# Chapter 308: Ambush Lurks on All Sides
It was still that woman surnamed Fan. At first glance, her attire seemed plain and elegant, but upon closer inspection, one would discover the embroidery on her clothing featured auspicious cloud patterns. Under the moonlight above and the lantern light of the marketplace, they appeared faintly, then disappeared—opulence that catches the eye, nobility that commands respect, no more than this.
But at this moment, she was likely wearing a mask over her face, retaining only about fifty or sixty percent of her previous appearance, so as not to cause too much of a stir in this common marketplace.
She was still staring intently at Chen Ping'an. He put down his bowl and chopsticks and had to ask, "Is there something you need from me?"
She suddenly raised her hand to rub her forehead, looked around, and furrowed her brow.
At a neighboring table, some diners got into an argument, shouting curses, slamming tables, and glaring angrily. One pointed at the other's nose and roared insults about their entire family being procuresses and little whores, saying that if they dared to bring up such nonsense again, he would set up a brothel right in their house.
The quarrel was intense, filled with the thick accent of the Southern Garden capital—both unpleasant and chaotic.
The woman pressed her fingertips gently against her temples, her expression returning to normal. Using the martial arts technique of condensing sound into a thread, her eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation, she asked, "Young master, are you... a banished immortal?"
Chen Ping'an couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking his head. "I'm just an outsider traveling through Southern Garden, not some 'banished immortal' as you say."
The woman looked somewhat regretful and said apologetically, "I'm sorry for disturbing you. Please forgive me."
Chen Ping'an waved his hand. "It's alright."
She hesitated for a moment, then still offered a reminder, "The capital of Southern Garden has been rather unsettled lately. Young master stands out like a dragon among men and could easily draw unwanted attention. Please be careful."
Chen Ping'an cupped his hands and bowed, "Thank you, Miss Fan."
Fan Wan'er was not one to drag things out. She turned and left the bustling night market. Some local ruffians tried to take advantage and grope her, but every time they reached out, she would deftly evade them, like a fish swimming between water plants and rocks. Chen Ping'an felt somewhat puzzled. According to what the old man in the bamboo tower had said, a martial artist's talent could be judged by whether they could cultivate the highest form of fighting intent from the lowest quality of boxing forms. That was one reason the old man had chosen Chen Ping'an.
However, that old man surnamed Cui was too proud to admit that the "Mountain Shaking Fist" actually had many merits. Chen Ping'an simply chose not to call him out on it.
As for this strange woman who had sought him out twice without ever having met him before, based on the conversation between the old man surnamed Ding, the Crow, and the Flower-in-Hair Zhou Shi, she was likely the famous Fan Wan'er. In her homeland of Vase Bottle Continent, she would hold a status comparable to He Xiaoliang, the female Daoist from Divine Announcement Sect.
Fan Wan'er clearly had already approached the "Way" to some extent, so why did her martial arts cultivation seem to be weighed down by a ten-thousand-jin boulder, unable to advance?
One could conceal their aura and return to simplicity, but after spending time together, the inner spirit and intent could not deceive anyone. The rhythm of every breath, the grace in every movement—these often revealed heavenly secrets.
Earlier, when the old man surnamed Ding, wearing a silver lotus crown on his head, casually stepped into the main hall of White River Temple, Chen Ping'an had immediately sensed an unusual phenomenon in heaven and earth.
Chen Ping'an had come from the Cave Heaven of Li Pearl. He had seen no small number of peak figures. For Chen Ping'an to think someone was "quite formidable," that person was naturally anything but simple. The man who had fed him punches in the bamboo tower at Fallen Mountain was a tenth-tier peak martial artist. The man who had fed him sword strikes on Osmanthus Island was at least an old Golden Core cultivator.
After Fan Wan'er's figure disappeared, Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, then also left the bustling marketplace.
The capital of Southern Garden was divided into eighty-one wards of various sizes, roughly following the same pattern as many dynasties and vassal kingdoms Chen Ping'an had passed through. In this city, hailed as the foremost under heaven, the north was noble, the south poor, the east martial, and the west civil. White River Temple was located in the western city, where most mid-level civil officials and prosperous merchants had their residences and mansions, each exuding ingenuity.
At this moment, Chen Ping'an was walking on a stone arch bridge. In the deep silence of the night, he lightly leaped onto the railing and walked to the top of the arched bridge. Looking down at the small river beneath, flowing with a gurgling sound, he saw a water-suppressing beast standing below, shaped like a flood dragon—a common sight.
