Chapter 759: Passing the Sword, Receiving the Sword, and Questioning the Sword
The small Daoist temple was called Yellow Flower Temple, located at the westernmost edge of Shenjing City. Yao Xianzhi led Chen Ping'an around in circles, and finally, by relying on a prefectural seal token, they were able to enter the temple. The small temple had originally been converted from a Buddhist monastery.
From the founding emperor onward, the Liu clan of Daquan had highly revered Daoism. Although they did not exclude Buddhism, when emperors, generals, ministers, and high-ranking officials showed little interest in Buddhist teachings, it meant that from the capital to the local regions, even if large and small Buddhist monasteries were built, they often ended up serving as a bridal dowry for the Daoist sect. Outside the capital, the Heavenly Palace Temple, built by imperial decree during the previous dynasty, was a bit of an exception. That ancient temple was far older than the Liu clan of Daquan. On the way here, Chen Ping'an had heard Yao Xianzhi mention that the old Duke of Shen, was now the largest donor to Heavenly Palace Temple.
Yao Xianzhi pushed open the temple gate. Perhaps because the small temple couldn't afford to build a Spirit Official Hall, the gate had two images of Spirit Officials pasted on it. When Yao Xianzhi pushed, it creaked open. The two of them stepped over the threshold. After personally closing the gate, the capital prefect turned and casually said, "In this temple, aside from Liu Mao, whose Daoist name is Longzhou Daoist, there are only two little Daoist boys who sweep the floors and cook. Both children are orphans of clean background, and they have no talent for cultivation. Liu Mao taught them Daoist mental techniques, but they still couldn't cultivate—what a pity. Their daily breathing and absorption for practice is really just playing around. But after all, they're by Liu Mao's side; even if they can't become immortals, it's not all bad."
Chen Ping'an nodded. A third prince who had toyed with Beijin's Golden Magnolia Palace and Pine Needle Lake, and a vassal king who had successfully helped his elder brother ascend the throne—even if he turned to Daoist cultivation, he would probably consume even more lamp oil.
Chen Ping'an said out of the blue, "Earlier, while riding the immortal ferry, I noticed that the Thus Gone Temple in Beijin seemed to have regained some incense offerings."
Yao Xianzhi was gradually getting used to Chen Ping'an's leaping thoughts. He often did this—just a moment ago, they had been discussing the Daquan border army's battlefields and losses before retreating to the capital region, drawing several curves on the stone table, and then he quickly switched to asking about the remnants of the Xu clan of Grass Hut, and how they were faring in Daquan now.
Yao Xianzhi asked, "Is that the ancient Beijin temple with the lotus platform? The young emperor of Beijin believes in Buddhism, so Buddhism has flourished in recent years. He issued an imperial decree to build many temples. Thus Gone Temple was originally a thousand-year-old ancient monastery. Because it had been abandoned for so long, it was actually preserved relatively intact. Now it's considered a major temple in Beijin. A few years ago, several eminent monks were summoned by imperial order to reside at Thus Gone Temple, and the incense offerings suddenly improved."
"That's called 'taking up residence with a staff,'" Chen Ping'an said with a smile, first correcting Yao Xianzhi's phrasing, then asked, "Have you heard of a young-looking monk, though his actual age must be considerable, who traveled south from the north? His Buddhist teachings are exquisite, and he might have some connection with the Ox-Head lineage. He might not necessarily reside in Beijin; he could be in your Daquan or Southern Qi."
Yao Xianzhi thought for a moment, then shook his head with a smile, "I haven't heard of any such person, anyway. The famous monks in Beijin and Southern Qi nowadays all seem to be old. As I said before, you'd have to ask Lingzhi and Liu Fengxi. I know absolutely nothing about the Ox-Head Buddhist tradition. You understand this stuff too, Mr. Chen? What a coincidence—our emperor is also very knowledgeable about Buddhism. You'd definitely have something to talk about."
Chen Ping'an nodded, "I'll have to ask Liu Fengxi when I get the chance."
The first time Chen Ping'an traveled through Parasol Leaf Continent, before he accidentally entered Lotus Flower Blessed Land, he had passed by Thus Gone Temple in Beijin, and it was there that he encountered the little lotus flower person.
Later, on a remote mountain peak deep in the wilderness, where the terrain was steep and far from human habitation, Chen Ping'an saw a little sprite who had lost her mind, repeatedly murmuring a sad phrase.
At the time, Chen Ping'an didn't think much of it. Later, when he was working as an accountant at Book Tally Lake and traveled far, he encountered a white-robed monk in Meditation Cliff Cave on Plum Glaze Nation, sitting in lofty composure, and also saw a mind-ape climbing along the cliff face. He never expected that the little mountain and lake sprite he had seen back then would involve a certain karmic connection.
Chen Ping'an had consulted the monk about some Buddhist teachings. The monk, who was on Vase Bottle Continent, not only helped guide him through his confusion but also mentioned the phrase "Parasol Leaf Continent has a separate Ox-Head lineage." After that, Chen Ping'an intentionally learned a bit about Ox-Head Zen, though it was only a superficial understanding. However, the monk's two explanations regarding the barrier of words benefited Chen Ping'an greatly.
A young Daoist walked out of a quiet cultivation room. He wore a Wandering Far Hat, held a horsetail whisk, and stepped in Cloud Shoes. He only glanced at Yao Xianzhi and then didn't pay him any more attention. Instead, he stared fixedly at the man in the blue long gown. After a moment, as if finally recognizing his identity, he smiled in relief, flicked his whisk, and performed a Daoist salute. "Your poor Daoist pays respects to Sword Immortal Chen, and to the Prefect."
Chen Ping'an cupped his hands in return, "Greetings, Longzhou Daoist."
Yao Xianzhi couldn't be bothered to return the salute, suppressing a laugh. The two of them, meeting face to face like this, hadn't come to blows—truly a testament to their cultivation of mind and nature. Both were indeed men of the Dao.
Yao Xianzhi wanted to take off the wine gourd at his waist and drink while watching the excitement, but Chen Ping'an patted his arm and said, "Wait until we're inside the room before drinking."
Yao Xianzhi didn't understand why, but he put down the gourd anyway.
After hearing this, Liu Mao, whose Daoist name was Longzhou Daoist, smiled bitterly and shook his head. "Sword Immortal Chen, why must you be so aggressive?"
Yao Xianzhi was stunned for a long time, completely unable to follow. What was all this? Mr. Chen had been quite friendly in his words and actions since entering the temple—how could Liu Mao have come to ask such a thing?
The Daoist Liu Mao truly didn't take a hot-headed capital prefect seriously at all. Whether as a former vassal king or the current abbot of Yellow Flower Temple, facing this Yao Xianzhi, who seemed like a raw recruit in officialdom, a simple Daoist salute was enough. There really wasn't much to talk about between them. If he talked about Daoist methods and cultivation, Yao Xianzhi wouldn't understand—it would be like playing the lute to a cow. And if the prefect talked to him about court affairs, it wasn't necessary, and it was too taboo.
As for why he had been able to cultivate here for so many years, it was certainly not because Yao Jinzhi was nostalgic, soft-hearted, or womanish—it was because the court situation left her no choice but to follow her wishes. As for the Liu clan of Daquan, aside from the former emperor and elder brother fleeing the battlefield and taking refuge in the Fifth Seat World, there was actually nothing to criticize. To be honest, the reason the Daquan dynasty had been able to fight while retreating, even after successive large battles where elite border cavalry from north and south and various local garrison troops suffered staggering losses, yet the army's morale remained intact and they ultimately held Shenjing City and the capital region, relied on the substantial wealth accumulated bit by bit over two hundred years since the Liu clan founded the country.
