Chapter 599: Scallions on the Plain Noodles

Chapter 599: Scallions on the Plain Noodles

Lu Sui stood up. Perhaps because she knew her friend's temperament well, she grasped Ren Longcong's hand as she rose, not giving her the chance to sit there pretending to be deaf and mute.

Lu Sui smiled gently. "Greetings, Young Master Chen."

Chen Ping'an smiled back. "Miss Lu can just call me Second Shopkeeper."

Lu Sui gave a faint smile, seeming to have something to say with her eyes but holding back.

Chen Ping'an laughed. "Then I'll just call you Miss Lu as well."

Zhang Jiazhen, who was helping out at the tavern, had already run over, bringing only wine bowls, no wine.

Lu Sui helped pour a bowl of wine for Chen Ping'an, then raised her own bowl. Chen Ping'an raised his as well. They didn't clink bowls, each drinking down the contents in one go.

Ren Longcong also took a small sip of wine, nothing more. Then she and Lu Sui sat back down on the bench.

Bai Shou held chopsticks in both hands, stirring a big bowl of plain noodles without eating, clicking his tongue in wonder. He then squinted at that surnamed Liu, *See that? See that? This is what my brother can do—there's real skill in it. Of course, Miss Lu is also extremely clever and proper.* Bai Shou even thought for a moment that if Lu Sui liked this Chen Goodman, they'd be a perfect match. But if she went for that surnamed Liu, it would be like planting a celestial flower in a vegetable patch, moving a mountain orchid to a pigpen—no matter how you looked at it, it was all wrong. Yet no sooner had this thought crossed his mind than Bai Shou threw down his chopsticks, pressed his palms together, his face solemn, and muttered in his heart, *Sister Ning, I was wrong, I was wrong. Lu Sui isn't good enough for Chen Ping'an, not good enough.*

Earlier, Ren Longcong and Lu Sui had been watching the battle from the end of the street, then ran into Qi Jinglong and Bai Shou. Both sides had carefully observed Chen Ping'an's fight with Yu Juanfu. If not for Chen Ping'an's final words about "speaking harshly requires great fist intent," Ren Longcong probably wouldn't have come to the tavern for a drink.

In truth, Ren Longcong was more inclined toward cultivators like Qi Jinglong—men of the Dao, men of principle. Her impression of this Chen Ping'an, now sitting at the same table, was decidedly mediocre. It wasn't that she looked down on him for selling wine, seals, or folding fans. In fact, on one of her earlier ventures down the mountain, she had encountered peril at every turn; her seniors and peers from the sect had all died, and she had wandered the jianghu alone, living through bitter days. The old tables and stools in this tavern didn't disgust her—they actually evoked some nostalgia for the hardships of that time. But there was something about Chen Ping'an that bothered her, something she couldn't quite articulate. Perhaps it was that he seemed too much like someone from the Sword Qi Great Wall, lacking the aura of a cultivator from the Bright World. Or perhaps it was the way the sword cultivators of different factions and realms who'd watched the battle were all so disrespectful toward this Second Shopkeeper—a kind of disrespect that Ren Longcong herself and many of her teachers couldn't even imagine. Maybe it was even a strange atmosphere that she knew she herself could never attain.

To put it simply, Ren Longcong had no objection to Chen Ping'an, but she didn't want to be friends with him either.

After all, the Chen Ping'an she had initially imagined—the young man who could make that land dragon Liu Jinglong regard him as a close friend—ought to have been graceful and exuded an immortal aura.

Unfortunately, this Second Shopkeeper, aside from his clothing vaguely matching that impression, had disappointed her in every other aspect of his words and actions.

As for what Chen Ping'an thought of her, she couldn't care less.

Originally, there was enough room at the table for everyone, but Lu Sui and Ren Longcong still sat together, as close female friends often do. Qi Jinglong didn't dwell on it, Chen Ping'an couldn't figure it out, and Bai Shou thought it was great—every time they went out, he had a chance to see one or two more beautiful sisters.

