Chapter 594: Old and Young on Mount Fallen
Before the summer solstice, Chen Ping'an almost never left the house, spending nearly ten hours a day refining qi.
Ning Yao was even more extreme, going straight into seclusion.
Whenever a flying sword message arrived from the Ning Estate, Fan Dache would go there to train. He either took Chen Ping'an's fists or got hit by Yan Zhuo's or Dong Heitan's flying swords. Chen Sanqiu wouldn't strike, but he had to carry Fan Dache home. Yan Zhuo and Dong Huafu each had their own swords—Purple Lightning and Red Makeup—and once they drew, Fan Dache fared even worse. Now Fan Dache only hated his own poor aptitude. He had "Great Clarity" but no "Great Enlightenment," and still couldn't break through. Chen Ping'an said that once Fan Dache reached the Golden Core, his sword training would be over, and then he just needed to go to the tavern and shout a few times to complete the task.
For a Dragon Gate realm swordsmith on the Sword Qi Great Wall, breaking through that bottleneck was hardly simple. Reaching Golden Core for a Sword Qi Great Wall swordsmith was like a true coming-of-age ceremony.
The reason the Sword Qi Great Wall could become the strongest place for swordsmiths across several worlds and could attract wave after wave of swordsmiths from the Haoran World to train there was naturally a great secret. It lay in the fact that sword cultivators here, like pure martial artists being fed punches, trained nonstop. The foundation for each realm was laid extremely well. A solid foundation meant a greater bottleneck for breaking through, like a great path pressing down on the shoulders, not allowing one to straighten their back.
The same Fan Dache, the same Dragon Gate realm, if he went to Inverted Mountain in the Haoran World, breaking through would be much easier. But such a breakthrough would result in a much lower grade of Golden Core, and in the long run, the loss outweighed the gain. Unless it was one of those Earth Immortal cultivators on the Sword Qi Great Wall who truly saw no hope of breaking through, they might go to Inverted Mountain to cultivate for a while and try their luck. After all, after Golden Core, each higher realm meant a solid gain of a hundred or even a thousand years of longevity.
But cultivators below Golden Core were forbidden from going to Inverted Mountain to cultivate—that was an iron law of the Sword Qi Great Wall, precisely to completely kill off any hope of shortcuts among young sword cultivators. So when Ning Yao had run away from home and secretly gone to Inverted Mountain, even though with her talent she had no need for shortcuts, it still caused no small amount of criticism. But the Old Sword Immortal turned a blind eye, and A Liang secretly escorted her, personally following Ning Yao to Inverted Mountain's Catching and Releasing Pavilion. Others just grumbled a few words; no sword immortal actually tried to stop Ning Yao.
In recent sparring sessions, Chen Ping'an teamed up with Fan Dache, while Yan Zhuo and Dong Huafu worked together. They could use their natal flying swords freely but not their swords; they only used wooden sticks as swords. The way to decide victory was also strange: if someone's wooden sword broke first, that side lost. As a result, the pile of wooden sticks placed in the training ground was almost all used up by Fan Dache, and that was only because Chen Ping'an kept rescuing him.
Regardless, Fan Dache could at least leave the Ning Estate standing. Before going home each time, he would go to the tavern and drink the cheapest Bamboo Sea Cave Heaven wine.
Chen Sanqiu would also chat with Fan Dache about gains and losses in sword practice and flaws in his strikes. When Fan Dache drank, listening to his good friend's meticulous guidance, his eyes were bright.
Especially when Chen Ping'an suggested that in the future, the four of them should join forces to confront and fight the senior sword immortal Nalan Yexing, Fan Dache was eager to try.
At Yan Zhuo's silk shop, besides the hundred-plus Sword Immortal seals that had been sold one after another, the shop also released a newly bound volume titled "Two Hundred Sword Immortal Seal Manual." They also started giving away bamboo fans as gifts, stamped with some private seal inscriptions not found in the "Two Hundred Sword Immortal Seal Manual." The fan ribs and fan surfaces were still made of ordinary materials; the skill was only in the poetry verses and seal carvings.
Just like how the big taverns had been forced by the Stacked Barrier tavern to hang couplets, now the large and small cloth and silk shops on the Sword Qi Great Wall were also forced by Yan Zhuo's shop to give away folding fans, sachets, and other delicate items. But the customers, especially wealthy women with plenty of private money, didn't seem to buy from other shops. In fact, many women might not have truly liked Yan's shop's seals and fans, but since several female sword immortals, including Li Cai, and many women from powerful families had patronized Yan's shop, it seemed that if a woman didn't buy something there, her taste would be considered inferior. How could that do?
