Chapter 453: A Nap Where the Heart Finds Peace

Chapter 453: A Nap Where the Heart Finds Peace

Chen Ping'an's trip to Qingxia Island was hurried, both coming and going.

In truth, whether Gu Can stayed or left mattered little to the overall situation. In fact, Chen Ping'an couldn't change much anymore. Behind the scenes, regardless of whether it was Great Li's Su Gaoshan's measures, the upheaval in the Book-Scented Lake, or the schemes of that group of cultivators from Gongliu Island, as long as Chen Ping'an was still unwilling to leave the central part of Bottle Gourd Continent, Gu Can's location remained irrelevant.

However, it was for the best that Gu Can himself was willing to stay on Qingxia Island and guard the Chunting Manor.

Chen Ping'an poled his boat away.

He disembarked at Lütong City. Earlier, the ferry had passed by Furong Mountain, whose ancestral hall had already been dismantled. Back then, when the fire dragon appeared, its blazing aura surged skyward, no less impressive than that loach's ability to overturn rivers and seas. The knowledgeable and high-ranking cultivators of Book-Scented Lake all mistakenly assumed this would be an enemy on Gu Can's path to the Great Dao, that a clash of water and fire would erupt. But unexpectedly, that group of outsiders, rumored to be the Great Li's Sticky Pole Branch, chose to withdraw and leave.

Nevertheless, the spectacle didn't disappoint later on. That veiled and mysterious azure-clad woman, together with a strange young man with a mole between his brows, had jointly slain a ninth-level sword cultivator of the Zhu Ying Dynasty. Word had it that not only had his physical body become a meal, but even his Nascent Soul had been captured. This meant that these two "old cultivators" who appeared as "youths" had held back a great deal during the pursuit, which only made them more feared.

Defeating a terrestrial immortal and slaying a terrestrial immortal were as different as heaven and earth.

After disembarking, Chen Ping'an retrieved his horse from the inn and went to that shop in the cramped alley to buy a few meat buns with thin skins and generous fillings. After a hearty meal, he set off for the southeastern border of Shihao Kingdom, which bordered Meiyou Kingdom. The pass there was named "Liuxia" (Leave Behind), a place of some renown in history, with various accounts. Some said the founding emperor of the Zhu Ying Dynasty had once been here, successfully persuading that famed civilian strategist known as the "Half-Merit Pillar" to stay. Others said it was the most powerful Nascent Soul sword cultivator in Zhu Ying Dynasty history, who, despairing and unable to attain the Upper Five Realm's Sword Immortal status, had inscribed the two characters "Liuxia" on a cliff with his fierce sword qi before dying with regret. This had made the small pass of the vassal state a holy site in the hearts of central Bottle Gourd Continent's sword cultivators and countless martial artists wielding swords. Many made a pilgrimage to admire the "Liuxia" inscription on the cliff.

Before autumn arrived, Chen Ping'an, weary from travel, reached Liuxia Pass and met up with Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi, who had been waiting for a long time.

Seeing the familiar figure of Chen Ping'an, alone with his horse, Ma Duyi and Zeng Ye visibly relaxed.

At first, without Chen Ping'an by their side, they had found things quite pleasant. Zeng Ye carried the Prison-Slayer Infernal Palace in his bamboo chest, from which, in emergencies, he could summon a few Cave Abode realm ghostly beings "approved" by Chen Ping'an. Traveling through the martial world of Shihao Kingdom, as long as they didn't flaunt themselves, it was more than enough. So initially, Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi acted freely, unrestrained. But as they continued, they became jittery. Even encountering Great Li scouts patrolling the wilds made them uneasy. Only then did they realize how different it was with or without Chen Ping'an by their side.

When Chen Ping'an was around, rules were indeed in place, but at least the one person and one ghost felt secure.

That feeling—they had discussed it privately but couldn't articulate why. They just felt it was more than just Chen Ping'an's high cultivation.

At the famous historic site of Liuxia Pass, they looked up together at the large characters carved on a cliff as sheer as if cut by a knife. Both keenly noticed that after Chen Ping'an's solo trip to Book-Scented Lake, he had returned even more troubled.

Chen Ping'an also sensed this. After some thought, he withdrew his gaze and said frankly, "Before coming here, I took two jade tokens, hoping to meet Su Gaoshan of Great Li, but I didn't succeed."

Zeng Ye didn't delve deeper; he just felt sorry for Chen Ping'an.

But Ma Duyi understood the underlying turmoil, which must harbor hidden dangers.

