Chapter 611: The Wind Is About to Rise

Chapter 611: The Wind Is About to Rise

Fan Dache still could not break through the bottleneck of the Dragon Gate realm and become a Golden Core cultivator.

No matter how much wine Fan Dache drank, and even though he always picked up the tab, he still had not been able to develop the Second Boss’s thick skin. He would feel guilty, thinking he had let down the Ning Manor training grounds and the training puppets that helped Yan Fatty practice swordsmanship. So every time they went drinking, Fan Dache was always the one to pay. That was nothing. Even if Fan Dache was not at the table, as long as his money was there, it was fine. At the Diezhang Tavern, all the drinking was charged to Fan Dache’s account, with Dong Huafu topping the list most often. At first, Fan Dache had been confused—how could the tavern allow credit? When he asked, he found out that Chen Sanqiu had taken it upon herself to deposit a Minor Heat coin at the tavern on his behalf. Fan Dache asked how much was left of that Minor Heat coin. If he hadn’t asked, it would have been fine, but the question brought a wave of sorrow. Since he was already in for it, he reluctantly ordered a few pots of Qingshen Mountain wine and drank himself dead drunk.

The two young men of similar age who had become long-term employees at the tavern, Zhang Jiazhen from Lingxi Lane and Jiang Qu from Suoli Lane, had become close friends who shared everything. In private, they talked about their dreams, neither of which was very grand.

The storyteller sitting on the bench appeared less and less frequently. The landscapes and tales he told became fewer and fewer.

The little boy with the clay pot and his secret stash of money—his father helped make Yangchun noodles at the tavern—felt that this couldn’t go on. The stories weren’t as good as before, but they were still stories. If it came to it, he could pay the storyteller to hear them. Would one copper coin be enough? Nowadays his father earned a lot of money and would toss him two or three coins every now and then. In at most another year, Feng Kangle’s clay pot would be too full to hold any more. So, feeling rich and bold, Feng Kangle cradled his clay pot, gathered his courage, and sneaked off by himself to Ning Manor Street, a place he had never been before. But after wandering around for half a day, he didn’t dare knock on the door. The door was too big, and the boy was too small. Feng Kangle always felt that even if he knocked hard, the people inside wouldn’t hear him.

When the storyteller was sitting on the bench, this boy—the first one to greet the Second Boss and strike up a conversation—wasn’t afraid at all. But when the storyteller was hidden inside the high walls of Ning Manor, the boy became scared. So, he squatted at the base of the wall and basked in the sunlight for half a day. Before dark, he left the bluestone street that could be used as a mirror. Secretly twisting his ankle, the sole of his shoe would squeak. He would play this game for a short stretch, not daring to do it too often, afraid of bothering someone and getting beaten. When he reached the muddy road of his own alley, that pleasure was gone. If he dirtied his shoes, his father wouldn’t care, but his mother would. A spanked bottom was no fun. Many times, as his mother was beating him, she would start crying herself. His father would squat at the door, silent and sullen. At those times, the boy felt most wronged. It was him who was in pain, so what was wrong with his parents? These adults were even less reasonable than children who hadn’t grown up yet.

Feng Kangle returned to his alley, where quite a few children were eagerly waiting. They all hoped that tomorrow they could hear those free stories from distant lands again.

Feng Kangle had no way out. He couldn’t very well say he was scared, that he had only seen the big door and not the storyteller. So, he apologized silently to the storyteller in his heart, then bitterly complained that the Second Boss was too stingy, that he looked down on the too few coins in his clay pot, and now he didn’t want to tell stories anymore. That guy had fallen head over heels for money and had no conscience. The children joined Feng Kangle in cursing. In the end, there was less anger and more regret.

After all, the last story hadn’t been finished. It had gotten to the part where the mountain god was forcing a marriage and a scholar beat the drum of grievance at the City God Pavilion. At least they should finish that story! Had the scholar managed to save the poor girl he loved? Were you, Second Boss, not afraid that the scholar would keep drumming until he broke the big drum at the City God’s front gate?

The little girl, who wasn’t very pretty but always brought enough melon seeds, was the most disappointed. Because after the storyteller had mooched her melon seeds so many times, when she played house now, she got to be the bride sitting in the sedan chair. Feng Kangle and the others would form a frame with their hands, and she would sit on it, swaying. But ever since the storyteller had stopped showing up with his bench and bamboo branch, she had become the one everyone liked again, and she had to go back to being the dowry maidservant.

Besides, the storyteller had secretly promised her that next time it snowed and they had a snowball fight, he would be on her side. How could his words not count? She had worked so hard to get her parents to buy more melon seeds, not daring to eat them herself. Were they supposed to save them for New Year’s? But here at home, New Year’s or not, it was pretty much the same. It wasn’t like the storyteller’s hometown, which was so lively. Children could wear new clothes, collect red envelopes from parents and elders, paste door gods and spring couplets on every house, and make a New Year’s Eve dinner that filled the whole table.

But every time he finished a story or a short segment, the Second Boss—who liked to tell scary tales of mountains and spirits but wasn’t scary at all himself—would also say some words that no one was paying attention to by then. Words outside the story. For example, he would say how wonderful the Sword Qi Great Wall was, how even drinking wine you could be in the company of a bunch of sword immortals, and if you turned your head, a sword immortal would be chowing down on Yangchun noodles and pickled vegetables. That was rare. In any place in the Haoran Heaven, you wouldn’t see such sights, no matter how much money you spent. Then he would say that among all the places in the world he had passed through, whether they were better or worse than home, home was always the only one—the place you remembered the most. Unfortunately, once the story was done, everyone scattered like birds and beasts. No one wanted to hear this stuff.

These were the most trivial little affairs of the human world. The alley where the children lived was too small to hold much. There was only so much wind and rain, and when the rain came and the wind blew, it was all gone. The children themselves couldn’t even remember, let alone others.

