Chapter 190: I Am a Sword Cultivator
Wei Bo touched upon a few topics and then stopped, unwilling to divulge more. Just as paintings leave blank spaces, so too should conversation leave things unsaid.
A figure in white robes, riding the wind, drifted gracefully through the sea of clouds and mountain breezes.
After leaving Luopo Mountain, Wei Bo slowed his pace, casually gathering clumps of cloud mist, kneading them like snowballs, gradually increasing their weight. Finally, he pressed them together firmly in both hands, and in his palm appeared a small white orb the size of a pebble. He found one of the sources of Longxu River in the town and gently tossed the orb into a mountain stream. It sank into the water, and soon a green carp swallowed it, then swam downstream, out of the mountains, past Qingniu Back, the stone arch bridge, the blacksmith shop, and finally, at the waterfall where Longxu River and Tiefu River meet, it plunged down with the rushing current.
The river flowed endlessly, time passed. On the banks of the Tiefu River, where no one was around, the water god of Tiefu River, named Yang Hua, sat on an old willow tree whose trunk stretched horizontally over the water. Her eyes were closed, her face hidden by armor. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and reached out, snatching the lively green carp from the water. Using her finger as a blade, she cut open the carp's belly and discovered the white orb, rich with spiritual energy. She gently rubbed her thumb across it, first sealing the carp's belly back up, then letting it slip from her palm back into the river. Once in the water, the carp was unusually joyful, its scales seeming to gain a bit of divine luster.
Yang Hua lowered her head, staring at the white orb in her palm. It contained traces of cloud root essence, extremely precious. For any river or mountain god, this was a great tonic. In the eyes of mountain and water spirits, such treasures—water essence, cloud roots, and the like—were condensed from the ethereal energy of mountains and rivers, refined of all impurities. This was like the Dragon-Slaying Platform to divine weapons, or snake gallstones to the degenerate offspring of dragon-kind—of extraordinary significance.
Yang Hua looked up. Among the misty clouds, faintly visible, stood a man in white at the peak of a mountain range, a single golden ring hanging from one ear.
She had been here before, witnessing this man ride alongside Xu Ruo, the Mohist hero and one of the Great Li's gatekeepers, on that ordinary black serpent, traveling upstream along the river into the mountains. But Yang Hua had not expected that this Wei Bo would suddenly become the rightful Northern Mountain God of Great Li, his rank far above hers.
Yang Hua didn't understand why Wei Bo was showing her goodwill. Was he trying to win people over because his position was unstable?
She sneered coldly, clenched her fist, and without hesitation crushed the white orb. All the spiritual energy flowed into her body, her hair flying, the river at her feet surging as if rejoicing at its master's increased cultivation.
Wei Bo withdrew his gaze from the distant Tiefu River and returned to his lair, Piyun Mountain.
As he rode the wind past various peaks, cultivators below occasionally called out greetings. In the past, Wei Bo would have smiled and responded, but today he was not in the mood.
He arrived at an unfinished iron chain suspension bridge spanning between two mountain peaks. The bridge was wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side. Even if the mountain gorge winds were fierce, the bridge would only sway slightly. The Mohist cultivators and mechanism masters responsible for building the bridge had strict requirements—no cutting corners. The black sandalwood planks laid across the bridge were extremely tough. A fifth-tier sword cultivator's full-force strike could at most puncture a single hole. The iron chains were forged from premium refined iron.
After all, in the mortal world, a century-old shop was a golden sign. But in the mountains, where immortality stretched long, only establishments over five hundred years dared to call themselves time-honored.
As the white-clad mountain god walked across the pitch-black bridge, the contrast was stark, evoking a feeling of awe and grandeur.
Wei Bo stopped, one hand on the railing, and looked up.
He knew that at least half the reason he had been able to become the Northern Mountain God of Great Li was because of that man in the bamboo hat with the bamboo knife.
Because Great Li had discovered that only after Wei Bo met that man did he inexplicably break through his restrictions, returning from being a miserable local earth god to the mountain god of Qidun Mountain.
It was thanks to that bamboo knife strike. Wei Bo himself only understood this long after the fact. Over time, he gradually realized how extraordinary his current golden body was.
A small bowl cannot hold a vat of water. Of course not. Even though he had once been the Northern Mountain God of the Water-Spirit Kingdom, a high-ranking deity capable of containing substantial incense offerings, he had later been imprisoned by the Grandmaster of Go with supreme divine powers. But to accept all the incense and spiritual energy of the Great Li Northern Mountain region, when Wei Bo first left Qidun Mountain, he himself thought it impossible—too overambitious. Not quite an ant shaking a tree, but definitely a child swinging a hammer to forge iron, bound to damage his sinews and undermine his foundation.
But now, Wei Bo commanded and governed over thirty mountain peaks with effortless ease.
That was why Wei Bo was willing to extend maximum goodwill to Chen Ping'an, willing to walk the mountains and rivers with him, much like stamping the Great Li Northern Mountain seal on the young man.
First, because Chen Ping'an wasn't annoying; second, to repay A Liang's kindness; third, because A Liang might return to the mortal world.
The third reason was the most important.
Wei Bo was terrified that if A Liang ever truly returned to this world and felt that Wei Bo hadn't acted properly, then that bamboo knife strike at Piyun Mountain might just revert him to his original form. When he was at Qidun Mountain, Wei Bo might not have cared so much, but now he couldn't afford not to.
