Chapter 486: As Expected of a Seasoned Traveler

Chapter 486: As Expected of a Seasoned Traveler

Mural City occupied an area roughly the size of Red Candle Town, but its streets and alleys were chaotic, varying in width and often crooked, with few tall buildings or mansions. Besides the many small shops the size of tofu cubes, there were also numerous bundle peddlers setting up stalls, their cries rising and falling one after another—it was almost like the barking of dogs and crowing of roosters in a rustic village. Of course, there were even more silent traveling merchants, just squatting by the roadside, tucking their hands into their sleeves and hunching their shoulders, paying no attention to the passersby on the street—look if you want, buy if you want.

Regarding the origin of Mural City, opinions were many and varied, especially concerning those murals of Heavenly Court female officials that covered the walls, their bearing infinitely varied, stirring people's imaginations. The Linen-Clad Sect, which had chosen this site to establish its mountain, was extremely tight-lipped about this.

Chen Ping'an walked and stopped along the way, and after about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he followed a surging crowd of similarly curious visitors to a mural. The mountain wall was over ten zhang high, the mural imposing. Chen Ping'an stood among the crowd and looked up. The mural depicted the side profile of a graceful goddess, seemingly moving forward, her spirit lively, with auspicious clouds beneath her feet and a travel inkstone tied at her waist—a type no longer commonly seen in the present era. Whether due to the lighting or the gathered spiritual energy of the mural, the goddess's eyes seemed to shift, as if alive.

This mural, later named "Hanging Inkstone," was dominated by turquoise and green colors, but also appropriately adorned with powdered gold leaf, like dotting the eyes of a dragon, making the mural both substantial and ethereal. At a glance, it gave the impression of a running script in calligraphy—the brushwork seemed simple at first, but upon closer inspection, whether it was the folds of her robe, the accessories, the texture of her skin, or even her eyelashes, it was all extremely intricate, like copying a sutra in small regular script, every stroke conforming to the rules.

The painter must have been a master of painting at the divine level.

Chen Ping'an's knowledge of Northern Ju Lu Continent's elegant language was only superficial, so he could only catch the gist of the surrounding discussions. Of the eight murals in the underground city, over the past millennia, fate had allowed five portions of hidden fortune to be successively claimed by people destined by heaven. When the five goddesses stepped out of the murals and chose to serve their masters, the colorful murals would instantly fade. The outlines of the paintings remained, but they became like plain line drawings, no longer vibrant, and their spiritual energy dispersed. Therefore, to prevent the murals, now devoid of spiritual support, from being eroded and destroyed by time, the Linen-Clad Sect invited an ancestor-level master from a sect in Flowing Cloud Continent with whom they had generations of friendship to cover those five murals with a secret technique.

Most visitors who came to enjoy the scenery were admiring the peerless beauty of the goddess. Chen Ping'an naturally looked as well—there was no harm in looking; it was just a mural after all. What else could looking do?

However, Chen Ping'an's attention was mostly on the small antique inkstone hanging at the goddess's waist. He could faintly make out two ancient seal script characters: "Lightning-Speed." He recognized them thanks to the "True Trace of the Cinnabar Script" that Li Xisheng had given him, which contained many insect-bird seal scripts that had long been lost in the Haoran World.

Near this mural, there was a shop that specialized in selling copies and facsimiles of this goddess painting, at varying prices. Among them, the most expensive were the double-hook outline, filler, and wax-paper (hard yellow) copies. A fan-sized one dared to be priced at twenty Snowflake Coins. However, Chen Ping'an thought the images were indeed exquisitely beautiful—not only resembling the mural in form but also capturing two or three parts of its spirit. So he bought two, planning to keep one for himself and give one to Zhu Lian.

Zhu Lian had said that in collecting, the greatest taboo was being broad but not refined.

The shop was run by a boy and a girl. The girl didn't seem interested in attending to customers, but the boy was exceptionally clever. As soon as he saw Chen Ping'an buy the most expensive item in the shop, he began enthusiastically recommending to this valued guest a set containing the five goddess paintings in the hard-yellow style, housed in a bright red wooden box. The boy said that the cost of the box alone was several Snowflake Coins.

Chen Ping'an lightly ran his hand over the wooden box. The wood was fine-grained, and the spiritual energy was faint but pure—it should indeed have been produced by an immortal mountain.

The boy also said that the remaining two goddess paintings could not be bought here; the customer would have to walk a bit further to another shop. In Mural City, three shops still existed, each inherited from their ancestors, with rules established by the elders that forbade snatching business from other shops. However, copies of the five murals that had been covered up by the Linen-Clad Sect could be sold by all three shops.

Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, said he would look around some more, then put away the "Hanging Inkstone" goddess painting and left the shop.

As for goddess opportunities or such, Chen Ping'an didn't even think about them.

