Chapter 692: The Waters Have Not Receded, The Stones Have Not Emerged
Before Pei Qian left Mural City and asked fists with the Xue River God.
Inside the Mural City’s scroll, within that immortal mansion ruin, the disciplinary ancestor Yan Su told his sole direct disciple Pang Lanxi to continue practicing swordplay, or he could rest a bit if he wished. Yan Su opened the landscape prohibition, returned to the Wood Garment Mountain Patriarch Hall, then rode the wind to the Sword-Hanging Pavilion halfway up the mountain, to pay respects to that Patriarch Nalan from the Middle Earth Linen Sect Upper Sect. Though Patriarch Nalan appeared approachable, as the disciplinary ancestor of the Upper Sect, he was extremely strict, having personally executed two Upper Five Realm cultivators.
A disciplinary ancestor from the Upper Sect, very advanced in years, very high in seniority, was the sect leader’s junior uncle. The old master ancestor had neither sent a flying sword message beforehand nor gone directly to the mountain peak Patriarch Hall, so Yan Su was naturally a bit anxious.
On verdant Wood Garment Mountain, halfway up, white clouds circled year-round, like a green-robed banished immortal wearing a white jade belt.
When Yan Su reached outside the Sword-Hanging Pavilion, that Patriarch Nalan was drinking with Wei Yusong. The old man was tipsy, laughing loudly, randomly reaching out to crush the white clouds outside the pavilion.
Yan Su breathed a sigh of relief. As long as Patriarch Nalan had been drinking, he was easier to talk to, and Wei Yusong had done a good deed.
That pair of young sword-carrying men and women, Suiyuan and Chengxin, bowed to Yan Su of their own accord. Yan Su’s eyelids twitched, and his heart tightened.
Long admired, the man named Suiyuan, the woman named Chengxin, a Daoist couple, both at the Nascent Soul realm. Though they had not yet entered the Upper Five Realm, they were destined to be the future masters of the Upper Sect Patriarch Hall’s Department of Impermanence.
All mortal wandering impermanence envoys in the world, aside from some heterodox paths, came from the Linen Sect Upper Sect.
Patriarch Nalan did not bring his direct disciples across continents for long travels, but he specially brought these two troublesome individuals to the Lower Sect. That in itself was a reminder.
After Yan Su sat down, Wei Yusong said bluntly, “Patriarch Nalan has come to question and accuse, feeling that we have become too entangled with the Song Clan of Great Li.”
That woman named Chengxin took out a book from her sleeve, handed it to Yan Su, and smiled, “Disciplinary Ancestor Yan, please first read this book.”
Yan Su was baffled. As soon as the book was in hand, he knew its quality; it was not at all an immortal literature volume. Wei Yusong had a worried expression, and Yan Su began to flip through the book.
Patriarch Nalan continued to drink with Wei Yusong, this junior disciple of the Lower Sect. The old cultivator had previously been in Mural City, almost buying a celadon brush washer shaped like an immortal riding a raft. The inscription did not follow ritual regulations, just an obscure poem not recorded anywhere: “Riding the raft to welcome immortal guests, once arrived beside the Three Stars.”
The old cultivator was delighted on seeing it, because he knew its worth and it appealed to him. It wasn’t that the celadon brush washer was an excellent immortal item or a remarkable treasure—it was only worth two or three Minor Heat Coins—but the old cultivator was willing to spend a Grain Rain Coin to buy it. Because this poem was not widely spread in the Middle Earth Divine Continent, but the old cultivator happened to know it. Not only that, he had seen the poet with his own eyes and heard the poem with his own ears.
The mountain-top immortals of the Middle Earth Divine Continent who were friends with this Patriarch Nalan all knew the old man loved poetry. Besides pure verses and wandering immortal poems, he also liked a type of planchette ghost poetry, a kind of elegant talk similar to Hanlin ghosts. Most poems were in the court library style. One type was the old ghosts of previous dynasties, who liked to involve ancient people in books and past literary masters in their poems. As long as the old man saw or heard something, he recorded it in a book.
But Patriarch Nalan found the most interesting part of this poem was not the content, but the title, which was extremely long, even longer than the content: “In the Final Year of the Yuanbao Era, Drunk by Day, I Slept Leaning on the Spring Bright Gate, Dreamt of Traveling the Starry River on a Raft with Azure Youth Heavenly Lord. When the Wine and Dream Ended, My Inspiration Came, and I Wrote This Poem.”
Back when the old man was still a youth, he once followed his master down the mountain on a long journey, and in a crumbling secular dynasty, they met a down-and-out scholar named Bai Ye. His master invited him to drink, and the scholar used this poem as payment for the wine. At the time, the youth heard the extremely long title and thought it would be a lengthy poem of several hundred characters. Unexpectedly, including “Riding the raft to welcome immortal guests, once arrived beside the Three Stars,” it was only twenty-eight characters. Then the youth couldn’t help asking, “That’s it?” But the scholar had already laughed and walked out the door.
Patriarch Nalan put down his wine flask and asked, “Finished reading?”
Yan Su’s face was ashen. He said in a deep voice, “Patriarch Nalan, surely you don’t believe what is written in this book?”
Patriarch Nalan gave a derisive snort.
Wei Yusong said, “Patriarch Nalan wants to determine one thing: how did this kind of book gradually spread in the Middle Earth Divine Continent, to the point where it could be easily obtained on cross-continental ferries? What is written in the book may be important or not, but who wrote it, and why, and why our Linen Sect is implicated with Chen Ping’an as written in the book—that is the only thing Patriarch Nalan wants to know.”
Patriarch Nalan had been randomly crushing the mountain clouds, while Yan Su crushed the book in his hand into shreds and tossed it out of the Sword-Hanging Pavilion. Yan Su could handle discipline, but he was not good at arguing and reasoning. So he could only feel extremely stifled and asked Wei Yusong for a flask of wine.
