Chapter 493: A Thousand Mountains and Ten Thousand Rivers, One Bright Moon

Chapter 493: A Thousand Mountains and Ten Thousand Rivers, One Bright Moon

The man who had previously been sleeping soundly in the recess of the rocky cliff by the stream casually shook his sleeves, sending droplets of water splashing into the stream like white pearls. He asked with a smile, "Young master, since things have come to this point, what do you propose?"

Chen Ping'an said, "I don't have much money. I won't compete with you."

The man's face lit up with joy. He nodded and said, "Then I owe you one."

The old fox from the Western Mountain, however, was displeased. He thumped his wooden staff heavily on the ground, then extended two splayed fingers, pointing at Chen Ping'an and the ragged man respectively. "I said, whoever has money becomes my son-in-law, and there's no room for sentiment! You, the young fellow in the bamboo hat, are generous with your spending. I've tested your character time and again, and you've passed every time. Things have come this far, the rice isn't even cooked yet, but you should cherish this opportunity!"

"If my daughter follows you, she'll likely never have to worry about food or clothing in this life. She'll wear gold and silver, and might even resemble a proper young lady more than those female officials under Fan Yunluo of Fur City. As for that beggar, he's been lapping up the cold wind here for months. I know exactly what kind of bird he is—it's as clear as a mirror to me. His mouth is bigger than the heavens and the earth. No, no, no. My daughter was born to enjoy life's blessings; she can't endure hardship. I will absolutely not stand by and watch my precious pearl jump into a pit of fire!"

Chen Ping'an felt he had seen it all now. In his years of travel, he had witnessed mountain gods taking brides, fox spirits seducing scholars, and city gods taking concubines, but he had never seen anyone marry off a daughter so recklessly.

The unremarkable man in ragged clothes said helplessly, "Father-in-law, I truly don't have any money on me—not a single Snow Coin. Your son-in-law can't deceive you. But before I came to this Ghost Gourd Valley, I actually completed a major business deal. Out of necessity, I sold off an entire armory's worth of treasures, along with all the Immortal's Coins and numerous magical artifacts inside, at a discount. But I'm not actually poor."

The old fox was furious. He thumped the ground hard with his staff several times and screamed hoarsely, "Trying to trick me again! Screw your mother! These dog eyes of mine only recognize money!"

Chen Ping'an pulled out a handful of Snow Coins. "This is all the Immortal's Coins I have on me."

The old fox from the Western Mountain said weakly, "You speak in such a roundabout way, shrouded in clouds and mist that I can't tell truth from lies. But it doesn't matter—you're still better than that beggar. You're my son-in-law! From now on, the propagation of our Western Mountain Fox Clan depends on you, son-in-law. While you're young and strong, put in more effort. Oh right, my daughter's name is Wei Taizhen. That's her private name. She also has a younger brother, Wei Gaowu. He's a useless one. Once you enter the family, we're all one family. Remember to look after this brother-in-law in the future. When we all leave the Ghost Gourd Valley together, help him marry seventeen or eighteen immortal women..."

But Chen Ping'an extended his hand toward the man.

The man smiled knowingly. "Lending me these Immortal's Coins would also work. Giving them to me would be even better. That way, I'd have money."

The old fox's eyes darted around. Could this be an accomplice hired by the beggar to scam his daughter?

The girl behind the small green umbrella timidly asked, "Young master, I only ask one thing: did you see a golden hairpin at the bottom of the water?"

Chen Ping'an shook his head honestly. "I did not."

The girl let out a faint sigh and slowly rose. Her figure was graceful and curvaceous, but she still kept her face hidden beneath the green umbrella. The small umbrella, as adorable and charming as its owner, had a pebble-sized hole that somewhat spoiled the view. The girl's voice was actually cool and detached, yet it naturally carried a certain fox-like charm—this was probably the innate divine ability of all fox spirits in the world. "Young master, please don't blame my father. Just treat it as a joke."

The girl tugged at the old fox's sleeve and said softly, "Father, let's go."

The old man shot a sharp glance at the young man in the bamboo hat. The more he looked, the more he seemed like a swindler. With a cold snort, he said, "Marriage is no child's play. We'll discuss this further another time."

The old fox from the Western Mountain and the girl with the umbrella hurriedly left together.

Because of their hurried steps, the emerald green gourd hanging from the staff swayed unsteadily.

Once the two fox spirits, old and young, had left, the stream quickly fell silent again.

No birds passed by. The landscape was quiet and serene, but an eerie stillness permeated the air.

Chen Ping'an put away the handful of Snow Coins into his sleeve.

The man smiled. "Consider me, Yang Chongxuan, half in your debt."

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "No need to be so polite. I just thought it's better to do less than to do more."

The man said nothing more. Probably too hungry to have any energy left, he found a relatively flat stretch of stone cliff and lay down to stare blankly into space.

Chen Ping'an took off his bamboo hat and gazed at the lights in the stream that twinkled like fireflies on a summer night.

Since he had come to Treasure Mirror Mountain, of course he was looking for opportunities and magical artifacts. Although the hope was slim, things depended on human effort. In this world, there were indeed blessings that fell from the sky without any effort, but they were extremely rare. More often, wild cultivators earned money the hard way—swallows carrying mud, ants moving their nests. When one did happen upon a true cultivation opportunity, danger always accompanied fortune. One had to be extremely cautious, and sometimes even risk one's life.

Just like that couple of lower five-reed cultivators who should now be at the Na He Pass market. All the way to Crow Ridge, they had been picking and choosing, working hard, yet they hadn't earned a single Snow Coin.

If they continued north toward Green Reed Town, they might both perish, truly becoming a pair of star-crossed lovers, worthy of their title as Dao companions.

As for the name "Yang Chongxuan," Chen Ping'an searched his memory but found no trace. It wasn't recorded in the Collection of Ease, so he simply made a mental note.

He was probably not a heroic spirit city lord of the Ghost Gourd Valley, nor a powerful specter lord of White Cage City who answered only to brief summons.

He must be a strange and remarkable person who had come here to train.

As for his level of cultivation, it should not be underestimated.

Because Chen Ping'an couldn't discern his background or depth at all.

Like the group of black-robed old men who had passed through the memorial archway earlier, their divine radiance was inwardly concealed, their true spirits deeply hidden. Yet Chen Ping'an could still guess that at least one was a Core Formation Earth Immortal sword cultivator.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Yang Chongxuan was just an alias.

As for Pu Rang of White Cage City, Chen Ping'an's wariness came more from his opponent's overwhelming level of cultivation.

But for some reason, the sense of danger that Yang Chongxuan exuded was even greater than that of Pu Rang.

This was absolutely not because Yang Chongxuan's realm was higher than Pu Rang's Nascent Soul peak.

Even though Chen Ping'an couldn't see through the man's depth, he vaguely felt that compared to Pu Rang, who seemed to be one with heaven and earth, Yang Chongxuan was still missing that "little something." On the path of cultivation, that little something was often a natural moat.