In the end, it wasn’t like the storyteller’s tales. Even the mountain spirits and water demons who carried the sedan chair for the mountain god had to be given names, their clothing described, given opportunities to show their faces. Even the origin of winter pickled vegetables and how they got their crunch—he had to explain it in detail, making the children’s mouths water. After all, although the Sword Qi Great Wall didn’t celebrate New Year’s, everyone still had to endure winters that froze the ground and stiffened hands and feet.

At the Sword Qi Great Wall, which bordered the Barren Wasteland Heaven, the city wall was shrouded in layers of cloud, like steps laid down by a drunken craftsman. Almost everything the sword immortals did here was a major event. Of course, things like the female sword immortal Zhou Cheng swinging on her swing year after year, Mi Yu sleeping day and night on a bed of rosy clouds, and Zhao Ge and Cheng Quan, those two archrivals, spitting at each other after drinking—those didn’t really count as major events.

Many major sword sects, including the Taihui Sword Sect, had already prepared to withdraw from the Sword Qi Great Wall in batches. The Chen, Dong, and Qi families, as well as a number of old sword immortals from major clans, had no objections to this. After all, fighting side by side with local sword cultivators in one great war was already enough. It was only because the last two wars had been so close together that the return of outsiders to their hometowns had been delayed.

Someone once joked that the goodwill accumulated with the sword immortals of the Sword Qi Great Wall was the most worthless goodwill in the world. Don’t take it seriously; anyone who did was a fool. But the rogue who said this rubbish was the one who had killed the most demons—or at least the “biggest” ones. If that great demon hadn’t been substantial enough, how could it have left the newest large character carved into the city wall?

However, not all the foreign sword cultivators from North Julu Continent, the largest group, had returned to their homes in the Haoran Heaven. For instance, the leader of the Taihui Sword Sect, Han Huaizi, had stayed at the Sword Qi Great Wall. The other sword immortals from North Julu Continent were no exception. Those who left were the young; those who stayed were the old with high realms. Of course, some had come here alone, like Li Cai of the Floating Duckweed Sword Lake, and Yuan Qingshu from South Po-suo Continent. Apart from sword immortals, many Earth Immortal sword cultivators from different sects across the Nine Continents had also chosen to stay.

Fortunately, the Diezhang Tavern had grown larger, taking over the two neighboring shops and adding two walls dedicated to hanging “No Affair” tablets.

Thus, sword cultivators, mainly from North Julu Continent and especially the Taihui Sword Sect, had written their names and words on those tablets at the tavern. When they went to drink, they often brought along local sword cultivators who had fought alongside them in two great wars. This group started a new trend: on the front and back of a single No Affair tablet, a pair of foreign and local sword cultivators who had forged a bond of life and death would each write one side. Some wrote polite parting words, some wrote cursing and swearing, some wrote crazy drunken ramblings, and some simply copied from sword immortal stamp collections or folding fans—all sorts of things.

Among them was a No Affair tablet. The young Golden Core sword cultivator from Fuyao Continent, the direct disciple of a sect leader, had carved his name on the front and also wrote: “I’ve looked at all these No Affair tablets, and I dare say: we Haoran Heaven sword cultivators may be inferior to the Sword Qi Great Wall in swordsmanship, but our calligraphy is much better!”

On the back was the name and words of a local Nascent Soul sword cultivator. His name was written fairly neatly, but the rest of the text on the tablet immediately gave him away—it was carved crookedly: “If there are more from the Haoran Heaven who can’t write like you, or more who can’t sell wine like the Second Boss, bring them all to the Sword Qi Great Wall by the dozen. We won’t mind however many.”

Zuo You was sharing some insights on swordsmanship with Wei Jin. When the Senior Sword Immortal appeared, Wei Jin prepared to take his leave.

But Chen Qingdu waved his hand and said, “Stay. In my eyes, your swordsmanship is about the same height.”

Wei Jin smiled bitterly.

Senior Sword Immortal, if you want to rekindle Senior Zuo You’s fighting spirit, don’t drag us juniors into it.

Chen Qingdu got straight to the point: “Actually, I have a favor to ask. ‘Ask’ isn’t quite right. One is an order from your teacher, the other is my expectation. Whether you listen or not is up to you. After you decide, then you’ll follow my sword.”

Wei Jin was helpless.

So there was no room for negotiation. At least for himself. He wasn’t sure what Senior Zuo You would decide.

Zuo You asked, “Why didn’t my teacher tell me himself?”

Chen Qingdu smiled. “If the teacher said something his disciple wouldn’t listen to, what would be the point? If I overheard it, wouldn’t it make the Old Scholar, the most reasonable man in the Haoran Heaven, look like he can’t teach properly?”

Zuo You said, “It is indeed my fault as a student to make my teacher worry.”

As long as it was praise for his teacher, Zuo You would accept it. It was the only thing that worked, and it worked the best.

Chen Qingdu turned to Wei Jin. “Wei Jin, if I tried to persuade you now, you probably wouldn’t be willing. So you can fight one more war, and then listen to me and leave the Sword Qi Great Wall. When the time comes, there will be three places for you to choose from: South Po-suo Continent, Fuyao Continent, and Golden Armor Continent. Just think of it as a sightseeing trip. Wei Jin of the Wind and Snow Temple in Baoping Continent shouldn’t just be a heartbroken sentimental fool. Besides, you can be heartbroken anywhere. There’s no need to stay at the Sword Qi Great Wall, so far away that the girl you like can’t even see you.”

Chen Qingdu laughed. “The reason I’m being so blunt with you is naturally because your swordsmanship is even lower than Zuo You’s. So after you leave the Sword Qi Great Wall, remember to practice hard. Raise your swordsmanship to at least catch up with Zuo You. Next time, I’ll be more considerate.”

Wei Jin said bitterly, “Senior Sword Immortal, does it have to be this way?”

