Chapter 492: The Old Fox of West Mountain Hastily Marries Off His Daughter
As he flew back on his sword, Chen Ping'an deliberately ascended a bit higher than when he had been chasing Fan Yunluo earlier. Sure enough, the Golden Core ghost that was registered in Bailong City quickly took the lead and led the others far away.
It wasn't that Chen Ping'an wasn't willing to pay a price to wipe them all out in one fell swoop, or at least engage in a skirmish. Originally, on this trip to Qinglu Town, this group of yin creatures roaming south of the Ghost Fiend Valley was Chen Ping'an's top target.
However, the unexpected appearance of Pu Rang, the city lord of Bailong City, made Chen Ping'an change his mind. The accounts of this heroic spirit in the *Rest Assured Collection* were nearly exhaustive, detailing events one by one without sparing any ink. When Chen Ping'an first read this book, he almost thought that the main writer of the *Rest Assured Collection* from the Hemp-Clad Sect was an admirer of Pu Rang.
The words in the book, seemingly still reeking of blood and praise, did not affect Chen Ping'an's decision. What truly made Chen Ping'an choose to avoid conflict was just four words: Nascent Soul Peak.
Since the other party ultimately showed himself but chose not to make a move, Chen Ping'an was willing to take a step back in return.
Chen Ping'an looked at the piles of bones on the ground, as white and lustrous as jade—no fewer than twenty sets. These had been killed by the Sword Immortal and the First and Fifteenth. The souls of those female ghosts from the Tender Skin City had long since dissipated, turning into the yin essence of this small world.
As Chen Ping'an was about to gather these bones into his Close-at-Hand Object, he suddenly frowned and was about to command the Sword Immortal to leave the area. But after a moment's thought, he paused for a moment, collected most of the bones, leaving only six or seven gleaming ones in the forest, then swiftly flew away on his sword, quickly leaving Crow Ridge.
From a distance, he saw two figures on the winding path. Chen Ping'an finally breathed a sigh of relief, but still wasn't entirely reassured. He sheathed his sword, put on his bamboo hat, landed in a secluded spot, stepped onto the path, and stood there quietly waiting for that couple of dao companions to approach. The man and woman also spotted Chen Ping'an. As before, they intended to cut away from the path, pretending to be looking for some medicinal herbs or stones that could be exchanged for money. But they saw the young wandering swordsman take off his hat without moving a step. The couple exchanged a glance, somewhat helpless. They had no choice but to steel themselves and return to the path, the man in front, the woman behind, walking together toward Chen Ping'an. If it's a blessing, it's a blessing; if it's a curse, it cannot be avoided. They silently prayed for the protection of the Three Pure Ones.
When the couple got close, Chen Ping'an, holding his hat in one hand, pointed toward the dense forest behind him and said, "Just now at Crow Ridge, I had a fierce fight with a group of fierce ghosts. Though I barely won, many ghosts escaped. I've made a death feud with them, so there will inevitably be more battles. If you're not afraid of being implicated by me and still wish to continue north, you must be very careful."
The couple looked at each other, their expressions grim.
The toll at the archway—five Snow Coins per person was manageable. But for a couple like them, wandering wild cultivators at the Fifth Realm with no roots, and not even qi refiners skilled in ghost arts, entering the Ghost Fiend Valley meant constantly consuming qi. Not only was it physically and mentally taxing, but they had also specially bought a bottle of expensive pills just so they could travel deeper into the valley, hoping to find something rare in some out-of-the-way place to make up for their losses. If they only wanted safety, they should have taken the well-trodden path of Lan She Town.
How many cultivators treading the path of immortality are foolish? Especially wild cultivators trying to earn money—it's no exaggeration to say they exhaust every scheme and calculation.
The couple's faces turned pale. The young woman tugged at the man's sleeve. "Let's forget it. Fate is what it is. Better to cultivate slowly than to rush to our deaths."
The man shook his head, took her hand, and said softly, "You can't wait any longer. When the water is too full, it overflows; when the moon is full, it wanes. Dragging it out further will only harm you, turning a good thing into a disaster."