The man claiming to be Yang Chongxuan lay on the opposite shore, crossed his legs, and said with a smile, "If you've come for the greatest opportunity on Treasure Mirror Mountain, I'd advise you to forget it. As for searching for treasures by observing the water, I'd also advise you to know when to stop. If you look too long, your soul will suddenly shiver uncontrollably at some point. You'll lose your composure, your mind will be unsettled, your soul will leave your body, flowing like water into the stream. It will be extremely difficult to retrieve. Throughout this process, anyone below the Earth Immortal realm will be completely unaware of what's happening. Telling you these secret matters about how Treasure Mirror Mountain silently devours people's souls—that repays the half-debt I owe you from earlier."

This stream was said to have been born when the treasure mirror fell to the ground. The hemp-burial sect's Collection of Ease deliberately used this claim to mislead people. It wasn't that those old antiques, accustomed to dealing with corpses and underworld artifacts, were worried about outsiders snatching opportunities. Rather, this object was difficult to find. Moreover, ordinary cultivators who came into the mountains seeking treasures would easily end up like those birds, beasts, and skeletons at the bottom of the water, becoming part of the mountain's water essence. Not only that, but Earth Immortials would have half their souls trapped in the water, unable to escape. The remaining half would enter reincarnation, and even if reborn as humans, for Qi cultivators, an incomplete soul was a major taboo.

"As for why I can cultivate here—of course, I came prepared."

Yang Chongxuan stopped halfway, saying too much would likely make the other party suspicious. He dangled one leg lazily and said, "I'm a fickle person by nature. I like to learn a little bit of everything, varied but not refined."

After hearing this, Chen Ping'an withdrew his gaze and put his bamboo hat back on.

He planned to leave Treasure Mirror Mountain.

Heavenly treasures that appear by fate, rare flowers and herbs in immortal mountains and secret realms—they must be obtained in accordance with the Way, and collected with the proper technique. Both are indispensable, and they require the right time, place, and harmony between people.

What kind of person, in what location, at what season and hour, using what method, and carrying what secret treasure to contain the prize—each link is connected.

A high realm alone is far from enough to determine everything.

The Collection of Ease explicitly records that the city lord of Immortal Shrine City was determined to obtain the opportunity at Treasure Mirror Mountain. But after spending a hundred years of bitter effort, he still couldn't solve its mystery. So he went all out, mobilizing not only the ghost subjects of his own city but also borrowing over a thousand spectral beings from three neighboring allied cities. He even borrowed a batch of talisman-empowered laborers from Pu Rang of White Cage City, specifically used to split peaks and move mountains, attempting to relocate the entire Treasure Mirror Mountain to Immortal Shrine City. But countless resources were expended, and in the end, it was like drawing water with a bamboo basket—all for nothing.

From this, one could see how elusive the karmic fortune of Treasure Mirror Mountain was.

To have the heavenly official goddess painting of Mural City "see eye to eye with you" probably depended solely on fate.

And to retrieve that treasure mirror—no one even knew what was needed. The hemp-burial sect didn't know, and the Ghost Gourd Valley didn't know.

But Chen Ping'an quickly changed his mind. He might as well give it a try.

Some deep-rooted old ways of thinking had to be changed.

He couldn't always assume he couldn't grasp additional opportunities.

---

The old fox from the Western Mountain walked down Treasure Mirror Mountain, one hand holding his staff, the other stroking his beard, sighing all the way.

The girl seemed distracted.

The old man suddenly asked, "Tai Zhen, how about marrying that ghost marshal of Three Dipper City? That spectral being, at least he's the top general under the city lord of Three Dipper City. He's not like ordinary specters. Compared to those who open their blood-red mouths wide or are nothing but bones without half an ounce of flesh, he's at least somewhat presentable. In our part of the world, you could even call him a handsome young man."

The girl looked troubled.

The old man said helplessly, "Yes, that wandering Daoist said back then that your marital match would require a husband who could see the golden hairpin in the deep stream. But how many years has it been? Two hundred? Three hundred? In the market towns outside the Ghost Gourd Valley, at your age, your grandchildren's grandchildren would already have wives and children..."

The girl, bored, gently twisted the small green umbrella with a hole in it, turned her head to look toward the mountainside of Treasure Mirror Mountain, and murmured, "Father, don't rush your daughter. Wait a while longer. At most another hundred years. If I still can't wait, then I'll marry whoever."

The old man sighed mournfully. "Then you must marry into a wealthy family. Preferably not someone too cunning. And above all, he must be filial, know how to treat his father-in-law well. In addition to generous betrothal gifts, he should occasionally honor his father-in-law. And you—once you're married, don't truly become water poured out. Your father's remaining years, whether I can live a few comfortable days, depends on you and your future husband."

The girl hesitated for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Father, is it really true what the ghost marshal of Three Dipper City said? That if your daughter marries him, the city lord of Three Dipper City could help you build a shrine on Treasure Mirror Mountain and become a water god who receives incense offerings?"

The old man sneered, "If you can't trust the words of the living, even less can you trust the ghostly words of such spirits. Do you have any idea how precious mountain and river deities are in the Ghost Gourd Valley? How many city lords, north and south, are there? Very few! With our background, we wouldn't dare to hope for a golden statue and becoming a mountain god. The rules of the Confucian sages are strict. Who dares to defy them? But a water god position, well, that's somewhat plausible. Unfortunately, I know my own measure. I don't have that kind of destiny. The water cultivation techniques on those incomplete ancient scrolls I practice—secretly drinking a bit of Treasure Mirror Mountain's water essence, slowly increasing my cultivation through clumsy methods—that's already the limit."

The girl smiled sweetly. "Father, are you afraid of the suffering of 'wasting away bones and flesh, and frying the soul' that comes with becoming a deity?"

The old man, thick-skinned as he was, said, "Of course! Whether it's the living, the dead, or creatures of the mountains and marshes like us, walking this path through the world is all about seeking happiness. Why is it relatively simple for dynastic heroic spirits to become gods? Because they have the protection of national destiny and merit. For spirits and ghostly beings to become gods, why is it so perilous? Because we're far from the mundane world and can't accumulate hidden virtue. It's like running up a tab with the heavens. I've spent my entire life in this Ghost Gourd Valley—how many living people have I seen? What kind of hidden virtue could I have? And every time I do see a living person, I do nothing but cheat them. I've deceived so many Qi cultivators into going to the stream to observe the water, causing them to lose their souls. All these hundreds of years, every Qingming Festival, I walk around Treasure Mirror Mountain, gathering earth and burning incense. You think I do that for fun? It's because I feel guilty in my heart."

The old man suddenly stamped his foot in frustration. "Daughter, you're so beautiful! Why don't any of the city lords fancy you? Even if you couldn't become a phoenix from a sparrow, even if you couldn't become the primary wife of some city lord, if you were just a favored concubine, your father and that worthless brother of yours would have risen to prominence. Why would we need to hole up in this godforsaken Treasure Mirror Mountain, staring at each other, just muddling along waiting to die? Take that big lecher from Powder Groom City, for example. He used to clamor about wanting to marry you with eight bearers and a formal ceremony. Why has he turned abstinent these past years and lost interest?"

