Chapter 216: Making a Move

# Chapter 216: Making a Move

Zhang Shan watched the two scholars head toward the opposite wing, standing in the corridor, he reached out and caught a small handful of rainwater, weighed it in his hand, then turned his hand over and poured it away. Returning to the room, he closed the door and used his dry hand to take out an ordinary yellow paper talisman. Zhang Shan said softly, "There's definitely something wrong here. The rainwater is quite 'gloomy,' and it's very likely contains baleful qi. This little talisman of mine is called the Ignite Fire Burn Baleful Talisman. It's quite ordinary, but it's widely circulated precisely because it's the best at sensing the existence of baleful qi..."

The young Daoist pinched the talisman paper between two fingers, silently recited an incantation, and then swiftly pressed it against his other hand, which was still wet. The yellow paper talisman burst into flames in Zhang Shan's palm, quickly turning to ash. The young Daoist's expression turned serious as he scraped the ashes into a brazier.

Chen Ping'an asked, "How much does this spirit talisman cost?"

The Daoist Zhang Shan didn't find the question strange at all and answered seriously, "This kind of spirit talisman doesn't even rank. It's like how minor functionaries in the officialdom aren't considered part of the pure stream. So the price is low. The cost is just a sheet of yellow paper plus the copying effort of a lower fifth-realm qi refiner. You can buy over thirty Burn Baleful Talismans for one Snowflake Coin. Converting to silver, that's about three taels of silver per talisman. It's really not expensive."

Chen Ping'an nodded.

Regarding talisman drawing, he had once witnessed firsthand the wonder of the Break Obstruction Talisman. Back then, on a mountain path, they had been bewitched by the Bridal Ghost, and the group was walking on the "Yellow Springs Road," trapped in a dangerous situation similar to a ghost-lock. Lin Shouyi had used a Break Obstruction Talisman, which belonged to the Landscape Talisman category, to lead everyone forward.

Later, in the bamboo building on Fallen Mountain, Li Xisheng had drawn "character" talismans on the bamboo wall. The moment the characters were completed, the talismans were formed. That actually demonstrated extremely high attainment and realm. In the end, he entrusted the bookboy Cui Ci to give Chen Ping'an a beginner's book on Daoist talisman scripts, along with a large stack of talisman papers made from various materials. And of course, there was that "Snow Wind Small Awl" brush, which meant that if Chen Ping'an needed to draw a talisman urgently, he didn't need cinnabar paste at all—just a breath of air on the brush tip would moisten the awl.

But Chen Ping'an had gone through that thin booklet, "True Trace of Dan Script," over and over again, carefully reading it several times. He had learned five or six of the most basic talismans recorded in the book. According to the book, drawing talismans by mortals was "writing dan script," which was divided into nine grades. Upper fifth-realm qi refiners wrote the first, second, and third "upper three grades" of dan script; middle fifth-realm wrote the fourth, fifth, and sixth middle three grades; and lower fifth-realm wrote the seventh, eighth, and ninth lower three grades. Although Chen Ping'an wasn't a qi refiner, relying on the "single breath" of the eighteen-stop sword qi circulation, he could complete some of the introductory talismans from "True Trace of Dan Script" in one go. Talismans of higher grades were beyond Chen Ping'an's reach at the moment.

Li Xisheng had once said that drawing talismans was akin to practicing the sword. This was Li Xisheng's original intention—not to give a man a fish, but to teach him how to fish.

But as Chen Ping'an traveled south, he still wished to focus wholeheartedly on practicing his fists, so he only found time to draw three types of talismans: the Earth-Shrinking Talisman, the Yang Qi Lantern-Lighting Talisman, and the Pagoda Demon-Suppressing Talisman. He had two or three of each, just in case of emergencies.

The Earth-Shrinking Talisman allowed Chen Ping'an to shrink the ground into an inch in an instant, enabling him to step anywhere within ten zhang in any direction. The Yang Qi Lantern-Lighting Talisman was a type of Landscape Break Obstruction Talisman. If he found himself in a chaotic burial ground or ancient site and encountered a ghost-lock situation again, he could follow the lantern-lighting talisman to successfully escape the obstruction. The Pagoda Demon-Suppressing Talisman was a talisman with greater killing power. Once released, it could manifest an exquisite pagoda out of thin air, temporarily imprisoning evil spirits within. It contained the might of thunder and could flog souls.

All three belonged to the most ordinary category recorded in "True Trace of Dan Script." They weren't highly evaluated, only included as typical examples of a certain talisman school.

The Daoist Zhang Shan had drunk some wine and wasn't a good drinker. Thinking that Chen Ping'an would help keep watch, and to save a Returning Yang Pill, his body—already exhausted from being pounded by the gloomy rain all the way—soon drifted off into a dizzy sleep.

Chen Ping'an was all too familiar with keeping watch. He took small sips of wine, and after Zhang Shan fell into a deep sleep, he suddenly turned his head and stared at the corner of the wall near the door.

There, leaning diagonally, was an umbrella that had been left behind.

This oil-paper umbrella had originally been held by the scholar surnamed Liu. After entering the residence, the scholar surnamed Chu had carried it here.

The umbrella rested quietly against the corner of the wall, tip pointing down, handle pointing up.

Even though the oil-paper umbrella was placed like this, there was almost no water stain on the ground.

That wasn't right.

Moreover, Chen Ping'an detected a trace of yin-cold qi that sent chills down his spine.

So Chen Ping'an stood up, swaying as if he'd had too much to drink, muttering complaints as he walked, "Who places an umbrella upside down like this? Back home, if someone did that, the elders would scold you to death..."

When he reached the corner, Chen Ping'an let out a burp and reached for the umbrella handle, intending to turn it right side up. But in an instant, a talisman slid out of his sleeve. Chen Ping'an's eyes sharpened—there was no trace of drunkenness—and his two fingers, quick as lightning, pinched the yellow paper. It was precisely the Pagoda Demon-Suppressing Talisman. He slapped it onto the umbrella handle with a crack. A seven-colored glazed pagoda materialized in the air, its precious light just enveloping the oil-paper umbrella. The patterns on the umbrella's surface twisted, emitting a sizzling sound like fatty meat hitting a hot pan.

The suspended pagoda's luster dimmed, and soon it dissipated into smoke.

Chen Ping'an decided to go all the way—lest his skills be insufficient and his talisman grade too low, causing him to miss the opportunity—so he simply used the other two Demon-Suppressing Talismans as well. With lightning speed, he pasted them onto the umbrella's surface. Then, without needing to forcefully hold his breath, Chen Ping'an—a peak third-realm martial artist—let his qi circulate as his mind willed. His fist intent exploded abruptly. Using inch punches with extremely short range and explosive force, he relentlessly struck the three talismans. The fist force didn't damage the umbrella at all, but the surging fist intent almost completely penetrated the umbrella's interior.

This was the difference between an ordinary third-realm martial artist and one trained by the old man surnamed Cui—a gap as vast as clouds and mud.

After doing all this, Chen Ping'an gripped the vermilion Sword-Nurturing Gourd tightly, ready to summon Chu Yi and Shi Wu to fight the enemy at any moment.

But after the umbrella trembled and shook for a while, a wisp of black smoke with a foul smell rose up. After gradually dissipating, it fell completely silent.

Chen Ping'an was a bit dazed. That's it?

This strange oil-paper umbrella, which surely had hidden secrets, didn't have any counterattacks?

For example, black smoke billowing, roars shaking the heavens, and a ferocious and terrifying evil spirit emerging?

He still remembered the Bridal Ghost from the mountain path incident vividly. She had led them all by the nose. The blind Daoist, who was proficient in thunder magic, was no match for her. If not for Wei Jin of Wind Snow Temple breaking the boundary with a single sword stroke, displaying the style of a sword immortal, Chen Ping'an might have been forced to use two strands of sword qi back then, and there wouldn't have been the opportunity to confront the young Cui Chan at the well mouth later.

Chen Ping'an crouched on the ground, staring blankly at the oil-paper umbrella. He took a sip of wine, then, as an afterthought, picked up the umbrella and shook it a few times. There was a faint rustling sound of ashes pouring out from inside.

Chen Ping'an crouched there, scratching his head, drinking wine, feeling somewhat empty inside. In the bamboo building on Fallen Mountain, he had grown accustomed to dying and coming back to life every day. Now it was like... having gotten used to strong liquor and then drinking water?

But Chen Ping'an silently comforted himself: Regardless of whether this umbrella was related to one of the scholars or if an evil spirit had hid inside after entering the residence, this little peculiarity within the umbrella was surely just a scout crossing the river. So he absolutely must not let his guard down. With that thought, Chen Ping'an stood up and sat at the table. By lamplight, he took out the Snow Wind Small Awl brush from his Storage Item, breathed on it, and began to draw a talisman. It was still the Pagoda Demon-Suppressing Talisman, but instead of yellow paper, he used a piece of gold-colored talisman paper.

