Chapter 322: White-Robed Enters the City, Dares Not Knock
The old Daoist came suddenly, and left just as suddenly.
He simply left Chen Ping'an alone at the edge of the great pit, without telling Chen Ping'an how to leave this Lotus Flower Blessed Land, nor when this observation of the Dao would end. As for the fortune of ascension, the top ten in the world—the old Daoist didn't even mention them.
However, the old Daoist's unannounced departure, though it left Chen Ping'an with a huge mess, also made Chen Ping'an feel a great weight lifted. He let go of the heartstring that had nearly snapped, staggered and swayed a few times, and finally, unable to hold on any longer, simply fell backward onto the ground.
Without a shred of pure true qi to sustain him, the injuries from Ding Ying's yin spirit sword strike that had driven him into the earth earlier completely erupted. Chen Ping'an lay as if in a pool of blood, blood continuously seeping out.
But the smile in Chen Ping'an's eyes was one of great satisfaction.
With Chuyi and Shiwu guarding him, Ding Ying dead, and no one around, Chen Ping'an extravagantly spent his last bit of strength, took down the Sword-nurturing Gourd, tremblingly brought it to his lips, and forced down a mouthful of wine. Debts don't weigh down the body—this bit of pain was nothing but an itch. Chen Ping'an just felt that if he didn't drink now, it would be a pity.
Chen Ping'an did not notice that on his Dharma Robe Jinli, between the claws of the golden coiled dragon at the center of the chest, the originally snow-white massive orb was now filled with thick lightning plasma. And on his shoulders, under the claws and jaws of two smaller golden dragons, two slightly smaller orbs also had a few wisps of lightning swirling around them.
But the changes in Jinli were nothing compared to the earth-shattering phenomena within Chen Ping'an's own body.
The most thorough transformation of bones and marrow.
Earlier, soaking in the thunder pool had given the bones beneath Chen Ping'an's skin and flesh a hint of gold and jade luster—a sign of what cultivators call "golden branches and jade leaves."
Deep roots and firm foundations—the path to long life and enduring vision.
Chen Ping'an was dazed and confused.
It was like being half-asleep, half-awake, dreaming a dream.
In the dream, someone pointed at a surging river and asked him, Chen Ping'an, whether he wanted to cross.
That person answered his own question, saying that if Chen Ping'an wanted to cross the river without being bound by the Dao, he would need a bridge. Only then would he be able to cross naturally.
Chen Ping'an didn't know how to answer. He just crouched by the river and scratched his head.
His true heart was here; it couldn't be faked.
That person then said, "No coincidence, no story." And then added, "Haven't you, Chen Ping'an, already learned the sage's principles from someone? Could it be that all those principles you've been storing in your belly, every moment, every matter, every person—are just empty words?"
Chen Ping'an complained, unable to hide his emotions, "What does learning principles have to do with a bridge?"
That person didn't explain why, only said what to do: "Visualize a bridge in your mind—any bridge will do. You're not old, but you've traveled to no few places. Don't worry, as long as it's a bridge, there aren't many requirements. Even those within the capital of the Nanyuan Kingdom would be fine. When visualizing, don't constrain your thoughts. Let your mind gallop like a horse and your thoughts leap like a monkey. Don't be afraid of them. Just let your thoughts loose—the more, the better. What we want is for your spirit to range across the eight extremes and wander through ten thousand peaks."
Chen Ping'an, not knowing where he was, "closed" his eyes by the river.
For no reason, he thought of that golden arched bridge in the sea of clouds, long, as if without end.
Chen Ping'an could not see that old Daoist. No matter how he searched, he was destined not to find the old Daoist's trace.
And so Chen Ping'an would not see the old Daoist glance at the mist-shrouded river above, his expression strange. Nor would he hear the old Daoist curse Chen Qingdu for making trouble for him, curse the old scholar for not being a simple lantern, and finally praise a younger generation's vision and boldness, and reminisce about a "old friend" of the mountains and rivers who wasn't human.
Chen Ping'an opened his eyes wide and saw, beside his feet to the opposite bank of the river, the faint outline of a golden arched bridge, but it was wavering and unstable.
In his hand appeared a book, on which were written the moral essays of an old man, recording a Confucian sage's sequential doctrine that had never been revealed.