Not only that, but some usually dull men, after drinking at the Stacked Barrier tavern and hearing some talk, unexpectedly went to Yan's shop themselves or sent their servants to buy some exquisite silk that looked good but wasn't practical, along with folding fans, and gave them to their women. Many women felt it was overpriced, but when they saw the anticipation in their usually inexpressive men's eyes, they could only say they liked it. Later, in their spare time, during the height of summer, seeking shade and coolness, they would open the fan, feel the cool breeze, look at the beautiful words on the fan surface, and if they didn't understand, they would quietly ask others. Once they knew the meaning, they would feel it was truly good.
That day, after finishing his qi refinement, Chen Ping'an took a walk in the night and came alone to the Dragon Beheading Cliff pavilion.
Ning Yao was now in seclusion in a secret chamber. Before going into seclusion, Ning Yao didn't say much, only that it wasn't to break through to the Nascent Soul realm and that there was no risk.
Chen Ping'an had to stay on the Sword Qi Great Wall for at least five years. If the great war still hadn't started by then, he would have to rush back to Vast Bottle Province, since there were many matters at his hometown, Mount Fallen. Then he would need to immediately return to Inverted Mountain. Currently, cross-continent flying sword messages were strictly controlled by both the Sword Qi Great Wall and Inverted Mountain, requiring two checks. Only after both verifications passed could one send or receive them. This was especially troublesome for Chen Ping'an.
It wasn't that he couldn't time it right, go to Inverted Mountain, and then hand over secret letters and family letters to the Osmanthus Island of the Old Dragon City Fan family or Sun Jiashu's Mountain and Sea Turtle. Both parties generally didn't break the rules, and they could help forward them to Mount Fallen via Vast Bottle Province. For Chen Ping'an now, doing this wasn't too difficult, but there would naturally be a price. Otherwise, the two layers of verification on flying swords by the Sword Qi Great Wall and Inverted Mountain would become a huge joke. Did they really think the sword immortals and Dao Lords were just decorations? But Chen Ping'an wasn't afraid of paying those necessary costs; rather, he didn't want to involve the Fan and Sun families too much with Mount Fallen beyond their legitimate business dealings. They were kind enough to do business with Mount Fallen; he couldn't have them dragged into various whirlpools by him, the mountain lord, before they even saw any dividends.
Chen Ping'an walked down Dragon Beheading Cliff and returned to the small residence. The side room, which originally only had a table for displaying seals, now had an extra table—a hand-drawn map of Dragon Spring Commandery by Chen Ping'an. If the officials of the Kiln Affairs Supervision Office saw it, they probably wouldn't be happy. Because on this map, all the large and small Dragon Spring dragon kilns were precisely marked: Heavenly Dipper Kiln, Star Dipper Kiln, Literary Flourishing Kiln, Martial Prosperity Kiln, Soaring Sky Kiln, Flower Kiln, Parasol Shade Kiln, Paperweight Kiln, Ganoderma Kiln, Jade Infusion Kiln, Lotus Kiln...
On the table were also two booklets, both handwritten by Chen Ping'an. One recorded the historical heritage of all dragon kiln mouths; the other recorded the origins and developments of the total fourteen major surnames and clans in the small town. All were written in small regular script, dense and packed. The Huai Huang County office and the Da Li Ministry of Justice probably wouldn't be happy to see them either.
Many of the records were written from memory, and more than half of the secret files had been secretly collected bit by bit over the years through Mount Fallen.
Chen Ping'an put his hands in his sleeves, gently swaying his body back and forth, staring at the map.
Without turning his head, he reached out from his sleeve, using two fingers to flip through the pages of one booklet. It was True Sun Mountain. He glanced at it, then flipped again: Qingfeng City Xu Clan.
All old acquaintances.
For eighteen generations, everything was clearly recorded in the booklet. Chen Ping'an probably knew the detailed contexts of their respective mountains and families better than the direct-lineage disciples of these two immortal clan ancestral halls.
These were two main volumes that were roughly completed. There would be two supplementary volumes later, with even more text. One was about the dragon kiln trade of destiny porcelain and the possible buyers among the Vast Bottle Province immortal families and sects from other provinces. Besides the seemingly low-level city market Apricot Flower Lane Ma family, there would be the lofty, money-commanding Qionglin Sect. Writing about the Qionglin Sect in the Northern Jujube Continent naturally couldn't avoid Xu Xuan, and then there was Qingliang Sect master He Xiaoliang, which would in turn involve Shengao Sect, the leading immortal family on the mountains of Vast Bottle Province. The other volume recorded the countless connections between the small town's major clans and the many immortal families outside the Li Zhu Cave Heaven. The two supplementary volumes would naturally intersect and influence each other.
