Chapter 241: Having Drunk a Sword Immortal's Wine, You Can Brag

Chapter 241: Having Drunk a Sword Immortal's Wine, You Can Brag

Wang Yiran's expression was grave. He twisted his body, disregarding whether he might startle the other women and young ladies in the waterside pavilion. His toes tapped on the railing as he swiftly rushed toward the pond to fish out his fallen daughter.

The young master of Sword Water Manor looked completely unfazed. The young scholar, who was idly twirling his folding fan, clicked his tongue and remarked, "Wouldn't have guessed he was a hidden master, a truly formidable one."

With a snap, the scholar closed his fan and gazed at the receding figure of the sword-bearing youth walking away along the path. A martial artist at the Fourth Realm—a junior grandmaster! Could he be the closed-door disciple of the Sword God of Colorful Garment Kingdom? Perhaps, given the dangers of the martial world and the fact that his master, the Sword God, had been struck down and killed in the mountains, he was forced to disguise himself as an outsider and travel far away to take refuge. Otherwise, the scholar couldn't imagine who could have produced such a young martial prodigy, one who had reached the Grandmaster Realm even earlier than Song Fengshan.

Song Fengshan's wife, the beautiful and virtuous young woman, couldn't help but ask softly, "Will Coral be all right?"

Song Fengshan silently rubbed the hilt of his short sword, "Cang Shui," which he wore at his waist, using his thumb and forefinger. He smiled without speaking.

The scholar smiled and explained, "Don't worry, madam. Miss Liu is not seriously injured. That young man's punch used a clever technique. He only stunned Miss Wang with an external force of fist energy, a superficial wound. It won't harm her body or her spirit. During this exchange, the young man actually pulled his punch at the last moment. It's probably just as Manor Lord Wang said—he doesn't want his own path through the martial world to become any narrower."

Sure enough, Wang Yiran returned to the waterside pavilion carrying his daughter in his arms. With Wang Yiran's help, having her acupoints pressed a few times, the young woman gradually regained consciousness. Apart from looking utterly disheveled, her clothes soaked through, her figure faintly revealed, and having lost tremendous face, her complexion and spirit were still passable. The woman, who wore her saber slung in reverse, struggled to stand in the waterside pavilion. Her forehead was swollen. Turning her back to everyone, she braced one hand against a pillar of the pavilion and covered her mouth with the other. This tall, slender woman, dripping wet, had a misty, watery look in her eyes. Compared to her usual cold demeanor, she now carried a pitiable charm.

The girl who always loved stirring up trouble craned her neck, staring in a daze at the drinking youth on the path, and exclaimed in awe, "Wow, he really is a master."

The scholar took a quick glance at the woman's graceful silhouette from the side. Like a drowned rat, her shapely figure was clearly outlined. The corner of the scholar's mouth curled up. What a pair of astonishingly long legs. That impetuous young man probably didn't appreciate this kind of allure. But someone like him, a wealthy scion with rich experience, knew well that such tastes were the most harmful to a man.

No sooner had one wave subsided than another arose.

In the martial world, there was a principle that an insult to the master meant death for the servant. Among the trusted attendants of various factions outside the waterside pavilion, there was a big man carrying a great ox-horn bow. He seemed to catch the veiled mockery of a few of his colleagues in service. In an instant, anger surged from his guts. With a loud shout, he unslung the rare hard bow, which had taken a master ten years to craft, and plucked an arrow fletched with carved feathers from his quiver of white feathers at his waist. He drew the bow to a full moon. "How dare a scoundrel harm our young lady! Taste my arrow!"

Having encountered one sudden change after another, Wang Yiran, the Manor Lord of Horizontal Blade Villa, known for his steady composure and "mountain-like aura" as a saber grandmaster, also felt some irritation. He roared in anger, "Ma Lu! No shooting from ambush!"

Chen Ping'an, who had already walked over a hundred paces away, was just about to turn around. He was slightly startled, the corner of his eye catching sight of a figure standing with hands clasped behind his back on a high branch at the top of a large tree. The mountain wind blew, and the black-clad old man's form gently swayed with the branch like water ripples, an impressive sight. The two quickly met each other's gaze. The old man nodded in greeting, and Chen Ping'an gave up the idea of taking action. He simply turned around to face the waterside pavilion again.

The old man with a sword at his waist flickered and vanished. In the next moment, he landed on the path, brushing past Chen Ping'an like a wisp of smoke. He raised his arm and extended one finger in front of him, pointing it upright.

A carved feather arrow that had shot through the air was stopped by the old man's finger meeting its tip. The powerful arrow shattered inch by inch in the air, while the old man's finger remained unharmed, without any sign of damage.

The old man extended another finger, gently pinching the last remaining arrow tip, which was already spent. He casually tossed it aside. The arrow tip shot out, piercing through the palm of the big man who held the bow. The man was full of grit, refusing to drop the ox-horn bow even then. His arm, with a bloody and mangled palm, hung limply. He held the bow with one hand, glaring fiercely at the uninvited guest.

The black-clad old man's expression was cold. "When you walk the martial world, you accept life and death as your own responsibility! Has no elder taught you this principle? In other parts of the Comb Water Kingdom's martial world, you can break any rules you like. But in my Sword Water Manor, no."

The young woman stood up and performed a graceful bow, everything in her manner perfect. She respectfully addressed him, "Ancestor."

Wang Yiran's expression shifted slightly. He quickly cupped his fists and bowed his head slightly. "Wang Yiran of Horizontal Blade Villa pays respects to Sword Saint Song!"

The scholar followed suit, tapping his young sister on the head to signal her to stand and greet him. Then the scholar made a deep bow and announced in a clear voice, "Han Yuanshan of Lesser Heavy Mountain Han Clan pays respects to the old manor lord."

The lively young girl showed no stage fright at all. She imitated her brother's bow but didn't lower her head, instead staring straight at the legendary old martial immortal. She said in a childish voice, "Han Yuanxue of Lesser Heavy Mountain Han Clan pays respects to the old manor lord."

Old Sword Saint Song Yushao revealed himself. As the old man's direct grandson, Song Fengshan was the last to stand up. His voice carried no emotional fluctuation as he slowly said, "Grandfather, this trip of yours has been rather short. I thought you'd only be willing to return once the manor was quiet and had no more guests."

The old man glanced around and tossed out a meaningful remark: "A mess of filth and smoke." Then he accompanied Chen Ping'an as they turned and left, completely disregarding the Han clan of Little Heavy Mountain, the backbone of the Comb Water Kingdom, and Horizontal Blade Villa alike. Not one of them seemed worthy of his attention.

Song Yushao walked side by side with Chen Ping'an. Only with his back to the others did he show a hint of despondency. After walking a distance, he said self-deprecatingly, "The family style has skewed badly. Worse than a waterfall. I must look ridiculous to you."

Chen Ping'an didn't know how to respond, so he simply offered some polite platitudes. "The people in the manor are actually not that bad. It's not as excessive as you say, Senior."

Every family has its own difficult scripture. No matter how magnanimous and open-minded the old man was, he didn't want to air his family's dirty laundry in front of an outsider. So he changed the subject. "That punch outside the waterside pavilion—why did you change your mind at the last moment, using only three or four parts of your full strength? That future manor lord of Horizontal Blade Villa has a stubborn temperament. She's not someone to take lightly. You showed mercy today, but she may not appreciate it. She might even harass you endlessly. The young men and women of the martial world nowadays only care about their own satisfaction. I don't like it, but your way of being too unsatisfied, I can't appreciate either."