Patriarch Nalan said slowly, “Zhu Quan is too naive. She likes to think of complicated things in simple terms. Wei Yusong thinks too much about making money, single-mindedly wanting to change the Linen Sect’s tight financial situation—he’s stuck in the money pit and can’t climb out. You two, Yan Su, and the other Linen Sect ancestors, only know how to fight and curse and not manage. If I hadn’t come here myself to take a look, I wouldn’t be at ease.”
Yan Su took a heavy gulp of wine and muttered, “Patriarch Nalan didn’t just come to Skeleton Beach for a look, did he? Anyway, if the Upper Sect is angry about this and needs a scapegoat, it’s simple. I, Yan Su, will take full responsibility. It has nothing to do with Zhu Quan or Wei Yusong.”
Patriarch Nalan said, “Before coming, the Upper Sect reached a conclusion. No matter what, we must cut off this business with Piyun Mountain and the Song Clan of Great Li. As for why it’s me who came, of course the Upper Sect Patriarch Hall is quite angry. You should be very clear: whether it’s the Linen Sect or the Middle Earth Upper Sect, regardless of the truth, for this kind of person written about in the book, full of schemes, relying solely on good luck, hypocritically cultivating the heart while actually only cultivating power, taking only and never giving on the path of cultivation—they have always been the most detested. Better to believe it exists than not. Moreover, this book spread extremely quickly. The Upper Sect is not willing to let the entire Linen Sect fall into a cesspool just for some immortal coins.”
Patriarch Nalan said to Yan Su, “Zhu Quan may not manage affairs, but she is still a sect leader. To put it bluntly, you, Yan Su, want to take the blame? On what basis? Besides, given Xiao Quan’er’s temperament, you won’t get to play the good guy.”
Yan Su muttered quietly, “Patriarch Nalan and the Upper Sect seniors aren’t blind. We have our own cross-continental ferries. Just take a few extra steps…”
At that point, Yan Su fell silent. Even if he went to the Fallen Mountain in Bottle Gourd Continent, would he be able to see that Chen lad? Patriarch Nalan simply couldn’t meet him.
Wei Yusong said, “To preserve empty reputation and avoid bearing blame is not the conduct of Linen Sect cultivators. Patriarch Nalan, I still hold that opinion. Since the Upper Sect has issued orders, the Lower Sect naturally obeys. We can cut off all business with Fallen Mountain. But from today, I, Wei Yusong, will move my chair out of the Linen Sect Patriarch Hall, no longer handle money matters, and go to Green Reed Town to follow Sect Leader Zhu Quan, dealing with skeletons. Dealing with the ghost realm is actually easier.”
Yan Su said angrily, “I have long received the sect’s kindness. The Upper Sect can do as it pleases, but I cannot harm my own disciples and lose moral integrity. To hell with being a Linen Sect cultivator! I’ll go to Fallen Mountain, become an offering elder, and burn incense and worship images in the Fallen Mountain Patriarch Hall!”
Patriarch Nalan smiled slightly, “Oh? Are you all trying to intimidate me? So earlier when you invited me to drink, it wasn’t a toast but a penalty?”
Wei Yusong shook his head, “I wouldn’t dare.”
Yan Su threw down his wine flask, “So what if I intimidate a dim-witted old man?!”
Patriarch Nalan didn’t take Yan Su seriously. He stood up with a smile, “Go to the Linen Sect Patriarch Hall. Remember to call Zhu Quan back.”
Wei Yusong gave Yan Su a fierce glare for his impulsive behavior.
On the way to the Patriarch Hall at the peak of Wood Garment Mountain, Wei Yusong clearly was not willing to give up. He said to Patriarch Nalan, “Our Linen Sect’s landscape formations have achieved what they have today, thanks in part to Fallen Mountain. The Ghost Prison Valley has been stable for ten years.”
Patriarch Nalan smiled, “This matter was already raised in the Upper Sect Patriarch Hall long ago. Do you think I’m so dim-witted that my memory has also failed?”
Wei Yusong was completely disheartened and stopped trying to persuade.
After Zhu Quan was called back to the Patriarch Hall, she said only one sentence: “This is too bullying. I quit being this damn sect leader.”
Patriarch Nalan neither nodded nor refuted. He only asked, “Do you still know you are a sect leader?”
Zhu Quan was silent and dejected.
Yan Su became anxious. He himself had already been impulsive enough, but Zhu Quan should not act recklessly.
That old Patriarch Nalan truly was impervious to reason. He said, “If you want to quit being sect leader, that’s fine. First think it over. Stay confined in the Patriarch Hall for a few days. If you still decide to resign, just greet each portrait in the Patriarch Hall. Then you can leave the Patriarch Hall and go to the Ghost Prison Valley’s Green Reed Town. The Linen Sect, with or without a sect leader, is about the same. No need to greet me. After sending a flying sword message to the Upper Sect, a new sect leader can be appointed quickly. Although the Linen Sect is a Lower Sect, it is still a sect leader of this Haoran World. The Upper Sect Patriarch Hall has plenty of old-timers who are willing to come to Northern Beryl Continent.”
After that, Zhu Quan stayed inside the Patriarch Hall. Yan Su brought wine every few days. Since they couldn’t drink inside the Patriarch Hall, the two drank at the doorway. From time to time, Zhu Quan turned around and raised her flask toward the door, as if to satisfy the cravings of the ancestors on the portraits who could no longer drink.
In the shop in Mural City, the young woman shopkeeper saw Pang Lanxi and gave a brilliant smile.
There were no customers in the shop. Pang Lanxi leaned on the counter, complaining bitterly, grumbling that his master’s sword techniques were too abstruse and too hard to learn.
She then mentioned that Pei Qian and a friend named Li Huai had come to the shop earlier. Since you weren’t in, they said they’d come back for you when returning home.