The girl looked somewhat innocent.

Could she force someone to like her?

She had a pair of very beautiful eyes.

The old fox sighed deeply. The Western Mountain Fox Clan was withering away day by day. There weren't many left.

He'd heard that there was a place in Vial Bottle Continent where the fox clan flourished, but the old fox firmly believed that even there, his daughter would still be peerless in beauty.

---

At the entrance to the Fur City City Lord's residence, on the white jade square that shone like a mirror, a little girl stood with her fists clenched at her chest, her face scrunched up, her lips pouting, staring at the battered carriage. She looked like she was about to cry.

She had lost a fortune.

Having escaped death twice in a row, the Fur City city lord felt no relief whatsoever—only anguish.

The first time, she accepted her defeat. Being outmatched in the Ghost Gourd Valley was a common occurrence. Many city lords who had once been glorious in history were now worse off than she was, some serving as beasts of burden for White Cage City and Incense Shrine City, living worse lives than chickens and dogs. And dared those great ghosts, who had once been city lords, to even bark at passersby now?

But the second time, although it seemed mild and without any bloodshed, it was the most heartbreaking for Fan Yunluo.

Owing a debt to the famous "Bone Sword Immortal" of the Ghost Gourd Valley always had to be repaid.

There were no exceptions.

Fan Yunluo sniffled, wiped her face, and walked around her precious carriage, touching here and wiping there, her heart aching.

Repairing it to its former glory would cost quite a few Minor Heat Coins. In the Ghost Gourd Valley, without touching the family fortune, how difficult was it to earn any fresh Immortal's Coins?

Fan Yunluo suddenly banged her forehead against the carriage with a loud thud.

She let out a wailing cry.

The old woman who had luckily returned alive to the city grew even more uneasy. She had fled with the Fur City palace lady ghosts during the incident at Crow Ridge. Some of them, with bad luck compounding misfortune, would have been better off dying under the young sword immortal's blade, but they were captured by that Core Formation ghost creature and his minions. She had hidden quickly and later gathered a few of the Fur City female officials, which could be considered a small merit to offset her fault. But now, seeing the city lord's state, the old woman's heart was pounding. With the city lord acting like this, did she expect her to take out her private savings to repair the treasure carriage?

For a moment, the old woman even considered defecting to another city.

In the Ghost Gourd Valley, big fish eat small fish, small fish eat shrimp, and the lowest shrimp can only eat mud.

Once there was a loss of soldiers and generals, the consequences would be disastrous. It would easily attract the covetous eyes of surrounding powers. If several factions secretly allied and swarmed in, Fur City would surely be torn apart.

Here, the worst thing in any battle was a stalemate or killing a thousand enemies while losing eight hundred of your own. Often, a larger power would take advantage of the weakness. If both sides in the fight ended up sewing clothes for others, what was the point? But once a city in the Ghost Gourd Valley decided to strike, it was usually after careful consideration, having ensured its prey was cornered. Thus, they often struck with deadly precision, ten out of ten certain.

Although Fan Yunluo was at Core Formation, Fur City was still a weak power. So Fan Yunluo loved to play mind games. For example, she half-revealed that she had a good relationship with the hemp-burial sect, claiming she had recognized a direct disciple of their Ancestral Hall stationed at Green Reed Town as her sworn brother. But the old woman knew the truth—it was all lies. If that cultivator had agreed, Fan Yunluo would have been willing to recognize him as a godfather or even an ancestor, let alone a sworn brother. Fortunately, that cultivator was devoted to seeking the Dao and indifferent to worldly affairs. Within the hemp-burial sect, like Yang Lin of Mural City, he was a favored son of heaven with great prospects on the path. He simply couldn't be bothered to argue with Fur City over such petty schemes.

Their Fur City had always been the weakest among the southern cities of the Ghost Gourd Valley. The group of female ghosts she had taken to Crow Ridge were her most capable subordinates. This trip had truly wounded Fur City to its core.

That White Lady had been severely injured. For at least sixty years, and maybe a hundred, she would be half-dead lying in that pool. Losing one combatant wasn't the issue—the White Lady wasn't known for combat anyway. But she was the secret mistress of the Powder Groom City city lord, a fact known to all in the southern Ghost Gourd Valley, hardly a secret. That city lord's wife, however, who was also his Dao companion and the true power behind the throne, had held a grudge against Fur City over the White Lady for a long time.

The old woman lowered her head, her expression uncertain. She thought, maybe I should just go all the way, steal the central array artifact of Fur City's protective array, and defect to the wife of Powder Groom City?

If Powder Groom City swallowed Fur City, then maybe the next Fur City city lord...

she might even have a chance at the position herself.

In the Ghost Gourd Valley, there were a total of thirty-six cities, large and small, north and south. They always had a revolving door of city lords, but the cities themselves were ironclad. Changing a city lord merely meant changing the city's name, according to the new lord's preference.

This was an unwritten rule in the Ghost Gourd Valley, said to have originated from Skeleton Observation Mound City. When attacking and annexing, mutual destruction—as long as the victor exterminated the roots and devoured them alive, torturing and killing ghosts—it didn't matter. The only prohibition was wanton destruction to the point of razing a city to ruins, unless one had the resources and capital to rebuild a city on the ruins within ten years. Otherwise, when the ten years were up, several Earth Immortal ghost marshals from Skeleton Observation Mound City would lead their armies south, leaving no one alive, not even a chicken or a dog.

The old woman hesitated. Although she was leaning toward betraying Fur City and the immature Fan Yunluo, she still had some qualms. Such a vile act of betraying one's master for personal gain was ultimately not well-regarded in the Ghost Gourd Valley. Even if she changed masters, she would be heavily ostracized by the meritorious veterans, who would seize any excuse to cause trouble.

Her only hope was that the wife of Powder Groom City, being a woman herself, might not care about such loyalty.

Fan Yunluo suddenly stopped her manic movements, turned to the old woman, and said pitifully, "That surnamed Pu of White Cage City, after rescuing me, said that this year's tribute requires double the amount. Old Mammy Chang, what can we do about this? With the few remaining soldiers we have, where can we find magical artifacts presentable enough to catch White Cage City's eye?"

The old woman's heart trembled. She forced a smile and said, "City Lord, this is a blessing in disguise! Since the great city lord Pu has personally spoken, we in Fur City won't have to worry about any villains coveting us for at least a hundred years."

Fan Yunluo's childish face was still clouded with worry. "But Fur City's income doesn't cover its expenses. Every time we drain the family fortune to the last drop. Forcing ourselves to survive a hundred years—dying late is still dying."

The old woman had no choice but to squeeze out a smile and comfort her. "City Lord, don't lose heart. A hundred years is neither long nor short. If our luck turns once or twice, Fur City might transform into one of the premier cities of the south. By then, the city lord won't have to worry about the faces of Incense Shrine City or Powder Groom City. Even City Lord Pu might have to rely on you."