Because of that young girl cultivating at the Great Li Changchun Palace.
Wei Bo turned his head northward, gazing into the distant northern lands of Great Li. He squinted and murmured softly, "You must live well. In this life, don't fall in love with scholars anymore. Scholars are the ones who betray the most devoted hearts."
---
Outside the bamboo building on Luopo Mountain, after hearing a story from a distant world, the green-clad child wanted to eat an ordinary snake gallstone to calm his nerves.
As he chewed on the gallstone, he recalled Chen Ping'an's mournful expression when he turned to look at the bamboo building earlier. The boy couldn't help but click his tongue. "Who would have thought our master could shed tears? Truly a man of deep emotion. Just listening to an irrelevant story moved him so much. I believe that when our master roams the martial world in the future, it will be quite spectacular. Seeing injustice on the road, he'll roar; saving a young lady, she'll pledge herself to him. Our master will transform into a dashing white fish in the waves..." The green-clad child imagined Chen Ping'an's martial world adventures as extremely romantic and thrilling. The more he thought, the happier he became. He imagined stubborn and dull Chen Ping'an one day being embraced by a female martial artist—what a hilarious scene.
The pink-skirted girl was still immersed in the earlier shock. Her expression was complicated, and she felt uneasy. In a low voice, she asked the green-clad child, "You say the demon race in that world is so cruel and brutal. Why are we here in the Haoran World able to live peacefully with the mountain immortals? Why don't the cultivators just exterminate us all?"
The green-clad child thought for a moment and casually replied, "Probably because they think we're just a pile of dog shit on the roadside—stepping on it would dirty their shoes."
The pink-skirted girl was skeptical, but she couldn't come up with a convincing rebuttal, so she temporarily set aside her worry and unease.
Wei Bo had already left. Chen Ping'an didn't get up to return to the bamboo building immediately. He sat quietly alone on the small bamboo chair. The early spring mountain wind was still biting, whipping the hair at the young man's temples.
Before leaving, Wei Bo had said with a smile, "Rumor has it that A Liang is looking for a sword—a sword worthy of his strength."
Chen Ping'an clearly remembered their first meeting by the Tiefu River. Someone had held a bamboo hat in one hand and tapped the bamboo knife scabbard with the other, boasting with a hint of bravado, "For now, I can't find a sword that suits me, so this one will have to shame all who use blades."
Wei Bo continued, "Some say he is a peak thirteenth-tier sword cultivator. In his battle with that great demon, the sword he used wasn't the best, but he was used to it and unwilling to change. After it shattered, he naturally needed a new one—a better one!"
"Imagine if he could find a weapon that even A Liang found comfortable, or even a sword that could help its owner increase their combat power by one full realm. One realm would be enough. Then he would be peak fourteenth-tier combat power! As a sword cultivator, he might even be able to fight against the three ancestral masters of the teachings: the Tao Ancestor, the Buddha, and the Supreme Sage!"
"Unimaginable—after finding that sword, what would A Liang be like then?"
After saying these last words, Wei Bo left, full of anticipation and admiration, like a small hill looking up at a towering mountain.
Having entered the Literary Sage's landscape scroll, Chen Ping'an had wielded that one sword strike.
Now, Chen Ping'an finally understood what A Liang had sacrificed.
That rainy night, he had walked down the mountain with A Liang.
"You took away something I thought was already in my pocket."
"If you don't have the skill to carve two or three words there in the future, watch out for me."
At the time, Chen Ping'an hadn't understood what those words, spoken so lightly by the man in the bamboo hat, really meant. Because A Liang had said it so casually, the young man had no idea of the true weight.
Back then, the young man had no idea how good that sword really was.
He had no idea how strong A Liang truly was back then.
If Chen Ping'an had known all this before his parting with A Liang, he would have first gone to ask that sword-spirit fairy sister if she could take another master—a man named A Liang, a sword cultivator, a good man.
A Liang didn't tell him, so the young man never knew.
A Liang left, and only then did the young man understand.
Such an A Liang.
How foolish.
On what grounds did he call Chen Ping'an a naive goody-goody?
Chen Ping'an stared blankly into space for a long time before standing up and walking toward the bamboo building. The green-clad child asked softly, "Master, are you okay? Did Wei Bo's story scare you? There's really no need to fear those things—what's that Inverted Suspension Mountain, Sword Qi Great Wall, A Liang, great demon sword immortals—they're a thousand hundred thousand miles away from us. Even if the sky falls, we needn't worry. The Confucian sages aren't just smooth talkers; their fighting skills aren't bad either. Besides, no matter how powerful that strangely named swordsman is, it has nothing to do with us—not even half a copper coin. That kind of person must have three heads and six arms, ferocious and terrifying, slaying gods when they see gods, killing immortals at a glance. Even if I had the chance to meet such a person, I wouldn't want to. Too scary. Probably a single sneeze from him would blow me into oblivion with a gust of wind..."
Chen Ping'an patted the chattering green-clad child on the head and smiled. "I'm fine."
He went up to the second floor, grasped the locust wood sword, walked to the veranda under the eaves, raised it high toward the dome of the sky, and said two sentences in his heart.
"I am a sword cultivator."
"It's settled then."
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