Chapter 745: Wanting to Move Mountains
Cui Chan suddenly laughed, "I’ve already collected those three Gold Essence Copper Coins from the Immortal’s Grave for you."
This was a distant echo of that line, "In a thousand years of darkness, a single lamp brings light," and also a stroke of divine craftsmanship that created the phrase, "Though the light has been extinguished, the lamp and furnace still remain."
On the path of life, good deeds may be distinguished by size, even doubted for their authenticity, but a pure good heart knows no high or low.
Cui Chan, for no particular reason, recalled a saying: For the gentleman, nothing is better for cultivating the heart than sincerity. When sincerity is attained, there is no other concern. Only benevolence is to be guarded; only righteousness is to be transformed and renewed—this is called Heavenly Virtue.
These few sentences succinctly revealed three great matters: "sincerity of heart," "guarding benevolence," and "Heavenly Virtue."
It was just that the old scholar had spoken too many principles, and good words were countless, buried among them, making this particular saying seem less conspicuous.
When the old scholar was still unknown among the common folk, he had repeated these words many times to his earliest and most dependent student. Finally, with great difficulty, along with other principles, they were moved onto books with a faint smell of printing ink, published into volumes, sold for money to make a living. In truth, at that time, the old scholar himself thought the book merchant must have water in his head to be willing to engrave and print his bellyful of untimely thoughts. In fact, the book merchant genuinely believed the books wouldn’t sell and would lose money. Only after much persuasion from someone, plus the future literary sage's senior disciple’s drinking toast, did he agree to print a pitiful three hundred copies. Meanwhile, in private, several students from the school had dipped into their own pockets to secretly buy thirty copies, and they successfully coaxed the wealthy Ah Liang into buying fifty copies at once. At that time, the school's senior disciple was the most capable, luring Ah Liang with profit, saying these were first edition first print rare books, only three hundred copies, each practically a unique edition. Later, when the old scholar gained fame, the price would at least double or triple. At that time, the youngest disciple in the school, using tea as a substitute for wine, said to Ah Liang, "Down the hatch, down the hatch," and also told Ah Liang to wait. Later, when he grew up and saved one or two gold leaves and a few large silver ingots, he would travel the Jianghu, and then they'd drink again. To hell with tea, it was tasteless. The heroes and bold men in Jianghu stories didn't drink tea; they only drank wine in big bowls, not even cups.
That was a period when the Literary Sage lineage’s masters and students were most strapped for money.
Drinking with the unrestrained Ah Liang was a happy event for the fellow disciples.
But before that, when Cui Chan had once drunk alone with that red-faced, chubby book merchant, Cui Chan felt that in his entire life, especially at the dining table, he had never been so humble.
It was as if he had used up all the flattering expressions and words of the Embroidery Tiger’s lifetime in one drinking session. The young man stood, while that fatso with a few stinking coins sat. The young scholar held his cup with both hands, drinking cup after cup, before the man laughingly raised his cup, only to take a sip, then put it down to pick up some food.
The old scholar probably still doesn’t know about this to this day. Maybe he already knows these trivial matters, but just can’t help putting on some master airs, valuing the refinement of a scholar, too embarrassed to say anything. In any case, he owes the senior disciple a word of thanks, and it remains owed. Or perhaps, it is simply natural for a master to impart knowledge and resolve doubts, and for a disciple to share the master’s burdens, with no need for either side to say a single extra word.
Upon hearing these words, Chen Ping’an slowly closed his eyes. A tightly strung chord finally relaxed completely. The exhaustion on his face was fully visible. He wanted nothing more than to have a good sleep, a deep sleep, sleep for days and nights, not caring even if his snoring was as loud as thunder.
Heavy snow fell, yet it did not land on the two of them on the city wall. It was like immortals cultivating in the mountains, where summer never comes and winter never arrives, so the mountains have no seasons.
Earlier, Chen Ping’an had still worried about one possibility: what if this Cui Chan was still a scheme of Zhou Mi’s? Then more than ten years of sleepless, foodless, drinkless vigil would have been for nothing.
Chen Ping’an had no idea what Zhou Mi could possibly gain from him beyond half of the Sword Qi Great Wall, but the principle was simple: for a Literary Sea of the Wild Continent to scheme against him like this, the plan must be enormous.