Of course, it was also due to this ancestral blessing of the Liu clan that the vassal king Liu Cong, who had meritorious service as regent, lay ill in bed, and that Liu Mao lived under someone else's roof, guarding a small temple, barely safe. On holidays, the yellow-green Daoist ritual texts, the three-official hand-copied scriptures, and the talismans from Yellow Flower Temple would be sent to the imperial palace in Shenjing City on schedule and in fixed quantities. It was rumored that some nostalgic former court ministers, whenever they saw those hand-copied scriptures and talismans, could not help but weep tears. It was said that some elderly people, unrestrained in speech, while drinking with old friends, would say that even if only to see another year's talismans, they would live another year.
This was the principle that the Confucian sages had been earnestly preaching all along: the proper order of affairs leads to success.
Even the rootless mountain and lake wild cultivators in the world would try their best to seek a good reputation. Who could truly stand aloof?
These little bits of news were what the Duke of Shen had revealed to Liu Mao today while sitting in the main room, chatting casually.
Chen Ping'an teased, "Today's Yellow Flower Temple's Longzhou Daoist, using the same principle, slapped the face of the Third Prince of Fox Village back then."
Liu Mao was silent for a moment, then nodded. "On the path of cultivation, if one does not yield the way to others at all, either one will be caught up by those behind, leading to conflict, or one will bump into those ahead, causing misunderstandings. In either case, the outcome is a one-in-ten-thousand chance. In that case, it's indeed not beautiful."
Chen Ping'an clicked his tongue in admiration. "Abbot indeed has achieved success in mind cultivation. Twenty years of hard Daoist practice, not only have you become the master of a temple, you're also a true human of the middle five realms, the Observation Sea Realm. Your state of mind is also completely different from before. Your Dao heart and realm complement each other—congratulations. It's not in vain that I came to visit today, walking five or six li of winding night roads. Not easy."
Liu Mao dismissed it with a smile, his cultivation extremely good.
A little Daoist boy groggily opened the door, rubbing his eyes, sleepy from the spring. He asked, "Master, guests in the middle of the night? Is the sun rising from the west? Need me to boil water and make tea?"
Liu Mao nodded with a smile, "It's fine, I'll host the guests myself. You two don't forget your midnight absorption homework."
The little Daoist boy saw the two guests and quickly performed a salutation. Strange things were happening at the temple today—there had already been two batches of visitors. But the previous two were old, and these two were young.
Chen Ping'an smiled and nodded in greeting.
For no reason, he thought of Zeng Ye, the young man who lived next door to the accountant's room at Green Gorge Island.
The little Daoist boy hesitated, then said softly, "Master, an hour is too long. Can we just absorb for half an hour?"
Liu Mao shook his head with a smile, "No. Although cultivation does not rely on rigid practice, if one is unwilling to put in hard work, then cultivation is even less possible. There is a sequence—first and last—you must understand this principle well."
The little boy said "oh." If not for the guests arriving tonight, the child would have pestered his master for a while longer. Since there were outsiders present, he'd give his master some face.
Liu Mao pushed open the door to his room. Chen Ping'an and Yao Xianzhi stepped over the threshold one after the other, and Liu Mao entered last.
Chen Ping'an looked around the room. Against one wall was a bookshelf. In the corner was a flower stand with a small pot of sweet flag.
A writing desk, an old chair. On the desk, besides a closed Yellow Court Classic, there was also a spread-open Lingfei Classic—Liu Mao had probably been copying scriptures, and the ink on the paper hadn't completely dried yet.
Liu Mao said apologetically, "The temple is small, and we have few guests, so there's only one chair."
He glanced at Yao Xianzhi. "Sword Immortal Chen and I are both cultivators. The prefect is the only official in the room. No need to be overly formal—just sit and drink."
Yao Xianzhi always felt like this guy was insulting him.
But since Mr. Chen didn't say anything, he took the chair from Liu Mao's hand without ceremony and sat down to drink.
As he drank, the prefect finally caught on.
Because in Mr. Chen's eyes, there was no Longzhou Daoist, only a temple. So when they entered Liu Mao's cultivation and meditation room, Yao Xianzhi could drink freely. Even the act of drinking itself was a reminder, insisting that Liu Mao was not a Daoist priest, but still the former Third Prince. What Mr. Chen respected was a Yellow Flower Temple, was the great and small Daoist principles that were never about the temple's scale, not some Longzhou Daoist named Liu Mao.
No wonder Liu Mao had said earlier that Mr. Chen was being aggressive. At least he had some brains.
Chen Ping'an walked behind the desk, nodded, and said, "Good calligraphy. Seeing the handwriting is like hearing the joyful chirping of new orioles. If the Third Prince breaks through to the Upper Five Realms, there might indeed be an auspicious phenomenon caused by literary fortune—a flock of white orioles emerging from the paper, spreading their wings and flying high, forever free and unbound."
Liu Mao shook his head, taking it as a joke. The Upper Five Realms—he would never achieve that in this life.
After twenty years of hard cultivation, he was still only an Observation Sea realm cultivator.
Two Chicken Beak brushes, specially used for copying scriptures. Near the brush tips, the small seal-script characters "Qingyou" and "Mingjing" were carved. The Chicken Beak brushes of the Daquan dynasty were famous.
On the brush rest was a long-tip brush, inscribed with "All hundred and two tasks converge, technique supreme under heaven"—clearly from a master brush maker. Besides some rare books, this was probably the most valuable item in the room.
Chen Ping'an glanced at that Yellow Court Classic and couldn't help flipping through a few pages. Good heavens—jade-plate paper texture, and importantly, it had a clear lineage. There were over a dozen collector's seals and ciphers, leaving almost no blank space. It was a movable-type edition of the Yellow Court Classic from the Southern Qi State's Martial Arts Hall. As for the classic itself, it held a high status within Daoism, belonging to the Cavern Mystery Section. It was known on the mountains as "three thousand true words, directly pointing to the golden core," and was also highly praised by literary scholars and conversation masters off the mountain.
Besides spiritual tools that qi refiners could use directly, the truly valuable "mundane objects" off the mountain—rare editions, unique copies, and singular books that emphasized engraving and paper—were the premier items, more favored by cultivators than calligraphy, paintings, or porcelain. Many rare copies that were scarce in existence were priced by the page. Unless one came from a scholarly family, one couldn't imagine how two pages with the same text could be—one worthless, the other worth dozens of taels of silver.
Chen Ping'an said, "When I first met the Third Prince, I almost mistook you for a border cavalry scout. Now you still retain your noble bearing, but you've become more refined."
Liu Mao, holding his horsetail whisk, stood quietly to the side, letting this young sword immortal talk in circles endlessly.
There were also several sheets of mature rice paper covered with copied scriptures. Chen Ping'an lifted the paper like turning pages, and asked with a smile, "Originally, scriptures are written in lines but without columns. When the Third Prince copies them, it's like deploying troops and arranging formations—orderly and strict. Why is that?"