Pang Lanxi suppressed a laugh and asked, “That Pei Qian—is she very strange?”
The young woman shook her head, “Not at all. She is very well-mannered.”
But then she sighed. That girl’s eyes earlier seemed as if they could speak. And she seemed to have understood the words in Pei Qian’s eyes.
Taking the opportunity that Pang Lanxi was right beside her, she bit her lip, made up her mind, and decided to speak of that heart matter. She gathered her courage and said, “Lanxi, my previous idea was that after all these years in the shop, I’ve saved some immortal coins. I can afford a box of those immortal elixirs from Spring Dew Garden that help women maintain their youth—at least slow down aging, slow down graying hair…”
Pang Lanxi was about to speak, but she shook her head and continued, “Let me finish. I used to think like this: strive to live a hundred years, but if I become ugly, a white-haired old crone, and you change your mind, I wouldn’t blame you. But now I don’t want to. Just now, the Earth Goddess of our Mural City said she has always wanted to lay down her burden and go out to see the world. And I have a slim chance of inheriting her identity. But the Earth Goddess told me directly that becoming a local deity here, though the rank is not high, just a local earth woman, I have no immortal root or fate. That slim chance relies on blessings from the old immortals of Wood Garment Mountain. So I want to ask you: would doing this put you in a difficult position?”
Pang Lanxi nodded, his gaze tender, his tone firm, with just one word: “Good!”
The young woman sighed in relief but couldn’t help feeling uneasy. After all, the Earth Goddess had mentioned things like “flesh and bones wasting away,” “soul torment,” which were indeed frightening.
A graceful and lovely young girl “broke through the ground” outside the shop. She was the Earth Goddess of Wood Garment Mountain.
Her expression was solemn. “The two of you—one dares to agree, the other dares to promise her. There is great danger in this. Let me be clear: Although your Linen Sect is proficient in the path of souls, accidents are inevitable. Really, I say it’s better to let her become a nominal river goddess on the Swaying River. Even if in reality she is still a ghost with her soul confined, not a true deity, it is much safer than risking becoming a local earth deity. That old boatman Xue, being dependent on the Linen Sect, will certainly not refuse you, Pang Lanxi, such a favor.”
Pang Lanxi thought for a moment. “Anyway, this matter is not urgent. I’ll ask Chen Ping’an later. He thinks things through most thoroughly.”
At this, Pang Lanxi tugged at his collar. “I am a registered offering elder of Fallen Mountain. He can’t refuse such a small favor, can he?”
The young woman smiled and nodded, reaching out a finger to gently hook Pang Lanxi’s hand. Pang Lanxi held her delicate hand in return.
The young Earth Goddess clicked her tongue, “Disgusting, truly disgusting. Why not just close the shop and do whatever you want? It’s not like I’d peek or eavesdrop.”
That cold and unfeeling Upper Sect old ancestor, who had already incurred the wrath of the Linen Sect, still did not have the decency to leave Wood Garment Mountain. Instead, he settled in, along with that young couple from the Upper Sect’s Department of Impermanence. Since it was rare to go out, he wanted to look around more. If something came up, a flying sword message would do. In fact, Patriarch Nalan really wanted to visit the Planchette Sect in Tongye Continent; their planchette arts were superb.
But the old ancestor wasn’t idle. Every day he watched the mirror flowers and water moon, mainly to keep up with recent events on the mountains of Southern Bodhisattva Continent and Fuyao Continent. Or he would use the Palm Viewing Mountains and Rivers divine ability to look at the Swaying River. Sometimes he would take out his compiled poetry collection, gather clouds from outside the Sword-Hanging Pavilion halfway up the mountain, condense them into a writing desk, pile a large stack of poetry books on it, then pluck a reflection of the moon from the Swaying River and hang it beside the desk as a lamp.
Mountain immortals were a mixed lot. Some played among humans like old village elders, full of rustic charm. But most were like Patriarch Nalan—untainted by the mundane, with an immortal bearing.
In truth, however, the old cultivator came from a common market background, not a noble family, nor an immortal seed born on a mountain. He had simply entered the mountain to cultivate since childhood.
One night, the old cultivator closed a poetry book.
He remembered the first time he went out on a journey. His master saw him off at the mountain gate and said, “Enter the mountain.”
The youth didn’t understand and asked why not “descend the mountain.”
His master didn’t explain.
Much later, when he was no longer a youth for many years, he understood his master’s deeper meaning: the path of cultivation was hard to walk, and the human heart was full of treacherous mountains. Entering this mountain made it even harder to walk.
The old man sighed and opened a travelogue other than his poetry collection. He continued reading the opening thousands of words. As for the rest—adventures and blessings, a young boy learning both fist and book, exchanging poems with goddesses and seductive ghosts, sweet talk and vows, performing chivalrous deeds with a few punches in the martial world and then leaving behind a mess without a care, gaining fame in every land, only to “whip a famous horse under the setting sun, drink and sing loudly and travel far away”—all that murky, unsightly stuff was hardly worth reading.
The old man continued reading and asked the young man and woman beside him, “Suiyuan, Chengxin, how much truth and how much falsehood do you think is in this book?”
The woman shook her head, “If I only judged by this book, even if only one or two parts were true, if I ever meet this person, I will certainly take a detour and keep my distance. On the other hand, that Gu Chan doesn’t need to be guarded against as much.”
The man said, “After going out on a long journey, he criticizes others everywhere like a moralist, never examining his own heart. What a waste of the simple words at the beginning of the travelogue.”
At this, the man glanced at his partner beside him and said cautiously, “If you only look at the opening—the boy’s situation was quite hard. I sincerely hoped he would rise to prominence and have sweetness after bitterness.”
The woman smiled, “Adding fragrance to the study, leaning on red and nestling against green in the martial world—what true man wouldn’t envy that?” The man smiled wryly, knowing he shouldn’t have said some things.