Lu Sui chatted a bit about Yu Juanfu, speaking only well of that female martial artist.

Chen Ping'an listened attentively, not dismissing a single word.

First, even if her words reached the city wall, they wouldn't offend Yu Juanfu or the Bitter Summer Sword Immortal.

Second, the better Yu Juanfu's martial talent and character, the better Chen Ping'an appeared for being able to win the first bout without throwing a single punch.

Third, Lu Sui's words contained some intentional or unintentional hints of heavenly secrets. News from the Spring Banner Pavilion never came from nothing or spread rumors. Clearly, as Qi Jinglong's friend, Lu Sui leaned more toward Chen Ping'an winning the second bout.

Ren Longcong wasn't interested in hearing any of this. Her attention was more on the sword cultivators drinking. This was a tavern on the Sword Qi Great Wall, so she couldn't tell who had a higher realm.

But back in the Bright World, even in the Northern Juzhou, where customs were closest to those of the Sword Qi Great Wall, whether at a drinking table or during a gathering, one could tell at a glance someone's status and realm.

Here, though, business was so good that there weren't enough tables and benches. Some were even willing to squat by the roadside to drink. But Ren Longcong noticed that among those squatting and slurping down plain noodles, one old sword cultivator had earlier greeted and teased someone—clearly a Nascent Soul sword cultivator! Nascent Soul sword cultivators, even in a place swarming with sword immortals like Northern Juzhou, how common were they? And yet here he was, squatting by the roadside with not even a stool, wolfing down noodles like a starving ghost.

In any mortal dynasty below the mountains in the Bright World, a Nascent Soul sword cultivator would be a guest of honor to emperors and kings, who'd eagerly bring out legendary dragon liver and phoenix marrow.

But this old sword cultivator, when he saw Chen Ping'an, just started cursing, saying he'd been swindled out of his hard-earned wife-savings and now his coffin money too, right?

Then the Second Shopkeeper, who was chatting with Lu Sui, excused himself, craned his neck, and said one word to the old sword cultivator: "Scram." Then he smirked and gave a meaningful glance. The dignified Nascent Soul sword cultivator caught sight of a certain man's back—someone already eating and drinking by the roadside—and let out an "Oh dear," saying it was a misunderstanding, just his own bad luck at gambling. The Second Shopkeeper, a man with the most conscience, would never cheat anyone out of half a copper, only sell the most affordable celestial wines. Then the old man grabbed his wine, paid, and ran, spitting on the ground as he went, shouting, "Second Shopkeeper, your conscience fell on the ground! Come pick it up quick, or a dog might run off with it!" The tavern crowd roared with laughter, finding it hilarious. Some, in a fit of excitement, even ordered another jug of wine.

Ren Longcong found these sword cultivators all very strange—shameless, absurd in their words and actions, beyond reason.

Chen Ping'an smiled faintly, glancing around. Everyone was full of suspicion. Once someone pointed something out, the suspicion faded, or at least diminished drastically.

*You all understand my methods, don't you?*

But then he thought about having to ghostwrite another poem for that old bastard, and his head started to ache. So he smiled at the man across from him and asked sincerely, "Jinglong, have you had any thoughts of composing poetry lately? We could spar a bit."

As for whether the result of that sparring went to the old sword immortal or was carved on a seal or written on a fan, did that surnamed Qi have any say in it?

Qi Jinglong smiled. "I'm not well-versed in literature. No thoughts at all. I'm just half a bucket of water at best, and thank goodness I don't slosh around."

Chen Ping'an said to Bai Shou, "From now on, you should urge your master to read more books."

Bai Shou asked, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

That surnamed Liu already read enough books. If he read more, Bai Shou would have to sit with him and read too, wouldn't he? The Whimsical Peak was going to be famous as the place where Bai Shou, the Great Sword Immortal, practiced his sword. Read books? The thatched cottage was full of that surnamed Liu's collection, and Bai Shou figured that even if he just skimmed through them all, he'd never finish in this lifetime.

Chen Ping'an nodded. "Otherwise?"