Fan Yunluo nodded.

She reached out, scratched the corner of her eye like a kitten, and said doubtfully, "I'm so heartbroken, but I don't even have a few tears. That's a bit improper."

The old woman was speechless.

Fan Yunluo waved her hand grandly, stored the carriage in her sleeve, and walked toward the mansion's gate, shouting, "I'm going to make a straw doll right now and poke that bastard in the bamboo hat to death!"

The old woman followed behind, her mind racing.

Was the city lord's remark a veiled warning to her? Or just a casual comment?

Fan Yunluo stopped walking and suddenly turned around. "By the way, what was that person's name?"

The old woman said awkwardly, "It seems he didn't announce his name."

Fan Yunluo froze like a wooden chicken. Suddenly, she flailed both sleeves, stomped her feet, and wailed miserably, "Even my specialty—making straw dolls—I can't do anymore!"

The old woman was helpless.

How many little straw dolls were piled up in that boudoir within the city lord's mansion? Had any of them ever worked?

Fan Yunluo was already short and wore oversized robes, so when she walked through the mansion, she looked quite a bit like... a walking radish.

---

Back at the deep stream of Treasure Mirror Mountain, Chen Ping'an had made up his mind and tried various methods. For instance, he took out a fishing rod made from Purple Bamboo Island reeds in Inscription Chapter Lake. He fixed his gaze on an object underwater but dared not observe too long. Soon, he held his breath and focused his mind, then cast the hook into the water, attempting to hook several sets of crystalline white bones or some broken magical artifacts emitting faint golden light from the bottom, and drag them out of the stream. But after several tries, Chen Ping'an was astonished to find that the scene at the lake bottom was like a mirage—mere illusions. Every time he lifted the rod, it came up empty.

Chen Ping'an refused to believe it was impossible. He tried several more methods but still couldn't retrieve anything from the water. He thought that perhaps the deep stream had bred the mountain's ethereal energy to form a barrier similar to a mountain-and-river formation. Finally, he pinched out a yellow talisman, a barrier-breaking charm, to open a path. He threw it swiftly into the water, then cast the rod to follow that path into the depths. But the talisman burned quickly in the gloomy water of the stream, and he returned empty-handed.

Chen Ping'an crouched by the water, feeling a pang of regret for the spent barrier-breaking charm.

Yang Chongxuan lay on the snowy white stone cliff on the opposite bank and laughed. "Don't think that such fancy tricks of yours would work. Throughout history, how many Earth Immortal cultivators have exhausted their treasures and magical artifacts? There was even one cultivator who borrowed a priceless aquatic storage bottle, expended massive Qi, and used his divine abilities to draw countless streams of water from this gorge. The water inside the bottle could have flooded a major dynasty's capital city, yet he still couldn't retrieve a single item from this stream. A deal that ruined him. Do you know why?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "I would like to hear Fellow Daoist Yang's explanation."

When traveling abroad, addressing people as Fellow Daoist was the safest way not to offend.

Yang Chongxuan clasped his hands behind his head as a pillow, basking in the sun, squinting at the sky, and said slowly, "Many mountain sects like to use female cultivators with beautiful faces and the technique of 'Flowers in a Mirror, Moon on Water' as a means to make money. Male cultivators in the world look at a bowl of water. Within the water curtain, charming immortal maidens appear close enough to touch. But what is the actual distance? How long is your fishing line? Is it eighty thousand miles?"

Chen Ping'an suddenly understood. "I see. It seems I was overthinking."

Yang Chongxuan said, "For rare treasures in the world, unless they have just appeared and can be considered 'finders keepers,' Treasure Mirror Mountain has been tread upon by countless cultivators for thousands of years. Without some karmic fortune, how can they easily fall into your hands? I've been here for so many years, and I'm still just waiting in vain. So don't feel embarrassed. I used even more absurd methods back then. I jumped directly into the deep stream, trying to reach the bottom. But going down was easy; returning was difficult. I swam for a whole month and nearly drowned in there."

Chen Ping'an sincerely praised, "Fellow Daoist Yang has remarkable cultivation."

Yang Chongxuan sighed. "Just barely getting by. The city lord of Skeleton Observation Mound City is said to have explored the depths of the water for a full year and still couldn't find that golden hairpin that opens the door to the mirror. Although that city lord is a dead thing with a huge advantage, even if I died and became a ghost, I believe I still couldn't last for a year."

Chen Ping'an asked curiously, "The water in this mountain stream is ultimately rich in yin energy. Outside the Ghost Gourd Valley, with the right buyer, a few catties of water might sell for a Snow Coin. That cultivator who borrowed the aquatic storage bottle back then stored so much stream water in the bottle. Why was he ruined instead of making a fortune?"

Yang Chongxuan laughed. "When this water leaves the territory of Treasure Mirror Mountain, the yin energy dissipates rapidly. Unless it's stored in a storage treasure, once too much water is stolen, when taken outside, it bursts like a flood. That upper five-realm cultivator made a mistake back at Skeleton Beach. He took the aquatic storage bottle, which was of magical artifact quality, out from his storage treasure. With too much water stored, the bottle couldn't withstand the impact of the yin energy and exploded on the spot. Fortunately, he was at Skeleton Beach, not far from the Swaying River. If it had been elsewhere, that guy might have been held accountable by the Confucian sages of the academy."

Yang Chongxuan smiled. "Ten catties of unrefined water essence from the mountain stream could sell for a Snow Coin at Skeleton Beach—not difficult. But the prerequisite is that you have a storage treasure and a magical artifact like the aquatic storage bottle. The quality shouldn't be too high, or it will cause trouble. Too low, and it takes up too much space. Those below Earth Immortal dare not come here to draw water. And those who are Earth Immortal don't care about a few Snow Coins."

Chen Ping'an then took off his Nurturing Sword Gourd, dipped it into the mountain stream, and filled the gourd with water.

After all, he was a half-baked Qi cultivator who had opened a Water Mansion. When he paid for that pitcher of gloomy tea at the stall by the Swaying River, it was partly to supplement his Water Qi. If he could fill a gourd with this mountain stream water, at least his trip to Treasure Mirror Mountain wouldn't be a complete waste.

But before leaving the Ghost Gourd Valley, he could indeed make another trip to Treasure Mirror Mountain. He wouldn't dream of an aquatic storage bottle, but he could prepare more containers to store a few thousand catties of mountain stream water. When he returned to Skeleton Beach, he could see if the tea stall owner would do business with him. That would be a considerable income.

Yang Chongxuan glanced at the "cinnabar-red wine gourd" in Chen Ping'an's hand, mildly surprised, but didn't pay much attention.

"Thank you for your advice, Fellow Daoist."

Chen Ping'an stood up, cupped his fists, and said, "Since Treasure Mirror Mountain is not fated for me, Fellow Daoist Yang, I take my leave."

Yang Chongxuan sat up, looking surprised. "You're leaving just like that?"

Chen Ping'an nodded, adjusting his bamboo hat.

