Chapter 830: Let's Practice
The woman with a graceful bearing, whose origins were unknown, looked at him with approval in her eyes and smiled. "You have an excellent memory."
Back then, on the corridor bridge, he had only heard a voice. Years later, after hearing just one sentence from her here, he could confirm without a doubt that she was that same person from the past, and he had come following the sound.
So, was it the boy's fondness for old times, or did he hold a grudge?
Chen Ping'an's expression remained impassive as he studied the woman who had been addressed as "Feng Yi."
She was tall and slender, wearing a pair of hiking shoes. No waist plaque indicated her status in the mountains or officialdom. Her round-collared brocade robe featured an old pattern of small coiled dragons—a transgressive design that violated the sumptuary laws. Her face was lightly powdered, cheeks flushed like peach blossoms, with a full, flower-like countenance. Having drunk wine, her vermilion lips were stained with a rosy glow.
Chen Ping'an had once seen a description in a literati's notebook: it was an old style from the ancient Shu Kingdom, called the "Spring-Face Makeup."
Her hands were soft and fair, as if dyed with crushed cicada shells and balsam flowers to stain the fingernails a deep, charming red—an ancient term for such hands was "Cicada Claw."
She tied her black hair with a colorful knot, letting it hang in front of her chest like a green waterfall cascading down the peaks of her bosom.
Looking closely at the knot, Chen Ping'an noticed that it was no larger than a copper coin but was twisted from nearly a hundred fine threads of various colors. It seemed as though all the colors in the world were gathered in that single multicolored cord.
The most mysterious thing about this Feng Yi was that she had no spiritual energy ripples at all. She didn't use any immortal techniques, yet she remained pristine, untouched by any dust. It was as if she wasn't actually in the mortal world but was a distant traveler wading through the river of time, deliberately making herself visible to others.
As for the six young cultivators from Great Li on the rooftop, Chen Ping'an did pay attention to them, but he didn't let himself get distracted. He took a few glances from the corner of his eye and had a clear picture of them all.
Those six young talents carefully cultivated by the Great Li Empire were indeed seasoned killers who had endured many battles. The moment Chen Ping'an appeared, not one of these six cultivation geniuses—each identified by a waist plaque code—showed the slightest lapse in focus, proving their unyielding Dao hearts.
The young woman with the waist plaque inscribed "Wǔ" (Noon) didn't need to perform the pace of the Big Dipper or recite incantations to set up a formation. She instantly created a small, self-contained realm, protecting the seven of them. On the rooftop ridge, it was as if a miniature mirage had appeared, manifesting a celestial palace. The earth was red, and the rocky peaks stretched on endlessly, resembling clouds and mist. Within the spirit-pure grotto, purple qi rose and swirled. Jade pavilions and jade halls were bright and clear, their courtyards and halls shining with light. Everywhere, treasures gleamed. The sounds of spiritual treasures chanting filled the air, ethereal and heavenly, like an ancient divine command palace or a residence of immortals overseeing all other peaks.
The young girl with the "Xū" (Dusk) plaque held hands glowing with light, covered in cloud-pattern talismans, somewhat similar to the techniques of a tailor. On her slender shoulder appeared a kind of dharma manifestation—a tiny figure no more than an inch tall, in the form of a young boy, extraordinary and divine. He carried a sword, wore a crimson robe, and a lotus crown on his head, with white dragon pearls sewn onto his clothes.
The young monk in a plain white gauze robe, with the "Chén" (Dragon) plaque, had one eye open and one closed. In the closed eye, a vortex of thunder and lightning appeared. Beneath his feet, a mirror-like surface of water formed, with tiny points of light. Lotuses kept sprouting, swaying gracefully, blooming, and then withering, falling into the water, only to rise again and bloom in a never-ending cycle.
Wǔ was a talisman formation master who had refined an entire ancient grotto-heaven with a broken Great Dao. Xū was a military cultivator. Perhaps because she was young and her physical body hadn't been tempered enough, she only had the tailor's techniques on her arms, but she could rely on a unique military cultivator's talent—an extraordinary gift that allowed her to transcend her limits and command the lingering soul of an ancient sword immortal. Chén possessed a Buddhist meditation visualization divine ability.