Liu Mao stood beside the desk, finally unable to help smiling. "Sword Immortal Chen, please don't keep speaking with hidden meanings. You have no desire for the power of the mortal dynasty below, why be a national teacher? You don't need to keep hounding a Longzhou Daoist who can't reach the heights or stay in the lowlands. Your path is destined to be lofty and distant—why bother entangled with an ant who isn't even a golden core? Are past grievances really so hard for you to let go? Besides, a Daquan that has changed heaven and earth, a Liu Mao who isn't even a vassal king anymore—the court, the martial world, the mountains—I have nothing. Sword Immortal Chen, can't you even tolerate a single lamp, a few Daoist scriptures, an Observation Sea realm cultivator?"
Seeing that the young man in blue didn't respond, Liu Mao asked, "Shouldn't you, the current Sword Immortal Chen, be a guest of honor at Divine Seal Peak, Golden Summit Temple, or Green Tiger Palace? Even if you've come to Shenjing City, it seems you shouldn't be at Yellow Flower Temple. There's really nothing for us to reminisce about. Was it the emperor's idea?"
"If it was the emperor's idea, then she truly worries too much. Your poor Daoist knows he is a mayfly—I don't shake trees because I have neither the intention nor the strength. The overall situation is settled. Since the nation is at peace and the world has returned to tranquility, I have become a man of the Dao, and I clearly understand that heaven's mandate cannot be defied. Even if Sword Immortal Chen doesn't trust a Longzhou Daoist, you should at least trust your own judgment. Liu Mao has never been a truly clever man, but I am not foolish enough to be a mantis trying to stop a chariot, to oppose the mighty tide. Am I right, Sword Immortal Chen?"
Chen Ping'an didn't answer the question. He seemed intent on reminiscing, slowly bringing up old matters. "Back then at Fox Village, the Third Prince knew how to speak to people's hearts. You asked two questions that left me speechless. I could only ponder them afterward, and indeed, I learned a great deal. Tonight, your words are very refined: 'mayfly' echoes 'ant,' 'Sword Immortal Chen' contrasts with 'cannot tolerate,' 'no strength' embellishes 'no intention,' 'heaven's mandate' is mountain affairs, 'mighty tide' is mortal principle. Everywhere is subtlety, every word contains learning. I have learned again."
This time, it was Liu Mao's turn to remain silent.
Yao Xianzhi looked at the blue-gowned Mr. Chen, then at Liu Mao in his simple Daoist robe. He suddenly began to feel glad he had brought a flask of wine—otherwise tonight he would have nothing to do and nothing to say.
"I don't care whether the Third Prince still harbors hopes, whether you're still thinking of trying on a different set of clothes. What does that have to do with me, an outsider? I'm still the same as before—a passerby just passing through. But unlike before, back then I skirted around trouble; tonight I'm actively heading toward it. You can save up everything except trouble."
Chen Ping'an leaned back against the desk, hands in sleeves, looking around the room as he casually said, "But back then, the passersby were low in realm, and many simple truths the Prince didn't care to hear. He dismounted, but in fact still sat high on horseback, looking down on people. No patience. Now it's better: the host is still the host, but when a wicked guest comes knocking, he has to open the door. His manner has been oppressive. The Longzhou Daoist, retreating step by step, has been reduced to a single room of footing, yet he still has to listen to what the guest is saying, carefully ponder, chew it over. The snow has melted, but he still treads as if on thin ice."
Liu Mao smiled. "Actually, it's not as bad as Sword Immortal Chen says. Chatting by lamplight tonight is actually better for cultivating the mind than blindly copying scriptures."
Chen Ping'an withdrew his wandering gaze and fixed his eyes on Liu Mao again. "After many years apart, meeting again for small talk, mostly we answer each other's questions with non-answers, each speaking our own piece. But there is one thing I can sincerely answer: why I would pester an ant that claims to be a mayfly and is not even an earthly immortal."
Chen Ping'an suddenly pointed at Liu Mao, then at the slovenly man sitting drinking. "The problem lies in the Third Prince of Fox Village back then; the answer lies in the Longzhou Daoist of Yellow Flower Temple. The problem lies in the fourteen-year-old Yao Jinzhi of the Daquan border army, and also in the current capital prefect."
Liu Mao said, "I only understand half. I beg Sword Immortal Chen to explain the other half."
Chen Ping'an said, "Since I've put it this bluntly, can't the Prince reciprocate with some straightforward words?"
Liu Mao felt helpless.
Chen Ping'an shook his sleeves, his fingers pressing against the desk. "After the snow melts, the hearts of men are blazing. Even if putting out the fire isn't hard, before the fire is successfully extinguished, the losses are still losses. And the water used to extinguish the fire is also an intangible loss—it must be exchanged with a large amount of merit and incense sentiment. I do business diligently as a pack peddler; I earn hard-earned money, conscience money!"
Liu Mao said helplessly, "Sword Immortal Chen's principles—I understand the literal meaning. But why you say this, and what the implication is, I'm lost in a fog."
Yao Xianzhi felt for the first time that he was on Liu Mao's side.
"Liu Mao, sword cultivators question the sword, martial artists question their fists. They determine victory and defeat, life and death. If you're more skilled, you're happy; if you're not as good, you accept defeat. But if you intentionally make me lose money and suffer losses, then I will not be polite to you. A Longzhou Daoist who has cultivated for twenty years, has delved into Daoist scriptures, gone astray, failed to form a golden core, gone mad from demonic possession, paralyzed in bed, barely alive—you can live, but you will definitely not be able to write those exquisite green poems and yellow-green sheets."
Chen Ping'an turned around, picked up the writing brush, dipped it lightly in ink, and began copying scriptures on the paper, following the line of text that Liu Mao had written: "Scatter the body and release the form, transform freely, supplement the true human, born together with heaven and earth."
As he lifted the brush, Chen Ping'an wrote while looking up at Liu Mao with a smile, casually multitasking. The characters fell onto the paper like flowing clouds and water. He said slowly, "But if I really had to write, I could. I can copy calligraphy—not just in form, but even in spirit, eight or nine out of ten—it's not hard. Whether drawing talismans or writing ritual proclamations, ten years' worth, twenty years' worth, I can help before I leave Yellow Flower Temple tonight. Writing and copying came long before I practiced the sword."
Liu Mao smiled bitterly. "Sword Immortal Chen's visit tonight—is it to question the sword? I really can't understand. The emperor can tolerate a Longzhou Daoist, so why must you, who call yourself a passerby, be so relentless?"
Chen Ping'an gently placed the brush on the rest and smiled. "In this world, there are more cases of people scaring ghosts than ghosts scaring people. What do you think, Third Prince?"
Even Jiang Shangzhen, a former sect master of the Jade Gui Sect, had to remind himself to be careful of people like Han Jiangshu, let alone a mountain sect master who was about to become the closed-door disciple of the Literary Saint lineage.
One of Chen Ping'an's greatest invisible advantages in life, climbing mountains and fording rivers on the mountains and below, was his habit of letting his life-and-death enemies—varying in realm, wave after wave—underestimate him a few times, look down on him a little.
Even though times were different now, when to speak arrogantly, when to utter harsh threats, when to do astonishing feats that dazzle the eyes and minds—it had to be decided by me, Chen Ping'an.
Immortal Han Yushu couldn't, and Fei Ran, under the alias "Chen Yin," couldn't either.
Through his observation of Liu Mao—the weight of his steps, his breathing and absorption, the flow of his qi, the fluctuations of his state of mind—he was undoubtedly an Observation Sea realm cultivator.