Yang Chongxuan lay back on the stone cliff and began to close his eyes and rest. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "He really did leave. Should I call you decisive or impatient?"

The way that person had put away his fishing rod clearly involved a storage treasure, and he hadn't bothered to conceal it.

He had openly dipped his feet into the water, which was also a small gesture of goodwill.

In this Northern Reed Continent, if you wanted to avoid fights, you had to learn to show off your wealth.

Otherwise, with countless ants who had little ability but big tempers, you might crush them under your heel, yet they'd still curse and spit at you until their last breath, unrepentant. Killing them wasn't satisfying. After encountering such situations too often, "Yang Chongxuan" had grown tired and found it boring, gradually changing his nature to become more "benevolent." Take that old fox from the Western Mountain, for example—with that foul mouth of his, if it were the old him, the old fox would have died a hundred times, or at least eighty.

After that young wanderer left Treasure Mirror Mountain, Yang Chongxuan felt a bit better.

That person had said something that struck a chord with him.

Better to do less than to do more.

Especially now, when Yang Chongxuan was at a critical moment for obtaining his karmic fortune.

He sat up, squinted, and stared fixedly at the deep stream as if it could be seen through at a glance.

This treasure mirror—the Collection of Ease's guess was wrong. It wasn't any kind of Bright Mirror, certainly not a precious demon-revealing mirror for targeting demonic creatures. No, it was a long-lost Three Mountains and Nine Marquis Mirror.

And it was a semi-immortal weapon.

---

Chen Ping'an had already left Treasure Mirror Mountain far behind.

To make this trip to Treasure Mirror Mountain, he had already deviated considerably from the route to Green Reed Town.

It seemed that testing his luck wasn't really his strong suit.

If it were Lu Tai or Li Huai, it would be hard to say.

After leaving Treasure Mirror Mountain, Chen Ping'an continued to choose the towering mountain ranges, gradually moving toward Green Reed Town. That Core Formation ghost spirit and its ghost minions still hadn't shown themselves, which made sense. After all, during the battle at Crow Ridge, he had been a bit too aggressive in the chase and hadn't bothered to hide his strength. Fan Yunluo's Fur City side, led by a Core Formation cultivator, had collapsed like a mountain. Those "horse bandits," who had been roaming the Ghost Gourd Valley for years, would surely not come looking for trouble.

The road north was unimpeded by mountains and rivers. Many ghostly spirits and demons that could have caused the death of a mid-five-realm cultivator were mostly cautious, taking one look at Chen Ping'an from afar before retreating into the mountain forests.

For example, the giant python and spider spirit on the iron-chain bridge—for that Dao companion couple, just laying eyes on them might have been a death sentence, even without risking crossing the bridge.

At dusk that day, Chen Ping'an stopped to rest in a peach grove.

Of course, the peach grove was strange—there was no reason for peach blossoms to bloom in the dead of winter.

But during this trip with his sword through the Ghost Gourd Valley, Chen Ping'an wasn't afraid of the bizarre; he was afraid of nothing being out of the ordinary.

Earlier, outside the peach grove, there stood two stone tablets of uneven height, like a pair of neighbors in a huff, each engraved with the names "Great Full Moon Temple" and "Small Xuan Du Temple."

If it weren't for the word "Small" before "Xuan Du Temple," Chen Ping'an would never have walked into the peach grove.

Because the real Xuan Du Temple was a major immortal sacred site in the Azure Essence Heaven, one that dared to defy the control of the three leaders.

It was said that after Daoist Number Two became the head of one sect, the only time he used his immortal sword in his own realm was within Xuan Du Temple.

Although Chen Ping'an was certain that the Small Xuan Du Temple was not that Daoist sacred land, so famous that even the Grand Peace Heaven had heard of it, he still treaded lightly before entering the grove. He stepped on his flying sword, First Fifteen, and rose into the air for a bird's-eye view. He found that this vast peach grove, covering no less than a thousand acres, likely had no temple or temple structures at all.

This peach grove was not recorded in the hemp-burial sect's Collection of Ease at all.

There should be no fierce ghosts or great demons.

Chen Ping'an found that there wasn't a single withered peach branch around him, only an exaggerated canopy overhead. The fragrance of peach blossoms was no longer pleasant—after smelling it for too long, it was almost cloying to the point of disgust.

Chen Ping'an took off his bamboo hat, sat cross-legged, and pinched out a talisman of Yang Essence to light a lamp. He rubbed it gently, and the talisman burned slowly, at the same speed as those on the roads of the Ghost Gourd Valley. It seemed that the yin-killing aura here was indeed unremarkable. But the fragrance permeating the peach grove was a bit excessive. Chen Ping'an released his fingers, bent down, placed the talisman paper in front of him, and began to practice his sword-stove standing technique, circulating that pure true Qi like a fire dragon traveling through his Qi Mansions, precisely to prevent this fragrance from invading his body. He shouldn't capsize in the gutter.

From underground came a woman's laughter, like silver bells.

Chen Ping'an ignored it.

The laughter gradually stopped, replaced by a seductive voice. "Such a handsome young gentleman. Enter my pink tent, sniff my hair's fragrance. What great fortune! If I were you, I would never leave, stay here forever, life after life."

Chen Ping'an opened his eyes and focused his gaze. On the ground, a layer of mist steamed and swirled, but it didn't rise above a foot in height.

Chen Ping'an was somewhat surprised. "Why did the hemp-burial sect intentionally omit your existence, Peach Spirit?"

The entire peach grove began to sway slowly, like a group of pink-skirted beauties dancing gracefully.

As if the thousands of peach trees were just her hair.

Hidden somewhere deep underground, she laughed softly, her seductive voice drifting through the earth. "Of course the hemp-burial sect cultivators are afraid of me. What else? Little gentleman, you're so handsome, but a bit foolish. Otherwise, you'd be a perfect match."

After a moment, her laughter ceased, and she asked in surprise, "Eh? How can you not move your body or your mind? Are you a monk who hasn't shaved his head? Or a stinky Daoist who doesn't wear a Daoist robe?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "If you keep playing tricks, I'll chop down all the peach trees as sword practice and make you a nun."

She wasn't angry; instead, she laughed joyfully. "Fine, fine! I await the little gentleman's immortal sword technique."

Chen Ping'an looked up.

A young Daoist boy carrying a whisk had arrived with teleportation-like speed. He had rosy lips and white teeth, overflowing with Qi, and an unmistakable aura of spiritual radiance.

He was a transcendent being on the verge of becoming a Core Formation Earth Immortal.

The Daoist boy's eyes were cold. He glanced at Chen Ping'an and said, "This is where my master and a fellow Daoist live as neighbors in thatched huts. For a thousand years, it has been recognized as a paradise within the Ghost Gourd Valley. We do not like outsiders disturbing us. Even Pu Rang of White Cage City would not casually enter this grove unless he had important business. You, a mere traveler, why are you arguing with this little peach spirit? Leave immediately!"

