Chapter 224: Gifted Scholars and Fair Maidens
At the lakeside high platform, the old immortal once again produced a marvel—using four yellow paper talismans to transform into four beauties. Some were plump, some slender, each with her own unique charm. In terms of appearance and bearing, they were no less than the earlier colorful-clad woman.
He then had the mansion’s servants, who had been prepared in advance, bring out a zither and its table, a Go board and bowls of stones, as well as a large writing desk and a dazzling array of stationery.
For common folk, life revolved around firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, and tea. For celebrated scholars and romantics, it was naturally the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting—hands never touching spring water, sleeves forever clean and breezy.
The old immortal pointed to a woman sitting quietly before the Go board, clasped his fists, and announced in a clear voice, “Are there any Go masters here in Yanchui Prefecture? If anyone can defeat her, the thousand-gold Go board and both bowls of stones may be taken away.”
None of the objects in this mansion were cheap.
Anything bold enough to be put on display before the wealthy of an entire prefecture was certainly no ordinary item.
The literary culture in Yanchui Prefecture of the Caoyi Kingdom was quite flourishing, and there were many Go enthusiasts eager to test their skills. Soon, an old man in blue robes stood up and walked toward the lakeside platform. When the old man appeared, some of the more self-regarding Go players could only sit down obediently. This clearly indicated that the blue-robed elder was the recognized number one Go player in Yanchui Prefecture.
The old immortal and the blue-robed elder nodded to each other in greeting. The latter went straight to sit before the Go board. Before the game began, they needed to decide who would go first. The elder, either out of pride in his seventh-dan rank or because the older of equal rank goes first, unceremoniously grabbed a handful of white stones. The woman formed from yellow paper smiled faintly, bent down to pick up two black stones, and the result was that the elder would play first.
Cheers immediately resounded across the lakeshore.
As one of the few Go national players in the Caoyi Kingdom, the blue-robed elder was naturally a source of local pride for Yanchui Prefecture. It was only reasonable that the onlookers cheered for him—one’s own people always supported their own.
Then the old immortal pointed to the two women seated before the writing desk, indicating the one on his left. “I’ve heard that the Prefect has been worried about something recently. The newly built temple still lacks a pair of couplets for its pillars. After she writes them, whether to use them or not is entirely up to the Prefect. Your Excellency is renowned throughout the court and countryside for your brilliant essays and discerning eye. You can certainly decide after seeing the content.”
The Prefect stroked his beard and nodded with a smile, dignified and gratified.
The old immortal then turned his gaze toward the military general sitting beside Prefect Liu in the waterside pavilion, and laughed heartily. “General Ma, you are a valiant battlefield veteran of great merit, once one of the pillars defending the borders of the Caoyi Kingdom. You have returned from a hundred battles. Though I am a man beyond the mundane world, I hold you in utmost admiration. I have specially asked her to present a painting, ‘Heavy Snow Fills the Bow,’ to honor the general!”
The general downed a cup of wine in one gulp and laughed boisterously. “If the painting is well done, if it can truly capture the vast and desolate spirit of the battlefield, then on the day the old immortal leaves the city, I, Ma, will personally see you off for thirty li!”
The old immortal clasped his fists to thank the general in advance, then finally walked to the zither stand. From his sleeve, he slid out a stick of incense, inserted it into the empty brass censer, and lit it with his own hands. Fragrant smoke curled upward, purple mist swirling.
He nodded to the woman playing the zither. She smiled sweetly and began to lower her head, gathering her emotions.
When the melodious, ethereal sound of the zither rose, the spirits of the hundreds of listeners relaxed along with it.
In ancient, desolate times, the sages created the zither to correct the sounds of all under heaven. As the saying goes, the zither restrains licentiousness and rectifies the human heart.
Inside the covered corridor, the big-bearded man was cracking melon seeds and smacking his lips. “Quite a lot of tricks, but it’s too gentle. Lacks a bit of edge.”
He didn’t care much for zither, chess, calligraphy, or painting. He was far more interested in watching women sword-dance—the colorful-clad beauties and white-robed maidens swaying their tiny waists, the faintly visible shapes of their hips—that was the scenery he truly loved.