He heard some guests chattering about how once the goddess stepped out of the painting, she would serve her master for life. Historically, all five of those figures from the paintings had become Daoist partners with their masters, and at the very least, both parties would advance to the Nascent Soul Earth Immortal realm. One of them, a down-and-out scholar with mediocre cultivation aptitude, after gaining the favor of a goddess named "Immortal Staff," unexpectedly broke through realms repeatedly and eventually became a Celestial Realm Grand Cultivator in the history of Northern Ju Lu Continent. Truly, he had won a beautiful woman and also become a mountain-top immortal—what more could one ask for in life?

At that moment, Chen Ping'an's palms were sweating. He quickly took a sip of wine to calm himself, almost clasping his hands together in prayer, silently hoping that the senior goddess in the mural would have high standards and not, heaven forbid, take a fancy to him.

After that, Chen Ping'an went to the other two murals and again bought the most expensive hard-yellow copies in the same style. The neighboring shops likewise sold a set of five goddess paintings at the same price as the boy had mentioned earlier: one hundred Snowflake Coins, no discount. These two goddess heavenly official murals were named "Rain Traveler" and "Deer Rider." The former showed a goddess holding a white jade bowl, slightly tilted, with visitors able to faintly see rippling waves inside the bowl and a golden dragon shimmering. The latter depicted a goddess riding a seven-colored deer, her skirt trailing, as if about to ascend to immortality. This goddess also carried a green, sheathless wooden sword on her back, engraved with the three characters "Pleasant Wind."

Along the way, Chen Ping'an mingled with the crowd, listening and observing.

One particular conversation caught the attention of Chen Ping'an, the money-grubber. He decided to try his hand at being a bundle peddler. On this trip to Northern Ju Lu Continent, besides practicing swordsmanship, there was no harm in doing some business on the side, since the space in his Inch-Distance and Square-Inch objects had been almost cleared out.

A passerby said that the goddess paintings of Mural City, due to their exquisite artistry and hype, were known throughout the continent. In the northern parts of Northern Ju Lu Continent, cultivators often offered extremely high prices for them. They were quite popular in the northern imperial courts and officialdom, and there were even wealthy immortal masters willing to pay one Minor Heat Coin for a complete set of eight Mural City goddess paintings.

Chen Ping'an thought it over carefully. At first, it seemed profitable, but then he felt something was off. Such good fortune would be like finding a string of copper coins on the ground—any cultivator with a bit of capital could pick it up and pocket the difference. Chen Ping'an took a closer look at the group of chatting tourists nearby—they didn't seem like hired shills for the three shops. After some more deliberation, he had a revelation: Northern Ju Lu Continent was vast, and Skeleton Beach was at the southernmost tip. Taking an immortal ferry was no small expense. Moreover, whether the goddess paintings could fetch a high price depended on whether the buyer valued them as a treasure hard to find despite a thousand pieces of gold—it was quite a matter of fate and luck. Additionally, the production volume of the hard-yellow box sets from the three shops had to be considered. All these factors together might mean that few cultivators would be willing to earn this rather laborious meager profit.

Of course, it was also possible that the shops and the Linen-Clad Sect at Skeleton Beach had a fixed sales channel unknown to outsiders.

Making money.

In all the places Chen Ping'an had traveled, among the people he knew, Sun Jiashu of Old Dragon City and Dong Shuijing of Longquan Prefecture did it best. Not to mention Sun Jiashu, who already had a large family enterprise, but even Dong Shuijing, who had risen from a poor alley to sudden wealth, had an attitude toward making money that Chen Ping'an admired most. Even after Dong Shuijing was already raking in money hand over fist, he would still cultivate relationships with big shots like Magistrate Yuan, Supervisor Cao, and Guan Yiran, whom Chen Ping'an planned to visit and get to know soon. Yet he also earned money from his wonton shop—a small business. Although nowadays, Dong Shuijing's operation of the shop might be seen by some as more of a way to cultivate his sentiments after becoming wealthy, he still worked diligently, taking it seriously without any sloppiness.

That was the proper business acumen for a merchant.

So Chen Ping'an went to the two shops and asked the shopkeepers if they could give a discount for buying a larger quantity of the hard-yellow copies. One shop directly shook its head, saying that even if he bought out the entire inventory, not a single Snowflake Coin could be reduced—no room for negotiation at all. The other shop was run by a hunchbacked old woman. She smiled and asked how many sets the customer planned to buy. Chen Ping'an asked how many the shop had left. The old woman said that the hard-yellow copies were delicate work, with very slow output, and the chief painter for these goddess paintings had always been an old guest elder of the Linen-Clad Sect. No other painter dared to take up the brush. The old guest elder was never willing to paint many. According to this old painter, if not for the rules of the Linen-Clad Sect, every extra glance from some lecherous scoundrel in the world added to his karmic obstacles—truly earning money that brought grief. Then the old woman admitted that the shop itself wasn't worried about sales and didn't keep much stock. Currently, they only had about thirty sets left, which would sell out eventually. At this point, the old woman smiled and asked Chen Ping'an, if giving a discount meant taking a loss, was there any business in the world that operated that way?