One day, the old cultivator stared at the mountains-and-rivers scroll on the white cloud desk, as if surprised. He reached out and swept the scroll outside the desk, so the immortal couple could watch the myriad of market scenes. The two young Nascent Soul cultivators from the Department of Impermanence were the pride of the Linen Sect’s Middle Earth Upper Sect. Both were born as mountain immortal seeds; both sets of parents were cultivators. When Suiyuan and Chengxin became Daoist partners, it was a significant happy event. The old cultivator had high hopes for these two juniors in the Department of Impermanence. Their only flaw was that Suiyuan and Chengxin were inherently deficient—they had limited understanding of the lower levels of the market, and their thinking was too shallow.
On the scroll, the little girl and the young scholar were burning incense at the River God’s shrine.
The old cultivator stroked his beard and smiled, “She wouldn’t even buy the shrine’s water incense. Not quite like her master as written in the book. Still, that’s right. The little girl has deep experience in the martial world, worldly-wise, extremely sharp. Suiyuan, Chengxin, if you were the same cultivation level as this little girl, she’d probably sell you and you’d still help her count the money, happily at that.”
After Pei Qian finished burning incense and visiting the River God’s shrine, there was the shocking affair of asking fists with Xue Yuansheng of the Swaying River, but ultimately no major upheaval.
The old boatman Xue Yuansheng personally ferried the two across the river. That could probably be considered “no fight, no acquaintance.”
And that young thief who was caught stealing from the shrine—his wrist was broken by the sturdy man, who then had his men give the youth a thorough beating. The youth curled up, holding his head, rolling on the ground, snot and tears, begging miserably. Finally, covered in blood and dirt, a disgusting mess. After the men left, they told the youth to be diligent and steal fifty taels of silver within a month for “medicine money.” Otherwise, old and new scores would be settled together.
The youth staggered alone through a patch of reeds to the Swaying River, took off his clothes to wash, wincing in pain. Bruised and swollen, he headed for Mural City. About six hundred li away. By then his clothes had dried, but his body still had some bruises, his ribs ached faintly. His face, however, because he had protected it well while rolling on the ground, didn’t show much injury. Only his hands had suffered no damage, because when the men were beating him, they had been warned—after all, this naturally gifted young pickpocket was a money tree for their gang, relying on his hands for stealthy thievery.
The youth returned to an alley outside Mural City, to a courtyard gate, still the same as before, with door gods and couplets posted, and a “Spring” character at the top.
Because they had been posted not long ago, they had not yet faded or wrinkled.
The youth looked around, saw no one, then looked at the gap in the yellow mud wall beside one door god. Seeing that the two copper coins were still there, he relaxed and then smiled.
The copper coins were worthless, of course, but for this home, they were of great significance.
This hidden spot had been jokingly called “the innermost part of the Door God Lord” by him and his sister.
He remembered once when the family was barely getting by, he was playing with his sister, and accidentally found two coins.
Immortal coins—two Snow Flower Coins.
Over the years, the two Snow Flower Coins had never been spent. First, they didn’t dare, afraid of inviting trouble. Second, his mother absolutely refused to spend them, saying one Snow Flower Coin would be kept for his future bride price, and the other would be his sister’s dowry. How wonderful.
He learned later that back then, if his mother hadn’t suddenly obtained those two immortal coins, which lifted her spirits and made her willing to endure more hardship while raising her two children through the contemptible and impoverished days, she might have agreed to those ruthless creditors to become a boatwoman—the kind where a passenger could spend a few copper coins to touch freely, a boatwoman who, when nightfall came, would moor by the Swaying River and light a lantern. When wild men saw the light, they could come to spend the night. As she aged, she would go to a brothel to be a secret prostitute. No matter what, if his mother had done that, the family would have had more money, and his and his sister’s days would have been much easier. His mother would talk about this without taboo, but of course he didn’t want that. His sister, every time she heard such talk, turned pale, went to the door alone, and whispered thanks to the Door God Lords. So their family custom was that each year when they replaced the door gods, they never threw away the old ones. His mother would have him and his sister each carefully take one door god down, then neatly store them away. And in that place where the two Snow Flower Coins had inexplicably appeared, his mother replaced them with two copper coins.
The only thing the youth was dissatisfied with about himself was that he wasn’t a scholarly type. He didn’t have that ambition anyway. But the look of disappointment in his mother’s eyes, though she said nothing, made him feel terrible.
Years ago, he once stole one of the Snow Flower Coins, intending to exchange it for silver, first to let his sister, who craved sweets, eat her fill of pastries, and then to give his mother and sister a comfortable life. But his mother went crazy, caught him, and beat him almost to death. That was the first time his mother had beaten him—like she really meant it. His younger sister, even younger than he was, cried bitterly on the side, as if she hurt more than he did.
From that day on, as the only male in the family, he vowed to earn money! Only after he became a youth did he realize that if his mother hadn’t stopped him back then, the three of them wouldn’t have had a good life; instead, they would have only invited disaster. Not to mention two Snow Flower Coins—even two Minor Heat Coins could have been extorted by those thugs who had killed and seen blood, using various methods. With just him and his mother, they couldn’t have protected those two immortal coins fallen from the sky.
By the time the youth was able to secretly exchange Snow Flower Coins for silver using his own skills and connections, he had already changed his mind. Both Snow Flower Coins were for his sister. His sister must never be touched by those beasts. She would marry into a good family in the future. She and his mother must leave Skeleton Beach. He alone would be enough here. With his own abilities, he could definitely survive.
Today, the youth pushed open the door and entered. His sister, who shared a room with their mother, was cutting paper window decorations. Her hands were clever; she could learn many intricate patterns just by looking at them. Though this couldn’t earn big money, it could bring in some income.
The girl stood up in surprise, “Brother, why are you here? Shall I call Mother back to cook you a good meal?”
