Chapter 589: The Child in the Corner

Chapter 589: The Child in the Corner

She sighed. "Why must you always live for others?"

When it came to martial arts and fist techniques, Cui Cheng's influence on Chen Ping'an was unimaginable.

Half of that sentence just now was clearly Chen Ping'an making a heavy vow to the departed Cui Cheng—though separated by life and death, they still echoed each other from afar.

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "It's not like that. I've always been living for myself, but while walking my path, there are people I care about. I need to keep those I respect living in my heart forever. If the world forgets, I will remember. If I have the chance, I will make others remember again."

She fell into contemplation, recalling some extremely distant events from the past.

After walking a stretch of road, Chen Ping'an turned around and walked it again.

She followed and walked the same path back.

This was Chen Ping'an's pursuit of faultlessness—to avoid the Sword Spirit having to traverse too wide a range in the river of time, in case something went wrong.

There are too many unexpected events in the world, impossible to stop. Let them come when they may.

But at least on my, Chen Ping'an's, side, there won't be unnecessary complications arising from my own negligence.

The one who knew me best, Master Qi, died because of me.

They sat atop the city wall, just like back then, when they had sat on the golden arch bridge.

Chen Ping'an asked, "Are you leaving?"

She replied, "I could stay, but the Old Scholar waiting anxiously at Daoxuan Mountain might have to go to the Confucian Temple to confess his sins."

Chen Ping'an said, "A short parting is nothing, but whatever you do, don't leave and never come back. I might still be able to bear it, but it would hurt deeply. And if it hurts and I can't say anything, it only hurts more."

She smiled. "My master and I, we share life and death for ten thousand ten-thousand years."

Chen Ping'an turned around and extended his palm.

She raised her hand—not to lightly clap, but to grasp Chen Ping'an's hand and gently shake it. "This is the second promise."

Chen Ping'an nodded with a smile. "What I've said, I will do."

She withdrew her hand, lightly patted her knees, and gazed into the distant, barren Barbaric Wild World. With a cold laugh, she said, "It seems there are still a few old undying acquaintances."

Chen Ping'an said, "Then I'll be extra careful."

She said, "If I reveal myself, those sneaky ancient beings wouldn't dare to kill you. At worst, they'd sever your Longevity Bridge and make you start over, forcing my master and me onto an old path."

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "No matter what I might think in the future or whether I change my mind, for now, I will never take that path."

She chuckled. "I know."

Chen Ping'an suddenly asked with a grin, "Do you know what my greatest strength is?"

She thought for a moment. "Daring to make choices."

For example, back in the Old Scholar's landscape scroll, after delivering a sword strike toward Sui Mountain, Chen Ping'an had made a choice between her and Ning Yao.

If he had been wrong, there would have been nothing after that.

A person who fawns over so-called strong men and those in power is utterly unworthy of wielding her sword against heaven and earth.

After ten thousand years in the mortal world, how many people had soft knees and bent spines? Countless numbers. Those people truly ought to see how the human sages of ten thousand years ago, amid suffering, cut through thorns, climbed high with swords, and sought only to die—to pave the way for future generations.

But in the end, after that group died generously, the radiance of humanity—so different from divinity—began to change, or rather, became obscured. Back then, the puppet ants created by the gods were ants precisely because of their innate inferiority, not merely because of the brevity of human life. That was why they were initially regarded by the high heavenly gods as ants beneath their feet for ten thousand years, only to continuously supply incense offerings, to be taken from as they pleased. Aside from that, their lives were no different from weeds. At that time, as the golden-bodied gods looked down upon the earth, some of them noticed the changes in the human world. But because the matter of condensing and refining golden bodies through earthly incense touched the very foundation of the gods' longevity, and the benefits were unimaginable—like an inexhaustible spring—some gods turned a blind eye, while others were dismissive, thinking it would take no effort at all to crush a nest of ants.

But how the final outcome evolved to this point involved many accidental necessities. For example, the conflict between Water and Fire.

The greatest exception was, of course, her previous master, along with a few other gods, who were willing to regard a small group of humans as true kindred spirits.

