Chapter 544: All in the Same Boat Are Enemies
(A big chapter, uploaded a bit late.)
The white-clad goddess and the two azure-clad deities had already dissipated.
Half a month later, the water curtain would appear once more.
If, after a full month, more than five people remained in this place, a heavenly tribulation would descend and slay everyone.
Huan Yun discovered that the talisman he had buried near the caisson ceiling had already shattered. Clearly, the local mountain and river spirit had closed off the immortal’s cave’s exit.
On the white jade arch bridge, the motley assortment of wandering cultivators and martial artists looked at each other in dismay.
The disheartened hearts that Huan Yun had painstakingly managed to unite had instantly reverted to their original state.
They had become a heap of loose sand once more.
Even the six of them stepped back in unison, putting distance between themselves and those nearby.
Only Bai Bi and Zhan Qing stood side by side, communicating silently.
For a moment, heaven and earth fell silent—so quiet that the drop of a pin could be heard.
The young man and woman from Cloud City grew heavier-hearted with each passing moment.
The young woman asked, "Senior Brother, can Old True Man Huan protect us?"
The man smiled bitterly. "Perhaps if the old true man is willing to not kill us, that’s already the best he can do."
The woman’s beautiful face turned pale with fright.
The man said helplessly, "In the end, Huan Yun isn’t one of us. The only person we can trust now is Supplicant Xu."
A moment later, the two tried to puzzle out their predicament and break the current deadlock, but they still couldn’t come up with a viable plan.
The Dragon Gate realm supplicant, who had rushed over with windblown dust, landed beside them. His expression was grave as he spoke slowly, "Better to hand that white jade brush tube over to me. I’ll draw everyone’s attention away."
The man handed over the storage treasure without hesitation. "I’ll trouble you, Supplicant Xu."
The old supplicant carefully tucked the white jade brush tube into his sleeve and went on his way.
The young woman looked astonished.
The man shook his head, signaling her not to speak.
Although the young woman wasn’t as steady and meticulous as her senior brother and had often been scolded by City Lord Shen Zhenze, she at least knew that handing over the storage treasure at that moment was definitely not a good thing.
The man transmitted his voice mentally: "If I hadn’t handed it over just now, we’d already be two corpses. Half a month from now, if this Supplicant Tao and we can both survive until that day, just wait—the storage treasure will return to its rightful owner."
The woman said miserably, "And then after the water curtain disappears, it’ll be taken again?"
The man smiled. "What else?"
The woman’s tears fell like rain.
He gently wiped her tears away, his movements tender, but said nothing.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to say anything; it was that there was nothing to say.
Under the green bamboo on the back mountain, Di Yuanfeng wore a grave expression. He looked up, glanced around, and had no intention of seeking trouble with the black-robed elder. His plan was to get as far away as possible.
Di Yuanfeng didn’t hesitate—he ran down the mountain, bypassing that temple.
Chen Ping’an slid down the bamboo pole and, as he passed the temple building, noticed that Huang Shi showed no movement. He wondered what the man was thinking.
Sun Daoren took off his two bundles, large and small, and set them down at his feet.
He didn’t dare just drop the bundles and run, afraid that someone might beat an old master to death with messier punches, leaving him unable to defend himself. As a mere Observing Ocean realm wild cultivator, he really wasn’t up to snuff.
Sun Daoren could only gamble that the next group of people who saw him would take the goods and let him off, content with the money and not demanding his life.
At this point, even if he really were a registered immortal master from the Infant Mountain Thunder God Residence, would it matter? It would be utterly useless.
Chen Ping’an saw this and thought to himself that this old Daoist had finally been smart for once. He hadn’t dropped the treasures and bolted.
Sun Daoren, tears streaming, looked pitifully at Daoist Friend Chen standing on the wall, then waved his hand. "Go, go, the farther the better."
Chen Ping’an nodded. "Take care."
But before leaving, he tossed three talismans over—all of them Concealment Talismans. Giving attack talismans at this point was meaningless.
He transmitted his voice to Sun Daoren, explaining the talismans’ use, then sped down the mountain himself.
Sun Daoren caught the talismans, and when he looked up again, Daoist Friend Chen was already gone from the wall. He sighed with deep emotion, "True friends are revealed in times of trouble!"
Chen Ping’an only hoped that Sun Daoren, by parting with his treasure and opportunity, could keep his small life safe for now.
After that, there was actually a slim chance of survival.
The Lotus Flower Blessed Land had faced a similar situation back then. After the chaotic slaughter, the "Arm Saint" Cheng Yuanshan never fought a single battle but survived to the end. If he hadn’t failed to board the city wall on time, he would have reaped a fortune by ascending to the Bright Continent.
As for the claim that only five would survive and that a great fortune would come upon them—being taken as direct or nominal disciples by some lofty Flying Ascension realm cultivator—Chen Ping’an didn’t believe a word of it.
On the path of cultivation, "opportunity" seemed linked to magic treasures, often the most alluring and intuitive. Whoever gained the most treasures was supposedly the best candidate for cultivation.
But Chen Ping’an knew well that the higher one’s realm, the more a cultivator valued an apprentice’s bone structure, aptitude, temperament, and opportunity—all were indispensable.
How could an ancient Flying Ascension realm grand cultivator pick disciples—especially direct disciples—based solely on how many treasures they found in his mountain?
This place was riddled with hidden dangers. If earlier the competition for treasures and opportunities had seemed plausible—every cultivator acting like a wild one, each with their own schemes—then the current situation was completely forcing everyone to examine their hearts and kill. It was a state where even those beside you could be dead. The one presiding over this place was clearly not a good person. Most likely, he was deliberately stirring up minds, urging the remaining forty-plus people to slaughter each other while he reaped the benefits.
Coupled with the sudden shattering of Sun Daoren’s pagoda bell, Chen Ping’an even suspected that the hidden figure behind the scenes might be some great demon. But perhaps bound by some old rules, he couldn’t act freely. For example, the existence of that sharp sword aura might be a form of restraint and shackle.
Chen Ping’an suddenly recalled his conversation with Cui Chan on the steps of Fallen Mountain back then.
Cui Chan had been extremely confident about the great trends under heaven. At the time, Chen Ping’an had wanted to ask the Great Li national master why he didn’t tell certain people or announce it directly to the world.
But he hadn’t asked then, and later he found his own answer.
If he spoke, no one would listen. If they listened, they wouldn’t believe.
Chen Ping’an didn’t go too far from Sun Daoren’s building.
But he had made some calculations.
Should he immediately use his sword immortal power to break through the sky screen?
This was a choice that could determine life or death.
Because Chen Ping’an’s understanding of this ruin had been elevated. After the scene where someone played at being a ghost, he raised the "heavenly lord" hidden behind the scenes to a higher realm. Back then, he had successfully escaped from the Ghost Valley because he acted without warning, catching Gao Cheng of Skull City off guard. But the one here might have already started watching Chen Ping’an closely.
So he had a compromise idea.