Chen Ping'an tried to sound lighthearted, saying with a smile, "If you leave many things alone, you'll never know the answer. Once you make a choice, there will be good and bad outcomes. Right now, we have the bad one. Not only did I fail to see Su Gaoshan—though it could hardly be called startling the snake—but I've certainly made this Great Li general remember us. So from now on, we must be even more careful. If any of you accidentally spot Great Li's army-attached cultivators while traveling through Meiyou Kingdom, just pretend not to see them. Don't worry, our lives aren't in danger."

Zeng Ye nodded, though his heart was inevitably heavy.

Ma Duyi, however, had a heart as broad as the heavens. She grinned and said, "As long as the Great Li iron cavalry doesn't chase us like rabbits, I don't care. Let them look all they want. We don't have a single copper coin to lose."

Chen Ping'an said helplessly, "If only you two could balance each other's personalities."

Ma Duyi glared, "Don't you go playing matchmaker, Mr. Chen! I have no interest in Zeng Ye."

Zeng Ye chuckled foolishly, though he didn't dare say he also had no interest in Ma Duyi.

Below the cliff, a scattering of people—mostly merchants from Shihao and Meiyou kingdoms who needed to pass through—were mostly young, hoping to boast about this experience back home. As for older merchants and seasoned travelers, they had seen the "Liuxia" characters on the cliff countless times; nothing could keep them there anymore.

Just as Chen Ping'an and the other two turned their horses, a group of martial artists wielding swords arrived at a gallop. They dismounted, removed their swords, and bowed respectfully to the characters on the cliff.

Among them, an elderly man loudly recounted the historical significance of the site to the other young members of the party, speaking passionately and sparing no praise for those who used swords. The young men and women listened, their faces glowing with excitement.

It was most likely a martial sect that had left its school to experience the world.

Chen Ping'an could naturally discern the old man's level—a fifth-rank martial artist with a decent foundation. In a small vassal state like Meiyou Kingdom, he should be a notable figure in the martial world. However, unless he encountered a great opportunity, the old swordsman would never reach the sixth rank. His qi and blood were failing, and he seemed to have lingering ailments, causing his soul to be unstable, making the fifth-rank bottleneck even more unbreakable. Should he ever face a younger martial artist of the same rank, the old saying "fear the young and strong" would apply.

Chance encounters in the martial world often just pass by. The three riders moved on.

The old man turned to look at their departing backs. A slender young girl, her features just beginning to blossom, asked, "Master, that man in the blue robe with both a sword and a saber—he must be one of us from the martial world, right? Is he a hidden master?"

The old man chuckled, "Not everyone in a blue robe carrying a sword is a sword immortal."

They all mounted their horses and continued on their way, passing through the pass.

Meiyou Kingdom was still relatively stable, but the neighboring Shihao Kingdom was in utter chaos. Earlier, an honest official from Shihao, a family friend of their sect, had sent a secret letter saying that a powerful eunuch in Shihao wanted to eradicate him and implicate innocent people. That loyal and pure minister, as renowned as the "Imperial Censor of Literary Guts" in Shihao's court, stated in the letter that he was willing to stay in the capital and die for his country, to let the Great Li barbarians know that Shihao still had a few unafraid scholar-officials. But he hoped his friends in the martial world could escort some local clan children to take refuge in Meiyou Kingdom, so he could face death with peace.

After passing Liuxia Pass, the horses' hooves tread upon the soil of Shihao Kingdom.

In his letter, that official had written a line with extraordinary force. When the old martial artist shared it with his fellow sect members, all were deeply moved. That was why he had brought his disciples into such danger, riding through the martial world without hesitation.

"The Han clan is generous. For generations, the emperors valued literary men, nurtured scholars for two hundred years, and never mistreated us. We scholars must not all be ashamed before the Han clan."

The old man sat on his horse, sighing. Now, Great Li's iron cavalry were also pressing against Meiyou Kingdom's borders. With the world so vast, was it really so hard to find a peaceful place for the common folk, a haven for scholars?

This old veteran, who had seen countless bloody storms and ups and downs, harbored a secret thought he dared not speak: Wouldn't it be better if the Great Li barbarians just conquered the Zhu Ying Dynasty quickly? After great chaos, there might be a chance for great order. In any case, it would be better than having those few Great Li cavalry units, like knives cutting open gaps in Zhu Ying's vassal states, slowly grinding away at the flesh, causing endless suffering for the common people. Not to mention, wherever the Great Li barbarians' horses trod, they showed no mercy on the battlefield, killing swiftly. But if one looked north, in the recent years, as the smoke of battle gradually dissipated across northern Bottle Gourd Continent, countless refugees were slowly returning to their homeland. The Great Li civil officials stationed there had done some things that were at least human.

But such heretical thoughts, sure to be condemned if spoken aloud, the old man could only drown with mouthfuls of strong liquor.