He picked a small stool and sat beside his sister, smiling and shaking his head. He said softly, “No need. You know how well I’m doing, don’t you? Our mother’s cooking—when there’s no money and no oil, it’s bland; when there’s money, it’s all oil—really hard to swallow. But I came in a hurry this time and couldn’t bring you a gift.”
The girl laughed. Her eyes, clean and beautiful, narrowed into crescent moons. “No need, no need.”
The boy grinned, reached up to his head, then extended his fist and slowly opened it—a piece of silver. “Take it.”
The girl hesitated, then accepted the silver. It was quite heavy, about eight qian.
He sat on the stool, leaning forward, resting his chin on his hands, staring at the two Door God Lords inside the open door facing the room.
In truth, this precocious youth no longer believed it was the Door God’s magic. He had some guesses—most likely it was that young wanderer in the bamboo hat from back then.
But his mother and sister were always certain that the two Snow Flower Coins were a manifestation of the Door Gods.
Still, what did it matter if it was or not?
As for that grandfather and granddaughter who had nearly been robbed by the youth, after leaving the shrine, they got into the simple carriage hired in their hometown and traveled north along the Swaying River.
The child said he wanted to read. The old man said the road was bumpy and reading now would hurt his eyes; they could read when they got home.
The child grinned and said, “You won’t say that when we get home.” The old man patted the child’s head. Suddenly the child said, “Earlier in that big River God’s house, there was a big sister walking beside us. When she pursed her lips and smiled, she looked really pretty.”
The old man thought for a moment, then remembered, “You mean the two who were carrying bamboo boxes?”
The child nodded vigorously. “Later we walked faster, and she walked slower. When I turned to look at her, she would smile.”
The old man smiled, “That was a scholar traveling with his books.”
The child asked, “Grandfather, was that bamboo a walking stick? I saw that big sister and brother both walked fine without any problem.”
The old man couldn’t help smiling and explained patiently, “That’s not a walking stick. It has a name—a mountain-traveling staff. When scholars travel far, they often need to cross mountains and rivers. Some families aren’t very wealthy, but they want to broaden their learning. With no servants or attendants, they have to carry their own luggage over mountains and rivers, so they need a mountain-traveling staff.”
The child laughed, “Ha! Our family doesn’t have much money either. Looks like I’ll need a mountain-traveling staff in the future.”
The old man rubbed his grandson’s head and said, “Reading ten thousand books costs a lot of money. Walking ten thousand miles—you just need to endure hardship. When your grandfather was young, I traveled with good friends to the libraries of commandery families and scholarly households. Every day we borrowed and copied books, returned them and borrowed more. Some scholarly families didn’t mind; they were very hospitable, welcoming us poor students to copy, at most reminding us not to damage the books. They’d even offer good meals every day. Occasionally, though, some servants would grumble a little—like when we copied books by lamplight all night, they might joke that lamp oil had gone up again. That kind of thing. It’s nothing.”
The child listened and yawned.
The old man held the child in his arms. The child was getting sleepy—after the novelty wore off and all that walking, he began to fall fast asleep. The old man murmured softly, “In my twenties, words rushed and clamored out from my brush, unstoppable. After thirty, talent waned, so I could only stew them slowly. Now in old age, unexpectedly, what I write is no longer what I write—it’s more like inviting old friends onto the paper, greeting them, and telling some stories.”
The carriage driver suddenly said, “Again carrying books and swords, both lost in the vastness.”
The old man was surprised inside the carriage—that driver shouldn’t have such refined speech. He gently put down the child and lifted the curtain.
The young driver turned his head and asked, “Master, did you say something?”
The old man smiled, “Why did you say ‘Again carrying books and swords, both lost in the vastness’?”
The driver was stunned. “Master, what are you saying?”
The old man was speechless, smiled and said nothing, retreated back into the carriage, thinking it was his own illusion.
And that illiterate driver suddenly had a random thought: Go find Chen Lingjun?
The next moment, he completely forgot about it.
On Wood Garment Mountain, when Pei Qian and Li Huai boarded the boat, Patriarch Nalan put away the mountains-and-rivers scroll and fell into contemplation.
The man, Suiyuan, said, “It runs in the teaching line. Like master, like disciple; like disciple, like master.”
The woman, Chengxin, also nodded.
A moment later, the old cultivator decided to take another look, so he reactivated his divine ability. He gave a surprised grunt. How had a little golden core fox spirit appeared beside those two children?
Then, for some reason, the scroll began to blur on its own.
The immortal couple looked at each other in bewilderment.
Patriarch Nalan smiled and withdrew his divine ability.
At the tea stall by the Swaying River.
There were few customers. They were preparing to close.
The shopkeeper took out two feathers, one from a literary sparrow, the other from a martial sparrow.
He said to the young waiter dozing at the table, “There’s work to do.”
A young woman suddenly appeared and sat down. “I advise you not to do it.”
In the night, Li Huai walked beside Pei Qian and said softly, “Pei Qian, will you teach me fist techniques?”
Pei Qian hesitated and had a strange expression. On this long journey, one of her stops was Lion Peak, and it was to receive fists.
Pei Qian hesitated for a long time, then shook her head. “Learning fists is too bitter.”
After a pause, she added, “Besides, I don’t know how to teach fists.”
Li Huai was actually a bit happy and laughed. “I learn everything very, very slowly. It’s even better if you don’t know how to teach. If I fail to learn, I won’t be sad, and you won’t have to worry about misleading students. If it were Chen Ping’an, I wouldn’t learn—with his personality, once he starts teaching, I couldn’t slack off… Pei Qian, I’m just speaking the truth. Don’t get angry, okay?”
Pei Qian thought it over and said, “My master’s two fist stances—didn’t you see them before I did? They’re not hard to learn. You should know them.”