Learn from the Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan of Lotus Flower Blessed Land—keep hiding until a full month passed. By then, whether fortune or disaster, good or bad intentions from the hidden figure, everything would be revealed.
Then he’d know clearly if he needed to strike with his sword.
Huang Shi emerged from a corner, looking puzzled. "Are you that concerned about Sun Daoren’s life? That worried I’ll knock this so-called Thunder God Residence immortal master dead with one punch?"
Chen Ping’an smiled. "You guess?"
Huang Shi pulled at the corner of his mouth. "How about we join forces to repel the enemy?"
Chen Ping’an asked, "Aren’t you afraid I’ll hold you back?"
Huang Shi grew more suspicious and finally couldn’t help asking, "What realm are you, really? A Dragon Gate realm cultivator skilled in talismans, or a Golden Core earth immortal?"
Chen Ping’an countered, "What about you?"
Huang Shi smiled honestly. "A decent Gold Body realm martial artist. I have a great revenge yet to take, so I can’t die."
Chen Ping’an said, "Then think of me as a Golden Core cultivator—a decent Golden Core earth immortal."
Huang Shi thought for a moment and said, "Let’s withdraw from this mountain first and try not to get surrounded and killed. That’s the worst-case scenario, but given our current situation, thinking negatively is not wrong."
Chen Ping’an asked, "Why not just hand over the treasures like Daoist Sun?"
Huang Shi sneered, "Oh? You want to bet that those registered immortal masters all have bodhisattva hearts? Or that the mountain wild cultivators have changed their temperaments and are willing to sacrifice themselves to be good people?"
Chen Ping’an rubbed his chin, as if considering whether to cooperate sincerely with Huang Shi to get through this crisis.
Huang Shi urged, "Opportunity knocks but once. If we two waste more time, we’ll face even more danger."
Chen Ping’an said, "Better forget it. I’m afraid you’ll sneak another punch into me. My old bones can’t take it."
Huang Shi shook his head. "You’ll definitely die before me."
After saying that, he stepped back a few paces and disappeared around the corner.
Only then did Chen Ping’an apply another Concealment Talisman, find a secluded spot, and change into an ordinary blue shirt. Wearing three dharma robes plus a regular shirt made him look a bit bulky, but since it was winter and the mountain was colder, dressing thickly was reasonable. He replaced the old man’s face mask with a youthful face, used Zhu Lian’s monkey-fist posture and form to slump his body and bend slightly, making him a bit shorter. He took off his two slung bundles and buried them in the ground. As for the sword immortal at his back, he put it and the Nurturing Sword Gourd into his storage treasure.
At this point, Chen Ping’an not only needed to buy two more imitation swords from the Sword Hatred Mountain in the future but also wanted to acquire another storage treasure.
Next, he planned to follow the river at the foot of the mountain back to the front mountain, then find an opportunity to head to the white jade arch bridge area and take a look. No need to rush.
"The tall tree in the forest" and "the tall tree returning to the forest" were two different principles.
Since Chen Ping’an had once explained this principle to Gu Can at Bookish Brief Lake, he himself naturally handled it even better.
Choosing to travel with Sun Daoren, or his subsequent actions, all put effort and practice into this principle.
Cui Dongshan had once said something quite thought-provoking.
If you could thoroughly understand the principles on both sides of a line, like after a fight, if you ended up in the middle, that would be a point of "true knowledge."
Otherwise, principles weren’t principles at all. Once taken out into the human world beyond the belly, they’d all be utter nonsense, alas and alack.
During their travels together in Great Sui back then, Cui Dongshan had said many such carefree words and jokes. But perhaps because he spoke in such a flippant, roguish manner, Chen Ping’an hadn’t taken them seriously at the time.
Only later did he remember.
It turned out the student was teaching the teacher principles.
---
A tall old man walked slowly along the border of this small world.
His ethereal form was repeatedly shredded by sword qi, only to coalesce again. One wasn’t tired; the other didn’t care.
The old man naturally knew what made his setup exquisite.
Every bit of the human heart—those little ones themselves couldn’t even grasp it—at the critical moment of life and death, combined with the great opportunity to obtain an immortal’s inheritance—great disaster and great fortune intertwined. So everyone’s words and actions would extend into all sorts of surprises and possibilities: alliances, scheming, indistinguishable friends and foes, lying low, rising up to kill, bolting in panic, stirrings of compassion, heroic temperaments...
Just deciding who to find first, who to kill first, and how to kill—each was a savory dish to accompany wine.
If not for the fact that this small world still had too many remnant rules, one of which was more like an impassable thunder pool, he might have already refined the entire landscape. Instead, he kept approaching that patch of green hills and clear water, always restrained. If he could truly sit in charge of this small world, he probably would have cultivated a "round heaven and square earth" dao fruit.
But after so many years of ups and downs, drifting from place to place, only able to pick some low-realm ants to fill his stomach—not all bad. By using others’ minds to sharpen his own dao heart, again and again, he had benefited greatly. He had gained more and more insight into "seeking truth."
After this full meal, he would have to move again. He didn’t want some nearby sects in Northern Sorghum Prefecture to trace clues.
The Central Earth Divine Continent was off limits—too many experts. The snowy regions in the far north were a good choice.
As for the southern Vase Bottle Prefecture, he had heard from cultivators chatting on that mountain earlier—unless he took a detour, he’d have to pass through the territory of the Northern Peak god. That Northern Peak true god, once he advanced to the Jade Purity realm, would be equivalent to an Immortal realm cultivator.
That would be troublesome.
Especially since the other party was a mountain god by origin. It would be even harder for him to completely hide his tracks.
He might as well become a minor supplicant for the Great Li Song clan. If he had learned the news earlier, before the new five mountain gods of Vase Bottle Prefecture were confirmed, snagging a position as a mountain true god would have been a good choice.
The old man, apparently tired of the lingering sword qi’s harassment, withdrew into the thick white mist and sat cross-legged. Around him, folded paper cranes circled.
The entrance to this ruin—that stone chamber painted with four heavenly king murals—was actually a remnant from some other shattered mountain that he had refined and cobbled together. In fact, he had refined more than one famous mountain, so the next time an opportunity appeared, it would look different. Once suitable low-level cultivators entered and accidentally stumbled upon it, he would deliberately set up a crude restriction to prevent earth immortals from taking much interest. At most, it would attract people like Sun Qing of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture, Bai Bi of Water Dragon Sect, or Huan Yun—mere guardians for others. It wasn’t that the old man couldn’t stomach one or two Nascent Souls rolling in his belly; it was that caution had kept him safe for ten thousand years.
All those poems and writings on the walls were his handiwork.
Used to deal with self-proclaimed smart people.
As for the fifty-plus this time—they were too dumb, far inferior to the first three batches. So he simply removed all restrictions and used a little trick. Once one person rushed, everyone rushed.
Human hearts never surprised him.
The first batch entering the immortal’s cave saw cranes circling overhead—another subtle touch.
Cultivators in this world loved to be suspicious. If he didn’t stir up some trouble, they would either be too stupid to take the bait or too afraid to bite.