Chen Qingdu lifted his chin. “Why ask me? Ask your sword.”

Wei Jin was even more helpless.

This time, when Wei Jin left, the Senior Sword Immortal did not stop him.

Only the two with higher swordsmanship remained.

Chen Qingdu said, “Your junior brother didn’t agree to light the Longevity Lamp, but he made a small deal with me. In the next battle, I’ll save him once, or save someone he wants to save once.”

Chen Qingdu smiled. “Someone so afraid of death suddenly isn’t. Zuo You, who talks so little, suddenly said so much. What are you disciples of the Wen Sheng lineage thinking?”

Zuo You said, “If you want to know, it’s simple.”

Naturally, you would have to become a disciple of the Wen Sheng lineage first.

Chen Qingdu chuckled. “I advise you not to say that out loud. Your junior nephews are still on the Sword Qi Great Wall. In their minds, their invincible Grand Master would get beaten black and blue by someone. That would be disgraceful.”

Zuo You didn’t mind what this Senior Sword Immortal said, but there was something bigger on his mind. He asked, “If he comes, what then?”

Chen Qingdu put one hand behind his back and the other on his head, stroking the hair on his nape. “Open the gates wide, host guests for ten thousand years. Sword immortals face enemies; they only worry that the great demon isn’t big enough. Don’t you understand that?”

Zuo You nodded. “Reasonable.”

Chen Qingdu teased, “Oh? Finally ready to draw your sword for yourself?”

Zuo You said, “The Wen Sheng lineage only argues reason and doesn’t brag. As the grand senior brother and grand master, I will let my fellow sect members know that calling me the greatest swordsman in the Haoran Heaven was not an overestimation. In fact, that evaluation was still too low.”

Chen Qingdu smiled. “Still too low? How much higher? Standing on tiptoes and stretching your neck, up to my shoulder?”

Zuo You said, “Chen Qingdu, seal off the heaven and earth. Let’s fight.”

Chen Qingdu put both hands behind his back and walked away.

Zuo You closed his eyes again to rest, nurturing his sword intent.

The next great war would be the best time to unleash his full power.

Far away.

Zhou Cheng was still swinging on her swing, humming a foreign folk song that was obscure and hard to understand.

It was from many, many years ago, when she was still a young girl, taught to her by a young man from a foreign land. He hadn’t exactly taught her; he just liked to sit not far from the swing and hum to himself. Back then, she hadn’t thought it sounded nice, and she certainly didn’t want to learn. She didn’t have enough time to practice swordsmanship, so why would she learn something so flashy?

Later, Zhou Cheng first heard the term “mountain lake wild cultivator.” He said the reason he came here was to take a look at the hometown in his heart. There wasn’t much emotion; he just wanted to see it.

The Great Sword Immortal Lu Zhi walked over to the swing and reached out to hold one of the ropes, gently swaying it.

Zhou Cheng didn’t turn her head. She asked softly, “Sister Lu, someone said they wanted to see the hometown in their heart, even at the cost of their life. Why don’t you go see your hometown in your heart? You won’t die, and you’ve accumulated so many battle merits. The Senior Sword Immortal promised you long ago: once you have enough merits, he won’t stop you.”

Lu Zhi was a somewhat slender, tall woman with slightly sunken cheeks, but her skin was fair, her forehead bright and especially luminous, as if she had stored moonlight year after year.

Her appearance wasn’t particularly beautiful, but her aura was so powerful that standing quietly by the swing, she was like Zuo You when he didn’t conceal his sword aura.

Lu Zhi shook her head. “The reason I made that agreement was to give myself something to think about besides practicing swordsmanship. Being able to do it doesn’t mean I actually have to.”

Zhou Cheng said nothing more.

Lu Zhi gently swayed the swing. “After I was able to openly go to Inverted Mountain, that thought was settled. My current thought is to go to the south, to two very distant places: to water my horse at Ye Luo River and to prop my sword on the Tuo Yue Mountain.”

Zhou Cheng turned and smiled. “That guy who can’t spit out anything good from his mouth? Do you like him?”

Lu Zhi shook her head. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have to like a man. I don’t like liking anyone. I only like myself, who doesn’t like anyone.”

Zhou Cheng laughed. “Sister Lu, the way you talk really sounds like someone from the Haoran Heaven.”

“Zhou Cheng, what would you do if the swing disappeared one day?”

“If I’m dead, then I wouldn’t care.”

“Does liking someone have to go this far?”

“It’s not really that I like him that much. Anyway, nothing is left. My sect only has me left. What else can I think about? Sister Lu has good talent, so you can have thoughts and act on them. I can’t. Thinking is useless, so I don’t think.”

Lu Zhi gazed southward, her expression indifferent. “There are more than one or two sword immortals who can only wait for death. Isn’t that laughable?”

Zhou Cheng didn’t speak, nor did she laugh.

Li Cai, the sword immortal from North Julu Continent, was someone who couldn’t stay still. One day she’d challenge sword immortal Han Huaizi of the Taihui Sword Sect, and the next day she’d go challenge another sword immortal. If she couldn’t defeat a sword immortal, she’d go bully Nascent Soul sword cultivators, shouting, “I’m just a woman and you can’t even beat me? Not only that, you don’t even dare to fight! Are you even a man?” The Nascent Soul sword cultivators would often get angry and, after losing, would call on their friends. Who on the Sword Qi Great Wall didn’t have a sword immortal friend? After they invited a sword immortal to step in, if Li Cai won, she’d just go challenge someone else. If she lost, she’d go back to that Nascent Soul cultivator. After a few times, that Nascent Soul cultivator would put on a long face. His sword immortal friend was tired of seeing him, so he’d secretly introduce Li Cai to another Nascent Soul cultivator, saying, “Go find that guy. He knows even more sword immortals.”

And so Li Cai fell in love with the Sword Qi Great Wall.