Chen Ping'an had no choice. Because of the old woman's fairly candid words, he spent twenty Snowflake Coins to buy a box set containing five goddess paintings, named "Long Candlestick," "Jeweled Canopy," "Lingzhi," "Spring Official," and "Execution and Survey." The five goddesses respectively held a lotus lamp, propped up a jeweled canopy, cradled a white jade lingzhi ruyi scepter with flowers swirling and birds fluttering around, and the last one was the most unusual—she was armored and carried a battle-axe, sparkling with lightning, very valiant.

Chen Ping'an returned to the first shop and asked about the stock and discount for the hard-yellow copies. The boy looked troubled. The girl suddenly laughed, glanced at her childhood sweetheart, and shook her head—probably feeling that this out-of-town customer was a bit too mercenary. She continued with her business, still not showing a smile to the customers streaming in and out, regardless of age.

In the end, the boy was more easygoing, perhaps also thin-skinned. Unable to withstand Chen Ping'an just standing there smiling at him, he secretly led Chen Ping'an to the back room of the shop and sold him ten wooden box sets, reducing the price by ten Snowflake Coins.

After settling the bill and leaving the shop, Chen Ping'an had an extra bag slung diagonally over his back.

The girl lightly bumped the boy with her shoulder and teased, "Is that how you do business? The customer haggles with you a bit, and you agree right away."

The boy said helplessly, "I take after my great-grandfather. Besides, I'm just here to help you with odd jobs; I'm not really a businessman."

The girl was clear about public and private matters and warned, "I don't care about that. I've seen the loss of ten Snowflake Coins for the shop. You'll have to get that back from your great-grandfather yourself and beg him to paint more for my shop."

The boy smiled and nodded, "Don't worry. My great-grandfather dotes on me the most. Others might beg him without success, but if I go, he'll be more than happy."

The girl suddenly said, "Did you tell that customer not to show off his wealth in public? The shop has many eyes and ears. He's carrying so many hard-yellow copies—that's not a small sum. Around Mural City, it's a mixed bag of good and bad, murky and chaotic. They love to pick on out-of-towners and will use any trick to cheat or swindle. Didn't you remind him? Judging by how he haggled with you, if you hadn't agreed, he could almost be a shop assistant here. And with his out-of-town accent, he clearly isn't particularly wealthy. The more that's the case, the more careful he should be."

The girl had a temperament of 'the willing come' in business, but when it came to the boy, she was anything but sparing with her words—she must have a cold face but a warm heart.

The boy was stunned for a moment, then slapped his forehead in guilt, "I forgot!"

The girl glared and lowered her voice, "Then hurry up and go! You're a direct disciple of the Linen-Clad Sect, about to go down the mountain for training—how can you be so inexperienced?"

The boy said "Oh," then asked, "But what about the shop?"

The girl said with a laugh, "I've been here since I was little, all these years. How many times have you come down to help? Don't tell me the shop can't run without you?"

The boy dashed out of the shop and found the out-of-town ranger wearing a bamboo hat, softly telling him some precautions.

Chen Ping'an smiled and said, "Alright, thank you for the reminder."

The boy waved his hand and was about to turn and run back to the shop.

Chen Ping'an asked, "May I ask one bold question?"

The boy immediately stopped and nodded, "Go ahead. If I can say it, I won't hold back."

Chen Ping'an asked, "These eight goddess murals—such great fortune—why didn't the Linen-Clad Sect of Skeleton Beach seal them off? Even if their own disciples couldn't seize the fortune, doesn't the saying 'don't let fertile water irrigate others' fields' apply? Isn't that common sense?"

The boy smiled and said, "The Linen-Clad Sect isn't so petty. Instead of hoarding a precious land and monopolizing fortune, it's better to form a good karmic bond with those destined. In the ancestral hall of the Linen-Clad Sect, there is an ancestral motto: 'On the path of great Dao cultivation, avoid the dispute of pole bearers on a narrow path.'"

Chen Ping'an savored those words for a moment, then said with emotion, "The Linen-Clad Sect has great boldness of vision!"

The boy was very pleased. Although the boy was not tall and had an ordinary appearance, he was actually an inner sect disciple of the Linen-Clad Sect's ancestral hall. His cultivation was accomplished, so his spiritual energy was internally concealed. Despite his very young age, his seniority was quite high. He had known the girl at the Mural City shop since childhood, and whenever he had a chance, he would come down the mountain to lend a hand. On the Linen-Clad Sect mountain, there were quite a few white-haired old cultivators who called him "Little Martial Uncle."