Bai Shou stabbed his chopsticks in the air as a threat. "Watch out! I have the sword immortal divine ability to turn anything into a flying sword!"

Qi Jinglong smiled knowingly, but his words were chiding his disciple. "At the dining table, don't imitate certain people."

Bai Shou happily ate his plain noodles. The taste was so-so, barely passable, but since it was free, he'd eat a few bowls.

Lu Sui's eyes narrowed into crescents.

At this moment, she especially liked Qi Jinglong.

Chen Ping'an laughed. "In my tavern, one bowl of plain noodles per person is free. Anything beyond that, you have to pay. Great Sword Immortal Bai, are you happy?"

Bai Shou looked up, his words muffled. "Aren't you the Second Shopkeeper?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "I make the rules."

Instead of getting angry, Bai Shou felt sorry for his brother. Thinking of how Chen Ping'an lived in a tiny house the size of a grain of rice inside that huge Ning Mansion, he asked softly, "Are you working this hard for money because you can't afford the betrothal gift? If it's really a problem, I'll steel myself and plead with Sister Ning for you. Let Sister Ning marry you first, and see about it later. No betrothal gift, no bride price either. Besides, I don't think Sister Ning cares about that sort of thing. It's just you worrying unnecessarily. A grown man without any money wanting to take a wife is indeed shameful, but it's Sister Ning's fault for picking you in the first place. Ah, enough said. I rarely drink, but a thousand words are all in this bowl. You do as you like. I'll finish mine."

He watched the teenager shiver after taking a sip of wine, then silently put the bowl down on the table.

Chen Ping'an scratched his head. He couldn't exactly wring the kid's neck, so he found himself missing his own first disciple.

---

Sword Immortal Tao Wen squatted by the roadside eating plain noodles, his face still wearing that inborn look of misery. Earlier, a sword cultivator at a table offered to give up his seat to the sword immortal, but Tao Wen waved it off. He had brought a jug of the cheapest Bamboo Sea Cave Heaven wine and a small dish of pickled vegetables. He'd been squatting for a while and had just started thinking the pickles were a bit too salty when a teenager soon brought him a steaming bowl of plain noodles. A few fresh green scallions floated on top, looking so adorable and pleasing that Tao Wen couldn't bear to eat them. Every time he rolled up a bunch of noodles with his chopsticks, he deliberately pushed the scallions aside, letting them linger a bit longer in the small bowl.

He'd made a lot of money this time. After splitting the earnings, Tao Wen's share would be about seven or eight Rain Grain coins.

No one had expected the Second Shopkeeper to defeat his opponent with one punch.

At first, Tao Wen hadn't believed it either. The opponent was Yu Juanfu, no pushover. A pure martial artist exchanging punches in a sparring match—it should take dozens or even hundreds of blows to decide, not like a sword duel where victory could come in an instant. But the Second Shopkeeper had been adamant, even guaranteeing that if he couldn't win with one punch, he'd cover all of Tao Wen's losses from the betting with wine from the tavern. Tao Wen wasn't stupid. He'd just kept eating his noodles, showing no interest in running the betting pool. So the Second Shopkeeper backed down, offering to pay back losses in cash instead, but renegotiating the split from half-half to seven-three in Tao Wen's favor. Tao Wen thought it was acceptable and didn't even bother to haggle. If Chen Ping'an really could knock out Yu Juanfu with one punch, as long as Tao Wen ran the betting pool big enough, he wouldn't lose money. To his surprise, the Second Shopkeeper had such strong character that he said dealing with Sword Immortal Tao, a sword immortal should earn an extra share, so they'd go back to six-four. Tao Wen not taking that would be foolish, so he nodded and agreed, muttering, "If I end up losing money, I'll just smash those broken tables—no flying swords."