Unlimited fights, and win or lose, there were no worries about consequences. It was much better than North Julu Continent, where everything was so constrained by face and goodwill.

Li Cai almost wanted to just find some man to marry and stay here forever, never going back.

But whenever she had that thought, she felt a little sorry for Jiang Shangzhen. Then she thought again: men like Jiang Shangzhen would never be devoted to just one woman. Why would she like him? Wasn’t that degrading herself? Yet, as a female sword immortal, sitting on the city wall or recuperating in her Ten Thousand Ravines Residence mansion, her thoughts wandered, and she couldn’t help but like him. This troubled Li Cai so much that she wanted to drink herself to death.

Li Cai’s temporary residence, Ten Thousand Ravines Residence, was not far from the Taihui Sword Sect’s Armory, which had become a private residence, and even closer to the Cloud-Stopping Pavilion, whose main structure was entirely carved from jade.

Li Cai sent a letter to Jiang Shangzhen, telling him to pay to buy it. Afraid he wouldn’t be willing to fork over the money, she doubled the price in the letter.

There was an old man as thin as a skeleton with a bulbous red nose. Carrying a wine jug, he rarely left his residence, but now he staggered along the city wall, looking at the scenery. He didn’t often come here—the wind was too strong.

Passing by that Jade Pu realm sword cultivator who had an extremely long sword tassel dragging behind him, the city wall was very wide, so the two were actually far apart. But the previously distracted Wu Chengpei suddenly turned his head, glaring at the old man with red-rimmed eyes, and cursed, “Get lost, you old beast!”

The old man’s nickname on the Sword Qi Great Wall was Old Deafy. The nickname wasn’t imposing at all, but he was solidly among the top ten cultivators of the Sword Qi Great Wall. Not to mention that his ranking was even higher than Nalan Shaowei and Lu Zhi.

To put it bluntly, in a place like the Sword Qi Great Wall, where everyone had a bad temper, just based on Wu Chengpei’s extremely offensive words, the old man would have been justified in drawing his sword. Anyone who blocked him would suffer the consequences.

But Old Deafy really seemed like a deaf man. Not only did he say nothing, but he actually quickened his pace, disappearing like smoke in an instant.

Only then did Wu Chengpei lower his head and continue walking.

Old Deafy walked and stopped. Some greeted him, some pretended not to see him. The old man said nothing.

Only when he reached the monk did he stop and say hoarsely, “Preach the Dharma again. It doesn’t matter; I can’t hear it anyway.”

The monk, who was already sitting at the very end of one side of the city wall, spoke some Dharma.

Beyond the monk’s meditation cushion was a vast expanse of white mist, occasionally lit by a sudden flash of golden light that then vanished. That was the wondrous sight of the river of time being blocked by something formless, splashing up water in a dazzling scene.

The monk reached out as if to scoop up water, but he was still a hair’s breadth too slow for that flash of gold. He withdrew his hand, having failed once more.

Old Deafy then went to the Confucian sage, who had once been a Buddha’s disciple, at the other end of the city wall. The old man said almost the same thing, and the Confucian sage also spoke some words. Old Deafy nodded, then went to find the old Daoist in the high clouds, who was the senior disciple of the senior disciple of the Dao Ancestor. After the old Daoist had spoken some words, Old Deafy finally left the city wall and headed to the prison that he had been in charge of suppressing for several thousand years. This prison had no name. Strangely, the higher the realm of the great demon, the closer to the ground it was imprisoned. As Old Deafy passed by the cages one by one, he couldn’t hear the curses or taunts anyway. As for the great demons’ fury shaking the entire prison, the old man paid no attention. He didn’t even lift his head, so he couldn’t see the hateful gazes that were etched into the bones. Finally, he went to the bottom floor to see the low-realm demons, teaching them swordsmanship. Whether they learned or not didn’t matter. They would all die anyway. Who could say which was luckier: dying early or late?

The Senior Sword Immortal had earlier given him an order: on the day he had to fight on the city wall, aside from the three Golden Core lives he had earned through merits, he could stay in accordance with the agreement. But he must not forget to kill all the demons in the prison. If he didn’t take this to heart, then he would truly go deaf. How could a dead Flying Ascension great demon not make him deaf?

Old Deafy didn’t feel any resentment. Over the past few millennia, picking and choosing, he had selected three demons in succession. The only problem was that no matter how good the talent, and no matter how much one suppressed their realm, given enough time, they would inevitably have to break through. The reason was simple: if your realm wasn’t high enough, how could you live for hundreds of years? Or thousands of years? They would die naturally. So every time one died in history, Old Deafy would feel regret. He waited and waited, and now the three unregistered disciples who were still alive had already seen countless senior brothers learn swordsmanship in secret and then quietly pass away.

Among the three, one was at the Cavern Dwelling realm, one at the Dragon Gate realm, and one at the bottleneck of the Golden Core realm—almost driven mad.

In taking disciples, Old Deafy was very open: if you become my disciple and reach the Nascent Soul realm, you will die. So, think carefully about breaking through.

The Sword Qi Great Wall and the area outside the city, aside from the mirage to the far north, also had some barely noteworthy scenic spots like the Armory, Ten Thousand Ravines Residence, and Cloud-Stopping Pavilion—former residences of sword immortals. But the places that could be called forbidden grounds, aside from the prison under Old Deafy’s charge, were actually three more: the sword workshop run by the Dong family, the robe workshop run by the Qi family, and the pill workshop run by the Chen family.

The swords forged by the sword workshop were never very good—just standard longswords that didn’t even count as treasures. Sword immortals could take them or leave them. Any sword cultivator who ascended the city wall would be given one; they could accept it or not. Whether the scions of powerful families obtained good swords through family heritage or by purchasing them at great cost from the Haoran Heaven, as long as they could get a good sword from elsewhere, that was their skill.

In fact, many sword immortals actually preferred to wear swords forged by the workshop, using them to kill countless demons.