The other three—a sword cultivator "Mǎo" (Rabbit), a Confucian qi practitioner "Yǒu" (Rooster), and a Daoist cultivator "Wèi" (Sheep)—all hid their auras well and didn't rush to reveal their methods.
Feng Yi looked around and smiled charmingly. "I'm just here to catch up with a half-hometown friend. No need for you all to be so tense. Put away those intimidating tricks."
The six of them remained unmoved, clearly not under her command. Feng Yi wasn't offended. She had no choice—she was merely an unregistered transmission teacher, and she was lazy. Over the years, when it came to teaching Dao techniques and divine abilities, she was a typical example of going through the motions without putting in real effort. If it weren't for someone urging her in the past and periodically checking the results, she would have just thrown out a few handbooks and called it done. Whether they learned or not was up to their own talent and fate—what did that have to do with her? Now, with the six children disobeying her, Feng Yi just let them put on their display. After all, it wasn't her who was wasting energy, qi, and spiritual power. She turned back to Chen Ping'an and asked with a smile, "You're not blaming me for advising you to stop back then, are you?"
Chen Ping'an put his hands in his sleeves as a gesture of sincerity and said with a smile, "How would I dare to blame you, Senior?"
Feng Yi chuckled. Oh, meeting again tonight—he seemed amiable enough, addressing her as "Senior" while calling himself a junior. But from his tone, there was something else behind his words. This sword immortal sure had a fiery temper.
Chen Ping'an used heart-to-heart communication to ask, "Senior, are you very familiar with Mr. Qi?"
Feng Yi found it amusing. Instead of answering, she countered with a smile, "Since you're the old scholar's last disciple, Qi Jingchun is your senior brother. Why do you still call him 'Mr. Qi'?"
Chen Ping'an kept his hands in his sleeves, fingers interlaced, slightly hunched over, and grinned. "Because I want to. I can call him whatever I like. Even if you wanted to control everything under heaven, you wouldn't be able to control this matter."
Feng Yi clicked her tongue. "You've grown up, and so has your temper. I remember you were quite easygoing when you were little."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "To be honest with you, Senior, I'm still easygoing now."
Feng Yi raised one hand and gently twisted the multicolored knot with two fingers, smiling without speaking.
Chen Ping'an followed suit and remained silent.
For a moment, the atmosphere was a bit awkward.
Back then on the corridor bridge road, five people had spoken. The old man from the medicine shop was the last, and the only one whose identity Chen Ping'an could confirm at the time. This Feng Yi was the first to speak as Chen Ping'an walked forward. She had murmured softly, naturally beguiling, urging the boy to kneel down so he could be blessed with good fortune. Among her words that year, setting aside the most familiar old man from the medicine shop, compared to the tones of the other four, she was the least arrogant. She was like a secluded woman suffering from spring melancholy, idly lifting the flower curtain, seeing the petals falling in the courtyard wind, and casually saying, "Don't be in such a hurry to leave the branch."
The second speaker was rather rude, addressing Chen Ping'an as a "mortal" and ordering him to kneel quickly.
The third spoke in a flat tone, as if stating an obvious truth. The fourth had a hoarse, aged voice, full of old-world gravitas, and warned Chen Ping'an that if heaven gave a gift and he didn't take it, he would suffer the consequences.
But immortals and deities have unpredictable natures and deep thoughts. Their plans often span hundreds of years. So a harsh tone might not mean malice, and a gentle breeze might not be kindness. A vicious person, even when laughing, carries killing intent. A benevolent person, even in dreams and spirit, is peaceful. In short, including the old medicine shop man, no one wanted him to continue forward. Perhaps no one thought a mud-legged kid from Mud Vase Alley, with his broken Bridge of Longevity, had the right, ability, or fortune to bear that Daoist karma. Except for Mr. Qi.
Chen Ping'an suddenly turned his head to look at the formation master woman.