After thanking the boy again, Chen Ping'an headed toward the entrance. Since he had bought those goddess paintings as capital for future business in Northern Ju Lu Continent, he considered the trip worthwhile and didn't continue wandering around Mural City. On the way, he had glanced at some ghostly cultivator artifacts sold in various shops big and small—quality aside, they were certainly expensive. The truly good and top-tier items probably required staying here for a while to find the old shops hidden deep in the alleys, but Chen Ping'an wasn't going to try his luck. Moreover, the most top-notch ghostly puppets in Mural City, bought as retainers, were what Chen Ping'an needed least. So he headed to the Swaying River Temple, which was six hundred li away from the Linen-Clad Sect mountain.

After leaving Mural City, he looked back at the Linen-Clad Sect, its mountain peak shrouded in mist and clouds obscuring the scenery above. Chen Ping'an inexplicably thought of Peace Mountain on Tongye Continent.

The foot of the mountain was bustling with crowds, packed to overflowing. For an immortal mansion of the sect rank, with thirty-six inner disciples and one hundred and eight outer disciples, the number of cultivators was indeed too few. The mountain was mostly quiet and desolate.

In fact, his own Desolate Mountain was currently similar.

Still, there were too few people.

But once there were many people, Chen Ping'an also worried—worried that a second Gu Can would appear. Even half a Gu Can would give Chen Ping'an a headache.

Daoism had a story about a common man worrying that the sky would fall. Chen Ping'an had read it over and over again, and the more he read, the more meaningful it became.

Chen Ping'an took down his Sword-Nurturing Gourd, took a sip of wine, jostled his bag, put away his thoughts, and continued his long journey.

Still traveling on foot.

He deliberately maintained the breathing rhythm and depth of steps to match the appearance of a fifth-tier martial artist in the world.

The River God Temple was easy to find—just walk along the bank of the Swaying River and head north. Ghost Valley was to the northeast of that temple, more or less on the way.

The Swaying River was extremely wide, stretching as far as the eye could see. The water was deep and the current gentle, giving the feeling of viewing a lake.

There wasn't a single bridge over the Swaying River. It was said that the River God disliked people walking above him, so there were many ferries and boats. Chen Ping'an rested at a small ferry and had a bowl of the local gloomy tea. Generally speaking, river water was the lowest grade for brewing tea, but the gloomy tea here, made with water drawn freely from the river, was surprisingly refreshing and sweet—probably due to the rich water transportation vitality of the Swaying River. The thriving water transportation invisibly benefited both banks, with lush vegetation and large clusters of reeds that were still green in early winter, making it a habitat for many waterfowl.

Along this journey, he occasionally saw traveling cultivators accompanied by clanking iron-armored ghostly retainers, their steps extraordinarily light, barely stirring any dust—like martial arts masters from vassal states in the Pill Bottle Continent. The armor they wore was extremely refined, engraved with Daoist talismans, crisscrossed with gold and silver threads glowing softly—clearly not ordinary goods. The burly ghosts were almost entirely covered with visors, with the occasional exposed skin showing a blue-black hue.

Different waters nurture different people. The cultivators of Northern Ju Lu Continent, regardless of their realm, compared to the cautious demeanor of cultivators from Pill Bottle Continent when walking around large ferries, were much more restrained. Here, cultivators acted as if no one else was around, very unrestrained.

If Pei Qian came here, he would probably feel right at home.

Chen Ping'an ordered two more bowls of gloomy tea. It wasn't that he was so thirsty he needed to drink heavily; it was just the rule of the tea stall: three bowls for one Snowflake Coin, but even if you drank less than three, the minimum charge was still one Snowflake Coin.

Chen Ping'an wasn't in a hurry, so he slowly drank his tea. Most of the dozen or so tables were occupied by people resting. About a hundred li ahead, there was a historical site by the Swaying River: a fallen ancient iron ox, of unknown origin, of extremely high rank, close to a Dharma treasure. It had neither been sunk into the river by the Swaying River God to suppress the water transportation, nor taken by some grand cultivator of Skeleton Beach. Once, an Earth Immortal tried to steal it, but the outcome was bad. The River God clearly turned a blind eye and didn't use his divine powers to stop him, but the waters of the Swaying River became violent and surging, overwhelming and directly drowning a Golden Core Earth Immortal. After that, no one dared to covet this iron ox, which weighed several hundred thousand catties.

Chen Ping'an had just finished his second bowl of tea when a table of guests nearby started arguing with the tea stall assistant over why four bowls required two Snowflake Coins.