Next to Tao Wen squatted a young gambler sighing deeply. He'd lost everything this time. It wasn't bad judgment—he'd been bold enough to bet that the Second Shopkeeper would win within ten punches. But he never expected Yu Juanfu to throw the first punch, gain a huge advantage, and then concede immediately. So today, the young sword cultivator hadn't bought any wine. He just mooched a bowl from a friend who lost less, thinking of it as having earned money, plus two free dishes of pickles and a bowl of plain noodles at the tavern to make up for it.

Tao Wen said, "Cheng Quan, from now on, gamble less. Once you're at the betting table, you can never beat the house. Even if you have to gamble, don't think you'll make big money that way."

The young man had known this sword immortal since childhood—they lived in adjacent lanes, and Tao Wen had watched Cheng Quan grow up. Tao Wen was an odd sword immortal. He never attached himself to any powerful clan, always walked alone, and only fought alongside other sword immortals on the battlefield, giving his all. Once back in the city, he'd hole up in his modest ancestral home. Though Tao Wen was currently single, he was in a worse state than a bachelor who'd never married. His wife had been mad for many years, year after year, wearing him down mentally and physically. When she left, not even an immortal could have kept her. Tao Wen didn't seem to grieve much. He never drank much, and he'd never been drunk.

Cheng Quan said helplessly, "Uncle Tao, I don't want to gamble like this either. But my flying sword is hard to raise. I've hit a critical small bottleneck. It won't help me break through to a higher realm, but whether I break it or not is crucial. I'm short on a lot of celestial coins. Look at how many times I've had a drink or visited the mirage markets these past few years. I don't even like those things. It's just that I have no other choice."

He looked up, gazing toward the southern city wall with melancholy. "Who knows when the next war will start. My talent is ordinary, but the rank of my natal flying sword is passable. However, being held back by my low realm, I can only stay on the city wall. How many demon beasts can I kill and how much money can I earn? If I break through the bottleneck, I can increase my sword's ranged attack distance by at least three or four li. Even from the wall, killing will be faster. The more I kill, the more money I'll have. Only then is there hope of becoming a Golden Core sword cultivator. Just relying on a few Minor Heat coins I have saved up isn't enough. The gap is too big. I have to gamble."

Tao Wen asked, "Why not try borrowing?"

Cheng Quan grimaced. "Everyone around me is as broke as I am. Even those with a bit of spare cash need to nurture their own flying swords. The amount of celestial coins consumed daily is no small sum. I can't bring myself to ask."

Tao Wen took a big mouthful of plain noodles, grabbed a bite of pickled vegetables, chewed, and asked, "After your aunt passed away, I remember telling you once that if you ever ran into trouble, big or small, I could help you one time. Why didn't you say anything?"

Cheng Quan grinned. "I was thinking that later, when I get to leave the wall and fight, I might need Uncle Tao to save my life once. For now, it's just a shortage of money. However worried I am, it's still a minor matter. Better than losing my life."

As he said this, his face turned pale—guilty and anxious, his eyes full of regret. He wanted to slap himself.

Tao Wen remained calm. "It's good that you can think that way."

Cheng Quan relaxed. "Besides, Uncle Tao, you never had any money before anyway."

Tao Wen laughed. "True."

He spoke to Cheng Quan via divine sense: "I can introduce you to a job. I'll advance you one Rain Grain coin. Interested? It's not my idea—it's from that Second Shopkeeper. He said you have a good face, look honest and sincere, and are quite suitable."

Cheng Quan, hearing the ripples of divine sense, asked doubtfully, "How so? Is the tavern hiring a permanent worker? I don't think they need one. With Sister Diezhang and Zhang Jiazhen, the place is small enough. Besides, even if I wanted to help, it would take ages to scrape together enough money."

Tao Wen said helplessly, "The Second Shopkeeper really didn't misjudge you."

A sword immortal sipping plain noodles and an Observing Sea realm sword cultivator taking small sips of wine finished their secret talk. Cheng Quan rubbed his face hard, drank deeply, and nodded firmly. He'd take this business deal.

Tao Wen remembered something—a remark the Second Shopkeeper had made earlier. He borrowed it to caution Cheng Quan: "Setting up a betting pool has its rules. Gambling tables have theirs. If you mix them up with personal loyalty, there'll be no future cooperation."