Chen Ping'an walked out of the house. Nalan Yexing stood at the door, looking somewhat serious, with a hint of indignation, because beside the old man stood an unregistered disciple, a Golden Core sword cultivator born and raised on the Sword Qi Great Wall, Cui Wei.
Nalan Yexing's killing intent was thick, as if he couldn't help but strike down the man on the spot.
Chen Ping'an understood in his heart and smiled at the old man, "Grandpa Nalan, don't blame yourself so much. When I have time, I'll tell you about a 'Heart-Questioning Game' with Grandpa Nalan."
Nalan Yexing nodded, turned to Cui Wei, and said, "From tonight on, you and I, Nalan Yexing, no longer have any teacher-disciple relationship."
Cui Wei's expression was indifferent. He only clasped his fists in apology to the sword immortal.
As for what Cui Wei was thinking at that moment, someone who could endure until now certainly wouldn't show a trace.
Nalan Yexing vanished in a flash.
Chen Ping'an moved two chairs out. Cui Wei sat down lightly. "Mr. Chen should have already guessed."
Chen Ping'an nodded. "I had some suspicion at the beginning because the surname was too conspicuous. Once bitten, twice shy. I couldn't help but think more. But after watching for so long, my doubts had mostly faded, since you should never have left the Sword Qi Great Wall. It's hard to believe anyone could endure so much, and even harder to understand why you would be willing to pay such a price. So, can it be said that the person who first led you onto the path of cultivation was a piece planted by Cui Chan on the Sword Qi Great Wall very early on?"
Cui Wei nodded. "Mr. Chen's guess is correct. It's not just me. Almost all of us who wouldn't even admit to being spies—like Huang Zhou of Dayuling Lane—had our cultivation paths originate from seemingly insignificant accidents, leaving no trace. So we were completely kept in the dark from the start. Later, what we should do and what we should say were all controlled in extremely subtle ways. Finally, one day, like me, Cui Wei, suddenly receiving an instruction that matched a secret code, I would voluntarily walk into the Ning Estate to reveal my identity to Mr. Chen."
Cui Wei said directly, "Mr. Chen can ask about the past in detail, but I won't tell. Even if I did, it would be meaningless. The first person who taught me the Dao died long ago on the southern battlefield. I, Cui Wei, visit the Ning Estate today only to say one thing: from now on, any secret letters Mr. Chen sends to Vast Bottle Province can be entrusted to me. Of course, Mr. Chen can choose to believe me or not."
Chen Ping'an shook his head. "Of course I don't believe you, and I won't entrust any letters to you. But rest assured, you, Cui Wei, are now neither beneficial nor harmful to the Ning Estate. I won't do anything unnecessary. From now on, Cui Wei remains Cui Wei, just without the connection of being Nalan Yexing's unregistered disciple."
Cui Wei took a pebble from his sleeve and handed it to Chen Ping'an. The Golden Core sword cultivator said not a single word.
Chen Ping'an took it. It was a stone from the stream at Yu Ying Cliff of the Spring Dew Nursery, picked up by Cui Dongshan.
Chen Ping'an took the stone and put it into his sleeve, smiling. "From now on, when we meet, don't come to the Ning Estate. Try to go to the tavern. Of course, we should still try to meet as little as possible to avoid arousing suspicion. If I need to find you, I'll slightly move your 'No-Trouble Token' of Cui Wei's. Starting next month, aside from my own leisurely drinking with friends, if I need to send or receive letters, I'll first move the token, and then I'll only appear on the first day of the month to meet you. If there's no exception, the month after, it will be postponed to the second day. If there is an exception, when I meet you, I'll give a signal. Generally speaking, sending and receiving letters once a year at most twice is enough. If there's a better way to contact or any concerns on your end, you can come up with a plan and tell me later."
"Got it."
Cui Wei stood up and silently left.
Chen Ping'an stood up but didn't see him off.
Nalan Yexing appeared under the eaves, sighing emotionally, "You can know a person's face but not their heart."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "We should be glad to have one less 'bad contingency' around us."
There was no need to say good words for Cui Wei or help Nalan Yexing curse him.
Nalan Yexing smiled bitterly, sighing even more.
Chen Ping'an led the old man into the opposite side room. The old man took out two jugs of wine. No need for appetizers.