Chen Ping'an took a sip of wine, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He smiled. "If I have to kill someone just because I feel unhappy in my heart, that's too domineering. Besides, I'll be leaving the Comb Water Kingdom soon. It's not easy for Horizontal Blade Villa to come looking for trouble with me. At most, that woman will curse me behind my back, and I won't hear it anyway."

Song Yushao turned his head to look at the boy's sincere expression. It was both unexpected and reasonable. He laughed. "For an old man like me to say such things, it's acceptable. Half my body is already in the grave. What else can I do? But for a kid of fifteen or sixteen to act so world-weary is just too boring."

Chen Ping'an didn't argue. After that punch, the lingering melancholy in his heart had lightened a great deal. That was enough.

He remembered something and said softly, "In the ancient temple, the woman who called herself one of the Four Fiends of the Comb Water Kingdom entered your manor with a burly man. Be careful, Senior."

Song Yushao laughed heartily. "That's nothing. Add in Master Han from the waterside pavilion, and the infamous Four Fiends of the Comb Water Kingdom are all gathered here."

Chen Ping'an asked puzzledly, "And the last demon?"

Song Yushao shook his head with a bitter smile. "Better not to mention it."

Chen Ping'an took a sip of wine, thinking.

The old man understood and spoke frankly. "I invited you to stay as a guest this time with no ulterior motives. I just hoped that this manor wouldn't be filled entirely with human scum wearing human faces. This Sword Water Manor, after all, was built by my own hands. I don't want it to be a shit-stained place everywhere, making me feel sick just walking around. Having you as guests makes it look much better to my eyes."

Chen Ping'an was at a loss whether to laugh or cry. This senior was too straightforward.

Chen Ping'an didn't know that in the martial world, apart from his increasingly renowned Sword Saint title, Song Yushao also had the nickname "Iron Lump" given by his peers. It referred to his sternness, both in the family and especially outside. If anyone thought Song Fengshan didn't inherit Song Yushao's personality at all, they would be wronging Little Sword Immortal. It was just that Song Yushao's old-school martial world air—stubborn, pedantic, and constrained—was something Song Fengshan, who pursued the extreme of the sword path, disdained to follow.

For a man of seventy like Song Yushao, who had seen too many storms of the martial world and the wickedness of human hearts, he was ever more convinced of one thing: reason only needs to be spoken to those who are reasonable. Otherwise, the rusty old iron sword at his waist was his reasoning. Song Yushao liked to travel the martial world alone with his sword. In recent years, he had seen many sharp-edged rising stars. Their talent was truly good, but their martial virtue was really not so. Yet they were still thriving, admired by countless martial world figures. Song Yushao didn't quite understand. In thirty or fifty years, the martial world would be handed over to these people. What hope would there be then?

But no matter how high Song Yushao's swordsmanship was, he was only one man. His peers had passed away one by one, taking with them the old sayings and old rules that the younger generation didn't want to hear, burying them in the mud. Now even the old Sword God of Colorful Garment Kingdom, who was both friend and foe, and also a senior, had died. Song Yushao felt a lack of interest.

He felt the current martial world was insipid, completely lacking the flavor of wine.

The old man and the young man strolled idly. Suddenly, Song Yushao said, "Those people in the waterside pavilion by the waterfall have poor eyesight. They can't see how profound your fist intent is, but I can. So let me say this: your current state of mind has some problems. Breaking through from the Third to the Fourth Realm is the first major threshold for us martial artists. The more solid your foundation, the greater the flaw when you break through with a knot in your heart. The collapse of a mighty snowy mountain is a thousand times more terrifying than a mudslide on a small hill. Kid, you need to be careful!"

Chen Ping'an was suddenly startled. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand, pondered for a moment, then turned and said, "Thank you for the warning, Senior."

Song Yushao thought for a moment and said something that seemed irrelevant. "Earlier, holding back your punch was you being a decent person, no doubt. But for your breakthrough, it was not ideal. According to the usual way of the martial world, if you had thrown that punch with full force, severely injuring or even killing that woman, then inciting public anger, leading to a great battle, a bloody battle, a life-and-death battle—that might have been your opportunity for breakthrough. What the mountain immortals call 'destined opportunity.'"

Chen Ping'an smiled. He didn't regret it. He said another thing that sounded very world-weary: "It doesn't matter. What is meant to be mine won't run away; what isn't meant to be mine, I can't grasp."

Song Yushao had been carefully observing the boy's expression. Seeing his calm demeanor and clear eyes, the old man nodded inwardly.

This boy and his grandson Song Fengshan, who followed a sword path, were worlds apart. Though it was too early to say who was right or wrong, who could go further and faster, Song Yushao personally felt that this sword-carrying traveler with mediocre swordsmanship was more to his liking. On the matter of educating children, scholarly families were indeed more capable than martial sects. On this, Song Yushao was sincerely convinced. In his early years, he devoted himself to the sword path and neglected the cultivation of the family style. He was in the dark, or rather, he didn't know where to start. At most, it was just scolding and beating. Now looking back, the old man only felt guilt and regret.

The old man didn't actually think he was any better than Wang Yiran of Horizontal Blade Villa.

Ritual comes from aristocratic families; law comes from sects.

True aristocratic children were steeped in etiquette and rules from childhood. The magic arts of the mountain immortals had been passed down through generations in an orderly manner.

Song Yushao felt this deeply. He had once traveled far to the Southern Stream Kingdom and associated with the famous scholars there. Though their personalities varied, each had their own charm. Even scholars who couldn't even truss a chicken still made one feel inferior.

Beside the path between the waterfall and Sword Water Manor, there was a charming little pavilion with upturned eaves. It bore a plaque reading "Mountains and Waters" and couplets saying "Rocks white and jagged, waters clear and gurgling." Simple yet unique.

Song Yushao clearly had a special fondness for this pavilion. He pulled Chen Ping'an to sit on the bench inside, facing each other. The old man rested his sword horizontally on his knees; the youth carried his sword on his back. One was hailed by the martial world as a sword saint; the other didn't even have confidence in drawing his sword.

The view was wide open—distant mountains like indigo.

The mountain breeze was refreshing, lifting the spirits.

Song Yushao sat here in silence, not deliberately making small talk with the boy. He simply thought his own thoughts.

His grandson Song Fengshan didn't have great ambitions regarding the martial world. It was more his grandson's wife who was pushing things. Day and night, she whispered in his ear, making Song Fengshan consider matters he'd normally treat as trivial as important enough to aim for the position of Martial World Leader, wanting to control both black and white, even extending his reach into the imperial court. Otherwise, given Song Fengshan's nature, why would he have paid any attention to the Comb Water Kingdom's eldest princess in the first place? Not splitting her in two with a single sword strike was already merciful.

The term "Four Fiends of Comb Water Kingdom" had emerged only in the last decade and wasn't widely circulated. Generally, only martial grandmasters of Wang Yiran's standing had heard of it. The leader was the burly man who had entered the manor with the "Old Ma'am" demoness. He possessed a silver halberd, a magic treasure of the immortals, and had founded a demonic sect in the Comb Water Kingdom. The second was the demonic woman in the ancient temple. Then came Master Han of Lesser Heavy Mountain in the waterside pavilion, who, despite his noble birth, practiced demonic magic and controlled many high-ranking regional officials of the Comb Water Kingdom.

The last of the Four Fiends, far away yet close at hand, was exactly Song Yushao's grandson's wife.