Every single character detached from the book, shining with golden light, and floated toward the golden arched bridge that Chen Ping'an had visualized.
One character was like one brick.
But unfortunately, a small half of the characters in the book remained lifeless, especially on the middle and later pages—each character stood unmoving.
Regardless, the golden long bridge over the great river now had a spirit of vitality to support it, and it finally became solid.
But it was still lacking something to be finally completed, lacking flesh and blood, lacking a lot.
This was like a person who had only a soul without a physical body—a skeleton, a lonely ghost, unable to see sunlight, unable to enter the world of the living.
Furthermore, the length and grandeur of the long bridge were beyond expectations, which was why the characters in that book were insufficient.
The old Daoist instructed, "Walk on it and see if it will collapse."
Chen Ping'an shook his head and answered based on intuition, "It will definitely collapse."
The old Daoist didn't question Chen Ping'an. After thinking it over, he walked out of the small world he had created.
And then, there was no then.
At the edge of the great pit, Chen Ping'an suddenly sat up. Where was the long river? Where was the old Daoist?
Only the vast heavens and earth.
Beside him, the two flying swords, Chuyi and Shiwu.
Though they were not Chen Ping'an's life-bound flying swords, they had followed Chen Ping'an on his long journey, spending day and night together, relying on each other, and had long become one in spirit.
One was silent, the other filled with guilt.
Chen Ping'an fastened the Sword-nurturing Gourd, reached out, and lightly patted the two flying swords, comforting them, "It's good enough that the three of us are still alive. Besides, next time we definitely won't be so constrained. And if it weren't for you two helping to block, I wouldn't have been able to hold out until the moment my soul left my body..."
Chen Ping'an stopped his words, because he found that Chuyi was becoming even more silent, and Shiwu even more guilty.
Chen Ping'an stood up, patted the Sword-nurturing Gourd, and muttered as he walked, "You two go back in here first. We need to hurry into the city and find the little lotus person! This road ahead might not be smooth. Without you two, I really don't have much confidence in fighting right now. If I don't rest well for ten days to half a month, even that child who can control a sword would be trouble for me. Later, I might need you two to help clear the way."
The two flying swords returned to the Sword-nurturing Gourd.
Chen Ping'an walked alone toward the capital of the Nanyuan Kingdom.
As he got closer and closer to the city wall, the Dharma Robe Jinli gradually changed from gold back to a pure white robe.
Chen Ping'an understood in his heart, and looked back once.
Behind him, the battlefield centered on Guniushan Mountain was filled with dense spiritual energy that lingered. In this world, it should be the greatest "cave heaven and blessed land."
Of course, it was also dense with martial destiny.
If he weren't in a hurry to return to the city to find the little lotus person, staying here would yield the most benefit.
But Chen Ping'an looked up at the distant city wall—if he took all the advantages for himself, he could easily become the common enemy of the world.
As for whether entering the city under everyone's gaze would be dangerous.
Chen Ping'an walked on the silent official road, each step gliding dozens of yards.
What he had said earlier was mainly to comfort the downcast Chuyi and Shiwu. In truth, if anyone dared to block his way now and pester him endlessly, then with a long breath in hand, the principles would be on his side.
Having witnessed that old man Cui being invincible in the bamboo tower.
And personally defeating someone who was "invincible" in this world—these were two different realms.
---
Guniushan Mountain had been completely destroyed. Where would the second strike of the Heaven-striking Drum come from? What talk of a place of ascension?
On the capital's city wall, even Zhou Fei, who was just playing in the human world, felt a bit heavy-hearted.
Could it be that everyone had wasted sixty years for nothing?
As the heavenly thunder pool dispersed, clouds parted to reveal the sun, and a great light shone. Fan Wan'er raised that mirror, which gleamed brightly. On its surface, her face was reflected in peerless beauty.
Just as Fan Wan'er was about to put away the bronze mirror, she suddenly noticed that her reflection in the mirror was smiling, while she herself clearly had no smile on her face.
The "Fan Wan'er" in the mirror sighed with a smile.
And a voice sounded in Fan Wan'er's heart: "Oh, foolish child."
It was like being struck by lightning.
As if burned, Fan Wan'er dropped the mirror, clutched her head that felt like it was splitting from pain, her face full of bitterness and tears.