To think of complex matters simply is to disassemble, to cut apart, like a sword breaking ten thousand techniques. To think of simple matters complexly is to patch, to build, to forge a small world.
The matter of the three copper coins Chen Ping’an hid away as a child in his hometown was extremely secret. No matter how all-powerful that damned Zhou Mi might be, he could not know of it.
Embroidery Tiger was indeed skilled at seeing through human nature. A single sentence could make Chen Ping’an lower his guard.
Cui Chan turned his head and glanced at Chen Ping’an lying on the ground. "Becoming famous at a young age is not a good thing. It easily makes one arrogant without knowing it."
Chen Ping’an nodded in agreement. It was a principle that could be either right or wrong, but coming from Cui Chan, it carried weight. Many principles are like this: others seem to only say a word or two to you, but in fact, they are using their entire life to reason. Whether it’s useful or not, just listen; it costs you nothing. If you gain something, it’s like drinking a free bowl of wine.
Chen Ping’an knew that this Embroidery Tiger was referring to that travelogue of mountains and waters, but he couldn’t help feeling some resentment. "And going to the other extreme, ruining my reputation—is that any good?"
Chen Ping’an wasn’t worried about his reputation being damaged; that was ultimately an external matter. But on the Fallen Mountain, there were still children with simple hearts. If they saw that chaotic, profane travelogue, wouldn't they be heartbroken? He guessed that when he returned to the mountain in his hometown, there would be a girl who would have even more reason to avoid him.
Cui Chan laughed. "Your reputation is still better than that of the Mountain Lord Wei Bo."
Chen Ping’an opened his eyes, somewhat worried, and asked doubtfully, "What do you mean by that?"
Cui Chan said, "You’ll understand when you return. Don’t ask me."
Chen Ping’an used the narrow saber Zhan Kan to support himself and struggled to sit up. He no longer hid his hands in his sleeves; he stretched them out and rubbed his face vigorously to dispel the heavy drowsiness. He asked, "How was your trip to the Book-Scripting Lake?"
The narrow saber Zhan Kan stood upright on the city wall by itself.
Cui Chan turned his head again and looked at this cautious young man. He smiled and answered the question indirectly. "The silver lining in the misfortune is that we still have time."
Chen Ping’an’s question was about Cui Chan’s visit to Fallen Mountain back then, where he deliberately rubbed salt in the wound by asking the young mountain lord a small question.
And Cui Chan’s answer was a remark the Great Li National Teacher had once made in a moment of emotion.
Chen Ping’an took a deep breath and stood up. In the snowy night, the sky was dark and the earth dim. It seemed as if the entire vast Wild Continent had only two people.
No longer was he trapped in a desperate situation surrounded by enemies on all sides. Even though this Great Li National Teacher had once set up that heart-questioning trial at Book-Scripting Lake, this scholar was after all from the Righteous Hao Ran World, from the Literary Sage lineage, from his hometown. "Meeting on horseback, without brush and paper; I rely on you to send word that I am safe." But it seemed Cui Chan was unwilling to say much about the Righteous World, and Chen Ping’an knew that pressing him would be pointless.
Cui Chan said casually, "A mind as steady as a Buddha actually prevents one from writing words of immortals in books. So in your Literary Sage lineage, when it comes to establishing words, we can’t rely on you."
Chen Ping’an said softly, "Not 'you,' but 'we.'"
Cui Chan seemed not to have heard this correction, not bothering with the distinction between "you" and "I." He continued on his own, "In the study of classics in the library, Li Baoping and Cao Qinglang will both be more accomplished. They have the hope of becoming the pure and refined Confucians you envision. But that means, before they truly grow up, the task of protecting their path will require more effort and unwavering diligence."
Chen Ping’an extended a finger and gently touched the white jade hairpin that had accompanied him for many years, wondering what secrets it now concealed.
He hesitated for a moment, but still was not in a hurry to open the small world restriction of the white jade hairpin to personally verify its contents. He simply let his hair down again and put the hairpin back into his sleeve.
Two Caozi daggers slid out of his sleeves. Chen Ping’an subconsciously grasped them. He no longer needed to doubt Cui Chan’s identity, but on the Sword Qi Great Wall, he had grown accustomed to using a certain matter, a certain thought, or a certain action to temporarily steady his mind. Otherwise, with distracting thoughts and trivial worries, if he wasn’t careful, he couldn’t restrain the monkey of the mind and the horse of thoughts, and his state of mind would become like a scene of "wild grass overgrown and heavy rain falling," making the path of his mind muddy and wasting much of his mental energy.