He released her hand, faced Chen Ping'an, his gaze resolute, and clasped his fists in gratitude. "On the path of cultivation, there are many unexpected winds and storms. Since my wife and I are of low cultivation, we can only accept fate and cannot blame you, young master. My wife and I still thank you for your kind warning."
Chen Ping'an asked, "Is your honored wife about to break through to the Cave Abode Realm, but hindered by an unstable foundation and needs Immortal Coins and magical instruments to increase her chances of breaking through?"
The woman sighed softly.
The man nodded. "The young master has keen eyes. Indeed, that's the case."
Chen Ping'an asked, "If I may be so bold, how large is the shortfall?"
The man said helplessly, "For us, the amount is enormous. Otherwise, we wouldn't have come to this Ghost Fiend Valley. It's truly like forcing ourselves through the gates of hell."
Chen Ping'an probed, "How many Immortal Coins are you short?"
The man hesitated, his face bitter. "To be honest, young master, we spent years traveling through over a dozen countries, searching carefully before we found a suitable lifebound artifact for my wife in an Immortal shop west of Skeleton Beach. That shop already offered the fairest price, but it still cost eight hundred Snow Coins. The shopkeeper was kind-hearted enough to keep that artifact, which would have been easy to sell, and only asked us to gather the Immortal Coins within five years. We could buy it at any time. As Fifth Realm and below scattered cultivators, we've spent years traveling through various countries, willing to do any work for money, but unfortunately, we're still short five hundred Snow Coins."
The woman felt bitter inside.
Actually, her husband hadn't mentioned some things that were truly hard to bring up. To enter the Ghost Fiend Valley and earn the full five hundred Snow Coins, the pills they bought to replenish qi had cost another hundred or so Snow Coins.
Along their journey so far, the silver they earned, when converted to Immortal Coins, didn't even amount to one Snow Coin.
Money in the Ghost Fiend Valley was not so easily earned.
They saw that the young swordsman in blue, carrying a sword on his back, seemed to be hesitating about something. He reached out and pressed the cinnabar-red wine gourd at his waist, apparently thinking.
The couple didn't say anything more, afraid of sounding like they were complaining. On the path of cultivation, for wild cultivators to encounter immortals of higher realms and have both sides remain unharmed was already a great blessing; they dared not hope for more. Having wandered the secular world for years, this couple had seen countless wild cultivators die violently. They had seen so much that even the sorrow of a fox mourning the death of another fox had faded.
When the young swordsman looked up, both of them tensed.
Chen Ping'an asked, "I entered the Ghost Fiend Valley to temper myself. Initially, I had no intention of seeking wealth, so I didn't bring anything to store items. Unexpectedly, at Crow Ridge earlier, I was inexplicably besieged by fierce ghosts and malevolent spirits. Though the consequences are endless, I still managed a small gain. How about this: you and your wife are carrying large chests anyway. You can help me take those bones out of here. I estimate they can at least sell for a few Minor Heat Coins. At the Naihe Pass market, sell the bones first, then wait for me for a month. If I show up, you can take a twenty percent cut of the profit. If I don't appear, you don't need to wait for me. No matter how many Immortal Coins you sell them for, they'll belong to the two of you."
The woman was stunned and was about to speak when the man grabbed her hand firmly and cut her off. "Young master, have you considered that if we sell the bones, get the Snow Coins, and then just leave, aren't you afraid?"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Since I dare to make this deal, do you think I'm worried about not being able to find two wild cultivators like you afterward?"
The man asked again, "Then why doesn't the young master simply leave the Ghost Fiend Valley with us? We could be your porters for a while, earn some hard-earned money, and we'd be satisfied as long as we don't lose out. You could sell the bones yourself."
Chen Ping'an frowned. "I told you, I came to the Ghost Fiend Valley to hone my cultivation, not to seek wealth. If you're worried this is a trap, then forget it."
