Chapter 744: Mountains and Rivers Reversed in a Snowy Night
A foreign scholar named Chen Zhuoliu had sent a flying sword message to Luopo Mountain from the Changchun Palace, then strolled through the Great Li capital city before setting off southward on foot, leisurely traveling until he reached the Yansui Shop in the small town of Qilong Alley. There he met the shopkeeper Shi Rou and a young clerk named A Man. While he was weighing his money pouch to select some pastries, Jia Sheng, the owner of the neighboring Caotou Shop, came over to visit. Nowadays, the Daoist robe on that old immortal was much more plain than before—after all, his cultivation base was higher now, and Dharma robes and such were mere external things; placing too much importance on them would be beneath his station. Chen Zhuoliu glanced at the old Daoist and smiled. Jia Sheng noticed his gaze, stroked his beard, and nodded.
After leaving the Yansui Shop, Chen Zhuoliu went to the Yang Family Shop but didn't manage to see Old Man Yang. He felt a bit regretful—if only he had known, he would have come here earlier to chat about old times.
Chen Lingjun came rushing over on the wind, having received a secret message via flying sword earlier. His good brother had said he would arrive at the small town on time today, and they were to meet at the shop on Qilong Alley. Chen Lingjun had come down the mountain an hour early, with three sword talismans hanging from his waist—he had borrowed one each from Little Mi Li and the silly Warm Tree before leaving. He planned to give his own talisman to Chen Zhuoliu. Borrow? What borrowing? That wasn't generous at all. When he reached the Yansui Shop, he waited for almost an hour. Just sitting around cracking sunflower seeds wasn't much fun, so out of boredom, Chen Lingjun started teasing the aloof little A Man, saying that learning boxing and practicing stances was too much trouble. He offered to teach him an advanced boxing technique from his own family's secret style, called the Centipede Leap. Practicing this boxing on Qilong Alley outside would be perfect.
But the young clerk just stood on a stool behind the counter, reading a book, and completely ignored the cyan-robed child.
So Chen Lingjun clasped his hands behind his back and went next door to chat with his old friend Jia Sheng, patting his chest and promising to introduce a new friend to Old Brother Jia. But when the appointed time came and another stick of incense had burned, Chen Lingjun was still squatting at the shop's entrance, waiting in vain for Chen Zhuoliu. He ran back to the Yansui Shop and asked Shi Rou if any scholar carrying a book box had come by today. Shi Rou said yes, one had come about an hour ago, bought some pastries, and then left. Chen Lingjun stamped his foot, used an illusion technique, and rose on the wind to hover above the small town, scanning the ground below—but he still couldn't spot his friend's familiar figure. How strange. Could it be that while he was focused on rushing here on the wind, he hadn't looked closely enough at the mountains, and they had just missed each other? One had gone into the mountains while the other had come out? Chen Lingjun then hurriedly rushed to Luopo Mountain, but asked around—even Little Mi Li hadn't seen any Chen Zhuoliu. Chen Lingjun crouched on the ground, clutching his head, sighing deeply. What was going on?
Actually, Chen Zhuoliu was currently on Yellow Lake Mountain, sitting outside a thatched hut, basking in the sun.
A dragon-slayer who comes to the water's edge but doesn't slay a dragon—like a fisherman who comes to the water's edge but doesn't cast his net, or a woodcutter who enters the forest but doesn't cut wood.
That was fine.
He only needed to wait patiently; even stranger things were about to happen. Chen Zhuoliu absolutely could not miss this again—it was a feat unprecedented in ten thousand years.
Since Old Man Yang was not in the small town, having stepped out of his ten-thousand-year self-imposed confinement, then in the current Dragon Prefecture, only Chen Zhuoliu had detected this clue. Even Wei Bo, the Mountain Lord of Piyun Mountain, couldn't do it. It wasn't just because of the Northern Mountain Lord's insufficient cultivation level—even "Chen Zhuoliu" himself had only managed to deduce this subtle sign of upheaval through years of "seclusion" here, following traces and clues, combined with the causal entanglement of dragon-slaying and the art of mental calculation and deduction.