The scholar Liu Gaohua was also a Go fanatic and was very curious about the game between the blue-robed elder and that woman. He only regretted being a useless son of an eunuch official, without the chance to go see the lakeside platform in person.
The Daoist Zhang Shanfeng was genuinely anxious. He looked left and right, waiting for Chen Ping’an, who still hadn’t appeared. Could he have really fallen into the latrine? Ignoring the possibility of getting dirty looks, he told the other two briefly and got up to find Chen Ping’an.
The old immortal stood with his hands behind his back, a faint smile on his face, appearing inscrutable. He took in the scene by the lake and knew that most of his scheme had already succeeded.
---
On the small street, Ma Kuxuan took out a porcelain bottle, poured out two silver pills, tossed them into his mouth, and said helplessly, “Master, you really are a persistent ghost.”
It seemed that on this journey through the martial world, his master was secretly shadowing him. This left Ma Kuxuan quite exasperated. He roughly understood the temperament of the man beside him—stubborn as a rock in a stinking latrine, once he decided something, he would see it through to the end. Ma Kuxuan wasn’t particularly anxious about anything. A grand elder of the Zhenwu Mountain, who had taught him secret military arts and bestowed heavy magical treasures, had explained the sect’s rules to Ma Kuxuan: aside from the Mountain Lord’s command, nothing else was truly a rule. But since the Zhenwu Mountain’s sect master had been in seclusion for a hundred years, things had become increasingly loose and casual.
The man remained silent.
This time down the mountain, he was escorting Ma Kuxuan to find trouble with the commander of the Tidal Iron Cavalry, regarding the death of Ma Kuxuan’s grandmother. The dynasty where the Tidal Iron Cavalry was stationed had just fought a great battle against a mortal enemy, both sides tearing heaven and earth apart. One side had even deployed a hundred-foot golden-bodied divine spirit, while the other sent out a national guardian earth ox—originally an ancient iron ox placed by immortals to suppress the water veins of great rivers. In that war, the Tidal Iron Cavalry suffered heavy losses. Ma Kuxuan infiltrated their ranks and, in a single night, assassinated three mid-level generals before swaggering away.
Afterward, Ma Kuxuan said he wanted to roam the martial world, using it as a whetstone to temper his body. The man didn’t refuse but still secretly followed to prevent any mishaps.
Ma Kuxuan wiped away tears, exhaled a heavy breath, clasped his hands behind his head, and asked, “If—just if—Chen Ping’an had a chance to kill me, would you, Master, kill him?”
The man finally spoke. “I dare not kill him, nor do I wish to.”
He dared not because someone had once gone to the Great Li imperial palace and caused heavy losses to the Flying Sword White Jade Tower, and that person was clearly closely connected to Chen Ping’an. If that were all, some might still stir with time. But unexpectedly, that ascending upper-five-realm swordsman had already returned to the mortal world so quickly. Although he was punched back to the Haoran World by the second disciple of the Dao Ancestor—that “Truly Invincible” one—frankly speaking, how many people in the world were qualified to take a full-force punch from Dao Old Second?
He did not wish to because the man had a good impression of Chen Ping’an. If not for the sect’s rules, he felt that the youth from Mud Vase Alley who had grasped the true meaning of the fist so early would actually be more suitable as his disciple.
But accepting Ma Kuxuan as a direct disciple was a sternly worded decree issued by the sect master during a crucial period of seclusion, requiring the entire Zhenwu Mountain to treat it with utmost seriousness—no slip-ups allowed, or when the sect master emerged from seclusion, there would be accountability. That was why Zhenwu Mountain had sent him to the Lizhu Cave Heaven. In the process of competing with the Golden Boy and Jade Maiden of the Shengao Sect for Ma Kuxuan, the man had never backed down half a step; he had even been somewhat aggressive, appearing extremely arrogant.
However, the man was regarded as Ma Kuxuan’s nominal master, which was both true and not. In Buddhism, there are sutra-lecturing monks, ascetic monks, dharma-transmitting monks, dharma-protecting monks, and so on. His true identity was as a Dao protector, the guardian of Zhenwu Mountain disciple Ma Kuxuan’s path of the Great Way. As for whether Ma Kuxuan’s path aligned with his own, that was unimportant.
The man suddenly said, “But you can kill Chen Ping’an, provided you are capable of it.”