But Liu Mao was clearly suppressing his realm. Breaking through to the Upper Five Realms was of course very difficult, but if Liu Mao had not deliberately halted his cultivation, the young abbot of Yellow Flower Temple tonight should have been a Dragon Gate realm cultivator with hopes of forming a golden core. According to the rules of the Confucian Temple, a middle five realms qi refiner was absolutely unqualified to be a monarch of a country. In the past, the late emperor of Dali was encouraged by the Yin-Yang family's Lu Clan to commit a terrible taboo. He almost succeeded in hoodwinking heaven, but the outcome would never have been good; he would have become a puppet of the Lu Clan.
So Liu Mao's current Observation Sea realm was a choice made with great discretion. As both a pure martial artist and a third prince who had long had a foundation in cultivation, he barely managed to break into the Cavern Realm—too deliberate, too coincidental. If he were in the Dragon Gate realm, the side effects of falling in realm would be too severe. If he showed the bearing and talent of an earthly immortal with hopes of forming a golden core, the Daquan Yao emperor would be wary. So the Observation Sea realm was best. After falling in realm, the loss was minimal; with proper warming and supplementation, it could sustain him for thirty or fifty years as emperor.
Chen Ping'an had originally wanted to go to the capital's water prison to see Liu Cong, but as soon as he heard that Longzhou Daoist was an Observation Sea realm, he immediately changed his mind.
Liu Mao absolutely could not have imagined that because of his own "unworldly" Observation Sea realm, Chen Ping'an, simply passing through Shenjing City, had visited Yellow Flower Temple that very night.
Yao Xianzhi took a big gulp of wine, tapped his knee lightly with the flask, cursed under his breath, then staggered to his feet. He slowly walked to the window, pushed it open, looked up at the sky, and said, "Mr. Chen, it's indeed going to rain."
"In the future, there won't be any need to ask the imperial observatory about praying for rain."
Chen Ping'an tossed a flask of wine to Yao Xianzhi and said with a smile, "Prefect, help the abbot go to the courtyard to take in the clothes that are drying on the bamboo pole. The abbot's Daoist robe and the two disciples' clothes are quite far apart—probably an unwritten rule of Yellow Flower Temple—so when you stack them on the main room table, remember to keep the three items separate. The main room seems to be locked; first ask the abbot for the key, then wait for me there. I'll chat with the abbot a little longer."
Yao Xianzhi took a string of keys from Liu Mao's hand, limped out of the room, and muttered, "It's probably already raining over at Heavenly Palace Temple."
Liu Mao shook his head with a smile.
This prefect was still young, adding unnecessary touches.
The Duke of Shen, Gao Shizhen, having visited the temple, was hardly worth mentioning tonight.
The trivial matters Chen Ping'an had spoken about—folding clothes, borrowing a key for a locked door—had exerted sudden pressure on Liu Mao, which now vanished.
Yao Xianzhi's threat was actually just reminding this Longzhou Daoist that Daquan truly only had one Yao Jinzhi with such good fortune, and only one sword immortal who had passed by again, from youth to youth.
Chen Ping'an asked with a smile, "Does the Prince find Prefect Yao laughable? Is it laughable that Yao Xianzhi is a prefect with a crippled leg and a missing arm, or is it laughable that Yao Xianzhi survived the battlefield when it would have been better to add an ancestral tablet to the Yao family shrine early?"
Liu Mao's heartstrings tightened instantly.
The next moment, Liu Mao felt as if he were riding clouds and mist, then his shoulders suddenly sank. His qi became stagnant, his spiritual energy as heavy as a mountain, and without realizing it, he had sat down on that chair.
Chen Ping'an flicked his sleeve, and the empty brush holder on the desk flew toward Liu Mao. Liu Mao caught it gently. It was a yellow bamboo brush holder, carved with a picture of an ancient pine and a secluded hermit—a palace antique.
Chen Ping'an walked toward the bookshelf. "As I recall, every year in the first month, a monarch would open the seal on a gold-inlaid jade imperial brush to usher out the old and welcome the new. Is this empty brush holder missing something?"
Liu Mao said calmly, "If you wish to frame someone, you will never lack excuses. Sword Immortal Chen, that's enough. Since the situation is now in your favor, not mine, you may kill or beat me as you please."
Liu Mao held his horsetail whisk in one hand and the brush holder in the other, sneering. "Having cultivated the Dao, though I have not yet entered the hall, there is one good thing: my mind is like still water. If Sword Immortal Chen's visit to Yellow Flower Temple today is about fighting and killing, about shocking people, then just draw your sword. Let me once again experience the grace of a sword immortal. I can show off to my two disciples: 'Your master's cultivation is mediocre, his realm is not high, but he once sparred the Dao with a sword immortal.' Of course, that's on the condition that Sword Immortal Chen shows mercy and wounds without killing."
Chen Ping'an looked around the room. From the lamp on the desk earlier, the two scriptures, to the sweet flag on the flower stand and various other objects, he could never see any hidden mechanism. He raised his sleeve, and on the desk, a lampwick slowly peeled open. The flame scattered without drifting away, like a lantern placed on the table.
The two Daoist classics floated up, their pages turning slowly. The spiritual energy of heaven and earth around the temple coalesced, thick as water, rippling gently across the walls and floor.
As Chen Ping'an strolled casually around the room, the Yellow Court Classic and the Lingfei Classic floated in front of him, one on the left and one on the right, turning their own pages.
Liu Mao sighed softly. "Sword Immortal Chen is so suspicious—no wonder you became such a young sword immortal."
Chen Ping'an acted as if he hadn't heard. He walked over to the bookshelf, where the books tilted outward one by one, their pages rustling loudly, the sound filling the room like the flow of a mountain stream.
He lightly pressed two fingers together and smoothed the two scriptures that had been turned to their last pages. They floated back to the desk and landed slowly. He said with a smile, "Books on the shelves are true wealth; nothing on the mind is an immortal. The wealth is real—this shelf of books can't be bought with just a few snow-spending coins. As for being an immortal, forget it. I may be suspicious, but you, Prince, definitely have ghosts in your heart... This book is uncommon—it's actually an official first edition, approved by the Confucian Temple? Abbot, lend it to me for a read."
Chen Ping'an tucked a copy of "Celestial Phenomena Star Chart" into his sleeve. Books involving celestial and geographical matters were listed as banned by the government and could not be privately owned by the people.
He stopped in front of the bookshelf. There was no wind in the room, but the Daoist temple's books were turning pages very quickly. Suddenly, Chen Ping'an used two fingers to lightly press against an ancient book, stopping the page turning. It was a set of rare ancient texts not widely circulated off the mountain. Even in the book towers of mountain immortal clans, they mostly accumulated dust.
Because this set of rare books, "The Pheasant Crown Master," had "lofty and subtle" language that was "grand but impractical." The knowledge expounded in the book was too high, too abstruse and obscure, and it wasn't a qi refining method that could be relied upon. So it had been reduced to a mere ornament for book collectors to show off. As for the authenticity of this Daoist classic, two vice-presidents of the Confucian Temple within the Confucian school had even argued about it, exchanging frequent letters and engaging in written battles. But later generations mostly regarded it as a pseudepigraphon.
Liu Mao glanced at the commotion and sighed softly. "Weeping together in sorrow, rejoicing in mutual aid, and the strange and suspicious are kept apart."
Chen Ping'an sneered. "But didn't it also teach you the art of a ruler? Why doesn't the Third Prince learn the good parts? So, too many books for a rich man is also bad—the more truths you know, the fewer truths you understand."
Chen Ping'an suddenly fell silent. On the bookshelf next to him were several adjacent books: "The Sea Island Mathematical Manual," "Detailed Calculations for Algorithms," "Mathematical Chapters in Nine Sections"...