Far off on the city wall, Ya'er cautiously called out, "Palace Master Zhou."
Zhou Fei turned his head and saw that the green dress she was wearing fell off by itself, swaying as if a courtesan dancing slowly, self-absorbed, as if no one else was around.
Zhou Fei sneered, "In my hands, and you still want to leave?"
Zhou Fei reached out and grabbed. On the shoulder of the green dress, a handprint indented, but the green dress continued to drift to the right, tearing continuously, until there was a sound of silk ripping. Zhou Fei ended up with a piece of brocade in his hand. He frowned, "Playing tricks. Let me see how long this old woman's soul can hide! What are you scheming!"
More and more torn pieces of the green dress accumulated in Zhou Fei's hand.
He and Lu Fang both knew the root of this Tong Qingqing in the Haoran World.
The Supreme Grandmaster of Taiping Mountain, wanting to correct her overly rigid nature, not wanting her to push forward recklessly and gamble everywhere, had temporarily reversed her Dao heart before throwing her into the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, making her seem naturally afraid of death, hoping she would comprehend the Dao between extremes and eventually break through the barrier of life and death, successfully entering the upper five realms.
Since this incarnation of the banished immortal Tong Qingqing was extremely afraid of death and kept hiding, it made sense.
But if someone so afraid of death didn't treasure her martial arts talent at all, that would certainly be unreasonable.
So what was Tong Qingqing's ultimate move? It must be very interesting.
The elder of Mirror Heart Studio, of the same generation or even higher than Tong Qingqing's master, had high hopes for her. With her photographic memory, if we talk about erudition, she was probably second only to Ding Ying. Her martial talent was astonishingly brilliant. If not for her overly soft and cowardly nature, Tong Qingqing would most likely have been the number one grandmaster in the martial world after Ding Ying.
With Ding Ying, who seemed to oppose but secretly allied with the orthodox, dead, Yu Zhenyi's desire to kill Zhong Qiu would certainly fade. And having obtained Ding Laomo's silver lotus crown, he firmly occupied a place among the top three. Yu Zhenyi didn't want to ascend anyway, so he wouldn't add unnecessary trouble and become a target for everyone. After all, setting up such a huge trap with Ding Ying against all grandmasters, Yu Zhenyi had already committed a great taboo.
For now, only because Yu Zhenyi's combat power was completely intact did no one dare to tear off the mask of martial brotherhood with him.
At the very least, Zhong Qiu, the knife sharpener Liu Zong, and the elusive Tong Qingqing must have a very bad impression of Yu Zhenyi.
So Zhou Fei actually didn't want to tear face with Tong Qingqing at this moment, but that green dress, and the golden arhat statue that Yun Ni had gone to demand from the Nanyuan Kingdom emperor—these were fortunes he had to obtain. The former was to take away the demon cult Ya'er, to temper his son Zhou Shi's nature; the latter was to exchange for a magical treasure to give to Lu Fang. In the next sixty years, without Zhou Fei in the Spring Tide Palace, the sword immortal of Bird's Perch Peak and the Spring Tide Palace would still be connected, and Zhou Shi's path to martial supremacy would have no worries.
In the end, it was too difficult for a great cultivator like him to produce offspring—especially the Jiang clan of Yugui Sect, which had been single-line for so many years.
A bald old man carrying a large pack climbed onto the city wall, walking as fast as flying. It was Yun Ni, who had taken off his monk's robe and left the Vajra Temple.
Passing by Fan Wan'er, who was crouching on the ground holding her head, the old man glanced curiously, wondering why this young immortal of Mirror Heart Studio was in such pain.
But when the old man saw Zhou Fei "tearing up" the green dress, he, no longer a monk, roared, "Zhou Fei!"
Zhou Fei sneered, "You old bald donkey, do you really think this dress came to you back then with good intentions? It was just one of Tong Qingqing's schemes. She fooled you for most of your life, and you're still stubborn? The dress is one of the four artifact fortunes, that's true, but is there nothing inside? Tong Qingqing's soul from Mirror Heart Studio has long been hidden within."
The old man was unmoved, his eyes wide like a vajra's angry glare in a temple hall, "None of your business! You said you'd take 'Miss Qingqing' out of this world, and I'd give you this arhat golden body. If you, Zhou Fei, dare to break your word, I dare to kill you!"