She immediately withdrew a natal divine ability, afraid to look further into his state of mind. She had only vaguely seen a well in his heart's landscape. When that blue-robed figure on the protruding eaves cast his gaze over, in her heart's landscape, a pair of golden eyes with overwhelming divine might appeared at the mouth of the well—even purer than gold and copper coins. They turned the tables and started examining her, the observer's heart's landscape. She knew clearly that Chen Ping'an was warning her not to see what she shouldn't.
She had a natural ability to see a vague heart's landscape in others. Later cultivation was just a matter of taking the natural path. It was like whether a person could ascend the mountain to cultivate—it depended on whether the heavens were willing to give them a bowl of immortal rice. Beyond sword cultivation, talisman arts and qi-watching were both difficult to learn, relying more on a qi practitioner's innate talent and constitution. Whether it worked or not depended on whether the ancestors were willing to give a meal.
The Imperial Observatory's qi practitioners talked about "inspecting qualifications," which meant looking at various innate constitutions. In the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven, after all children were born, their destiny porcelain was fired, and a drop of vital blood was added. This was a method of inspection to judge a person's future Dao achievements—with minimal error.
The Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven had existed for three thousand years. The Great Li Empire had only been founded for a few hundred years, originally a vassal of the Lu Dynasty. So who gave the rights of the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven to Great Li's Song clan? And who taught them the crucial technique that allowed Great Li to rise rapidly in the northern part of the continent? None of these historical puzzles left any written records. Senior Brother Cui Chan, or his student Cui Dongshan, seemed to abide by some contract, never mentioning anything related to the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven's old history.
His hometown town was small—a tiny grotto-heaven, a thousand miles in radius, with only a few thousand people. Cui Dongshan once joked that the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven was the world's most unique place: shallow water with many turtles, a small temple with strong demonic winds. But after saying that, Cui Dongshan immediately put his hands together, raised them high above his head, shook them vigorously, and muttered under his breath.
The woman formation master with the "Wǔ" plaque said via heart-to-heart to a colleague, "I can roughly confirm that Chen Ping'an has no ill will or killing intent towards us. But I can't guarantee that's the truth."
The sword cultivator "Mǎo" asked the young girl from the military cultivator lineage, "What are our chances?"
The girl said, "Like slicing through melons and vegetables."
Then she added one word, "Being."
In fact, this seemingly innocent girl was the strategist of the six. The other five weren't in Great Li's capital; they were like a separate small faction.
The sword cultivator asked the young Daoist again, "What did the divination reveal?"
The Daoist laughed bitterly. "Like running into a wall. Good thing the sword immortal didn't take offense, or I'd have to spit out all the wine I drank into my stomach—enough to fill a flask, no problem."
The sword cultivator thought for a moment and said, "Then disband the formation."
He was clearly the leader of the group. Though he was not yet twenty, and his cultivation realm wasn't the highest, he was the true anchor. When he made that decision, the woman formation master, the military cultivator girl, and the little monk all immediately withdrew their techniques.
Chen Ping'an took that opportunity to glance at the young sword cultivator. His features resembled someone else's. No surprise—he was surnamed Song, the imperial surname. That sword cultivator was the only one sitting on the rooftop ridge. After locking eyes with Chen Ping'an, he remained expressionless, as if he had no idea who the master of Fallen Mountain was.
Chen Ping'an took a step and left the highest point of the protruding eaves, landing on the rooftop ridge, meeting Feng Yi's gaze on the same level. He continued his heart-to-heart inquiry, "Before coming to Great Li's capital, Senior, did you reside in the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven for a long time, comprehending the Heavenly Dao?"
Feng Yi shook her head and smiled. "It wasn't suitable, nor did I dare, to stay long. When you were young and hadn't yet ascended the mountain, you might not have known it well, but Qi Jingchun's temper— he was only kind to you. To us illegitimate remnants, convicts, and thieves, he was much stricter. So I spent more time at True Martial Mountain. Occasionally I'd visit. Before Qi Jingchun took over the grotto-heaven, the previous sages were more lenient. I would either take people out of the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven—like Cao Hang and Yuan Xie—or sometimes bring outsiders in, like Gu Can's father. But rest assured, I have nothing to do with that Ma Kuxuan from Apricot Flower Alley. No fondness, no dislike—just neutral. Of course, that's just my view. Others see things differently."