Suddenly, he found Cui Chan staring at him.
Chen Ping’an said, "Baoping has always needed to wear red clothes since she was a child. I noticed this long ago. In the two letters I had someone deliver earlier, I mentioned it."
Both letters mentioned this. One was delivered by Nian Xin to Ning Yao, and the other was delivered to the person Chen Ping’an considered the future mountain lord of Fallen Mountain, his student Cao Qinglang, who was then to discuss it voluntarily with Li Xisheng.
Cui Chan said, "Is that all?"
Clearly, in Cui Chan’s view, Chen Ping’an had only done half the work, far from enough.
Chen Ping’an was puzzled.
Cui Chan was slightly displeased and broke his usual habit to remind him, "Cao Qinglang’s name."
Chen Ping’an frowned even more. What was he getting at?
"Contemplate the body as not-body, like a reflection in a mirror or the moon on water. Contemplate the mind as without form, bright and clear."
Cui Chan shook his head, seemingly somewhat disappointed. He looked up at the two bright moons of the Wild Continent and said slowly, "When the light returns in urgency, make a determined effort to shine. The clouds disperse, the sky clears, and the bright sun shines brilliantly! I thought that after so many years of traveling far from home, with a student named ‘Qinglang’ by your side, and with a Buddhist saint guarding the sky above the Sword Qi Great Wall, you would have read enough to reach this point. I really don’t know what you’ve been seeing in all those books you’ve read."
Chen Ping’an seemed to have some understanding and did not mind Cui Chan’s strange words.
Cui Chan withdrew his gaze, flicked his sleeves, and sneered, "Erase traces, stop all traces, and at once attain coolness. The true nature is a deep abyss, like still, clear water, calm and serene, the spirit at ease, nothing can oppose it. If you had seen these words in books, even if you had only a slight understanding of their true meaning, how could you have said earlier that you ‘couldn’t endure’? Your state of mind is like porcelain, shattered—so what? Isn’t that a good thing? The ancients paved the way with words; you can walk boldly. When you reach the water and look down, you see the broken moon in the water become round again. When you look up, you see the original moon, which is even brighter. The Hidden Official is muddled, a fine case of ‘dark under the lamp,’ truly remarkable. Otherwise, with that mindset, you would have already reached the Jade Realm by now. Heart demons? Even if you begged them to come, they might not come."
Chen Ping’an muttered inwardly, "I’m not crazy—I can’t possibly read every book and remember everything, and also understand everything. You at my age, we’d see who’s cursing whom..."
Cui Chan’s expression was amused. He glanced at the disheveled, long-haired figure in the crimson robe.
It was as if he was saying, "What, after a few years as the Hidden Official, you’ve gotten used to acting high and mighty on this city wall?"
Chen Ping’an immediately said, "It’s not too late to understand these Buddhist verses now. Good things are worth the wait."
In the art of discerning others’ thoughts, Chen Ping’an had learned a lot from Cui Dongshan.
Chen Ping’an suddenly remembered something. This Embroidery Tiger beside him, at his age, was indeed much smarter than himself. Otherwise, people wouldn’t have thought that a deputy head of the Confucian Temple or a great libationer of a school was already within the Tiger’s grasp.
Cui Chan said, "Zuo and You originally wanted to come fetch you back to the Righteous World, but Xiao Xun kept pestering them, so they couldn’t break away."
Chen Ping’an breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing they didn’t come; otherwise, Senior Brother Zuo’s journey would have been fraught with danger.
Cui Chan looked toward the distant Ten Thousand Mountains in the south. "This is how things have always been in the world. What cannot be done, cannot be done. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Whether one is a cultivator or not, what realm they have reached—the difference is not great. Mortals have things they cannot do, and cultivators have their own helplessness. So you missed a lot."
Chen Ping’an asked, "For example?"
Cui Chan only said, "Many things."
Cui Chan repeated, "Many things."
