Chapter 222: Some Partings Can Be Reunions
Behind the bamboo tower at Downfall Mountain, a small pond had been newly dug. The water was so clear that no fish could be seen, an empty pond whose purpose was unknown. Wei Bo, however, often crouched here, staring at it for half an hour at a time. He had urged the azure-clad boy and the pink-skirted girl to keep a close watch on the pond for the past six months, making sure no outsiders approached. Not entirely trusting those two, Wei Bo even had the black serpent—now with a golden line under its belly—move from its lair in the cave to coil and keep watch near the bamboo tower.
After Chen Ping'an left, the azure-clad boy had lost his benchmark. Besides, the spring chill was gradually receding, and the daily sunshine was warm and pleasant, so his cultivation grew lax. The pink-skirted girl reminded him twice, but the azure-clad boy retorted with full confidence, saying this was “looseness with measure, thick accumulation for thin release,” not “three days fishing, two days drying nets.”
Today, Wei Bo came to the back of the bamboo tower again, and the azure-clad boy trotted after him happily. No matter how he had asked before, Wei Bo only told him to wait and see, refusing to reveal the truth, leaving the azure-clad boy scratching his heart and lungs every day, itching to reveal his true form and jump into the pond to turn it upside down. But he was wary of Wei Bo’s status and cultivation, as well as the mountain god’s soft-spoken yet treacherous temperament, so the river serpent forcibly suppressed his curiosity, lest he end up being oppressed while living under someone else’s roof.
Today, Wei Bo again crouched by the pond, carefully staring at the subtle currents in the water. It appeared to be dead still, but that was not the case. The very foundation of Downfall Mountain’s mountain and water qi lay not in the mountain god temple at the peak—the mountain root was in the bamboo tower, and the water fortune was in this pond. The mountain god Song Yuzhang had long been on bad terms with the Northern Marchmount God, and being a loyal minister himself, he served the Great Li Song clan wholeheartedly. He had reported this secret matter in full detail to the Ministry of Rites and the Imperial Observatory, only to receive an answer telling him to keep his mouth shut and reveal nothing. Since it was the imperial decree of Great Li, Song Yuzhang stopped pressing the matter. As for his own cultivation being restricted and unable to fully govern Downfall Mountain, he took it lightly.
Still, Song Yuzhang’s relationship with his direct superior Wei Bo grew increasingly distant.
The azure-clad boy also crouched by the pond. He didn’t even know where this pond of clear water had been transported from, but for someone of Wei Bo’s status, moving mountains and water within the territory of the Great Li Northern Marchmount was child’s play.
The azure-clad boy stared hungrily at the pond water, hating that he couldn’t find a single clue. He was completely unaware that the crouching Wei Bo beside him, on his own turf, had a tense face, sweat beading on his forehead, his shoulders burdened as if carrying a mountain, unable even to stand up.
Time flowed like water. The bored azure-clad boy yawned, and only then discovered that a stranger was standing beside Wei Bo, bent at the waist, hands behind his back, smiling as he gazed at the pond. He wore a Daoist robe and a lotus crown on his head. He was young and handsome, but his smile was not quite proper, as if he might use the pretext of palm reading to sneak a touch of young ladies’ hands. In the old days near the Yu River, given the azure-clad boy’s fiery temper, he would have told this young Daoist to get lost as far as possible. Now, having seen much wind and rain in Dragon Spring County, he had restrained himself. But thinking that beside him was a golden-bodied Northern Marchmount God, and in the bamboo tower that terrifying pinnacle martial grandmaster, what was there to fear?
The azure-clad boy quickly stood up, cleared his throat, and said, “Hey, hey, hey, you Daoist, aren’t you a bit rude? You just barged in without a word? Do you know that my master, Chen Ping’an, is the owner of this entire mountain? And near the bamboo tower, there’s a vicious big black snake that loves to eat people. You survived only because I, your lord, have been tirelessly advising that big black snake to eat vegetarian meals. Otherwise, you’d be hmph by now!”
The azure-clad boy crossed his arms and pointed his nose to the sky.
He laughed inwardly: Wahaha! After being stifled for so long, I finally meet a mortal I can scold a few words! Not easy! Thinking this, he looked more and more favorably upon the young Daoist, almost wanting to swear brotherhood with him.
“Is that so? Then I owe my escape to your fortune,” the young Daoist said with a bright smile, quickly thanking him.
