. It was a blunt declaration of one fact: Chen Ping’an is under my protection. You out-of-towners, no matter your background, if you want to eat a bowl of rice in my territory, you’d better weigh the weight of a new Northern Peak True Lord. Because Wei Bo was no ordinary mountain god. He would very likely become the greatest Northern Peak True Lord in the northern half of Vase Continent, from Lake Viewing Academy northward—in terms of power, territory, and influence. The one and only!
On the third day of the new year, some people were already out traveling the mountains and rivers.
In the western mountains of the small town, a young man in a scholar’s robe, accompanied by a boy who looked like a book servant, each holding a bamboo staff, waded through streams and crossed ridges toward Fallen Mountain.
The scholar carried a box of books on his back.
The book servant boy had a flawless, stunning face, rivaling any beauty.
The man he followed was a local of the small town, now working as an assistant teacher at the Chen family’s school in Dragon Tail Prefecture. He was little known, far from the great Confucian scholars who were famous everywhere, so he couldn’t yet claim the title of master or teacher. But the schoolchildren liked him best. They loved listening to his vivid tales of strange people and strange events—like the charming stories of fox spirits falling in love with scholars. The boy was no exception. He had pestered the man relentlessly until the man agreed to be his teacher.
The boy was naturally curious about everything. He lived alone in the town’s Yuan family ancestral home. Now he asked, "Master, a Daoist sage said, ‘Our life is limited, but knowledge is limitless. To pursue the limitless with the limited—that is perilous.’ What should we do about that?"
The scholar in the robe was lost in thought and didn’t answer right away.
The boy, already used to his master’s wandering mind, continued on his own, "Another sage said, ‘Man lives between heaven and earth like a white colt passing through a crack—suddenly, and then it’s gone.’ That seems to prove the first point. What should we do?"
The man finally came back to himself and smiled. "That’s why we need to cultivate. Every time you cross a threshold, you gain ten or a hundred more years of life. You can read more books."
The boy still felt unsatisfied. "But our Confucian school also advocates cultivation—mainly for entering the world and making it better. We never just pursue personal transcendence and enlightenment like the Daoists. So what should we do?"
"If you are not refined and sincere, you cannot move others."
The man spoke those eight words, then stood still, gazing at the surrounding scenery—green mountains and clear waters. He added another eight: "Keep your feet on the ground, let things take their natural course."
When the boy heard "let things take their natural course," he naturally thought of Daoism, which flourished in East Vase Continent. He sighed. "I read in a book that during chaotic times, Daoists go down the mountain to save the world, while Buddhists close their doors and knock on wooden fish. During peaceful times, Daoists go up the mountain to cultivate in stillness, while Buddhists open their doors and collect money. Master, it sounds like Daoists are really better. The Buddhist monks aren’t so great. No wonder they don’t do well on our continent. The Buddha’s teachings don’t flourish here."
The man shook his head and laughed. "Those are just bitter, extreme words from certain scholars. They’re not entirely without truth, but when you leave out too much, you miss the mark. Better not to speak at all. The three teachings were able to establish themselves—each has its own strengths. And their doctrines are very complex, with many branches and veins. If you want to understand the essence of the three teachings, you must trace them to their roots before you can evaluate them. If you just skim the surface and speak carelessly, judging all by one or two bad Daoists or bad monks, that’s not good."
The scholar looked toward the peak of a distant mountain. "When the three teachings debate, there will be three people, each expounding the foundation of their teaching. The profundity and subtlety of their principles are beyond ordinary imagination, so it is the most dangerous kind of debate."
The boy was puzzled. "Master, three people each talking—how is that dangerous?"
The man lowered his gaze from the heights, looking straight ahead into the distance. Smiling, he said, "In a debate, you not only need to know the strengths and weaknesses of your own teaching but also understand the others’ strengths and weaknesses to convince them. That means that in studying another school’s doctrines, someone may suddenly see the light, or be struck with a sudden realization. Before the debate even starts, they might have already changed their allegiance and taken another path."