After finishing one talisman, Chen Ping'an habitually picked up the wine gourd at hand, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp of wine. After a brief rest and when his breath was steady, he dared to continue.

A stormy night, a wind-snow brush, and Chen Ping'an, slightly tipsy, drew as if possessed.

At hand was a vermilion Sword-Nurturing Gourd, and inside the wooden box were two swords for slaying demons and vanquishing evil.

And, of course, the sound of the Daoist Zhang Shan's snoring from the bed.

---

On a small hill outside the ancient residence, amidst the driving rain occasionally torn apart by lightning and thunder, a middle-aged Daoist clutching a duster stood with a grim expression. He opened his hand and looked at an ancient bronze coin that suddenly shattered into pieces. The middle-aged Daoist's expression darkened as he endured the heartache, casually tossing the fragments aside as if indifferent. He snorted coldly, "A pair of neither human nor ghost scum, clinging to stubborn resistance, only adding to their suffering."

Beside the middle-aged Daoist stood a tall, heavily built man with thick eyebrows and large eyes, wearing thin clothing and letting the rain beat down on him. A glimmer of gold occasionally flashed in his eyes, and a fist-sized seal box hung at his waist. Seeing that the Daoist's scheme had backfired, costing him a beloved subordinate, the man grew impatient and sneered, "If you still insist on barging in, then after this is done, it won't be a fifty-fifty split!"

The Daoist didn't want to dwell on this matter and instead asked, "Who is that bearded saber-wielder, and why did he happen to visit the ancient residence tonight?"

The tall man scoffed, "I heard that at the end of last year, a wandering ranger came to the Caiyi Kingdom. Relying on a good blade, he dealt with a few insignificant rural evil spirits and gained quite a reputation. Observing the spirit intent he revealed while walking in this heavy rain, he's at most a fourth-realm martial artist. If this were elsewhere, one might have to be wary, but on my turf, he's nothing to worry about. When the time comes, we'll deal with him together. You can take him to make into a puppet—I won't stop you—but the blade belongs to me."

The middle-aged Daoist waved his duster, and mist rose from his body. His Daoist robe, soaked through by the rain, dried instantly. He smiled, "Then it's settled."

The tall man hesitated briefly before still asking, "Is it true that the ancient residence's patron has truly fallen out of favor within the Divine Edict Sect?"

The middle-aged Daoist nodded and smiled, "Your intelligence as a mountain god is rather slow, isn't it?"

The tall man's face was full of gloom, and he ground his teeth, "And who's to blame but that damned residence? They set up some shoddy formation that the Divine Edict Sect keeps secret, slowly devouring the spiritual qi from a hundred li around. Over the past century, my golden body has gradually decayed. Who still treats me as a mountain god now? I'm worse off than a local earth god elsewhere. If I don't take revenge, I won't be able to soothe the hatred in my heart!"

The middle-aged Daoist nodded in agreement and offered some words of comfort.

In truth, the mountain god temple here—the place where the man's golden body was enshrined—had never been officially consecrated by the Caiyi Kingdom's court. It was merely an unauthorized shrine. The land was littered with chaotic burial grounds, and foul qi blocked the sky. After the tall man accepted incense offerings and fortuitously became a landscape deity, he didn't hesitate to drain the pond to catch the fish for his cultivation, accelerating the decline of the landscape. The ancient residence's formation, with the house as its eye, only absorbed yin and baleful qi without depleting the landscape's spiritual qi. In fact, it maintained the balance of the landscape. But these inside details were pointless to discuss. The middle-aged Daoist, who had fallen into the demonic path, and the local mountain god, who had strayed from the right path, both knew this well. Neither of them was a decent sort.

The tall man suddenly asked with a harsh expression, "I want to reclaim all my territory, and you covet that female ghost's body. Once you control and command her, you'll surely be like a tiger with wings. But what is that other fellow after? Does this ancient residence harbor some rare treasure that I don't know about?"

The middle-aged Daoist chuckled slyly, "That, I wouldn't know. Shall we ask him together when we meet?"

The tall man understood in his heart, "Excellent!"

The Daoist looked around. Beyond the earth, the scene was mostly pale cliffs, with few green trees. But he knew that even this little bit of spring greenery was thanks to the female ghost's "leisure pursuits."

That female ghost, whether in terms of fortune or temperament, was truly rare. After arriving here in person, the Daoist was even more determined to have her.

The Daoist gazed at the ancient residence and clicked his tongue, "This tree is withered; its vitality is exhausted."

Unexpectedly, the cult mountain god had also read books and smiled, "Even a tree is like this—how can a person bear it?"

The cultivator and the deity looked at each other and smiled.

---

In the second courtyard of the ancient residence, one side chamber was already pitch black. The two scholars should have fallen asleep. But in the room of the boy with the wooden case on his back and the young Daoist, the lamp was still lit. Before the old woman could knock on the door, the man who loved wine as much as his life had already smelled the aroma. He didn't hesitate to pound on the door, "Is there any more wine to drink? If so, this will be a life-trade wine—I guarantee you'll come out ahead!"

The old woman didn't stop him, only said, "Arrange your rooms as you see fit."

Chen Ping'an fastened his wine gourd and opened the door to see a rough-looking, unfamiliar man.

The bearded saber-wielder glanced at Chen Ping'an and asked casually, "Kid, from the way you walk and breathe, you should also be a martial artist, right? Which realm are you in now? Second?"

Chen Ping'an smiled, "I've been learning martial arts from my elders since I was young. This is my first time traveling the jianghu. I don't know the realm divisions yet."

He looked back and saw that the Daoist Zhang Shan had been woken up and was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his shoes.

The bearded saber-wielder strode across the threshold, plopped down onto a chair, and clicked his tongue, "Don't know the realm divisions? That means you're from some backwater, huh? Then how come you speak the Elegant Speech of our Precious Bottle Prefecture so fluently on this trip? In the rural areas of ordinary small countries, you can't learn this stuff! Speak up, boy! Are you some ghost or spirit wearing a human skin?!"

The saber-wielder drew his saber halfway from its scabbard—the blade gleamed dazzlingly—and glared, shouting, "Report your name quickly! I, Zhao, don't kill nameless ghosts!"

Chen Ping'an and the Daoist Zhang Shan looked at each other in bewilderment.

Could it be that because the rain outside was so heavy, this fellow had water in his brain?

Ghosts and spirits? Among qi refiners, there were countless wild practitioners with mixed backgrounds. Even demons and plants that had become spirits, though facing some discrimination, were far from being hunted down. But ghost cultivators were an exception. Once discovered, almost everyone would shout for their extermination. If birth, aging, sickness, and death were the cycle of heaven's way, then a qi refiner seeking immortality was acting against heaven. For humans, entering the earth after death was the way of humanity. Ghost cultivation violated this principle and was considered a heretical path that everyone had the right to eliminate.

Immortals were cultivated in life; gods were conferred in death.

Ghost cultivators were just the exception—neither cultivated in life nor conferred as landscape deities by the court after death.

So the true high-level Heavenly Masters of Dragon Tiger Mountain, when armed with their peachwood swords, targeted rampaging baleful ghosts far more than the spirits and monsters hiding among the bustling markets.

The term "spirit monster" had no clear positive or negative connotation, especially in large, bustling hub areas with dense populations and thriving commerce.

In fact, in some large countries, especially strong dynasties with deep-rooted mountain sect foundations, even common people were accustomed to coexisting with all kinds of strange spirits in the mundane world.

There were tales of small spirits that helped women wash and comb their hair, apply rouge, and fold clothes. They had wings, flew to and fro with great familiarity, and generation after generation, they loved their masters dearly.

Chen Ping'an didn't bother to explain anything. He took off his wine gourd and silently took a sip.

The bearded man was taken aback. His throat moved slightly—clearly the wine bug in his belly was acting up. His momentum dropped sharply, and he shamelessly reached out his hand, "If you treat me to a drink, even if you're a ghost, I'll turn a blind eye. As long as I don't catch you in the act of doing evil, anything goes."

Chen Ping'an shook his head. He wouldn't give it.

The bearded saber-wielder let out a long sigh, "You kid, you're dishonest, too cunning. You're clearly bullying me into being that kind of upright master!"

The Daoist Zhang Shan quickly sat down, trying to smooth things over, and chatted with the bearded man in the Elegant Speech of Precious Bottle Prefecture.