The man glanced at the dense forest in the distance and laughed heartily, "Then I'll go with you to Crow Ridge, young master. A windfall like this—if I missed it, wouldn't I be defying heaven? Rest assured, young master. My wife and I will certainly wait the full month at the Naihe Pass market!"
Without allowing his wife to refuse, he made her remove her large chest. Carrying one chest in each hand, he followed Chen Ping'an back to Crow Ridge.
When he saw the five bones of excellent quality, he was dumbfounded. Carefully, he packed them into the wooden chests.
Meanwhile, the young man in the bamboo hat was crouched not far away, examining some rusty armor and weapons.
Finally, when the couple each carried their heavy chests back along the winding path, they felt as if they were in a dream, unable to believe it.
The man was silent for a long time, then grinned. "Like a dream."
The woman said softly, "Can such good fortune really exist in this world?"
The man looked back, but the figure was already gone. Turning around, he comforted her, "Those with great skill act in unexpected ways. Think of it as us meeting a sword immortal."
The man gradually came to his senses and said in a low voice, "Think about it—how many wild cultivators roaming the mountains and swamps would dare to say 'they can at least sell for a few Minor Heat Coins'? Could we say that? Even if we forced ourselves, could we say it as naturally as that young master? I suspect he must be a direct disciple of one of those major immortal academies, definitely not a wild cultivator as we first guessed. Only then could he be so generous and act with such boldness. And that threat he made—listen, it's clear he's a registered immortal master from an astonishing family."
The woman thought about it and smiled softly. "I wonder if that young master said some things deliberately for us to hear."
The man grinned. "Where in the world is there a cultivator who goes to such trouble to act as a good person? How strange. Could it be that our devout incense burning at the Shaking River shrine actually worked?"
The woman laughed. "Who's to say it didn't?"
Chen Ping'an stood on a high branch, gazing at the distant figures of the couple as they receded.
His eyes were warm. He didn't look away for a long time. Leaning against the trunk, he took off the Sword-Nurturing Gourd and drank, then said with a smile, "Is Lord Pu so leisurely? Aside from ruling Bailong City, you also receive tribute from the eight cities including Tender Skin City in the south. If the *Rest Assured Collection* hasn't misstated, this year is the once-in-sixty-years collection day. You should be very busy, shouldn't you?"
That blue-robed skeleton stood on a nearby tree, smiling faintly, "A heart of a bodhisattva doesn't live long in the Ghost Fiend Valley."
Chen Ping'an asked, "I see. You're curious why I, clearly not a sword cultivator, can skillfully wield this sword on my back. You wanted to see how much of my lifebound acupoints' qi I've consumed. Then Lord Pu could decide whether or not to strike?"
The city lord nodded. "Somewhat disappointed. The qi consumption isn't much. It is undoubtedly a recognized half-immortal weapon."
Chen Ping'an said with some confusion, "With my low cultivation yet possessing such a fine sword, isn't Lord Pu tempted?"
Because the city lord of Bailong City showed no killing aura or murderous intent.
Killing aura is easy to hide, but killing intent is hard to conceal.
Pu Rang, the true name of the Nascent Soul heroic spirit of Bailong City, was one of the few qi refiners among the onlookers who joined the battlefield during that stirring war between kingdoms. He ultimately fell under the siege of a group of earthly immortals serving various nations. Pu Rang wasn't without a chance to escape, but for some unknown reason, he refused to retreat even when exhausted. The *Rest Assured Collection* offered no answer to this matter. The author, taking advantage of his position, even wrote a few extra lines in the book: "I once entrusted Lord Zhu, during his visit to Bailong City, to ask Pu Rang in person, 'A Nascent Soul wild cultivator with bright prospects—why did you seek death on the battlefield below the mountains?' Pu Rang paid no heed. A thousand-year-old mystery, truly a pity."
These were, of course, favorable words.
But the book also contained no shortage of unfavorable words about Pu Rang.
