Chapter 436: Expressing One's Feelings, Knowing a Little
Inside that room at the mountain gate of Qingxia Island, maps of the various islands in Shujian Lake and the nearby prefectures and cities, incense household registration archives, lineage registers of the major islands' ancestral halls, plus nearly two hundred thousand characters of transcribed manuscripts—all had been sorted and categorized. Most had already been placed into cabinet drawers, much like the medicine drawers in Yang Family Shop and the Dust Medicine Shop, but the desk was still piled high.
Inside the room, there was one desk, a row of cabinets against the wall, a dining table, and then just one chair, two long benches, and a small stool. That was the entirety of the furnishings.
Later, because Gu Can frequently visited the room from late autumn into winter, he enjoyed sitting by the door for a long time, either basking in the sun and dozing off or chatting with the little loach. Chen Ping'an, while visiting a Purple Bamboo Island, had asked the scholarly island master for three stalks of purple bamboo—two large and one small. The large ones were split and crafted into two small bamboo chairs, while the smaller one was baked and polished into a fishing rod. But even with a fishing rod made, being at Shujian Lake, he never had the chance to fish.
Tonight, Chen Ping'an opened the food container and silently ate his midnight snack at the dining table.
He was still waiting for a reply from Taiping Mountain on Tongye Continent.
Even though Wei Bo had already given him all the answers, it wasn't that Chen Ping'an didn't trust this enigmatic former deity of the Shenshui Kingdom. Rather, whatever Chen Ping'an needed to do next, no matter how meticulous and thorough he tried to be, it wouldn't be excessive.
But cross-continent flying-sword messages could just vanish like a clay ox entering the sea. Coupled with the fact that Shujian Lake was already a contentious place, and the flying-sword message originated from Qingxia Island, which was a target of universal attack, Chen Ping'an had already prepared for the worst. If it came down to it, he would ask Wei Bo for help and have a letter sent from Piyun Mountain to Zhong Kui at Taiping Mountain.
If this were the Chen Ping'an of his first journey through the martial world, even if he had these connections, he would likely have muddled through on his own, unwilling to trouble others, and would have felt uneasy about it. But now, it was different.
Chen Ping'an didn't want to become the kind of solitary figure the old Daoist at Guandao Temple on the East Sea had spoken of. Owing some favors wasn't frightening. If you borrowed and repaid, when friends encountered difficulties, it would be easier to ask for help. As long as you didn't make it hard to repay.
After finishing his midnight snack, Chen Ping'an packed away the food container and spread out a courier bulletin beside him, beginning to browse.
It contained some current interesting anecdotes about Shujian Lake, similar in nature to the official courier bulletins sent by feudal lords in secular dynasties to their offices. In fact, during his travels, when he was at the Baihua Garden Inn in the Qingluan Kingdom, Chen Ping'an had already seen the wonders of this kind of immortal courier bulletin. Having stayed in Shujian Lake for a while, he had adapted to local customs, asking Gu Can to help him get a copy. As long as a fresh bulletin was issued, someone would deliver it to his room.
Almost every day on Gongliu Island, something interesting happened, and by the next day, it would spread throughout Shujian Lake.
This was thanks to a place called Liuxu Island. The cultivators there, from the island master to the outer disciples and even the servants, did not cultivate on the island. They spent their days wandering outside, making a living by gathering gossip from various occasions, adding a bit of speculation, and selling tidbits of information. They would also send out immortal courier bulletins periodically to half the islands in Shujian Lake and to the wealthy families in the four major lakeside cities—Chishui, Yunlou, Lütong, and Jinzun. If there was little news, the bulletin might be as small as a piece of tofu, and the price would be low—a baseline of one Snowflake Coin. If there was a lot of news, the bulletin could be as large as a geomancy map, often costing ten or more Snowflake Coins.