Zhou Fei was amused, "You old bald donkey, calling a dress 'Miss Qingqing'—aren't you ashamed?"
The old man was momentarily speechless, a bit guilty.
Zhou Fei pointed at Fan Wan'er in the distance, his eyes showing approval, "This direct disciple of Tong Qingqing's, the future master of Mirror Heart Studio, is probably the physical vessel for Tong Qingqing's banished immortal incarnation this life! She first reversed aging, becoming like Yu Zhenyi, appearing as a child, then abandoned her realm and cultivation, letting herself grow naturally into a young woman like Fan Wan'er. With the Reverence Pavilion helping her hide the truth from heaven and crossing the sea—you, me, the world, even Ding Ying—all were fooled by her!"
Zhou Fei laughed heartily, "She even fooled herself. Tong Qingqing, that's ruthless! Enough, enough. They're all external things."
Zhou Fei waved his sleeve and let the green dress drift away.
Without the dress, to get the golden arhat body, he would have to snatch it from Yun Ni by force.
But after weighing the pros and cons, Zhou Fei gave up both fortunes, wanting only the spot of third grandmaster.
He could still take away the demon cult Ya'er.
In this Lotus Flower Blessed Land, for banished immortals who were qi refiners in the Haoran World, it was like doing Dao work inside a snail shell—constrained on one hand, and like a clever woman cooking without rice on the other—no way to start.
The appearance of Chen Ping'an had disrupted all plans. If Ding Ying could die, who in this world dared to say they wouldn't die?
Zhou Fei worried about capsizing in the gutter. If even he got killed, though it wouldn't prevent him from leaving the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, the loss would be somewhat heavy.
The biggest problem now was that among the top ten in the world, only two had died—the first and the last: Ding Ying and Feng Qingbai.
Eight remained, meaning five more needed to die before the promise in that sealed letter could take effect.
Lu Fang, being a good friend of this Jiang clan patriarch for many years, quickly understood the key points, "Don't worry. For the next sixty years, I'll keep an eye on things. Zhou Shi will definitely make it into the top three."
Zhou Fei, for the first time, chose to retreat voluntarily. Yun Ni naturally didn't want to and couldn't push too hard. He followed the "Miss Qingqing" to Fan Wan'er's side.
She rubbed her eyebrows vigorously with both hands.
Then this young, stunning beauty straightened up and slapped her cheeks, making a cracking sound.
Fan Wan'er extended two fingers, pinched the collar of the green dress in front of her, shook it a few times, put it on, then tore it open and casually tossed it to the bewildered old monk. She laughed, "Don't worry, your so-called Miss Qingqing is still there. If you go to Guniushan Mountain and stay there, she will soon regain her vitality. She is the true owner of this dress. My soul only borrowed it for a few decades, and after taking up residence, I sealed it myself, rendering it like a dead object. That way, it wasn't easy for Ding Ying to discover. So all these years, whatever you said to this dress—Buddhist talk or love talk—I didn't hear a single word."
The old monk hugged the dress, a bit red-faced.
Fan Wan'er narrowed her eyes and fell into thought, no longer paying attention to this monk who had long developed worldly feelings.
Memories came back little by little, like a clear spring flowing into her heart, but she deliberately set them aside in a corner of her mind lake, not dealing with them for now.
Instead, she began to reconstruct events purely as a "Mirror Heart Studio disciple, Fan Wan'er."
Her senior sister Zhou Shuzhen had accepted her on behalf of the master, taking her back to the sect's forbidden area, Mirror Heart Pavilion. Fan Wan'er had only bowed three times to that scroll painting.
She had once been the person in the world who most wanted to see "Tong Qingqing," so Zhou Shuzhen eventually gave her a bronze mirror.
She learned the White Ape Back-Sword Technique and was hailed in the martial world as "With or without the sword on her back, there are two Fan Wan'ers."
But Fan Wan'er found that the final sword of this ultimate art seemed impossible for anyone in this world to use—there was neither such a sword nor such a martial artist's physique. Yet Zhou Shuzhen still insisted she delve into the White Ape Back-Sword Technique.
So back at White River Temple, the banished immortal Chen Ping'an found it strange that Fan Wan'er, though "close to the Dao," seemed to be walking with a heavy load, moving extremely clumsily—because she was missing most of her soul, like a walking corpse. How could she be agile?