The delicate-featured boy only half understood, still confused.
The man laughed. "Don’t think about it too much now. Just keep moving forward."
The boy nodded vigorously.
His name was Cui Ci. He had chosen it himself. He lived in the Yuan family ancestral home, but he wasn’t a Yuan.
The scholar in the robe walking ahead was Li Xisheng. Besides the bamboo staff he carried for easy travel in the mountains, he also hung at his waist a peach-wood talisman made of two pieces joined together—simple and elegant.
It suited him perfectly.
Cui Ci couldn’t help but ask another question. "Master, why are we going into the mountains?"
Li Xisheng replied, "Because I think there is something that some people have done very wrongly. Since it’s wrong, we can’t keep making mistakes. I need to do what I can."
Cui Ci grinned brightly. "Master is always right!"
Li Xisheng shook his head. "The precious truths that have been passed down through the ages in books—no matter which teaching or school—must not remain empty words."
The boy hesitated.
Li Xisheng teased, "You can ask one more question today."
The boy hopped with joy. "I read in another literary notebook that there are nine great fortress towers under heaven. Why does the last one have a different number of characters in its name?"
Li Xisheng thought for a moment. "You mean the fortress tower called ‘Suppress Bai Ze’? Because Bai Ze is the name of a… creature. If it were called ‘Suppress Bai Tower’ or ‘Suppress Ze Tower,’ that wouldn’t be appropriate."
The boy was flustered, wanting to ask another question but not daring.
Li Xisheng couldn’t help but laugh. "Go ahead and ask. The weather is good today, the mountains and waters are beautiful—you can ask a few more."
The boy was overjoyed, hopping around his master. "That creature Suppress Bai Ze that the fortress tower suppresses—does it have anything to do with the Bai Ze Diagram that almost every cultivator has?"
Li Xisheng nodded. "It does. It’s the same name."
The boy clicked his tongue. "Master, there must be a lot of knowledge in that, right?"
Li Xisheng discreetly looked up toward a certain direction and offered an apologetic smile. Then he said to the boy, "The Confucian sages teach us to respect the names of our elders—not just the sages in the Temple of Culture, but all sages of the three teachings and hundred schools. So when you travel alone through mountains and rivers in the future, don’t casually call out his name."
The boy was puzzled. "Bai Ze?"
Li Xisheng laughed and tapped his head. "What do you think?!"
The boy laughed heartily, unconcerned.
The two continued to travel over mountains and through water, heading toward Fallen Mountain.
On the western coast of East Vase Continent, a man in a sable fur coat stood on a cliff. His mind stirred, and he turned his head to the east, frowning.
Beside him stood a woman in palace attire, her face hidden behind a veil—the fox spirit who had fallen off the cliff during the snowy night on the plank road.
She asked cautiously, "Has some sage on Vase Continent insulted you, Master? Shall this servant go and teach them a lesson?"
The man withdrew his gaze and said calmly, "Just a sixth-realm cultivator from Great Li. A good ‘Before the world is in chaos, the vase changes first.’"
The woman was dumbfounded. She wisely shut her mouth and silently told herself to speak less.
Wei Bo found Chen Ping’an at the bamboo building. Chen Ping’an was practicing the Sword Furnace Standing Post in the open space under the setting sun.
The little boy in green and the little girl in pink were sitting on bamboo chairs, even more lordly than their master, munching on snacks.
Wei Bo came to stand beside Chen Ping’an without speaking. Only after Chen Ping’an finished the sword furnace stance did Wei Bo turn and ask the pink-dressed girl to bring over two bamboo chairs, saying he wanted to talk serious business with her master.
Before the pink-dressed girl could move, the boy in green had already trotted over with a chair in each hand, setting them down with a fawning manner. He even bent over, stuck out his backside, and vigorously wiped the seats with his sleeve.
He went back to stand with the pink-dressed girl. Meeting her look of disgust, the boy in green said with righteous indignation, "What do you know? This is called ‘A real man knows when to bow and when to stand tall!’"