This mannerism of the strange Daoist, in the azure-clad boy’s eyes, was much more sincere than Wei Bo’s sly, needle-in-the-cotton smile. But the azure-clad boy, having been bitten by a snake in this damned Dragon Spring County, was now once bitten twice shy, treating every bush as a soldier. He carefully scrutinized the Daoist again, and sure there was no sign of a Qi refiner, he was so moved he almost shed tears of joy. He sauntered over, jumped up, and slapped the young Daoist on the shoulder. “Thank me? My master Chen Ping’an said before he left that when he’s away, I must shoulder the heavy burden and act as master. You’re a guest—how could I let you be frightened?”
From the back window of the bamboo tower, the barefoot old man saw this and said with a chuckle, “If you dare, slap that Daoist’s shoulder once more.”
The azure-clad boy’s heart tightened. He looked up at the young Daoist, then glanced at the mad old man by the second-floor window, then at the lotus crown on the Daoist’s head, and asked tentatively, “Let’s talk nicely, okay? Are you a Tenth-Realm Grand True Man of the Dao Sect, or an Eleventh or Twelfth Realm Heavenly Lord?”
The young Daoist smiled and shook his head. “Neither.”
Half-convinced, the azure-clad boy lowered his voice, “Brother, in the martial world, no matter seniority or cultivation depth, we deal with people honestly. You’re not lying to me, are you?”
The young Daoist nodded. “Truly not lying.”
Below the Tenth Realm, even if I can’t fight, there’s still Wei Bo and the mad old man here on Downfall Mountain. If I still cower, that would be inexcusable!
The azure-clad boy quickly weighed his options, decided he was in an invincible position, and immediately beamed. He jumped up and slapped the Daoist’s shoulder again. “I can tell at a glance you have extraordinary bone structure. Don’t lose heart. Becoming an Earth Immortal in the Nascent Soul stage of the Daoist path? With a few hundred years of hard work, there’s still some hope. If you ever get bullied, just drop my name. Say you know... ‘Yu River White Streak’ or ‘Little Dragon King of Downfall Mountain.’ How are those nicknames? One is romantic, one is majestic...”
The old man on the second floor laughed heartily, giving the azure-clad boy a thumbs-up. “Little water snake, that’s quite a stunt. If you survive today, you’ll be bragging about it for a lifetime!”
The azure-clad boy gulped, his eyes darting. He coughed, dropped his head, and prepared to retreat, muttering, “Time to cultivate, time to cultivate. Today’s cultivation can’t be delayed.”
The young Daoist smiled and said warmly, “Yes, cultivation cannot be slack. Come, come. I have some modest insights into cultivation. You ask, I answer, and I’ll help you think it over.”
Then the azure-clad boy’s vision blurred. He suddenly found someone walking shoulder to shoulder with him. That wasn’t even the strangest part. Strangely, there was also a person crouching by Wei Bo’s side. Even stranger, at the second-floor window, another person stood facing the barefoot mad old man. And by the bamboo tower, the silly girl who was peeking this way had someone sneaking a look with her.
All of them were the same young Daoist in the lotus crown!
The azure-clad boy closed his eyes, pretending to be blind, and groped forward. “I see nothing, I see nothing. I’m sleepwalking, I’m sleepwalking again...”
Over by the bamboo tower, the pink-skirted girl blinked her big watery eyes. Unlike the azure-clad boy’s earlier disrespect, she was more curious than afraid. The “one” young Daoist standing beside her had his hands in his sleeves, looking at the talismanic characters appearing on the wall, and exclaimed in amazement, “The characters are still so interesting. No wonder they help... haha, the heavenly secrets must not be revealed.”
On the second floor, the young Daoist leaned against the window sill and asked with a smile, “I heard you want a fight?”
The barefoot old man first made a Confucian deep bow, respectfully greeting as a member of the Cui clan, then straightened, stepped back two paces, and clasped his fists in martial fashion, no longer showing any awe, his eyes blazing. “I humbly request the Sect Leader to instruct me a thing or two!”
The young Daoist pretended to suddenly understand and said with a laugh, “Well said, well said. Just one or two. If you wanted three, four, five, or six, I’d really be in a bind. After all, now that I’m in your Haoran World, my legs feel like they’re wading through mud—can’t walk fast, can’t jump high.”