How ridiculous.
If the people who entered were all upright and righteous, no one killing anyone, each taking their own treasures, he would have been out of luck. At most, he’d close the door and let them all die of old age here.
The two corpses playing chess by the pavilion had been like that in the early days.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t kill them; it was that the cost outweighed the benefit.
Once his true form appeared, that residual sword qi wouldn’t be polite. It could even follow traces and slash straight into the thick white mist.
In his thousand years of hibernation, the old man had suffered greatly twice.
And relying on his realm to kill with brute force was like a child using a stick to smash an ant nest. He had done it too often in his foreign homeland, until he ran into the person enshrined in that Daoist temple—hence his current fallen state.
The various temples, celestial treasures, and immortal secret manuals in the mountains meant little to the old man now. They were mostly for the future, when his realm was sufficient to protect himself on any continent of the Bright Continent. Then he would establish a sect, and all these treasures would become his sect’s foundation. Those of poor quality, he didn’t even care about. They could shatter and return to heaven and earth as spiritual energy—that was fine too.
The abundant spiritual energy here, especially the rich water fortune, wasn’t there from the start.
The one the old man was truly paying attention to now wasn’t the three Golden Core earth immortals; it was three others.
One was too lucky, and thus unlucky.
He had inexplicably obtained one-third of the opportunity at the mountain summit temple: a shattered wooden deity statue, the azure glazed tiles refined by immortals, and the water-fortune-laden green bricks from the ground.
Another—the old man had for the first time in forever considered taking a disciple. The fellow really did have some connection with the mountain’s dao fate. If they became master and disciple, the disciple’s realm would skyrocket, advancing a thousand miles a day. In the future, running around doing errands, coordinating with the master inside and out, would save him a lot of worry. Maybe he could even casually eat Nascent Souls—the master would achieve his dao fruit, the disciple would take the Golden Cores, Nascent Souls, and treasures—everyone happy, reaching the peak together in the Bright Continent. Who knows? Maybe one day they could return home in glory and shock those arrogant old Daoist priests.
The last one was the most interesting, and thus the one who had to die.
And most likely, the old man wouldn’t need to lift a finger.
By then, he would have already killed down to five. Killing a few more would just be following the natural course.
If those people could truly cooperate, set aside differences, and choose to break the situation together, with that wisp of sword qi existing, he would have a lot more trouble.
Then he would have to "bear his belly" and start traveling far, slowly waiting for them to one by one die of old age in this belly-hole heaven. Their cultivation would dissolve into spiritual energy and return to the small world.
But was that possible?
Absolutely not.
Even if they loved each other so much that eventually a Nascent Soul with the potential to reach Jade Purity emerged.
When that time came, he would just pay some price and personally kill them.
The heaven and earth touching, great tribulation descending—that wasn’t a joke he had the three paper gods casually make up.
If someone could gain the recognition of that wisp of sword qi, that would be the greatest trouble.
A massive trouble.
Luckily, so far, no such fated person had appeared.
Since he had some leisure time, the old man opened a book with pages as thin as cicada wings. The contents were written in tiny, barely visible script, interspersed with pages of cultivator portraits.
Besides that, it was a chapter-style novel.
Each chapter was a cultivator’s experience and death in this place, detailed in every aspect. Everyone’s words and actions here were recorded verbatim. Each story was of varying length.
It seemed anyone could be the protagonist, but everyone would die.
This was the old man’s most important cultivation method, aside from secretly refining famous mountains for countless years.
Within the vast white mist, every detail of the landscape was visible.
This was true superior divine observation of mountains and rivers.
Today’s sages sitting in charge of small worlds hadn’t figured out the methods themselves from the Three Teachings and Hundred Schools. They had learned them.
What the tall old man most wanted to visit wasn’t any saint of the Three Teachings, but the novelists among the Hundred Schools—the ones who presided over the White Paper Blessed Lands.
Surely their great paths would complement each other—like cutting and polishing jade together.
The scholars in this world really knew how to speak.
The tall old man looked up toward the Daoist temple at the mountain’s peak, emotions swirling.
Thinking back to those days, he had followed that person to cultivate. Few people in the mountain, but many books—an extensive collection. He had read widely.
Once, that person rarely spoke, asking him how his reading was going.
He replied, "Reading Daoist scriptures, there’s life within death—a bit cold. Reading Buddhist sutras, there’s suffering within joy—a bit hot. Reading Confucian classics, all rules and regulations—a bit annoying."
That person smiled and said, "You’ve read into them a little, but far from reading out of them. In the deep mountains, you see the mountain but not the people. That’s not good yet."
But before he could read more, that shocking change occurred—a sword thrust out, sword qi pouring down like a storm.
That sword—even now, thinking of it made his spine chill and his heart and liver crack.
Before his death, to break open the sky screen, that person had sent this repeatedly mastered small world and himself out of their home world. But he had been unable to restrain himself further, so he could only set three rules with the old man.
As the years passed, those three rules had ceased to be constraints. Only that wisp of sword qi still struggled on.
As cultivators from this world intruded here, like the martial artist Huang Shi, acting more recklessly with each passing day, smashing wooden statues again and again—the old man would patch them up afterward, piece them back together. His remaining reverence for that person was worn away.
The old man glanced casually into the distance.
If anyone dared to ruin his game of observing hearts, for instance, by suppressing everyone with brute force, then they could die first.
A perfect example to scare the monkeys, making those little brats believe even more firmly that this was the cultivation site of some ancient Flying Ascension realm cultivator.
Paying some price merely meant a few decades of accumulated surface cultivation. For an existence like him, time was worthless. What was valuable was sharpening the dao heart and cultivating dharma.
Those who had the chance to do so didn’t.
Those who didn’t have the ability but tried to save face—like that little marquis named Zhan Qing—only invited ridicule. One wrong step, and every step after was wrong. He wouldn’t live long, and might even die in a heartbreaking way.
For example, dying at the hands of some ant?
Or maybe he could arrange for the little brat to die at the hands of his beloved Sister Bai?
---
Near the white jade arch bridge, fights had ceased, turning into a mental free-for-all even more dangerous.
Old True Man Huan Yun had surrounded himself with a talisman array.
Bai Bi held the ancient qin "Snow Scatter" in her arms, and the eighteen talisman coins hadn’t been put away either.
For a moment, the ripples of qi here were chaotic to the extreme.
But that also isolated all other cultivators and martial artists from probing.
After the six stood firm, each communicated mentally.
Old True Man Huan Yun, Sun Qing of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture, Bai Bi of Water Dragon Sect.
For now, they were the only ones with the opportunity and strength to survive to the end.
But these three clearly had their own concerns.
Sun Qing had Wu Qun and her disciple.
Bai Bi had Zhan Qing.
Huan Yun needed to protect Shen Zhenze’s two direct disciples.
Sect heritage, future dao partners on the path, his own conscience.
So for these three, this situation was an excruciating interrogation of the heart, no less severe than for anyone else fighting to live.