He was just curious—did that Embroidered Tiger know about this?
---
On the Wildlands continent, at a mountain-top thatched hut among the Ten Thousand Mountains, an old blind man stood with a stooped figure, facing the ten thousand miles of mountains and rivers that were his alone.
He had once personally gouged out his own two eyeballs, throwing one into the Grand Mystery World and the other into the Azure World.
The ten thousand miles of "mountains and rivers" before him were empty of people. Too clean, far too clean.
An old dog lay prostrate at the doorway, slightly raising its head to look at that old fellow standing at the cliff's edge. It wished he would just fall off and die already—it had that little disappointment every day.
The old blind man asked, "Do you know why A Liang carved those words back then and left the Sword Qi Wall, but never returned to his homeland?"
The old dog, a dignified Ascension stage beast, shook its head. "I don't know."
The old blind man cursed, "Truly a dog's brain!"
The old dog felt no grievance at all, but it really wanted to say, "Well, what else would it be?" You old blind man sure like to talk nonsense. If our cultivation bases were swapped, heh.
After leaving Inverted-Hanging Mountain, A Liang had gone directly to the Pearly Bead Cave Heaven, then ascended to the Azure World's Jade Capital. In the outer heavens, he fought and killed extradimensional demons while arm-wrestling with the Second Old of the Dao.
After reaching the 14th stage as a sword cultivator, he still didn't go to his homeland in the Central Earth Divine Continent but went directly back to the Sword Qi Wall, where he was then suppressed beneath Tuoyue Mountain. That was one of the two ancient Ascension Platforms. Once, three sword cultivators had challenged Tuoyue Mountain, cutting away the path that could have reopened the communication between heaven and man—the so-called "Heaven-Earth Passage." Ultimately, this passage was meant to allow later generations of cultivators to reach the ruined heavenly court where countless gods once dwelt. That site could not be refined by anyone—even the Three Founders could only impose restrictions on it.
The old blind man reached up and grabbed his sallow cheek. "With A Liang's character, if he hadn't broken through, wouldn't he have gone to his old friends in his homeland and... pretended to brag? That guy would definitely have said something like, 'A 14th stage sword cultivator is nothing special.' He would have said that for sure. Just by looking at his butt, you'd know what he ate."
The watchdog nodded. "Ah, I see. A Liang has a home but can't return—a stray dog, basically. Scholars are all like that anyway. Actually, our Controller of the World's Literature isn't much different either. In other worlds it might be fine, but if anyone in the Grand Mystery World becomes a 14th stage sword cultivator, it would cause all the remnants of the ancient gods outside the heavens, no matter which factions they historically belonged to, to possibly flood into the Grand Mystery World in a frenzy. No wonder Old Scholar didn't want his disciples to break through to that stage on either side—not only is it too dangerous, it would also cause great calamity. That makes sense now. That little girl with the braids who broke into the 14th stage back then—it seems that was Zhou Mi's scheme to pass the blame onto the Grand Mystery World."
The old blind man sneered, "Well, at least it's not a pig's brain."
The old dog was helpless. Curse away, curse away. You old blind man only bully your own loyal dog.
You old blind man, you're a 14th stage cultivator just sitting around eating for free—go have a good fight with the Grand Ancestor of Tuoyue Mountain! If you win, the entire Wildlands continent would be your territory. Or else go kick up a fuss at the Central Earth Confucian Temple—surely they'd help you keep this tiny bit of property called the Ten Thousand Mountains safe.
The Grand Ancestor of Tuoyue Mountain and the Controller of Literature Zhou Mi—why were they willing to let Xiao Xun, a "don't care about the heavens, don't care about the earth" kind of person, a former Hidden Official that even Chen Qingdu couldn't control, merge with the Dao at the 14th stage in that Hall of Heroes? It turned out that besides increasing the Wildlands' top-tier combat power, there was another scheme. Whenever the old dog thought about these twists and turns, its head ached terribly. Then it immediately felt that the old blind man was actually quite kind-hearted—if he did slip and fall off the cliff, half-dead would be enough.