Li Huai said awkwardly, “I just casually learned the ‘Thousand Autumn’ sleeping stance. Actually, I didn’t remember what Chen Ping’an said. I just pretended I learned it. The Six-Step Walking Stance and the Sword Furnace Standing Stance—I didn’t dare learn them, afraid Li Baoping and the others would laugh at me.”
Pei Qian shook her head, “I won’t teach fists. I don’t know any fist techniques myself.”
Li Huai said, “You do! Didn’t you just ask fists with the Xue River God?”
Pei Qian just refused.
My fists—where do they fall?
Pei Qian looked up at the sky.
And all around on the earth, the chirping of night insects.
Outside the White Cloud Temple in the Green Luan Kingdom, an old monk who had traveled there had rented a courtyard. Every day he cooked soup. Even though it was a vegetarian pot, it tasted like chicken broth.
Thus he earned the nickname “Chicken Broth Monk.”
He didn’t interpret fortune slips, only read palms. Occasionally he told fortunes, but more often he answered questions. Each time cost one tael of silver, paid upon entry. If the answer was unsatisfactory, he wouldn’t return the money.
One day, a scholar came to ask if he could pass the imperial examinations.
The old monk read the scholar’s palm and shook his head.
The scholar was furious and began to rail against the examination system, listing a bunch of arguments, including: “How many top scholars in history have written immortal poems?!”
The old monk held out his hand. The scholar angrily threw down a piece of silver.
The old monk got the money, pocketed it, then smiled, “Whether the examinations mislead people or not, I won’t say, but they will indeed prevent you from becoming an official.”
The scholar’s face turned red. “Your palm reading is inaccurate!”
The old monk laughed to himself, “Moreover, you say top scholars can’t write immortal poems—as if you could. Throughout history, top scholars have been few; roughly countable. But failed scholars like you, with poor exam skills—there are countless. Some destitute scholars have genuine literary talent and fail to pass, which can be attributed to personality or fate. For someone like you, you won’t succeed at the examinations, nor at anything else. But with family wealth, you can muddle through.”
The scholar flicked his sleeves and left.
“Foolish child.”
The old monk shook his head. “Only those who have endured great suffering have the right to great resentment. When virtue does not match the position, resentment does not match the suffering. Even a self-liberated person cannot be such.”
The scholar, just putting on his boots at the door, heard this and became even angrier. He turned and shouted, “Bald donkey, looking for a beating?!”
“You can beat me.”
The old monk said, “But you have to pay for the medicine!”
The scholar hesitated for a moment, then left. He told others that the old monk was a fraud, not to waste a tael of silver.
Unfortunately, the old monk was now quite famous in the capital of Green Luan Kingdom, and people still lined up to have their palms read.
A young man with a pained expression entered the room and asked if he could rekindle a severed romance.
After reading his palm, the old monk shook his head and said it was difficult.
The man lamented, muttering about how she was heartless, how she had betrayed his devotion, but he didn’t blame her—only hated that he had no money or power. When he reached his most sorrowful point, a grown man, he clenched his fists and sobbed uncontrollably.
The old monk nodded, “Good, good. Mostly blaming yourself, not others. That’s a good habit.”
The man choked, “Master, I only want to know how to untie this knot in my heart. Otherwise, I can’t go on. Truly, I can’t go on.”
Probably because he had seen a previous person suffer, the man looked up and said, “Don’t tell me that rubbish about ‘letting go.’ Don’t tell me that messy talk about ‘the one who tied the bell must untie it.’ I can’t let go, I won’t let go! I just want her to change her mind. I’ll do anything…” Finally, the man softly muttered the woman’s pet name, truly infatuated.
The old monk said, “Two methods. One is simpler—starve to cure all ailments. One is more complex, but it will let you know that your current life, if you endure it, can still be lived. Actually, there is a third, but you’ll need to go to the Old Man Under the Moon.”
After speaking, the old monk rubbed his fingers together.
The man shook his head, “I have no silver on me.”
The old monk looked disgusted, “Then starve.”
The man fell to the ground and wept loudly.
The old monk sighed helplessly, “Enough, enough. Give me your hand.”
The man extended his hand. The old monk lightly touched his palm, and the man immediately froze, as if in a daze. After a moment, he came to, feeling as if a lifetime had passed, his forehead covered in sweat.
The old monk said, “I took one tael of silver from you. You just had a nightmare, but I truly endured the suffering of a heart being scraped and a cauldron of oil. Now go.”
The man staggered away.
The old monk sighed softly, brought his fingers together, gently tugged, and then lightly wiped them on his kasaya.
After that came a man who felt cheated. He threw a tael of silver on the ground, sat down, hands on his knees, and said through gritted teeth, “Since hitting requires payment, how about I don’t hit you, just curse? Huh?!”
The old monk shook his head, “No.”
The man sneered, “Why?!”
“You can curse me if you want. I don’t care. I just can’t bear to see you increase your karma of speech. I’ve taken your silver, and then harm you? How could my heart allow it? People in the world fall into the trap of speech karma without knowing it, and it harms themselves greatly. Fortune and misfortune have no door; they are summoned by people. The speech and the heart are two doors. Fortune and misfortune have no door; they are summoned by people. I told you about closing the door—keeping your speech karma pure, your mind free of dust. The Confucians talk about being watchful in solitude—that’s also closing the door. The Daoists advocate purity and stillness—still closing the door. Guarding the heart gate is hard; even mountain cultivators fear it. But if we ordinary people can’t even keep from talking too much, that’s not good. Do you still want to curse now?”
The man didn’t hesitate. He began cursing loudly, spittle flying everywhere.
The old monk glanced at the silver on the ground and endured it. He didn’t drive him out. Only when the man had exhausted himself cursing and left did the old monk extend two fingers again, lightly hooked, then wiped them on his kasaya. Matters inside the room stayed inside. As for the rest, each has their own fate.