Huan Yun had thought about joining everyone to resist this small world’s strange rules.
But it was too risky. He could easily put himself in an early grave.
He believed Sun Qing and Bai Bi felt the same.
Willing but unable, and perhaps not even willing.
Bai Bi spoke first. "Find the five first."
Sun Qing smiled faintly. "Find them, and then what?"
Bai Bi changed the proposal. "We should at least find that black-robed old man first, right?"
Sun Qing shook her head. "Someone like that—you think once you find him, you can just kill him? Will you, Bai Bi, lead the charge, or will our illustrious little marquis take charge himself?"
Soon, two people seconded Sun Qing.
Zhan Qing smiled bitterly.
In the first round of slaughter, everyone had wanted him dead. They all put their strength into killing him.
But this ridiculous old man—everyone was wary of him. It seemed no one would launch a hunt to kill him anytime soon.
Huan Yun hesitated, then proposed, "We don’t kill anyone. We just take the treasures. And we don’t keep them—temporarily store them at the mountain summit temple."
A wild cultivator leader sneered, "Isn’t that just farting through your pants? In the end, only five survive. They can just cut us down quickly, spare themselves the agony."
An elderly martial artist nodded. "Sooner or later, everyone dies. Better to take out one group first. We six can each protect four or five people within half a month—how about that?"
Those two were the ones who had seconded Sun Qing.
Zhan Qing said, "Five is too many."
The wild cultivator clicked his tongue. "You and your woman have no one around you—just two. Of course, you think it’s too many. By your standards, little marquis, leaving just two alive would be just right, right?"
Zhan Qing flicked his sleeves dismissively. "Then you all continue talking. Pretend I’m not here."
He had originally wanted to propose a ceasefire, focus on the five, then discuss what came next.
Looks like that was wishful thinking.
Whatever he said now was probably useless.
Not to mention the five who had obtained the most treasures.
There were still forty-two people alive.
Bai Bi said, "Then let each of us keep three. But we agree beforehand: Zhan Qing and I can pull in two more and protect their lives."
Huan Yun said nothing.
Because only three had come from Cloud City.
He, Huan Yun, was just a temporary guardian—not even a teacher to those two children, and certainly not a Cloud City cultivator.
As for others’ lives and deaths, he simply couldn’t worry about them.
Sun Qing didn’t want to involve herself with this bunch, but she didn’t speak. Aside from herself, Wu Qun and her disciple Liu Guibao left one more slot.
And the young girl had already begged Sun Qing to save one person, using both words and mental voice.
It was a stranger they had met on the mountain-visiting journey.
Love at first sight—nothing more.
Sun Qing didn’t think it was wrong.
When she herself had met that young scholar back then, wasn’t it the same?
If the master couldn’t find fault with herself, she had no right to lecture her disciple about principles.
But then someone used the martial artist technique of compressing sound into a line to speak to Sun Qing. "I know you’re Sun Qing of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture. Brother Chu and I don’t trust that little marquis bunch. How about we join forces? First, convince Old Immortal Huan Yun to stand by. We’ll kill Zhan Qing and his crew—they’re the most unruly, worse than wild cultivators. After they’re dead, you, Sun Prefecture Master, will be our leader. Finally, Brother Chu and I will work with your Colorful Sparrow Prefecture to take out Huan Yun’s side. How about that? In the end, about five of us will survive. Nice and stable, right?"
Sun Qing frowned deeply.
She neither agreed nor refused.
The martial artist wasn’t in a hurry.
To him, Old True Man Huan Yun’s dao technique was high, and he should have been the best partner. But he was too indecisive and goody-goody, definitely not the type for big things.
As for Zhan Qing and that female Golden Core cultivator, they were rotten to the core. Far less reassuring than Sun Qing of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture.
And Sun Qing, whose identity he had recognized, had enough cultivation. Her two followers weren’t lacking in skill or cunning.
As for Bai Bi from the Lotus Country—she had already revealed her identity. But so what? A direct disciple of the Water Dragon Sect’s founder’s hall—so impressive? Screw these big-sect registered immortal masters. If they were really capable, why didn’t they just kill us all in one breath?
Zhan Qing had roughly guessed their side’s predicament.
He regretted it more and more.
Only now did he truly understand what it meant to be a registered immortal master, and what the innate shortcomings of mountain wild cultivators were.
And Sister Bai was clearly being dragged down by him.
But one thing that slightly improved Zhan Qing’s mood was that eighteen people would soon die.
Anyway, on his and Sister Bai’s side, no more would die. In fact, they could gain two temporary "supplicant guests." The fewer others, the better his and Sister Bai’s chances.
By the waterside opposite the immortal’s cave’s mountain gate, a young man who had been grazed on the shoulder by Gao Ling’s fist energy sat pale and dispirited by the river.
His brocade robe, hit by that vigorous fist energy, was already loose and tattered.
A wild cultivator and his wife sat nearby. The man cupped water to wash his face, spat out a turbid breath, turned, and smiled to console him, "Young Master Huai, it’s okay. Heaven never seals off all exits. I think you have auspicious fortune. You’ve come through dangers all along the way, right? In my opinion, you deserve a share of this great fortune. My wife and I just want to follow you and get a little piece."
The young man spoke Northern Sorghum Prefecture language with an accent, muttering, "Those small skirmishes earlier were just fourth- or fifth-realm demon creatures. If I hadn’t met you, I would have just taken a detour. I didn’t dare fight at all. I originally just wanted to travel to an academy for study. I never expected such a miserable scene. We’re going to die. We’re all going to die."
The wife frowned.
What a useless pretty face—only spouting gloomy words all day.
She had tolerated it before because this foreign scholar had hinted at a shallow connection with an academy master, enough to enter the academy and borrow books.
A fourth-realm bottleneck—barely lower fifth realm. Earlier, in the fight, he had gotten hot-headed and taken a spell from the Northern Pavilion Marquis’s son, not knowing his place. Afterward, he foolishly charged forward, nearly running into Gao Ling’s fist energy. If a girl hadn’t slapped him away, he’d be in pieces.
A scholar indeed.
A slim girl wiped her face, spat a few mouthfuls of blood onto the ground, and sat down casually beside the young scholar. "Hey, surnamed Huai, stick with me from now on. Don’t worry about anything."
The young man looked dazed and asked quietly, "There’ll be more fighting?"
The girl smiled. "You’re going to try to save me again, like on the bridge earlier?"
The young man looked embarrassed. It was hard to say who would save whom.
The girl took a wine flask from her waist and handed it over. "Have a drink? To bolster your courage?"
The young man shook his head, face slightly red. "Miss Liu, I can’t drink."
The girl drank herself, wiped her mouth, looked up at the mountain peak, and laughed. "Huai Qian, if you want to say ‘against propriety,’ just say it."
The young man was speechless.
The girl was Liu Guibao, the most valued direct disciple of Golden Core Sun Qing of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture.
Everyone in the sect, including Wu Qun, was sure she would be the next sect master.