Elsewhere, three riders galloped.

They still helped the ghostly beings fulfill their myriad wishes, and Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi continued their work with porridge stalls and medicine shops. However, since Meiyou Kingdom was still stable, they did less of that.

The world was in chaos, the times were hard, and the common folk were bewildered, fearful, yet helpless.

By a stream in a desolate wilderness, Chen Ping'an and his companions encountered a bizarre sight. A group of bandits who had turned to highway robbery were frowning helplessly at a middle-aged Taoist lying on a boulder in the water.

The emaciated middle-aged Taoist was from a minor Daoist sect under the Zhu Ying Dynasty. Currently at the Cave Abode realm, he had originally thought that since the world was in chaos, as a Taoist, he should descend the mountain to save the people. But then he met a master of physiognomy, a true expert, who told him after reading his face that he was destined for an early death, a life of hunger and cold, a pitiful soul. The middle-aged Taoist, overwhelmed with grief, had begun waiting for death.

The group of horse bandits, who had fled into Meiyou Kingdom from Shihao, had just completed a successful robbery and acquired a good amount of silver. Stopping by the stream to rest, they came upon this bizarre man who seemed half-dead. One of them nearly killed the Taoist with a single stroke, but the Taoist was delighted, begging the man to strike quickly. That made the young bandit hesitate, unwilling to strike the fatal blow. The Taoist, who wanted nothing more than to die, ended up lecturing the hardened bandits about karma and retribution. After all, in the eyes of mortals, he was a mid-level realm immortal and a registered cultivator; he had the learning and eloquence. The bandits, from the leader to the underlings, were so frightened that they exchanged glances and instead tried to persuade the Taoist not to take his own life.

That's what Chen Ping'an saw.

The bandits no longer had any thoughts of robbery, and they didn't think the three riders were easy prey, so they pretended not to see them.

Chen Ping'an, for his part, didn't care. He stopped to wash his horse's nose by the stream, started a fire to cook, and went about his business.

The middle-aged Taoist saw that the bandits wouldn't kill him, and with his Cave Abode realm physique, he couldn't die easily anyway. So he just lay on the rock, waiting for death.

If the bandits had been tempted by the wealth of the three riders, the middle-aged Taoist would have stopped them, thinking of accumulating a small merit before his death, to ensure a better reincarnation—at least a longer life, to continue cultivation.

Chen Ping'an squatted by the river with his rice bowl. The others nearby also started their meal.

An irritable young bandit, noticing Chen Ping'an's gaze, glared and shouted, "What are you looking at? Never seen heroes eating before?!"

A bandit leader, with good intentions, approached the Taoist on the rock and offered him a bowl of rice, saying that waiting for death like this was no way to go. Why not eat his fill, and if thunder came, go to a mountaintop or under a tree to see if he could get struck by lightning? That would be a clean end. The Taoist, considering this reasonable, began thinking about buying an iron chain from the marketplace. But he still refused the rice, saying he wasn't hungry. He then began rambling, trying to persuade the bandits to become good people, to give up banditry. With the world in chaos, wouldn't it be better to be escorts?

The bandit leader was somewhat tempted. Holding the rice bowl, he left the rock in the stream and went back to discuss with his brothers.

Chen Ping'an found it amusing.

After finishing his rice, Chen Ping'an tapped his toes and floated toward the boulder. His blue robe billowed as he landed gracefully beside the middle-aged Taoist.

The young bandit nearly spat out his rice, but the bandit leader slapped him on the head. "What are you looking at? Never seen a martial hero before?!"

Chen Ping'an sat cross-legged on the rock and said with a smile, "Esteemed Taoist, why do you seek death?"

The middle-aged Taoist, a kind-hearted man, closed his eyes and said softly, "My fate decrees an early death. The Great Dao is beyond hope. If not death, then what?"

Chen Ping'an laughed. "Esteemed Taoist, do you know that classic revered by the Three Teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—the one called the foremost of all classics—has a saying: 'The Great Dao has fifty, Heaven's evolution uses forty-nine, and mankind escapes by one'?"

The Taoist nodded. "The number of Great Expansion is fifty, its use is forty-nine. We say Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, and Two gives birth to all things."

Chen Ping'an said, "When a demonic obstacle arises, it is especially hard for cultivators. Even if one commands a million troops, it is difficult to defeat the enemy within one's heart."

The Taoist sat up and sighed. "I understand the reasoning, but I am merely a mediocre Cave Abode realm cultivator. How dare I hope for the Great Dao to be within me? I am truly fearful. Thinking over and over, I cannot break through the barrier in my heart. I can only hope for the next life."