---

In the embroidered building within the ancient residence, by the beauty-leaning railing, a man and a woman were nestled together. The woman wore a large black-green skirt with an enormous hem, hiding her legs and embroidered shoes.

They were whispering intimately. The man murmured softly, "May you, my wife, stay warm in the spring chill, may your furrowed brows be smoothed, may every time you open the window, you see the bright moon and green mountains..."

The woman, whose face was extremely ugly, whimpered and sobbed, her cries like weeping and complaining. The hem of her lower body rolled like waves.

The old woman walked in the dark corridor, sighing quietly. Finally, she sat down beside a corridor pillar hung with lanterns. Year after year, day after day, the old woman touched her withered face. She had long forgotten how many years it had been since she last looked in a mirror.

If she was like this, then the young lady, who hadn't left the embroidered building even half a step in a hundred years, must be even more so.

---

The man chatted with the young Daoist for a while, then suddenly pressed his hand on the saber hilt. The joking expression was gone, replaced by a solemn one. "As the rumors in the nearby town said, the demonic qi comes from the back courtyard of the ancient residence! Such heavy demonic qi! No wonder the feng shui here has deteriorated to nothing. It might even be a sixth-realm old demoness! You two kids, I'm going to slay the demon now. If things go wrong, you two get out. Don't take this lightly. This place is extremely dangerous. It's definitely not something you two should wade into!"

The bearded saber-wielder thought for a moment, "There's no need to withdraw immediately, so the ancient residence's old demon doesn't target you first. Even if I'm defeated, I'll try to hold them off. Listen for my signal—when I tell you to run, don't hesitate!"

Then the man took a deep breath, drew his saber, and blade light flashed. He reached into the brazier, grabbed a blazing hot coal, and held it in his palm. He wiped the saber's body with it, sending sparks flying, making the precious blade seem even more sharp and invincible.

Even though his chances of victory weren't high, the man was filled with heroic spirit, truly a heroic figure.

Chen Ping'an handed him the wine gourd with a solemn expression, "Hero?"

The man smiled and shook his head. Holding his precious blade, he stood up abruptly, "Chatting over wine is just to satisfy a craving. But slaying a great demon and defending the Dao—that's a thousand times more satisfying than drinking!"

In the rainy night, the man held his saber and pushed open the door, striding toward the back courtyard. With a flick of his wrist, blade light blossomed, illuminating the surroundings. The bearded saber-wielder looked up into the distance and announced clearly, "Xu Yuanxia is here! Please enlighten me!"

The Daoist Zhang Shan picked up his peachwood sword, which had a demon-listening bell tied to it, and said to Chen Ping'an seriously, "I'll go help him slay the demon! Chen Ping'an, you're a pure martial artist. Before you reach the fourth realm, you're not suited to dealing with great demons and evil spirits. Stay here. If there's really a need, I'll call for you."

Chen Ping'an nodded, "Alright."

After the young Daoist lightly leaped out of the room, Chen Ping'an waited a moment. Instead of staying put to observe the situation, he stepped out of the side chamber. Separated by a curtain of rain, empty-handed, he looked toward the opposite wing, "I know it's you."

The wing where the lights had been out for a while slowly opened a door, and the scholar surnamed Chu walked out. He had a slender build and held the torch that had been extinguished by the heavy rain earlier. A smile on his face, he met Chen Ping'an's gaze. The scholar pulled his lips, raised his arm, and rubbed the top of the torch with his palm, instantly relighting it. He lightly tapped the corridor pillar with the torch's butt end and drove the entire torch into it. "You talk the least, but you're the cleverest. Of course, your skills aren't small either—taking out White Deer Daoist's copper coin ghost. But a third-realm ghost is just that, after all. Young man, don't get too proud over this..."

Chen Ping'an didn't say a word. His lean figure vanished from where he stood without warning.

That scholar was slightly stunned.

In the blink of an eye, a figure shot across the rain curtain between the side chambers, charging straight at him. The somewhat overconfident scholar didn't even have time to react before a fist, its fist force like a white rainbow suspended in the sky, smashed fiercely into his head. The whole person was sent flying backward, breaking through the door and wall together, crashing into the covered corridor outside. The scholar finally smashed into a thick corridor pillar, the pillar behind his back cracking like a small spiderweb. Only then did he stop his retreating figure, vomiting blood incessantly, his soul shaken, his face full of horror.

It wasn't just the astonishing force of the fist technique; it was that the fist intent and fist force merged together, striking him like a ghost-beating whip in an immortal's hand, flogging an evil spirit—innately suppressing him.

There was a loud crash.

This time, it was a punch to the neck.

He and the corridor pillar collapsed backward together.

The scholar, beaten bloody and blurred by these two punches, his face contorted, his robe torn, was about to reveal his true form. He no longer cared about any schemes.

Then he heard a strange phrase, "Chu Yi."

# Chapter 217: Sword Immortal

When you've been around the jianghu long enough, everyone has some hidden skills and treasures.

When the scholar surnamed Chu heard the name "Chu Yi," his heartstrings trembled for no reason. He knew something was wrong—this might be the young man's trump card. But he couldn't sense where the crisis originated. In a flurry of thoughts, Chu gritted his teeth and a green-white orb slid out of his sleeve, shimmering with rainbow light—clearly no ordinary object.

The scholar named Chu clasped the orb tightly. It melted like a candle in fire, the viscous, mercury-like liquid spreading rapidly from his arm, covering his whole body in an instant. In the next moment, the slender man was clad in a suit of pure white armor. The central chest mirror shone brilliantly, a style of Radiant Armor. In the worldly Daoist temples and Buddhist halls, statues of Heavenly Kings and Dharma Protectors often wore this type of armor, embodying the meaning of brightness and righteousness.

If he hadn't sensed that his life was threatened, the scholar named Chu, even if forced to reveal his true form, wouldn't have wanted to use this invaluable "Armor Pill." The Armor Pill was a treasure of the military strategist school, highly esteemed, with prices that only went up, never down, and was often unavailable on the market. They were typically forged jointly by Mohist mechanism masters and Daoist talisman sect experts. Normally, they shrank to the size of a fist pill, easy to carry. On the battlefield, one could infuse them with true qi, instantly manifesting protective armor that was indestructible.

With the Armor Pill's treasure armor protecting him, a layer of faintly rippling white light emanated from the armor's surface, like a snowy moonlit night. The scholar stood up, more composed than before, and smiled bitterly, "Young man, you've really done me in. This Radiant Armor was meant to guard against a possible uneven split of the spoils, allowing me to resist the combined attack of White Deer Daoist and the mountain god. Now that it's been revealed early, they'll surely be more cautious. What am I to do?"

Though his words were light, the scholar wasn't letting his guard down. He was still somewhat puzzled. Why had nothing followed after the young man shouted "Chu Yi"? Neither had a treasured sword left its scabbard and flown from the opposite wing, nor had any hidden reinforcements pounced.

The scholar was perplexed.

This quiet, taciturn young man was definitely not one for jokes.

The two punches had almost forced him to reveal his true form. Even that reckless bearded saber-wielder who went off to slay the great demon, with his fourth-realm strength, probably couldn't have done it.

Though "Chu Yi" hadn't appeared, the scholar named Chu could still be certain that once this Chu Yi showed up, it would definitely be an expert not to be underestimated, or a powerful offensive treasure.

Chen Ping'an, on the other hand, was a bit annoyed. He struck the Sword-Nurturing Gourd at his waist heavily.

The "Chu Yi" in the gourd had inexplicably changed temperament. Before, it had been irritable, always making Chen Ping'an suffer. But since leaving Fallen Mountain, it had become a lazy good-for-nothing, motionless all day, not even having the mind to get angry at Chen Ping'an. After Chen Ping'an hit the gourd hard, it still didn't budge, hovering motionless in the void within the gourd.

On the other hand, the emerald-green flying sword, Shi Wu, hummed and buzzed, actively communicating with Chen Ping'an on a basic emotional level. It probably meant to say that if Chu Yi wouldn't fight, it, Shi Wu, could take its place.

The two flying swords, having developed their intellect, were like children who couldn't yet speak. They had some intelligence, but not much, acting mostly on instinct. They could clearly perceive Chen Ping'an's thoughts and intentions, but communication between them was often poor. Chen Ping'an could only vaguely tell their mood—good or bad—and communication was still difficult.

After seeing Chen Ping'an's action, the scholar named Chu immediately focused his gaze. He saw only the vermilion wine gourd, its luster dull, showing no signs of abnormality, not revealing any hint of extraordinary aura. In fact, earlier, when they first met in the heavy rain outside the ancient residence, the scholar had carefully observed the young man with the wooden case on his back and the young Daoist. At the time, he thought they weren't some hidden masters. The court and countryside of the Caiyi Kingdom had neither high mountains nor deep waters. Tigers couldn't lie low, and dragons couldn't hide. Characters like White Deer Daoist were already considered grandmasters and immortals who shook the region.