This was certainly not the man inciting anyone; he was merely stating a fact.
Ma Kuxuan sneered. “Capable? How am I not capable! With a spatial artifact, who knows how many treasures are inside—others may not know, but you, Master, do!”
The man smiled. “You have some, but doesn’t he as well?”
Ma Kuxuan grinned, his face full of disdain. “Even if he does, can they compare to mine? Not to mention a golden immortal shell handed down from Zhenwu Mountain ancestors—just the two heroic spirits stationed in my soul. Even the most lethal swordsman who hasn’t reached the middle five realms could stab me a thousand times with his flying sword—would he scratch even a hair of mine?”
The man asked, “Then why didn’t you use them? Why let yourself get beaten so badly?”
“This fight was far more interesting than the petty scuffles on Zhenwu Mountain. How could I bear to use damn treasures and let that fellow lose without accepting his defeat? That doesn’t suit my temper, and I’m not willing to bully Chen Ping’an that way. So I want to thoroughly defeat him where he thinks he’s strongest. Isn’t he a pure martial artist? With an inherent physical advantage? I’ll use only my body, tempered by military arts, to clash head-on with him. Master, do you really think my ‘drawing a circle as a prison’ technique meant I didn’t know the peculiarity of Chen Ping’an’s punch?”
Ma Kuxuan laughed. “I did know. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have deliberately avoided him the first time, steering clear of his edge. But thinking back, if I avoid a third-tier martial artist now, what about later? Sixth-tier? Ninth-tier peak masters? Even stop-level masters like Song Changjing? Would I have to avoid them too, even with a realm advantage?”
The man asked, “So what’s your answer?”
Ma Kuxuan looked back. They had walked far, almost reaching the city gate. The figure of the young man with the box on his back was no longer visible. Ma Kuxuan withdrew his gaze, his eyes resolute. “Against others in the future, I can decide whether to avoid their strongest moves depending on the situation, as long as I win in the end. But that guy—no! I want to use my fifth-tier Qi refiner’s physique to fight fiercely against his third-tier martial artist’s physique!”
The man made no comment.
Ma Kuxuan frowned and asked, “How is Chen Ping’an’s third-tier physique so tough? I admit I haven’t done a great job tempering my own body; I’ve spent more effort summoning the heroic spirits of Zhenwu Mountain ancestors. But my ‘not good enough’ is relative to myself. How did Chen Ping’an get such an unreasonable physique?”
The man shook his head. “Everyone has their own opportunities. The good things in this world can’t all be taken by you, Ma Kuxuan, alone.”
Ma Kuxuan sneered. “Within my field of vision, all good things should belong to me alone!”
The man let it go with a smile.
Many truths are not spoken, not because Ma Kuxuan does right. Many praises are not uttered, not because Ma Kuxuan does not do well enough.
A Dao protector only needs to ensure that the person they escort walks higher and farther on the Great Path without falling prematurely.
And Ma Kuxuan was destined to walk very high and very far.
As for how far he would actually go, which historical figure he would stand shoulder to shoulder with—many behind-the-scenes bigwigs in Bottle Gourd Continent were still waiting to see.
As they walked, the black-robed youth covered his abdomen with one hand and his face with the other, cursing, “Damn it, that hurts!”
---
Chen Ping’an forced himself to hold his breath, refusing to let his spirit slacken. He searched everywhere for the so-called assassin. There was no trace of the corpse on the street, so he leaped onto the wall, sprinted in a crouch, then suddenly stopped and floated down. At the base of the wall where he had faced off against Ma Kuxuan, there was a patch of ashes. Inside, a small white bowl and a short piece of charcoal-like ebony rested quietly. Chen Ping’an did not approach but stood still, staring intently. The outside of the small white bowl was painted with the True Form Charts of the Five Sacred Mountains. The ebony appeared unremarkable.
This assassin had likely been instantly slain by that military cultivator, then burned to ashes by Zhenwu Mountain secret arts. But the man had deliberately left behind the two treasures the assassin had carried on his person, not destroying them. Could this be his way of expressing apology? Chen Ping’an hesitated for a moment, then went over, crouched down, and picked up the ebony, which was only about a foot long but extremely heavy—eight or nine catties at least. He then picked up the small white bowl, twirled it between his fingers, and examined it closely. The five mountains depicted on the white bowl—judging by the names, if Chen Ping’an remembered correctly, they should be the Five Sacred Mountains of the Ancient Elm Kingdom.