The shopkeeper was a lazy-looking man. Seeing his assistant arguing with the customers until both were red-faced, he actually seemed to gloat, lying on the greasy counter and drinking alone, with a plate of water celery—especially delicious, grown by the Swaying River—as a snack. The young assistant was also stubborn. Instead of calling for the shopkeeper, he was surrounded by four customers but still held his ground: either obediently cough up two Snowflake Coins or have the guts to not pay, because the tea stall wouldn't accept even a single tael of silver.

A burly man with a purple face and a large beard, behind whom stood an imposing ghostly retainer carrying a large box on its back, was about to flip out. But a woman in a long robe sitting cross-legged on a bench advised him, so the burly man slammed one Minor Heat Coin heavily on the table, "Two Snowflake Coins, right? Then give me my change!"

This was clearly meant to provoke and disgust the tea stall.

Cultivators from the mountains and pure martial artists with good martial arts skills, when traveling, usually prepared plenty of Snowflake Coins and shouldn't be short. As for Minor Heat Coins, of course they needed some, since they were lighter and easier to carry than Snowflake Coins. But Earth Immortals who had Small Immortal Tombs or Exquisite Martial Arts Vaults—these square-inch storage items—or those who had been given these rare treasures from childhood as direct disciples of major mountain sects—that was another matter.

As for the even more precious Grain Rain Coins, having more wasn't necessarily better—there weren't many places to use them unless one was heading straight for a large transaction upon descending the mountain.

The young assistant directly retorted, "Why don't you just pull out a Grain Rain Coin?"

The purple-faced man glared, arms crossed, "Less nonsense, hurry up. Don't delay me from burning incense at the River God Temple!"

The shopkeeper finally spoke up to mediate, "Alright, quickly give the customer his change."

The young assistant picked up the Minor Heat Coin and went behind the counter, crouched down. There was the crisp sound of coins clinking, and then he hauled out a sack of Snowflake Coins, slamming it heavily on the table, "Here you go!"

The purple-faced man smiled and waved. The ghostly retainer behind him grabbed the heavy sack of Snowflake Coins and put it into the box on its back.

The young assistant said flatly, "We won't see you off. You're welcome not to come again."

The purple-faced man put another Minor Heat Coin on the table and said with a grin, "Four more bowls of gloomy tea."

The young assistant fumed, "Are you done with your crap?!"

The woman, who had been sitting cross-legged, twisted her torso. Her appearance was ordinary, but her figure was enticing—this turn made her curves even more pronounced. She said to the young assistant with a sweet smile, "Since you're running a business that welcomes customers, you shouldn't have such a hot temper. But sister doesn't blame you—young people have hot blood, it's normal. I'll skip the tea that's coming; consider it a gift to you, to cool down your fire."

The guests at the other tables burst into laughter, with some strange shouts. A young man whistled, staring eagerly at the woman's figure, as if wanting to gouge out those two mountains with his eyes and take them home.

The young assistant was furious and about to curse the vixen, but the sword-carrying youth beside the woman was already itching for a fight, quietly rubbing the hilt of his sword, as if waiting for the assistant to insult the woman recklessly.

Fortunately, the shopkeeper finally put down his chopsticks and said to the young assistant, "Alright, have you forgotten what I taught you? Exposing someone's flaws to their face invites the most trouble. The tea stall's rules have been passed down from ancestors, so I don't blame you for being stubborn. The guests aren't happy, that can't be helped. But cursing is out of line—that's no way to do business."

Then the shopkeeper smiled at the group of guests, "Business has business rules, but as this beautiful sister said, we welcome customers. So, these four bowls of gloomy tea shall be my way of getting acquainted with you four heroes—no charge, how about that?"

The woman covered her mouth and giggled, her whole body shaking.

The purple-faced man nodded, pocketed the Minor Heat Coin, and after drinking the four newly served bowls of gloomy tea for free, they rose to leave.

The woman even turned around and winked at the young assistant.

Chen Ping'an frowned slightly, glanced at one of the white bowls on his table that still had half the tea left. On the rim of the bowl, there were faint traces of rouge.

The shopkeeper smiled and shook his head, walked around the counter, and before the young assistant could react, casually picked up that white bowl and tossed it into the waters of the Swaying River.

Chen Ping'an finished his tea, placed a Snowflake Coin on the table, and rose to leave.

After traveling from Mural City to this river crossing, there was a fork in the road: a small path along the river and a main road slightly farther from the riverside. There was a reason for this. The River God here was fond of tranquility and disliked noise, while the main road at Skeleton Beach was bustling with traffic every day, said to disturb the River God's quiet cultivation. So the Linen-Clad Sect funded the construction of two roads for travelers: those who enjoyed scenery took the small path, those doing business took the main road—well water and river water didn't mix.

The small path Chen Ping'an took had few pedestrians. After all, no matter how beautiful the Swaying River's scenery was, it was still just a wide, calm river. For ordinary tourists who had come from Mural City, the novelty had worn off. The bumpy, muddy path was less steady than the main road for carriages, and on both sides of the main road, some bundle peddlers set up stalls. Setting up a stall near Mural City required paying a fee—not much, just one Snowflake Coin—but a mosquito's leg was still meat.