All these books had been read through. They were the type with the most annotations and marginalia. Chen Ping'an hadn't expected Liu Mao to be so obsessed with arithmetic. He had caught a glimpse of some diagrams earlier, full of numbers that left Chen Ping'an completely in the dark—it was like reading a book from heaven. Clearly, Liu Mao's skill in calculation was far greater than his ability to break through in cultivation.
Liu Mao said, "Those books are not for borrowing. If you take them, consider it robbery, and you don't need to return them."
Chen Ping'an lifted his sleeve, and five or six books on arithmetic fell into his bag. "Return them? Of course I will. Borrow and return—it's easy to borrow again."
The materials and textual content of the various books revealed no secrets.
Chen Ping'an still wasn't completely at ease. He summoned Liu Mao's horsetail whisk into his hand, weighed it, shook it a few times, and finally crushed the wooden handle inch by inch.
Liu Mao said stiffly, "Don't bother returning it. Consider it a sincere gift from your poor Daoist to Sword Immortal Chen."
Chen Ping'an placed the handleless whisk back on the desk and turned around with a smile. "No, this is something you've cherished and been with day and night. A gentleman does not take what others love. Although I'm not a proper scholar, I have still flipped through a few sage books."
The whisk was just an ordinary thing off the mountain—the shattered wooden handle was like that, and the tail hair threads were too. Though this object wasn't valuable, it was still the abbot's favorite.
Liu Mao sneered. "Sword Immortal Chen is too modest. Very scholarly—you deserve the prefect's address of 'Master.'"
Chen Ping'an began to raise his hand, lightly brushing over the books, casually refining characters from each book as he said, "I really should thank the Confucian Temple for banning travelogues and spirit reports for five years. Otherwise, my reputation now would be completely dragged through the mud."
Liu Mao frowned deeply. "Sword Immortal Chen has told many jokes today."
Chen Ping'an walked slowly. Characters were refined and extracted one by one, quickly dissipating in the air. He asked casually, "Back then, did I say that when we met next, you should pretend not to recognize me?"
Liu Mao shook his head. "I've forgotten."
"Maybe I misremembered. Perhaps I said it to Liu Cong."
Chen Ping'an nodded, then asked, "Haven't you figured it out yet? Why did I deliberately bring Yao Xianzhi along?"
Liu Mao smiled. "What, with your relationship with the Daquan Yao clan, do you need to avoid suspicion?"
Chen Ping'an snapped his fingers. Heaven and earth were cut off, and the room instantly became a Lawless Land.
Liu Mao was greatly startled, but in that instant, he had a moment of absent-mindedness.
Because in the room, figures of blue-robed swordsmen with swords on their backs appeared one after another, each with a different expression, standing in different positions. They all spoke in unison, but with the voice of another man, saying, "Liu Mao, you're truly a useless waste. I should have chosen Gao Shizhen back then. If I were Chen Ping'an, or if Chen Ping'an had less patience, I could have flipped through your soul like flipping through a book—by now you'd already be dead."
Liu Mao tried to speak, but in an instant he came back to his senses. He abruptly stood up, then slumped back down.
Finally, he had his answer.
Chen Ping'an put away his caged bird ability and smiled slightly. "Brother Fei Ran is truly a dog's fart—no brotherly feeling or martial world integrity at all."
Liu Mao began to close his eyes and rest, waiting to be disposed of.
He did have a piece of evidence, but it was incomplete. Before Fei Ran had disappeared without a trace, he had indeed secretly visited Liu Mao at Yellow Flower Temple once.
As for whether the so-called evidence was true or false, Liu Mao still didn't dare to be sure. But to outsiders, it would only appear as ironclad proof.
Liu Mao suddenly opened his eyes. "Do you guess the truth?"
Chen Ping'an, with the tip of his foot, perched on the desk. He first turned around, bent over, and relit the lamp. Then he put his hands in his sleeves and said with a beaming smile, "I can guess about seventy or eighty percent. But I'm missing a few key points. Tell me—you might live."
Liu Mao suddenly laughed, clicking his tongue in wonder. "Are you really not Fei Ran? You two are too similar. The more certain I am that you are not the same person, the more I feel you are one."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "We've had plenty of idle talk tonight. Now we can say a few serious things. Prince, hurry up and save yourself."
But Liu Mao stood up, as if relieved of a great burden, and laughed heartily. "If I had completely obeyed Fei Ran's arrangements, and if the wild wasteland world had lost the battle and lost Parasol Leaf Continent again, I would have immediately risked escaping Shenjing City. If I had managed to reach the rebuilt Great Fu Academy, who would be the prisoner today is hard to say. But unfortunately, I was too timid, too fond of my life. After cultivating the Dao, I became more afraid of death. If it were the time when I was just imprisoned, I would have bet my life without hesitation. Betting and losing would just be losing a worthless life. If I won, I could reclaim this country and legacy for the Liu clan."
Chen Ping'an had great patience. He said slowly, "Have you considered that I am now the person in this world who most wants Longzhou Daoist to live?"
Liu Mao nodded. "That's why I dared to stand up and speak with you, Sword Immortal Chen."
Chen Ping'an looked helpless. "I hate you smart people the most. Dealing with you is always more tiring."
Chen Ping'an extended a palm, indicating that Liu Mao could speak freely.
Liu Mao sat down again.
Since things had come to this, there was nothing to hide. He began to narrate Fei Ran's schemes in detail. Liu Mao spoke a great deal, in great detail. It wasn't that Liu Mao was deliberately doing this—Fei Ran had even thought through all the big and small, dozens of details for this Longzhou Daoist. Things like how to place certain "thoughts," where to put them, to prevent some Upper Five Realms immortal or academy sage from "questioning the heart," and Fei Ran had clearly told Liu Mao that if he was forced to "open the mountain" by magical techniques, Liu Mao would die. Chen Ping'an found it eye-opening.
Chen Ping'an listened attentively, only interjecting once, "Liu Mao, have you ever considered one thing, like the Confucian Temple in the Central Earth wouldn't actually suspect me?"
Before Liu Mao could speak, Chen Ping'an said, "But that's exactly where Fei Ran's brilliance lies. Don't worry, let me finish what you have to say first, and then I'll tell you the truth. In the matter of scheming against the human heart, our Great Sword Immortal Fei Ran is indeed several realms above you."
Liu Mao continued his earlier account. Roughly, it was that the Empress Yao Jinzhi of Daquan had conspired with the vassal king Liu Cong, dispatched the Duke of Shen, Gao Shizhen, to be responsible for secretly contacting the nearby Zhaoping Peak yao clan sword immortal, Fei Ran of the Guiyi Tenth Division, and then colluding with the Wu Zi Army Camp stationed in Southern Qi's capital, reaching an alliance at Peach Leaf Ferry. There were two covenant tokens: one was the heirloom national seal of the Daquan Liu clan, and the other was the book-collecting seal of Zhou Mi of Wenhai.
And the holder of the seals, the blue-robed sword immortal who rowed a boat alone at Peach Leaf Ferry, was named Chen Ping'an. Twenty years ago, this man had already begun secretly laying the groundwork for this scheme.