Fan Wan'er had also once asked on a bridge whether Crown Prince Wei Yan often encountered déjà vu with people and things. Later, at the prince's mansion, the old cook, originally ranked third in the world, had also seen Fan Wan'er's strangeness at a glance, but at the time, he mistakenly thought she was merely a reincarnation of some "banished immortal," and thus relatively susceptible to possession, which was why certain auras lingered around her.
Thinking of how she had inexplicably sought out Chen Ping'an twice, Fan Wan'er grinned. Well, what kind of background did he have, to make the Supreme Grandmaster agree to let him possess her? Risking descending into the Lotus Flower Blessed Land just to warn that Chen Ping'an? Unfortunately, the rules of this world were too strict—exploiting loopholes wasn't easy—so both times, "Fan Wan'er" could only stare helplessly, unable to utter a single word. And that Chen Ping'an probably just thought she was a madwoman?
"Fan Wan'er" stepped onto the rubble of the city wall, leaned forward, propped an arm on her leg, and gazed into the distance with a rich smile.
Back at the night market, on a table near her and Chen Ping'an, there had seemingly been commoners cursing—slamming tables, glaring, calling each other brothel madams and whores, saying something about third time's the limit, otherwise they'd open a brothel right in the other's home.
The real meaning, of course, was "three strikes and you're out."
But those curses—really uncouth. They sounded like that insufferable little Dao boy. This time, when she returned to the Haoran World, even if the Supreme Grandmaster tried to stop her, she would have to have a good talk with that brat she'd long found annoying. Over the past ninety-odd years, Ding Ying's several chance encounters with her—probably not the little Dao boy's doing—but that time she was captured by the Military Token Sect leader, she dared to swear it was that most vengeful little bastard playing tricks. Though it turned out safe enough, thinking back, it was still disgusting.
And because of the possession incident, the most critical point was that the Supreme Grandmaster had broken the rules of the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, also destroying all of "Mirror Heart Studio Tong Qingqing's" schemes.
Had the little Dao boy, before Tong Qingqing could get the bronze mirror and the soul within the green dress, quickly finalized the final ten on the list?
Or had the Supreme Grandmaster, always so stingy, run into a big spender and no longer cared about that money, planning to just toss money to lift her out of the Lotus Flower Blessed Land?
In Fan Wan'er's—or rather Tong Qingqing's—line of sight,
That white-robed figure was nearing the city walls.
No, to be precise, she should now be the Taiping Mountain Daoist nun Huang Ting, no longer the jumbled-up puppet Fan Wan'er, nor the cowardly Tong Qingqing.
She yelled, "Hey!" and raised her arm high, extending a thumbs-up to that guy outside the city.
This was the first time the Taiping Mountain Daoist nun, famous throughout Tongye Continent, had ever admired a man younger than herself.
Chen Ping'an looked up at this strange and unfamiliar Fan Wan'er, frowning.
He only looked toward Zhong Qiu, and the two exchanged smiles.
In Chen Ping'an's heart, no matter which world's martial arts realm, it should have people like Song Yushao and Zhong Qiu—that was what made it a true martial world.
Huang Ting raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening. "He's got character. I like it!"
Outside the city, Chen Ping'an stopped.
On the city wall, among those ranked in the top ten were:
Lake Mountain Sect leader Yu Zhenyi, already wearing the silver lotus crown, a glazed flying sword suspended beside him, holding a jade bamboo folding fan, each rib inscribed with a martial art ultimate skill in tiny characters.
Zhong Qiu, his expression relaxed, leaning on the ruined battlement, shoulders sagging—unlike the usual Nanyuan Kingdom national teacher.
Spring Tide Palace's Zhou Fei.
Northern Jin Grand General Tang Tieyi, solemn, thumb continuously rubbing the hilt of his Lianshi blade.
The knife sharpener, Liu Zong.
Yun Ni, holding the soft green dress.
Cheng Yuanshan, hiding somewhere in the capital.
The tenth ranger, Feng Qingbai, had already died under his good brother Tang Tieyi's Lianshi blade.
The first, Ding Laomo, had died at the hands of that banished immortal named Chen Ping'an.