If nothing unexpected happened, the scholar named Chu was the real dragon crossing the river, stirring up trouble. That would have been logical.

This trip away from his home, from the Ancient Elm Country south to the Caiyi Kingdom, had been all about obtaining something in this residence. He had plotted meticulously, even thinking he had the victory in hand, yet he proceeded cautiously. First, he allied with White Deer Daoist and the cult mountain god, each getting what they needed. Then he befriended the scholar surnamed Liu, from an aristocratic family, luring him to tour these mountains. To his two allies, he claimed he was personally scouting the situation, using Liu's lifelong immersion in official aura and scholarly air to mask his own faint demonic aura. His real purpose was to survey the geomantic veins the formation relied upon, so that in the coming battle, he could fish in troubled waters, steal the treasure, avoid too much entanglement with White Deer Daoist and the mountain god, and rely on his unexpected Armor Pill protection to escape far away, returning to the Ancient Elm Country to continue his cultivation.

As for the appearance of the bearded saber-wielder, it was simply a whim of the scholar's. He spread rumors in nearby towns, fanning the flames, making the ancient residence seem even more demonic and evil. In truth, over the past century, while the ancient residence did have heavy yin qi, it had never actually harmed the common people or tyrannized the area. His goal was to muddy the waters, making it easier for him to slip away. Even if the bearded saber-wielder cost the residence's master some cultivation, that was a good thing. If it could hold out until White Deer Daoist and the mountain god arrived for a chaotic battle, even better.

That warm-hearted bearded saber-wielder had no idea about these inside details. Following the rumors, after drinking two big bowls of strong liquor in the nearest town, his blood heated up. Just feeling that the heavy rain was strange, he promptly set off to slay demons.

Among these, the torch smeared with oil by the mountain god himself, and the oil-paper umbrella containing White Deer Daoist's copper coin ghost, were both inconspicuous but carefully crafted items.

One allowed the nominal local master, the cult mountain god, to closely inspect the internal qi movements of the ancient residence. The other helped White Deer Daoist set up a trap, giving him the chance to show up, destroy the residence's defensive measures from within, such as the dilapidated Divine Edict Sect's Green-Ci runes and the screen wall retaining a trace of authentic Daoist aura. These techniques had shielded the weathered ancient residence from many sinister attacks.

None of the three allied parties were easy to deal with.

But that was normal. If not, in the survival-of-the-fittest world of mountain wilds cultivation, they would have long died and faded, becoming stepping stones for other ruthless cultivators.

Were there qi refiners who sought no conflict? Of course—for example, the master and mistress of this ancient residence and the old servant woman, the three of them, living in seclusion for a hundred years. And look at their miserable fate now, with everyone coveting what they had.

Unwilling to invite more trouble, the scholar named Chu chose to retreat a step and said with a smile, "Young Master Chen, you and I have no real enmity. Why must we fight to the death? If you are willing to leave the ancient residence tonight, then in the future, whenever you pass through the Ancient Elm Country, I, Chu, will definitely welcome you with fine wine. Even if you wish to drink in the Ancient Elm Country's imperial palace—say, on a snowy night—I, Chu, can share a jug with you, sit high on the palace's roof ridge, and drink while enjoying the snow, without worrying about the Ancient Elm Country's emperor being angry enough to drive us away."

To be honest, although the scholar named Chu had origins as a spirit of questionable background, after cultivating a human form, he had undergone unknown experiences and developed an extraordinary bearing—distinguished and refined, even more aristocratic than the young masters of prestigious families that lived in luxury. A three-foot-thick ice wasn't formed in a day; surely he had unique opportunities to have today's bearing and magnanimity.

Chen Ping'an finally spoke, asking, "I hear the Ancient Elm Country's emperor's surname is Chu. You're also surnamed Chu. Is there a connection?"

The scholar hesitated briefly, as if to show his sincerity, nodded and smiled, "There's some connection, but no blood relationship. In short, we depend on each other while watching each other. It's complicated and hard to explain in a few words."

The character "楚" (Chu) is composed of "林" (forest) above and "疋" below. "疋" can be interpreted as "足" (foot). Two trees make a forest, and under the tree is a foot. The scholar had chosen this as his surname—it went without saying that he was likely an ancient tree that had become a spirit.

But Chen Ping'an's literacy was still at the superficial level of "rough understanding and occasional comprehension." He was far from being able to accurately "interpret" characters, nowhere near as erudite as Cui Chan or Wei Bo.

Chen Ping'an sized up the armor on the scholar named Chu. He decided not to use Shi Wu for now, but to take this opportunity to test his own fist technique and determine the depth of his third-realm skill. So he asked, "What realm are you in as a qi refiner?"

The scholar smiled, "Just the fifth realm."

This was, of course, modesty.

Only one step away from the middle fifth realm—how could that be "just"? One must know that in the major immortal clans bearing the "sect" title, middle fifth-realm cultivators were extremely precious. They were either esteemed elders or enshrined masters, or executors holding real power in some area. If even major sects were like this, then small countries like the Ancient Elm Country and the Caiyi Kingdom, mere specks of land, were even more so.

But the scholar's modesty, tinged with self-satisfaction, sounded to the single-minded Chen Ping'an like genuine "just." Was this the fifth-realm "great demon" that Daoist Zhang Shan had mentioned? Chen Ping'an twisted his wrist lightly and grinned. He couldn't defeat the Bridal Ghost, but this fellow in front of him, wearing a turtle shell, was something he could practice on. It would be best if he could kill him; if not, he wouldn't lose anything. He still had flying swords to rely on—not one, but two!

Back when Chen Ping'an had just started practicing boxing a few days in, he dared to tease the Moving Mountain Ape of Zhengyang Mountain like a dog. Let's not even talk about his strength—just his courage and boldness were far beyond most martial artists in the world. Of course, once he chose to risk his life, he did so step by step, carefully and cautiously—that was also Chen Ping'an's strength.

The scholar sighed helplessly, "Why must we fight?"

Chen Ping'an gave a straightforward answer, "If I don't beat you, my friend and that saber-wielder will be in great danger."

The scholar's eyes turned sinister. Even a clay Buddha has three parts of fiery temper, let alone him, a strong local powerhouse used to seeing the splendor of the human world. "Young man, you won't shed tears until you see the coffin? I'm telling you plainly, outside the ancient residence, there are two more waiting to pounce. Are you sure you want to get involved? Do you really think I'm afraid of you?"

Chen Ping'an's reply made the scholar's blood boil, "Whether you're afraid of me or not has nothing to do with whether I beat you."

Chen Ping'an took a deep breath. The reason he had stalled so long wasn't to show off, but to first ascertain the intentions of the two little ancestors inside the Sword-Nurturing Gourd.

That would determine how he should fight this battle.

The flying sword originally called Little Fengdu, which Chen Ping'an had taken the liberty of naming Chu Yi, had appeared in his ancestral home on Mud Vase Lane like a small white rainbow hanging in the sky. Though the sword body was slender, it was full of majestic, upright momentum, its edge completely exposed, with no concealment whatsoever.

The flying sword Shi Wu, which he had traded with Old Man Yang, had a slightly different aura. Its spirit intent was more inclined to stillness. Within the Sword-Nurturing Gourd, its movements were abrupt—sudden stops and sudden flights, coming and going swiftly. Each time, it would stop short just before hitting the gourd's inner wall, barely missing. This was completely different from Chu Yi, which crashed into the walls everywhere inside the gourd.

So Chen Ping'an roughly concluded that Little Fengdu, or the white rainbow flying sword he had arbitrarily named Chu Yi, was sharper and more sturdy than Shi Wu. But its obvious flaw was its slower speed and that it wasn't fully under Chen Ping'an's control, making each strike less precise. In a stalemate, especially when slightly winning, he could let Chu Yi show up and rampage around without worrying about damaging it. But in a dangerous situation, he would need the gentle yet swift Shi Wu to deliver a fatal blow.

A life-bound flying sword was, of course, extremely powerful—the foundation that sword cultivators dreamed of. Once obtained, they cherished it like their own life. It was also the source of headaches for qi refiners of other schools. But any life-bound flying sword had two problems: first, it was hard to obtain, requiring countless heavenly materials and earthly treasures to forge; second, while renowned for its astonishing killing power—just staying in the qi mansion provided a silent deterrent—once it left the sheath to kill, if there was any damage, like a chipped blade or a crack on the body, repairing a damaged life-bound sword was a huge expense.