The latest bulletin mainly reported on the recent situation on Gongliu Island, also introducing the highlights of some newly risen islands and fresh news from some older, established islands. For example, the founding master of Biqiao Island had returned from a journey and brought back an extraordinary young cultivation prodigy who had a natural Dao resonance with talismans. Another example: among the female cultivators of the Waterfall Nunnery on Lamei Island, a previously unknown girl had suddenly blossomed in the past two years. Lamei Island had specially opened a "Mirror Flower, Water Moon" income stream for her. Unexpectedly, in the first month, a cloud of wealthy mountain guests came to appreciate her graceful demeanor, tossing down many immortal coins, causing Lamei Island's spiritual energy to surge by a full ten percent. There was also Yunxiu Island, which had been silent for a century and whose fortunes had declined. A cultivator from a servant background, never highly regarded, had become the new Golden Core Earth Immortal of Shujian Lake, following Tian Hujun of Qingxia Island. So Yunxiu Island, which didn't even qualify to attend the alliance on Gongliu Island, was now clamoring that they must be given a seat—otherwise, no matter who became the lake's sovereign, it wouldn't be legitimate without their presence.
Chen Ping'an read these colorful tales of "other people's affairs" and found them quite amusing. After reading through once, he couldn't help but read them again.
In this bulletin, the female cultivator from Lamei Island had been given a palm-sized space by the chief writer of Liuxu Island. Using a technique similar to the rubbing method on the ferries of Dajiao Mountain, combined with the scenic depiction brushwork of the painter cultivator on Guihua Island ferry back then, the girl's appearance on the bulletin was lifelike—a side profile standing under a plum tree at the Waterfall Nunnery. Chen Ping'an took a few glances—she was indeed a girl with moving temperament. He just didn't know if she had used the immortal secret technique of "changing skin and removing bones" to alter her features. If Zhu Lian and that old gentleman surnamed Xun were here, they might have been able to see through it at a glance.
Chen Ping'an had subscribed to the bulletin relatively late. At this moment, as he read about the strange people and customs of various islands, he didn't know that before the massacre at Furong Mountain, all the news about him—the accountant of Qingxia Island—had been Liuxu Island's biggest source of income in recent days.
Of course, Liuxu Island didn't dare write too outrageously; most of it was praise. Otherwise, they would have worried that Gu Can would bring his big loach and slap Liuxu Island to pieces with a few swipes. Historically, the cultivators of Liuxu Island had not gone without severe losses. In the five hundred years since their ancestral hall was founded, they had moved their base three times. The worst time, when their strength was severely damaged and their finances insufficient, they had to rent a small piece of land from another island.
These three "offenses due to words" were: First, in Liuxu Island's early days, a cultivator wrote without weighing his words, and a single bulletin offended the illegitimate son of the then lake sovereign. Second, three hundred years ago, when they angered the island master of Gongliu Island, they embellished stories about this old immortal and his female disciple. Although all the words were praise, full of envy for the master and disciple becoming a fairy couple, it still brought a visit from Liu Laocheng. He didn't kill anyone, but he scared Liuxu Island so much that they moved islands the next day as an apology.
The third time was with Liu Zhimao. In a bulletin, they carelessly changed Liu Zhimao's Dao title from "River-Cutting True Lord" to "River-Cutting Heavenly Lord," making Liu Zhimao the laughingstock of the entire Shujian Lake overnight.
Liu Zhimao stormed Liuxu Island and directly dismantled their ancestral hall. That was the most devastating blow Liuxu Island ever suffered. When the dazed Liuxu Island cultivators later settled scores, they discovered that the man who had written that bulletin had already run away. It turned out that this man was a junior among the many unjustly dead under a great cultivator of Liuxu Island. He had lurked on the island for twenty years and, with a single character, had ruined the entire island. And a Viewing Lake realm cultivator responsible for verifying the bulletin text, though indeed negligent, could hardly be considered the chief culprit, yet was dragged out as a scapegoat.
Hearing a relatively rare knock on the door, and recognizing the faint, familiar sound of footsteps, Chen Ping'an knew it should be Hongsu, the gatekeeper of Zhu Xian Mansion.