The girl was still young. Though her age looked older than her childish face, she was unquestionably a cultivation genius among mountain cultivators. She had already reached the Cavern Dwelling realm.
And before Wu Qun had struck at Gao Ling, she had spoken twice, directly determining the direction of the entire battle. Zhan Qing and Bai Bi probably hated this low-realm girl the most.
The young foreign scholar was named Huai Qian. He had somehow been dragged into this disaster.
Liu Guibao liked him anyway. She especially liked how he pretended to be an old hand—that deliberately clever foolishness, that fake alertness—so adorably silly.
Maybe because Liu Guibao herself was too precocious and intelligent, she found this Huai Qian, whose cultivation clearly wasn’t fake, pleasing to the eye.
Like her master said—if loving someone required reasons and excuses, it wasn’t real love. Find someone else.
Every time her master got drunk and poured her heart out, telling her disciple all sorts of things about that Mr. Liu, and then inadvertently blurted out such words—to Liu Guibao, that was also very cute.
On her master’s side, there had been some conclusions.
Liu Guibao found it boring.
They had discussed who to kill. Now they were deciding how to kill and who would do it.
Smart people should be able to sense the signs.
Liu Guibao turned to look. It seemed there were still few smart people.
And her master’s group of six was still focused on their scheming.
A man sat alone by the river, his hands and feet ice-cold.
He kept some distance from everyone. What could he do? He was alone. Having survived the previous chaos was already a miracle.
The man wore a pair of badly worn boots.
Someone suddenly transmitted a mental voice, saying the six had accepted Little Marquis Zhan Qing’s proposal to kill all wild cultivators.
No one was sure, but everyone dared not disbelieve.
After a moment of stunned silence, people began running or flying away from the white jade arch bridge in twos and threes.
The one who had spoken clearly didn’t have Liu Guibao’s unique secret technique, and he had underestimated the six’s keen spiritual sense on the opposite bank.
He was immediately targeted.
And he probably hadn’t wanted to show obvious signs, so he hadn’t moved first. When most people scattered like birds and beasts, he finally turned to leave, but was immediately killed by Gao Ling—who kicked a dagger, throwing it through his skull.
Zhan Qing wanted to stop it, but it was too late.
This kind of lowly frame-up—the truth didn’t matter anymore.
He felt that this treasure-hunting pleasure trip, which he had been so confident about, had been one surprise after another. He was almost numb now.
Wu Qun looked dejected but hid it well.
The dead man was the backbone of a small sect.
One of the few elderly cultivators who had hoped this immortal mansion ruin could extend his life by a few years.
So Wu Qun had made a deal with this old cultivator, who knew he was going to die.
Wu Qun would certainly keep his promise. In the future, Colorful Sparrow Prefecture would secretly support his small sect and, within a hundred years, including his final disciple, cultivate at least three mid-fifth-realm cultivators.
This was the payment the old cultivator had bought with his and his family’s lives.
Among the six on the opposite bank.
Many were scratching their heads.
But who had secretly instigated it, or if the old cultivator had lost his mind, or if the Northern Pavilion Marquis’s residence harbored old grudges—dragging the little marquis down with him at his death—none of that mattered anymore.
However, the scattering crowd left the six somewhat helpless.
What else could they do? Chase and kill separately.
Gao Ling would certainly be the most relentless.
This Gold Body realm martial artist was the most furious, carrying the heaviest killing intent. He had been holding a bellyful of pent-up fire.
Even though he was seriously injured, a martial artist’s physique was resilient by nature. Killing small groups would still be easy.
But the girl Liu Guibao and the young scholar Huai Qian hadn’t fled. Wu Qun walked over to them and began treating wounds.
Two other groups, trembling but not moving, were the families of the two Dragon Gate realm wild cultivators and the martial arts grandmaster on the opposite bank.
Among the fleeing crowd, a wild cultivator who wished he had more legs gradually pulled away from others. He trusted no one, and it seemed anyone could kill him.
The expensive thunder talisman he had bought with eight talisman coins earlier had essentially saved his life during the battle at the white jade arch bridge. But now he had no life-saving techniques or treasures left.
Suddenly, he heard a somewhat unfamiliar voice behind him. "Pig butcher?"
The man turned in fright, not stopping, and tested, "Two damn 'he's'?"
That person smiled and nodded.
The man almost burst into tears on the spot.
Good heavens. Finally, a brother in misery.
The man slowed down a bit. "You won’t kill me, will you?"
He didn’t have the energy to think too much about why he hadn’t seen this person before.
That person—now with a blue-robed teenager’s face—the Cloud City market stall peddler—shook his head. "Will killing you make money? Even if it would, can I compete with those big shots?"
The man breathed a sigh of relief and said nothing more.
The two ran headlong together.
Suddenly, someone ahead spotted the thick white mist and exclaimed in terror, "Have we reached the end?!"
The white boundary mist receded like a tide.
The undulating mountains gradually revealed their true face, like a woman hiding behind a pipa.
The territory of this immortal mansion rapidly expanded.
Huan Yun had no intention of killing. He said he would go ahead, then flew up the mountain to find Shen Zhenze’s two direct disciples.
Sun Qing didn’t kill either, but told Wu Qun and the other two to head south and take a look.
Bai Bi and Zhan Qing let Gao Ling kill freely. As for the Lotus Country royal supplicant, Bai Bi called him to her side.
Gao Ling actually took off the Ganlu Armor, tucked it in his sleeve, picked a long saber whose owner was already dead, and sped away.
Within the white mist, the tall old man had put away the book. He stood still but slid backward with the mist, always like a flood dragon hiding in the clouds. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. "If the territory is too small, they’ll die too fast. That would make me miss many good shows."
Half a month later, he would announce several interesting new rules to everyone.
For example, from now on, the one who killed the most would become the second immortal mansion direct disciple among the final five.
What would you do then, Huan Yun and Sun Qing? The two kind-hearted cultivators who were still unwilling to start a killing spree—would you still refuse to kill?
Would you kill until you were thoroughly satisfied, with no taboos?
The old man turned to look at a young man who had long ago hidden himself by the boundary line, burying his saber and himself. "Let’s also see if you, little brat, have the luck and dao fate to become my first disciple."
Di Yuanfeng, in straw sandals and a white robe, cursed when he saw the boundary change. He had to break out of the ground, not even bothering to shake off the dust, and continue running wildly into the deep mountains.
Soon after, Huang Shi suddenly stopped, changed course, came to the pit, crouched, pinched some soil, and looked up at a distant shrinking figure. He smiled.
Killing that black-robed Daoist friend Chen might carry some risk, but killing you, a fifth-realm Di Yuanfeng, is truly not hard.
The five at the foot of the mountain each gave orders, then climbed the mountain together, agreeing to meet at the summit and then jointly find the other four—excluding the Cloud City male and female cultivators.
Find them first, then decide whether to kill.
---
Deep in the old forest, Chen Ping’an led a man named Jin Shan, both fleeing for their lives.