That was the beginning of swordsmanship and all arts in the human world.

Chen Ping'an shook his head and said softly, "My heart is free."

Then Chen Ping'an laughed. "I've never said such words to anyone before, because I never even thought of them."

She murmured the four words again.

"My heart is free."

Chen Ping'an was thrown back into the city by the Old Sword Immortal. Nalan Yexing was already at the door. The two walked into the Ning residence together. Nalan Yexing asked softly, "Was it the Old Sword Immortal who called you over?"

Chen Ping'an nodded, not saying much.

Nalan Yexing wasn't really that worried to begin with, and knowing it was the Old Sword Immortal's doing, he was even more at ease.

But Chen Ping'an spoke to him with his mind voice: "Grandpa Nalan, tell White Mama that I have something to discuss. We'll meet at the mustard seed microcosm."

Nalan Yexing's expression turned serious. "To discuss matters with the young lady?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Together."

The four gathered in the training ground.

Chen Ping'an roughly explained the matter of the Sword Spirit, only describing the current situation without delving into deeper origins.

Nalan Yexing and Bai Lianshuang looked at each other as if hearing a fairy tale.

A true spirit born from a celestial sword?

One of the legendary four celestial swords, the one with the greatest killing power from ten thousand years ago? An old acquaintance of the Old Sword Immortal, Chen Qingdu?

Ning Yao was fine, her expression normal.

Then ripples appeared in the mustard seed space of the training ground, and a tall woman in snow-white robes walked out. She stood beside Chen Ping'an, looked around, and finally fixed her gaze on Ning Yao.

Ning Yao raised an eyebrow.

The Sword Spirit smiled. "Don't worry, I'll be leaving soon."

Ning Yao said, "And if you don't leave?"

The Sword Spirit stared at the spot between Ning Yao's brows and said with a smile, "Quite interesting. Worthy of my master."

Chen Ping'an knew trouble was coming. Sure enough, Ning Yao sneered, "So if I didn't have that, I wouldn't be worthy? And who are you to decide whether I'm worthy or not?"

Nalan Yexing's forehead was covered in sweat.

Bai Lianshuang was tense, extremely nervous.

The Sword Spirit laughed. "Fine, fine, you win."

Ning Yao gave a cold "heh."

Chen Ping'an kept his eyes on his nose and his nose on his heart. All eighteen martial arts skills were useless here; saying even one more word now would be a mistake.

The Sword Spirit yawned. "Time to go, time to go."

Her already ethereal form gradually dissipated. Under Chen Qingdu's escort, she broke through the sky of the Sword Qi Great Wall and reached the Haoran World side. There, the Old Scholar helped cover her tracks, and they traveled together toward Bottle Gourd Continent.

On the long journey, the Old Scholar asked with a smirk, "So, what do you think?"

The Sword Spirit said, "She's not that beautiful, is she?"

The Old Scholar rubbed his hands awkwardly. "That's not what I was asking about."

The Sword Spirit said, "Oh, you mean Chen Qingdu? It's been ten thousand years. We caught up and chatted quite well."

The Old Scholar scrunched up his face, feeling that the timing was off and he shouldn't ask more.

The Sword Spirit glanced down at Daoxuan Mountain and said casually, "Chen Qingdu agreed to let one more person through—three in total. That gives you something to report at the Confucian Temple."

The Old Scholar fumed, "What? With your senior's tremendous face, you only got one more person?! Is Chen Qingdu trying to rebel? Outrageous! Absolutely disgraceful!"

The Sword Spirit said, "I could have asked Chen Qingdu not to let anyone through. That way, my face would be worth four people, wouldn't it?"

The Old Scholar declared with righteous indignation, "How could I let you, senior, make another trip to the Sword Qi Great Wall! Three it is. Chen Qingdu may be ungracious, but we scholars are filled with righteous spirit. We must still observe propriety, righteousness, and shame."

The Sword Spirit looked down again at the Jiaolong Trench. The Old Scholar glanced at it as well and said grudgingly, "Only small fry left now. Let's forget about it."