Beyond the ten, on the city wall, there was also Huang Ting, whose aura had completely changed. Though she wasn't in the ten, now even Zhou Fei probably wouldn't dare provoke her. After her soul and body merged, her appearance began to change—her already stunning face added even more radiance, becoming utterly captivating.
Bird's Perch Peak's Lu Fang, preparing to stay in the Lotus Flower Blessed Land for another sixty years, both for his own Dao heart and to be half a guardian for his friend's son.
The hairpin-adorned youth Zhou Shi, his thoughts besides the imminent parting sorrow, also held a beautiful longing for sixty years later.
The demon cult's Ya'er, about to be taken out of this world by Zhou Fei. With Ding Ying dead, she was the most dead-hearted of all.
At this moment, as everyone saw that young banished immortal stop on the official road outside the gate,
Yu Zhenyi's eyes were dark, his face showing no emotion.
Zhong Qiu smiled knowingly. This was how the man who killed Ding Laomo should be—domineering! It was like saying, you all saw it—I, Chen Ping'an, am wounded from the battle with Ding Ying. If anyone wants to take advantage, come ahead. Step down from the city wall, and we'll settle life and death.
The knife sharpener Liu Zong sighed, leaning against the wall, worried. Having witnessed that earth-shattering battle at Guniushan, he really had no spirit to wade into muddy waters. He felt it was pointless. If he could walk down from the city wall this time and safely return to his shop on Kejia Bridge, maybe he'd just quietly become a wealthy man, at most take on one or two favored direct disciples—no more thinking about other things.
Dragon Warrior Grand General Tang Tieyi's eyes flashed with anger, but he hesitated for a moment, then simply closed his eyes and meditated, not seeing, not bothered.
In the end, Chen Ping'an simply walked straight through the city gate and gradually disappeared into the distance.
Yu Zhenyi floated up, stepped onto that glazed flying sword, and headed toward Guniushan.
The abundant spiritual energy that had gathered from all over the world was starting to disperse. As a cultivator, how could Yu Zhenyi miss this once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity?
Spiritual energy was different from the ethereal martial destiny of the world—it didn't pick people. As long as you had the ability, anyone could gather it into their arms.
Tang Tieyi fixed his gaze on the dispirited knife sharpener Liu Zong and slowly advanced along the horse path.
Liu Zong shuddered, jumped up, and cursed, "Good for you, Tang Tieyi! You dare treat me like a soft persimmon?!"
Huang Ting, for her part, fixed her gaze on the displeasing Zhou Fei.
What the Spring Tide Palace palace master had done in this blessed land—Mirror Heart Studio's Tong Qingqing could tolerate it, but Taiping Mountain Daoist nun Huang Ting could not!
In Fan Wan'er's eyes, it was an ordinary bronze mirror, but in Huang Ting's hands, it held great mystery. She used qi to control objects, grabbing the bronze mirror from the ground. She struck the mirror surface heavily with her finger, and it shattered. After the surface broke, it revealed an eerie dark green pool-like phenomenon. Huang Ting extended two fingers, as if pinching something, and pulled outward—she actually drew out a sheathed sword!
She was the pride of the third-largest sect in Tongye Continent, Taiping Mountain, the future sect leader, the one destined to become a twelfth-level immortal upon entering the upper five realms!
If she didn't have some background, that would be too ridiculous.
In an instant, Zhou Shi and Ya'er looked at each other, both feeling a prickling sensation on their backs.
They both turned their heads sharply.
And met the gaze of that white-robed banished immortal looking up at the city wall.
Zhou Fei cursed with a laugh, "Ding Laomo, that overreaching fool—not enough to accomplish things, more than enough to ruin them. He's screwed me over."
Zhou Fei turned to look at Lu Fang, who was also helpless. "Unless this man ascends with you, if he stays in the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, Zhou Shi is definitely in danger."
Zhou Fei pinched his chin. If a good fate was hard to forge, then he'd have to make other plans.
But just then, everyone involuntarily looked up at the sky.
A golden hole broke open in the sea of clouds, and a beam of light landed on the city wall in an instant.
In the blink of an eye.
Probably no one in the capital except those banished immortals and grandmasters on the wall would notice this.
In everyone's view, there appeared a short Dao boy, holding a small, exquisite five-colored rattle-drum, but carrying a huge golden gourd, almost as tall as himself, looking extremely comical.