On other routes, Gao Ling’s saber struck fiercely. Once he caught up, it was often a matter of separating body from head with a single slash.
Because they had to take care of the scholar Huai Qian’s pace, Wu Qun and Liu Guibao moved slowly.
As for the two groups under the wild cultivator and the martial artist, they had already gathered of their own accord and were enthusiastically hunting down the scattered escapers.
Huan Yun told the two helpless young men that they didn’t need to worry about their lives—they could stay put or continue seeking treasures.
Then Huan Yun discovered the hidden Dragon Gate realm supplicant, but the old true man pretended not to see him and continued flying up the mountain.
On the white jade square at the mountain peak, among the ruins of the Daoist temple, the azure glazed tiles and the water-fortune-laden ground bricks left Bai Bi, a Water Dragon Sect native, utterly stunned.
But at the same time, Bai Bi also smiled bitterly. This mountain of gold and silver was right at her feet, yet she didn’t dare take more than one brick. She dug out one green brick, held it in her hand, silently absorbing the water fortune essence to replenish the qi depletion in her qi apertures after the fierce battle.
Then, under Huan Yun’s lead, the six quickly found Sun Daoren, who was being very sensible.
Regarding whether to spare his life or not, the vote was three to three, deadlocked.
Sun Daoren sat on the ground, resigned to his fate.
In the end, the old martial artist joked, telling the Daoist to toss a spirit coin—heads for life, tails for death.
But at the same time, the old martial artist secretly told the other five that if this fellow dared to use spiritual energy to control the coin, he would kill him.
Sun Daoren was extremely lucky. Not only did he not try any clever tricks, but the coin he tossed from the steps and rolled on the ground also landed heads.
The six told him to take his two bundles to the mountain summit temple himself, then he could wander as he pleased.
Sun Daoren looked dazed, forgetting even to be happy.
Bai Bi transmitted her voice mentally: "That black-robed old man who got the most treasures—if he’s still at the top of the list after half a month, even if we have to dig three feet deep, we’ll find him first and kill him together!"
This time, even Huan Yun and Sun Qing had no objections.
After the six left, Sun Daoren carried the two bundles, large and small, climbing the mountain and wiping tears.
When he passed the green bamboo, he somewhat missed that Daoist Friend Chen.
And Daoist Friend Chen, after confirming no one was following for now, leaped onto the thick, high branch of an ancient tree and surveyed the surroundings.
The man, Jin Shan, didn’t dare go up, afraid of being hit by some attacking spell for no reason.
Chen Ping’an looked down and said to him, "I can only escort you this far. Staying with me will only harm you. Remember to use those two concealment talismans. Stick them on yourself, find a secluded place you feel is safe, and then don’t move around too much."
Before the man could plead him to stay, Chen Ping’an had already swept away, disappearing in an instant.
The man looked panicked, but five talismans floated down from above—three attack talismans of different types and two talismans of unknown origin.
He grabbed them tightly, suddenly burst into loud sobs, but quickly stifled the sound and continued sneaking along.
Chen Ping’an found a mountain peak with a wide view, stuck on a Concealment Talisman, stayed still, and looked around.
This treasure-seeking mountain visit had been full of twists and turns.
There were many people he knew—aside from the wild cultivator named Jin Shan, there was that old man who had helped him open his stall for business.
And there was Wu Qun, the disciplinary elder of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture, whom he had drunk tea with at the Peach Blossom Ferry teahouse.
He didn’t have a bad impression of either.
But from now on, it was hard to say.
Because early on, whatever their dispositions and conduct, whatever their identities and cultivation, be they viewed as good or bad by the world, whatever they did wouldn’t surprise anyone. Even the one being killed might only feel grief, resentment, and hatred—never much surprise.
Chen Ping’an stared blankly into space.
Why were people’s hearts so hard to fathom?
But what truly troubled Chen Ping’an wasn’t others’ hearts—it was his own.
Since he had such thoughts, it meant he himself harbored such intentions.
Now that he was in Northern Sorghum Prefecture, he had been cultivating, trying to become a true mountain cultivator, especially focusing on cultivating his heart.
Chen Ping’an suddenly recalled a saying from a Daoist scripture.
Later, a military strategist sage had his own unique exposition and extension.
Both sentences had been carved by Chen Ping’an onto bamboo slips.
The latter was the phrase: "All in the same boat are enemies."
It was a warning to secular dynasty rulers: state affairs prioritize virtue; natural defenses of mountains and rivers are not true barriers.
The Daoist saying, taken literally, had a broader meaning.
And Chen Ping’an felt that his own situation and everyone else’s perfectly matched this saying.
"Hide a boat in a valley, hide a mountain in a marsh—call that secure. But in the middle of the night, a strong man carries them off on his back. The ignorant don’t know."
Chen Ping’an couldn’t help thinking: Was being in this dangerous small world, or even in the Bright Continent under rule protection, seemingly very different, but essentially the same?
The boat and valley silently shifted, and no one knew.
Chen Ping’an suddenly understood how rare the "pure and quiet" realm that Daoism sought truly was.
Like an empty boat, treading emptiness—no one before, no one behind, no one on the sides, no rules binding, no karma entangling.
Chen Ping’an sighed softly.
Some studies, when delved into deeply—if not truly understood—made one feel utterly alone, looking around in confusion.
Chen Ping’an began to breathe and meditate, quietly building momentum.
Once fighting broke out, the first person to find him would inevitably be that old talisman master.
Half a month passed.
The eighteen who were doomed to die—except for one inconspicuous, solitary wild cultivator—were all dead.
Then, when the white-clad goddess and the two azure-clad deities appeared again and opened the landscape curtain, many more died.
Because that sacred writ had clearly stated: the one who kills the most may become the second direct disciple.
So among the six, the Dragon Gate realm wild cultivator and the martial arts grandmaster each mercilessly struck down their own friends and family.
If they were going to die anyway, better to die by their own hands than at someone else’s.
Liu Guibao watched that scene with a face full of frost.
The young scholar hiding beside Wu Qun and the girl sighed. "Why does everyone have to act so violently?"
As the Cloud City young male cultivator had predicted, just before the appointed time, his family’s supplicant appeared beside them. He knocked the woman unconscious, used a binding spell to immobilize the man—unable to speak or move—and placed that storage treasure in his palm. Then the old supplicant withdrew from the building and hid nearby. All the previous treasures and opportunities had been stashed away.
But this wasn’t what chilled the young man most.
It was that Old True Man Huan Yun never appeared during this entire time.
Maybe he appeared somewhere, but chose to look on coldly.
So this Cloud City young male cultivator remained second on the list.
The bottom of the list was Huan Yun, who no longer cared about ranking.
Fourth was a white-clad young master with a brilliant smile, though his robe was stained with blood. He seemed to be in an elegant study, where a yellowed gourd ladle hung on the wall.
He even waved at the painting, grinning. "Farewell, everyone. Go and die."
Then he said, "Huang Shi, Brother Huang, you’re keeping watch outside like a door god, huh? Hard work, hard work. Wishing you a long life."