In many prosperous cities of Vase Bottle Continent, such water-suppressing beasts could be found on railing panels, pillar heads, or the archway's keystone, used to suppress water spirits. But Chen Ping'an could detect not even a trace of residual spiritual energy from this ancient water-suppressing beast, as if it were merely a decorative ornament.
As Chen Ping'an stared blankly at the water, Fan Wan'er, the immortal maiden from Mirror Heart Pavilion, encountered the crown prince, Wei Yan, who should have returned to the Southern Garden palace.
Though he was of imperial blood, he was also a young expert who concealed his abilities well. His martial arts master was an old-school grandmaster who had fled from the northern frontier to Southern Garden. As Wei Yan had said, his master was one of the handful of people closest to the Ten Great Experts of the world today. Crown Prince Wei Yan's master had an irreconcilable blood feud with Hanging Flower Gate, one of the three demonic sects. Thus, this esteemed crown prince was considered by both Lake Mountain Sect and Mirror Heart Pavilion to be a righteous figure, with hopes of becoming the next generation's leader of the martial world. Mirror Heart Pavilion even intended to support him as the next ruler of Southern Garden.
As for the Crow, a member of the demonic sect, she secretly supported Wei Yan's younger brother, Wei Chong. The two sides schemed against each other, framed one another, and competed for the favor of Southern Garden's old emperor, fighting a proxy war for five or six years.
Fan Wan'er and Wei Yan walked through the tranquil night. Wei Yan said softly, "Fairy Fan, if you wanted to meet that person, you didn't have to hide it from me. The fact that he could hide in the main hall of White River Temple without any of us detecting him means he's certainly no ordinary martial rogue. What if he's from the demonic sect and something happens to you?"
Fan Wan'er didn't want Wei Yan, the future emperor of Southern Garden, to harbor any resentment. She smiled and said, "Your Highness, between you and me, along with the demonic sect's Green Crow, whose real name we don't know, the Flower-in-Hair Zhou Shi from Spring Tide Palace, and the other six young experts of similar age—ten of us, echoing the Ten Great Experts of the world—among us ten, who has the highest martial arts?"
Wei Yan had long known the answer to this. Besides having a good master and being a crown prince, his intelligence network covered the entire realm. Even without traveling the martial world, he was already intimately familiar with its secrets. Without needing to think, Wei Yan explained, "Who is the best is hard to say, but the top three have long been decided. In a life-and-death battle, when swords cross, who lives and who dies depends on who is better at seizing the invisible momentum of heaven's favor, earthly advantages, and human harmony. Whoever occupies more of these will win."
Having said this, Wei Yan glanced behind the woman. Tonight, Fan Wan'er had not brought any weapons. He smiled and said, "Fairy Fan has mastered the three schools of Mirror Heart Pavilion, Lake Mountain Sect, and the long-lost White Ape Back-Bearing Sword Technique. Absorbing the best from all three, she naturally ranks among the top three. My master has sincerely praised you, saying that with or without a sword on your back, Fan Wan'er is two different people."
Fan Wan'er smiled. "Your Highness flatters me."
Wei Yan held one hand behind his back while tapping his jade belt with the fingers of the other. "As for the demonic sect's Crow, when she first entered the capital, arrogant and proud, she dared to challenge the National Teacher. She even suffered a punch from him. That she was injured but not killed was considered by the world to be luck. But my father told me that the National Teacher once said that girl's martial arts talent was as high as Lu Fang's among women."
"The last person should be Feng Qingbai, whose origins are unknown. Over the past decade or so, he burst onto the scene. His background, his sect—none of it could be traced. He enjoys traveling far and wide, constantly challenging various experts and grandmasters. All that's known is that his progress is astonishing. Looking at his choice of opponents, one can see that from a bumbling amateur to a first-rate expert of the age, he made the leap in just ten years."
After saying all this, Wei Yan turned his head and asked, "Fairy Fan, among the other seven, is there anyone who hides their skills even deeper?"
Fan Wan'er, with her hands behind her back, walked onto a small, silent bridge. Leaning against the railing, she patted the heads of the small stone squatting lions carved on top, shaking her head. "Even if there is, at the very least, neither I nor Mirror Heart Pavilion knows about it."
Wei Yan smiled warmly. He hadn't expected Fairy Fan to have such a playful side. For a moment, he gazed at her moist eyes and was somewhat entranced.
A man of low taste only looks at a woman's face; a man of middle taste looks at her figure; a man of high taste looks at her spirit and intent.
Not only did Fan Wan'er possess all three, but she was also the finest of the finest in each respect.
How could the crown prince of Southern Garden, with his lofty standards, not be moved? A graceful lady is a gentleman's good match. Wei Yan's admiration for her, whether in his words or his gaze, was neither overtly bold nor deliberately concealed.