The peach spirit was clearly in awe of the little Daoist boy, but she muttered resentfully, "Paradise, my foot. They just used immortal magic to trap me here to guard the temple's residual spiritual energy from leaking out."

"Insolent!"

The little Daoist boy's expression turned severe. He swung his whisk, and a bolt of lightning as thick as an arm instantly blasted into the ground. The peach spirit groaned dully from deep underground, and peach blossoms rained down from the trees.

Chen Ping'an understood somewhat.

Within the Ghost Gourd Valley, there would certainly be some accomplished cultivators who were not afraid of yin-killing auras, who had taken root here. On the contrary, they relied on the overwhelming yin energy that filled heaven and earth to sharpen their Dao foundation.

The little Daoist boy, still unsatisfied, twirled his whisk again. Thunder and lightning intertwined into an immortal fishing net that sank into the ground. A loud rumbling echoed from below. "Three days without a beating, and you'll be tearing down the house! If my master hadn't shown mercy, how could you, a mere peach spirit with only illusory techniques, have established yourself in the Ghost Gourd Valley? And you eavesdrop on my master's discussions of the Dao with his fellow cultivator, using that opportunity to slowly cultivate yourself to the Dragon Gate realm! You ungrateful spirit..."

The peach spirit pleaded pitifully, begging the fierce little Daoist boy to show mercy.

The more the little Daoist boy spoke, the angrier he became. He moved his whisk again, summoning an anomaly from the high clouds. A heavenly thunderbolt, a secret treasure of his sect, was about to descend to teach the peach spirit a lesson.

Chen Ping'an had no choice but to speak up. "Little Daoist priest, please calm down. I'll leave the peach grove immediately."

A dark cloud separated from the sea of clouds and began to descend on its own, lightning flickering within, its momentum astonishing.

The little Daoist boy sneered. "If we weren't cultivating in this peach grove, you, who stumbled in here, would have already had all your Yang essence drained by this peach spirit, who excels at innate seduction techniques. You ungrateful creature, wallowing in misplaced compassion. Just as my master says—you mundane mortals who steep yourselves in the world of men day after day..."

Chen Ping'an took a step back, then swiftly threw a punch toward the high clouds. Using the Cloud-Steam Great-Marsh Technique, he dispersed the impending thundercloud. The chaotic Qi spread in all directions, like a mountain wind surging, buffeting the peach grove and causing a rain of bright red peach blossoms to fall in profusion.

The little Daoist boy frowned in silence.

He wasn't afraid, just a little surprised.

Such a young martial grandmaster? Judging by this punch, it was condensed and magnificent. Although he hadn't yet reached the Golden Body realm, he was close.

But the little Daoist boy forgot that he himself was a "so young" Dragon Gate realm cultivator.

Because he had broken through to the Cavern Dwelling realm too early, his master had explained the numerous mysteries on the path of cultivation and asked if he wanted to take the opportunity to preserve his appearance. Back then, he was young and ignorant, thinking that the body was just a stinking bag of skin. Since it wouldn't hinder future cultivation, it wouldn't be bad to stop "growing." So his appearance had been fixed ever since. Over the next sixty years, the "little Daoist boy" nearly regretted it to the point of wanting to die.

He should have let his body grow to a man's coming-of-age before "stopping."

So every time he sneaked out for leisure and ran into Fan Yunluo, who also looked like a little girl, he grew extremely annoyed. And that old monk had to add fuel to the fire, teasing that he and Fan Yunluo were truly a golden couple.

Chen Ping'an withdrew his fist and smiled. "What you said was correct. But when it comes to reasoning, if you truly want the other person to listen, rather than just satisfying your own conscience, then your attitude and tone are also important. It's never a bad thing to be a bit calmer and more gentle in your tone."

The peach spirit, who had nearly been frightened out of her wits, quickly chimed in, "Makes sense, makes sense. These words are worth listening to."

The little Daoist boy, one arm holding the snow-white whisk with a handle made of heroic spirit bone, hesitated.

Killing at the slightest disagreement was not something a Daoist of Small Xuan Du Temple should do.

But since the other party was a martial artist training in the Ghost Gourd Valley, there was nothing wrong with a friendly spar, right? Master wouldn't be angry, would he?

Just then, a golden-armored, superhuman figure strode over. He looked at the little Daoist boy's back and said solemnly, "Xu Song, the True Lord invites this young gentleman to the temple for a talk."

The little Daoist boy fumed. "What merit does this guy have to enter our Small Xuan Du Temple?!"

The golden-armored being ignored the little Daoist boy's rage. He had already turned to look at Chen Ping'an, who had just put on his bamboo hat. "Young master, our True Lord invites you. If you are not in too much of a hurry, you can come to our Small Xuan Du Temple and drink a cup of thousand-year peach pulp tea."

Chen Ping'an cupped his fists and declined. "I have intruded upon your peach grove and already disturbed your True Lord's secluded cultivation. I dare not trouble your temple further. I shall take my leave."

The golden-armored being nodded. "In that case, I will not insist. If you ever wish to come back to the temple for tea, simply summon this peach spirit here and ask her to lead the way."

Chen Ping'an turned and left the peach grove.

The little Daoist boy, named Xu Song, snorted coldly. "Good riddance. Saves a cup of peach pulp tea that old skeleton Pu has only drunk three times!"

The peach spirit underground flattered, "Indeed, indeed. This man has no foresight. He missed a blessing as vast as the sky. Next time he comes to the peach grove, I'll hide and refuse to see him."

Xu Song snapped angrily, "Is my master's decree something you dare to treat as a joke?!"

The peach spirit immediately begged for mercy. "I dare not, I dare not. Absolutely not."

Inside an elegant Daoist temple surrounded by peach trees, an old Daoist with a childlike face and snow-white hair sat opposite a gaunt old monk. The monk was as thin as a stick, yet he wore an exceptionally large monk's robe.

The old Daoist smiled slightly. "What did you think of that punch?"

The old monk said slowly, "What is too hard is easily broken."

The old Daoist glanced at a cup of tea on the table and asked, "Do you think this cup of peach pulp tea needs to be kept? Do you think that young man will return to the peach grove and come to this temple to drink it all down?"

The old monk's expression was wooden. "Too many words lead to errors."

The old Daoist wore no Daoist crown, only a headband. His Daoist robe was old and ordinary, with no trace of immortal elegance.

He sighed softly. "The three goddesses of Mural City have already stepped out of their paintings, each following their own master. A five-realm cultivator from another continent and He Xiaoliang have barged into the Ghost Gourd Valley together, heading toward Skeleton Observation Mound City. Yang Chongxuan shows signs of grasping his karmic fortune. If Pu Rang makes any more trouble and forces Zhu Quan to act personally, this Ghost Gourd Valley will be in complete chaos. Even our last remaining paradise here might lose its peace."

The withered old monk nodded. "The True Lord has great foresight."

When he heard the name Pu Rang, the old monk silently chanted a Buddhist verse in his heart.

The old Daoist had already noticed the change in his companion's mental state, but they knew each other through and through, so there was no need to say more.