He quickly got up to open the door. Hongsu, the "old woman" with a head of green hair, declined Chen Ping'an's invitation to enter the room. After a moment's hesitation, she whispered, "Mr. Chen, really can't you write about my master's story with Island Master Liu of Zhuchai Island?"
Chen Ping'an smiled and said, "Alright, next time I visit your mansion, I'll listen to Ma Yuanzhi's old tales."
Though Hongsu's face was aged, covered in wrinkles, and for some reason, heavy yin-sha aura had gathered and settled on her face, making her look ugly, her appearance wouldn't have been bad if she absorbed the spiritual energy of immortal coins. Moreover, she had a pair of rather intelligent eyes. Now she blinked, gathered her courage, and whispered, "Mr. Chen deliberately refused my master, didn't you? Because you guessed my master would send me back to ask you, so you could give me such a big merit, right?"
Chen Ping'an raised a finger to his lips, signaling that it should remain between heaven, earth, you, and me.
Under the moonlight, the woman smiled brilliantly in the bright moonlight.
Hongsu looked at this somewhat thin young man, raised a jug of wine in her hand—yellow paper seal, red string wrapped around the body—and said softly with a smile, "It's nothing valuable. It's called Yellow Vine Wine, made from glutinous rice and japonica rice. It's an official wine from my hometown, most favored by women, and also nicknamed 'Meal-Adding Wine.' Last time I talked with Mr. Chen a lot, I forgot about this. So I had someone buy some, just arrived on the island. If you find it to your taste, I'll bring the rest and give them all to you."
She suddenly realized the inappropriateness of her words and quickly added, "Just now I said women love it, but in fact, men in my hometown also like to drink it."
Chen Ping'an took the jug of wine and nodded with a smile, "Alright, if I find it to my taste, I'll come to Zhu Xian Mansion and ask you for more."
After Hongsu left.
Chen Ping'an not only didn't drink the wine but also put the jug into his zhi chi wu. He didn't dare drink it.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Hongsu, but that he didn't trust Qingxia Island and Shujian Lake. Even if this jug of wine was fine, once he asked for more, he would never know which jug might have a problem. So in the end, he would have to tell her at the gatekeeper's office of Zhu Xian Mansion that the wine was too mellow and didn't suit him. In this regard, Chen Ping'an felt he was somewhat similar to Gu Can.
To avoid that one-in-ten-thousand chance, Gu Can would unhesitatingly kill ten thousand.
Chen Ping'an also feared that one-in-ten-thousand chance, so he could only temporarily set aside Hongsu's goodwill and seal it away.
But though the two seemed similar, it was a fundamental difference stemming from a seemingly similar "one."
As long as Gu Can clung to his own "one," Chen Ping'an's tug-of-war with Gu Can over their natures was doomed to fail in pulling Gu Can to his side.
Chen Ping'an had temporarily given up.
Even the most fundamental mental paths through which they viewed the world were already different. No matter how much you argued, it would be useless.
So Gu Can had never seen Chen Ping'an's time with the four people in the Ouhua Blessed Land scroll, nor the undercurrents, the lurking dangers, the eventual amicable parting, and the eventual reunion.
It might not be suitable for Shujian Lake and Gu Can, but Gu Can had ultimately missed seeing one possibility.
After gradually becoming familiar with part of Shujian Lake's complex and intertwined web, Chen Ping'an believed that if Gu Can had spent some of his energy on things other than killing—even if it was just learning some of Liu Zhimao's methods of winning people over and building power—Gu Can and his mother could have lived better and longer in Shujian Lake.
But now Chen Ping'an had seen more and thought more, yet he no longer had the spirit to speak these "nonsense" words.
Not speaking, however, didn't mean not acting.
On the contrary, Chen Ping'an needed to do more.
After all the reasoning was exhausted, and Gu Can still didn't recognize his mistakes, Chen Ping'an could only settle for the next best thing: stop the mistakes.