Yao Zhen, the Minister of War and head of the Yao clan, had used the deaths of 160,000 elite cavalry of the Daquan Liu clan and 310,000 local garrison troops to temporarily win military and popular support for his family. This was the price Yao Jinzhi had to pay to become emperor. In return, this act would become a stepping stone for the Yao clan's usurpation. A perfectly intact Shenjing City was to serve as a place for Zhou Qinggao, the closed-door disciple of Wenhai's Zhou Mi, to observe the Dao, and Shenjing City was to become one of the subsidiary capitals established by the wild wasteland world on Parasol Leaf Continent.
Chen Ping'an nodded approvingly. "If you had actually pulled it off, I would be up to my crotch in yellow mud. Good one, Brother Fei Ran. I treated him with such courtesy back then, and this is how he wants to reunite with me?"
Would the Central Earth Confucian Temple issue a public announcement for the entire world, clarifying and explaining on behalf of a young man from the Literary Saint lineage? Go ahead and explain.
The Literary Saint lineage, from master to disciples—weren't they individuals who could reverse the heavens single-handedly? The Yasheng lineage during the war, led by Chen Chun'an the pure Confucian of Southern Bodhisattva Continent, was met with mixed praise and criticism. So various academies and dynasties weren't trying to restore the Literary Saint's temple status, even placing him higher than the Yasheng? Weren't they trying to spread his meritorious learning throughout the world? Did they dare? As long as one was observant, wouldn't they inevitably think too much? To go one step further, verifying the truth compared to watching the excitement and hooting—which was easier? Especially for Chen Ping'an, every move he made afterward would be a wind-moving-twig-rustling that drew sidelong glances. Not to mention establishing a sect, especially the branch sect's site selection in Parasol Leaf Continent.
So for Chen Ping'an, this deal could only differ in how much he lost.
The greatest treacherous heart in this scheme lay in the fact that even if his master didn't care, Senior Brother Zuo You didn't care, and Third Senior Brother Liu Shiliu didn't care.
But the one who cared most was precisely Chen Ping'an, who most hoped that the Literary Saint lineage could spread and flourish. And once Chen Ping'an cared, or acted on that care, it would affect the entire lineage, moving the whole body by pulling a single hair—all the way from his master and senior brothers down to the entire Luopo Mountain and the patriarch hall at Jise Peak.
It would even involve the Righteous World and the Fifth Seat World's Ascension City, and stir up a dark undercurrent of the three-four debate.
In short, this was a deal that could have been avoided. Fei Ran lost nothing. If the Hidden Officer could actually return to the Righteous World alive, how much he lost would completely depend on Chen Ping'an's luck and fortune.
So in this "questioning of the sword," Fei Ran, who had already returned to the wild wasteland world, would certainly not lose.
Chen Ping'an suddenly asked, "Back at Peach Leaf Ferry, besides Liu Cong and Gao Shizhen, were there no outsiders from the Daquan dynasty?"
Liu Mao shook his head and couldn't help laughing. "Even if there were, Fei Ran wouldn't tell you, would he?"
Chen Ping'an nodded. "That makes sense."
Liu Mao said, "As for what book-collecting seal and heirloom national seal—I don't know where they are hidden now."
Chen Ping'an put his feet on the ground. A book-collecting seal? Fei Ran, a swordsman, playing at being a cultured aesthete—was he copying me again?
Chen Ping'an walked back to the bookshelf. The random character refining earlier had yielded nothing. But now he hesitated. Those few copies of "The Pheasant Crown Master" had more than ten chapters, and Chen Ping'an knew the content by heart. Besides the Measures chapter, especially the tenth chapter "Tai Hong," which said "Heaven, earth, and human affairs—the three become one," Chen Ping'an had recited it repeatedly on the Sword Qi Great Wall because its tenets often intersected with the Yin-Yang family's Lu Clan of Central Earth Divine Land. But Chen Ping'an's favorite chapter was the shortest, with only one hundred and thirty-five characters, titled "Night Walking."
After returning home, on Jiang Shangzhen's cloud boat, Chen Ping'an had even carved it completely onto a bamboo slip.
The reason Chen Ping'an hesitated was because he suddenly remembered that when the book had flipped open its pages earlier, in the marginalia of the "Night Walking" chapter, there was a private seal stamped with a floral bird seal script: "One who travels by candlelight at night, beware of the candle's flame."
At the time, Chen Ping'an had mistaken it for a seal belonging to Liu Mao or some previous owner, and hadn't paid much attention. He even thought the seal's script was something he could borrow for later use.
Chen Ping'an pulled out that book, flipped to the "Night Walking" chapter, and slowly pondered.
This wasn't a dead end, not even a heart-questioning situation. Because Chen Ping'an had broken through it too simply.
If it had really been Cui Chan's handiwork, it wouldn't have been this obvious Longzhou Daoist.
To be precise, it was more like Fei Ran, a fellow traveler, leaving a farewell gift for the Hidden Officer before departing the Righteous World and returning to his homeland.
Putting himself in the same situation, Chen Ping'an felt that he would have done the same for Fei Ran—to "welcome and clean the dust" for him, annoying him to death without compensation.
Fei Ran had clearly bet that as soon as Chen Ping'an returned home, he would head straight for Luopo Mountain on Vase Bottle Continent. Fei Ran hadn't calculated that the Confucian Temple would ban travelogues and spirit reports. Otherwise, Liu Mao would have already established an invincible position by spreading information on the mountains. He could not only live but would even gain the protection of the Great Fu Academy. Before the truth came to light, Liu Mao's life would have been safe. Even if he stretched out his neck for Yao Jinzhi to kill, the female emperor of Daquan wouldn't dare to make a move. But Liu Mao had ultimately underestimated Fei Ran's calculations, and had never known that Chen Ping'an was the last Hidden Officer of the Sword Qi Great Wall, let alone that he was the closed-door disciple of the Literary Saint lineage.
Fei Ran naturally didn't want Chen Ping'an's life. Maybe he didn't want it, maybe he did but couldn't take it. So Fei Ran simply used the hearts of the Righteous World's people, targeting Chen Ping'an on the level of "reputation," making some moves. For Parasol Leaf Continent, all the dynasties envious of Daquan and hoping for its restoration, as well as within Daquan itself—all the scholars dissatisfied with the Yao clan's female emperor, as well as mountain cultivators across the nine continents of Righteous who loved watching the fun regardless of the scale, and even Confucian disciples of the Yasheng lineage—they would all, intentionally or unintentionally, fan the flames.
Chen Ping'an used two fingers to press against the area of the seal inscription and gently erased the mark. He rubbed his fingers.
A breeze arose, and the fragments of seal paste formed a series of characters. Each character, as soon as it appeared, vanished instantly. Even though Chen Ping'an immediately summoned the Caged Bird again, he still couldn't retain those characters. Clearly, Fei Ran had used a unique secret technique, and sword qi was imbued within them. Liu Mao had already had his soul confined by Chen Ping'an, so he hadn't seen a single character. These characters were essentially a letter.
The opening text was warm: "Hidden Officer, it's been years since we parted. I miss you dearly."
Then it became dangerously murderous: "That you can see this letter proves you are a peerless genius, truly worthy of the title. What impresses me even more is that, at your current high realm, you are still willing to wade in shallow, muddy water that doesn't even reach your knees. Your patience is excellent. You notice the smallest details. You remain cautious. Fei Ran sincerely wishes your Luopo Mountain branch sect on Parasol Leaf Continent a grand and smooth opening, and that everything goes well."