Chen Ping'an glanced at the bandits in the mountains and nodded. "Indeed, defeating the enemy in the mountains is easy; defeating the enemy in the heart is difficult. All the same."

The Taoist forced a smile. "I appreciate your kindness."

A gaunt middle-aged Taoist and a haggard young man met by chance in the mountains and rivers.

They parted with only a brief exchange, no more words.

The bandits sighed with relief, especially the young one, who felt he had just circled the gates of hell.

Zeng Ye couldn't understand the Taoist's mindset. As they rode away, he asked softly, "Mr. Chen, are there really people in this world willing to wait for death?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "On the path of cultivation, all sorts of strange things happen. That Taoist, according to Buddhist teachings, can only be saved after he helps himself. Otherwise, no matter how great a monk you are, you can't strike him with a stick and make him attain enlightenment instantly. You'd just raise a lump on his head and make him cry out in pain. By the way, have you two heard of a Buddhist koan? One monk said, 'The mind is a clear mirror; constantly wipe it, lest it gather dust.' Another said, 'Originally, there is no thing; where can dust alight?' These two gathas—do you think one is superior to the other?"

Zeng Ye shook his head. "I don't understand these things."

Ma Duyi chuckled. "Of course the latter is superior."

Chen Ping'an said softly, "Perhaps in Buddhist doctrine, the latter is higher. But the former is a ferry that any confused person in this world can board. When someone becomes their own ferryman, puts down their pole, stands up, and takes that step to disembark, only then can they claim to have understood the latter. Gradual enlightenment is the foundation of sudden enlightenment. There is still a sequence here. In this life, the mirror of the mind gets dusty. If you don't wipe it, it accumulates grime and grows dim. There are no born Buddhas who directly reach the other shore."

Chen Ping'an smiled and added, "Both gathas are good, both are right. The reason I'm chatting with you about this is that during my earlier travels in Qingluan Kingdom, I heard scholars discussing Buddhism. They thoroughly despised the former and only revered the latter. Combined with some miscellaneous books like literati notes that also subtly disparaged the former, I felt that was somewhat inappropriate."

Ma Duyi laughed. "We've rarely heard you talk about Buddhism before. You've actually studied it! Mr. Chen is truly well-read. I admire you so much..."

Ma Duyi made a funny face. "I can't go on. Even I can't stand myself."

Chen Ping'an smiled. "This shows your flattery still lacks skill."

After that, the three riders encountered a famous scenic spot with a celestial aura: an ownerless deep pool. Though it was autumn, the cold was already biting as if deep winter. On the stone wall was an inscription in red, unrecorded in local gazetteers: "Ancient wall with colored dragons, golden tails pasted; rain spirits ride into the autumn pool water." Looking up, they could indeed see traces of painted dragons. The pool at their feet was emerald green, devoid of any fish or shrimp.

Chen Ping'an withdrew his gaze and reached his hand into the pool. A chill seeped in, and he was suddenly reminded of home—the Ruan family shop built by the river, which had chosen the dark, watery fate of the Dragon Beard River. This deep pool would also be suitable for tempering swords, yet no immortal sword cultivator had built a thatched hut here to cultivate. Chen Ping'an quickly pulled his hand back—the cold in the water was impure, mixed with much yin-sha and filthy qi, like a tangled mess. Though not immediately harmful to one's physique, it was far from the necessary "purity." No wonder—this was a major taboo for cultivators tempering swords.

Probably, this place had its own story long ago.

Much like the Flying Eagle Fort and the Upper Sun Terrace in Parasol Leaf Continent.

After that, as Chen Ping'an traveled through Meiyou Kingdom, passing through countryside and prefectural cities, he might see village children unaccustomed to fine horses hiding deep in the reeds. He could also encounter what seemed like ordinary itinerant cultivators, and lively wedding processions with gongs and drums in county streets. Traveling thousands of miles across mountains and rivers, Chen Ping'an and his companions stumbled upon an ancient, grass-covered tomb site. They found an ancient sword embedded in a tombstone, only the hilt visible. Even after a thousand years, it still emitted a fierce sword aura—clearly a fine spirit artifact. But because it had been so long without nurturing, it was on the verge of shattering. Ma Duyi wanted to take it; after all, it was ownerless. With some polishing and repair, it might sell for a good price. But Chen Ping'an refused, saying it was a Daoist artifact used to suppress the feng shui of this place, to hold down the yin-sha and baleful qi, preventing it from spreading and causing harm.

Ma Duyi, as a yin being, also saw this but didn't care. She chuckled. "So what? If we draw the sword and a demon emerges from the tomb, we'll just slay it. We get the artifact and earn merit—two birds with one stone!"

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "Old debts are tangled. How do we know there isn't hardship and complication behind this?"