Wei Bo and Chen Ping’an sat side by side on the small bamboo chairs. Wei Bo spoke first: "Don’t blame me for watching what happened in the bamboo building back then. That contest of will between you and that sword embryo was far more dangerous than you imagine. At the very least, you could have suffered qi deviation; at worst, you could have died on the spot."
Chen Ping’an nodded, letting go of that small knot of doubt.
Wei Bo continued slowly, "There are two things for a sword cultivator: practicing the sword and forging the sword. Practicing means perfecting sword techniques and sword methods. Forging means refining your own sword and your natal flying sword—a process of tempering."
After this concise opening statement, Wei Bo paused, showing how serious he was about the topic. "Because I can’t discern the depth of your sword embryo’s quality, I won’t make hasty judgments. But I can talk about some universal truths. For instance, sharpening a physical flying sword or forging and nurturing a natal flying sword requires an incalculable amount of heavenly treasures and earthly riches. That’s why I took you to visit the various mountain peaks—to make you understand one thing: cultivation on the mountain devours mountains of gold and silver. The rich people down below may be so wealthy that they can’t spend it all in several lifetimes, but on the mountain, no one has money that can never be exhausted. Maybe… the founders of the three teachings could be exceptions?"
The pink-dressed girl sat up straight, ears pricked.
It had nothing to do with her—a fire python—but it had everything to do with her master. How could she not listen carefully? If her master missed something, she could help fill in later.
The boy in green was bored to tears, rolling his eyes.
Chen Ping’an listened very seriously. If Wei Bo hadn’t brought this up today, he would have gone down the mountain to ask Ruan Xiu about it soon.
Wei Bo clasped his hands in his sleeves—a posture somewhat similar to the young Cui Chan—and said unhurriedly, "Whether one has the talent to become a sword cultivator is the first threshold for a qi refiner. Whether one has the money to cultivate a flying sword after becoming a sword cultivator is the second threshold, and it’s no low one. The toughness of a sword depends on the density of its body, so it requires the swordsmith’s thousandfold hammering. The sharpness requires constant honing. That’s why the Dragon Slaying Platform cliff is so valuable. Even a sage like Ruan Qiong didn’t dare monopolize it alone; he had to ally with the Snow Wind Temple and the True Martial Mountain to prevent others from coveting it."
Chen Ping’an sighed inwardly. So even a sage had his helpless moments.
Wei Bo casually pointed behind him, toward a distant peak where a huge piece of Dragon Slaying Platform lay. "For any divine weapon, the requirements for a whetstone are extremely high. That’s why Dragon Slaying Platform is priceless—no market price, a rare commodity that people hoard. As long as you keep it in hand, you’ll profit. No one sells it unless they’re desperate for money to save their life. If a Bundle Purveyor released news that they were selling a palm-sized piece of Dragon Slaying Platform, I reckon the entire Ox Horn Mountain would be packed with people."
At this, Wei Bo pointed a finger at the boy. "Chen Ping’an, do you know why those snake gall stones you casually gave away like cabbages are so valuable? It’s because all medicines in this world have some toxicity. No matter how miraculous a common pill is, no matter how high its quality, it will affect your qi mansions to some extent. It’s extremely hard to eliminate. At first, you can suppress it and store it in some remote qi mansions. But as your cultivation rises, that bit of residual impurity becomes more and more obvious. Under the divine ability of inner vision, that tiny flaw will appear larger and larger. It can obstruct your path. A tenth-realm qi refiner may be called a sage by the world, but why do they all hide like turtles? Because they like being old turtles? No. It’s because they are painstakingly removing those impurities bit by bit."
The boy in green got scared. He sat up straight and didn’t dare slouch or look around.
The pink-dressed girl felt guilty. She had always thought that the third superior snake gall stone was only being kept by her master for safekeeping. She wouldn’t eat it.
Wei Bo said solemnly, "Next, I’m going to tell you some secrets. Even I had to pay a considerable price to learn them. Chen Ping’an, I hope you won’t speak of them casually."