"I visited your old haunts earlier. The scene was vastly different, and people had changed. We are fellow travelers, both wanderers across the horizon. It is inevitable to feel sorrow for the same kind. So on the verge of parting, I specially left a letter. Within the pages of this book, I have left you a priceless book-collecting seal. Liu Mao was merely keeping it in trust. Take it as you wish, as a token of apology—a small gift for your acceptance. As for that heirloom national seal, where it is hidden—with your intelligence, Hidden Officer, you should have no trouble guessing. It is in one particular strand of the soul of the vassal king Liu Cong. I won't play any tricks here."
The second-to-last sentence: "I am Mu Ji of the Jia Shen Division. I hope that one day on the wild wasteland world, I can review the Dao with you, Hidden Officer."
A seal slowly emerged from the "Night Walking" chapter, like water revealing a rock. It seemed to fear that Chen Ping'an wouldn't touch it, so it began to rotate on its own, allowing the Hidden Officer to see the seal script clearly.
Chen Ping'an glanced at the seal, his face darkening.
The side inscription was quite extensive: "Hand-gathered three million books and scrolls, I take my pleasure in bitter cold weather. In years to come, when I've feasted on the characters of immortals, I will not have lived this life in vain as a bookworm."
The bottom inscription read: "Hungry and unfed, an old bookworm."
Dammit—it was the personal book-collecting seal of the so-called "three million books" Wenhai, Zhou Mi!
The final sentence of the letter was somewhat inexplicable: "One who lights the night road for others is prone to burning his own hands. So it has been since ancient times. How tragic for the gentleman. Today, the holder of the seal is the same. Hidden Officer, beware of the flying sword. Three, two, one."
---
At Heavenly Palace Temple, rain poured down in torrents.
Gao Shizhen looked down at the large character "sickness" on the paper, smeared horizontally with an extremely fine Chicken Beak brush, which instead made it appear very forceful.
Gao Shizhen sighed softly and said quietly, "Back then on that mountain, when I sought revenge from that young man, why did you always hold back and not make a move? That's one thing. Then later at Peach Leaf Ferry, that blue-robed swordsman, who carried a sword on his back, looked at you with special regard, almost seemed wary of you—that only further confirmed my suspicions. You are definitely not a Golden Body realm martial artist. So all these years, I've actually held a considerable grudge against you."
The old man raised his hand and rubbed his gaunt cheeks. "But though I'm angry, I know that if I brought it up, it would be like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum—not only useless but a hindrance—so I held back. I can't end up with empty hands, besides a family mansion passed down from my ancestors, and have nothing left, and in the end lose an old friend I can confide in."
Pei Wenyue nodded. "I could tell. All these years, I've been waiting for you to ask this question, my lord."
Gao Shizhen looked up, very interested. "And the answer?"
The old butler replied, "There's nothing to say."
The old duke was stunned for a long moment, then laughed heartily and didn't press the matter. Somewhat melancholic, he said, "I remember our first meeting was at this Heavenly Palace Temple. We were both young then. Now I'm old. And you?"
Pei Wenyue said, "Hard to say. On the mountains and off the mountains, there are different accounts. Now I'm off the mountain."
Gao Shizhen nodded, lifted his brush, and dipped it lightly in ink.
The old butler thought for a moment, glanced out the window, frowned slightly, and then said, "There's an old saying: If you walk the night road often, you'll easily run into ghosts. So for a person, besides walking carefully themselves, whether they follow rules, know propriety, and observe boundaries becomes quite important. These empty principles, which sound even more drifting and wandering than lonely ghosts and wild spirits, will at some moment take root and save your life without you even knowing. For example, back then on that mountain, if that young man hadn't known when to stop, if he had been determined to uproot the weeds and exterminate you, Duke, and your people completely, he would have died. Even if one of his senior brothers was nearby, as long as they were still a thousand li away, he wouldn't have been saved."
Gao Shizhen was somewhat surprised. Rolling up his sleeve, he was about to dip the brush to copy scriptures. He looked up. "Old Pei, a man like you—how were you willing to stay as a servant in a small duke's mansion?"
The old butler replied, "On a long journey away from home, I needed to be near Shenjing City to fulfill a vow I had made with someone. At the time, I didn't know how long I would have to wait. I had to find a place to settle. The Duke was in a high position, young, and had a Buddhist heart. So I attached myself to you."
Gao Shizhen laughed loudly. "A Buddhist heart? Old Pei, old Pei, since when did you learn to tell jokes?"
The old butler shook his head. "A duke born into luxury and honor never really suffered hardship. When I met you, you were in your prime, full of spirit, yet you always treated people as people. In my eyes, that is a Buddhist heart. Some things—precisely because you, my lord, don't think much of them, consider them natural and self-evident—that's exactly why outsiders find them commendable. So all these years, I have quietly shielded you from many... ghosts on the night road. But there's no need to tell you about it. If I did, it would become a 'not-fixed Chan,' a moored boat. I might have to leave the duke's mansion for that. And I've always been one who detests trouble."
Gao Shizhen asked in confusion, "Old Pei, are you not a pure martial artist, but a qi refiner hiding his true depth?"
The old butler, for once, gave a faint smile, as if laughing knowingly. He gave an answer: "I actually use the sword. My swordsmanship is passable."
Gao Shizhen asked, "Are you at the Upper Five Realms?"
The old butler remained evasive: "My lord, your question is rather vulgar."
Gao Shizhen's eyes lit up. "Are you a sword immortal?"
The old butler shook his head. "One who uses a sword, traveling the martial world—just a swordsman. Actually, I can't really be considered a man of the mountains."
Gao Shizhen knew that this Old Pei was destined not to reveal his identity, so he instead asked, "Yao Jinzhi hasn't cultivated, so how can she maintain her youthful appearance so effectively?"
The old butler said, "Her aunt, the Ninth Lady who once ran an inn on the border, was actually the Sisyphean Lady, a nine-tailed celestial fox. And the Ninth Lady's most fundamental tail was actually Yao Jinzhi."
Gao Shizhen suddenly understood. "So that means both she and the She Yue of Vase Bottle Continent are a kind of statement from the Central Earth Confucian Temple."
The old butler suddenly stood up, opened the door, and picked up the oil-paper umbrella as if intending to go out.
But this old man, under the alias Pei Wenyue, just stood at the doorway, looking through the curtain of rain toward Shenjing City in the distance.
It seemed that something had happened in Shenjing City that made him change his mind. "The things I promised someone to do are actually two. One of them is to secretly protect Yao Jinzhi, help her ascend the throne as emperor, making her the only female emperor in the current Righteous World. Why this person did this, he knows himself—maybe Heaven knows. As for the fate of the Daquan Liu clan, I don't care about that. Even the ups and downs of other Yao family members besides her—that's still the old principle: 'Fate is made by heaven, blessings are sought by oneself.' I won't interfere at all. Otherwise, do you think a Golden Body realm martial artist and a knife-sharpener, plus a broken Golden Body river god buried beneath the river, could have really protected Yao Jinzhi back then?"
Facing away from the Duke of Shen, Pei Wenyue shook his head. "Even if Yao Jinzhi had hidden trump cards, with a great connection to the Jade Gui Sect, at that time her wings weren't grown, her mind wasn't harsh enough, her methods weren't ruthless enough. She would only have been caught by Liu Mao, the mantis stalking the cicada. Back then at Peach Leaf Ferry, when I accompanied you to meet that... Chen Yin, he exchanged a few words with me through heart voice. I agreed to one thing: he would protect Shenjing City and the Yao clan, and bet that someone in the future would either add unnecessary strokes or cause trouble for himself. Now it seems that a man too clever is indeed... sick. Of course, these are all Chen Yin's calculations. This so-called adding unnecessary strokes—I don't think so. But for me, it doesn't matter. It's not about killing anyone anyway."