Cheng Quan nodded.

Shortly after Cheng Quan left, Chen Ping'an's group also departed from the tavern. The Second Shopkeeper walked over to Tao Wen with his wine bowl, grinning. "Sword Immortal Tao, you made a few hundred or thousand Rain Grain coins, and you're still drinking this cheap stuff? How about showing some gratitude and covering today's drinks for everyone?"

Tao Wen thought it over. It was no big deal. He was about to nod when the Second Shopkeeper frantically spoke via divine sense: "Don't just announce that you're paying the whole bill. Say that no matter how much anyone drinks today, you'll pay half of the wine cost—only half. Otherwise, I'd have wasted this visit. Even fresh gamblers would figure out we're working together to swindle them. But if I purposely act like I don't know you, that's worse. We need to keep them from being completely sure or completely suspicious. Just the right amount of uncertainty is perfect. That way we can keep running the pool. Let those stingy bastards who can barely afford a drink each think they're clever."

Tao Wen cursed back through divine sense, "What the hell is this? What goes on in that head of yours? If you'd just focus on practicing the sword, in ten years you'd be a sword immortal by now, dammit."

But out loud, he said to the crowd in a gruff voice, "Today, for up to five jugs of wine, I'll pay half. Consider it thanks for patronizing my betting pool. But if anyone buys five jugs or more, not a single copper comes from me. Go to hell. If you've got money, buy your own wine. If you don't, go home and drink milk."

Chen Ping'an listened, thinking that this sword immortal truly had talent for running a betting operation. But then again, it was his own good eye for people that was really behind it.

He took a small sip of wine and sent a divine thought: "Did Cheng Quan agree?"

Tao Wen put down his bowl and chopsticks, gestured for another jug of wine from the teenager, and said, "You should know why I don't deliberately help Cheng Quan."

Chen Ping'an said, "I know. You don't really want him to leave the city wall too early to fight. You might even hope he stays stuck at that awkward realm forever. A gambler or a vice-ridden fool—given Cheng Quan's nature, he can't be too bad. As it is now, with his daily worries big and small, at least it's better than dying. As for the business in Uncle Tao's household, even if I've been covering my ears all year, I've still heard about it. The Sword Qi Great Wall has one good and one bad trait: people speak without restraint. No matter how great a sword immortal, they can't hide their affairs."

Tao Wen waved his hand. "Let's not talk about that. Drink."

Then abruptly, Tao Wen asked, "Why didn't you just bet on yourself losing? Several betting houses actually allow that. If you'd been ruthless, you could've earned at least dozens of Rain Grain coins and made a lot of losing sword immortals jump up and curse."

Chen Ping'an said impatiently, "Ning Yao already told me not to lose. Do you think I dare to? For a few dozen Rain Grain coins, lose half my life, then sleep on the floor here in the tavern for a year or two instead of going home? Is that worth it?"

Tao Wen burst into rare laughter and patted the young man's shoulder. "Being scared of your wife isn't shameful. It's fine. Keep it up."

Chen Ping'an smiled and clinked bowls with Tao Wen.

Tao Wen sighed softly, "Chen Ping'an, feeling the joys and sorrows of others too deeply is not good for you."

Chen Ping'an laughed. "Someone who can say that should just talk to himself, ask himself, answer himself, and bear it himself."

Tao Wen was stunned for a moment, then smiled and nodded. He changed the subject. "I already told Cheng Quan the rules about gambling plainly."

Chen Ping'an swirled his wine bowl. "Keeping business rules is good. If one day, Cheng Quan, who always follows the rules, still breaks them for a friend's sake, then he's someone truly worth befriending. When that happens, Uncle Tao, if you won't lend him money to help his cultivation, I will. To be honest, before I was the Second Shopkeeper, I had two nicknames that resounded across the Bright World, even more fitting: one was Chen the Good Man, the other was the Boy of Wealth!"