During one of Song Yushao's distant travels, she had "unintentionally" met Song Fengshan. They married behind Song Yushao's back and announced it to the world. By the time Song Yushao returned to the manor, the deed was done. The most helpless thing was that Song Fengshan, bewitched, openly acknowledged knowing his wife was a fiend. That time, Song Yushao drew his sword. One stroke severed his eldest grandson's original sword, and another pierced through the woman's belly. Song Fengshan, maddened, tried to fight his own grandfather to the death. In his rage, Song Yushao was about to cut the unfilial descendant's tendons, completely severing his sword path, lest he bring disaster upon the world later. But the woman stood in front of Song Fengshan, letting the old man's sword pierce through her heart. Though she didn't die on the spot, her Bridge of Longevity was truly broken. From then on, she became a sickly wretch who couldn't even withstand the chill of spring.

These sordid family affairs—Song Yushao tried to reason with them, using both logic and emotion. It was useless. In the end, he even drew his sword several times, but still couldn't make his point clear. It became a messy, unresolved account.

Song Yushao let out a long sigh.

"Mountains and Waters Pavilion," mountains jagged, waters gurgling—the scenery was beautiful, but worldly affairs were like wind and waves, never following one's wishes.

Suddenly, Chen Ping'an asked, "Senior Song, can I practice my punches by the waterfall from now on?"

Song Yushao didn't hesitate. He agreed readily, "Why not? I'll declare right away that from this Mountains and Waters Pavilion to the waterfall is now restricted ground of Sword Water Manor. Anyone who crosses dies."

Chen Ping'an scratched his head, feeling a bit apologetic. "I'll just go practice at night when no one is admiring the view. There's no need to seal off the path during the day. That would be too inhospitable."

Song Yushao shook his head and laughed heartily. "Kid, you're way too indecisive. I'm carving out a piece of shit-free land in my own territory. Do I need to explain myself to outsiders?"

Chen Ping'an had no choice but to say, "If the manor ever needs my help with anything, Senior, just say the word."

The old man patted the iron sword on his knee and said gruffly, "My sword is different from the two you carry on your back."

Chen Ping'an looked embarrassed. He took off his Sword Nurturing Gourd and just drank in silence.

The old man suppressed a smile, sheathed his sword, and stood up. "Just practice your punches. Stay in the manor as long as you like. Oh, and that wine of yours smells terrible. I'll have someone send a few jars of aged Huadiao to your quarters later—buried for nearly twenty years. That's real wine! What you're drinking is barely better than water. The worst part is, you kid like to take a sip whether anyone's around or not, for no reason at all. It makes me embarrassed for you."

With a tap of his toe, the old man's figure swayed. In a flash, he appeared on a high branch in a distant forest. After a few graceful, swift leaps, he vanished.

Chen Ping'an sat alone in the Mountains and Waters Pavilion.

Meeting this senior martial artist twice, Chen Ping'an inexplicably thought of the City God Shen Wen of the Rouge Prefecture in Colorful Garment Kingdom. Though one was a pure martial artist renowned in the martial world and the other was a civil official deity enjoying incense offerings—oh, and also the Qi Practicer who took Luan Luan as a disciple—he felt they were somewhat similar. But he couldn't pinpoint exactly how. Anyway, after dealing with them, Chen Ping'an felt he really couldn't keep buying the cheapest local spirits for his wine gourd anymore.

Haha, it didn't matter. Soon he would be able to drink the best wine Sword Water Manor had to offer!

Best of all, Chen Ping'an didn't have to spend any money!

So when Chen Ping'an left the Mountains and Waters Pavilion and returned to his quarters, he was in an excellent mood.

When he reached the courtyard, Xu Yuanxia and Zhang Shanfeng saw Chen Ping'an's joyful face and exchanged puzzled glances. What? Was admiring the waterfall that effective?

Chen Ping'an sat happily at the stone table and laughed. "I'm going to practice my punches by the waterfall tonight. Either of you want to come with me?"

The bearded man grinned mischievously. "Did you catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman bathing by the waterfall? If there's such a sight, count me in!"

Zhang Shanfeng blinked. "This humble priest can keep watch for you."

Chen Ping'an shook his head helplessly. "What are you talking about? I got into a conflict at the waterfall and had a fight. I think it was someone from Horizontal Blade Villa. Luckily, Senior Song showed up and stopped an arrow from one of their attendants. Otherwise, I probably would have had a much bigger fight, and I might have dragged you two into it..."

The bearded man clicked his tongue. "Chen Ping'an, dragging us down? I'm a grown man—are you after my good looks? I think Zhang Shanfeng here has some looks. Let me go buy him a set of women's clothes from the town. Then he can frolic around the waterfall and maybe play matchmaker for you. Maybe you'll get a happy marriage..."

Chen Ping'an was drinking when he almost spat out a mouthful.

Zhang Shanfeng made a gagging face and quickly moved away from the two of them. "Even a rabbit doesn't eat the grass next to its own nest. You two—targeting your own brothers? That's going too far."

Chen Ping'an silently moved to another stone stool, farther from Xu Yuanxia.

The bearded man stroked his whiskers. "What? You'd stab yourself in the ribs for a brother, but you can't put on a woman's clothes? Not exactly loyal, are you?"

Zhang Shanfeng cupped his fists in a plea for mercy, backing away. "This humble priest is going inside to study scriptures. You two can be loyal and chat on your own."

Xu Yuanxia laughed heartily.

Chen Ping'an smiled knowingly.

Just then, the old butler surnamed Chu arrived with people carrying four jars of fine wine. They set them down and left. The old man's attitude toward Chen Ping'an was increasingly amiable.

Zhang Shanfeng didn't really like to drink, so Chen Ping'an planned to split the wine with Xu Yuanxia, two jars each. Xu Yuanxia hesitated, then shook his head with a smile. "One jar is enough for me. Chen Ping'an, you take three."

Chen Ping'an looked puzzled.

Xu Yuanxia glanced around, saw nothing unusual, and pointed at the vermilion wine flask at Chen Ping'an's waist. He said softly, "You didn't think I'd notice anything? Half a lifetime in the martial world would have been wasted. I just didn't want to bring it up before. Same as you calling yourself 'Zhang Shan' earlier. Everyone who walks the martial world has some secrets. This wine flask of yours is either a legendary Immortal's Spatial Storage device or an even more precious Sword Nurturing Gourd, right?"

The bearded man pointed at his own eyes. "I've had fiery golden eyes for a long time."

Chen Ping'an didn't deny it. He said quietly, "Sorry for hiding it from you two for so long."

Xu Yuanxia rolled his eyes. "Nonsense. Whether it's right or wrong has nothing to do with it. Being careless while walking the martial world is what really lets down your friends."

Saying this, the bearded man's expression turned somber. He opened one of the long-buried manor wines and filled his own ordinary flask. After filling it, he shook it. "This isn't just polite talk. I've suffered terribly from that."

Xu Yuanxia drank deeply. There was still half a jar of good wine left. He'd be full before he got drunk.

Seeing the man in a low mood, Chen Ping'an didn't say anything else. He simply drank with him, though Chen Ping'an drank slowly while the man gulped his down.

After finishing his flask in one go, Xu Yuanxia wiped the wine off his whiskers and asked with a smile, "Does the wine in your flask taste different?"

Chen Ping'an chuckled and tossed the Sword Nurturing Gourd to the bearded man. "Try it yourself."

Xu Yuanxia raised the Sword Nurturing Gourd high, took a big swig, and tossed it back to Chen Ping'an. He said with relish, "It does taste a bit better!"

Chen Ping'an laughed. "Bullshit! The wine in my gourd is still the cheapest I could buy back in town. Can it compare to the manor's twenty-year-aged Huadiao?"