The old blind man turned to look at the Sword Qi Wall, then glanced at Tuoyue Mountain, and thought about the current advance route of the Wildlands. He felt something was wrong everywhere.
A 14th stage great cultivator, having eyes or not, really didn't matter. But the ten thousand years of the human world were just hard to look at. Still, there were some young people that the old blind man, no matter how harshly he spoke, admired in his heart. It was just that such people were too few, and their fates all seemed to be not very good.
The old blind man unexpectedly sighed with emotion. "It's time to take on a worthy direct disciple."
The old dog said fearfully, "Just don't let it be that Hidden Official—that guy looks at me with a weird gaze. What's he staring at? Like I'm a dish on a plate."
The more it thought about it, the angrier it got. The old dog raised its head, stretched out a claw, and lightly scratched the ground, only leaving a few marks—clearly not daring to make too big a noise—but its tone was extremely indignant. "If it weren't for all the business at home and not being able to get away, I would have gone to the Sword Qi Wall long ago and hacked him half to death. I don't have a flying sword, but I know swordsmanship well enough."
The old blind man scoffed. "Dragon Lord couldn't even kill him, so what makes you think you can? Scrape off his flesh as appetizer and let our Hidden Official choke to death?"
The old dog lay prostrate again, sighing. "That sneaky old Deaf Man didn't even come here to pay respects to the mountain chief first—he went around the south route. That's not proper. Master, you're just letting that go?"
The old blind man appeared beside the old dog without warning, lifted his foot, and stomped heavily on its back. A series of crisp cracking sounds rang out like exploding firecrackers. He rubbed his chin with one hand. "You sneak over to Vial Bottle Continent in the Grand Mystery World, find a young man named Li Huai for me, and bring him back. If you succeed, I'll restore your freedom. After that, you can frolic all you want in the Wildlands."
The old dog began playing dead.
Compared to freedom, of course saving its own life was more important. Running to the Grand Mystery World right now, especially that Vial Bottle Continent—would dog meat even be welcome? That Embroidered Tiger would definitely stew it to perfection.
The old blind man kicked the old dog away and muttered to himself, "Surely I don't have to go to Vial Bottle Continent myself? Is this how you go about taking on a disciple?"
---
Fei Ran was left behind by Zhou Mi at Peach Leaf Ferry.
At the moment of parting, Zhou Mi seemed to have been injured quite badly—enough to make a 14th stage peak cultivator's face turn slightly pale.
At the time, there were sharp sword qi and residual thunder method Dao intent lingering on Zhou Mi's body, plus an additional lingering, strange fist intent.
After casually throwing away that book collection seal, Fei Ran first returned to the military tent. For some reason, Jiazi Tent's Wooden Clogs—or rather, Zhou Mi's closed-door disciple Zhou Qinggao—was already waiting there. He said that from now on, he would travel with Fei Ran through Parasol Leaf Continent, and then go to the Creation Cave on Reed Flower Island. Fei Ran actually admired this young man quite a bit, but he didn't like this feeling of being a puppet on strings, hitting walls everywhere. Still, since Zhou Qinggao had come, it must have been Zhou Mi's instruction. As for what Fei Ran himself thought, that was no longer important.
Fei Ran only asked one question: what would become of Mirage City in the Great Spring Dynasty?
Zhou Qinggao smiled and answered with two words: "Remain unchanged."
So Fei Ran took Zhou Qinggao back to Zhaoping Peak, and then they headed south together. Fei Ran landed in a desolate human city, and they walked together on a stone arch bridge overgrown with grass and trees.