Wei Yan stopped walking, then quickened his pace to walk beside her, wanting to reach out and hold her delicate hand, but lacking the courage.
Fan Wan'er stopped, turned sideways, and looked into the distance, her brows furrowed with worry. She said slowly, "The reason I brought this up is to talk about a strange matter I've never been able to figure out."
Wei Yan asked curiously, "Tell me about it."
Fan Wan'er rubbed her brow. Wei Yan asked with concern, "What's wrong? Did that white-robed swordsman use some sinister technique?"
She shook her head with a smile. "Your Highness, have you ever heard your master mention 'banished immortals'?"
Wei Yan laughed. "My master is a crude martial artist. He doesn't talk about such things. He hates refined scholars the most, always saying they're a bunch of eunuchs. When I was young and learning martial arts from him, if I spoke even a bit too elegantly during our conversations, I'd get a beating. So I can only appreciate the grace of banished immortals through poetry."
Since Wei Yan had no leads, Fan Wan'er didn't want to dwell on the matter. She changed the subject, her eyes distant as she murmured, "Your Highness, have you ever had a feeling—when experiencing something, passing through a place, or meeting someone—that everything seems strangely familiar?"
Wei Yan nodded. "Yes, of course I have."
The crown prince found it amusing and asked with a smile, "Could it be that Fairy Fan believes in the Buddhist doctrine of reincarnation?"
Fan Wan'er shook her head.
---
On Oxhorn Mountain outside the capital, seven or eight people stood tonight. Among them was Yu Zhenyi of Lake Mountain Sect, who looked like a child but had a grave expression as he gazed into the distant outline of the capital in the night.
A slovenly man, reeking of alcohol, had even pawned his sword to a tavern woman. His name was Lu Fang.
The National Teacher of Southern Garden, Zhong Qiu, was a gaunt man who never smiled, with a refined temperament. It was hard to imagine he was the number one hand in the world.
One person remained.
Yu Zhenyi's voice, like his appearance, was young and clear. He spoke slowly, "Aside from Old Demon Ding, Zhou Fei of Spring Tide Palace, the wandering hero Feng Feng, and Tong Qingqing of Mirror Heart Studio—these four are already decided—we might have to add one more to the kill list."
Lu Fang said self-deprecatingly, "It wouldn't be me, would it?"
Zhong Qiu gave him a cold glare.
Lu Fang spread his hands helplessly. "Can't I even make a joke?"
Besides these three among the Four Great Grandmasters, there were also some peak figures on the mountaintop who absolutely should not have appeared here.
But without exception, they were either among the Ten Great Experts or martial grandmasters like Wei Yan's master.
Tonight's Oxhorn Mountain, and the Southern Garden capital that would follow, were destined to be beyond any distinction between righteous and evil.
Yu Zhenyi stared fiercely at a certain place in the capital and said softly, "Lu Fang, you and your friend deal with the biggest variable first. Whether you gang up on him or take him on alone, I don't care. But success is the only option, failure is not permitted. Within three days, bring that person's head here. All his belongings—old rules—go to whoever kills him."
Lu Fang rubbed the back of his head and sighed.
From a distance, someone laughed darkly, eager to try.
---
Chen Ping'an didn't return to his residence. Instead, he roamed the capital alone like a restless ghost. During his wanderings, he slipped into the library of a scholarly family and casually browsed some books.
Before dawn, he quietly left. At the Imperial Academy, he listened to the lectures of the Confucian scholars until the sun was high at noon. Only then did he make his way back toward Champion Lane, deliberately avoiding the residence associated with the old man surnamed Ding and the Flower-in-Hair Zhou Shi.
There were a few cramped bookshops on Champion Lane. Besides selling books, they also sold some writing utensils that couldn't qualify as scholarly desk ornaments—rough and simple, but low in price, since their main customers were poor scholars heading to the capital for exams. At one shop, Chen Ping'an bought a few copies of travel essays with simple prose. He certainly wouldn't read them anytime soon, but he thought they could add to the collection at Fallen Mountain.
As Chen Ping'an walked back into the alley where he lived, the young boy with the delicate features was just returning from school. The two walked down the alley together. The child seemed to have something on his mind, holding it in for a long time without daring to speak up.
Chen Ping'an pretended not to notice and went back to the courtyard. For dinner, he sat at the table with the child's family. As agreed when renting the place, the household provided an extra set of chopsticks for Chen Ping'an, charging an additional thirty coppers per day. The old woman had sworn that every meal would include meat and fish. In truth, Chen Ping'an was often away—either leaving early and returning late, missing meals, or disappearing for days at a time, which pleased the old woman greatly.