Xu Yuanxia was already a little tipsy, his face flushed. He stood up unsteadily, heading toward his room to get some sleep. Turning back, he grinned. "The wine of a future grand swordsman—how could it not taste good? It's good!"

Xu Yuanxia turned around, staggered, shook his head, and muttered to himself, "From now on, I, Xu Yuanxia, can brag about this for the rest of my life!"

Chapter 242: Punching the Waterfall Under the Moon, a Rainbow Appears

(11000-word chapter.)

Night fell. Sword Water Manor was ablaze with lanterns. The large and small courtyards were filled with distinguished guests. Cups clinked and jostled as countless jars of fine liquor were consumed. It was said that afterward, even the nearby town could smell the wine wafting from the manor.

Chen Ping'an asked Old Steward Chu about the Immortal Ferry. The Comb Water Kingdom did indeed have such a place, over six hundred li from Sword Water Manor, located on the border between the Comb Water Kingdom and the Pine Brook Kingdom. It was said that mountain-dwelling Qi Practicers often appeared there. However, the area within three hundred li had been cordoned off as forbidden ground by the Comb Water Kingdom's royal family. Without an official document issued by a prefectural government, anyone, whether commoner or martial artist, who trespassed would be killed without mercy. The old steward was worldly and considerate. He volunteered with a smile that Sword Water Manor had a very good relationship with a Grand Governor's Mansion on the border—friendships spanning generations. A single letter from the old manor lord would suffice to obtain a travel permit. Chen Ping'an and the others need not worry.

Zhang Shanfeng asked another question: whether there were shops run by Qi Practicers at the ferry for trading goods. The old steward said yes. When the young master Song Fengshan's original sword was damaged, he himself had gone to the ferry and brought back the short sword he now always wore at his waist. The old steward was thoroughly forthcoming, not only revealing these inside stories of the Comb Water Kingdom but even disclosing that Song Fengshan had spent nine hundred Snowflake Coins—almost half the manor's silver savings—to purchase the magic divine weapon named "Cang Shui." He poured out these secrets as easily as pouring beans from a bamboo tube.

This was, of course, not because the old steward was carried away by the four characters "martial world brotherhood" and ignorant of the taboo of speaking deeply to a shallow acquaintance. Rather, Old Sword Saint Song had privately instructed him to treat the three, especially the sword-carrying youth Chen Ping'an, as Song Yushao's own close friends of different generations. The manor need not be on guard against them.

A promise is worth a thousand gold. Life and death are intertwined. The word "friend" is as weighty as a mountain.

This was the martial world code that Song Yushao and the older generation revered. Old Steward Chu had followed the Sword Saint of Comb Water Kingdom for sixty years, risking life and limb for the manor, sharing honor and disgrace. He was also, perhaps, infected by Song Yushao's martial spirit, which enabled him to be so diligent and uncomplaining.

In Zhang Shanfeng's room, after a hearty dinner of mountain delicacies, Chen Ping'an was about to head to the waterfall to practice his punches when Zhang Shanfeng called him back. "Wait." The bearded man had one foot on a bench, picking his teeth with a bamboo skewer, and asked Zhang Shanfeng if he needed to avoid anything. The young Daoist ran to open his travel bag, saying no. He quickly took out a pair of bamboo chopsticks and placed them on the table, pushing them toward Chen Ping'an.

Curious, Chen Ping'an asked, "What's this? We've finished eating. Why are you giving me chopsticks now?"

The chopsticks on the table were one of Zhang Shanfeng's spoils from Rouge Prefecture. One was inscribed with "Azure Spirit Mountain," the other with "Divine Resonance Bamboo."

Zhang Shanfeng laughed. "Consider this a gift. Interest on the Mo School Armor Pill 'Radiant Armor.' I hate most owing people money. Just thinking about it makes it hard for me to eat or sleep, and I owe five hundred Snowflake Coins. In real gold and silver, that's five hundred thousand taels. According to Old Steward Chu, the entire century-old fortune of Sword Water Manor, the top power in the Comb Water Kingdom's martial world, is just over two million taels. If I don't give you something back, I definitely won't sleep tonight."

Chen Ping'an shook his head helplessly. "Are you stupid? If these chopsticks are really made from Divine Resonance Bamboo of the Azure Bamboo Cave Heaven, they might sell for several hundred Snowflake Coins. Even if they're not from Azure Spirit Mountain, the spiritual energy accumulated on them over centuries can't be fake. Since it's a post-natural spiritual tool, it can at least sell for a few dozen Snowflake Coins. Interest? Interest this high? Do you take me for a loan shark?"

Chen Ping'an, getting angrier as he spoke, pushed the chopsticks back to the young Daoist. "Besides, we're about to go to that Immortal Ferry in the Comb Water Kingdom. Since there are shops that trade important artifacts, let's wait until we know the price of the bamboo chopsticks. If it's only a dozen or so Snowflake Coins, I'll take them. If it's over fifty, you can't give them to me as interest."

Zhang Shanfeng shook his head firmly. "No! My conscience won't let me rest. On the Daoist path, one fears demons of the mind most. Chen Ping'an, don't hinder my quest for the Dao!"

Chen Ping'an stood up and laughed. "Nonsense! You just keep babbling. Get out of here! This is not negotiable. Take them back! If you have the guts, you and I can fight, and whoever wins decides?"

Zhang Shanfeng remained silent.

Chen Ping'an pushed the door and left to practice his punches at the waterfall.

Zhang Shanfeng sighed and looked at the bearded man. "What now?"

Xu Yuanxia said with schadenfreude, "Compared to Chen Ping'an the Money Scatterer, you're still a million miles behind."

Zhang Shanfeng was a bit downcast. He poured himself a bowl of liquor, took a small sip, and immediately turned red.

It turned out that in the life-or-death battle in Rouge Prefecture, when they were chasing down the senior disciple of Old Demon Mi, the young Daoist had a flash of inspiration at a critical moment. He infused spiritual energy into the Armor Pill, summoning a set of Radiant Armor to protect himself, thus blocking the demon's fatal blow for Venerable Chongmiao. The knowledgeable old Daoist was astonished and exclaimed that this military treasure was something he'd only heard of as being possessed by the royal treasury of the Ancient Elm Kingdom, alongside a dozen other nations in central Bottle Gourd Continent, including Colorful Garment Kingdom. Rumors said that the top martial artist of the Pine Brook Kingdom once offered six thousand small Snowflake Coins to the Ancient Elm Emperor for purchase, but was refused.

Since then, the young Daoist had been brooding over this, not knowing how to bring it up with Chen Ping'an. Later, after the ancient temple incident and the seven-hundred-li mountain road, Chen Ping'an walked in extreme silence, making it even harder for Zhang Shanfeng to have an honest talk.

Now that they were at Sword Water Manor and about to head to the Immortal Ferry, the young Daoist, unable to bear the inner torment, had confided in the worldly bearded man. Xu Yuanxia helped him confirm two things: First, Chen Ping'an definitely knew the true value of the Armor Pill, and his casual quote of five hundred Snowflake Coins was intentionally half-selling, half-giving it to Zhang Shanfeng. Second, based on Zhang Shanfeng's account, Chen Ping'an had stayed in a first-class cabin on the Kun ship from Dazhao Mountain in Northern Reed Continent. There was no doubt that the sword-carrying youth from a humble background still retained a unique destiny, and he seemed not to place great importance on wealth, at least for friends.

So this was no longer simply a matter of owing money; it was a trouble of owing a huge favor.