For example, Pu Rang was arrogant and unreasonable. Among the sword cultivators who came to the Ghost Fiend Valley for training, nearly half of those who died were killed by him. Many were young prodigies from top-tier immortal mansions, the finest sword embryos in southern Beiju Continent. For this reason, a major power with a sword immortal in its headquarters personally came south to Skeleton Beach, sword in hand, to visit Bailong City. The result was mutual destruction. The Sword Immortal of the Jade Pure Realm almost dropped realms. When he used his flying sword to break through the sky barrier, the city lord of Skull Pile City ambushed him treacherously, nearly killing him on the spot. The sword immortal's heirloom protective treasure, passed down through generations in the Patriarch Hall, was destroyed. Adding insult to injury, the loss was catastrophic. The only reason was that Pu Rang didn't take the opportunity to strike when his opponent was down. Otherwise, the Ghost Fiend Valley might have gained an unprecedented fifth-realm sword immortal spirit.
Not only that, Pu Rang had also engaged in single combat with two successive sect masters of the Hemp-Clad Sect. The damage to Zhu Quan's cultivation delayed her breakthrough to the Fifth Realm indefinitely. Pu Rang was the number one contributor to the Ghost Fiend Valley's troubles.
Of course, after those life-and-death battles, Pu Rang himself had completely lost the chance to advance to the Jade Pure Realm, and his losses were even greater.
At this moment, Pu Rang glanced at the long sword on Chen Ping'an's back. "A swordsman?"
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Pu Rang asked, "Then why do you ask that? Does the world of swordsmen only allow the living to participate? The dead have no chance?"
Chen Ping'an was bewildered at first, then understood. He cupped his hands in salute.
Pu Rang tugged at the corner of his mouth—a skeletal approximation of a smile—then vanished.
After leaving Crow Ridge, Chen Ping'an continued north along the "official road" of the Ghost Fiend Valley. But whenever there was a fork in the path, he would always take it, walking until the road ended—perhaps at a deep ravine hidden among towering mountains, perhaps at a sheer cliff. Truly worthy of the Ghost Fiend Valley, every place held hidden mysteries. Chen Ping'an sensed a water creature lurking at the bottom of a mountain stream, dormant and nurturing its nature. But when Chen Ping'an crouched by the stream to cup water and wash his face, the creature remained patient, choosing not to emerge and ambush him. Since it was cautious, Chen Ping'an didn't take the initiative.
As for the cliff facing opposite, an iron chain bridge hung there, its wooden planks long rotted away. Only the chains swayed slightly in the wind. For qi refiners and pure martial artists, crossing would be easy. But Chen Ping'an could see that in the middle of the bridge, not only was a huge black python as thick as a pillar coiled around, flicking its tongue, but nearby, a very wide spiderweb was set up to catch birds. The spider spirit's head was only the size of a fist, having already successfully transformed into the face of a woman.
If a Taoist or monk happened to travel here and saw this scene, they might draw their sword to slay demons and accumulate yin virtue.
But for Chen Ping'an, even if these demons wanted to eat a person and create a calamity, they'd have to encounter someone first.
This time, Chen Ping'an took another fork deep into the forest and arrived at the foot of a high mountain, where he found a dilapidated building resembling a rest pavilion or small shrine. The book didn't record it. Chen Ping'an planned to rest a moment before climbing the mountain. The shrine was nameless, but the mountain was quite famous. According to the *Rest Assured Collection*, this mountain was called Precious Mirror Mountain. Midway up, there was a mountain stream. Legend had it that in ancient times, an immortal was wandering the world when he encountered the Thunder God, Lightning Mother, and other deities performing wind and rain magic. The immortal accidentally dropped a precious immortal artifact, the Light Mirror, and the stream was formed where the mirror fell to the ground.
The Hemp-Clad Sect cultivators speculated in the book that this ancient mirror was very likely a rare treasure of magical artifact rank, concealing incredible fortunes.
Chen Ping'an wanted to go take a look. Since traveling through the Ghost Fiend Valley, it wasn't really about going out of one's way. In the past, Chen Ping'an was very resigned to fate regarding opportunities, convinced that good fortune would never come his way. Now he had changed a lot, but still couldn't meddle with things like the Mural City Goddess and Heavenly Official Diagram. As for other things—unclaimed treasures in secret immortal mansions, heavenly materials and earthly treasures born of chance—Chen Ping'an wanted to try his luck.