The robe workshop wove dharma robes, and their quality was also not high.

It all seemed very childish.

But these two places were unequivocally the most indispensable existence on the Sword Qi Great Wall.

On the Sword Qi Great Wall itself, sword immortals didn’t fall from the sky. They were all sword cultivators who rose from one realm to another, just at different speeds. Their realms were always there.

The function of the pill workshop was even simpler: to take the spoils from those who died on the city wall or on the southern battlefield—the corpses of demons—and skin them, extract their tendons, and make the best use of everything. Not only that, but the pill workshop was also the most mixed and chaotic area, with the highest number of alchemy and talisman cultivators. Some came here voluntarily to sign contracts for a hundred or several hundred years, earning enough money before leaving. Others were simply outsiders who had been forcibly taken here, or reclusive experts from the Haoran Heaven hiding from disasters, or even homeless dogs.

It was precisely by relying on this pill workshop that the Sword Qi Great Wall conducted countless large and small trades with the intercontinental ferry ships moored at Inverted Mountain.

And the pill workshop had a close connection with the prison guarded by Old Deafy, because the blood, bones, and fragments of demon cores from many great demons were all treasures of the cultivation world.

These three forbidden grounds had strict rules and terrifying security. It was easy for anyone to enter, but difficult for anyone to leave. Sword immortals were no exception.

Among those who carved large characters on the southern city wall, there was a type of sword cultivator—regardless of age or cultivation level—who stayed farthest from the city’s disputes. When they occasionally went to the city wall or the north, they traveled silently and without fanfare.

They were responsible for “picking up money” in the Barren Wasteland Heaven.

Similar to border scouts in the secular dynasties of the Haoran Heaven.

So, even at the lowest level, they were at the Dragon Gate realm. Every time they went south, they were led by a sword immortal.

In the early years, Chen Sanqiu, a child from a first-class powerful family, and Little Cricket, a friend who had struggled up from poverty, were two young sword cultivators from completely different backgrounds. Their greatest wish back then was to go south and pick up money.

And the sword cultivator who had picked up money the most times and traveled the farthest liked to call himself a swordsman. He liked to say that the reason he roamed so freely was not to catch the attention of women and girls, but purely because he loved the jianghu.

The southern Barren Wasteland Heaven was a vast jianghu, where he could encounter many interesting things.

But every time after saying these bold words that stirred the hearts of the younger generation, that guy would scamper off that same day to the middle of the tavern, wherever there were the most female gazes, and drink there.

Every time he came back dead drunk, reeking of alcohol, he would smile at some little bastard who didn’t like him, saying, “So-and-so, you almost had to call me ‘Dad’ or even ‘Ancestor’! Good thing I held myself back, filled with righteous aura, and beauty could not approach!”

If a child talked back, he, who never suffered a loss, would say, “That so-and-so in your family, just talking about her face, doesn’t even count as beauty. But no matter. In my eyes, a woman who likes me in secret with good taste, her appearance doubles. Even if she’s not a beauty, she becomes one. Not to mention those slender waists like willow branches, those long legs like two bamboo poles leaning on each other, those magnificent peaks and valleys—if you’re willing to discover them, what scenery is lacking? Don’t understand? Come, come, let me open your heavenly eye for you. This is the unique divine power of the Haoran Heaven, not easily passed on…”

But every time after the jokes, on the road to the south to pick up money, one or several listeners would often be missing. Or the entire team would be completely wiped out. When the survivors gathered again, those faces would never be seen again. Those who hadn’t understood before, or who had pretended not to understand, would never be able to say they understood now.

At those times, that man would fall silent, drinking alone.

Once, after the sword cultivators had returned one by one, that man squatted somewhere, but never saw a team he knew well. Instead, he only saw a great demon. The demon held a long spear in its hand, raised high, like a candied hawthorn skewer.

It stopped far from the Sword Qi Great Wall, called out the man’s name by name, laughed, and then hurled the spear toward a certain spot on the southern city wall.

The man caught the spear, gently handed it to the person behind him, and then traveled thousands of miles alone, sword in hand, into the heart of the Barren Wasteland Heaven. He drew his sword at Tuo Yue Mountain, he drew his sword at Ye Luo River, and wherever there was a great demon, he drew his sword.

Bitter Summer Sword Immortal’s naturally bitter-looking face had finally shown a hint of a smile recently.

Lin Junbi had captured two strands of pure sword intent left by ancient sword immortals, of extremely high quality. With both luck, opportunity, and skill, what was meant to be his was his sooner or later. But to get two strands instead of one in such a short time was still beyond Bitter Summer Sword Immortal’s expectations.

Such mysterious and profound blessings on the Sword Qi Great Wall were not something that could be seized by force just because one had a high realm or was a sword immortal. If you were careless, you would trigger a fierce backlash from many sword intents. In history, there were not a few greedy and pitiable foreign sword immortals who had fallen into the trap of being besieged by sword intents. The danger was no less than that of a reckless Cavern Dwelling realm cultivator who swaggered onto the city wall with his mansion gates wide open.

Yan Lü and Jin Zhenmeng also had their gains. Yan Lü relied more on luck to keep that strand of gentle sword intent, which was a matter of fate and affinity with the Dao.

Jin Zhenmeng seemed to have used more of his Golden Core realm to retain that unruly sword intent. As long as it didn’t involve human relationships, Bitter Summer Sword Immortal had a very good eye for things related to swords. After all, he was Zhou Shenzhi’s junior nephew. If he didn’t have real skill, he would have had his sword heart shattered by Zhou Shenzhi’s scolding long ago. In Bitter Summer Sword Immortal’s view, this taciturn junior, Jin Zhenmeng, was clearly someone with deep aspirations and lofty ambitions. That pure sword intent, heavy with killing aura, had chosen the gentle-natured Jin Zhenmeng. It was by no means accidental. In fact, it was Jin Zhenmeng’s utmost sincerity that had won the favor of that sword intent. The violent conflict that took place within Jin Zhenmeng’s vital mansion, initiated by the foreign sword intent pulling the small-world sword aura to “visit,” seemed fraught with danger, but was actually a simple trial. It was enough to eliminate many flaws in Jin Zhenmeng’s soul. If he couldn’t pass this test, then even if he dropped in realm because of it, he would have to accept his fate.