Fei Ran, dressed in green robes with a sword on his back and his face covered, stopped walking at the apex of the stone bridge. "Since we've chosen to go all in, why are we still splitting the forces between East Vial Bottle Continent and South Crescent Continent? Taking one of them wouldn't be hard. The way we're fighting now, it's not war anymore—it's smashing pots and smashing pans. Not reinforcing Fuyao Continent and Golden Armor Continent with follow-up troops, but instead pouring everything into Vial Bottle Continent and Crescent Continent—what's that supposed to be? Hasn't anyone in the various military tents objected? If we occupy one of those continents, whichever it is—take Vial Bottle, then hit Northern Jambudvipa; take South Crescent, then use Golden Armor Continent as a major ferry point to continue north and attack Flowing Clouds Continent—then this war can drag on for decades, even a hundred years. Our chances of winning are not small."
Especially Vial Bottle Continent. With the Great Li secondary capital as the north-south dividing line, the entire southern coastal area was teeming with demonic races surging out from the sea.
Zhou Qinggao said, "I had the same doubt earlier, but Master didn't answer."
Fei Ran reached out and wiped the jade-white bridge railing, his palm full of dust. He was silent for a moment, then asked, "What exactly is the Grand Ancestor of Tuoyue Mountain thinking?"
Zhou Qinggao thought it over, then shook his head. "I didn't dare ask Master about this."
Fei Ran finally asked, "Why aren't you staying by your master's side?"
Zhou Qinggao still shook his head. "Master gave orders, and I obey. I don't ask about what I shouldn't ask, and I try not to think about what I shouldn't."
Fei Ran turned around, leaned back against the bridge railing, and looked up at the sky.
An empty sky, an empty heart.
After Fei Ran had reached a decent level in cultivation, he had been used to thinking of himself as a mountain dweller, but he still kept his homeland and the Grand Mystery World very separate. So whether it was strategizing for the military tents or needing to draw his sword and kill on the Sword Qi Wall's battlefield, Fei Ran never hesitated. But outside the battlefield—for instance, here on Parasol Leaf Continent—Fei Ran was very different from Yu Si and Tan Dui, and even from Zhou Qinggao beside him, who also inwardly yearned for the Hundred Schools of Grand Mystery thought.
Zhou Qinggao smiled. "I don't drink, so I don't carry alcohol with me. Otherwise, I would make an exception and drink with Brother Fei Ran."
Fei Ran shook his head. "Forget it. Sorrowful wine shouldn't be drunk."
If life was like an arched bridge paved with years, months, and days as bricks, then worldly commoners would reach the highest point of the bridge around the age of thirty, at most forty. Walking on it, you could look back, but there was no road back. So when young, they longed to grow up. When grown, they feared old age. As for cultivators who pursued the Dao in the mountains, they seemed not to have this situation, but in fact, once a cultivator's soul began to decay and they saw no hope of breaking through, they would only suffer even more than worldly commoners.
Fei Ran suddenly laughed. "Our Hidden Official, named Chen Ping'an, seems to have the hardest time finding peace. Thinking about that makes me feel a lot better."
Fei Ran took out two flasks of wine and tossed one to Zhou Qinggao. Out of the blue, he asked, "There's nothing much to see on Parasol Leaf Continent. How about we skip the Creation Cave and go directly to the Sword Qi Wall to visit the Hidden Official?"
Zhou Qinggao hesitated.
Fei Ran slapped his shoulder. "Last time you passed by the Sword Qi Wall, Chen Ping'an didn't pay you any attention. Now that things are almost settled, you two definitely have things to talk about. Once you get familiar with him, you'll find out—he talks more than anyone."
Zhou Qinggao nodded, took a sip of wine, and smiled. "Let's give it a try. But you have to guarantee that he won't beat me to death."
Fei Ran smiled. "Easy."
---
On the Sword Qi Wall's battlement, a demonic cultivator of the Dragon Gate stage from the military strategist lineage was panting heavily, his hand holding the saber trembling slightly.
Before climbing the wall, he had agreed with the famous Hidden Official that this would just be a sparring match of saber and fist techniques, no need to fight to the death. If he lost, he would consider it a wasted trip to the northernmost part of the Wildlands, climb down from the wall, and immediately head back home. The Hidden Official had given him a thumbs up, praising him in a dialect of the Wildlands' Great Elegance that was even more authentic than his own, saying he was a man of principle, a heroic spirit rarely seen these days. So of course, it was completely fine.