Tao Wen pointed at the wine bowl in Chen Ping'an's hand. "Lower your head and see if you've got a reflection of your face."

Chen Ping'an looked down and exclaimed in astonishment, "Who is this handsome young man? Shaved his beard—pretty good-looking."

---

In the Yan family patriarch's study.

Fat Yan stood trembling at the door.

Earlier, his father had heard about the fight outside the Ning Mansion and given Yan Zhuo one Rain Grain coin to bet that Chen Ping'an would win with one punch.

Even though Yan Zhuo had great confidence in Chen Ping'an, he still thought the coin would be thrown away. But his father, Yan Ming, said it didn't matter if he bet wrong. So after getting the coin, Yan Zhuo, wanting to be a bit safer, took it upon himself to secretly bet for his father that the fight would end after three punches but within ten. Besides that coin, he also bet two Minor Heat coins from his own savings on Chen Ping'an knocking out that mediocre great-clan woman Yu Juanfu within a hundred punches. Then who could have imagined that Chen Ping'an would propose such a disadvantageous sparring method, and Yu Juanfu, with a head even less clear, would concede after one punch? Why didn't you take a few more punches? Chen Ping'an was in the Golden Body realm, and Yu Juanfu was also a Golden Body realm with an incomparably solid foundation, wasn't she?

Fat Yan didn't want to come to his father's study, but he had to. The reason was simple: he had emptied his private savings. Even if he borrowed from his mother, he couldn't compensate his father for the pile of Rain Grain coins that the one coin should have earned. So he had to come for a scolding, and a beating wouldn't be surprising either.

Yan Ming didn't look up. "Did you bet wrong?"

Yan Zhuo murmured an affirmation.

Yan Ming asked, "In this bout, will Chen Ping'an lose? Will he make money from the betting?"

Yan Zhuo said, "Absolutely not. Chen Ping'an has no competitive spirit about life-or-death fights among cultivators, but in martial arts, he has a deep obsession. Not to mention Yu Juanfu is at the same Golden Body realm; even if he were facing a Far Wandering realm martial artist, Chen Ping'an wouldn't want to lose."

Yan Ming asked, "Chen Ping'an is beside the Ning Mansion, and Ning Yao is inside the mansion. In this bout, do you think Yu Juanfu went in with a heart full of determination to win and a mind set on honing herself? Then for Chen Ping'an, what meaning did winning have?"

Yan Zhuo shook his head. "I wasn't sure earlier. After seeing Chen Ping'an's conversation with Yu Juanfu, I understood that Chen Ping'an didn't think the sparring benefited him in any way at all."

Yan Ming looked up and continued, "Then how could he get Yu Juanfu to stop pestering him? Do you now understand why Chen Ping'an proposed that suggestion? If not, then my one Rain Grain coin really was thrown away. All the losses from that coin, you will record on your account and pay back slowly. Yan Zhuo, do you really think Chen Ping'an deliberately gave her the first move? Do you think Yu Juanfu throwing that punch and conceding was just on a whim? Do you believe that if Yu Juanfu discarded her martial arts advantage and imitated Chen Ping'an by standing still, then took one punch from him, she would have the face to call for two more bouts? Do you really think that Ning Bai Shuang, a former Tenth Realm martial artist, and Na Ye Xing, a former Immortal realm sword immortal, spend their days just guarding the gate or cleaning rooms? Whatever they can teach, they teach their young master. And Chen Ping'an learns whatever he can, and he learns it extremely well and quickly. Not to mention on the city wall, Zuo You comes every three or four days to teach him swordplay. In this past year, your year hasn't been wasted. But he somehow seems to have lived three or five years."

Yan Zhuo said aggrievedly, "I wanted to spar with sword immortals too. But our Yan family's head guest elder, whose attitude is bigger than the sky, has always looked down on me since I was a child. He still refuses to teach me swordsmanship. I've shamelessly begged many times, but the old man won't even deign to reply."

Yan Ming's expression was calm. "Why didn't you ask me to order him to teach you properly? Who in the Yan family has the final say? The patriarch, Yan Ming. Since when can I not control a mere sword immortal guest elder?"