Between Daoxuan Mountain, Jiaolong Trench, and Bottle Gourd Continent, a white rainbow and a green smoke flashed past, instantly traveling thousands of miles.

Not even a flying sword crossing continents could match such speed.

The Sword Spirit raised a hand and wiggled her fingers.

The Old Scholar craned his neck to look, feeling a bit uneasy. He asked tentatively, "What are you doing?"

The Sword Spirit said coolly, "Keeping accounts."

The Old Scholar asked cautiously, "Keeping accounts? Whose accounts? Lu Chen's? Or that stinky Daoist from the Guan Dao Temple?"

The Sword Spirit smiled. "Counting how many times you called me 'senior.'"

The Old Scholar clutched his chest in agony. "How can you do this! Think about it—how old am I? How many old fogies call me 'Old Scholar' without a care? I've never minded! 'Senior' is a respectful title! 'Old Scholar' and 'Sour Scholar' are all just nicknames. How many people respectfully call me 'Lord Literary Sage'? This anxiety, this sorrow—who can I complain to…"

The Sword Spirit withdrew her hand and looked down at the sea sect that housed both the first true deity of the Rain Master and the Southern Heavenly Gate general of the Heavenly Court. She asked, "How did Bai Ze choose?"

The Old Scholar smiled. "He made a good choice. He wants to wait and see."

The Sword Spirit asked, "And this merit?"

The Old Scholar shook his head. "It doesn't count. How could it? Who would it be counted on? The person is gone."

The Sword Spirit sneered. "You scholars really know how to keep accounts."

The Old Scholar nodded. "Tell me about it. So tiring."

The Sword Spirit turned her head. "That's not right."

The Old Scholar said grudgingly, "Going to the Sword Qi Great Wall was too risky. I offered my life as a guarantee, but the Confucian Temple was damn cagy and absolutely refused. So I had to use part of the merit allocated to my closed-door disciple. The lineage of the Second Sage has hardly any heroic spirit—stingy and petty. A sage without heroism isn't a true sage. If my statue were still in the Confucian Temple staring blankly at the old man, I'd have gone to teach the Second Sage lineage a proper lesson long ago. It's my fault too. Back in my heyday, all three academies and every college were clamoring to invite me to give lectures. But I was too thin-skinned and put on airs. I gave too few lectures. If I had just carried a little hoe and gone to those academies and colleges back then, now little Ping'an would have a whole basketful of scholars who are more like brothers than disciples."

Regarding the Old Scholar using up the merit of her master without permission, the Sword Spirit showed no emotional fluctuation at all, as if this kind of behavior suited her just fine.

As for the Old Scholar babbling about offering his life as a guarantee, she felt embarrassed for this sour scholar beside her. How dare he say that? He knew perfectly well what she was—neither human, nor ghost, nor god. Who in the Haoran World could kill him now? The Supreme Sage Teacher would never act, nor would the Ritual Sage. The Second Sage only had a conflict over the Great Dao with his Literary Sage lineage, with no personal enmity involved.

The Old Scholar nodded to himself. "Might as well use it before it's gone. Better to use it up early, so my disciple won't worry about it. Having that connection isn't a good thing anyway. In my lineage—and I'm not just tooting my own horn—everyone has high aspirations, deep learning, and solid character. They're true heroes. Little Ping'an has traveled through three continents and wandered far and wide, but he never set foot in a single college. That tells you what he thinks of our Confucian temples, academies, and colleges. He's holding a grudge inside. I think that's great. That's how it should be."

The Sword Spirit smiled. "Cui Chan?"

The Old Scholar looked blank. "Did I ever accept that disciple? I only remember having a grand-disciple, Cui Dongshan."

The Sword Spirit said, "I think Cui Chan has the most resemblance to the predecessors."

"You're not wrong there."

The Old Scholar's expression turned dazed as he murmured, "I made mistakes too. It's just that I have no chance to correct them. That's life—it's great to know your mistakes and correct them, but it's a profound regret and pain to know your mistakes and never be able to correct them."