Beside the pond, the young Daoist crouched shoulder to shoulder with Wei Bo and asked, “Great Mountain God Wei, could you tell me the origin of the water in this pond, and the golden lotus seed planted within?”
Wei Bo still couldn’t stand up and replied bitterly, “Reporting to the Ancestral Sect Leader, the water is thirty thousand catties of spring water I secretly had fetched on the eve of the Divine Water Kingdom’s fall. The golden lotus seed is an antique from the Divine Water Kingdom’s imperial treasury. Even the royal family and the old Imperial Observatory masters couldn’t explain it clearly back then; it was just passed down through generations as a treasure. After the kingdom fell, refugees passed through Chess Mound Mountain, and I encountered them, thus obtaining this seed. I thought I might use the spiritual spring water to nurture a legendary purple-gold lotus, said to exist only in the Small Lotus Cave Heaven.”
Because Wei Bo was the Northern Marchmount God, master of all mountains, his fate was tied to them. This was both an advantage of time, place, and people, but sometimes natural calamities became a burden for the mountain god. When the lotus-crowned Daoist appeared, he stomped his foot, and Wei Bo was pinned down, unable to move. Even though the Daoist only stepped on Downfall Mountain, it was no different from stepping on Wei Bo’s head.
If the Daoist’s stomp caused Downfall Mountain to collapse, then Wei Bo’s golden body at the peak of Piyun Mountain might lose half an arm.
The young Daoist shook his head in rebuttal. “It’s not only the Small Lotus Cave Heaven that has them. On the Central Divine Continent, the Celestial Master’s Manor on Dragon Tiger Mountain also has three superb purple-gold lotuses, growing quite well, more than ten zhang tall.”
Wei Bo had no reply.
The Daoist was none other than Lu Chen, the third disciple of the Dao Ancestor, who presided over the Green Celestial World of the Daoist faith.
The Daoist faith in the Green Celestial World was divided into three teachings. The position of the three sect leaders was as lofty and transcendent as the Ritual Sage, the Sub-Sage, and the Literary Sage in the Haoran World.
Lu Chen patted the azure-clad boy’s head and said gently, “Alright, stop pretending to be deaf and dumb. If I really wanted to do something to you, do you think this would help?”
The azure-clad boy still didn’t know Lu Chen’s identity, but based solely on the lotus-crowned Daoist’s divine powers—and the fact that he pulled them off in front of Wei Bo and the mad old man—he knew he had hit another iron plate. And this time, it was likely harder than any before.
“This one” Lu Chen accompanied the azure-clad boy as they walked toward the cliff edge, asking with a smile, “Have you heard the story of ‘covering one’s ears to steal a bell’?”
The azure-clad boy raised the back of his hand to wipe his forehead and said sniffling, “Yes.”
Lu Chen asked further, “What do you think of it? Speak your heart.”
The azure-clad boy sobbed, “I just think it’s fun.”
Lu Chen remarked with emotion, “The child can be taught.”
The azure-clad boy suddenly crouched down, wrapped his arms around his head, and stared blankly into the distance, looking utterly forlorn and pathetic.
He missed Chen Ping’an a little. Even if that master’s cultivation was far from impressive, the azure-clad boy still felt more at ease with him around.
Lu Chen wore an unprecedented expression of kindness. He turned sideways, looked down at the dazed little fellow, and asked softly, “Little water snake, would you like to follow me to the Green Celestial World?”
The azure-clad boy looked up, face covered in tears, wrinkled, mouth downturned, and said miserably, “If I refuse, will you just stomp my head flat?”
Lu Chen smiled and shook his head. “Of course not. I would only move away that pond, because whether it’s the spring water or the golden lotus seed, they count as things I left behind in this world. Then Chen Ping’an would lose a great opportunity. Aren’t you always boasting about being a hero? After loafing around and freeloading all this time, don’t you have any sense of loyalty? Do something for Chen Ping’an?”
The azure-clad boy slowly shook his head, eyes tearful. “Even if I’m disloyal once or twice, Chen Ping’an won’t blame me.”
Lu Chen held his forehead. Running into such an obtuse fool, there was really nothing he could do. Well, the opportunity hadn’t come yet; let it be for now.
He sighed and said to the azure-clad boy, “Tell Chen Ping’an later: regarding the pond, he owes me a favor, to be repaid in the future. As for you, when you leave the river to transform into a dragon, you may go to that great river that cuts across Ju Lu Continent from east to west. If you can hold out halfway, you’ll have succeeded. Then you can have Chen Ping’an escort you. Hmm, that will be the favor he owes me.”