Ma Duyi complained a little. "Mr. Chen is good at everything, but you're too indecisive."

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Even a child with little strength can smash a bowl or a piece of porcelain. That's a kind of decisiveness. Zeng Ye can do it; those bandits, Zeng Ye could kill them all the same. You could too. And I, even easier."

Chen Ping'an sighed. "Gathering of hearts is a terrifying thing. In an empty ancient temple, one person walking in, burning incense and worshipping Buddha, feels awe. But if it's crowded and noisy, you might not be afraid. And to push it to the extreme, if someone takes the lead to scrape gold leaf off the Buddha statue, others might follow."

As they rode through a chaotic burial ground, Chen Ping'an suddenly looked back. No one was there, not even a ghost.

Once, they stopped by a deep mountain lake. Zeng Ye picked up stones to skip them. Ma Duyi found a secluded spot, took off her boots, and dipped her feet into the cool water. Stretching lazily, she smiled contentedly. A dragonfly hovered nearby, finally landing on her jade hairpin.

Ma Duyi froze, wanting it to stay a little longer.

In the distance, a young woodcutter carrying a bundle of firewood happened to pass by. He stopped, staring at her, mistaking her for a fairy maiden. Love blossomed in his heart, but he felt ashamed.

Ma Duyi reached out to shoo away the dragonfly, then turned, pinching the fox fur at her temple, ready to rip it off suddenly to scare the stupidly staring country boy.

But a small pebble from Chen Ping'an knocked her fingers away.

Ma Duyi pouted and turned away, letting her legs dangle, splashing water everywhere.

The boy quickly ran off.

He decided not to tell the other kids in his village about the beautiful immortal sister he had seen by the lake. He would just keep it to himself.

In a bustling county town, even Chen Ping'an, who had seen much, was amazed.

A scholar, drunk and running wildly, with clothes in disarray, chest bare, staggered along majestically. His young servant carried a bucket of ink, while the scholar used his head as a brush, "writing" on the street.

At both ends of the street, servants stood with buckets of well water, ready to clean up after their master's madness.

It wasn't a hard job, but they endured many disdainful glances. They dared not complain about their mad master.

Asking around, they learned this book-crazed man was actually a county magistrate with official rank and title.

Chen Ping'an stopped his horse at the roadside and watched. The magistrate collapsed on the street from exhaustion. The young man, reeking of alcohol and ink, a bizarre smell, slapped the street with his palm and laughed loudly, "I use my calligraphy to honor the gods! I dare ask, do the gods have the courage to guide me? Where are the ancient sages? Come, come, drink with me!"

Suddenly, the young man wailed, "In the capital, I once saw a princess and a porter vying for the road, and I grasped the true meaning of calligraphy. Then I saw the princess picking flowers in a temple and grasped the divine meaning. Princess, please take a look at the characters I wrote for you!"

Zeng Ye was bewildered. "Mr. Chen, what is he writing? I can't recognize a single character."

Chen Ping'an suppressed a smile and pointed at the street, saying softly, "It's wild cursive, writing boudoir lament poetry. The line he just finished: 'The window screen reveals the bright moon, the autumn waves charming and sly, drinking with you the elixir of flowers.' Probably imagining it as a love poem written in the voice of his beloved lady. But these characters—truly excellent, the best I've ever seen. I've seen masters of regular script and running script, but cursive of this caliber—this is my first time."

He continued, "Don't think the magistrate is speaking nonsense or crazy talk. His characters truly have divine spirit. It's just that the spiritual energy here is thin; door gods and ghosts can't linger for long. Otherwise, they would indeed appear and bow to him."

Chen Ping'an suddenly smiled, leading his horse forward to the drunk, tear-blurred book-crazed man and lovesick fool. "Let's go buy his calligraphy from him! As much as we can! This deal is a sure profit! Far better than your hard work scrounging for bargains! But only if we can live another hundred or several hundred years."

Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi exchanged a glance, thinking Mr. Chen had also lost his mind.

Chen Ping'an approached the man lying on his back and asked with a smile, "I have fine wine no less than immortal brew. Can I buy some of your characters?"

The man, bleary-eyed, shook his head. "Beg me?"

Chen Ping'an smiled and nodded. "I beg you."

The man suddenly wailed in grief, "You're not the princess! Why should you beg me? What do I want with your begging? Go, go, I won't sell you my characters. Not a single one."

Chen Ping'an turned to look at Ma Duyi. As the crowd's gaze followed, he flicked his wrist, producing a jar of immortal brew from the Bee Tail Ferry's Well of the Sages from his dimensional object. Letting go of the reins, he uncorked the jar, crouched down, and handed it to the scholar. "Sell or not, first taste my wine. If you still refuse after tasting, then consider it my tribute to this cursive piece you've written on the street."