Inside the dilapidated shrine, Chen Ping'an lit a campfire. The flames glowed with a faint, eerie green, like ghost fire in a graveyard.
As Chen Ping'an was eating his dry rations, he noticed an old man approaching from the path outside, leaning on a wooden staff and carrying a gourd on it. Chen Ping'an ate without greeting.
The old man stood at the shrine's entrance and asked with a smile, "Young master, are you planning to go to the deep stream on Precious Mirror Mountain?"
Chen Ping'an nodded. "Exactly."
The old man sighed. "Young master, I don't mean to frighten you, but that place is extremely dangerous. Though it's called a stream, it's actually deep, steep, and wide, like a lake. The water is so clear you can see the bottom. It seems to live up to the saying: 'Water too clear has no fish.' There are absolutely no fish in the stream. Crows, sparrows, birds, snakes, foxes, dogs, or beasts—none dare drink there. Birds often fly in and drown. Over time, it became known as the Soul-Capturing Stream. The lakebed is covered in bones, not only from birds and beasts but also from many cultivators who didn't believe the tales and died gazing at the lake, their cultivation accomplishments wasted, adding to the stream's water fortune."
Chen Ping'an smiled and asked, "Then might I ask, old sir, whether you advise me to go view the lake, or to turn back?"
"What does the young master mean by that?"
The old man looked puzzled. "Naturally, I hope you won't risk the scenery. Since you are a cultivator, you must have seen splendid sights everywhere. Why risk danger for a mountain stream? For a thousand years, not only have the Hemp-Clad Sect cultivators failed to uncover the mystery, but even earthly immortals who entered this mountain haven't obtained the fortune. You clearly come from a distinguished family. A son of a wealthy house does not sit in a dangerous place. I've said my piece, lest you misunderstand me."
Chen Ping'an glanced at the wooden staff in the old man's hand, which had a few green buds sprouting from it, and asked, "Is the old sir the local earth god here?"
The old man, holding his staff and stroking his beard, smiled faintly. "Among the mountains of the Ghost Fiend Valley, there is no title of 'earth god,' but there is indeed the substance. I'm fortunate enough to have some standing. I'm a poor excuse for an earth god of Precious Mirror Mountain, a grain of sand. Those heroic spirits who occupy high cities and great towns, enjoying incense and fortune, are like the sun and moon."
Chen Ping'an asked, "Could I ask the old sir's true form?"
The old man blew his beard and glared angrily. "You young fellow, utterly lacking in manners! In the mortal world, monks don't speak of their names and Taoists don't speak of their ages. As a cultivator, when meeting a mountain or water spirit, how can you ask about past lives! I'm sure you're not a registered immortal master. What's this? A wild cultivator who couldn't make it outside, so you come to our Ghost Fiend Valley, to my Precious Mirror Mountain, to trade your life for fortune? Die and be done, or if you live, you get rich?"
The old man shook his head and turned to leave. "Looks like there'll be another corpse at the bottom of the stream."
The gourd tied to his staff was as green as if freshly picked from a vine, dripping jade.
Chen Ping'an reached out to warm his hands by the fire and smiled.
That old man, who called himself the earth god of Precious Mirror Mountain, had such crude tricks and illusions that they were like a sieve leaking air—hardly worth mentioning.
It was a struggle for him to find that staff with green buds sprouting from dead wood and that emerald gourd wafting a wild fragrance.
But the old man's fox stench was still not well concealed. In the Haoran World, fox spirits could never become mountain gods—that was an iron rule.
Chen Ping'an guessed that this old fox's true identity was likely the river god of that stream, hoping Chen Ping'an would accidentally drown but also afraid he might take the Precious Mirror fortune, losing the fox's foundation of the Great Dao. That's why he came to see for himself. Of course, the old fox might also be a lackey for some mountain or water deity on Precious Mirror Mountain. But records about deities in the Ghost Fiend Valley were sparse, only mentioning that they were few, and generally only city lord heroic spirits counted as half. As for other high mountains and great rivers, the self-proclaimed yin creatures had no legitimacy.