Tonight's meal was lean. The old woman apologized with a smile, saying, "Young Master Chen, why didn't you let us know earlier so we could prepare properly?"
Chen Ping'an smiled and said, "As long as I'm full, it's fine."
The old woman then asked about tomorrow. When Chen Ping'an said he'd be going out again, she sighed and complained that he was too busy, that even having a home-cooked meal was so difficult. She insisted that her daughter-in-law's cooking was actually quite good—nothing exceptional, but definitely edible.
The woman, who had been keeping her head down while eating, not even daring to take much of the dishes, looked up briefly and smiled honestly. Her mother-in-law praising her was a rare occurrence.
After finishing his meal, Chen Ping'an took a small stool and went to the street corner where the child's grandfather usually played chess with others. The street was paved with large bluestone, a rare luxury. Generations of residents had lived here, watching people come and go, chatting with neighbors about household matters—a great way to pass the time. If a wealthy young man galloped by on horseback, or a somewhat famous courtesan walked slowly past, the whole street would brighten up.
Chen Ping'an sat not far from a chess stall where a crowd had gathered. He noticed the child had also brought a stool and sat down beside him.
Earlier, he had left the "Sword Qi" sword inside the house. For cooling off in the marketplace, carrying a sword would be inappropriate. He had brought the Sword-Nurturing Gourd with him, but had left the more obedient Flying Sword Fifteen in the courtyard to prevent theft. The Southern Garden capital was currently unstable, full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers—no doubt many would soon stir.
Sensing the child's awkwardness, Chen Ping'an smiled and asked, "Something on your mind?"
The child, who had learned some basic etiquette at school, lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Young Master Chen."
Chen Ping'an said softly, "How so?"
The child sat on the low stool, hands clenched into fists on his knees, not daring to look at Chen Ping'an. "My mother often goes through your things when you're not home."
Chen Ping'an was taken aback. He had thought it was the sharp-tongued old woman who often "dropped by" his room to rummage through things. He hadn't expected it to be the child's mother, who seemed so honest.
The child's mood grew heavier. "Later, when you were away for a long time, my mother stole the books you left on the table and gave them to me. I couldn't resist and secretly read through them. I know that was wrong."
Chen Ping'an was about to say a casual "It doesn't matter," but quickly swallowed the words and changed his tone. "It was wrong."
Earlier, while wandering the capital, he had seen a mother and child at a lively temple fair. The pair looked wealthy and impressive, with a group of sharp-eyed bodyguards following behind. The child, about five or six years old, saw a pretty young woman picking out items at a stall and ran over to tug at her sleeve. The child meant no harm; he was just trying to get an adult's attention. The young woman initially ignored him, but the child, coming from a powerful family, grew annoyed that she wouldn't pay him any mind. He pulled harder and harder. Though irritated, the young woman was well-bred and didn't argue with the child. She simply looked up at the mother standing nearby. The mother called the child back, telling him to stop misbehaving.
If the scene had ended there, Chen Ping'an would have let it go.
But the noblewoman said something that stuck with him, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why.
She said to her child, "See how angry the sister is? Don't be naughty anymore."
At first glance, there was nothing wrong with it. The woman's demeanor was dignified throughout. Her gaze at her son was kind and doting. Her attitude toward the young woman was not at all hostile.
It wasn't until this moment, casually chatting with this child, that Chen Ping'an finally understood the reason.
It was similar yet different from the tragic incident involving Senior Song Yushao of Shuijing National.
The way that woman taught her child was wrong.
Did that mean that if the young woman at the stall hadn't gotten angry, the child's behavior would have been acceptable?
Compared to Senior Song Yushao's bloody affair in the martial world, this kind of "trivial matter" in the marketplace seemed like something that couldn't be criticized too harshly. If Chen Ping'an were to go on and on about it, he would seem unreasonable. Perhaps the woman would think he was being unforgiving and pushing his luck—was the family name something to be trifled with? And the young woman might not even appreciate the intervention.
Chen Ping'an pulled out that bamboo slip, looking at the left and right ends, his gaze moving toward the middle.
Many marks had already been carved on it.