The old Daoist looked into the distance. "Tell me, for us who cultivate the Dao, since even the boundary between life and death is blurred, then where in heaven and earth is not a prison? The less you know, the easier it is to find peace. But once you know, how can you truly be at peace?"

The old monk thought for a moment, then lowered his head and pressed his palms together, revealing his withered yet golden-hued hands. "My Buddhist Dharma is not yet enough to fill this robe. How can I see the Buddha and ask this ancient, difficult question?"

The old monk slowly rose, pressed his palms together, and bowed.

The old Daoist, not one to stand on ceremony with this old friend, simply nodded.

The old monk took one step and vanished, returning to the Great Full Moon Temple. Like Small Xuan Du Temple, it was an immortal mansion within the peach grove, a separate small world. Unless one was at the Nascent Soul level, no one could find or enter it, even if they wandered through the peach grove for a thousand years.

Inside the temple, the sound of Buddhist chanting lingered. An old monk sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion. A few monks walked slowly along the corridor, heads bowed. A young novice diligently swept under a tree. Each was busy, but there was no exchange of words between them.

The withered old monk stood still. In his field of vision, those monks and nuns were all just skeletons.

Rounding the great hall, shrouded in mist so that the golden Buddha could not be seen, the withered old monk pressed his palms together with a pious expression and silently walked forward.

Beside this old monk, who was almost at the pinnacle of the Golden Body Arhat realm, one after another, monks with features similar to his but of different ages appeared out of nowhere, wearing different monk's robes. There were four in total, each asking questions. But the old monk ignored them, seeing and hearing nothing, simply walking forward.

A young monk sighed regretfully. "Why didn't you drink that cup of peach pulp tea? Drinking it could have saved you several years of cultivation! It would bring you closer to the Pure Land of the Western Buddhist Paradise, even if just half a step."

A middle-aged monk, furious, roared at the old monk like thunder. "What kind of Buddhist Dharma are you cultivating? There are so many monsters and demons in the Ghost Gourd Valley—why don't you go and deliver them?!"

A monk in a magnificent robe, with a haughty expression, looked sideways at the old monk and sneered. "Such bitter cultivation is not the true Dharma."

An old monk, closest in age and appearance to the withered one, asked softly, "Are you me? Am I you?"

Finally, a tall young monk, facing away from the old monk who was walking steadily forward, looked at a blooming peach tree by a bamboo fence and murmured absentmindedly, "Peach blossoms smile out from the fence, half-open and half-closed, full of feeling."

The old monk's figure paused slightly, but he soon strode forward again. After a moment, he returned to his normal pace.

If one didn't look up, a mortal entering this temple would only think it was sunny.

In truth, if they looked up, they would see a crescent moon hanging in the sky.

Inside Small Xuan Du Temple, the old Daoist came to a peach tree that towered into the clouds. He crouched down, pinched some soil between his fingers, and rubbed it gently.

The soil on the old Daoist's fingertips was the ten-thousand-year earth, as heavy as gold, sought after by mountain cultivators.

The old Daoist was silent.

Soil, too, had its age, its "birth, aging, sickness, and death." Mortals say "as still as a mountain," but that's not entirely true. In the end, it's because the lifespans of ordinary people are limited, and time is short. They see dimly, not clearly or far enough. Hence, the Buddhists say: "When the Buddha looks at a bowl of water, he sees forty-eight thousand insects." And that old monk of the Great Full Moon Temple used this as a method of meditative concentration—but he looked a bit wider, at the moon.

As for this old Daoist, he looked a bit more quietly, at the changes in these dead things—the soil—over the years.

The temple and the monastery had been neighbors, and they had been arguing about their respective methods for a thousand years, yet they still couldn't determine who was superior.

Now it was just a question of whether he would become a Celestial Master first, or the old monk would become a Bodhisattva first.

The little Daoist boy Xu Song cautiously came to his master's side. Finding his master deep in thought, Xu Song kept silent.

The old Daoist didn't turn his head but asked with a smile, "Outside the temple, not only did you fail to show off your authority, but you were also lectured by a young martial artist. Did you think what he said made sense?"

Xu Song held his whisk, looking glum. "He might be right, but what does that have to do with me?"

The old Daoist nodded, dropped the soil, smoothed it gently with his jade-white palm, and stood up. He said, "All creatures with spirit and sentient beings, as they climb higher, will come to understand more and more the ruthlessness of the Great Dao. If you can learn from the Dragon Tiger Mountain Daoists—slaying demons, doing good deeds daily, and accumulating merit—that wouldn't be bad either. But it's even better to follow me and learn the method of ruthlessness, to seek the truth through the Dao."

The old Daoist smiled. "The method of ruthlessness does not teach you to act viciously and kill innocents. Rather, it teaches you to observe how the four seasons make the year, and the constancy of heaven and earth."

Xu Song solemnly bowed to his master with an official Daoist salute.

The old Daoist turned his head toward the direction of the Great Full Moon Temple and said softly, "Greed, anger, ignorance, pride, doubt—if the five poisons are not removed while you bury your head in ascetic cultivation, then in the end, it's not true meditative concentration but evil meditation."

The old Daoist then looked northward, beyond the peach grove. "Xu Song, if you can't for now grasp the Great Dao, you might try to experience being a 'good person' in the worldly sense. But remember, engaging in the world and doing good has little to do with the good or bad the world returns to you. Different paths lead to the same destination. This, too, is part of the method of ruthlessness... among other things. The Dao follows what is natural."

Xu Song shook his head. "I can't be that kind of good person."

The old Daoist neither agreed nor disagreed.

Xu Song asked cautiously, "Master, is the real Xuan Du Temple also like this, with spring all year round and peach blossoms in bloom?"

The old Daoist laughed. "Then you shouldn't stay in this Grand Peace Heaven. Go see the Azure Essence Heaven, where the Daoists rule. Then you'll know the truth. If you truly mean it, your master will have this peach spirit carry the mountain away on her back when we leave the Ghost Gourd Valley. You can first go cultivate with that young sect leader surnamed He, then find a way to Azure Essence Heaven. Your chances of visiting Xuan Du Temple will naturally be greater."

Xu Song shook his head vehemently. "No, no! Wherever my master cultivates the Dao, that's where I'll cultivate."

The old Daoist patted Xu Song's head.

Xu Song squinted his eyes in a smile.

The old Daoist suddenly said with emotion, "It just occurred to me that it's been a long time since I last had a bowl of Gloomy Tea from the Swaying River. After a thousand years, the flavor must be even richer and mellower."

---

The twilight was gloomy. Green Reed Town was not far away now, only two hundred miles. Chen Ping'an passed by a dark green lake.

Earlier, from a distant mountaintop, he had seen a bonfire burning here, so he had come over. If he encountered a night-strolling spectral being, he could conveniently kill it and sell it for money.

During this trip to the Ghost Gourd Valley, he hadn't experienced much training—just one fight at Crow Ridge and one punch in the peach grove. But he had earned a fair amount.