The identity of the assassin was not hard for Chen Ping’an to guess. Most likely, he was a subordinate of the Chu clan scholar from the old mansion. That man had claimed even the emperor of the Ancient Elm Kingdom treated him as an equal. Before dying, his body had turned into rotten wood, clearly using a death-substitution method. He had also made threats, saying he would come after Chen Ping’an. Later, the ghost servant Yang Huo had mentioned his wife’s core of female elm wood. That made it simple and clear: the foundation of the Chu clan scholar’s Dao was, first, a body transformed from an ancient elm, and second, the female elm wood core of the female ghost in the old mansion. Hence, the tree spirit had used the term “connected.”
Since these were the relics of an enemy, Chen Ping’an took them without compunction. Not only that, he felt a bit dissatisfied that the assassin’s belongings were so meager—why hadn’t he carried a few dozen Snowflower coins on him?
Chen Ping’an put the lightweight bowl and heavy ebony into his spatial artifact. He simply couldn’t walk anymore. Staggering a dozen steps, he came to a sturdy apricot tree by the wall, leaned against it, and slowly sat down. From Flying Sword Fifteen, he took out a clean garment and carefully wiped off the bloodstains.
He couldn’t exactly tell people he had gone to the latrine and then run back covered in blood. Not only would the big-bearded man and the young Daoist become suspicious, but the entire corridor would probably start jeering. On such a lively day, Chen Ping’an didn’t want to become the center of attention, nor did he want to cause trouble for Liu Gaohua.
Chen Ping’an could endure pain and suffering, but that didn’t mean it felt good. After fighting for his life against Ma Kuxuan inside that circle, Chen Ping’an’s internal organs were badly injured. Now he just wanted to sit here, not think about anything. Over at the lakeside platform, the event had not yet concluded; cheers continued. His view was blocked by a covered corridor and a crowd of onlookers, so he couldn’t see much from here. He simply looked up.
Beside him, the old apricot tree had a large crown and thick branches, in full bloom, monopolizing the spring breeze.
People were so different.
Both came from the same small town. Ma Kuxuan cared nothing about things that didn’t matter to him—like being called a fool or having his shoes dirtied. But when it came to things he cared about, he couldn’t stand anyone being better than him in the slightest.
Liu Xianyang would directly give up on things Chen Ping’an did better, like making bamboo bows or setting traps.
Gu Can, the snot-nosed kid from Mud Vase Alley, wanted Chen Ping’an to do even better, so that he could just bask in reflected glory.
Of course, aside from innate temperament, this also had to do with closeness and distance.
Chen Ping’an took off the sword-nurturing gourd, took a swig of strong liquor, which only made the burning sensation in his Qi apertures worse. But such was the world—though it hurt like hell, Chen Ping’an, grimacing, only wanted to drink more. He stopped gulping and took small sips. A poor drunkard considers dregs a delicacy, and the liquor in Chen Ping’an’s gourd was excellent to begin with.
Today’s fight on the small street had brought plenty of frustration, but even more exhilaration.
Although Ma Kuxuan had still been arrogant this time, and they had only barely fought to a draw, Chen Ping’an never cared much about victory or defeat. Just as A Liang said: Never die. Live first, then live well. Chen Ping’an felt that A Liang’s words, though crude, were not wrong.
So he raised the gourd, held it high above his head, shook it, then froze. With a mournful face, he dejectedly lowered the gourd, swallowing back the grand words that were about to come out.
The liquor was gone.
Chen Ping’an fastened the gourd at his waist. Suddenly remembering something, he communicated mentally with Flying Sword Fifteen, and soon an embroidered pouch appeared in his hand. He opened it—inside were three pieces of peach blossom pastry. He lowered his head and sniffed; none had gone bad. The spatial artifact was truly miraculous. After so long, the pastries were still as fresh as when he had taken them from Luopo Mountain.
With one hand holding the pouch, he picked up a piece of pastry with the other, put it in his mouth, and chewed carefully. Leaning his head back against the wall, he looked up at the apricot blossoms covering the tree.