Thus, a saying circulated among the mountains: Rich is the sword cultivator, poor is the sword cultivator, and ruined overnight is also the sword cultivator.

That was why Chen Ping'an first called for Chu Yi to fight—he was worried that Shi Wu might make its formal debut to kill an enemy and then quickly meet its end.

Each side had its own persistence. Since they couldn't come to an agreement, they had to resort to force.

The scholar surnamed Chu, whose true form was an ancient tree spirit, raised a finger and tapped the gleaming chest mirror. "Aren't your fists very hard? Come on, hit me right here. This rare Armor Pill, worth three thousand Snowflake Coins, is a 'Dizi' treasury item of the Ancient Elm Country's royal family. If you can break it, you've got skill!"

Chen Ping'an wasn't about to be polite with him.

He tapped his toes, and the floor tiles instantly cracked—testament to the ferocity of his forward charge.

As the old saying goes, "A tree that moves dies, a man that moves lives." That wasn't without reason. Although the tree spirit scholar was a fifth-realm qi refiner, with a not-weak physique, he was indeed not adept at dodging and close combat. That was why he had paid such a great price to acquire the Armor Pill, using it as a life-saving charm in critical moments.

The scholar named Chu, with his naturally tough body and covered by treasure armor, gathered his qi and spirit, leisurely awaiting the young man's punch.

After one punch, the force was immense, so much so that the chest mirror was indented a full inch. The scholar flew backward and crashed into the outermost wall of the ancient residence. But this time, there was no trace of his previous awkwardness. Instead, the wall behind him shattered, revealing a shocking and gruesome scene. Inside the wall weren't bricks and stones, but tangled, coiled tree roots that slowly writhed.

The scholar patted the dust off his shoulder and sneered, "Is that all you've got? Without a sixth-realm heroic heart, even if I stood still from start to finish and let you hit me a hundred or a thousand times, Young Master Chen, it would still be very difficult for you to break the Armor Pill in one go."

The fourth, fifth, and sixth realms of martial arts were no longer limited to body tempering but rose to the height of qi refining martial studies. They were known as the Minor Grandmaster Realms. Each realm corresponded to the three aspects of soul, spirit, and gall. Once mastered, a martial artist's combat power would increase layer by layer, not only feeding back into the physical body but also giving them more confidence when facing qi refiners, especially when dealing with spirits and ghosts—striking twice the result with half the effort. Every time they struck, wherever their fist force reached, it was like the blazing sun, causing all evil to flee.

The punch had landed on the expected solid target. Chen Ping'an hadn't pursued not because he was spent. On the contrary, this punch was just an appetizer. He was mainly shocked by the strange wall behind the scholar. Could it be that all the walls of the ancient residence were like this—deeply rooted?

In the back courtyard, light occasionally bloomed, flashing and fading, illuminating the night. Among it were the shouts of the bearded saber-wielder.

Three yellow-paper Pagoda Demon-Suppressing Talismans had been used up, but two more, made of gold-colored material, were hidden in Chen Ping'an's sleeve.

Along with two Earth-Shrinking Talismans.

Chen Ping'an silently recited, "It's enough."

His previous punches had relied on agility, all straightforward approaches.

But this time, Chen Ping'an did something different. He set up an extremely ancient-looking fist posture, took a step, spread his arms, and slowly clenched his fists—smooth and fluid.

In an instant, Chen Ping'an's fist intent poured out like a flood, truly able to pierce the eyes. In the eyes of the scholar named Chu, it was like a great sun rising from the eastern sea, extremely terrifying.

Godly Man Drum-Beating Posture!

The scholar swallowed saliva, thinking, should he sit down and talk again?

Why did he feel that even with his treasure armor protecting him, he might not be safe?

This young man hadn't even reached the third realm of martial arts' qi refining!

Why did he have such unreasonable, thick fist intent?!

The scholar felt the urge to retreat—at least he should avoid the sharp edge and stop foolishly taking punches to the body. Just as he was about to shift his position, the young man vanished into thin air. In the blink of an eye, he appeared in front of the scholar, throwing a punch at his side covered by the Armor Pill. The momentum was fierce, the force heavy, sending the scholar staggering sideways. But at the same time, he breathed a sigh of relief. After assuming the formal fist posture, the young man's fist intent, though startling, seemed to have increased his strength only slightly.

The barefoot old man had once joked in the bamboo building on Fallen Mountain, "This old man's Godly Man Drum-Beating Posture emphasizes the first strike. Once the first strike lands, the spirit intent leads, the beginning and end connect, and then ten or a hundred punches follow naturally. So the first punch must hit the opponent. After that, how many punches you can deliver depends on how long your breath can last before it falls."

So Chen Ping'an, to ensure the first punch didn't miss, used an Earth-Shrinking Talisman without hesitation.

Afterward, Chen Ping'an's punches came faster and faster, each only slightly heavier than the last, hammering the scholar's various vital points. The Armor Pill's treasure armor flowed with light. Wherever Chen Ping'an's fist landed, the radiance would flare up brightly. Truly worthy of being among the top treasures of the Ancient Elm Country.

Every time the scholar tried to dodge, it was as if he was half a step too slow, never able to avoid that punch. Having no power to fight back, after the tenth solid punch, the scholar's face suddenly turned deathly pale.

Shoulder, chest, ribs, abdomen, back of the heart, temple on the head, brow, elbow, knee.

There was no place where the young man's fist didn't "settle."

Chen Ping'an's punches came as fast as thunder. The key was, in the scholar's eyes, the young man's gaze remained calm throughout, his breathing steady. His heart was too settled. Every step and every punch were perfectly matched, natural and seamless—like a living monster that had lived for hundreds of years.

After fifteen punches, Chen Ping'an's fist was already a bloody mess, with white bone showing. But Chen Ping'an didn't care about such minor skin-deep pain.

Compared to the pain of a hammer slowly smashing his ten fingers and bones, compared to the pain of peeling his own skin and pulling his own tendons, Chen Ping'an felt this pain was practically comfortable bliss.

The scholar surnamed Chu had already half-revealed his true form, standing ten feet tall, with greenish eyes and a face covered in bulging veins. Beneath the armor, his muscles were swelling like gnarled old tree roots.

He crossed his arms in front of his face, getting knocked back again and again, and cried out with all his might, "White Deer Daoist! Mountain God Qin! Something's wrong! Come help me!"

Outside the ancient residence, on that small slope, the cult mountain god's expression changed slightly upon hearing the shout.

The torch that the scholar named Chu had earlier inserted into the corridor pillar—its flames soon began to peel away from the fire. Sparks of fire drifted everywhere, most quickly dissipating. But some small fireballs, bit by bit, floated through the covered corridor toward the third courtyard. Through these flames, which served as the mountain god's eyes, he could observe the scene inside the ancient residence.

So the mountain god had seen the entire exchange between the scholar and the young man clearly. This put him in a dilemma—not whether to intervene, but when to step in to reap the greatest benefits. Before that Ancient Elm Country scholar's treasure armor was broken, he had no interest in sending charcoal in the snow. Killing the young man and helping the scholar preserve the Armor Pill would only cause himself trouble, wouldn't it?

The middle-aged Daoist holding a duster suddenly said, "That bearded saber-wielder's precious blade is sharper than expected. If I don't act now, the female ghost's true body might be harmed. What do you say, Mountain God Qin? Will you come with me, or continue watching and holding the line?"

The cult mountain god chuckled, "Since we are allies, we should advance and retreat together. How can I shrink back?"

The Daoist laughed heartily, tossed his white duster forward, and just before it hit the ground, it transformed into a tall white deer. The Daoist leaped, riding the white deer as it galloped forward. His Daoist robe's wide sleeves fluttered in the wind. Fortunately, there were no woodcutters or commoners nearby; otherwise, they would have knelt and worshipped, crying out "Immortal!"

The cult mountain god didn't use much magic. He simply took a step and appeared beside the white deer and the Daoist.

The white deer ran like the wind, quickly reaching outside the ancient residence. The middle-aged Daoist charged upward, and the white deer instantly reverted to a duster, flying back to its owner's hand. The Daoist laughed, "Brother Chu! I've come to help you kill the enemy!"

After delivering twenty punches, Chen Ping'an had reached his limit. Unfortunately, he still couldn't break that Armor Pill treasure armor.

Although the scholar named Chu was bleeding from his seven orifices, his soul shaken, his true form fully exposed, and nearly the entire covered corridor destroyed by their fight, the scholar still had the strength to defend himself, relying on his natural gifts and the Radiant Armor. He wasn't about to be shaken to death by the young man's fist force.

Then, the White Deer Daoist, holding a duster, descended from the sky.

Chen Ping'an withdrew his fist and lightly tapped the Sword-Nurturing Gourd at his waist.