Chen Ping'an was drinking wine.
Then the old fox appeared again outside the dilapidated shrine, looking embarrassed. "You must have seen through my identity, young master. My petty tricks must have been laughable. Indeed, I am an old fox from West Mountain. And on Precious Mirror Mountain, there has never been an earth god or river god. I grew up in the Precious Mirror Mountain area, cultivating, and I rely on the spiritual qi of that stream. However, I have a daughter. On the day she achieved Tao and transformed into human form, she made a vow: whether cultivator, spirit, or ghost, anyone who can swim in the stream and retrieve a golden hairpin she accidentally dropped into the water as a child can marry her."
The old man sighed. "I've been waiting for several hundred years now. My poor daughter is as beautiful as a national beauty. I don't know how many nearby ghost generals have proposed marriage, but I've refused them all, causing no small resentment. If this continues, I won't even be able to survive in the Precious Mirror Mountain area. So when I saw you, a handsome young master, I thought if you could retrieve the hairpin, it would relieve me of this immense worry. After you retrieve it, whether you take my daughter with you when you leave the Ghost Fiend Valley, I don't care. Whether you share a bed or fly together, whether you treat her as a concubine or a maidservant, I also don't mind. Our West Mountain fox clan has never bothered with mortal etiquette."
Chen Ping'an waved his hand. "I don't care what scheme you have. Don't come any closer. How many times have you overdone it? Do you want me to count?"
The old man asked tentatively, "Did I exaggerate again about the golden hairpin?"
Chen Ping'an nodded. "What do you think?"
The old man beat his chest and stamped his feet, turning away angrily. Then he stopped, turned back, and said spitefully, "You people from outside, how can you be so cunning and hard to fool?! Is the world outside the Ghost Fiend Valley nothing but a den of swindlers?"
Chen Ping'an couldn't help but laugh.
The old man glanced at the dry rations in Chen Ping'an's hand and began to curse. "A pauper! No money, no looks! How could my daughter fancy you? Get out of here, you shameless thing. You dare come to Precious Mirror Mountain in search of treasure..."
Chen Ping'an raised the few remaining dry rations and said with a smile, "Wait until I finish eating, then I'll settle accounts with you."
The old West Mountain fox quickly fled into the distance.
After finishing his dry rations and resting a moment, Chen Ping'an extinguished the campfire, sighed, picked up a half-burned piece of firewood, and walked out of the shrine. In the distance, a woman dressed in red and green approached leisurely. She was skinny to the bone, but more importantly, Chen Ping'an instantly recognized her true form—it was that old West Mountain fox, having hidden his staff and gourd somewhere. Without further ceremony, Chen Ping'an threw the firewood. It struck the old fox's forehead—his illusions and disguise were far inferior to the masks made by Zhu Lian—and sent him flying backward like a kite with a cut string. He twitched a few times and fell unconscious. He probably wouldn't wake up for a while.
Finally obtaining a moment of peace, Chen Ping'an slowly climbed the mountain. When he reached the vicinity of the stream, he was stunned. Still at it? Couldn't he just give up?
Without a word, Chen Ping'an reached out, weighed a stone in his hand, and threw it, adding a bit more force than before. He had been too soft-hearted back at the foot of the mountain.
A woman sat on a white stone cliff by the stream, her back to Chen Ping'an, legs crossed sideways. Beside her, a pair of embroidered shoes were neatly placed. She leaned on a small green umbrella, gently twirling its handle.
If not for the disgusting scene before, Chen Ping'an wouldn't have struck outright just from this picture.
But the stone shot straight through the small green umbrella, hit her head with a bang, and she slumped to the ground.
Chen Ping'an had been considerate—he hadn't hit the back of her head directly, which would have sent her tumbling into the strange stream. Instead, he just knocked her sideways, unconscious, without letting her fall into the water.