After eating one whole piece, he couldn’t bear to eat another. He carefully wrapped up the pouch.
A smile spread across Chen Ping’an’s face. His own shop’s peach blossom pastry was truly delicious!
His first thought was that he wanted Miss Ning to taste it. Imagining their next meeting, Chen Ping’an laughed foolishly to himself for a while, then suddenly slapped his own face. “You idiot.”
---
Without Wei Bo’s carefully prepared medicinal bath to soak in, Chen Ping’an’s recovery speed was like the difference between flying on a sword and walking. But after resting for a while, normal walking was no problem. Just as he was about to get up and return to his seat in the corridor, he heard sparse footsteps in the distance—one heavy, one light—most likely a man and a woman.
Chen Ping’an thought for a moment and decided to stay sitting at the base of the wall, hidden by the apricot tree. He could wait until they left before moving.
But something happened that left him utterly dumbfounded. The man and woman—the man didn’t seem to be from the Caoyi Kingdom—were conversing in the elegant speech of Bottle Gourd Continent. When they reached the dimly lit area near the apricot tree, they began to embrace. The man and woman panted heavily. The woman resisted softly, but with reluctance that invited pursuit. The man, thick-skinned, started kissing her face voraciously; his hands were likely not idle either.
Chen Ping’an felt uneasy. What should he do? Alert the lovebirds? Or hope they would be satisfied and leave soon?
He really didn’t want to get involved in this kind of spectacle. If he was discovered, it would be like mud in his pants—even if it wasn’t shit, it would be taken for shit.
After some hesitation, Chen Ping’an decided to get up and cough once.
On the other side of the apricot tree, the young woman screamed and hid behind the man.
The man strode around the tree, eyes wide, staring at Chen Ping’an’s indistinct face. Seeing that the other was a short, thin, young lad, he immediately regained his courage. “Don’t be afraid! If this lecher who covets your beauty wants to take advantage of you, he’ll have to step over my corpse! Even if he beats me to death, I won’t abandon you!”
The woman seemed on the verge of tears—whether from fear or emotion—and leaned her shoulder against the man’s broad, warm back, murmuring infatuatedly, “Brother Liu, you’re so wonderful.”
Chen Ping’an stood frozen. He wasn’t angry, but he found it ridiculous. He thought, were you two also hit by a cow’s tail as children?
This stalemate couldn’t go on. Chen Ping’an found an excuse, feigning embarrassment. “Young master, miss, you might have misunderstood. I was here first. Since it’s my first time entering this mansion, I didn’t know where the latrine was, so I had to…”
Before he could finish, the man roared, “Lecher! Flower thief! Haven’t you buckled your belt yet? What are you trying to do? Disgusting! There are really people in this world so blinded by lust!”
At the same time, he didn’t forget to comfort the woman behind him, whose beauty was overshadowed by panic. “Miss Liu, stay behind me. Don’t let your eyes be dirtied by this kind of scum.”
Finally, the man secretly winked at Chen Ping’an, his face full of smugness, a thoroughly punchable expression that seemed to say, “Today, I’m going to play the hero saving the beauty, and by this momentum, I’ll snag this girl. If you’ve got the guts, come hit me!”
Chen Ping’an looked at him.
A rather handsome young man, tall and slender, with a face like polished jade—a typical frail scholar. No wonder the big-bearded man often grumbled that scholars were no good, and that ladies of noble families and girls of modest households all had eyes too blind to see his, Xu’s, worth, preferring these sickly scholars.
Then Chen Ping’an took a single step, appeared before the scholar in an instant, and slapped him across the face. The man fell sideways, knocked cleanly unconscious.
The young woman stood there, mouth agape, eyes blank. She wanted to scream but didn’t dare, suppressing it with effort, afraid that this thug who had attacked her would kill her too. Then she and her newly beloved Brother Liu would truly become a pair of dead lovers. But didn’t the books about gifted scholars and fair maidens always have parental opposition, various hardships, ups and downs, yet in the end, sweetness after suffering and a happy marriage? No book ever said a scholar and a beauty would be beaten to death by a brigand.
Chen Ping’an strode away, jostling the box on his back, and did not look back.