In the end, Xu Yuanxia didn't directly tell Zhang Shanfeng what to do, but he said two things: First, don't take a friend's kindness for granted. Second, even brothers keep accounts clear; that's the only way friendship can last. Never think that once you're friends, nothing needs to be weighed. That's the naive thinking of a child.

Thus, Zhang Shanfeng wanted to use the pretense of interest to give away the mysterious bamboo chopsticks from Azure Spirit Mountain.

The reason he didn't give the white bowl, which could slowly absorb spiritual energy from heaven and earth and condense it into a drop of sweet dew, was that Zhang Shanfeng himself was a Qi Practicer. The white bowl was a necessity on his cultivation path, like sweet rain in a drought or coal in a snowstorm. Chen Ping'an was a pure martial artist and wouldn't need it. At best, it would be gilding the lily; even if he received it, he'd most likely sell it at a discount and convert it into small Snowflake Coins.

Zhang Shanfeng drank, his face flushed, and said tipsily, "Brother Xu, any ideas? This poor Daoist really can't think of anything."

The bearded man said seriously, "If all else fails, just put on some women's clothes. I've seen that Chen Ping'an has no interest in women or female ghosts along the way. He kills and beats them without hesitation..."

Hearing the bearded man's nonsense, the young Daoist groaned, knocked his head on the table, and passed out drunk.

A fine philosophy: Live for today, drink today; worry about tomorrow when it comes.

Xu Yuanxia stroked his whiskers. Two images flashed in his mind, both from that dilapidated ancient temple: the boy telling a graceful woman that if the weather is cold, just stretch out your hands to warm them by the fire.

Then the woman turned into a female ghost and was strangled by the boy, beaten to nothing with fists until her spirit scattered.

Xu Yuanxia also recalled the dinner table earlier when Chen Ping'an mentioned the waterfall incident—a young woman with a reverse-hanging saber was punched into the pond by him.

The big man shuddered and said in terror, "Chen Ping'an! You don't really like men, do you?"

—

In the main hall of Sword Water Manor, the cups clinked, hosts and guests were all delighted, the aroma of wine intoxicating.

The main hall was covered with a large colored carpet, a unique "earth garment" from the Weaving Maiden Prefecture of Colorful Garment Kingdom.

Old Manor Lord Song Yushao still refused to show his face to greet the guests. Young Manor Lord Song Fengshan sat in the host's seat, beside him his virtuous wife who managed the manor's internal and external affairs. Though the young woman was capable in household management, she was extremely measured. She dealt with people flawlessly and never overshadowed her husband in the slightest. So much so that even though Song Fengshan was often in seclusion to comprehend his sword, the Little Sword Immortal's reputation in the Comb Water Kingdom's martial world only grew, eventually reaching a point where he could convene a martial arts convention.

The leading martial sects of the Comb Water Kingdom had all sent representatives tonight. Apart from these orthodox leaders and white-road giants, there were also a considerable number of roving martial artists, some old-timers who hadn't appeared in the martial world for ages, mostly in their seventies, and even two venerable octogenarians. They took this opportunity to gather again and join the grand event, bringing great face to Sword Water Manor.

The brother and sister from the Han Clan of Lesser Heavy Mountain, the scholar Han Yuanshan and the young girl Han Yuanxue, did not have the most prominent seats. Their identity was special, belonging to officialdom. If their seats were too conspicuous, it would make both Sword Water Manor and the Han Clan unpopular, inevitably causing grumbling among many martial heroes.

Wang Yiran and his daughter Wang Shanhu from Horizontal Blade Villa had seats with more weight than the Han siblings, separated by two wine tables.

The young girl Han Yuanxue was rather dissatisfied, feeling the manor had slighted them. The Han Clan should never be treated like this anywhere in the Comb Water Kingdom. The seemingly refined scholar Han Yuanshan, one hand lightly shaking his folding fan, the other raising a cup to drink freely, seemed utterly unconcerned. This man's other identity was shocking—he was one of the "Four Fiends of Comb Water Kingdom" in the "mountain" world.

Although the Comb Water Kingdom had an Immortal Ferry, there was no mountain-occupying sect within its borders. So this unsavory-sounding Four Fiends group essentially represented the very top experts in the Comb Water Kingdom, looking down upon the martial world and proud among martial artists. With his clean identity from the Han Clan of Lesser Heavy Mountain and countless family connections and mentors in both central and local officialdom, Han Yuanshan could go anywhere unhindered. Even the famous Sword Water Manor was no exception.

At a lonely wine table sat a burly man and a young girl. They were positioned in the middle on the left, noticeably distant from the adjacent tables. Everyone in the martial world knew this man's illustrious identity: the first dark road figure in the Comb Water Kingdom, named Dou Yang. He looked like a strong young man, but rumor had it he was already over a hundred years old. He styled himself as the Demon Sect Leader, with over a dozen demon protectors under him, dominating the southern part of the Comb Water Kingdom. Fortunately, his sect was secluded in a corner on the border between the Comb Water Kingdom and the Pine Brook Kingdom. In recent decades, it had been relatively peaceful, not stirring up bloodshed. However, the older generation of martial artists deeply hated and feared this man. Fifty years ago, the righteous and demonic paths in the Comb Water Kingdom fought three bloody battles to contest the martial world's territory, with thousands of righteous experts losing their lives.

That Sword Water Manor dared to arrange seating this way, not putting Dou Yang and his maid in the prominent position, immediately earned the admiration of everyone present. They gained a new appreciation for the young Song Fengshan.

Although Song Fengshan was the host of this gathering, seated in the lord's position, he spoke very little. He just drank slowly alone, not deliberately speaking to anyone. Occasionally, someone would invoke their past friendship with Old Sword Saint Song to cultivate relations with this future Martial World Leader. Song Fengshan, in his green robe with a short sword at his waist, would at most return a toast. It was mostly the young woman beside him who would recount the other party's martial exploits like a family treasure, adding comments she'd heard from the old ancestor, even clearly knowing the martial achievements of some of their younger talents. This made the other party feel not the slightest neglect, but rather extremely comfortable and honored.

Respect me a foot, I'll respect you a yard.

The young woman did everything in a way that no one could pick the slightest flaw in Sword Water Manor.

The ancient temple's "Old Madam," mistaken for Great Demon Dou Yang's close maid, had a seemingly innocent and delicate pretty face. Her eyes shimmered as she covertly surveyed the guests. Occasionally meeting Han Yuanshan's gaze, their glances would touch and then separate. But the girl's lips curled up, her eyes seductive. The scholar, understanding, made subtle responses in return. The girl became increasingly amorous. While lowering her head to drink, she secretly licked the rim of the cup, which made Han Yuanshan's eyes narrow and his mouth dry. He had personally experienced this old witch's bedroom skills. She would even summon several seductive female ghosts each time. Even with his extraordinary talent and demonic cultivation method, he still found it hard not to admit defeat.

Dou Yang took all this in and sneered, "Slut, you can go into heat anytime."

The girl laughed. "Oh, Great Lord Dou, are you jealous?"

Dou Yang picked up a chopstick of seasonal vegetables. He ignored this fellow traveler's teasing.

Romance between men and women, the joy of fish in water—compared to the struggle for the Great Way and standing alone at the summit, it counts for nothing.

Wang Yiran clearly felt his daughter's dejection, her repeated stolen glances at Song Fengshan, the deep affection and heavy disappointment in her eyes.