The azure-clad boy asked tentatively, “Immortal, why are you so kind to me?”
Lu Chen saw through the little fellow’s thoughts and said bluntly, “One, I’m not your long-lost father or ancestor. Two, I have no interest in your dragon skin after transformation. Three, the reason I’m giving you a pointer is because your background is rather special, and later I may ask you again whether you want to come to the Green Celestial World.”
This “Lu Chen” flickered and vanished.
The azure-clad boy stood up and looked around. The silly girl and Wei Bo no longer had the lotus-crowned Daoist beside them either.
He instantly broke into a smile and swaggered toward the pink-skirted girl near the bamboo tower, strutting proudly. “Silly girl, you know? The old immortal praised my talent so much he almost knelt to take me as his disciple! He even said he’d take me to some world to eat and drink lavishly! But who am I? Since I recognized Chen Ping’an as my master, I have to be loyal, right? So I refused without hesitation. You should have seen the glistening tears in the old immortal’s eyes! Alas, pity his sincere heart. But blame it all on Chen Ping’an’s good luck in getting me as his little attendant, and also on my too much loyalty! Oh, right, silly girl, what did the old immortal say to you?”
The pink-skirted girl raised one little hand. It was glittering with golden light. She said awkwardly, “The old immortal chatted with me about some rules for writing, and finally said you would definitely talk nonsense, so he instructed me to give you a slap on your behalf.”
A crisp, pleasant slap.
The azure-clad boy was hit hard on the face by the golden palm. He spun several times in the air before crashing to the ground. He lay there, deciding to play dead.
Wei Bo stood by the pond, gazing toward the silent second floor of the bamboo tower, filled with worry.
---
In the ancient elm country, at a private mansion called the Grand Flourishing Residence, a tall, handsome scholar with a sickly pallor was eating a steamed peach blossom mandarin fish. In his left hand, he held a custom silver hook; in his right, a pair of green bamboo chopsticks. He savored this seasonal delicacy slowly, accompanied by a pot of the ancient elm country’s tribute wine, occasionally setting down his chopsticks to take a sip.
Before this refined scholar stood four of the ancient elm country’s top martial grandmasters and Qi refiners, famous across the land.
One was a sword grandmaster at the peak of the Fourth Martial Realm, self-taught, with a fierce killing intent. In the martial world of the ancient elm country and several neighboring states, he had mixed reputations—some held him to be powerful but without virtue, while his devotees believed he could defeat any Qi refiner below the Middle Five Realms outside of sects.
One was a Fourth-Realm assassin, not masked, an unremarkable rough-hewn man, but clearly wearing a false face. He was the master of the Buyu Tower, an assassination organization famous in several states. The name meant “the customer only pays for the box but receives a pearl in return.” He had once taken a contract to assassinate a Middle Five Realm Qi refiner and almost succeeded, failing only because the target possessed a secret sect treasure. After that, Buyu Tower suffered devastating revenge and nearly disappeared. But during that time, they also showed enough martial spirit to assassinate disciples of that immortal sect on their travels, at any cost. After more than twenty years of entanglement, one was almost wiped out, the other grievously wounded. Only through the mediation of the ancient elm country’s state preceptor did both sides cease hostilities.
Thus, some martial factions did not merely cling to life and depend on others; they also had the bold spirit to drag immortals down from the mountains at any cost.
The other two Qi refiners: the seductive woman was a rogue cultivator specializing in poisons. Her methods were endless and caught people off guard, able to corrupt the soul. Both martial artists and mountain transcendents were reluctant to provoke this “Viper Lady.”
The last Qi refiner was a stranger who had never appeared in the courts or wilds of the ancient elm country.
For these four great figures to gather, the reason was simple: the young man who looked like a scholar on his way to the capital was the ancient elm country’s state preceptor.
After finishing the plump, delicious peach blossom mandarin fish, he pulled three sheets of paper from his sleeve, each bearing a portrait. He curled his fingers and tapped the middle portrait, a youth carrying a wooden box on his back, and said with a smile, “There’s a Profound-grade treasure in the state treasury. Whoever successfully intercepts and kills this person can take it. I’ll tell you in advance: this youth is very likely a Sixth-Realm sword cultivator; his Third Realm pure martial artist appearance is only a disguise. Don’t be fooled. I only want the head. How you kill him is your concern. If you kill the other two, there will be some rewards as well. You may be assured.”