A middle-aged scholar first bowed at the door, then removed his boots and entered the room. He sat on a cushion, lightly placed the silver on the ground, and asked, “May I ask the Master: Buddhism speaks of cause and effect and reincarnation. But if there truly is an afterlife, one reaps what one sows. In that next life, I won’t know my past life. Am I still me? If I don’t know who I am, then all these karmic retributions, whether good or bad, are received in ignorance. When will it end?”
“A fine question.”
The old monk smiled. “It can be resolved. Allow me to explain slowly.”
The man couldn’t help but ask again, “Why can’t retribution in this world all happen in the present life?”
The old monk’s eyes lit up. He shouted loudly, “Who is this, asking such a fine question?!”
The man stood up, hands together, “I don’t know if it’s a fine question, but I know the Master gives fine answers.”
Then the man walked out the door.
He actually forgot to put on his boots.
The next guest was an old man with a refined appearance.
After giving a piece of silver, he asked about the origin of a certain landscape deity. The old monk gave his own opinions, but honestly said they were copied from Confucian books and seemed reasonable.
The old man didn’t mind and began to lament how many foolish and stubborn people there were in the world, how many engaged in petty intrigues, especially those young scholars too obsessed with fame and profit…
The old monk listened to him worrying about the world for a long time. Finally, he smiled and asked, “Benefactor, what did you have for meals today?”
The other smiled, “Just the plain vegetarian meals from the White Cloud Temple nearby.”
The old monk nodded, “Only someone used to rich food would genuinely find vegetarian meals bland; otherwise, they’d just find them unpalatable.”
The old man’s expression changed slightly. The old monk added, “A well-fed man telling a hungry man that the food is bad easily induces burping and resentment.”
The old man stood up, sneering, “What enlightened monk! All reputation, no substance!”
The old monk collected the silver and smiled, “But the silver is real.”
Then came a burly, thick-set man, but acting timidly: “Great monk, I’m a butcher. Can I still be reborn as a human in my next life?”
The old monk asked, “Every day you kill and sell meat. What for?”
The man was a little flustered and said quietly, “To earn money, to support my family.”
The old monk smiled, “Show me your hand. I’ll take a look.”
The man finally left smiling.
Then came a person who hadn’t come for a palm reading at all. He just asked the old monk, “Master, you keep saying ‘I.’ Why do you never call yourself ‘poor monk’? Doesn’t that go against Buddhist rules?”
The old monk replied, “I am quite wealthy, and I have a little bit of Dharma.”
The man was amused and left satisfied.
A woman stood shyly at the door. The old monk said, “Female benefactor, no need to remove your shoes.”
The young married woman asked whether her son would become a scholar and pass the county exam in the future.
The old monk smiled and reached out. The woman blushed, extended her hand, and then pulled it back. The old monk glanced at her palm and also lowered his hand. He smiled, “In your eyes, there is a man. In my heart, there is no woman. But that kind of talk—I can say it, but an ordinary monk should neither hear nor do it. It’s like the relationship between a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law: some truths you can hear, but she cannot. She can hear them, but you cannot. Both kinds of reasoning can be good reasons. It just depends on who is willing to give first, who is more willing to let go.”
The woman was extremely surprised and nodded slightly, as if understanding something. Then her expression showed some difficulty. She could endure some grievances at home, but her husband was a bit troubled. He didn’t favor his mother too much, but he would just sigh heavily in front of her. Actually, if he would just say one warm word, that would be fine. She wouldn’t really put him in a difficult position.
The old monk smiled, “So you’ve understood the method of harmonious coexistence over the long term, but you also need a quick fix for an urgent problem?”
The woman nodded vigorously, her face beaming.
The old monk said, “Family style influences the children. Your husband has a good nature, but…”
The woman quickly waved her hands.
The old monk chuckled and changed the subject, “As the saying goes, you judge a pig by its pen. For women marrying and men taking wives, the matter of marriage is much the same. Your family is quite well-off, and you have both a son and a daughter. So educate your children with peace of mind. Don’t let your future daughter-in-law suffer grievances like you did, and don’t let your daughter become a mother-in-law like the one you have now. That is achievable. I say this because you already have this thought in mind. If it were another woman with different thoughts, I would never dare say such things.”
The woman gave a curtsy, thanked him, and left. Since she had entered with shoes on, she apologized to the old monk.
The old monk smiled, “I should be thanking you on behalf of three families.”
Then came a young, handsome, wealthy young master. After giving the silver, he asked the old monk why knowing so many principles from books was useless.
The old monk smiled, “Your Confucian sages’ teachings have long earnestly said: ask only about the plowing, not the harvest. But after closing the books, you only ask about results, not the process. Then you complain that knowing so many principles didn’t make your life better. Isn’t that unfair? Actually, your life is quite good. Saying it’s not is even worse.”
Finally, the old monk asked, “Do you truly know the principles?”
The young man grew slightly angry, “How could I not know? I’ve read more books—covering all schools of thought—than you have sutras!”
The old monk shook his head, “You have read many books, but you do not know. In fact, you know less than those who haven’t read much.”
The young man, used to being pampered and stubborn, said, “I do know! What can you do about it?”
The old monk just played along, repeating, “You do not know.”
The old monk didn’t want to waste his time, hindering his earnings, so he let the next guest enter. Neither business was interrupted.
Suddenly, the young man said out of nowhere, “I do not know.”
The old monk, who was speaking to someone else, then said, “You don’t know that you don’t know a damn thing.”
The young man, who had been eavesdropping from the courtyard, suddenly burst into laughter, “Haha! The bald donkey himself commits speech karma!”
The old monk stared at him blankly.