As long as he stayed in Shujian Lake, living at the mountain gate of Qingxia Island as an accountant, at least he could strive to prevent Gu Can from continuing to commit major errors.
Since Gu Can didn't recognize his mistakes and believed he was the most correct, he certainly wouldn't correct them. Chen Ping'an, for the favor of a meal and a boxing manual—two great debts—had already responded.
Once, because he couldn't get past a hurdle in his heart, he had to shatter his golden literary courage to stay in Shujian Lake with the least "peace of mind." Everything he did afterward was to make amends for Gu Can's mistakes.
This was a very simple sequence.
But it wasn't easy to carry out, especially the first step. How Chen Ping'an convinced himself—that night when the golden literary courage shattered and he bowed farewell to the little golden Confucian-robed figure—was the necessary price.
In life, reasoning seems easy but is actually the hardest. The difficulty lies in those principles that require a price to be paid—whether or not to still uphold them. After questioning and answering with one's inner conscience, if one still decides to uphold them, then the price paid is often unknown to others, tasted only by oneself, and cannot be shared.
Beyond these two matters, Chen Ping'an needed to repair his own state of mind.
He couldn't let himself collapse halfway through the remedy.
Chen Ping'an walked out of the room, this time not forgetting to blow out the two lamps on the desk and the dining table.
Passing through the mountain gate of Qingxia Island, he came to the ferry, where his boat was moored. Standing by the lake, Chen Ping'an neither carried his sword immortal nor wore anything but a blue long gown.
The world was silent, no one around. The lake seemed covered in scattered silver. The night wind after winter's arrival was slightly cold.
This allowed Chen Ping'an, after practicing boxing to reach the fifth realm and especially after donning the Dharma robe Golden Li, to finally feel the long-missed seasonal cold and warmth of the human world tonight.
The further he traveled through the martial world, especially after seeing more and more official atmosphere and mountain scenery, the more he admired Master Ruan's views on the teacher-student relationship, and the more he admired Cui Dongshan's lesson on the chess outside the chess game.
Ruan Qiong accepted disciples not so that the master could have someone to cheer him on when arguing with others, to launch attacks against opponents, or to throw themselves into battle without discerning right from wrong.
Ruan Qiong once said, "I only accept disciples who are fellow travelers on the path, not disciples who only know how to risk their lives for me."
The difficulty of life lies in the difficulty of calming one's heart. Even harder is when the most important people also make it hard for you to calm your heart.
But this is only the difficulty of good people.
After all, more people never think about these things at all.
"If the world punches me, why can't I kick back? If people dare to punch me in the face, making my heart unhappy, I will definitely beat them to pieces. Whether the innocent get hurt or whether they deserve to die—I won't even think about it."
This is wrong.
Cultivating strength is the foundation of standing; cultivating the heart is the path to higher places.
On the Great Path, whether you walk sword in hand or travel with a book on your back, sometimes you have to make way for others.
Chen Ping'an's face was full of sorrow. He felt that heaven and earth were vast, but these words could only be kept in his stomach, with no one to listen.
His mind stirred slightly.
He thought for a moment.
From his zhi chi wu, he took out a piece of charcoal.
He drew a large circle on the ferry dock.
Then he bent down and slowly drew a straight line inside the circle, effectively dividing it in two.
He crouched beside that line and did not move his brush for a long time, frowning deeply.
The dispirited accountant had to take the sword-nourishing gourd from his waist, drank a mouthful of Crow's Cry Wine to refresh himself.
Then, above and below the straight line, he wrote the characters "good" and "evil."
Chen Ping'an wanted to take a step forward tonight on the character "one"—the place where he had once stopped on his mental path, unwilling to think deeply, and powerless to delve further.
It was like the straw-sandaled youth of Mud Vase Alley, walking on the covered bridge back then.
Chen Ping'an crouched on the ground and lightly wrote four characters on the straight line, between the two words "good" and "evil": "Human-centered principle." He murmured, "For now, I can only think this far."