This hopeless infatuation was something Wang Yiran understood clearly, but he didn't feel the need to meddle and break them up. For one thing, the golden signboard of Sword Water Manor was not something he, of the lower-status Horizontal Blade Villa, could comment on. Secondly, for his daughter Wang Shanhu to become a qualified future manor lord, to suffer a little heartbreak, or be knocked unconscious by a punch in public like today, wasn't a bad thing. It was better than making a big mistake later and suffering greater hardships.

Wang Yiran decided to turn a blind eye. In the martial world, for grandmasters like themselves, who hadn't had a few lovers in their youth? In the end, how many would grow old together, and how many would be forgotten in the rivers and lakes? When one finally stood at the summit of the martial world, it would all be but fleeting clouds.

Take the deep-minded aristocratic son Han Yuanshan, for example. He was said to be an expert at keeping beauties in golden houses. Moreover, he could make women follow him wholeheartedly—the daughters of powerful regional officials, female disciples of martial grandmasters, cold and bloodthirsty young female demons, and martial world fairies enjoying widespread fame—all had fallen into his net.

If his daughter Wang Shanhu were infatuated with this man, Wang Yiran would forcefully intervene, absolutely forbidding any connection. Otherwise, even Horizontal Blade Villa might end up as a dowry. Obviously, Han Yuanshan had great schemes and laid deep plans, and there must be true masters behind him. Doing business with this kind of person was fine—you wouldn't lose money—but becoming close friends would be tantamount to seeking death.

As for his daughter's secret crush on Song Fengshan, Wang Yiran felt it didn't matter. Song Fengshan was a true martial world native. If one day Song Fengshan truly wanted to marry his daughter as a secondary wife, Wang Yiran wouldn't mind merging Horizontal Blade Villa into Sword Water Manor, but the new manor would have to carry the character "Saber," and among their future children, one must bear the surname Wang. Then, for the next hundred years, the martial world of Comb Water Kingdom would have only two surnames: Song and Wang.

Someone raised their cup and proposed a toast loudly. Wang Yiran smiled and returned the gesture. Wang Shanhu was absent-minded, but she still had enough etiquette to follow her father in toasting.

After setting down her cup, Wang Yiran looked straight ahead and said softly, "Still thinking about that sword-carrying boy? Are you considering it a disgrace that can only be washed away by killing him? Father advises you: this boy is no ordinary man. Even Song Fengshan already regards him as a potential rival. But Old Sword Saint Song seems to have ties with him. Han Yuanshan's guess might be right—the boy is probably a favored disciple of the Colorful Garment Kingdom's Sword God. He's traveling now because his master died violently and his enemies are powerful. To avoid trouble, he's journeying. Sword Saint Song and the Colorful Garment Sword God were close friends, so Song is looking after him so much, even personally taking action to discipline Ma Lu."

The young woman tightened her grip on her saber hilt, eyes lowered. "Father, is it just to let it go like this? If that hateful, sneaky guy had killed me with one punch in the waterside pavilion, I would accept it. Even if he had seriously injured me with one punch, I would concede defeat! But he humiliated me like this! In front of so many people, how can I face the martial world in the future? Am I supposed to hide in Horizontal Blade Villa for the rest of my life?"

Wang Yiran slammed his cup heavily on the table. "Face? This thing is earned through famous battles in the martial world. The martial world has the best memory and the worst memory. Decades from now, when you, Wang Shanhu, become a saber grandmaster stronger than your father, when you step into the legendary Six Realms Grandmaster realm of the Colorful Garment Sword God and Sword Saint Song, see who brings up this trivial waterside pavilion affair? They'll only remember how you defeated which sword grandmaster, killed how many dark road demons. When your saber leaves its sheath, your saber aura flows like a waterfall. Those watching, who won't applaud? Who would dare?"

The young woman's shoulders trembled slightly. She lowered her head in dejection. "But I couldn't even defeat a younger swordsman, couldn't even take one punch from him. How can I stand shoulder to shoulder with you in the future? Let alone talk about the legendary Grandmaster realm?"

For the central region of Bottle Gourd Continent around the Comb Water Kingdom, the Sixth Realm of martial arts was the ultimate for pure martial artists. Beyond that, no one had known the scenery for hundreds of years. It would be the "Great Martial God," invincible in the world. It was said that the Colorful Garment Sword God, at his peak before retiring to the mountains, had touched that threshold, but for some reason his realm had fallen drastically, and he had withdrawn from the martial world in despair.

Old Sword Saint Song Yushao said bluntly that he had no hope of reaching the Martial God realm.

If Chen Ping'an knew this, he might be stunned again. After all, even Zhu He, a Fourth Realm martial artist from Lizhu Cave Heaven, knew that the Ninth Realm was the end of the martial path. Of course, Zhu He himself hadn't seen the complete picture of martial arts. In fact, not long after, Song Changjing and Li Er would successfully reach the Tenth Realm, and the Eleventh Realm was the true peak, the true "Martial God." And Cui, the old man who taught Chen Ping'an the "Strongest Three Realms," had just missed the Eleventh Realm.

Water has its depths, mountains their heights.

Chen Ping'an's hometown, Lizhu Cave Heaven, now the Great Li Prefecture of Dragon Spring County, was the strangest place in all of Bottle Gourd Continent—the deepest water, the highest mountains, the murkiest situation.

In that place, a powerful young being like the Green-clothed Boy, a Sixth Realm "Great Demon" who could run rampant in the Yellow Court Kingdom, would be embarrassed to greet others, fearing he might be inexplicably killed with a single punch. His greatest dream now was to cultivate well enough to become a hero who could be killed with two punches.

No wonder the Green-clothed Boy was baffled, scratching his head: "How did my master survive until today?"

Chen Ping'an himself didn't know the answer. It was as if he had just endured step by step.

In fact, at first, some didn't want him to die. Later, as the final chapter of "Flying birds and hidden bows" approached, certain bigwigs who wanted him dead encountered a teacher who taught Chen Ping'an not to lose hope in this world. And a hat-wearing, saber-carrying man who taught Chen Ping'an how to get along with this world. At the same time, Chen Ping'an also grew rapidly, eventually escaping the chessboard early.

But the hardships of life during this process, the difficult choices involving his true heart, the many undercurrents and dangers—the Mud Vase Alley youth endured trials of body and mind that words could not describe.

This mud vessel from Mud Vase Alley, now possessing a body full of treasures and a precious Sword Nurturing Gourd, still only bought the cheapest liquor as he walked the martial world alone.

Of course, he had now started practicing his fists in a new way, different from the Six-Step Stake and the Sword Furnace Standing Stake.

By the waterside pavilion of the waterfall, Chen Ping'an hadn't brought his sword case this time. He left it in the courtyard, where he had the trusty bearded man and the young Daoist.

But the wine gourd was still at his waist.

Walking through the landscapes of foreign lands: don't start trouble, don't fear trouble, then be cautious above all, keep your life first—such was Chen Ping'an's martial world.

Once again, Chen Ping'an stepped onto the railing by the water. He was about to use it to launch himself toward the stunning waterfall, but he thought better of it. Instead, he stepped forward onto the stone base. If he used full force with his punch and accidentally broke the wooden railing, even if Senior Song wouldn't make him pay for it, it wouldn't be right.

Chen Ping'an took a deep breath, scuffed his soles on the ground, and twisted his wrists a few times.

For this first punch, he'd test the force of the falling waterfall, see how heavy and thick it was.

He'd use about seventy to eighty percent of his strength.

Chen Ping'an stomped hard. A loud thud rang out on the ground, but fortunately the waterfall's roar was enough to cover it.

Chen Ping'an shot toward the waterfall like a bolt from a siege crossbow.

His momentum was like a rainbow as his fist smashed forward.