Chen Ping'an ignored the old West Mountain fox for the moment.
Taking a deep breath, he cautiously approached the water's edge and peered down. The stream was indeed deep and steep, yet crystal clear to the bottom. Only bones lay starkly on the bottom, along with a few faintly glowing specks—likely spiritual treasures carried by qi refiners who had fallen here, their spiritual qi eroded over millennia until only this faint light remained. Even a dharma artifact, if it had fallen here, might not be worth more than a spiritual artifact now.
Chen Ping'an entertained a faint hope of finding one or two water-attributed dharma artifacts among those glimmers. If they had fallen into this stream, their quality might have even improved through tempering.
But he remained wary of this Soul-Capturing Stream, given its strange affinity for causing living beings to throw themselves into the water.
Suddenly, Chen Ping'an turned his head. From the forest, a short old man came running, a wooden staff tied with a gourd in his hand. He sprinted toward the stream, wailing, "Oh, my poor daughter! How could she die here before getting married?"
Chen Ping'an's head began to ache.
He looked across the stream to a pitted white stone cliff. A ragged man sat up, stretching lazily. Then he swaggered to the water's edge, sat down, stuck his feet into the water, and laughed heartily. "White clouds above my head as a high crown, I wear the green mountains as my robe, green water as shoes on my feet. If I'm not an immortal, who is?"
The old West Mountain fox suddenly raised his voice even louder, cursing angrily. "You destitute bastard whose pants are about to show your cock! You're still spouting your crappy poetry here? Weren't you always yelling about being my son-in-law? Now my daughter's been beaten to death by a scoundrel. What do you have to say?"
The man leaned forward, dipped his hands into the water, glanced at Chen Ping'an, then turned to the old fox and laughed. "Don't worry, your daughter's just unconscious. That person's attack was too soft and gentle. It shames me from even pretending to be a hero saving a beauty. Otherwise, you lowly old fox might really have gained a dragon-born son-in-law. Who knows, even Pu Rang might become your friend, and Skull Pile City might invite you as a guest of honor."
In the old fox's arms, the daughter stirred awake, frowning in confusion.
The old fox was so moved he almost wept. "You scared me to death. If you were gone, the bride price from my future son-in-law would also be gone."
The young girl smiled softly, used to her father's schemes. After all, mountain spirits and ghostly creatures were far removed from the mortal customs and teachings of the secular world.
Chen Ping'an turned to the old fox and said, "My apologies to that young lady."
The young girl turned her head, seemingly shy and timid, unwilling to show her face. Not only that, but she also covered her cheek with one hand while using the other to pick up the green umbrella with the hole in it, then breathed a sigh of relief.
The old fox pushed aside the troublesome umbrella, stretched his neck toward the wretched bamboo-hat-wearing young man, and screamed, "A simple apology is enough?! My daughter's face is beautiful enough to topple cities! Losing a single strand of hair is a tremendous loss, let alone being hit so hard by you! Pay up! At least five... no, ten Snow Coins!"
Chen Ping'an casually tossed out ten Snow Coins, but his gaze remained fixed on the man across from him.
The old West Mountain fox, as if his neck had been suddenly gripped, caught the handful of Snow Coins. He held them in his hands and looked down at them, his expression complex.
Across the way, the man who had been splashing water on his face while washing looked up and laughed. "What are you looking at me for? I don't intend to kill you."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Good."
The man pointed at the girl holding the green umbrella and said to Chen Ping'an, "But if you try to take her from me, that's another story."
Chen Ping'an shook his head, too lazy to respond.
But just then, a voice as soft as a mosquito's whisper floated from under the green umbrella. "May I ask the young master's name? Why did you knock me out with a stone? Did you see the golden hairpin at the bottom of the water?"
The old West Mountain fox suddenly shouted, "Two penniless wretches! Whoever has the money is my son-in-law!"
Chen Ping'an ignored him.
The man sat hunched at the water's edge, one hand propping his cheek, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small green umbrella and the bamboo-woven hat.