After Chen Ping'an told roughly about the Heart-Questioning Game in Letter Lake—most of the inside details were better left unsaid—it was mainly to put the old man at ease. Losing to Cui Chan wasn't strange.
Nalan Yexing couldn't help but drink an extra jug. Finally, he asked, "So heartbreaking, how did the young master get through it?"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Hasn't Grandpa Nalan already given the answer?"
Nalan Yexing was stunned for a long time, then understood and laughed heartily.
---
The Sword Qi Great Wall was in the height of summer, but Dragon Spring Commandery of Vast Bottle Province in the Haoran World had just seen its first goose-feather snow of winter.
The ancestral hall of Mount Fallen wasn't on the main peak, a bit far from the residence. But Chen Nuanshu went to the ancestral hall at Clear Sky Peak every half month, opening the doors, carefully wiping and cleaning.
Today, Pei Qian and Zhou Mili followed Chen Nuanshu, saying they wanted to help. On the way, Pei Qian reached out, and the Right Protector of Mount Fallen respectfully presented the mountain-walking staff with both hands. Pei Qian performed a wild sword technique all the way, shattering countless snowflakes.
At the outermost main gate of the ancestral hall estate, Pei Qian stood on the steps, both hands holding the staff, looking around. Snow vast and boundless. With her master not on Mount Fallen, she, the senior disciple, felt a loneliness of being invincible under heaven.
Chen Nuanshu, carrying a small bucket, took out the key and opened the gate. Behind the gate was a large courtyard, and beyond that was the ancestral hall with its doors never closed. Zhou Mili took the bucket, took a deep breath, activated her innate ability, and sprinted wildly across the snow-covered courtyard, shaking the bucket vigorously with both hands. Soon she had a bucket of clear water. She lifted it high and handed it to Chen Nuanshu, who stood at a higher place. Chen Nuanshu was about to step over the threshold to enter the ancestral hall where portraits hung and chairs were arranged, when Pei Qian suddenly grabbed her and pulled her behind herself. Pei Qian bent slightly, holding the mountain-walking staff, staring intently at the area near the foremost central chair inside the ancestral hall.
That was her master's chair.
Ripples appeared, and then an old gentleman in a Confucian robe with snow-white hair and beard materialized.
Pei Qian stared at the small, thin old man, dazed.
The myriad lights of the human world were like a river of stars.
It was a state of mind she had never seen before—boundless, as if no matter how wide she opened her eyes, the scenery would never end.
The Old Scholar stood beside the chair, and behind him, high up, were three portraits. He looked at the girl outside the door, who had grown quite a bit taller, and felt many emotions.
It wasn't in vain that he had gone all out, borrowing from others, making bets with others.
In the end, it was his closed-door disciple who never disappointed the teacher or senior brother.
Pei Qian asked, "Old Master Wensheng?"
The Old Scholar was stunned. He had never been called that. Curious, he asked, "Why 'Old Master'?"
Pei Qian said seriously, "It makes the seniority sound especially higher."
The Old Scholar stroked his beard and smiled, nodding lightly. "That's very good."
A certain doctrine of his lineage, an unspoken secret, had already been carried forward so quickly?
Pei Qian glanced at the highest portrait, then looked back, saying loudly, "Old Master Wensheng, you as a living person seem even more awe-inspiring than the portrait!"
Chen Nuanshu blinked, saying nothing.
Zhou Mili tilted her head, frowning hard, glancing back and forth between the portrait and the Old Scholar. She really couldn't see it.
The Old Scholar coughed a few times, tugged at his collar, straightened his back, and asked, "Really?"
Pei Qian nodded vigorously, craning her neck, shaking her head left and right, looking up and down, standing on tiptoe to look, then finally nodded. "Absolutely true, no mistake! The big white goose praised me for sizing up people so accurately!"
The Old Scholar beamed, unable to close his mouth. He beckoned the three little girls to sit—here, they each had their own chairs anyway. Lowering his voice, he said, "Just the three of you little ones knowing I've come to Mount Fallen is enough. Don't tell anyone else."
Pei Qian coughed. "Nuanshu, Mili!"
Chen Nuanshu immediately nodded. "Okay."
Zhou Mili shouldered the "imperially bestowed" mountain-walking staff from Pei Qian, puffed out her chest, and tightly closed her mouth.
From now on, she would be a mute. Besides, she was originally a big water monster from Mute Lake.