The three departed one after another, leaving only the lesser-known Qi refiner.
The state preceptor sneered, “Chu State Preceptor, it’s not quite right to be generous with others’ belongings, is it?”
The scholar smiled and asked, “Is that your meaning, or His Majesty’s?”
The man was silent.
The scholar smiled. “As long as you bring back the head, it’s fine. The treasure still belongs to the Chu treasury; it’s just passing through my hands.”
The man snorted coldly and turned away.
---
After a brief stop in the Nan Jian Kingdom, the Dajiao Mountain Kun boat continued to ascend and sail south with the wind.
The Kun boat sailed over the central-southern part of Bottle Gourd Continent, still in a season of light breezes and fine clouds.
One evening, the old Confucian in a sable hat, who had lost a tooth, walked out of his luxurious private courtyard and came to the bow. As far as his eyes could see, the great sun was sinking into the west—a magnificent sight.
The old Confucian watched like this, and before he knew it, a woman who had also come out for a stroll stood beside him. She used the famous small flying sword “Lightning” from Ju Lu Continent as her hairpin—truly a whimsical idea, and certainly an extraordinarily lavish gesture.
At the end of Lightning hung a bead pendant. The reason was even stranger: the woman’s father feared that Lightning was too fast for his daughter to control, so he found a Chi bead from a dragon palace secret realm. He even reforged the sword to make a hole for the bead, to slow its speed.
The old Confucian did not turn to look at the young woman with whom he had recently “made enemies.” The old man had a smile on his face, his lips not moving as he silently transmitted his thoughts: “Little girl, you shouldn’t have come to see me. Be careful not to leak your true colors. However doting your father is, he won’t let this slide.”
The young woman’s face was cold. She answered with her mind: “Sword Jar Sir, why are you doing this? You have no relatives, no children, no disciples...”
The old Confucian raised his hand to adjust his sable hat. This time he did not hide his voice, but spoke aloud, smiling, “Little girl, if you really don’t like that Prince Hulü, just say so. Don’t think you have to like a good man. If you meet a man you like in the future, he might not be a bad man, and you don’t have to dislike him.”
The young woman’s face flushed slightly.
The old man sighed. “Tossed about my whole life, living everywhere. In the end, I find that this little courtyard on the Kun boat calms my heart. Fortunately, I brought a box of books before boarding. Every day when I open the door, there’s this sea of clouds, mountains and rivers, sun and moon—a feast for the eyes. When I go back and close the door, there’s a table of books—moral essays, cultivates the heart...”
The young woman sighed softly.
This trip south was arranged by her father, telling her to go out and relax.
At first, she thought her father wanted to set her up with Prince Hulü, until they reached the Wutong Mountain ferry in the Great Li dynasty. Then she realized it wasn’t that simple.
Only yesterday did she learn the real inside story: that this Sword Jar Sir was the key pawn.
Such a grand chess game.
She even began to suspect she might be a disposable piece.
The sable-hatted old man waved his hand. “Go, go. I’m no handsome young man. You, a maiden, accompanying an old fool to watch the sunset—aren’t you embarrassed? I’m uncomfortable.”
The young woman silently left and returned to her courtyard, holding her breath, quietly waiting for the change to come.
The old cultivator from Ju Lu Continent, nicknamed Sword Jar, smacked his lips, took off his sable hat, slapped it heavily twice, and casually tossed it out of the Kun boat, letting it fly away with the wind. “Goodbye, old friend.”
The old man looked back toward the north. In his youth, he had been a Confucian scholar of gentlemanly quality on Ju Lu Continent, but his temper was awful. Arrogant and conceited, he spent all day, all year, cursing and complaining—cursing the court ministers for being sinecures, the generals for being wine bags, the emperor for being a fool. In the end, he was just cursing himself for being a useless scholar.
Later, when he had lost both home and country, he could no longer curse.
The old Confucian without his sable hat returned to the small courtyard. Along the way, the Dajiao Mountain stewards and servants treated him with great respect. The old man felt some guilt inside, but kept a smile on his face, greeting them, joking around, making himself seem very warm. Compared to the unsmiling Prince Hulü and the gloomy Lady Qinggu, this Sword Jar Sir was much more “lovable.”