A wisp of white rainbow shot out of the vermilion gourd, heading straight for the chest mirror, which had just been dented.

Almost all of the treasure armor's flowing light converged on the chest mirror.

There was a faint sound of porcelain shattering.

The white light rebounded and disappeared in a flash.

The dying scholar named Chu was terrified, but soon ecstatic—the armor hadn't been pierced! He wasn't dead yet!

But in the next moment, he felt a chill between his brows. His burly body fell backward. In his dying moments, he spat out vicious words in exasperation, "You've ruined my great path... We'll settle this!"

After saying this, he collapsed and didn't get up. His body transformed into a large section of green withered wood, rotting to ash. The masterless armor also reverted to its shiny orb form.

Chen Ping'an frowned.

It turned out that after Chu Yi, another wisp of emerald green light had shot out from the gourd, at a speed far faster than the previous white rainbow sword light. One after the other, they took advantage of the gap when the armor concentrated its defensive qi on the chest mirror. The second flying sword easily drilled through the scholar's brow.

The cult mountain god, standing on the high wall of the ancient residence, exclaimed, "Life-bound flying sword!"

He immediately took a big step, appearing more than ten li away. A gust of eerie wind blew, and he was drenched in sweat.

"Mother! A sword immortal!"

The White Deer Daoist, who had just landed on his toes in the corridor, kicked off the ground and ran without a word. In midair, he suddenly threw his duster. The white deer landed, and the Daoist rode on its back, fleeing in panic.

Chen Ping'an stood there, stunned and bewildered. He thought to himself, I've only been practicing boxing for less than two years, and I'm a complete layman. How did I become a sword immortal? I'm not even a sword cultivator yet!

# Chapter 218: Immortal Masters Arrive

In the back courtyard of the ancient residence, outside the embroidered building, the battle was in full swing.

The bearded saber-wielder, who had traveled far just to slay demons, wasn't extremely high in martial realm—a solid fourth realm. But the precious saber in his hand was a divine weapon of very high quality. After infusing it with true qi, every slash released a red glow, accompanied by the sound of wind and thunder, unstoppable.

The old woman who had been guarding the third courtyard was actually a hidden third-realm qi refiner. But her age was high, her energy low, and she was no match for the bearded hero and his precious saber. After a dozen exchanges, the burly man knocked her unconscious with the back of his blade, kicked her, and sent her crashing into the side room, where she lay motionless.

The old woman wouldn't have been so easily defeated, but she had been in a cage for too long, immersed in the yin and baleful qi gathered by the formation. Though she wasn't a shadow-dwelling evil spirit or ghost cultivator, she naturally feared the yang and strong aura of that saber. Moreover, the bearded saber-wielder had traveled extensively and had rich combat experience. The old woman's swift defeat was indeed expected.

In the last courtyard, the master of the ancient residence had initially chosen to fight alone. He had floated down from the beauty-leaning railing into the courtyard, picked up a long sword that had been sealed for a long time. The sword's body was cool as water. He fought the saber-wielder with light and agile swordplay, not directly clashing with the precious saber. Each thrust aimed at the burly man's key vital points, the sword tip spitting blue sword light, leaving trails of beautiful fireflies in the rain curtain.

The bearded saber-wielder's style had the bearing of a veteran on the battlefield—rough and simple. Each slash was fast and fierce, the moves not complicated or exquisite. Each cut was clean and decisive, with free rein. If one strike didn't hit, no matter; if it did, it would be a severe injury. Facing the man in black's superior swordsmanship, he still had strength to spare.

He had spotted some clues and swung his saber more fiercely, now with real anger. He cursed, "You bastard! You clearly come from a righteous immortal sect, with a great path to immortality ahead—why degenerate to this?! In the end, you've become half-human, half-enslaved ghost, protecting this female ghost, ruining hundreds of li of this land, turning it uninhabited?! Tell me, don't you deserve to die?!"

The bearded man roared, held his saber with both hands, and brought it down heavily, striking the man's sword. The blow sent the man and his sword flying several zhang. The master of the ancient residence, youthful in face but white-haired, slid backward, splashing rainwater everywhere. He barely managed to stop, swallowed the blood rising to his throat, and twisted his wrist, creating a sword flower that instantly shattered countless raindrops near the tip. The cracking sound was like spring firecrackers.

The bearded man stepped forward heavily, holding his saber in one hand. The precious light flowed, illuminating his entire arm in a halo. He pointed with his other hand at the man, eyes blazing with anger, "Buddhism says turn your head and see the shore! You fraud who betrayed your master and ancestors, don't you stop?! Do you really think I, Xu, wouldn't dare to kill you too?!"

The man spoke for the first time that night. Perhaps because he had the aura of poetry and books in his belly, though his voice was hoarse, like a millstone grinding a blunt knife, his bearing was elegant and his expression calm. Instead of returning harsh words, he joked, "Buddhism also says lay down the butcher's knife and become a Buddha on the spot."

The bearded saber-wielder looked around, glanced up at the closed beauty-leaning railing on the second floor, and withdrew his gaze. He sneered, "Oh, you're in the mood to spar with words with me? Seems you have some confidence. Right, given your background and this fifth-realm bottom-dweller qi refinement, you've probably built yourself a nice little dirty nest over the past hundred years. Otherwise, the nearby landscape deities wouldn't have turned a blind eye to your doings. If I'm not mistaken, though you've no face to return to your ancestral clan, you've done plenty of pulling the tiger's skin as a banner outside, scaring others into not daring to touch you."

At this point, the burly man was furious, his face like the angry eyes of celestial guardians in temple statues, his voice like spring thunder, "Isn't that so?!"

The man holding the sword smiled without speaking, but there was some melancholy deep in his eyes.

The bearded man said harshly, "I gave you a chance to start anew. You didn't want it. Don't blame me for killing demons without mercy!"

Before the man swung his saber, the other man sighed, a bit guilty, then bit his finger and drew talisman characters on his sword, writing an Azure Invocation with his own essence blood.

The Azure Invocation was one of the Daoist rituals. It was said that in ancient times, it could be used to communicate with the gods above, reaching the Heavenly Court, connecting heaven and earth. If sincere enough and accepted by the gods, various divine powers would descend upon the caster. For example, an Azure Invocation to the Thunder Department gods, if effective, could allow one to hold lightning, with a golden body protecting them, temporarily like a Thunder Department deity descending to the mortal world—unspeakably wondrous.

"No wonder there was lingering aura of high-grade Azure Invocation by the screen wall! You bastard are actually a formal disciple of the Divine Edict Sect! A hundred deaths can't atone for this!"

The bearded man was so angry he nearly jumped. He swung his saber with all his might. The light exploded, making the entire courtyard as bright as day.

For him, demons, ghosts, and monsters rampaging through the world—their brutal acts, no matter how outrageous—were nothing new. Having seen all kinds of strange and tragic things, the bearded man wouldn't be too shocked. That was just the nature of demons and monsters. If they were kind to humans, that would be strange. So he always just beat them down. He wouldn't be as indignant as he was today.

But a qi refiner turning from good to evil, using his power to bully others—that was what infuriated him most.

In his rage, his momentum was astonishing. Strength of spirit strengthened the blade. And that precious saber was already a divine weapon that jianghu grandmasters would covet. For a moment, the courtyard was filled with dazzling saber light and surging fist qi, turning the rainwater that fell into the small courtyard into powder before it even touched the green bricks.

Though he had used his sect's ultimate technique, the man from the ancient residence was too dispirited, his body decaying like a candle in the wind, an old man at the end of his life. His realm barely stayed at the threshold of the fifth realm, but his qi had long been nearly exhausted, like a wide riverbed with little water, almost dried up. This made the Azure Invocation on his sword add only minimal offensive power.

On the second floor of the embroidered building, the female ghost in green clothes and green skirt could no longer bear to stay hidden. She covered her face with one hand and held a corridor pillar with the other.

With her appearance, tree roots as thick as arms shot out from the courtyard walls, ground, and corridor pillars like crossbow bolts.

The bearded saber-wielder, who had been firmly in the upper hand, suddenly found himself in a perilous situation. Still unafraid, he dodged and weaved through the courtyard, avoiding the tree-root arrows while cutting apart passing projectiles with his saber. The man was heroic, but in danger, he laughed loudly, "So you're a tree spirit ghost after all! Well met! I'll cut off all your roots, leave you with one breath, and let you die under the scorching sun!"

A young Daoist ran along the covered corridor, his calves pasted with two yellow talismans that made him run like a breeze, dazzling to the eye. Carrying a peachwood sword on his back, the young Daoist ran while shouting, "Hero Xu! This little Daoist has come to help you kill the demon!"