His fist pierced straight through the curtain of water. But as his whole arm almost completely crossed the waterfall screen, his head and shoulders were violently pounded by the falling torrent. Chen Ping'an's entire body tilted under the force. He was swept down and crashed into the depths of the pool, tumbling in the chaotic currents. After several flips, he surfaced near the relatively calm water by the waterside pavilion. He slapped the surface and leaped onto the stone base outside the railing. His head swam, especially the arm that punched and both shoulders were burning hot. Worse, the bottom of the pool was full of jagged rocks, and he had hit his head hard.

Fortunately, training in the bamboo tower of Fallen Star Mountain had made Chen Ping'an accustomed to hardship. This kind of external injury, far from harming the foundation of his body or his spirit, didn't even feel like a tickle. He took it quite lightly.

For his second punch, Chen Ping'an used ninety percent of his strength. He adopted the "Cavalry Breaching Formation" style that old man Cui taught him, trying to break through the water curtain with his fist and body together, reaching the stone wall behind.

He managed to graze the stone wall's surface with his fist, but then his whole body was smashed heavily into the deep water again, as if by a mountain pressing down.

He surfaced again, returned to the waterside pavilion's edge, steadied himself. This time, Chen Ping'an didn't let out the quick surge of qi he had pent up. He held it in, like a fire dragon prowling the four directions, and threw a punch with full force and momentum at the waterfall.

This time, Chen Ping'an's fist successfully struck the cold stone wall at the end of the waterfall screen. But it was a feeble impact. Not to mention leaving a mark, it didn't even make a dent.

Under the moonlight.

His energy center was still turbulent. Chen Ping'an had no choice but to exhale a breath of stale air and use Yang Laotou's breathing technique to regulate his breathing slowly. The eighteen-stop sword energy circulated, now as familiar as instinct, running swiftly through over a dozen acupoints whose names differed from the current energy mansion system. Previously stuck between six and seven stops, it was now stuck between twelve and thirteen, as if blockaded by a chasm.

Chen Ping'an held his breath and focused, then delivered a fourth punch at the waterfall.

He repeated this over a dozen times. Eventually, he could only lean against the railing to stand. He sat cross-legged. Between stabilizing his energy, he took off his wine gourd and began to drink slowly.

Chen Ping'an looked up at the moon overhead. The books said the moon is brightest in one's hometown, that the moon surges on the great river, and that the bright moon rises above the sea, shining together with the tides.

The waning and waxing moon over his hometown—as a boy, bustling for his livelihood, he had seen it countless times. He had watched it with Liu Xianyang and with little snot-nosed Gu Can. After a while, apart from the Mid-Autumn Festival, he had no particular feelings for it. Twice he had traveled far, and he had seen the magnificent sights of "Stars strewn across the vast plain, the moon surging on the great river." They were indeed beautiful. Now, to deliver a sword to the Inverted Mountain, he had to head south to the Old Dragon City, the southernmost point. What sight would it be to see the moon rising from the sea?

Chen Ping'an put away his thoughts. He stood up, adjusted his Sword Nurturing Gourd, and began the next round of punches. He set himself a rule: he must deliver three consecutive punches in the Cavalry Breaching Formation style. The barefoot old man in the bamboo tower once said with a smile: on the battlefield, amid the clang of arms, the best cavalry in the world never collapse after one or two charges.

Pounded repeatedly by the huge waterfall, Chen Ping'an's perception of pain became clearer and clearer. When he finished, Chen Ping'an lay flat on the stone base, panting heavily.

If, back on Fallen Star Mountain, the old man surnamed Cui had only beaten him passively from start to finish, toughening his body and spirit, without later demanding that Chen Ping'an "flay himself alive," without those inhumane ordeals, perhaps today Chen Ping'an's fist practice would have ended there, with no further determination to punch.

On one occasion, the barefoot old man looked down at Chen Ping'an lying in a pool of blood. "Can't take a bit of hardship like this? And you want to reach the Ninth or Tenth Realm?"

At that time, Chen Ping'an only wanted to curse the old man a few times, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate.

Compared to the hardships on Fallen Star Mountain, this was a blessing!

He must not let his journey through the martial world lead him to become less accustomed to hardship.

Reciting this inwardly, Chen Ping'an slowly rose and gritted his teeth to punch again.

After a quarter of an hour, under the moonlight, the waterfall still pounded the pool with a thunderous roar, as if mocking the boy's overestimation of himself, like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Chen Ping'an floated on his back on the water, eyes wide open, staring at the sky.

He climbed ashore and punched again, shouting, "Open!"

The waterfall curtain was indeed ripped open by his fierce fist force into a large hole, but it was fleeting. Chen Ping'an's fist hit the stone wall heavily, his body almost entirely through the waterfall. But he was again smashed unceremoniously into the deep water. Drifting in the pool with the currents, he crawled back onto the pavilion's stone base.

Thus intermittently, pausing and resting, until late night. Chen Ping'an, like a drowned rat, sat on the railing. He tremblingly raised his gourd and took a sip of the aged Huadiao. His throat burned, his liver and intestines felt scalded. He had to put away the Sword Nurturing Gourd, not daring to drink even a tiny sip more.

In the distance, Sword Water Manor was still brightly lit with lanterns. The feast was far from over. Young maidservants, also sword attendants of the manor, performed sword dances to entertain the guests, with continuous applause.

Chen Ping'an tilted his head, staring at the waterfall as if it were unbeatable in this world.

For his last punch, Chen Ping'an used the "Divine Drummer Beats the Drum" style. He skimmed lightly across the water, like a dragonfly. As he neared the waterfall, punch after punch, his arm pierced the waterfall again and again...

Human strength has its limits. Chen Ping'an knew it was time to stop practicing for the night. He was completely exhausted. If he continued punching the waterfall, at some point he might be swept to the bottom of the deep pool and pass out for good, only to float up as a corpse.

Drenched, Chen Ping'an walked out of the waterside pavilion, passed the Mountains and Waters Pavilion, and returned to the courtyard.

He slept less than three hours. The next morning, after a quick breakfast, he set out at a six-step stake walk toward the waterfall pavilion.

He stayed until noon, then retraced his steps. This time, however, he had to ask Zhang Shanfeng to inform Sword Water Manor that he needed a large water vat. After Old Steward Chu sent trusted manor maids to bring the vat and fill it with hot water, Chen Ping'an closed his door and soaked in it.

Wei Po's medicinal herbs from Ox Horn Mountain's Baggage Shop were only sufficient for three uses. One was used in Rouge Prefecture. After this time, only one last chance remained.

Today, Sword Water Manor was still welcoming martial artists arriving in droves. Only tomorrow would be the auspicious day for electing the Martial World Leader.

Better this way. The greenwood heroes and martial heroes were busy visiting each other, exchanging martial knowledge, seeking advice from elders, or getting acquainted with grandmasters. They came and went in crowds, bustling with excitement.

At nightfall, Chen Ping'an had dinner with Xu Yuanxia and Zhang Shanfeng, then went alone to the waterfall.

This time, besides using old man Cui's fist techniques to strike the waterfall, he discovered that in the pool water about two feet from the surface—not in the center of the waterfall—there was a tall stone pier, about the size of a game board. For some reason, it hadn't been worn away by the millennia of water flow. Chen Ping'an had a sudden inspiration: he stood on that stone and performed the Sword Furnace Standing Stake, remaining motionless, letting the waterfall's massive torrent pound down on his head. He was smashed from a standing position into a sitting one, then couldn't hold steady and fell into the water.