Gao Shizhen's expression changed slightly.
No wonder Liu Mao, during that downpour of a night back then, hadn't acted from within, but chose to stand by. At first, Gao Shizhen had thought that between his brother Liu Cong and Yao Jinzhi, Liu Mao had chosen the lesser of two evils. He feared that even if he succeeded in supporting the dragon, he would end up in Liu Cong's hands no better, so he chose the latter. Now it seemed—the time wasn't right?
Pei Wenyue's expression was indifferent, but his next words caused a drop of ink to accidentally fall from the Chicken Beak brush in the old duke's hand onto the paper. "Walking the night road often, you'll easily run into ghosts. The old saying is an old saying because its principle is relatively large. You didn't think wrong, my lord. If her dragon throne becomes precarious because of the Duke of Shen's mansion, if she can't sit steady on that seat, then you will die. Forget about some sneaky and inconsequential Liu Mao. But in the duke's mansion, there will still be a Duke Gao Shizhen, hidden and unknown, and in the temple, there will still be a Liu Mao, obsessed with alchemy and seeking immortality. The day the two of you are supposed to die, I will leave Shenjing City and go elsewhere to watch over the second matter."
The old butler shook his head and smiled. "That Liu Mao—whether as a prince or a vassal king—all these years, he only had eyes for you, Duke, and the young emperor. Someone like me, a living person, the head steward of the duke's mansion and a Golden Body realm martial artist on the surface, a trusted confidant of two generations of dukes—he either pretends not to see me, or if he does see me, he would rather not have. I don't know what such a waste could accomplish besides being good at being reborn into a good family. That Chen Yin choosing Liu Mao was probably deliberate. These young people today—one is smarter than the other, with terrifying minds."
Gao Shizhen looked up, straining his eyes in the lamplight, staring at the increasingly unfamiliar old butler, only seeing a dim, obscure back.
Even though Pei Wenyue had opened the door, no wind or rain entered the room.
The old man, who was always expressionless all year round, had sat upright before rising, never exceeding his bounds. His demeanor was steady, his expression calm. Even now, standing at the door, he looked like he was making small talk in a well-off household in the marketplace—a loyal old servant chatting with his lord about some worthless child next door, without any promise.
Gao Shizhen suddenly let go of his tension and laughed. "The strong excel at cautious affirmation; the weak are fond of blind denial."
The old butler nodded. "My lord, that line is not vulgar at all. The self-righteous clever ones under heaven all like to use 'one to kill ten thousand'—playing games."
Gao Shizhen hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and asked solemnly, "Old Pei, can I meet that young man again?"
The old butler shook his head. "I'll give you one more piece of advice: give up this idea."
Gao Shizhen's face turned pale. "Why?"
"He's not someone who seeks death. Even if you see him, it would be meaningless."
The man named Pei said, "That young man has grown extremely fast. Now he has become the 'ghost' for many people walking the night road. If you're lucky, you'll brush past each other. If not, you'll run into a ghost. Like tonight's Liu Mao."
The greatest protector for each cultivator is ultimately themselves. They protect the path the most and the longest. Besides the Dao heart, life is full of one-in-ten-thousand chances.
Even immortals find it hard to save those who seek death.
Gao Shizhen still stared fixedly at the butler's back.
The old man said, "There's something I forgot to say. That young man has a more enduring 'ordinary heart' than you, my lord. Allow me to speak a bit boastfully: what a swordsman cuts with his sword are the demons in people's hearts, not merely simple people or ghosts. If one cultivates like that, the path is too narrow, and the sword technique naturally won't reach high. However..."
Pei Wenyue paused, saying no more.
At that moment, Gao Shizhen stared blankly out the window. "Old Pei, it seems there's something else you need to do. Can you tell me about it? If it's not allowed, then just pretend I didn't ask."
"I can tell you."
The old butler nodded. "I am waiting for an unregistered disciple of mine to return to Shenjing City. Then, as agreed, I will teach all my swordsmanship unreservedly."
"That handsome foreign nobleman from back then?"
"Call him neither male nor female directly—that child is indeed good-looking."
"If I remember correctly, back then at the mansion, when he climbed to high places to look into the distance, his feet couldn't stand steady? A person like that can learn the sword from you? And by the way, that young man surnamed Lu—is he male or female?"
"Hard to say."
Gao Shizhen heard those two words, shook his head helplessly, and said, "What is the matter with you mountain people?"
"One of that fellow's masters might be able to answer your question."
"I probably won't live to see it."
The old butler said no more, only nodded.
A mountain cultivator casually closed his eyes for a nap, and in the mortal world below, perhaps a child had already turned white-haired.
Gao Shizhen suddenly noticed the old butler raise his hand holding the umbrella and lightly brush it. In the end, the oil-paper umbrella was reduced to just a handle.
Gao Shizhen stood up and came to the doorway. He asked softly, "What is this?"
Pei Wenyue said, "Passing the sword."
---
The curtain of rain continued. The temple remained. The capital remained. The Daoist temple remained. There was no anomaly at all.
But in one side room of Yellow Flower Temple, Chen Ping'an simultaneously summoned the Caged Bird and the Moon in the Well, and at the same time sidestepped, knocking over the chair where Liu Mao was sitting.
Then Chen Ping'an slightly tilted, and in an instant, a sword pierced through his abdomen, slamming him into the wall.
Chen Ping'an, expressionless, pulled out the sword—it turned out to be just a piece of umbrella handle.
Before Chen Ping'an could even use his sword qi or fist intent to shatter it, the umbrella handle sword dissolved into powder on its own.
Chen Ping'an's figure flickered, following a trace of sword qi, shrinking mountains and earth to a step, fast as thunder, charging straight at the Heavenly Palace Temple outside the capital.
Before Chen Ping'an could reach the temple, a white-clad youth had already shattered the rain curtain, arriving in an instant. He roared angrily, "Finally found you, Pei Min! Well done! Worthy of being one of the Three Perfections of Righteous, half a sword teacher to Bai Ye!"
The old butler, under the name Pei Wenyue, watched the white-clad youth. He had already stepped forward several paces, exiting the house, separating heaven and earth. He shook his head. "Only half. And the pupil has surpassed the master."
Cui Dongshan jumped up and spat. "Otherwise, would I be coming here to die? Huh? Eh? Oh? Old bastard, you dare ambush my master? Tired of living, aren't you? Don't you know who my senior uncle is? The great sword immortal Zuo You, who has been searching for you at sea for a hundred years! Don't you know who my other senior uncle is? Liu Shiliu! Close friend of Bai Ye! Kneel and kowtow and apologize now..."
In the old almanac of the Righteous World, there were once three perfections: Zou Zi's arithmetic, Celestial Master Dao arts, and Pei Min's swordsmanship. Except for the Celestial Master Mansion of Mount Longhu, which still stood atop the Righteous world through successive grand celestial masters' Dao arts, the other two had long since disappeared.
Cui Dongshan suddenly shut his mouth, his expression complex.
His master had already refined that gray robe of the Dragon Lord into a sword sheath, and the sword hidden in that sheath was a longsword forged from the sharpest section of one of the four great immortal swords, Great White.
Returning the favor: he would, in turn, break the other's small heaven and earth.
With one sword stroke, he tore open the curtain of the sky and directly questioned Pei Min.