Apart from Bitter Summer Sword Immortal, these prodigies of the Shaoyuan Dynasty were not yet sword immortals.

But even if many of them never became upper five-realm sword immortals, compared to the trivialities in the city to the north, even if they hadn’t received blessings like Lin Junbi’s trio, they had still accumulated gains bit by bit on their cultivation path. When they returned to the Shaoyuan Dynasty in the Central Earth Divine Continent, how could these be small things? Walking in the mortal world, they could casually and easily decide life and death, determine the honor or disgrace of other families.

Besides Lin Junbi, Yan Lü was one thing, but even Jin Zhenmeng had obtained a tremendous opportunity. Jiang Guancheng, a sword cultivator, became a bit anxious. Many people felt the same as Jiang Guancheng.

Even though Lin Junbi had received a blessing as big as the sky, the other sword cultivators didn’t really feel too stifled in their hearts. But when Yan Lü got it, they felt uncomfortable. Now that even a character like Jin Zhenmeng, who had only realm and no insight, had gotten it, Jiang Guancheng and the others couldn’t stand it.

Zhu Mei still didn’t care.

Whenever she had free time, she would find Yu Juanfu, whom she affectionately called “Zaixi Zaixi,” and just chat. Yu Juanfu almost never spoke; the young girl did all the talking.

The rare occasions when Yu Juanfu said a bit more were when she argued with Zhu Mei about whether it was a teacher’s stele or a teacher’s scroll, a teacher’s knife or a teacher’s brush. Zhu Mei deliberately made a mess of the argument, and after a long time, she smiled and admitted defeat, only to make Yu Juanfu talk more. That was winning.

Bitter Summer Sword Immortal was in a good mood. When he returned to the Sun Mansion, he rarely took the initiative to drink with Sun Juyuan. But he found that Sword Immortal Sun no longer had his immortal wine cup; he was just drinking straight from the jug.

Sun Juyuan seemed unwilling to talk, so Bitter Summer Sword Immortal said a few heartfelt words.

“I’m just a sword cultivator. After I embarked on the path of cultivation, all I’ve known my whole life is practicing the sword. So I don’t meddle in many things—partly because I don’t want to, and partly because I can’t manage them.”

Sun Juyuan glanced at the sincere foreign sword immortal and nodded. “I don’t have any particular opinion of you. If I did, it would be a good one.”

Sun Juyuan sat in the corridor, one knee bent and raised, reaching out to pat his knee. “Those who cultivate the Dao live in isolation, far from the world, keeping their hands clean. What more can you ask for? That’s already very good.”

Bitter Summer Sword Immortal said with emotion, “But any sect or major school, once it grows to a certain scale, becomes bustling and noisy, too lively. In the end, it’s no longer as simple as one person practicing. That’s the fundamental reason I don’t want to establish a sect. I only know how to practice swordsmanship, not how to teach the Dao. I’m afraid of teaching disciples whose swordsmanship climbs higher and higher while their hearts and nature sink lower and lower. I’m not good at reasoning anyway, so it would only make things worse. My senior uncle is very good. His swordsmanship is high enough, so all his disciples and grand-disciples, regardless of their temperament, have to obediently and carefully ponder his thoughts. There’s no need for him to impart principles.”

Sun Juyuan shook his head, leaning back against the wall, gently shaking his wine jug. “Bitter Summer, oh Bitter Summer. You don’t even understand where your own senior uncle’s strength lies. I advise you never to start a sect in this life. You really don’t have the ability.”

The little good mood Bitter Summer Sword Immortal had was all destroyed by Sun Juyuan. His face turned bitter.

Sun Juyuan looked into the distance and said softly, “If all the mountain dwellers of the Haoran Heaven were like you, that would be good. Few words, but action.”

Bitter Summer Sword Immortal reached out. “Give me some wine. I’ll have some too.”

Sun Juyuan flicked his wrist and tossed a jug of wine over.

Bitter Summer Sword Immortal’s face became even more bitter.

Because it was a pot of Bamboo Sea Cave Heaven wine.

The Sword Qi Great Wall was the best place for jokes.

Because if you could joke about your own life, what else was there to fear?

But after all, the Sword Qi Great Wall was the Sword Qi Great Wall. There were no messy written rules, but there were some bizarre unwritten rules that would never be considered rules anywhere else.

If a mid-five-realm sword cultivator had a problem with a certain sword immortal, whether drinking or not, they could curse loudly. As long as the sword immortal didn’t respond, no one else would care.

But if the sword immortal did respond, then they had to bear the consequences.

For outsiders who came to the Sword Qi Great Wall to practice swordsmanship or enjoy the scenery, no matter whose disciples or descendants they were, no matter how good their birthright was in the Haoran Heaven, here on the Sword Qi Great Wall, sword cultivators wouldn’t look up to them or look down on them. Everything was about the sword. If you could take face away from the Sword Qi Great Wall, that was skill. If you lost face here and felt unhappy, you could say whatever you wanted when you returned to your own Haoran Heaven. Just never come back to the Sword Qi Great Wall. And it was best if your relatives and connections also stayed away from Inverted Mountain.

Historically, many sword immortals and sword cultivators who had died in battle without any family left—if they left no instructions, all their belongings were ownerless property.