The man sat up, took the jar, and drank deeply, finishing it in one breath. He casually tossed the empty jar aside, staggered to his feet, and grabbed Chen Ping'an's arm. "More wine?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "I have some, but not much left."

The man beamed. "Let's go! To my shabby official residence! I'll write for you. As much as you want—just let the wine flow!"

Ma Duyi rolled her eyes.

Where was the scholar's backbone?

Zeng Ye was rather pleased; it was rare to see Mr. Chen so cheerful.

At the official residence, the man swept aside the messy books on his desk and had his servant lay out rice paper and grind ink. Chen Ping'an placed a jar of wine at the man's hand.

The walls were covered with wild cursive that even the sobered-up man himself couldn't fully recognize.

After drinking, the man hiccupped and asked, "Tell me, what do you want me, this madman, to write? For which general, minister, or grandee? Forget it, I don't want to know. What you want to write doesn't count. I'll write whatever comes to mind."

As the brush fell, clouds and smoke arose; the hall was filled with wind and rain.

Truly, the man wrote whatever came to mind, often completing many characters in a single stroke. Zeng Ye always felt this deal was a loss.

In the end, the man, who had decent capacity but poor conduct when drunk, wrote over a dozen scrolls of various sizes before collapsing dead drunk onto the floor.

In total, Chen Ping'an spent five jars of Well of the Sages immortal brew, Old Dragon City osmanthus wine, and Book-Scented Lake Crow's Cry wine.

The reason the man drank so much was not that he had an immense capacity, but that he drank half a jar and spilled most of the rest. Watching this, Ma Duyi felt it was a terrible waste of heavenly treasures.

Chen Ping'an carefully collected each scroll and left the official residence.

The three led their horses away. Ma Duyi couldn't help asking, "The calligraphy is good, I can see that. But is it really that good? Those immortal brews cost a lot of snow coins. Converted to silver, can one cursive scroll really be worth thousands or tens of thousands of taels?"

Chen Ping'an was delighted with the scrolls, as if he himself had drunk too much. He said emphatically, "You don't believe me? Just wait. One day, when you come back here, this street will already be famous far and wide. A thousand years later, even if that scholar is dead, the entire county will bathe in his glory and be remembered by later generations."

The three riders slowly left the small county town. At that moment, the townsfolk still saw the crazy calligrapher-magistrate as a laughingstock, unaware how much future calligraphers and literati would envy them for having witnessed his brilliance.

This Mid-Autumn Festival, most families in Meiyou Kingdom were reunited.

But in Shihao Kingdom, it was hard to say.

Next Mid-Autumn, Meiyou Kingdom might mirror the desolation of today's Shihao.

The mountains teemed with spirits.

Another autumn passed into winter.

When Chen Ping'an was about to finish his journey through Meiyou Kingdom and was due to return to Book-Scented Lake, he one day spotted, in a remote, deep mountain range with his extraordinary eyesight, an old ape hanging upside down on a high cliff. It was wrapped in tattered rags and bound with iron chains. Sensing Chen Ping'an's gaze, the old ape bared its fangs ferociously. Though it didn't roar, its violent aura was terrifying.

Near the old ape was a man-made cave. When Chen Ping'an looked over, a figure stood up and met his gaze—a gaunt young monk. The monk pressed his palms together and bowed silently.

Chen Ping'an imitated the monk, bowing his head and returning the gesture lightly.

Ma Duyi asked curiously, "What is it?"

Chen Ping'an shook his head and said nothing.

Only after they left the mountain range did Chen Ping'an speak: "A great monk, with immense willpower, is subduing the unruly heart-ape that manifests as his own inner demon."

Ma Duyi was amazed. "To be able to manifest a heart demon... that monk must be a terrestrial immortal?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "He is a hermit of extraordinary skill."

Back at the cave, the young monk sat back on his cushion, then stood up, stepped out of the cave, and flew through the air, walking on emptiness. He faced the old ape, which had gradually calmed. The ape's eyes were complex, full of anger, hatred, prayers, pity, mockery—all manner of emotions.

The monk turned his head, seeming puzzled.

Why had his heart-ape been so unusual today?

Previously, it had never paid attention to any terrestrial immortal cultivators who flew past on swords or wind.

The young monk seemed to realize something. A faint smile appeared on his face. He again pressed his palms together, chanted a Buddhist invocation, then returned to the cave to continue his solitary meditation.