Third on the list was a scruffy man hiding in a deep mountain pit, sitting cross-legged, covered with branches and grass, then soil. But in the landscape painting, it was as bright as day.
Huang Shi glanced at the painting and flipped him off.
Not only that, he suddenly stood up, jumped out of the pit—apparently the entrance to a cave dwelling blocked by colorful mist that wouldn’t disperse.
It turned out that Huang Shi had chased Di Yuanfeng all the way here. Di Yuanfeng, heavily injured, hadn’t died but had fled into this place. After Di Yuanfeng broke through the cave’s colorful mist, Huang Shi couldn’t crack the restriction no matter what.
So Huang Shi planned to screw this little bastard.
That Di Yuanfeng would guess this was within Huang Shi’s expectations.
First on the list was still the black-robed old man with the aged face, apparently hiding in some cave. He was also clear on the landscape painting. Compared to before, he still carried the sword on his back and the two slung bundles, seemingly unchanged. The black-robed old man looked at the painting with apparent anger and spoke hoarsely, "What’s up? No end to this, is there? If anyone dares come find me, I’ll kill them. My sword technique is divine. When I get fierce, I’ll even cut myself!"
At the mountain peak temple ruins, Sun Daoren, who was ready to die, saw this and sighed.
He had spent these days trembling at the summit, only going to the back mountain once, but returned disappointed.
Over the past half month, all sorts of people had been carrying celestial treasures to the mountain peak. Outside the temple ruins, another small mountain had formed.
Sun Daoren now couldn’t be bothered to look at that real treasure mountain.
It was all calamity.
He shook the green porcelain bottle containing water beads condensed from green bamboo leaf tips. He drank frugally; there was still some left.
Earlier, when he had braced himself to stroll to that green bamboo, he found not a single drop left.
He felt some admiration for Daoist Friend Chen—passing through without leaving a blade of grass.
A mountain wild cultivator like that—if he actually became a registered immortal master, that would be a pity.
Standing by the stone railing at the mountain peak’s edge, the girl Liu Guibao was beside the extremely fortunate young scholar Huai Qian. This was the second time Huai Qian had noticed the black-robed old man. He muttered to himself, "This guy is the only one with some ability."
Liu Guibao, sharp-eared, asked doubtfully, "What do you mean?"
Huai Qian thought for a moment and smiled. "Literal meaning."
Liu Guibao was stunned. "Huai Qian, are you hiding something?"
Huai Qian said cautiously, "Yes. Back home, there’s a childhood engagement arranged by the family elders. I was actually fleeing an arranged marriage this time."
Liu Guibao laughed. "What’s the girl like?"
Huai Qian said helplessly, "Only met her once. Vague impression. She seemed to have a decent temper, but she’s a martial arts girl, tougher than me. She ran off to Golden Armor Continent early to avoid the marriage."
Liu Guibao said, "Oh."
Huai Qian looked uncertain, his gaze wandering. "Miss Liu, can I tell you one more thing?"
Liu Guibao burst out laughing. "No need to say it. You like me. What’s there to be afraid of? I like you too."
Huai Qian was speechless.
After these trivial chats that didn’t trouble Liu Guibao much, she began to think about the next turn of events.
Sometimes the mind was more useful than the fist.
That Northern Pavilion little marquis—his mind wasn’t enough, and his fists were even worse.
While the girl was focused on thinking, Huai Qian glanced at her profile, smiled, and leaned on the railing, looking into the distance.
Actually, the thing he wanted to tell her was that it was a matter of fate lacking affinity.
Because the gap between them was too wide—their statuses didn’t match. They couldn’t talk on the same level. Today’s conversation was only possible because he was condescending to her.
They were too far apart.
In cultivation, and even more in scheming. As for family background, that went without saying.
So he had actually been pitying this silly girl.
Regarding the size of opportunity here, he should be the one who understood best.
It was that wisp of sword qi.
He had come for it.
And along the way, he played around, amusing himself with the people nearby.
But this wisp of sword qi was indeed an unexpected delight.
Originally, he had planned to take another trip north, meet that great sword immortal Bai Chang, and then return home.
If nothing unexpected happened, this northern number-one sword immortal should come out to welcome him.
Huai Qian thought of home and felt even more bored.
Watching these ants like puppets on strings, wobbling left and right—after half a month, even he was tired of it.
As for the hidden figure, since he was suppressed by that wisp of sword qi, how high could his realm be?
Even without bringing out his background, he could still negotiate with the hidden figure. He would get the sword qi, and the other party would be freed from the long-standing suppression—a win-win.
He turned to glance at the silly girl still frowning in thought.
Huai Qian leaned on the railing, turned, and smiled. "Miss Liu, would you like to become the master of Colorful Sparrow Prefecture today?"
Liu Guibao instantly leaped backward. "Who are you?!"
Huai Qian raised a finger to his lips. "Shh."
He transmitted his voice mentally: "Before coming to Northern Sorghum Prefecture, the old ancestor warned me that your sword immortals here are unreasonable and particularly like to kill geniuses from other prefectures. So I had to keep my tail between my legs."
Liu Guibao’s eyes were cold, her mind racing, but she found she couldn’t communicate with her master Sun Qing via mental ripples.
Huai Qian sighed. "Miss Liu, if you keep this up, we can’t be friends anymore."
This young foreign scholar, looking like a student, flicked his sleeves and looked up at the sky. "Won’t waste any more time with you. This little trick of paper talisman deities makes me nauseous. I’ll have to teach this country heavenly lord—and Old True Man Huan Yun, too—what real talismans are."
He held something in each hand. One was a golden military armor orb—the highest grade of incense-fire deity armor.
And this armor was one of the few ancient ones among incense armor.
Huai Qian slung it over his back.
In his other hand, he held two blue talismans. He casually tossed one out, smiling. "Bound with iron talismans, sent to Fengdu. Summon thunder lords, command lightning—in a moment, heaven and earth."
A two-zhang-tall golden-armored deity appeared, its body interwoven with dazzling white thunder light. When its feet hit the ground, the entire mountain shook, pulling at the mountain’s landscape qi fortune.
The second talisman was thrown out.
A white-robed sword-bearing man hovered in midair.
He looked wooden, but his body was filled with surging sword qi. The surrounding heaven-earth spiritual energy turned to dust.
Finally, Huai Qian held up a small golden hollow ball.
Inside, beams of sword light darted about, lightning-fast, colliding with the ball’s interior and sending up sparks.
His purpose in coming to this sword-cultivator-crowded Northern Sorghum Prefecture was to use his own ability to let this upgradeable puppet attendant eat a few more Golden Core sword cultivators’ natal flying swords, and with the help of some Northern Sorghum sword dao fortune, break through the Nascent Soul bottleneck.
Huai Qian gently shook the golden ball, then tossed it to the middle-aged man. "Eat slowly."
The ball sank into the sword cultivator puppet’s acupoints.
That strand of sword qi, which had patrolled this world for countless years, halted and hung still, as if looking down at Huai Qian.