Earlier, Liu Cha had challenged the sun and moon in Southern Bodhisattva Continent. The former Hidden Official Xiao Xun had beheaded the Flying Ascension Realm Xun Yuan in Parasol Leaf Continent. Bai Ye had gone to Fuyao Continent, alone with four immortal swords, challenging several throne seats. After the contract was dissolved, Wang Zhu had succeeded in traveling the Great River in Vase Continent, becoming the first true dragon in the human world. Old Man Yang had reopened the Ascension Platform. Sword cultivators from Northern Juzhou Continent had come south to reinforce Vase Continent. The old master had sat atop Sui Mountain, suppressing the Grand Ancestor of Tuoyue Mountain. Li Sage had guarded the Righteous World beyond the heavens.
After that, one major event after another left people breathless. Among them, the small Vase Continent had the most strange people and events, the most shocking.
Now, the Sub-Sage was holding the rear at Tuoyue Mountain. Cui Chan had turned the world upside down, now on the Sword Qi Great Wall, echoing from afar. The old dispute between the Sub-Sage and the Literary Sage lineages—the Third and Fourth—had concluded with a Third-Fourth cooperation. This could probably be considered a gentlemanly dispute.
Chen Ping’an crouched on the city wall, holding the narrow saber with both hands. "If I missed it, I missed it. What can I do?"
Cui Chan laughed. "Drowning your sorrows in wine isn’t a bad idea. Anyway, that bookworm Zuo isn’t here."
The joy of drinking lies in the drunken, blissful state.
Wine can make one drunk. A few cups down, the alcohol hits like an Eleventh Realm martial artist, making one shed layer after layer of armor.
A good drinker is a wine immortal; one addicted to heavy drinking is a wine ghost. Drinking can elevate one to the realms of immortal and ghost. That’s why Embroidery Tiger once said that wine is the most invincible thing in the human world.
Chen Ping’an said, "Before, on the Sword Qi Great Wall, whether inside the city or on the city wall, Senior Brother Zuo never said anything when I drank."
Cui Chan sneered. "Don’t talk tough like that in front of me. If you have the guts, say it to Zuo."
Chen Ping’an twitched the corner of his mouth. "I really would dare."
Not only drinking and talking tough, but even making Senior Brother Zuo bow his head and admit he’s wrong wouldn’t be hard.
As long as the master was nearby.
Cui Chan asked, "Still haven’t made up your mind?"
Chen Ping’an said, "Let me think a bit more. Good things are still worth the wait anyway."
Cui Chan didn’t say any more sarcastic words, because he could understand the young man’s state of mind: he wanted to go home, but didn’t quite dare to.
Cui Chan had once had similar complicated feelings, which led to the "Homecoming Letter" now treasured on the desk of the Great Li Emperor: "Returning home is not as good as not returning."
Cui Chan seemed to be speaking from the heart, looking at this unfamiliar, vast world. "What one person can do is ultimately limited. No matter who, there is always a boundary. Words, actions, thoughts—none are exempt. Even if you smash all the rules and regulations around you, large and small, and appear free and pure, it’s not really so. If you cannot rebuild order, disorder itself is a great prison, far from true freedom. To turn heaven and earth into nothing with a flip of the hand, and to raise them again with a lift of the hand—that is true freedom. Even if you make the myriad things in heaven and earth return to one, but cannot evolve from one into myriad things, that is still not true freedom."
Cui Chan lightly stamped his foot. "Step on the ground, and the ant nest is gone. Even a child can do that. What’s so great about it?"
"Conversely," Cui Chan raised a finger of his right hand and lightly tapped his left hand, "Do you know how many small worlds beyond your imagination have ceased to exist in this very moment?"
Cui Chan’s smile was enigmatic. "Who told you that only sentient beings in heaven and earth are the masters of all things? If it weren’t for a certain path beneath my feet that I myself am unwilling and dare not—and therefore cannot—take far, there would be one more Fifteenth Realm in the world, capable of replacing heaven and earth. You might say the Three Patriarchs wouldn’t let me succeed. But what if I first become the deputy head of the Confucian Temple, then go beyond the heavens? Or collude with Jia Sheng from within and without?"
Chen Ping’an knew what Cui Chan was talking about: the porcelain people.