Before the bearded saber-wielder could respond, a tree root struck his shoulder. His tall figure spun in the air, carried by the immense force, and cut off the root in one swing. The severed root on the ground still writhed. The remaining root retracted into the wall, black blood oozing from the cut, emitting a foul stench. Combined with the gloomy rain, the courtyard was filled with miasma. Fortunately, the burly man's martial arts true intent flowed continuously, thick and solid, like a layer of golden light protecting his body. Seeing the young Daoist come to join the fun, he spat out a mouthful of blood and laughed, "Little Daoist, your heart is appreciated! But don't make things worse! Take your friend and leave the residence immediately! Just go to that town and prepare good wine to reward me, Xu. That will be a great help!"

The young Daoist, however, was unwilling to leave. Slay demons, eliminate harm for the people—an unshirkable duty!

As a collateral disciple of the Dragon Tiger Mountain Heavenly Master Mansion, no matter how distant the relationship, no matter the thousands of mountains and rivers separating him from that Daoist holy land, he, Zhang Shan, though nameless and with meager Dao arts, was still one of the tens of thousands of candidates for the Zhang family's Heavenly Master!

The talismans pasted on the young Daoist's legs were the Divine Movement Talismans he had bought at a high price. They could support him for about one incense stick's time. The Divine Movement Talisman, also known as the Armor Horse Talisman, allowed the user to walk as fast as a galloping horse, as if the ancient gods were riding the wind. This ranked the Divine Movement Talisman as the seventh grade among the nine grades of talisman scripts. No matter how expensive, for a young Daoist lacking combat power and with a frail body, it was worth the price.

Catch the leader first.

The Daoist Zhang Shan formed a sword seal with his two fingers, running in the corridor, looking up at the second floor of the embroidered building. "Urgent as the decree! Go!"

The peachwood sword on his back shot out, flying behind the young Daoist. With slight movements of his sword-seal fingers, it didn't charge straight at the female tree spirit by the corridor pillar. Instead, it made a large circle, drew an exquisite arc, and finally bypassed the pillar, stabbing sideways at the female ghost's face.

The female ghost had to not only help her husband below suppress the bearded saber-wielder's precious blade but also deal with this peachwood sword whistling through the air. She couldn't keep covering her ugly face. It turned out that half of her face was rotting flesh, with worms crawling and white bones showing. The remaining half, slightly intact, was like the cracked glaze of porcelain. This nauseating appearance would have scared some faint-hearted mortals to death on the spot.

Several thumb-thick green branches burst out of the corridor pillar, tightly entangling the peachwood sword just inches from her face.

In an instant, a silver talisman light the size of a soybean appeared on the peachwood sword, rolling and flowing along the sword's body. A point of spiritual light was the talisman's gallbladder, causing the branches to burn and sizzle as if encountering intense fire, emitting wisps of green smoke.

The female ghost felt as if struck by lightning. She let out a heart-rending scream and quickly turned her neck, not daring to look at that point of light. She waved her sleeve violently. The branches, nearly burned to charcoal, wrapped around the peachwood sword and were thrown into the embroidered building's inner chamber. As the female ghost turned, her movements were too large, and chunks of blood and worms fell from her face onto the beauty-leaning railing. She sobbed softly, whether from pain or shame.

"Yingying!"

When the sword-wielding man saw this, he couldn't help but cry out, calling the female ghost's childhood name. His heart ached, and he said miserably, "You go too far! Why do you collude with the cult mountain god like this, forcing my wife and me?! My wife may be a ghost spirit, but she has never harmed anyone. For over a hundred years, I have only used my own qi and blood to sustain her life. I used this ancient residence as the formation's eye to absorb the yin and baleful qi within three hundred li. Meanwhile, that cult mountain god has been robbing the landscape's qi fortune for his own cultivation! You, who style yourself as a hero, and you, who are a Daoist—why don't you go trouble him instead of coming here to bully us?!"

When he said this, the sword-wielding man laughed bitterly, "Just because my wife and I are not 'human,' and Lord Qin is honored as a mountain god, you think we are clearly the evil ones?!"

The sword-wielding man, his body decaying and his qi and blood nearly gone, held his sword horizontally before his chest, lowering his head to gaze at the gleaming blade light. Once upon a time, in the lofty sect, amidst green mountains and clear waters, with immortal cranes crying, in a cave heaven and blessed land, he had also practiced swordsmanship there, read Azure Invocations one by one, and been a young talent expected to reach the middle fifth realm. But then a letter from home arrived at the mountain gate, saying that the girl he had grown up with, his fiancee through a matchmaker's word, was gravely ill. The most famous physicians in the prefectural city had already given up. The letter told him to cultivate peacefully, because even if he descended the mountain, he likely wouldn't make it in time to see her one last time. At the end of the letter, his father hinted that this marriage would not become an obstacle to his advancement in the Divine Edict Sect.

He burned the letter and descended the mountain with his sword.

When he returned to his hometown, the girl had already died.

He went his own way, using a secret technique of the Divine Edict Sect, writing a Soul-Recalling Talisman with his heart's blood. He took the girl's body, leading her residual soul, and rushed deep into the mountains, hiding in caves during the day and hurrying at night, trying to find a place heavy with yin qi, hoping to help her return to the yang world. Over the next hundred years, he spent all his savings, exhausted his efforts, and depleted his cultivation to build this ancient residence. He stole the wood core of an ancestral female elm from the Ancient Elm Country, using a sinister secret technique to merge the girl's soul with the wood core. Beneath her skirt, she had no feet—only tree roots. The entire ancient residence both prolonged her life and served as a prison...

Up in the embroidered building, they had performed the wedding ceremony together, bowing to the distant heavens and earth, bowing to their parents in the distance, and finally bowing to each other as husband and wife. From then on, they relied on each other for life.

Only the girl's close maid had refused to leave them, transforming from a dark-haired maiden into a white-haired old woman.

The past was unbearable to recall.

The sword-wielding man murmured, "If the world is like this, then living on as a couple is meaningless."

The bearded saber-wielder stopped his blade, raising one hand as a gesture of truce, and asked solemnly, "Is there some hidden story here?"

The man smiled bitterly, "The cult mountain god has coveted this ancient residence for a long time. Since the beginning of spring this year, I've known that my remaining cultivation couldn't withstand the insidious probing of those vile creatures. So I had to go against my conscience and oath, writing a secret letter to the sect, hoping they would send a middle fifth-realm immortal to help intimidate that mountain god temple. But it's like a stone dropped into the sea—no word has come back. That's normal. For the sect not to have hunted me down is already the utmost benevolence. Who would want to get involved in such dirty business? If I were on the mountain and heard about such a shameful sect affair, I'd probably want to descend the mountain and clean house."

The Daoist Zhang Shan came before the bearded saber-wielder and explained quietly, "The Divine Movement Talismans on my legs don't have much time left. If they're faking, I'll really have to take my friend and retreat."

But the young Daoist then smiled, "But I think the man is telling the truth."

The bearded saber-wielder was troubled. The human heart was a demon's lair, smiles could hide ghouls—the ways of the world were unpredictable.

If a Divine Edict Sect disciple really came here, even if just a second or third-realm outer disciple, it could prove the innocence of the ghost man and tree woman.

The Divine Edict Sect, as the leading Daoist authority in Precious Bottle Prefecture, with a Heavenly Lord as its anchor, was no small matter. It was rather ungenerous to say, but even a janitor sweeping the mountain gate steps likely had more sway than the sect master of a small sect outside.

The four present, though the battle had paused, dared not let their guard down even a little.

Especially the woman who had stolen the Ancient Elm ancestral tree's wood core. Before this, she had been well protected by the master of the ancient residence. In this battle, the bearded saber-wielder had cut off countless of her roots, and she had been greatly frightened by that peachwood sword. Deep down, she knew this day would come. But when it truly arrived, she was still panicked, feeling she was always a burden to her husband. Her guilt intensified.

Her heart was a mess.

A hundred years, and it had come to this.

At that moment, two powerful auras appeared in the second courtyard. One, wearing a Daoist robe, descended from the sky but, for some reason, didn't head straight for the embroidered building but chose to land there. The master and mistress of the ancient residence had heard the commotion from that direction but were too busy dealing with the bearded saber-wielder to investigate. They assumed the old servant woman had woken up and was stopping some petty intruder.

Then, the cult mountain god and White Deer Daoist came and went in great haste.

They were muttering something about "life-bound flying sword" and "sword immortal," as if they had encountered a true immortal from the mountains and fled without daring to fight.

The bearded saber-wielder said softly, "Little Daoist, go take a look."

The Daoist Zhang Shan was stunned. Though the bearded man spoke lightly, his eyes clearly told him to get out of this dangerous place.