He closed his eyes, took another drink, opened them, stood up, and strode to the edge of the semicircle of "good." In one breath, he drew a diagonal line to the other end of the "evil" semicircle. He shifted his step and drew another diagonal line from bottom to top.
Finally, the circle had been cut into six sections, intersecting only at the central point.
After this, Chen Ping'an seemed to suddenly see the light. He quickly walked to the semicircle above the straight line where the word "good" was, into the central section of those three areas. With charcoal in hand, he wrote swiftly, muttering to himself, "If this is the sincere heart inclined toward good, the most steadfast, with a mind not easily moved, then people in this area, regardless of the teachings of the three religions, the hundred schools of thought, even if they have never read or been literate—teaching them 'in books there are golden houses and bushels of grain,' 'cultivate oneself, regulate the family, govern the state, and pacify the world'—that is the best learning. Because they are willing to listen, and they don't even need any sage to laboriously explain principles. Because these people are willing to hear, willing to sit and listen to the Dao, then rise and practice it. No matter how difficult the world, they will hold fast to their original heart!"
Chen Ping'an quickly stood up and retreated to the central area of the "evil" semicircle, which was "in opposition" to the area of the semicircle filled with charcoal characters.
He crouched down, and again the charcoal scribbled swiftly as he murmured, "Human nature is evil. This 'evil' is not entirely derogatory, but rather elaborates another kind of nature in the human heart: the innate perception of the 'one' in the world, to contend and grab, to maximize one's own interests. Unlike the former, which can entrust life and death to the Confucian Three Imperishables and the inheritance of incense and descendants, here, 'I' am the entire world. When I die, the world dies; when I live, the world lives. The individual self, this small 'one,' is not half a whit lighter than the great one of the entire world. This was the principle Zhu Lian explained when he said he was unwilling to kill one person to save the world! Likewise, it's not derogatory, just pure human nature. Though I haven't seen it with my own eyes, I believe it has also pushed the world forward."
"Those whose natures fully 'blossom and bear fruit' in this place can, at certain critical moments, speak phrases like 'After I die, let the flood rage,' 'Better I betray the world than the world betray me,' 'When the day is late and the road is far, act in reverse.' But this nature, which almost all sentient beings have, might actually be the foundation of our 'human' existence—at least one of them. This explains why I couldn't figure it out before: why so many 'unvirtuous' people become immortals without any hindrance, and can even live better than so-called good people. Because heaven and earth nurture all things without partiality, and they may not determine life and death based on 'human' good and evil."
Taking a large gulp of wine, Chen Ping'an stood up and walked to the far right of the upper semicircle. "Here, people's hearts are not as steadfast as those to their near right; they waver more. But still, they lean toward good. However, they change due to people, places, and times. So they need the sages of the three religions and the hundred schools to teach earnestly: 'If jade is not polished, it becomes no vessel; if people do not learn, they do not know the Way.' Warn them with 'The heavens watch what people do,' and encourage them with 'Virtue in this life brings blessings in the next; suffering now brings happiness later.'"
After writing this, Chen Ping'an had another thought. He approached the area near the center where "good" and "evil" were written, and slowly added two more sentences with the charcoal. Above, he wrote: "Willing to believe that in life, not everything is 'exchange one thing for another.'" Below, he wrote: "If any effort without tangible return is seen as a loss to the interest of the 'I,' the 'one.'"
Chen Ping'an put away the charcoal and murmured, "Once this loss is perceived, deep in the heart, great doubt and anxiety arise. One starts to look around, thinking they must reclaim it from elsewhere and extract more. This explains why Shujian Lake is so chaotic, with everyone struggling bitterly. And also why I wondered earlier: why so many people, after being punched somewhere in the world, must then punch and kick everywhere else, completely disregarding others' lives. It's not just for survival. Like Gu Can—even after he could clearly live well, he still follows this thread and becomes someone who can say 'I like to kill people.' It's not just the environment of Shujian Lake that created him; it's the furrows of Gu Can's mental fields, divided precisely this way. When he got a chance to touch a larger world—like when I gave him the little loach and he came to Shujian Lake—he naturally went to seize more of others' 'ones': money, lives, sparing no cost."