Then, when Chen Ping'an had walked more than ten li along the riverside path, he vaguely heard a feeble stream of curses coming from a large clump of reeds in the distance. Four people emerged, supporting each other—it was the group that had argued with the tea stall earlier. Among them, the woman's stomach suddenly rumbled like thunder, and she said breathlessly, "Oh my god, here it comes again!" She turned and staggered into the depths of the reeds, not forgetting to remind, "Keep that newly bought puppet far away! In this desolate wilderness, I don't want some wild man seeing my ass, let alone some ghost creature taking advantage!"

Chen Ping'an looked straight ahead and quickened his pace.

The purple-faced man glanced at Chen Ping'an.

The sword-carrying youth beside him said softly, "What a coincidence, meeting him again. Could it be a honey trap set up by the tea stall? Saw the money and got ideas, now planning to take advantage when we're weak?"

A gray-clad old man who looked like a steward rubbed his painfully churning stomach and nodded, "Better be careful."

The purple-faced man's face darkened, "I didn't expect Skeleton Beach to be so lawless. Even a tea stall that does 'no-foot-business' dares to be so despicable!"

The gray-clad old man said helplessly, "Skeleton Beach has always had many strange people. Let's consider this a lesson learned. We need to think about how to proceed on the road ahead. If the tea stall really is after our lives, the journey to the River God Temple will be difficult."

The youth looked at the back of the young man in the bamboo hat, made a chopping gesture, "Then we strike first? Better than letting them probe our strength and then ambush us somewhere. Maybe killing the chicken to scare the monkeys will make the other party think twice."

The purple-faced man thought it was reasonable. The gray-clad old man still wanted to plan more, but the man had already said to the sword-carrying youth in a deep voice, "Go test his depth. Remember to be clean—best not to throw him in the river. If we do get caught, we'll still need the River God's protection. Dumping a body in the river might offend this river's god. There's plenty of reeds here, don't waste them."

The sword-carrying youth nodded with a smile, then chuckled, "Looks like a pure martial artist who has passed the Body-Tempering realm. If he turns out to be someone who hides his strength and has the guts of a hero, not to mention capsizing in a ditch, but catching him for questioning will be tricky."

The purple-faced man glanced at the gray-clad old man, who nodded silently.

The two of them dashed forward.

After a moment, the purple-faced man, whose stomach was churning again, saw the two returning empty-handed. He asked, "Done?"

The gray-clad old man shook his head, "Disappeared in a flash, faster than a rabbit. But it's also possible he sensed trouble and hid in the reeds. If he just lay down, it's hard to find."

The purple-faced man, with his large beard, scowled and looked around, "Then there's no other way. We'll walk a bit further and see how it goes. If it comes down to it, we'll go back to the ferry and bow our heads to that shopkeeper who drugged us—call it the strong dragon not messing with the local snake."

The woman, one hand on her hip, staggered out of the reeds, looking sickly, "That tea stall bastard is nasty, a smiling tiger that deserves a thousand cuts. Such a powerful laxative—even a strong ox would be laid low. He really doesn't know how to treat a flower with pity."

Earlier, Chen Ping'an had left the path and ducked into the reeds, walking bent over, quickly disappearing from sight.

After going more than twenty li, he slowed down. He went to the riverbank, scooped up a handful of water to wash his face, and then, seeing no one around, put the bag containing the goddess paintings into his Inch-Distance Object. Then he lightly leaped, landing on the dense reeds, and skimmed across like a dragonfly, wind whistling in his ears as he drifted far away.

That group of travelers, even with ghostly puppets as close attendants, all together probably weren't worth more than an experienced Dragon Gate realm cultivator. Chen Ping'an didn't want to start fighting and killing as soon as he arrived in Northern Ju Lu Continent, especially as innocent collateral damage—that would be a bad omen.

Nearing the River God Temple, the small path had more pedestrians, so Chen Ping'an landed softly, walked out of the reeds, and proceeded on foot.

Earlier, standing atop the reeds, he had looked into the distance at this famous temple, renowned across half the continent. He saw a thick column of incense smoke rising into the sky, stirring the clouds above into a riot of colors. This kind of atmosphere was not to be underestimated. Even the submerged Water God Temple on Tongye Continent and the later elevated Biyou Manor didn't have such a spectacle. Similarly, the few river god temples along Embroidery River back home had no such phenomenon.

Common folk burned their common incense.

There were also specialty water incense for wealthy patrons.

The River God Temple here was very generous. Not only were there wooden notices, but a young child was stationed by the notice, telling all visitors who came to request incense that when entering the temple to worship and burn incense, only sincerity mattered, not the price of the incense.