In the twilight, the old man returned to his room, took a Confucian classic, and sat in the courtyard, not flipping through the pages. He just closed his eyes and began to doze.
Below the Kun boat, the territory belonged to the Vermilion Flame Dynasty, a powerful dynasty with the most sword cultivators in Bottle Pendant Continent. Legend had it that the land sword immortal Wei Jin, during his first journey in the martial world, spent the longest time in Vermilion Flame, fighting life-or-death battles against famous Vermilion Flame sword cultivators several times.
Vermilion Flame was the premier powerful force in the central-southern part of Bottle Pendant Continent, with over a dozen vassal states. In terms of land area, it was second only to Great Li in the north, which had swallowed the Lu clan dynasty. Among the old Vermilion Flame emperor’s many dragon sons and grandchildren, two had early abandoned the throne and become Ninth-Realm sword cultivators. Among the four royal guardians, there was a Tenth-Realm sword cultivator who had fought the so-called number one under the Upper Five Realms of Bottle Pendant Continent, Li Tuanjing of Wind and Thunder Garden, three times—losing each time, but the gap was narrow. Otherwise, Li Tuanjing wouldn’t have agreed to the later two challenges.
Earlier, the two dynasties north of Guanhu Academy had fought a bitter war, both severely depleted. The nearby Vermilion Flame south of them watched from the shore, gloating.
Bottle Pendant Continent had many nations, but truly “dynasties” numbered only a handful.
The Lu clan dynasty in the north was already a thing of the past. It was said that the royal family members had hanged themselves or jumped into wells; those who survived had become convicts and exiles, forced to open mountains and eat dirt for the Great Li Song clan. The Gao clan of Great Sui stood alone. Further south were those two dynasties that had fought fiercely, even throwing their ancestors’ last assets into battle, both sides badly wounded, corpses strewn across the land, blood flowing for a thousand li. The decisive battlefield would surely become a historic site.
In the north of Bottle Pendant Continent, north of Nan Jian Kingdom and Guanhu Academy, things were very hot.
The south still enjoyed peace.
But in this twilight, atop an unnamed mountain in Vermilion Flame territory, countless strands of sword qi suddenly burst and bloom, illuminating an area of dozens of li as bright as day. The sword qi rushed straight into the clouds like a waterfall shooting upward, violently surging toward a floating Kun boat.
In an instant, the enormous intercontinental Kun boat became riddled with holes. Hundreds of people died on the spot. The gravely wounded Kun fish screamed in agony and thrashed violently. The formations meant to stabilize the structures on the fish’s back had already been destroyed by the sword qi. With the fish’s lurching and the strong upper winds, another several hundred people were thrown off the Kun boat’s back, falling to their deaths on Vermilion Flame’s soil.
The Kun boat’s destruction was already certain. The Dajiao Mountain Qi refiners, including the shipowner, could only watch helplessly as the dying Kun fish kept hurtling toward the ground.
During this time, great cultivators frantically flew up into the air. Lady Qinggu and her group were among them.
The tall, gaunt Lady Qinggu’s face was livid. Her narrow eyes narrowed further like blades. She held her son in one hand and grabbed her husband’s neck with the other, staring tightly at the rapidly descending Kun boat, then swept her gaze toward the source of the sword qi, as if trying to find the culprit.
Like grains of rice, cultivators kept rising into the air, rapidly leaving the Kun boat.
But those Qi refiners who couldn’t fly would have to resign to fate. And if the Kun fish rolled over and crashed into the ground, they would all die—no chance of survival.
At that moment, a very long golden rainbow arced from the northern sky.
The golden light arrived beneath the Kun fish’s head.
It was a middle-aged monk with a resolute face. He supported the Kun fish with both hands, gave a furious shout, bent his knees slightly, and a large golden lotus appeared beneath his feet.
But the downward force of the Kun boat was immense, like a mountain pressing down.
The monk was pushed downward, the golden lotuses beneath his feet shattering one by one. His appearance, though slowing the Kun fish’s descent slightly, still meant he would likely be driven a dozen zhang into the ground by the fish’s head.
Blood seeped from the monk’s seven orifices, but it was not red—it was golden.
He was actually a Buddhist golden-body arhat.
The monk showed no intention of giving up. He bellowed, turned his body, arched his back as if carrying a load forward, and formed hand seals at his chest.