But the Old Scholar quickly shook off the gloom in his heart, tugged at his beard, and smiled. The past cannot be pursued, but the future can still be chased. Wasn't he taking in a closed-door disciple now?

"Senior," my foot!

I may be young, but we're on the same generational level.

At dusk, at the wine shop, Diezhang was a bit puzzled. Why had Chen Ping'an come back to drink so soon after leaving in the morning?

Business was good at the shop—not only were there no empty tables, there wasn't even an empty seat. That made Chen Ping'an feel a little better when buying his wine.

Diezhang handed over the cheapest jug of wine. "What's this?"

Chen Ping'an said helplessly, "Ran into some trouble. Ning Yao told me she wasn't angry, said it emphatically and insisted she really wasn't angry. But I don't think it's true."

Diezhang didn't gloat but consoled him, "Ning Yao never beats around the bush. If she says she's not angry, she's definitely not angry. You're overthinking it."

Chen Ping'an replied gloomily, "Boss, you tell me—who's better at reading people, you or me?"

Now Diezhang felt justified in gloating. "Then the second boss should drink a few more jugs. Our shop has plenty of wine. Same rules—familiar faces, no credit except for those who've just broken through."

Chen Ping'an crouched by the roadside with a wine jug, chopsticks, and a plate of dishes. Beside him was a regular customer, a drunken swordsman who couldn't go a day without alcohol. He was at the Dragon Gate realm, named Han Rong. Like Chen Ping'an, he only ever bought the Bamboo Sea Grotto wine that cost one Snow Flower Coin. Earlier, Chen Ping'an had told Diezhang that customers like him needed the most friendly treatment. Diezhang had been confused at the time, so Chen Ping'an patiently explained that drunkards' friends are all drunkards, and they like to nest in one spot and drink themselves to death. Compared to those who occasionally buy a good bottle to drink alone, the former are the real customers who can't wait to turn around and sit back down after leaving the table. All one-time transactions are bad business.

Diezhang had actually taken these words as golden advice and carefully recorded them in her account book, much to Chen Ping'an's frustration. Our boss really doesn't know how to do business. How had she run this shop for over a decade? He'd only been a peddler for a few years. Did he really have that much talent for trade?

Han Rong asked with a grin, "Second boss, drinking alone? What, did you get kicked out for being handsy? Don't worry, Brother Han is an old hand at romance. Let me give you a tip—consider it payment for the wine. How's that for a deal?"

Chen Ping'an chewed on some pickles, took a sip of wine, and said leisurely, "If I listened to you, I'd end up in a mess. Besides, I'm just out for a little drink. And who's teaching whom? You think I don't know? What did you write on that wish plaque on the shop wall, Brother Han? Did you drink so much you forgot? I don't get it—there are so many wish plaques in the shop, and you had to pick that one, turning the name side to the wall. Did you think our shop was your confession corner? What girl would dare come to our shop to drink after that? Today's wine: you pay double."

"Come on, brother. Money ruins friendship."

Han Rong held his bowl with five fingers, slowly drank a mouthful, and sighed. "Here, there are plenty of bachelors, but a sentimental fool like me is rare. If I really succeed and win the beauty, I'll take it as the shop's blessing. I'll definitely come back to fulfill my vow. When that happens, give me two jugs of the five-Snow-Flower-Coin wine."

Chen Ping'an laughed. "Sure. I'll throw in an extra jug then."

Han Rong asked, "Really?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "One Snow Flower Coin jug."

Han Rong looked disappointed. "So ungenerous. You're the esteemed second boss, young and accomplished, outstanding, a dragon among men..."

Chen Ping'an laughed and cursed, "Enough, enough, Brother Han. If I spit out my wine, are you going to reimburse me?"

Diezhang watched the two chatting warmly from a distance and felt a grudging admiration. This second boss really knew how to talk.

Chen Ping'an had also said that he truly enjoyed drinking at the Sword Qi Great Wall because, at many tables in the Haoran World, the same cup of wine meant deeper cups for those with power and shallower cups for those without.