They could compose poetry and songs, play chess and cultivate, ponder the seven emotions and six desires, experience their own joys and sorrows, freely shift moods, and cut off emotions at will. They seemed completely identical to humans, yet even more inhuman than true cultivators, because they had a natural Dao heart and were indifferent to life and death. At first glance, they were merely puppets on strings, easily shattered, their fates manipulated by others. But how did the high and mighty gods of old view the human race on the earth? An incalculable one-in-ten-thousand chance would change the landscape, and it would happen faster than the rise of humanity, and humanity’s destruction would be even faster.
Chen Ping’an asked cautiously, "Vase Continent held?"
Cui Chan dismissed the question with a smile. A rhetorical question.
Chen Ping’an stopped asking.
Chen Ping’an was in no hurry to return to Vase Continent, and Cui Chan felt he had said just about everything he wanted to say.
For a moment, Cui Chan suddenly didn’t know what else to say.
After all, beside him was not his junior brother Jun Qian, but Chen Ping’an, who was half a junior brother.
Jun Qian was single-minded and liked to listen and forget; Chen Ping’an thought too much, liked to listen and remember, and chew over the flavor.
Still, Cui Chan couldn’t help feeling a little displeased. Lin Shouyi had dared to confront him face to face.
Aren’t you quite eloquent? You managed to beguile the old scholar into favoring you so much. So now you’re playing the silent gourd?
Chen Ping’an seemed to read his mind and said, "Over the years, I’ve cursed you quite a bit."
He left the sentence half-spoken.
And hit you quite a bit.
After all, later his student Cui Dongshan was also half of Cui Chan.
Cui Chan nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer. It was rare for him to acknowledge something about Chen Ping’an.
He called the young man by his name for the first time. "Chen Ping’an, don’t think that only we are working for this world. That’s not the case. Far from it."
"Just like you: you truly and concretely did some things. No denying that. But in my, Cui Chan’s, view, it was nothing more than Chen Ping’an, as the closed-door disciple of the Literary Sage lineage, acting as a scholar of the Righteous World, doing things that move principles from books to outside books—natural and just. You and I both know that this is still for peace of mind. When you suffer losses in the future, don’t demand more from heaven and earth. It’s unnecessary."
"Beyond grand feats, aside from the merits and faults destined to be recorded in history, you should also think more about those who lived and died without names. Just like the Sword Qi Great Wall standing here for ten thousand years—it shouldn’t only remember those sword immortals with supreme killing power."
Cui Chan looked into the distance. Wherever his gaze fell, the snow made way. He strained his eyes, looking far toward that Tuoyue Mountain.
It was as if he saw, many years ago, a scholar of the Righteous World in a foreign land, laughing and discussing world affairs with a gray-robed old man.
The latter said to the scholar, "Please go to the highest place, to a place higher than the knowledge of the Three Patriarchs, and see for me what true freedom really is!"
Zhou Mi bowed in salute and answered with four words: "How dare I refuse."
Cui Chan looked up at the sky.
Is the world at peace? Probably so. Can we rest easy then? I think not.
Cui Chan put away his thoughts.
Chen Ping’an raised his hands, brought them around his shoulders, and cast a landscape spell to casually tie up his hair, as if a ring held it in place.
His brows lifted, his spirit soared, and his expression was no longer dejected. "I’ve decided. I want to move mountains."
In the prison of yesteryear, Chen Ping’an had once told a Flying Ascension outer-world demon his true feelings: "We must become strong and do something for this world."
Do something that no one else can.
Cui Chan asked with a smile, "What do you mean?"
Chen Ping’an said solemnly, "Whether as a sword attendant or a sword sheath, whether I fall in realm after a single sword strike, whatever. I want to challenge Tuoyue Mountain. I beg Senior Brother... to protect my path for one leg of the journey?"
Cui Chan nodded. "Very well."
In an instant, Chen Ping’an felt as if he had been petrified. The next moment, without any power to resist, he was struck by a bizarre Daoist technique from Cui Chan and fell unconscious on the spot. Cui Chan sat beside him. Suddenly, a tall woman appeared beside him. Seeing that Chen Ping’an was unharmed, she seemed somewhat surprised.
She crouched down, reached out to rub Chen Ping’an’s brow, and looked up at the Embroidery Tiger. "Why is this?"
Cui Chan lightly patted his knees, looking at ease. "This is the final heart-questioning trial. Whether the disciple can surpass the master—it all rests on this one move."