When Huang Ting saw this little squirt, she gave a "yo" and stopped bothering with Zhou Fei, striding toward this disciple of someone who was very annoying even in the Haoran World.
The Dao boy caught sight of the murderous Huang Ting and rolled his eyes. "I didn't come down to fight this time, you know. If you go too far and anger my master, aren't you afraid your Supreme Grandmaster will have wasted so many years as your guardian?"
If Huang Ting were still the Taiping Mountain Daoist nun before entering the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, she would have just said, "That's my ancestor's business," and still attacked. But this time, she grinned, her expression saying, "Let's see you in the Haoran World." The Dao boy returned the look, grinning back, not taking it seriously. Comparing backers? A single Taiping Mountain was still a bit small, wasn't it? Not like the Dragon Tiger Mountain in the Central Plains.
The Dao boy cleared his throat, puffed out his chest, and strode importantly along the horse path on the city wall. Though his voice wasn't loud, everyone heard him clearly: "The rules have changed. For you, it's incredibly good news. The last ten on the list—those who survive can all ascend. Those who don't want to leave this world—after I sound the second drumbeat, before the third drumbeat, just leave the wall yourselves. Of course, even if you don't ascend, those who step down from the wall can still get one artifact."
"Remember: those who ascend from the wall will have their bodies left in this world, only their souls going to another place, retaining all memories. Don't think starting over is entirely a bad thing. The subtlety of it, you'll understand later."
The Dao boy was arrogant, swaggering as he walked. "The top three on the list have even more fortune. The second, Yu Zhenyi, if he chooses to ascend, can take three people with him. The third, Zhou Fei, can take one person of his choice. My master has decreed: except for Ding Ying. Those taken can leave with their bodies intact."
"Hmm, it seems a lot of you are confused. No need to be surprised. Your strength is too poor—you're not qualified to participate. If you cling to hope, you'll only end up like Feng Qingbai."
At this point, the Dao boy grinned at Huang Ting. "Isn't it infuriating? You were strong enough to be in the top three, but oh well. Man proposes, heaven disposes. Nothing to be done. Your Taiping Mountain hooked up with those two outsiders and broke the rules first. My master was quite angry at the time."
Huang Ting twitched the corner of her mouth.
The Dao boy tilted his head, staring at her face, pouring oil on the fire. "Huang Ting, you're so shameless. In the Haoran World, your face wasn't even half as good as now..."
It looked like someone had hit the back of the Dao boy's head. He suddenly fell flat on his face, but didn't seem embarrassed. He stood up, brushed off his Dao robe, and as he passed Huang Ting, made a face, then continued, "Finally, an old rule passed down through generations: don't spread what happened today lightly. You all know it in your hearts. Of course, if you really can't help it, mentioning it to a very few people won't matter."
Having said all this in one breath, the Dao boy raised the rattle-drum and shook it gently.
No heavenly phenomenon—just a soft "dong."
This counted as the second strike of the Heaven-striking Drum?
Yu Zhenyi, standing on the glazed flying sword, made a Daoist bow to the Dao boy. "Farewell, immortal master."
The Dao boy, facing this "peer" in appearance, had a somewhat different attitude, a bit more serious. He said with an old, matured air, "Go ahead. Everyone has their own aspirations. My master isn't exactly disappointed in you. So please cherish the next sixty years."
Yu Zhenyi showed a rare flash of excitement, then flew away on his sword toward the ruins of Guniushan battlefield, greedily absorbing the abundant spiritual energy.
There was hope that after seclusion, he would break through again, and even against Chen Ping'an, he might have a fighting chance.
Zhong Qiu asked with a smile, "Liu Zong, what do you say?"
The knife sharpener Liu Zong thought for a moment and then laughed, "Master Zhong, please sell my shop for me later. I trust that with your methods, Master Zhong, you already know which young people I had my eye on. Split the silver and give it to them."
Zhong Qiu nodded. "Easy enough. Then, shall we part here?"
Liu Zong sighed.
Zhong Qiu clasped his hands.
Liu Zong quickly returned the gesture, unable to help asking, "Master Zhong, won't you leave together? If you leave, you might have a chance to return. But if you don't go this time, you'll never have another chance to ascend."