Never mind the Snowflake Dharma Robe of that Fur City White Lady; there were also a dozen or so valuable gleaming white bones. As for what price the latter would fetch, that was still uncertain.

As for the water from the deep stream of Treasure Mirror Mountain, although it wasn't particularly valuable, it at least saved Chen Ping'an some minor trouble. Earlier, he had consumed two catties of mountain stream water in one go, then breathed and exhaled, immersing his mind in inner observation. He entered his Water Mansion, and the green-clad boys inside were quite delighted and joyful.

The scene by the lake was somewhat unexpected. It was that handsome young man in mud-gold robes, with two attendants. They were probably planning to rest by the lake overnight.

Chen Ping'an calculated the distance and route. The other party had probably visited Orchid Musk Town, finished their sightseeing, and was now heading straight for Green Reed Town along the "official road," so they had run into him as he took a roundabout path.

This unremarkable little lake should be the Copper-Green Lake mentioned in the Collection of Ease. This lake and the nearby Copper Official Mountain formed a pair, like Daoist companions in the landscape.

There were two types of fish in Copper-Green Lake, both extremely famous. But fishing for them was difficult, with many rules. After reading the cumbersome requirements in the book, Chen Ping'an had given up.

One was a golden-scaled fish with wings, its song like a mandarin duck's. It was extremely rare and precious, not seen for a hundred years. According to legend, these winged fish always appeared in pairs. As long as you caught one, the other would swim ashore on its own and enter the fish basket. A pair of palm-sized winged fish, valuable from head to tail, could sell for two Grain Rain Coins. It was said that eating them would prevent any nightmares from ever haunting you.

The other was a silver carp, very large. It was said to grow one catty per year. After a hundred years, this fish had tremendous strength in the water. Unlike the winged fish, the silver carp was not unique to this lake. Cultivators called it the "Little Lake Dragonet." Its flesh, scales, and bones had no special properties, except for one peculiarity: as a member of the dragon's collateral descendant, the silver carp, after living a hundred years, would grow two dragon-like barbels about an inch long. Then every three hundred years, the barbels would grow an inch. If it grew into foot-long dragon beards, it would be a true heavenly treasure. When crafting Binding Demon Ropes or Mystic Whisk, adding this material was the perfect finishing touch, with infinite wonderful uses.

But Chen Ping'an had ventured through Dragon Trench and visited Hanging Mountain. He knew that there were Daoists in the world who had used genuine dragon beards to create a complete semi-immortal weapon of a Muying Whisk.

So regarding the extremely difficult to encounter winged fish and silver carp of Copper-Green Lake, Chen Ping'an had no strong covetous desire.

Because it would take too much time.

All recorded captures in the Collection of Ease had taken cultivators a very long time, often months or even half a year. During that time, they had to outwit and outlast these two types of immortal fish, and they often missed the opportunity.

Compared to Copper-Green Lake, Chen Ping'an had higher hopes for Copper Official Mountain. There, impure-blooded Mountain-Moving Apes and Hound-Chasing Dogs roamed.

When Chen Ping'an appeared, the young man remained composed.

The sixth-reed female martial artist, carrying a bow and wearing a sword, shifted her position to stand between her master and the uninvited guest.

The black-robed old man remained expressionless, holding a apricot-yellow porcelain wine flask in one hand and a large piece of marinated meat in the other, chewing slowly.

Chen Ping'an picked up some dead branches from a distance and lit a bonfire.

The master and his two attendants were clearly here for Copper-Green Lake. After the black-robed old man had eaten and drunk, he took a section of bright green, crystalline bamboo from his storage treasure, assembled an extremely long fishing rod. The line was as thin as a hair, but the golden hook was as large as a palm. The young man was not idle; he rolled up his sleeves, crouched by the water, and began preparing bait for chumming. In a large wooden basin, he vigorously mixed the bait, occasionally adding a ladle of lake water. He also took out a porcelain bottle and dripped a few drops of a heavy, fishy vermilion liquid.

Chen Ping'an enjoyed fishing, so he couldn't help watching a few times.

The woman exchanged a few low words with the young man.

The young man raised his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead and said a few things.

The woman then walked toward Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an stood up and said, "Forgive me. I didn't mean to pry."

The woman's expression was cold, but her words were relatively gentle. "It's fine to watch. But my young master says that when fishing for silver carp, noise on the shore is particularly taboo. At the slightest stir, the silver carp will hear it and flee far away. So after we finish chumming, in about half an hour, when we cast our lines, we may need both sides to extinguish their bonfires and avoid moving about. If the young master finds it too restrictive, you can rest far from the shore."

Chen Ping'an nodded, extinguished his bonfire, and went to a distant spot, sitting in a large tree with his hands in his sleeves, watching the three as they fished for immortal fish at night.

During this time, the young man saw Chen Ping'an extinguish the bonfire and turned to give an apologetic smile. Chen Ping'an nodded and smiled in return.

The woman returned to the young man's side and let out a soft sigh of relief.

The young man smiled. "Sister Fan, with all this chumming I've been doing, the water in Copper-Green Lake must have risen by a foot by now."

The woman smiled helplessly.

When fishing for rare fish in large lakes, chumming was essential and consumed a lot of Immortal's Coins. The rarer the fish, the more the angler had to spend generously. Her young master never stinted, so among fellow cultivators, word had spread, earning him the nickname Yuan of a Foot.

Although Chen Ping'an was far away, he could tell that this wealthy young man had already spent a considerable fortune just on chumming.

It wasn't just a few Snow Coins—it might have been a couple of Minor Heat Coins.

After chumming, the three began to wait quietly.

Chen Ping'an took a drink of mountain stream water from his Nurturing Sword Gourd and closed his eyes to rest.

It wasn't until the black-robed old man began to cast his line that Chen Ping'an opened his eyes.

The line whistled through the wind.

The tackle swung in a huge arc, landing far away in the center of Copper-Green Lake.

The night stretched long.

To fish for large creatures at night, beyond technique, what mattered was patience.

The young man sat on a small rosewood stool, propping his chin in his hands, yawning repeatedly.

The woman still stood behind the young man, guarding against that distant wanderer in the bamboo hat. When traveling down the mountain, you should never have ill intentions, but you should never be without caution.

Two hours later, the young man was beginning to doze off.

The black-robed old man gently lifted the rod a few times to release bait, then continued casting, his patience excellent.

The female martial artist stood as still as a statue.

Chen Ping'an leaned against the tree trunk and looked up at the night sky.

The bright moon emerged from the high mountains, amidst the vast sea of clouds.

The Grand Peace Heaven had a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers, but only one moon.

Chen Ping'an stared blankly.

He had heard that there were many immortal paintings on the mountains, works of the immortals. On a single scroll, you could see the sun rise and the moon set, the four seasons change, flowers bloom and wither.

Why was heaven and earth so vast, and man so insignificant?

Why did a person feel lonely when they grew up?

Chen Ping'an gently pressed down on his bamboo hat, shading his face.

Miss Ning, I am fine. Are you alright?