If they left instructions, someone would take everything in. No matter how large a sum of immortal money it was, or even the sword immortal’s own sword—even if a lower five-realm sword cultivator got it, no one would contend for it. If they didn’t dare openly, and if they tried sneaky things in the dark, they shouldn’t think the Hidden Official lineage was stupid. There were quite a few families that could have almost moved to Taixiang Street or Yuhu Street who had been severely weakened because of this. The rules were simple: if discipline was lax, then besides the one who reached out, they would die. The highest-realm member of that family would first be beaten half to death by Sword Immortal Luoshan or Zhu’an. If they couldn’t do it, it was fine—the Hidden Official Lord would be happy to help. In the end, they might only be left with half a life, but they still had to kill demons. In the next great war, this person had to be the last to retreat from the battlefield. If they survived by their own skill, the debt was wiped clean. But the shares from the Sword, Robe, and Pill workshops that would have been delivered to their mansion after the war—forget about it.

So, in a place like this, where even many sword immortals died without even a grave to lie in, how could there be any New Year’s flavor of spring couplets and door gods? There couldn’t be.

After a hundred years, a thousand years, ten thousand years, all the sword cultivators had grown accustomed to the thatched hut on the city wall, to the Senior Sword Immortal who almost never descended from it.

It was as if if the Senior Sword Immortal didn’t flip the old almanac, the almanac didn’t exist, or had never existed.

Wang Zai, a gentleman of the Ritual Saint lineage, came to the tavern today. It was Wang Zai’s first visit to buy wine.

But the noisy sword cultivators and drinkers all had unpleasant expressions for this Confucian gentleman.

Firstly, because of his identity as a scholar with fame and titles in the Haoran Heaven. Secondly, they had heard that this Wang Zai had too much time on his hands, that he was clinging to the matter of the Second Boss killing a man with one punch, insisting on writing those nitpicking moral essays. He was even more diligent than the supervising sword immortals of the Hidden Official lineage. They wondered: It’s bad enough that the Yasheng and Wensheng fight to the death. Why does your Ritual Saint lineage have to get involved, kicking someone when they’re down?

Wang Zai’s expression was calm. He took out money, bought wine, and left with his jug. He didn’t eat a bowl of Yangchun noodles or a plate of pickled vegetables, nor did he squat by the roadside to drink like the sword cultivators. With a hint of amusement in his heart, Wang Zai felt that for this jug of wine, the Second Boss really should have treated him.

Wang Zai didn’t take the same path back. Instead, he carried his wine and walked toward a deserted street corner.

Where there should have been a small stool and a young man in blue, Wang Zai stopped and said with a soft smile, “A gentleman’s words should be fair and proper, and most importantly, precise and detailed.”

Wang Zai, about to leave the Sword Qi Great Wall, remembered something. He turned back and returned to the tavern, found a blank No Affair tablet, wrote down his native place and name, and then on the back of the tablet wrote a sentence: “Treat others leniently, treat yourself strictly. Convince with reason, discipline yourself with morality. When the world is at peace, there is truly nothing to worry about.”

After writing, Wang Zai hung the No Affair tablet on the wall and flipped through the inscriptions on the nearby tablets. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. There was that tablet that would probably be gold-plated by a certain tavern owner. It was a “heartfelt statement” from a sword immortal of Golden Armor Continent: “The Second Boss never cheats anyone. His wine character is unparalleled. Chen Ping’an.”

Anyone could tell this person wasn’t planning to leave the Sword Qi Great Wall anytime soon.

There was another tablet that the tavern Second Boss would surely consider “a testimonial written by an honest man”: “The Wen Sheng lineage has no lack of learning, but their faces are even thicker. Second Boss, when you come to my Liuxia Continent in the future, I’ll treat you to real good wine.”

Obviously, this person, like Wang Zai himself, was about to head to Inverted Mountain.

Wang Zai muttered to himself, “If it were him, he should say, ‘Such a good man, and he’s only at the Nascent Soul realm now? That doesn’t make sense. The Jade Pu realm is too low; the Immortal realm isn’t high enough.’”

Wang Zai smiled. “But a remark like that, coming from the Second Boss, would be endearing. Coming from someone like me, it would be like an old woman applying rouge—only annoying.”

Not every outsider could become one of the family in the hearts of the Sword Qi Great Wall’s sword cultivators the way Chen Ping’an had.

Wang Zai felt happy for Chen Ping’an, but also a little sad.

After hesitating, Wang Zai added another line of fine characters to his own No Affair tablet: “To be benevolent is up to oneself. If one desires benevolence, then benevolence arrives. May all who have this heart be free from worry about every affair.”

Wang Zai noticed a young man standing not far away, coming to the tavern to fetch wine. His name was Jiang Qu, from Suoli Lane.

Wang Zai turned to the young man and smiled. “Tell your Second Boss for me: the wine tastes good. Try to sell more. Earn it in the right way, openly and honorably.”

Jiang Qu smiled shyly and nodded vigorously.

Wang Zai downed the wine in his jug in one gulp, then placed the empty jug on the counter. He laughed loudly and left. At the door, he clasped his hands to the many sword cultivators at the tables and on the roadside, and said clearly, “Who dares to sell their sword and buy wine? But drink a thousand cups, and I charge nothing.”

Silence fell around him. It was expected. Wang Zai laughed again. “Then let me say it another way, more bluntly. I hope that one day, when you sword immortals come here to drink, the drinkers will be like giant whales sucking up a hundred rivers, and the tavern owner won’t take a single immortal coin.”

No one appreciated it.

Someone sneered. “Gentleman sir, you didn’t poison the wine, did you? The Second Boss’s character may be questionable, but he wouldn’t do that. You, a dignified gentleman and a pure stream sage, shouldn’t set him up.”

Wang Zai didn’t argue. He smiled and walked away. In the distance, he raised his arm high and gave a thumbs-up. “Very happy to meet you, sword immortals.”

For a moment, the tavern buzzed with discussion.

“Is he possessed by the Second Boss? Or is the Second Boss in disguise? This is too much, really too much.”