Chen Ping'an didn't skimp on this expense. He bought a tube of Swaying River water incense specially used for temple worship. The price was steep: ten Snowflake Coins for a tube containing only nine sticks, much more expensive than the three sticks for one Snowflake Coin at the river god temple in Qingluan Nation.

Chen Ping'an took three sticks from the yellow bamboo incense tube decorated with blue water patterns, and followed the worshippers into the temple. In the main hall, he lit the three sticks of incense, held them in both hands, raised them above his head, bowed to the four directions, then entered the main hall where the River God's golden statue was enshrined. The atmosphere was solemn. The painted statue was entirely gilded. Its height could be considered an overstep—it was actually more than three chi taller than the statue of the Iron Lock River Water God in Longquan Prefecture. In Great Li Dynasty, the heights of mountain and river deities strictly adhered to the rules of the Academy. But considering this was Northern Ju Lu Continent, Chen Ping'an wasn't surprised. The River God of Swaying River was depicted as a golden-armored old man holding a sword and a mace in his hands, stepping on a bright red long serpent, with the angry glare of a Heavenly King, very imposing.

Then Chen Ping'an took more than half an hour to simply walk through the huge temple complex of more than a dozen courtyards, stopping and starting. The rooftops were covered with striking golden glazed tiles.

One of the side halls was built like an underwater dragon palace, with lifelike statues of large fish, snakes, and flood dragons transformed into human form as assisting generals, in various postures. An old worshipper joked with a child that this was the River God's detached palace. At night, these civil and military officials under his command, all capable of summoning wind and rain, would come to life. But the temple had a night curfew; only immortal masters who could ride clouds and mist were qualified to visit and drink tea with the River God.

Chen Ping'an had paused earlier in the rear hall, where he saw a couplet. So he took out three more sticks of incense, lit them, stood respectfully on the white jade square, inserted them into the incense burner, and then left.

The couplet with black characters on a gold background behind Chen Ping'an read: "If your heart is sincere, don't bother kowtowing; virtue will protect you from the shadows. If you do evil, let you burn incense in vain; it will only make the water god angry."

After leaving this River God Temple, Chen Ping'an continued his journey north.

The sun set in the west. In the twilight, Chen Ping'an arrived at a small ferry where he needed to take a boat across to reach Ghost Valley—the place within Skeleton Beach's territory that he most wanted to explore thoroughly.

But the ferry boats and the young and old boatmen had already finished work. The boats were moored at the shore, and the boatmen had returned home. Chen Ping'an offered to pay extra to cross, but still no one agreed, saying that crossing the river at night was a rule passed down through generations; otherwise, the River God would be angry. There were only three exceptions: scholars going to the capital for exams, people seeking medical treatment for illnesses, and suffering individuals wanting to drown themselves.

Chen Ping'an thought about the custom of building no bridges over the Swaying River and these rules. He didn't even have the heart to skim across the water. Instead, he found a quiet spot by the river near the ferry, lit a campfire, and planned to wait until dawn to take the ferry across.

The night was heavy, the river flowed slowly.

Facing the river, Chen Ping'an sat cross-legged and practiced the sword furnace standing stake technique.

A night without incident.

At daybreak, Chen Ping'an got up and walked to the ferry. A sturdy old boatman with oil-black skin was already crouching there, waiting for customers.

Chen Ping'an negotiated the fare: eight qian of silver. The old man said to wait a bit—it wouldn't be worth his strength to ferry just one person for eight qian. He asked Chen Ping'an if he would be willing to wait for one more passenger, so he could earn another eight qian, then he would row across. Chen Ping'an smiled and said no problem, he would wait—he wasn't in a hurry. He took off his bamboo hat, sat down by the ferry with the old boatman, took down his Sword-Nurturing Gourd, and took a sip of wine. The wine inside was homemade rice wine that Dong Shuijing had gifted to Desolate Mountain.

The old boatman smelled the wine and his eyes lit up. He turned around and asked with a smile, "Young master, could you spare a sip of wine?"

Chen Ping'an was about to hand him the gourd, but the old boatman waved his hand, cupped his hands together, and said, "Young master is a man of refinement. I'm just a rough old man, but I must be refined, too. Just pour the wine into my hands."

Chen Ping'an poured the wine. The old boatman raised his calloused hands, lowered his head, and drank like an ox. After finishing, he smacked his lips and asked with a smile, "Young master, are you going to that 'No Turning Back'? Oh, that's our local dialect. What the great immortal masters of the Linen-Clad Sect call it is Ghost Valley."

Chen Ping'an smiled and nodded, "I've heard of its fame and want to visit. I'm a swordsman. They say there are three must-see places in Skeleton Beach. I've already been to Mural City and the River God Temple, and now I want to go to Ghost Valley to broaden my horizons."