Chen Ping'an came to the far left of the upper semicircle. "Here, people's hearts are most chaotic. They want to do good but don't know how; they may have the heart for evil but don't dare. So they most easily feel that 'reading is useless' and 'principles mislead me.' Though they are in this semicircle, they can easily slide into evil. So the world produces many 'hypocritical gentlemen in appearance.' Even the Buddha in the sutras worries about the arrival of the Dharma-ending age. People here drift with the current, living very hard, perhaps the hardest. What I told Gu Can before—the good thing about principles, the true freedom of the strong, is being able to protect these people, so they don't have to worry about the group in the lower central semicircle, who run rampant without restraint. So they don't suffer many inexplicable calamities, and don't fear that all their hard-earned wealth will be destroyed overnight. These people, even if they don't speak of principles, even if they don't know many principles at all, even if they occasionally unreasonably shake the solid wooden chair that Confucianism built—originally stable—can still live well."
Chen Ping'an stood up, moved to the corresponding far right of the lower semicircle, and slowly wrote: "Here, if you tell them 'Lay down the butcher's knife and become a Buddha on the spot,' or 'A wrong acknowledged is half mended,' it will only be empty words with the group in the center neighboring them."
Although there was still a large blank space on the far left of the lower semicircle, Chen Ping'an's face was already pale, showing signs of exhaustion. After a big gulp of wine, he staggered to his feet. The charcoal in his hand had been worn down to the size of a fingernail. He steadied himself, but his fingers trembled—he couldn't write anymore. Gritting his teeth, Chen Ping'an raised his arm, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and wanted to crouch down to continue writing, even just one more character. But as soon as he bent over, he fell flat on his backside.
Chen Ping'an put the sword-nourishing gourd on the ground casually, and his other hand relaxed its grip, letting the remaining bit of charcoal roll away. He lay on his back on the ferry dock.
"Confucianism proposes the heart of compassion; Buddhism advocates a merciful heart. But living in this world, it's still very hard to achieve, let alone maintain these two states at all times. Instead, the 'childlike heart' first spoken of by the Second Sage, and the 'return to simplicity, return to infancy' spoken of by the Dao Ancestor, seem more..."
Chen Ping'an struggled to stand up, stepped back from the circle that had not yet been completely filled with charcoal characters, stared hard at the large circle, and finally focused on the central point where he had first written the words "good" and "evil."
Staggering, Chen Ping'an reached out a hand, as if to grasp the entire circle.
He almost didn't even know what he was saying anymore.
At this moment, in this scene, he had forgotten all form and substance.
"Can we even stop talking about good and evil? Just talk about the distinction between gods and humans? Original nature? Otherwise, this circle is still hard to stand firmly on."
"This requires... lifting upward? Not being confined to the principles in books, not being constrained by Confucian learning, simply expanding the circle? Rather, raising it higher?"
"If so, then I understand. It's not what I figured out before—that the principles of the world have thresholds and are divided into high and low. Rather, it's walking around this circle, constantly observing—there are differences in nature that are left and right. Likewise, it's not that when people's hearts are in different places, they become superior or inferior, as different as clouds and mud. So the sages of the three religions, in what they do—the so-called work of persuasion—is to 'move mountains and seas,' guiding the hearts of people from different sections into the areas they desire."
"If, first, not looking upward, not walking around the circle on level ground, but using order, stepping back one step to look, and not mentioning various original natures, only speaking of the real foundation of the world: Confucian learning expands and stabilizes the 'material' territory; Daoism raises this world upward, allowing us humans to rise above all other sentient beings."