Han Rong chuckled, then suddenly remembered something. "Second boss, you're well-read. Can you help me come up with some cheesy poems? Not too high-level—something like 'Once dreamed of the Green Spirit coming to the wine.' That's the kind the girl I like goes for. If you help your brother out, whether it works or not, I'll definitely drag a whole table of drunkards over to your shop. If we don't drink ten jars, I'll change my surname to yours."

"You think composing poetry is like drinking—just put money on the table and get a bowl? It doesn't work that way."

Chen Ping'an shook his head. "Besides, I'm not married yet, and I don't want a son."

Han Rong raised his bowl. "Our bond is deep—let's clink first. At least come up with one poem for your brother, even just a couple of lines. If you won't be my dad, how about I be your grandson?"

Chen Ping'an raised his bowl. "I'll think about it? But honestly, whether poetic inspiration strikes depends on whether the drinking is proper."

Han Rong immediately turned and shouted to Diezhang, "Boss! This jar of wine for the second boss—my treat!"

Diezhang nodded, feeling that if Chen Ping'an were willing to focus on selling wine, he could probably open a shop on the city wall in a few years.

A tall, slender young woman approached slowly. She stopped in front of the second boss, who was explaining what "flying light" meant to Brother Han. She smiled and said, "Could I trouble Mr. Chen for a moment?"

Chen Ping'an smiled and nodded, then turned to Han Rong. "It doesn't matter if you don't understand. As long as she gets it, that's fine."

Chen Ping'an walked down the street with the woman and said with a smile, "Miss Yu is very thoughtful."

The visitor was Yu Qia, the woman who made Fan Dache's heart ache.

Yu Qia's expression was slightly unnatural, but she quickly spoke in a soft, slow voice, "I heard about that night. Although Fan Dache and I didn't end up together, I still wanted to come and apologize to Mr. Chen in person. After all, it all started because of me, and I caused you some undeserved trouble. Maybe it's not appropriate to say this—you might think I'm just saying empty pleasantries. Regardless, I hope Mr. Chen can understand Fan Dache. He's really a good person. I'm the one who wronged him."

"If Fan Dache weren't a good person, I wouldn't have taken that scolding from him."

Chen Ping'an said, "Everyone gets carried away when they're drunk. A man muttering a woman's name when drunk—that's real affection. As for cursing when drunk, you don't need to take it seriously at all."

"Thank you, Mr. Chen."

Yu Qia performed a curtsy. "Then I won't disturb you and your friend's drinking anymore."

After Yu Qia left, Chen Ping'an returned to the shop and crouched down to continue drinking. Han Rong had already left, but of course, he had paid for the wine.

Diezhang leaned in and asked, "What was that about?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Just the Fan Dache business. Yu Qia came to apologize."

Diezhang curled her lip. "She's afraid of offending Chen Sanqiu. Chen Sanqiu is the top dog among those young masters like Fan Dache. If Chen Sanqiu says a harsh word, Yu Qia won't be able to move in those circles anymore."

Chen Ping'an smiled and didn't say more.

It wasn't that simple.

Chen Ping'an suddenly said, "Let's make a bet. Will Fan Dache show up?"

Diezhang nodded. "I bet he will."

Chen Ping'an was about to nod when Diezhang changed her mind. "No bet."

Chen Ping'an looked a bit regretful, and Diezhang felt that not betting was the right choice. Sure enough, less than half an incense stick later, Fan Dache arrived.

Diezhang rolled her eyes.

Fan Dache came to the shop, hesitated, and finally ordered a jug of wine. He crouched beside Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Miss Yu said she wronged you."

Fan Dache lowered his head, and instantly his face was covered in tears. He didn't drink, just held the bowl.

Chen Ping'an raised his bowl and gently clinked it against Fan Dache's white bowl. "Don't lose hope. Don't wish for war tomorrow and think you'll just die south of the Sword Qi Great Wall."

Fan Dache downed the wine in one gulp. "How did you know?"

Chen Ping'an said, "I guessed."

Fan Dache said, "Don't let my situation ruin your friendship with Sanqiu. Or even if you remain friends, don't let it leave a rift."