“Your family has been merchants for generations, finally cultivating a scholar like you, hoping you would bring glory to your lineage. But you are indecisive, always hoping to meet influential patrons, relying on elders to build connections for you. You are complacent, lucky to have guessed the exam questions, acting composed in front of others while secretly ecstatic. On your travels, hearing about amorous river goddesses, you threw a petition into the shrine. When ignored, you wrote licentious poems and asked classmates about their literary merit, slandering the goddess’s reputation. The goddess sought retribution. Fortunately, you still have some ancestral protection. The local Earth God, remembering your ancestors’ good deeds—setting up congee stalls during famines, giving to the poor without expecting reward—tried to intercede for you. Even though the realms of light and dark differ, and gods and humans are separate, he still tried to appear in your dream to warn you. Yet you remained arrogant, unaware of how heartbroken your ancestors were. In anger, the Earth God ignored you. You remained oblivious, and your family ancestral hall was already crumbling because of you.
“I have held back again and again. I didn’t say a single thing you couldn’t hear from Buddhism. I only said what you could understand. If I truly committed speech karma, and you both in word and heart call me a bald donkey, your karmic obstacle is even greater. Since you know so many principles, let me only talk about your family’s foundation—business. You should understand it better. My speech karma in exchange for your speech karma—I lose, you lose. Is this transaction truly worth it for you? What did you gain? Since you know so many principles, please, teach me one thing.
“You are only afraid of how I know about your shameful deeds. Now that things have come to this, you still don’t think about whether you actually know. What exactly do you know?”
The young man suddenly changed from sitting to kneeling, begging the old monk to save him from the sea of suffering.
The old monk said, “Better to rely on yourself than on others.”
“Money in this world has no distinction between clean and dirty; it is only the human heart that has black and white.”
The young man only kowtowed and begged incessantly.
The old monk said angrily, “Do you think there is no right or wrong in the world, only positions? Let’s see how many years you can remain arrogant, shrewd, and complacent! Go enjoy your blessings!”
Next person.
Another out-of-towner traveling there. His face seemed about thirty years old, impressive. He smiled, “Monk, this chicken soup… the taste is too strange.”
The old monk smiled, “Benefactor, just say it’s not good. Because most of the time, it only makes the angry angrier and the bitter more bitter.”
The man put down a piece of silver, “I believe you truly have Dharma. But since many people’s troubles are not so great, why not teach some minor techniques that produce immediate results? Wouldn’t that spread Buddhism more?”
The old monk shook his head, “For urgent illnesses, there are many pharmacies and doctors. What need for me? On ordinary days with nothing to do, just eat more.”
The man felt unsatisfied, far from having his doubts resolved.
The old monk already smiled, “How small are the small troubles of ordinary people? How great do you think my Dharma is? Can it truly produce immediate results? I won’t even discuss whether troubles and Dharma can be compared. Just consider: you came from ten thousand li away to sit here and say these words. How many joys and sorrows have you experienced? You haven’t yet had a new small trouble in your heart, but looking at this matter from a distance, it’s not small, is it?”
The man was momentarily speechless, then smiled dismissively, shook his head, “Everything I have seen, heard, learned, realized, and thought in this life is not just for the sake of sparring with you, Master, today.”
The old monk waved his hand, “Then go elsewhere.”
In a single day, the courtyard was full of people, bustling and lively.
The last person of that day was none other than the middle-aged temple master of the capital’s White Cloud Temple.
The second-to-last person was a spirit creature in human form.
The old monk knew; the middle-aged temple master also knew.
Before removing his boots, the middle-aged Daoist did not make a Daoist hand gesture but instead pressed his palms together in a Buddhist greeting.
The old monk smiled, “Temple master, no need to give the tael of silver. In my eyes, I only see the Buddha light in all sentient beings’ hearts. I see nothing else—no goblins or ghosts.”
The middle-aged Daoist smiled understandingly and nodded gently.
The old monk continued, “I am afraid of misunderstanding the Dharma, and even more afraid of wrongly teaching the Dharma. I am not afraid of teaching people where the Buddha’s Dharma is good; I am only afraid of teaching the first step, and then every step after that. This is difficult. Bitter. A young novice may have Buddha in his heart but cannot speak the Dharma. A great monk may speak the Dharma but may not have Buddha in his heart.”
The middle-aged Daoist spoke two sentences.
Enlightenment comes from gradual awakening.
Gradual awakening leads to enlightenment.
The old monk lowered his head and pressed his palms together. “Amitabha. Good indeed, good indeed.”
In the Middle Earth Divine Continent, an immortal walked into a cave heaven.
Beneath the immortal’s feet was a bronze ancient mirror a hundred zhang in radius, but thirty chairs were arranged on it, like a Patriarch Hall.
When the immortal appeared, he activated the mirror’s formation. Within the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, figures appeared one after another and sat down. There were more than a dozen of them, but all faces were indistinct.
However, the two foremost chairs were currently unoccupied.
Everyone sat in silence, communicating with heart voices.
The person seated in the lowest position spoke first, “Should my Qionglin Sect secretly stir things up a bit?”
The immortal who was the host of this place sneered, “Fool. Secretly? How ‘secretly’? Do you think the sages of the Literary Temple are fools?”
That immortal master from the Qionglin Sect fell silent in fear, then stood up in a panic and apologized to everyone.
In the border countryside of Great Li, a group of playing children finally saw dust rising in the distance. They immediately jumped and shouted.
A troop of elite cavalry galloped past.
The children ran along the hillside.
On horseback, a rider turned his head and lightly tapped his chest with his fist.
On the Desolate World, Tuoyue Mountain trembled slightly, and then the tremors grew larger, almost as if the mountain was about to be overturned.
Then the grand formation of Tuoyue Mountain activated, and the entire mountain suddenly sank by over ten zhang. The movement stopped.
On the city wall of Sword Qi Great Wall, a figure in a red robe sat in meditation, as if dead. Suddenly, he stood up and laughed loudly, “A Liang, come visit when you have time!”