The young Daoist couldn't speak. His heart was stirred—both excited and sad.

He was glad to have finally met a kindred spirit, someone willing to sacrifice his life to defend the Dao, maintaining his heroic bearing even in a dragon's pool and tiger's den. This was exactly the kind of person he had always dreamed of becoming. But he was sad that he was always so useless, so mediocre.

Without a word, he silently commanded his peachwood sword to fly back from the embroidered building into his hand. Relying on the last moments of his Divine Movement Talismans, he turned and hurried away.

The sword-wielding man in the courtyard frowned, wondering whether the change in the other courtyard was good or bad.

Could the Divine Edict Sect really have sent disciples down the mountain?

The woman was worried about his health. He was already at the end of his rope, and this battle was like a death drum urging him on. She could no longer mind her appearance. She moved forward slowly. Her massive body, usually hidden by her green dress and the tall embroidered building, appeared for the first time. The second-floor beauty-leaning railing was broken open, and she came to rest in the courtyard like a woman standing on a huge tree stump, with a large section of withered root behind her, slanting in the air.

She reached out trembling hands to support her husband's face, making indistinct sounds. She only hated that she couldn't speak.

The man said softly, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Maybe the sect has really sent someone to help."

Seeing this, the bearded saber-wielder sighed, planted his saber on the ground, and thought to himself, Even if this couple were truly evil ghosts, this affection couldn't be fake.

Chen Ping'an, after scaring off the cult mountain god and White Deer Daoist, had picked up the Armor Pill orb and put it in his Storage Item. Then, silently, he made his way to the corridor between the third and fourth courtyards, ready to send his two flying swords to kill. The fifteenth sword to instantly kill the sword-wielding man, and the first sword to delay and exhaust the tree spirit female ghost. But just as he was about to send the swords out of the Sword-Nurturing Gourd, he found the battle had stopped, and the two sides weren't trying to fight to the death yet. Hearing the man from the ancient residence's seemingly heartfelt words, Chen Ping'an couldn't tell truth from falsehood. He held his breath and stood silently behind a corridor pillar that hid his figure.

When the bearded saber-wielder told the Daoist Zhang Shan to leave, Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then tapped his toes, rose into the air, stepped on the corridor pillar, and shot forward toward the third courtyard. He flashed through the upper part of the covered corridor, lightly tapped a crossbeam, and swam through like a fish, returning from the third to the second courtyard. He landed silently at the door of his room, sitting on the threshold. The moment his bottom touched wood, the young Daoist rushed over.

"Chen Ping'an!"

The Daoist Zhang Shan said urgently, "Grab your things and let's go. Hero Xu wants us to get to the town quickly. It's a long story, and I can't explain now..."

Chen Ping'an stood up and suddenly pointed toward the gate of the ancient residence. "Someone's breaking in."

A group of people had entered the gate, closing their oil-paper umbrellas, bypassing the screen wall, and entering the corridor, heading straight for their courtyard.

These people were all dressed in elegant, pure Daoist robes, wearing the fishtail crown, one of the three Daoist hats. There were five Daoists, young and old, men and women, all with extraordinary bearing.

The leading old Daoist seemed to be the leader. Even in the night, his eyes were bright, shining with spirit—clearly an accomplished immortal.

The other four included a young Daoist of about twenty, holding a copper bell and carrying an unsheathed long sword on his back, with a sword tassel made of a long string of golden knots, extremely eye-catching.

There was a pair of young twins, a boy and a girl, with arrogant expressions. One had a coiled black rope hanging at his waist, the other a beautiful green-yellow bamboo whip slanted at her waist.

There was also a smiling child, short of stature with the shortest legs, who seemed to walk with an especially cocky swagger. He carried an unremarkable long strip of wood in his hand, but it was engraved with the ancient characters "Ten Thousand Ghosts Bow Their Heads."

The young Daoist said quietly, "Master, they're human, not demon."

The old Daoist nodded and ignored Chen Ping'an and Zhang Shan standing at the side chamber door. He walked straight ahead. The young man and woman brushed past them, showing no interest in Chen Ping'an with his wooden case of two swords. They only glanced at Zhang Shan's Daoist crown and robe, finding them somewhat novel.

The five Daoists left the two of them behind. As the old Daoist stepped into the third courtyard, he shouted angrily, "Wretch Yang Huang! Get out here and confess!"

Upon hearing that familiar voice, the sword-wielding man under the embroidered building felt both joy and worry.

Joy because the old Daoist was undoubtedly an inner disciple of the Divine Edict Sect, meaning his plea for help had worked. The sect, though it had long removed him from its registers, still hadn't chosen to ignore him. They had sent someone down to investigate, which meant that the cult mountain god surnamed Qin would face consequences.

But deeper worry grew in his heart. The old Daoist was of the same generation as him, having entered the Divine Edict Sect in the same year as a favored son of heaven. Their masters were fellow disciples, and their grandmaster was the same person. But their relationship had been extremely hostile. During their cultivation in the sect, they had been like fire and water. Now, one was an unapproachable immortal master, the other a base, neither-human-nor-ghost enslaved spirit. If the old Daoist wanted to settle personal scores, what could he do?

Behind the old Daoist—not behind Yang Huang—stood the Divine Edict Sect, which had a continent's Daoist leader seated in its mountain gate.

The sword-wielding man pulled the woman behind him, lightly thrust his sword into the ground, no longer holding it. He faced the corridor and bowed deeply. "Yang Huang is willing to accept the sect's punishment."

The old Daoist strode into the embroidered building square with an air of triumph, a smirk on his lips. "Yang Huang, haven't seen you in a hundred years. Looks like you've been living quite well."

The bearded saber-wielder turned to look at the five Daoists' attire. Instead of greeting the immortal masters of the Divine Edict Sect, he clasped his hands toward the bowing man. "Tonight, I, Xu, offended you and your wife. I sincerely apologize! If you need anything, I, Xu, will definitely stand up for you."

Having roamed the jianghu for twenty years, the bearded man had a sharp eye. He could see at once that Yang Huang and the old Daoist of the Divine Edict Sect were at odds.

Fortune and misfortune, as ever, intertwined.

Those slick Daoists, old and young, might as well have had the four characters "Righteous Faction" pasted on their foreheads.

The Daoist Zhang Shan sighed, "As expected of Daoists from Precious Bottle Prefecture." Then, looking at his own outfit, the young Daoist from Julu Prefecture felt somewhat inferior. But, worried about the bearded saber-wielder, he pulled Chen Ping'an to follow at a distance, finally crouching by the corridor railing.

The old Daoist of the Divine Edict Sect had already led his four junior disciples down the mountain into the dilapidated square. He made a hand gesture behind his back—a unique sect signal. The other four immediately shot out, each taking a position, surrounding the master and mistress of the ancient residence. The sword-carrying man also stood atop the high wall. This formation didn't look like the arrival of a patron.

The man named Yang Huang reached out and held the ugly female ghost's hand, saying softly, "May we be husband and wife, life after life."

The female ghost still couldn't speak, only making sounds, but everyone present knew she was saying, "May we be husband and wife, life after life."

At this moment, the straw-sandaled youth, who had intended to watch coldly, found tears streaming down his face.

Even he was somewhat bewildered.

His childhood memories were already blurry, many things unclear.

But one scene, Chen Ping'an still remembered clearly. His father was a taciturn, simple man who, in his entire life, might have said only one romantic line: "Can we still be together in the next life?"

At the time, his gentle mother, who was mending clothes, just smiled and asked, "How could we not be together?"

Little Chen Ping'an was nestled in her arms, too young to be moved by talk of life and death. But he had, by chance, memorized his parents' expressions and postures at that moment.

As time passed, after his parents were gone, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that if you truly loved someone, a single lifetime wasn't enough.

And so, this scene unfolded.

The Daoist Zhang Shan accidentally noticed Chen Ping'an's strangeness. He wiped his own face, puzzled. The rain was so heavy, but it couldn't be all rainwater on his face, could it? And the downpour had now turned into a drizzle, so not using an umbrella was fine now.

Zhang Shan asked, concerned, "Chen Ping'an, are you okay?"

Chen Ping'an quickly rubbed his face, forced a smile, and shook his head. "I'm fine, I'm fine. There are so many strange things tonight, it's too scary. I'm a bit slow to react. I couldn't be frightened before, but now that it's over, I can finally let myself cry."

The Daoist Zhang Shan was impressed, patted Chen Ping'an on the shoulder, turned his head, and held back a laugh. "Just pretend I didn't see."

The old Daoist of the Divine Edict Sect looked around, finally smiling at the upright man from the ancient residence. "Things change, people pass. What a pair of star-crossed