“The Second Boss is impressive. Even a gentleman of the Ritual Saint lineage can be converted into a Dao companion?”

“I guess he’s still a scholar with a bit of conscience left.”

Gentleman Wang Zai walked away from the tavern into a small alley. He took out a simple seal carved from white stone as lustrous as jade, a personal gift from Chen Ping’an to Wang Zai, complete with a side inscription and the year it was carved.

The side inscription read: “The road muddy, men weary; heroes slay thieves, history does not record. True masters are not frivolous; great stones lie upright, arrayed across the sky.”

The seal script read: “So this is a gentleman.”

Pei Qian had finally come to her senses.

This slowest of the slow to catch on, she wanted to make up for the time she had wasted by practicing more punches.

Again and again, she soaked in the medicinal vat, lay in bed to heal her injuries, and then went back to learn boxing from the old woman.

Mama Bai was unwilling to teach her young master heavy punches, but she was quite willing to teach this little girl.

It wasn’t that she disliked her; on the contrary, among the young master’s students and disciples, Bai Lianshuang liked Pei Qian the most.

On the surface, the little girl seemed timid, but in her eyes, there was the fiercest intent.

Guo Zhujiu, no longer under house arrest, frequently came by to loiter. She would watch from the training grounds as Pei Qian was knocked down time and time again, until the last time she couldn’t get up. Then she would dash over and gently carry Pei Qian on her back.

Occasionally, when Guo Zhujiu had nothing to do, she would ask Old Master Chong about boxing techniques.

One day, after Pei Qian woke up, Guo Zhujiu was sitting on the threshold, keeping the temporarily bedridden senior sister company and chatting with her, helping to relieve her boredom.

As for whether the senior sister wanted to talk to her, Guo Zhujiu didn’t care. Of course the senior sister was willing. When Pei Qian got tired, Guo Zhujiu would pick up the inkstone, breathe on it, and show it off to the senior sister.

That day, Bai Shou happened to pass by the mansion again. The door wasn’t closed, but Bai Shou wouldn’t dare court trouble; he walked past quickly.

Guo Zhujiu lowered her voice and asked, “Shortie senior sister, do you think Bai Shou likes you?”

Pei Qian looked as if she had been struck by lightning. “What?!”

Guo Zhujiu said in surprise, “You can’t tell? Do you want me to ask Bai Shou? I guarantee he’ll say no. But you’ve heard the saying: words that come out of a man’s mouth are like ghosts basking in the sun in broad daylight.”

Pei Qian was already too upset to care whether, thanks to Guo Zhujiu’s remark, Bai Shou saying yes or no would be a trivial matter. She slammed her fist into the bed. “I’m so mad!”

Guo Zhujiu lowered her head and wiped the inkstone, sighing. “I also know that an old maid often says that a married daughter is like spilled water. So in the future, Senior Sister, you’ll belong to the Taihui Sword Sect. The seat for the senior sister in the ancestral hall of Master’s hometown will be empty. That means, besides Master, there’ll be no leader. Troubling, isn’t it?”

Pei Qian fumed. “Don’t you dare think about usurping my position! That seat has a note on it with my name written on it. No one can sit there except Master!”

Guo Zhujiu said, “Oh. Then let’s talk about it later. No hurry.”

Pei Qian suddenly said, “Why doesn’t Bai Shou like you instead?”

Guo Zhujiu looked up seriously. “He’s not blind. Why would he ignore such a good senior sister and come to like me?”

Pei Qian crossed her arms and chuckled. “You never know.”

Guo Zhujiu grinned. “I was just joking with Senior Sister just now. Anyone who believes it will trip when they walk.”

Pei Qian twitched the corner of her mouth.

Pei Qian asked softly, “Guo Zhujiu, when will you come to Luopo Mountain to play with me?”

Guo Zhujiu seemed a bit listless. “It’s not up to me, you know. My parents have too many rules. No way.”

Pei Qian was silent for a moment, then smiled. “Even if you don’t like hearing kind but harsh words, you still have to listen. Anyway, your parents and elders, even if they let loose, won’t say much to you. If they say too much, they’ll start to feel reluctant themselves.”

Guo Zhujiu thought for a moment and nodded. “Okay.”

There was a moment of silence. Guo Zhujiu glanced at the walking staff lying on the table. Taking advantage of the senior sister’s deep sleep—passed out, not sleeping—she wiped the staff, spit on it, rubbed it with her sleeve, and finally even used her cheek, with the utmost sincerity.

“Senior Sister, can I borrow your little bamboo box to carry on my back?”

“Why? On what grounds?”

“It looks good on my back. Senior Sister, why don’t you use your brain? Such a bright mind, but it doesn’t obey you?”

Pei Qian felt exhausted from talking to Guo Zhujiu.

“Senior Sister, is stinky tofu really that delicious?”

“It’s so fragrant!”

“If you eat stinky tofu, do your farts also smell fragrant?”

“Guo Zhujiu, are you annoying or not?!”

Then Pei Qian saw that little imp sitting on the threshold, mouth moving non-stop, but silently mouthing words.

Even when Pei Qian deliberately didn’t look at her, she still enjoyed it. If Pei Qian accidentally glanced at her, she became even more spirited.

Pei Qian said helplessly, “Go ahead and talk out loud. Being annoyed by you is better than having my head hurt.”

Guo Zhujiu suddenly said, “If one day I can’t talk to Senior Sister anymore, I hope Senior Sister will always be annoyed when she thinks of me. Annoyed and annoyed, so you’ll remember me a little more.”

Pei Qian looked at the little girl with that smile on her face, struck speechless.

A figure in a blue shirt sat down on the threshold. He gestured for Pei Qian to lie down.

Chen Ping’an sat next to Guo Zhujiu and said with a smile, “At such a young age, you’re not allowed to say things like that. Even I, as your master, don’t say them. Where do you get off?”