He raised his right forearm, fingers stretched upward like mountain peaks, palm facing outward.
It was the Buddhist Fearless Seal.
The middle-aged monk’s golden blood flowed, yet his face remained calm, as if utterly unaffected by the immense pain and the draining of his hard-earned cultivation.
When the monk’s feet touched the ground, the Kun boat’s sinking momentum had already stabilized. But in the end, the monk was pressed into the earth. When the Kun boat finally rumbled to a stop, the monk was already out of sight. After a long while, the soil loosened, and the monk, covered in dust and golden blood, crawled out from under the fish. With a face full of compassion, he turned around, pressed his palms together, bowed his head, and chanted “Amitabha” in Buddhist fashion.
In the night, the monk walked on the back of the dead Kun fish. Buildings had collapsed, rubble and ruins filled with corpses and the injured.
The monk tended to them as best he could. Finally, he came before a girl whose face was covered in blood. He sighed, saw she was unharmed, pressed his palms together, and silently moved on.
The girl, eyes vacant, held in her arms another girl of similar age, whose face was unrecognizable, a beautiful embroidered pouch hanging from her waist.
The living girl gently patted the corpse’s back, murmuring over and over, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.”
---
In the Colorful Garment Kingdom, Rouge County.
Under a blazing sun, the streets inside the county town were bustling, and the official road outside was thick with merchants and travelers.
The old immortal had taken up residence in a large mansion not far from the county magistrate’s residence. The owner, a wealthy magnate, had sent out invitations far and wide, inviting the powerful and noble of the county to his home. He had specially built a high stage in the middle of a lake. Well before dark, colorful lanterns had been hung, and guests began to stream in, families in tow—no less than three hundred.
Thanks to the magistrate’s legitimate son Xu Gaohua, Chen Ping’an and his two companions were able to enter. But their position was not ideal: in a covered corridor by the lake, two long benches had been set for them, along with a small low table with fruit and snacks. Compared to other guests nearby who only had seats but no refreshments, this was still decent. The table was added because Xu Gaohua chose to stay with his friends instead of accompanying the magistrate.
Chen Ping’an had wanted to practice the Sword Furnace, but worried it would attract too much attention, so he simply took off his wine gourd and drank slowly.
Xu Gaohua sat between the big-bearded man and the Daoist Zhang Shanfeng, quietly telling them about this household’s wealth and its secret connections to a general of the Colorful Garment Kingdom.
The old immortal and his yellow-paper beauty arrived as promised. First, he flew from a distant tall building, slowly floating down to the high stage on the lake. When he landed, he was like a dragonfly skimming the water, his wide sleeves fluttering, displaying an immortal’s bearing. This move drew thunderous applause and cheers from all around the lake.
The old immortal’s face glowed with health. He was lean, refined, and wore the garb of a famous scholar. After landing, he wasted no time, not even bothering with formalities toward the county magistrate or the garrison commander. With a flick of his wrist, he pinched two fingers together and produced a yellow talisman. Those with keen eyes among the martial grandmasters could see lines forming a woman’s silhouette—far from lifelike.
The old immortal lightly flicked his finger, and the yellow paper shot out. When it touched the ground, it exploded into a cloud of green smoke, spreading slowly.
A graceful woman in colorful robes walked out of the green smoke, curtseying toward a waterside pavilion where the main distinguished guests were seated.
The big-bearded swordsman and the young Daoist exclaimed in wonder. Liu Gaohua clapped enthusiastically.
Chen Ping’an, however, suddenly raised his gaze.
Someone was looking back at him at the same time.
That person was half-crouching on the top of a courtyard wall in the distance, grinning at Chen Ping’an.
Chen Ping’an calmly stood up and told Zhang Shanfeng he was going to find the latrine. The young Daoist told him to hurry back and not miss the show. Chen Ping’an smiled and nodded.
When Chen Ping’an walked out of the covered corridor and down the steps, the black-clad boy, about the same age as Chen Ping’an, also walked along the top of the wall.
The distance between them kept shrinking.
Chen Ping’an took a deep breath, as if facing a great enemy.
Some partings, one hopes never to meet again, but often they encounter each other unexpectedly.
Such as Chen Ping’an and that guy named Ma Kuxuan.
And some partings one wishes to see again, but there will be no reunion—like Chen Ping’an and that girl named Qiushi.