So the fight was quite exhilarating. Actually, it was just this military strategist cultivator swinging his saber alone on the battlement, while the young Hidden Official in the crimson Dharma robe just let the strikes land on him. Occasionally, he would use his narrow saber Zhan Kan still in its sheath, casually raising it to block or parry—otherwise, it would seem like he wasn't treating the guest sincerely, and the opponent might lose heart too soon. To take care of this warrior's feelings, Chen Ping'an even deliberately used his Palm Thunder technique, so that every time the sheath collided with the saber blade, cascading white lightning would bloom like writhing white snakes.
Now, with his narrow saber propping him up, Chen Ping'an watched the fellow who had sheathed his saber and stopped. He asked with a smile, "Tired of swinging? Want me to take a turn?"
That demonic cultivator immediately puffed out his chest and said boldly, "Not tired, not tired at all! Just let me catch my breath—what's the rush?"
Chen Ping'an smiled faintly. "You're a guest who came uninvited to my doorstep. Shouldn't you address me respectfully as Hidden Official? I've been waiting for a long time."
Without hesitation, the demonic cultivator called out, "Hidden Official."
Then added, "You live up to your reputation! Good fist technique!"
Chen Ping'an suddenly looked around in bewilderment, but immediately composed himself and waved his hand at the demonic cultivator. "Go back."
The demonic cultivator wasn't completely stupid. "You won't kill me?"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "This is your first time climbing the wall, and you've never been to the battlefield. You might never get a chance to come near here again in your life. What would I kill you for?"
The demonic cultivator sheathed his saber, cupped his fists, and said, "I'm slightly inferior. The Hidden Official's fist is indeed superior."
Chen Ping'an pressed one hand on his saber hilt, rubbed his brow with the other, and looked sideways at the guest whose words were quite modest and whose expression was even more sincere. "When you get back home, tell everyone you defeated the Hidden Official. If anyone asks me about it, I'll back you up and admit it."
The demonic cultivator was a bit embarrassed and lowered his voice. "That doesn't seem right."
Chen Ping'an grabbed his Zhan Kan. Seeing that the situation was not good, the demonic cultivator immediately fled on the wind. After that less-than-bright "great demon" had left, Chen Ping'an looked up and noticed that a heavy snow had started falling for no reason, completely without warning.
Wind and snow, floating clouds, blinding the eyes.
Before today, he had still doubted.
He didn't know if there would be another chance to visit old haunts and eat that bowl of eel noodles he had missed back then.
He didn't know if there would be another chance to return to his homeland and eat a meal of winter bamboo shoots fried with meat—that dish he never tired of. Would the wine bowls on the table be replaced with wine cups again?
Would he be dragged to eat hotpot in the summer? Would there still be an old man tricking him, saying that one thing conquers another—that drinking wine could cure the spiciness, making him almost cry from the heat?
All these years, after obtaining that travelogue of mountains and waters, he had both been painfully waiting for this day to come and seemed to dread its arrival.
In an instant, the meteorological phenomena of heaven and earth fell into chaos, causing the entire Sword Qi Wall to tremble violently. Chen Ping'an struggled to steady his mind.
Mountains and rivers were reversed.
A Confucian scholar in green robes stood on the battlement, turned to look at the young man, and said, "You can go back now."
Chen Ping'an took out the white jade hairpin and fixed it in his topknot.
He stepped onto the battlement in one stride and crouched down. "Can I first eat a meal and drink a flagon of wine? Let me eat and drink my fill, and then I'll make my decision?"
Cui Chan nodded. "The great matter is settled; everything else is trivial."
Chen Ping'an sat down on the battlement and leaned back. He said he wanted to eat and drink his fill, but he didn't eat or drink. He just lay there on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the night sky's wind and snow. "You kept me waiting so long. I almost couldn't endure it again."