Zhong Qiu shook his head. "Where my heart is at ease, there is my home."
Liu Zong kept his hands clasped, never lowering them.
Zhong Qiu smiled warmly, gently pressed down Liu Zong's hands, turned, and walked away, descending the city wall.
The Dao boy glanced at Zhong Qiu's retreating figure and shook his head.
Tang Tieyi quickly followed Zhong Qiu.
Yun Ni took one step over the wall, landed outside, hugged the green dress, and ran swiftly toward Guniushan.
On the city wall, few remained.
Zhou Fei said to Lu Fang, "Take Zhou Shi and hide first, best to leave the Nanyuan Kingdom, the farther the better. Once I leave the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, no one can stop that Chen Ping'an."
Lu Fang and Zhou Shi didn't hesitate; they leaped off the wall, skirted around Guniushan, and headed toward the border of the Nanyuan Kingdom.
In the end, only four remained: the Dao boy with the huge gourd, Taiping Mountain's Huang Ting, Yugui Sect's "Zhou Fei," and the native of the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, Liu Zong.
The Dao boy glanced at a certain stone bridge in the city, where Arm Sage Cheng Yuanshan was hiding. He snorted derisively, yawned, and casually shook the rattle-drum—the third drumbeat.
Not appearing on this city wall meant Cheng Yuanshan would end up with nothing—no ascension, no extra opportunity.
A dazzling beam of light fell, enveloping Liu Zong. His entire figure vanished instantly, leaving nothing behind.
The Dao boy showed clear signs of reevaluating Zhou Fei, revealing a bit more heavenly secret in a low voice, "That Chen Ping'an—don't worry about him running amok here. Hah, he's got more hardships ahead."
Zhou Fei's expression showed sudden understanding, and he smiled, "Thanks."
A second beam of light fell on the mortal world. Zhou Fei lingered longer than Liu Zong, his figure blurry, still having the leisure to wave farewell to Huang Ting.
The Dao boy looked at the frowning Taiping Mountain Daoist nun with a sly smile, "Worried about your situation?"
Huang Ting sneered, "You go back and tell my grandmaster—no need to spend money. Within ten years at most, what Sui Youbian couldn't do, I can do. That will be the time I break through. I will ascend with my physical body and return to the Haoran World."
The Dao boy's smile was playful. He tapped his foot, and carrying such a large golden gourd, began to "ascend" into the air. Without a beam of light to support him, he wobbled, as if dog-paddling, slowly swimming toward the sky...
Huang Ting glanced once and didn't want to look again at that picture. Such childish antics—only that little brat would do them.
---
Inside the capital of the Nanyuan Kingdom, there was a scrawny little girl. She had sold books, bought two sets of clothes, and with the remaining copper coins, ordered a large table of delicacies that only appeared in dreams. She wolfed them down, afraid that if she ate too slowly, she'd take a loss. Sitting on the chair, she had to stick her bottom high up to reach the dishes across the table. Her face was greasy, and she felt she had never been so happy.
A child named Cao Qinglang was led by a group of soldiers to the yamen. Outside the hall, four straw mats were laid out, covered with four white sheets. The child crouched there in a daze, not speaking a word.
Under a bridge, Arm Sage Cheng Yuanshan still waited bitterly, hoping for the earth-shaking second drumbeat.
A poor scholar, hearing that someone had died nearby, was dragged by his friend to join the excitement. The area was already packed with commoners. The scholar only heard it was a beautiful woman. He thought that when she returned, he would definitely tell her about this tragedy. Most importantly, he would tell her not to go out much. For now, they were a bit strapped for money, but it didn't matter. She didn't need to visit relatives or borrow money from people to buy books for him.
After flying all the way back to that main street, Chen Ping'an turned into an alley, his steps heavy.
When he entered the city, even with so many grandmasters on the wall,
Chen Ping'an still presented an unprecedented invincible posture—wearing white, with a gourd at his waist, holding a long sword, passing through with elegance.
But now, facing a common courtyard with cheap Spring Festival couplets pasted on the door, Chen Ping'an raised his hand several times, each time dropping it again, unable to knock.
Chen Ping'an did not know.
The old Daoist stood behind him, watching him.
The old Daoist wanted to "know" two things.
How you, Chen Ping'an, recognize yourself.
And how you will look upon this mortal world.