After several attempts, Chen Ping'an could maintain the Sword Furnace Standing Stake for half an incense stick's time, then sit upright with chest out for another half. Finally, he bent his head down, letting the waterfall hit more of his back. Combined, he could endure about an incense stick's worth of time. Compared to punching the waterfall, he found this "immovable as a mountain" water-grinding technique more beneficial. Vaguely, his inner acupoints and energy mansions felt as if a great wind were blowing. Many mansion doors seemed to loosen. The eighteen-stop sword energy moved more and more swiftly, like thunderbolts.

Delighted by this unexpected joy, Chen Ping'an took a big swig of the fine wine. It burned fiercely in his belly, making him hop around in the waterside pavilion, grimacing and baring his teeth.

He went back under the waterfall for several more standing stake sessions. Deep in the night, the moon was still there. Sword Water Manor's singing and dancing grew louder. The youth, full of spirited confidence, walked back to the courtyard. Inside the room, the water vat was ready, along with two manor sword-maids who had been waiting all day outside, ready at call. Chen Ping'an used the last batch of herbs from the Baggage Shop.

For once, Chen Ping'an slept in, not rising until the sun was high.

After a full meal, refreshed, he left the courtyard, nodded and smiled at the two sword-maids, then slowly walked to the stake, passing the Mountains and Waters Pavilion and arriving at the waterside pavilion that had faced the waterfall for centuries. It was said that Sword Water Manor had only been built sixty or seventy years ago, but this nameless waterside pavilion had existed long before. Over time, people had simply come to include it as part of Sword Water Manor.

As Chen Ping'an staked away.

The two bored sword-maids huddled together, whispering.

One with an oval face said that foreign young master was really strange. The other laughed and said if he weren't strange, how could he have won the favor of their old manor lord?

The oval-faced girl teased her companion: "That young master's looks aren't as good as our young master's, but he's still kind of clean-cut. Do you like him?"

The other sword-maid said that after seeing the young master's peerless bearing, she couldn't take a fancy to any other man.

The two girls, seeing no one around, started playing and roughhousing. For them, learning swordsmanship at Sword Water Manor was the greatest fortune. Later, perhaps under the arrangement of the merciful wife, they might marry a promising martial talent. But Sword Water Manor would always be their maiden home, and they need never worry about the winds and waves of the martial world for life.

When Chen Ping'an approached the pavilion today, he found Old Senior Song already sitting on the bench.

He quickly climbed the steps and sat opposite him. Song Yushao, who had been gazing sideways at the waterfall, turned to look at the boy. He nodded with approval. "Some progress. Impressive."

Chen Ping'an grinned.

Song Yushao asked, "Is the manor's home-brewed wine better?"

Chen Ping'an scratched his head. "Much better. But it's going to be a headache for me when I have to buy wine in the future."

Song Yushao couldn't help laughing. "What, you're short on silver?"

Chen Ping'an thought for a moment and answered honestly, "I'm not lacking money now, but drinking this kind of wine doesn't seem to help my fist practice. I feel it's a waste of money. But I've gotten used to drinking, and if the gourd is empty, I feel lost."

Song Yushao teased, "You're not a married woman. A grown man with money can drink the best wine—it's only right. Why are you talking about thrift?"

Chen Ping'an shook his head vigorously. "I still have to be frugal. Drinking has become a habit now, and I can't change it. But if I also develop the habit of being lavish, I'll regret it to death."

Song Yushao pointed at the boy. "You'll never be a rich man enjoying life."

Chen Ping'an beamed. "Having full meals every meal, wine with every meal—that's already good enough."

Song Yushao, infected by the boy's mood, also smiled. "Then who cooks for you, who buys your wine?"

Chen Ping'an blurted out, "Even if I get a wife, I'll still cook! And I'll still buy the wine!"

Song Yushao spat and glared. "Idiot! Are you a fool? If you marry a woman, are you just going to worship her like a Bodhisattva? Don't you know that women, young or old, are the kind you must discipline? If you spare the rod, they'll be up on the roof tearing off the tiles!"

For once, Chen Ping'an seemed timid. He took off his gourd and took a small sip.

The girl he liked said she could beat a hundred Chen Ping'ans with one hand.

If he had thoughts like that, wouldn't he be beaten to death?

Besides, he hadn't even confessed his feelings yet. Heaven knew who his future wife would be.

Of course, it would be best if her surname was Ning.

Chen Ping'an grinned foolishly.

Song Yushao watched the boy lost in his own world. "Really an idiot," he muttered.

Song Yushao couldn't be bothered to continue lecturing the boy on how a martial world hero must keep his woman in line. He composed himself and said gravely, "Breaking through from Third to Fourth Realm requires more than just tempering and purifying the body's impurities bit by bit. You have to pay attention to your state of mind. Fist techniques must be unobstructed and clear; you must comprehend the essence of 'thoroughness.' You must strengthen your heart's invincibility, develop the momentum of one man holding the pass against ten thousand! A swordsman must achieve a clear sword heart, forgetting both self and world, so that only his sword is worthy before heaven and earth, able to slay gods and ghosts! Chen Ping'an, have you truly solidified your original heart?"

At the end, Song Yushao's tone was sharp, his eyes glaring at Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an stood firm, his heart and body unmoved. He nodded. "There is one thing I've decided on, and I never change."

Song Yushao stood up, exuding overwhelming momentum, like a waterfall of sword energy pressing down on the boy. "Big talk! You say it so casually! I don't think you, Chen Ping'an, have truly seen through anything!"

Chen Ping'an stood up as well, his eyes bright. "Senior Song, as for the state of mind you mentioned, the true meaning of 'unobstructed' and 'thorough'—I don't really understand them all that well. But I just feel..."

Turning, he pointed at the waterfall, which resembled an immortal's sleeve of sword energy falling from the sky. "I will punch right through this entire waterfall, leaving a fist imprint on the stone wall. I even think that one day, I'll punch so hard the waterfall flows backward, the water explodes, and it can no longer hold my head down!"

Song Yushao suddenly shouted, "Then what are you waiting for? Punch now!"

Almost by pure instinct, Chen Ping'an turned sideways to face the waterfall outside the pavilion. He stepped back a few paces, stood at the top of the steps, and assumed an ancient fist stance that old man Cui had never named as his starting posture. It was smooth and natural.

Even though Sword Saint Song Yushao was right there in the pavilion, Chen Ping'an had no eyes for him, not even for the pavilion itself. Between heaven and earth, there was only his fist and the waterfall, falling from the sky to the world!

On his journey south, Chen Ping'an always sought slowness in his six-step stake walking, even slower.

But this time, he walked seeking speed, the fastest!

His strides were so large that the final step of the six-stake walk crashed through the pavilion railing, landing on the stone base. From the step at one end to the outer edge of the stone base beyond the railing, six footprints were stamped into the ground. Then he shot forward, his fist aura so thick it was like a sleeve coiled with a blue dragon.

One punch split the waterfall open. Chen Ping'an rushed into the water screen, his fist smashing into the stone wall.

The stone wall shattered. Countless stone fragments flew back, exploding into countless waterfall droplets.

And he didn't stop. Alternating left and right, he hammered punch after punch into the stone wall.

This was the true grand aura of the Divine Drummer Beats the Drum.

Countless flying stones, the waterfall in chaos.

Above the pavilion and up to the height of the waterfall, because of the massive dispersion of water vapor, a brilliant rainbow appeared in the end.

Song Yushao stood in the pavilion with his hands clasped behind his back. The fierce wind struck his cheeks, his sleeves flapping. The old man looked up at the rainbow made by human effort and laughed heartily. "Magnificent!"