Chen Ping’an nodded. "Don’t worry. Besides Miss Ruan and Brother Li, I don’t have many people to chat with in town anymore."
Wei Bo then continued, "Inverted Mountain. Have you heard of it?"
Chen Ping’an’s face changed. He said nothing, neither nodding nor shaking his head.
Wei Bo assumed it was that straw-hatted man who had mentioned it. That wasn’t strange. "Inverted Mountain was created by one of the three disciples of the Dao Ancestor—a masterpiece of heaven. It can be said to be the largest mountain-shaped seal in the world, reinforced by vast Daoist magic, indestructible. It is the boundary between the Vast World and the Desolate World, the first great fortress pass… and possibly the last."
Chen Ping’an asked, "Why the last?"
Wei Bo laughed bitterly. "Once the flood bursts the levee, how can you stop it later?"
Wei Bo leaned back, his back against the chair. With a sigh, he said, "So it’s not just the Northern Ulū Continent, famous for producing sword cultivators. Even those immortals who flew over Vase Continent last time, who lowered their flying swords over your town and showed themselves briefly—all the other sword cultivators in the world have been summoned to Inverted Mountain this time. They have to cross Inverted Mountain and go to a place called the Sword Qi Great Wall to defend against the invasion of demons from the other world."
"Whenever the demons cause chaos and start a war, they are summoned to Inverted Mountain, cross the mountain into the city, and stand on that great wall. Between life and death, they sharpen their sword path."
"The Sword Qi Great Wall gathers the most famous sword immortals under heaven, the largest number of sword immortals, doing the most dangerous feats under heaven. But do you know what they lack most over there?"
Wei Bo turned to look at Chen Ping’an.
Chen Ping’an could only shake his head.
Wei Bo gave the answer: "Swords!"
"Because the battles there are too frequent and too brutal. Many divine weapons brought by sword cultivators from the outside world—famous swords that could rank among the top magical instruments of a continent—have their blades broken and their sword intent shattered. Their owners fall, dying in countless numbers. So for sword cultivators born there, owning a good sword is extremely hard."
"Plus, among the demons, there are also a considerable number of sword cultivators who like to collect and hoard the remains of famous swords. Over time, the sword cultivators defending the Sword Qi Great Wall need a huge number of swords. They even have to continuously buy and beg for swords through Inverted Mountain from the outside world. The merchants gathered outside Inverted Mountain jack up prices and wait for the best offer. Countless people have become rich that way."
Chen Ping’an seemed to want to speak but held back.
Wei Bo seemed to read Chen Ping’an’s mind and sneered, "Do you think everyone is like you? A soft-hearted fool, giving away treasures as gifts? And after giving them away, you worry about whether they’re too heavy for the recipient, whether you should help carry them?"
The boy in green looked embarrassed and pinched his nose. He wondered if he should have a change of heart and treat Chen Ping’an better in the future.
Chen Ping’an was silent.
"Chen Ping’an, don’t take those nonsense words of mine to heart. To be honest, I really admire you."
Wei Bo seemed apologetic. He exhaled deeply, as if he had been holding things in for too long and needed to let them out. Then his eyes turned sharp. "Among the great demons in that world, as far as I know now, there are three long-famous peerless sword immortals. Their combat power and killing ability are unimaginable. After so many years, I don’t know if their numbers have increased or decreased."
Wei Bo slapped his head. "I almost forgot to mention: why do the demons tirelessly attack the Sword Qi Great Wall? Simple. Their living environment is too harsh. The spiritual energy is thin, which is bad for cultivation. Their physical bodies are strong, and they excel in slaughter. That world is like a giant breeding ground for poison. The strong occupy most of the mountain territories, cultivation resources, and many descendants. And our Vast World is a big piece of fat meat—not right at their mouth, but they can see it. Their own bowls have scraps, while others’ bowls have big fish and big meat. How can they not be drooling?"