He used the index fingers of both hands to hold the two ends of the bamboo slip, like a ruler suspended in the air. Turning to the anxious child, he smiled and said, "What your mother did was certainly wrong. You knowing it was wrong but not correcting it is also not quite right. But after understanding this, you must also realize that matters in the world vary in importance. In life, besides right and wrong—great right and great wrong—one must still consider human feelings. For example, why did your mother do such a thing? Wasn't it because she wanted you to study more, to become a child scholar, a scholar, a lift-off scholar, or even pass the imperial examinations? Your mother, who can endure so much hardship—does she do it for the glory of the family, or so she can dress well and eat well? Probably not. She simply wants you to have a better future, doesn't she? Now that you understand why your mother did something wrong, you can stop dwelling on it. You already know both her faults and her goodness toward you. Now it's your turn. You've studied, you've learned the wise teachings of the sages, so you know propriety. If time could turn back, and you had another chance, what would you do?"
The child listened very attentively, because Chen Ping'an explained things simply. Being a clever child, he understood. After thinking seriously, he replied, "I should silently put back the books my mother stole into Young Master Chen's room, then borrow them from you openly and honestly. Is that right?"
Chen Ping'an nodded. "I can only say that for me, that's already right. With others, you might need to think more."
The child said joyfully, "Young Master Chen, then you won't blame my mother anymore, will you?"
Chen Ping'an ruffled the child's head. "Some mistakes can be made up for. You've already done that."
The child nodded vigorously. "So our teacher told us, if you know your wrongs and correct them, there's no greater good!"
Chen Ping'an, who wouldn't say more than a few words even when fighting for his life, found himself speaking so much to a child today. Even he was surprised. But his state of mind had calmed somewhat. He felt that even if he had to practice his stances and sword techniques right now, it would be no problem.
He put the bamboo slip back into his sleeve and decided to say a few more words.
"One must eat every day to stay alive."
"With food and clothing secured, studying and reasoning isn't necessarily to become a sage, but to live better. Of course, it doesn't guarantee a better life. But the classical teachings of the Confucian sages and the golden words of gentlemen and wise men throughout the ages—at the very least—give us a possibility of being 'not wrong.' They show us that life can be lived this way, and in a way that brings peace of mind."
The child said in confusion, "Young Master Chen, I don't quite understand this part."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "There are many things I haven't fully figured out either. It's like building a house—I only have a few pillars up, far from being able to shelter from wind and rain. So you don't need to take it too seriously. Whether you understand or not is fine. If you have questions you can't solve in the future, ask your teacher at school."
The child smiled, stood up, picked up his little stool, and bowed to Chen Ping'an. He said he needed to go home to copy texts and practice writing—the teacher was strict and would hit his palms if he slacked off.
Chen Ping'an waved his hand. "Go on."
After the child left, Chen Ping'an didn't turn around. He said, "Drop the stone in your hand."
Behind him, a childish voice responded with an "Oh," followed by the sound of a stone hitting the ground. It seemed to be a rather large one.
A gaunt, dark-skinned little girl clapped her hands, swaggered over to Chen Ping'an's side, and crouched down. Turning her head, she asked, "Can I borrow your stool?"
Chen Ping'an acted as if he hadn't heard, taking down his Sword-Nurturing Gourd and starting to drink.
The girl asked again, "You're so rich, can't you spare me some? Didn't you just say that you have to eat every day to keep from starving?"
Chen Ping'an didn't look at her. He asked in return, "How did you find me here?"
Their conversation was completely at cross purposes.
The girl put on a pitiful expression. "I know you're not short of money. A few silver taels wouldn't hurt you, but for me, they could buy so many dry cakes and meat buns. Every winter, lots of old beggars freeze to death in the capital. The tattered clothes on their bodies take so much effort to strip off. Look at what I'm wearing now—that's where it came from. If I had money, I could definitely survive."
Chen Ping'an still didn't look at her. "This outfit you're wearing now must be a good one. But last time, the one you were wearing—wasn't that the clothes that little girl secretly gave you? Why aren't you wearing them today? Just to see me?"
The girl appeared utterly innocent, as if she didn't understand Chen Ping'an's implication at all. She smiled sweetly. "In the middle of summer, clothes with more holes are actually cooler. The ones she gave me, I usually can't bear to wear them. I'll take them out in winter—they'll be really warm."
Chen Ping'an suddenly stood up. He glanced at both ends of the street, left and right. But his words were directed at the crouching girl. "Go stand against the wall. Whatever happens next, don't make a sound."
The girl was sharp-witted. She had been secretly observing Chen Ping'an all along, so she had already followed his gaze and glanced around. Grumbling, she complained as she stood up, preparing to run for cover by the wall. Then she heard the man say, "Take the stool."
She was unhappy. "Why should I carry it for you? Are you my long-lost wild father?"
Chen Ping'an said bluntly, "Ten coppers."
"Coming right up, Dad!" The girl's dark face immediately lit up with a smile. She grabbed the small stool and ran off.