Chen Ping'an smiled. "You're overthinking it."

Fan Dache nodded. "That's good to hear."

Chen Ping'an said, "If you hadn't come to me today, I would have come looking for you."

Fan Dache smiled bitterly. "I appreciate the thought, but it won't help."

Chen Ping'an said, "Right now, you must be in pain. Mosquitoes buzz like thunder, ants cross the road like mountains. I do have a method. Want to try it?"

Fan Dache asked doubtfully, "What method?"

Chen Ping'an grinned. "Fight me. If the pain hurts as much as your heartache, you'll feel better."

Fan Dache was skeptical. "You're not just looking for an excuse to beat me up, are you? Are you that petty about me breaking your bowl?"

Chen Ping'an said, "Suit yourself."

But in the end, Fan Dache followed Chen Ping'an to a street corner. Before Fan Dache could get into a fighting stance, Chen Ping'an knocked him down with one punch. After several falls, Fan Dache stood up shakily, his face covered in blood, staggering down the road. Chen Ping'an, still calm and relaxed, walked beside him and asked with a laugh, "How do you feel?"

Fan Dache wiped his face, spread his hands, and looked up, cursing, "Feel great, my ass! I look like this now—Sanqiu and the others will definitely think I really tried to off myself!"

Chen Ping'an laughed. "What's a little blood between men? Otherwise, you'd have drunk my Bamboo Sea Grotto wine for nothing. Remember to pay for the wine before you go. As for the white bowl, forget it—I'm not the type to be petty over small things."

Chen Ping'an stopped. "I have something to do."

Fan Dache walked alone toward the shop.

Chen Ping'an turned around and smiled. "Did I scare you?"

It was the boy Zhang Jiazhen.

Zhang Jiazhen shook his head. "I wanted to ask about the character for 'steadfast.' In Mr. Chen's original intention, how should it be interpreted?"

Chen Ping'an said, "Another interpretation of 'steadfast' is 'one who does not rush.' Its meaning is similar to 'slow.' But being slow is not wrong; ultimately, one seeks speed, hence the rush."

Zhang Jiazhen thought for a moment, then smiled knowingly. He looked up at Chen Ping'an, who had his hands in his sleeves, and asked, "Mr. Chen, I'm no good at martial arts or swordsmanship. In the future, when I have free time and you happen to be near the shop, could I ask you to interpret characters for me?"

Chen Ping'an smiled. "Of course. I'll be coming here often."

Zhang Jiazhen blinked.

Chen Ping'an turned his head. It was Ning Yao.

Zhang Jiazhen took his leave and ran off.

Chen Ping'an hurried over and asked softly, "Why are you here?"

Ning Yao asked, "Drinking again?"

Chen Ping'an was speechless. The smell of alcohol was all over him. If he dared to deny it, he'd probably be beaten half to death.

Ning Yao suddenly took his hand.

Neither of them spoke as they walked past the shop and into the street.

Ning Yao asked, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Chen Ping'an thought for a moment and mimicked someone: "'Chen Ping'an, even if you somehow manage to marry a wife in the future, she'll probably be a bit dim-witted.'"

For once, Ning Yao was silent. After a moment, she laughed to herself, squinting one eye and lifting her hand in front of her, leaving an inch of space between her thumb and forefinger, as if murmuring to herself, "Not even this much liking?"

Ning Yao was puzzled to find that Chen Ping'an had stopped walking. But their hands were still clasped. She turned to look at him. For some reason, Chen Ping'an's lips were trembling. He said hoarsely, "If one day I leave first, what will you do? If we have children, what will you do?"

He was no longer the straw-sandaled boy from Mud Vase Alley, nor the child who carried a herbal medicine basket. Yet just thinking about this made him inexplicably sad, then very sad.

All the sorrows that could be spoken of could eventually be borne. But the hidden griefs only accumulate, bit by bit, year after year, like a solitary little mute hiding in the corner of the heart, curled up. That child just looks up and silently meets the gaze of every grown-up self, saying nothing.