Wei Bo’s expression gradually calmed. "Actually, if you talk about right and wrong: one side fights for its own survival and expansion, and to make life better for its descendants. The other side fights to defend its home, vowing to protect the border. If you put a third-party observer in the middle, there might not be such a strong distinction between good and evil. I only learned these inside stories after I entered Cloud Wrapped Mountain and agreed to become the mountain god, forming a major alliance with the Great Li Song family. For the things I say next, you can just treat them as heavenly books or stories. Don’t worry too much."
"It is said that there was a horrifying great battle before. Over a dozen great demons came together under the Sword Qi Great Wall and negotiated with the peak human cultivators. They hoped to exchange a piece of land the size of East Vase Continent near Inverted Mountain as a condition for a truce. Of course, we refused. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile—even a child knows that."
"After that great battle, there was a betting match: thirteen against thirteen. In fact, it was not long ago, just a few years. The demons and the Sword Qi Great Wall each sent thirteen people. Seven wins, six losses. If the demons won, they would take the Sword Qi Great Wall without sending a single soldier. If we won, we would get all the sword weapons in the demon world!"
Here, Wei Bo couldn’t help but stand up. "Fight! Why wouldn’t we dare fight those thirteen matches!"
"Do you understand?!"
Wei Bo jabbed his finger southward with great spirit. "Just the order of combatants between the two sides—our Vast World racked our brains over it. The Lu family of the Central Earth, who claim half the territory of the School of Yin and Yang, had one of their ancestors pay a huge price to roughly deduce the order of the demon experts!"
"In this unprecedented peak battle, both sides excluded their top three strongest experts to avoid reckless fighting that would break the boundary between the two worlds and destabilize them—that would do more harm than good. In that case, the fair contest would have no meaning."
"But on the Sword Qi Great Wall side, in the first seven matches—except for the first one—they had won six. Under the overwhelmingly favorable situation, the eighth match was lost. And that female sword immortal became the first person to be beheaded on the battlefield by a demon. After that, defeat came like an avalanche. They lost straight through to the twelfth match. And in that match, the Sword Qi Great Wall side thought they would surely win. Because that great sword immortal was universally acknowledged to have outstanding combat power, had fought a hundred battles, and had never lost!"
"But he still lost, becoming the second sword cultivator to die in battle."
"After that, our Vast World was almost in despair, because everyone thought it was a sure defeat. Not because the last sword cultivator sent by the Sword Qi Great Wall wasn’t strong enough—on the contrary, he was so strong that people thought he was invincible—but the demons’ last fighter was the warrior ranked in the top three in killing power in that world over the past ten thousand years. It had just come out of a life-and-death retreat, sealing itself away for a thousand years, so it wasn’t in the excluded top three. That way, the Lu family Yin-Yang high master, who had risked his life and calculated everything, couldn’t have predicted that. Obviously, the demons paid a considerable price to obscure this heavenly secret."
"That great demon was a sword cultivator! A thirteenth-realm peak sword cultivator!"
"In history, during countless demon attacks on the wall, it was always the first to charge onto the battlements and the last to retreat."
The boy in green and the girl in pink behind them turned pale.
Even Chen Ping’an, whose will was far stronger than most, clenched his fists tightly and pressed them on his knees, sweating without even realizing it.
Wei Bo burst into loud laughter without warning. He strode forward, his sleeves billowing violently. One hand pointed southward, and he turned his head, raising the other fist. "But we won."
"The man who killed that great demon sword cultivator—everyone called him A Liang! No one knew where he came from or where he was going. They only knew that on the Sword Qi Great Wall, he had killed the most demons!"
Wei Bo, brimming with elation, shook his arm vigorously and shouted to heaven and earth, "His name is A Liang!"
Chen Ping’an slowly turned his head to look at the small bamboo building that a certain someone had personally named "Fierce Character Tower."
The stubborn boy’s tears flowed down instantly.
He remembered their first meeting.
A middle-aged man in a conical hat, leading a donkey with a knife at his waist, smiling as he introduced himself to the boy.
My name is A Liang. The "Liang" that means "kindness" in "kind-hearted."
I am a swordsman.