The old boatman stretched out two fingers, pinched the corner of Chen Ping'an's green robe as he sat cross-legged beside him, and smacked his lips, "I said so! Young master is actually a young immortal too. I, this old man, won't say much else. In a lifetime of ferrying people back and forth on this river, my purse may not have jingled, but I have an eye. This robe of yours, it must be worth a lot, right?"

Chen Ping'an laughed heartily, "When traveling, you still need to put on a show. I'm just slapping my face to look fat."

The old boatman said, "Young master's out-of-town accent—I can tell you're from another continent at a single listen. You should change it. Around here, the forest is big, and there are all kinds of birds. The more incompetent people are, the more they like to gang up and bully strangers."

Chen Ping'an hummed in agreement, "Uncle, you're right."

The old boatman turned his head and glanced, "Young master is lucky. Someone's coming to the ferry so early. Looks like we can cross the river."

Chen Ping'an then followed the old man's gaze and turned his head. It was an old woman tottering along. When he focused on her face, Chen Ping'an felt a bit helpless.

When the old woman reached the ferry and heard that the old boatman wanted eight qian of silver, she looked troubled. Then she turned to look at Chen Ping'an. Chen Ping'an put on the look of a greenhorn fresh out in the world, pretending not to understand, until the old woman, after a pause, took the initiative to ask if the young master could help her out—she only had four or five qian of silver on her—and asked him to make up the difference, and that goodness would surely be rewarded.

Chen Ping'an just shook his head.

The old boatman grew anxious and fervently signaled to Chen Ping'an with his eyes. But in the old man's eyes, this young man, who had seemed quite clever earlier, was now like a block of unresponsive wood.

In the end, the old woman huffily said she would owe the money and pay it back next time she crossed. The old boatman also agreed.

As they rowed across the river on the small boat, the atmosphere was somewhat awkward.

Chen Ping'an kept his eyes on his nose and his nose on his heart, pretending to be a meditating old monk.

The old boatman was anxious but couldn't say anything clearly.

The old woman was the most angry, feeling that the young man was really stingy and tight-fisted.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, and she shot a venomous glare at Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an pretended not to see it.

Later, as if he "couldn't help it," he began to spout some pedantic nonsense to the old woman, roughly meaning that it wasn't his fault for being stingy.

The old woman slapped the boat rail upon hearing this.

The old boatman rolled his eyes.

When they reached the opposite ferry, the old boatman was about to say something, but the old woman grabbed his sleeve.

Chen Ping'an jumped off the ferry, said his farewell, and without turning his head, walked away.

The old boatman's mouth hung open. After staring for a long time, he turned to the "old woman" and asked, "Just like that? Isn't it a pity?"

The hunched old woman now straightened her body, sneered, "What else? Am I supposed to throw myself at him? He missed the fortune himself—can't blame anyone else! Three tests passed by, and he's the first one to fail this third test. If word gets out, I'll be laughed to death by my sisters!"

The old boatman felt something was off.

Had that young man deliberately missed this great fortune?

The first test was set by the "old woman": whether he would forcefully cross the river. The young man passed. Later, when she had him take over and gave him a symbolic test, the young man also smoothly passed the second test by generously offering a sip of wine. So the old boatman thought the deal was sealed. He had done the young man a small favor by deliberately removing some of the concealment, revealing a few clues. Since the young man had already been to the River God Temple, he should have noticed and behaved appropriately. He shouldn't have been so petty over trivial matters like a few qian of silver. Who was it that just said, "When traveling, you still need to put on a show; slap your face to look fat"?

The old woman was steaming with anger. She stamped her foot, and in an instant, she, the old boatman, and the ferryboat sank together to the bottom of the Swaying River.

At the riverbed, they moved freely.

The old woman had resumed her graceful true form, her ribbons fluttering, her face breathtakingly beautiful—the true visage of a goddess.

The old boatman sighed repeatedly, feeling great pity for the young man.

After leaving the ferry, Chen Ping'an took off at a sprint, only regretting that flying on his sword would be too conspicuous, or else he would have gotten farther.

He took off his Sword-Nurturing Gourd, took a big sip of wine to calm his nerves, then laughed. He imitated Pei Qian's walk for a few steps, feeling smug. "I, Chen Ping'an, am an old hand!"

After laughing, Chen Ping'an felt a wave of fear. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and thought, "Good thing, good thing, luckily I was sharp. Otherwise, if I count on my fingers how many times Miss Ning would beat me to death? Even if she didn't beat me to death, next time we meet, would I still dare to hope to hug her? And kiss her on the lips? As if!"

At the ferry across the river, Jiang Shangzhen, who had sensed a trace of something earlier and decisively turned back, was now covering his forehead with his hand and muttering, "Chen Ping'an, Brother Chen, Master Chen! You're still the best!"