An old cultivator with a cold expression and melancholic eyes appeared at the chaotic burial ground where the ancient sword was embedded in the tombstone. Underground, yin qi surged. Even though they sensed he was likely a terrestrial immortal from the yang world, the fierce ghosts and yin beings lurking in the earth's veins couldn't change their nature. Baleful qi gathered, trying to burst forth from the ground. But every time a fierce ghost surfaced, sword qi rained down immediately. Underground, wails echoed.

The old cultivator naturally wasn't afraid of these yin beings, but he frowned, muttering to himself, "Strange. They're not afraid of the Golden Core aura I deliberately exude, but they fear a nondescript young man?"

They stayed at a rare immortal inn.

Ma Duyi fell backward onto the soft bedding, her face full of bliss. One must endure hardship, but one must also enjoy comfort.

Zeng Ye didn't think much of it; he meditated alone in his room.

Chen Ping'an requested an immortal gazette from the inn. In Meiyou Kingdom's court, debates were raging—not about whether to resist the Great Li barbarians, but about how to defend their territory to the death.

This was despite the fact that Shihao Kingdom's capital had already fallen.

The chaotic Shihao Kingdom court finally had a new emperor: the vassal king Han Jingling, known as the "Wise King," father of Yellow Crane. Having never lost a single soldier on the battlefield, this border general had become the foremost military commander in Shihao. His friend in adversity, Yellow Crane, was also appointed Minister of Rites. Father and son serving at court, plus many members of the Yellow Crane clan, rose to power like chickens ascending to heaven, jointly controlling the government, basking in boundless glory.

From the capital to the local regions of Shihao Kingdom, civil and military officials who chose to face death calmly were an endless stream. Even such trivial matters as pasting up door gods from another country at their doorsteps—they refused to do.

Some clan descendants, unwilling to be killed by their own masters, secretly pasted up images of the Great Li ancestors Yuan and Cao as door gods. Others, more ruthless, simply tied up their clan heads to prevent them from tearing down the door gods and cursing them as unfilial descendants who shamed their ancestors.

All manners of life, each with their own bitterness and sweetness.

On that elegantly written immortal gazette, the trivial anecdotes written as idle talk were, to those households involved, matters of life and death, tragedies of ruined families and exile.

Book-Scented Lake, compared to an insignificant kingdom like Shihao, was even more earth-shattering and heart-stirring.

From the beginning of autumn, Su Gaoshan began "settling accounts after the autumn harvest."

Led by Lisu Island, Oriole Island, and Green Grave Celestial Grandmother Island, the various powers of Book-Scented Lake submitted to the Great Li Song clan, willing to hand over half their assets and the all-important ancestral hall registry.

Su Gaoshan held a banquet at the Fan clan mansion in Chishui City, but only in his name. He sent a mere third-rank subordinate general and a few army-attached cultivators drawn from various military units to entertain the assembled heroes.

Su Gaoshan wasn't even willing to grant that much face to the Book-Scented Lake overlords who had obediently submitted.

Chen Ping'an was not at all surprised.

Earlier, he had used his Qingxia Island guest elder token and the Peace and Safety Token to present a "visiting card" to the Great Li iron cavalry, requesting to meet the general. Su Gaoshan's reply was blunt—two words that were unmistakably the general's own voice: "Get lost."

Chen Ping'an wasn't angry or aggrieved, just a little helpless.

As for Qingxia Island, now without Liu Zhimao's presence, it too did not lag behind. Led by Tian Hujun of Sulin Island, the Golden Core cultivator Yu Gui, and other Golden Core cultivators who could command wind and rain in Book-Scented Lake, they also attended the banquet at the Fan clan mansion in Chishui City. But their seats were not at the forefront, even behind the Green Grave Celestial Grandmother Island.

Such were the wilderness cultivators of Book-Scented Lake.

They dared to risk their lives and also knew how to admit defeat. When the situation was good, they acted like ancestors; when it turned bad, they behaved like grandsons.

Chen Ping'an guessed that some island cultivators were unwilling to hand over half their assets so easily. But there was no need for the Great Li iron cavalry and army-attached cultivators to intervene; forces led by Tan Yuanyi of Lisu Island and the Golden Core Daoist couple of Oriole Island would help Su Gaoshan clean up all the "small troubles." Su Gaoshan needn't lift a finger; he could enjoy having those heads and island assets presented to him as gifts.

But the key reason Su Gaoshan could cut through Book-Scented Lake like a knife through tofu was not only his cavalry's outstanding military achievements and the wilderness cultivators' superficial unity and opportunism, but also the unstoppable advance of another Great Li general, Cao Ping. Most important of all, it was said that the Great Li vassal king Song Changjing would personally accompany a Song clan prince to inspect the front line where Cao Ping's iron cavalry faced off against the Zhu Ying Dynasty.

Chen Ping'an put down the gazette.

He folded his arms into his sleeves and sank into thought.