The Old Scholar strolled slowly inside the ancestral hall. Chen Nuanshu began cleaning the chairs as usual. Pei Qian stood by her own chair. Zhou Mili wanted to sit on the chair labeled "Right Protector," but Pei Qian glared at her: no manners. Her master's elder had come, and the old gentleman hadn't even sat down; what were you sitting for? Zhou Mili quickly stood at attention, feeling a bit wronged—she just wanted the old gentleman to know who she was.
The Old Scholar saw this, smiled, but said nothing.
To have brought Pei Qian step by step to this great path, that closed-door disciple had expended no small amount of mental effort. Teaching her so well was even rarer.
This was actually the third time the Old Scholar had come to Mount Fallen. The first two times were rushed, so he hadn't set foot here. After this trip, he would be busy again—a life of toil.
Earlier, the old man had secretly gone to the small town's school, standing inside at a certain position.
Looking around, in that classroom years ago, there should have been a little girl in a red cotton jacket, sitting upright, seemingly listening attentively but actually lost in a daydream.
There would have been a focused Lin Shouyi, thinking along with whatever the teacher said.
There would have been a drowsy Li Huai, nodding like a chick pecking rice.
There would have been Zhao Yao, who certainly couldn't have imagined his future then—one day leaving the teacher's side, traveling far by ox cart, and ultimately traveling solo to the Central Divine Continent.
There would have been a seemingly foolish but wise Dong Shuijing, and a little girl with horn-like buns.
The old man stood there and thought of another nominal disciple similar to Mao Xiaodong, Ma Zhan—one wrong step after another, and after awakening, even though he had a chance to repent, he only wanted to die to prove his resolve.
The old man found that in the end, it seemed all faults lay with himself. As a teacher who passed on the Way, imparted knowledge, and resolved doubts, he hadn't taught his disciples enough, and his methods for helping them establish themselves in life were a complete mess.
The Old Scholar lowered his head, tugging at his beard, even more distressed.
But today, arriving at his closed-door disciple's Mount Fallen ancestral hall—the high-hanging portraits, the orderly chairs, the windows shining and spotless, especially seeing three lively and cute little girls—the old man finally had a bit of a smile. Yet the Old Scholar felt even more guilty. How did his portrait end up hanging at the highest place? What had he, a lousy, wretched teacher, done for his disciple? Had he carefully imparted knowledge and resolved doubts for him? Had he, like Cui Chan, taken him along on a journey of ten thousand miles? Had he, like Mao Xiaodong and Ma Zhan, allowed the disciple to come to him with questions as soon as doubts arose in his heart? Aside from a few words and a vague inculcation of that young man's "sequence doctrine," which left the disciple stuck and burdened with thoughts at a young age, and besides some drunken ramblings back then, how could he be called his teacher?
Certain doctrines, when introduced too early, were as difficult as entering a mountain and moving it.
The old man was consumed by guilt.
Back at the school, the old man turned and looked outside, as if he could see a sallow-faced child standing on tiptoe outside the window, wide-eyed, ears straining to catch the sound of reading, smelling the fragrance of books, looking at the teacher and students inside. The child stood alone outside the school, his clean eyes full of longing.
In that child's later life, perhaps he would carry a large basket, gather herbs on the mountain to build up his courage, shouting "Man's nature at birth is good" without fully understanding, and on the way down the mountain, cheerfully recite "Heaven and earth are dark and yellow, the universe is desolate." Between climbing up and down, under the scorching sun, drenched in sweat, the child would rest under a tree shade, playing grass-fighting games alone, winning and losing by himself, raising one hand and shouting "I won! I won!"—that was a hint of childish innocence.
The world was full of heavy suffering, and such a life for a child was not rare.
But to bear it all alone at such a young age—that was uncommon.
The Old Scholar even regretted saying those words to Chen Ping'an back then: "A young man's shoulders should bear willows in spring and grass growing and warblers flying." Saying that to children like Pei Qian was fine, but saying it to Chen Ping'an—wasn't that speaking without feeling the back pain?
But the Old Scholar thought again, and looking at Mount Fallen now, it seemed that saying those words to the straw-sandaled youth back then was the most correct thing.
In the end, Pei Qian and the others found that the old gentleman who had come from afar sat on a chair closest to the threshold, quietly sitting there, looking up at the three portraits.
He didn't look at his own portrait in the center. He looked at Cui Cheng's portrait for a long time, nodding lightly, muttering indistinctly, and then the old gentleman kept looking at his disciple's portrait, silent.
The old gentleman murmured to himself, "Someone said: 'What about repaying evil with kindness?'"
The old gentleman answered himself, "Confucius said: 'With what then do you repay kindness? Repay evil with straightforwardness, and repay kindness with kindness.'"