Chen Ping'an closed his eyes and took out a bamboo slip. On it was carved a passage by a great Confucian scholar, full of desolation yet still beautiful and moving. At the time, he had only found the idea strange but clear. Now, as he delved deeper, it seemed to contain some true meaning of Daoism: "A basin of water spilt on the ground; a mustard seed floats on the water. An ant clings to the mustard seed, thinking it's in a desperate situation. In a moment, the water dries up, and it finds the road open, nowhere it cannot go."
"What Daoism seeks is not to make us humans exist as lowly as ants in nature, but to view the world from a higher place, to be different from the birds, beasts, flowers, and trees of the world."
"Then what about Buddhism..."
Chen Ping'an extended both hands and drew a circle. "Cooperating with the breadth of Confucianism and the height of Daoism, unify the ten directions of the world into one, without any omission."
Finally, he murmured, "That 'one'—can I say I know a little bit about it now?"
With a thud, the accountant, drained of all his strength and spirit, fell backward. He closed his eyes, his face full of tears. He wiped his face with a hand, raised his palm slightly, his tear-blurred vision looking through the gaps of his fingers. Half-conscious, on the verge of sleep, his mind was utterly exhausted, but deep in his heart, full of joy, he muttered brokenly: "When the clouds disperse and the sky is bright, who embellishes? The heaven's face and the sea's color were originally clear."
Chen Ping'an closed his eyes and slowly fell asleep, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth as he whispered, "So, without distinguishing between good and evil in people's hearts, thinking of this, I can also smile."
While Chen Ping'an, for the first time at Shujian Lake, lay openly on this dock with a large circle drawn and charcoal characters not yet erased, sleeping soundly and snoring on Qingxia Island—
At some unknown time.
A blue-robed man, still bohemian and untrammeled, and an increasingly moving girl in a blue dress with a ponytail, arrived at the dock almost simultaneously.
They exchanged no words, not even eye contact.
The scholar who had not written a reply in the Taiping Mountain ancestral hall but had personally come to a different continent and foreign land picked up Chen Ping'an's piece of charcoal. He crouched in the far-left area of the lower semicircle, wanting to write but hesitating. Yet instead of frustration, his eyes were full of laughter. "A high mountain ahead—does it mean that I, a former academy gentleman, can only take a detour?"
The girl in blue stood at the end of the straight line, outside the circle, eating a new pastry from the lakeside city of Lütong near Shujian Lake. She said indistinctly, "Still missing a bit on the distinction between gods and humans—it hasn't been thoroughly explained."
The scholar, holding the charcoal, raised his head and looked around, exclaiming, "Well said: 'When matters reach a critical point, one must be bold.' Well said: 'When the wine is strong, the heart and gall open wide.'"
The girl in blue also said a line: "If the inch of heart is not obscured, ten thousand dharmas will be clear."
He then turned to look at the single-ponytailed girl in blue, nibbling at the pastry in small bites. "You'd better not take advantage of Chen Ping'an while he's asleep. But if you insist on doing so, I, Zhong Kui, can turn my back. This is called 'A gentleman helps others achieve their aims'!"
She finally looked at him, puzzled. "You're called Zhong Kui? You, this... ghost, are quite strange. I can't figure you out."
Zhong Kui reached over his shoulder, pointing at the snoring accountant. "This guy understands me. That's why I came."
Zhong Kui looked at Shujian Lake, which appeared completely different to him than to others, and muttered, "How can there be only me, Zhong Kui, as a gentleman in this world? Then the world would be one big cesspit."
Ruan Xiu's expression was calm. "I know you want to help him, but I advise you not to stay and help him. It will be counterproductive."
Zhong Kui asked, "Really?"
Ruan Xiu asked back, "Do you trust me?"
Zhong Kui nodded.
Ruan Xiu finished her pastry, clapped her hands, and left.
Zhong Kui thought for a moment, lightly placed the charcoal back where he found it, stood up, and wrote eight characters in the air above Shujian Lake, then left as well, returning to Tongye Continent.
The scholar Zhong Kui, no longer a gentleman of an academy, came on a whim and returned on a whim.
The eight characters he left were: "All matters are appropriate; no taboos whatsoever."