Yan Zhuo's eyes reddened immediately. He choked up. "I didn't dare. I was afraid you'd scold me for being useless, just living off the family. 'Fat Yan, the pig is fat, ready for the southern monsters to collect the meat'—these sickening words were spread by our own family. Father, you never spoke up against them... Why would I come here to be scolded..."

Yan Ming's expression remained unchanged. He didn't speak.

Yan Zhuo finished his heart's words, turned away, and wiped his tears.

Only then did the patriarch, with empty sleeves, speak. "Go and tell him to teach you swordsmanship, impart everything, no holding back."

Yan Zhuo murmured an acknowledgment and ran out of the study.

In a corner of the study, ripples appeared, and an old man materialized, smiling. "Do I have to be the villain?"

Yan Ming smiled faintly. "You're a guest elder who takes a large amount of celestial coins from me every year. If you don't play the villain, do you expect me, a father, to be the villain in my own son's eyes?"

The old man was about to return to the Yan family's cultivation ground—the little fat one had gotten his imperial edict and was already sprinting off. But he paused and said, "Earlier, the patriarch referred to a 'mere sword immortal guest elder.' Two of those words were improperly chosen."

Yan Ming gave a slight nod. A tiny sprite responsible for turning pages understood. It crouched, leaped into a brush holder on the table, brought out two Rain Grain coins, and tossed them at the old man.

The old man pocketed the two coins with a smile. "Very proper now."

Yan Ming thought for a moment, his expression somewhat conflicted. "For the same effect in sword training, remember to take it a bit easier on him."

The old man vanished in a flash.

Yan Ming still had some words he hadn't said to Yan Zhuo.

For example, the Yan family hoped that a certain sword immortal, whose daughter's nickname was "Scallion," would become a new guest elder.

That young woman, whose path of cultivation had once been so promising, had left the city wall and died on the southern battlefield, in a horrible state. Her father was a sword immortal. The battle was brutal. He had fought desperately to reach her, but it was too late to save her.

Later, the girl's mother went mad. Day and night, she would only ask her husband one question: "You are a sword immortal. Why didn't you protect our daughter?"

---

A man returned to his home, which was empty when he wasn't there. Earlier, he had taken three extra bowls of plain noodles from the tavern, stored in his sleeve artifact. Now, he placed them on the table one by one. He took out three pairs of chopsticks and set them neatly. Then he lowered his head and ate his own bowl.

On one of the bowls on the table, there were more scallions than usual.

---

In the twilight, Chen Ping'an sat on the doorstep, his hands tucked into his sleeves, leaning against the door frame. He watched his own busy tavern and the larger, quieter taverns and inns further away.

He had heard that years ago, when a certain woman from a mediocre great clan had swaggered out of the mirage market, it was a certain sword immortal named Tao Wen who had drawn his sword against that upper-five-realm military strategist cultivator on the Sword Qi Great Wall.

Later, these stories—merely the joys and sorrows of others—would ordinarily be listened to and then pass. A few jugs of wine, a few bowls of plain noodles, and they'd be over. But in Chen Ping'an's heart, they lingered. They always made the young man, thousands of miles from home, inexplicably think of Mud Vase Alley back home. And then, when it hurt too much to bear, he had once asked Ning Yao that question.

On the Sword Qi Great Wall, whether old or young, every sword cultivator was waiting to die. They died in crop after crop, to the point where no one bothered to remember anyone for long.

And then these bastards from the Bright World came here, spouting a hollow morality and etiquette that couldn't stand on their own two feet?

Why not look at the Sword Qi Great Wall fully before speaking about its merits and faults? No one asked them to bravely die on the city wall. The dead aren't them. So just taking a few more glances, thinking a bit more—is that too hard?

Young Zhang Jiazhen, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, happened to see Mr. Chen leaning his head against the door frame, staring blankly ahead, his eyes unfocused like never before.

Mr. Chen seemed a little sad, a little disappointed.