Huai Qian smiled. "I knew it. You would definitely choose me on your own."
Then Huai Qian looked at a certain point in the sky. "Such a peculiar demonic aura. Loves to refine mountains as food. We don’t have such beasts in the Bright Continent, do we?"
Heaven and earth were silent.
Everyone was dumbfounded.
Huai Qian narrowed his eyes. "Let’s discuss: after the slaughter, if I can’t kill you, and you can’t do anything to me, come with me to the Central Earth Divine Continent. I guarantee you a bright future."
The clouds hung low.
A tall old man sat at the edge of the clouds, smiling. "Tsk, little brat, you’ve got a big mouth."
He waved his hand.
A landscape painting unfurled, covering the sky. Anyone who looked up could see it.
Since the other party was so sincere, the old man decided to show some sincerity.
Huai Qian nodded and smiled. "What can I do? My family’s ancestor is one of the ten greats of the Central Earth Divine Continent."
In fact, a young celestial master from Dragon Tiger Mountain, a purple-gold noble, and Liu Youzhou of the Snowy Regions were both close friends of his.
The old man above the clouds fell silent.
Huai Qian continued, "To be blunt with you, even if I stretched out my neck and let you, this beast, strike, would you dare kill me?"
Huai Qian emphasized, sneering, "Would you?!"
The old man still said nothing.
Huai Qian looked around. "These trash—will you kill them, or should I? If you do, there are a few I want to take with me."
Deep in the mountains, Chen Ping’an was also startled by this scene.
As soon as the water curtain disappeared, he had changed back to a young face and a blue shirt.
Now, he felt his eyes had been opened.
You could still play like this?
Watching that confident young man.
Was this considered "carefree"?
Chen Ping’an smiled.
A person like this—if he had gone through the same experiences as Chen Ping’an, even if he was one realm higher in cultivation, he should have died many times over.
But that wasn’t the right way to look at it.
To have such words and actions, and to stand here saying them, there must be some merit, some hidden excellence.
But at this moment, Chen Ping’an only saw one side of him.
If Chen Ping’an were that person, he definitely wouldn’t have reached his current step.
Yet Chen Ping’an felt that with a temper like that, and that little patience and cunning, if he was unlucky, he might not even leave Northern Sorghum Prefecture alive.
In the end, he just hadn’t met a sword immortal like Ji Yue of Ape Cry Mountain yet.
But since that person had chosen to show himself, no longer hiding, it was surely the result of weighing pros and cons.
For now, it seemed he not only hoped to leave alive but could also take that tall old man back to the Central Earth Divine Continent.
Undeniably, he was a formidable figure.
Worthy of coming from the Central Earth Divine Continent to kill sword cultivators in Northern Sorghum Prefecture.
Chen Ping’an wasn’t bored enough to curse him into stumbling in Northern Sorghum.
All paths led to their own mountain.
Looking left and right, there were always highs and lows.
Like Cao Ci, who was on the same martial arts path as Chen Ping’an. Chen Ping’an was just burying his head in the chase.
Was he supposed to make a straw doll and hope for Cao Ci’s bad end?
Chen Ping’an rubbed his chin, feeling that letting his mind wander like this wasn’t appropriate, but it was still quite interesting.
As for that Cao Ci, after three fights on the city wall of the Sword Qi Great Wall, Chen Ping’an’s only regret wasn’t failing to drop harsh words or losing face in front of the Old Sword Immortal and that female martial god.
It was that Cao Ci, no matter how you looked at him, deserved a beating. He was not only exceptionally handsome but also seemed perpetually carefree, always looking down on everyone, his gaze fixed only on the legendary peak of martial arts.
That was pretty irritating. And since he couldn’t beat the guy yet, it was even more annoying.
But take it slowly.
The next scene, however, made Chen Ping’an’s scalp tingle.
Sun Daoren, who had been sitting on the ground in fright, actually stood up.
Then this "Sun Daoren" fell down again.
But a second Sun Daoren appeared, ethereal and unsteady, as if his yin spirit had left for a far journey.
Sun Daoren reached out, grabbed the struggling residual sword qi, and gently held it in his hand.
The tall old man on the clouds saw trouble looming. Even though he had no idea why Sun Daoren had changed, he immediately rolled the clouds to conceal himself and tried to flee.
Sun Daoren’s face was expressionless. "A puny demon dares to refine this mountain and covet my Daoist temple?"
He glanced at the ruins, seeming a little sad. He looked to a spot in the distant clouds. "You thought that once you reached this Bright Continent, you could rest easy? Bullying my sect’s incense offerings being sparse, thinking we can’t lift our swords anymore?"
Sun Daoren clenched his hand and directly crushed that wisp of sword qi.
Then he brought two fingers together and gently slashed forward.
The clouds split in half.
A mustard-seed-sized figure was also split in two.
Huai Qian was about to speak.
Sun Daoren turned and smiled. "What nonsense is this? Young man, talking big like that—aren’t you afraid of biting your tongue? If you have a life lamp left in your founder’s hall, later tell your ancestor to come to the Green Underworld and find me for revenge."
Huai Qian tried again to speak, to mention his ancestor’s name.
Sun Daoren slashed down with two fingers again, killing the young scholar on the spot. The Nascent Soul sword cultivator puppet, upon falling to the ground, turned into two halves of a cut-up talisman.
Sun Daoren finally looked down at the temple ruins.
The one enshrined in the mountain peak temple was his junior brother.
Both of them had been pillars of the sword immortal lineage in the Green Underworld.
Unfortunately, his junior brother was a genius who climbed fast but died early.
He couldn’t blame the White Jade Capital. He could only blame his junior brother’s own indecisiveness. It made things hard for him, the senior brother—he couldn’t even take revenge.
There were ten thousand ways to die in this world, but the one where you sought death yourself was the one least worth saving.
On a distant mountain peak, Chen Ping’an had already taken out all the fragments of the wooden statue.
Sun Daoren smiled. "Still so sharp, little fellow. You didn’t waste this moment I was distracted—you saved yourself."
Sun Daoren reached out and grabbed three people: Di Yuanfeng, who had been hiding in the deep mountain cave study; Little Marquis Zhan Qing; and the Colorful Sparrow girl Liu Guibao. He brought them before him.
His expression calm, Sun Daoren said, "You three—are you willing to follow me to the Green Underworld?"
The merit he had accumulated in his travels across this world was enough to take three people.
While waiting for three answers, the flow of time seemed to freeze.
Only Sun Daoren stroked his beard and smiled at Chen Ping’an, who was also unaffected. "Daoist Friend Chen, for the sake of those three sticks of incense, keep the broken statue fragments."
Chen Ping’an blinked. "Daoist Sun, it was actually six sticks of incense."
Sun Daoren laughed heartily, waved his sleeve—as if gathering and scattering some object—and said, "Daoist Friend Chen, just pick up your junk. It’ll be enough to feed that sword of yours full."
On a mountain peak several hundred li away, a mass of shattered sword qi appeared before Chen Ping’an.