As for Liu Zhimao's fate, there was still no definite news.

Logically, Su Gaoshan would tend to win over a high-level cultivator like Liu Zhimao, who knew how to read the times. Moreover, Liu Zhimao had been one of the first to submit to Great Li, almost a self-made ally.

The problem lay with that group of outsider cultivators from Gongliu Island, whom Liu Laocheng had described as having "unpleasant faces." Their identities remained unclear.

It seemed that this group had decided Liu Zhimao's fate, and even Liu Laocheng had to hold his nose and accept it, preventing Su Gaoshan from adding more glory to his record and securing another easily obtained Nascent Soul elder for Great Li.

Such a big background.

Chen Ping-an rubbed his brow.

Could it be the severely weakened Parasol Leaf Sect? Clenching their teeth, they moved to Book-Scented Lake?

But that would require a huge, huge price. Cultivators could migrate en masse to another continent, but they couldn't take the mountain-river qi that had been cultivated in their territory for thousands of years.

For a migration involving two continents, aside from the spiritual energy of cave paradises, nothing else could be carried.

Moreover, with such a massive undertaking, the Parasol Leaf Sect was already demoralized. During the migration, with wolves and tigers lurking, they would surely tear off pieces of fat. When it came to the Great Dao, even a righteous sect like the Peace Mountain Fuji Sect, if they decided to act, would not be merciful.

Furthermore, the Parasol Leaf Sect cultivators were arrogant, accustomed to being the leading immortal sect of a major continent. Would they really be willing to take root in the small Bottle Gourd Continent and possibly live under the thumb of a secular dynasty like Great Li's Song clan?

If it were the Fuji Sect, it seemed more plausible.

But that group's attack on Liu Zhimao, especially their hidden scheming against Chen Ping'an, didn't add up.

Chen Ping'an stood up and went to the window. This immortal inn was built by a great river, offering a wide view. Outside, the river surged with boats coming and going, appearing as small as grains of millet.

Meiyou Kingdom had a dense network of waterways, which was probably one reason the court dared to fight to the death.

On the river, long war boats slowly sailed upstream against the current. But the river was so wide that even flags waving over ten thousand men felt insignificant—the massive ships were light as a feather.

Chen Ping'an leaned on the windowsill.

Zeng Ye and Ma Duyi came together, saying they wanted to visit the Water God Temple on Spring Flower River. They heard its prayer were very effective, and the Water God enjoyed teasing mortals.

Chen Ping'an wasn't interested, so he let them go alone. But he reminded Ma Duyi: as a ghost in fox fur, when entering the temple's territory, she must first confess her identity and state her intentions to the Water God. Otherwise, it would be considered an offense against local mountain and river deities. If conflict arose, they would be in the wrong, and he would have to apologize and pay compensation to resolve it. The immortal money for that would come out of Ma and Zeng's pockets, not his. Ma Duyi laughed and said she knew. After traveling so long on the martial path, did she still need Mr. Chen to nag about such rules?

Chen Ping'an was amused.

Such a long journey? You and Zeng have only covered the territories of two vassal states so far.

But he didn't say that; he just waved them off. Otherwise, they would surely needle him again.

As Zeng Ye closed the door, Chen Ping'an took off his Sword-Nurturing Gourd and tossed it to Zeng Ye, telling him to keep it just in case.

Zeng Ye naturally accepted happily, but as soon as the door shut, Ma Duyi snatched it away and hung it on her waist.

Zeng Ye was helpless.

Chen Ping'an smiled knowingly.

Men deferring to women, the strong yielding to the weak—not in a condescending, patronizing way—wasn't that only natural?

This kind of world would slowly become flawless, gradually improve.

All kinds of principles and knowledge must return to their proper order.

Walk more, and you'll go that far.

Think more, and you'll think that much.

Feeling simultaneously tired and relaxed, Chen Ping'an simply lay on the windowsill, closed his eyes, and dozed off.

Where the heart finds peace is home.

Where home is, one can sleep anywhere.

Dozens of miles away, at the Spring Flower River Water God Temple, an old man gnawing on a chicken leg while lying on the temple's main hall beam suddenly jolted. He nearly dropped the greasy chicken leg onto the heads of the worshippers below. This Water God, originally a water creature who had once been lucky enough to be chosen by a gentleman from Viewing Lake Academy to receive a golden body and become a proper river god enjoying mortal incense, leaped up, turned ethereal, and passed through the temple roof. The old god looked around frantically, bowing in all directions, trembling, "Which sage has deigned to visit? This humble deity is terrified, terrified!"

And the "culprit."

He was just taking a break, dozing off.

When virtue resides in oneself, all evils flee, and even deities make way.