Chen Ping'an believed her. It wasn't just intuition; there were enough context clues and leads to support that feeling. To use an official analogy, the proud Ma Kuxuan was like a noble descendant from a very wealthy family, commanding the wind and rain in local officialdom, with a tendency to form a separatist power. But he definitely couldn't mobilize a department head in the capital.
Feng Yi smiled and asked, "Chen Ping'an, do you already know my identity?"
Chen Ping'an didn't hide it. He nodded. "If I had only heard the title 'Feng Yi,' I wouldn't have been so sure. But once I saw that multicolored knot, there was no doubt."
Given her age, he naturally had to call her Senior.
She smiled brightly. "Good memory and good eyesight. No wonder you're so polite to me."
Chen Ping'an smiled slightly. "I humbly ask Senior to answer the question I asked earlier."
She asked, "Is it important whether I was close to Qi Jingchun?"
Chen Ping'an nodded. "To me, it's not that important. But to you, Senior, it might be very important."
She reached out and lightly patted her chest, putting on a look of grievance and mock terror. "Threatening me? A young junior of forty, scaring a senior who's a few years older—what should I do about that?"
The other six on the rooftop couldn't hear their heart-to-heart communication. They could only watch from the sidelines, trying to glean the truth from the subtle changes in expressions and eye contact.
Chen Ping'an laughed. "Senior, that's an unfair accusation."
How could it be a threat? He was just stating facts.
This Feng Yi was the God of Wind—more precisely, one of them. That was why she seemed so detached and pristine. The reason was simple: all wind currents in the world obeyed her. As for the twenty-four seasonal windblooms, those were naturally within her jurisdiction.
Chen Ping'an had only learned about the notes on "Feng Yi" when he served as the Hidden Official, residing in the Summer Retreat Palace. The notes roughly explained her Dao origins.
Feng Yi said with a sly smile, "A Jade Pure realm sword cultivator with a Flying Ascension realm Dao companion—that certainly gives you confidence in your speech."
Chen Ping'an nodded and smiled. "The wind passes through the mortal world. Where the crimson banner isn't erected, the green trees sadly remain. That's not as impressive as your boldness, Senior."
This Feng Yi showing up here was most likely to defend the Great Li Song clan—a kind of intangible provocation. Chen Ping'an didn't think her appearance came as a surprise. If Vice Minister of Rites Dong Hu's arrival was a gesture of goodwill, then Feng Yi's appearance was indeed a show of toughness. It was like telling him that he had no idea of the depths of the Great Li Song clan and this capital city, so he shouldn't think he could run wild here.
Although this Feng Yi hadn't filled the vacancy to become one of the twelve high-ranking gods ten thousand years ago, a military text in the Summer Retreat Palace called "Taigong's Shadow Scripture" recorded an old tale in a long-lost "Strange Chronicle" style. It said that seven high-ranking deity lords had once led their followers to help humanity rebel against the heavens. Most fell in the great war. The few survivors took refuge in the ancestral court of the military path of the Righteous Qi world, like celestial officials in an immortal hierarchy, each overseeing a part of the Great Dao's operation. But the book didn't clearly identify those high-ranking deity lords, and whether they were among the original twelve was even harder to say.
Assuming the Central Plains military ancestral court was the main gate of a grand mansion, then True Martial Mountain, Wind Snow Temple—these continental military ancestral courts were like side doors. Those ancient gods could also enter and exit. Additionally, an ancient collection of immortals and wonders recorded the greatest catastrophe in the history of the Hundred Flowers Blessed Land. It was this "Lady Feng" who visited that blessed land. The Flower Gods of the blessed land resentfully called her "Feng's Maidservant." When she came calling, wherever she passed through the blessed land's mountains and rivers, fierce winds howled through every crack and crevice, and all flowers withered. That ancient book appended a powerful denunciation, calling for a fight to the death with Lady Feng on behalf of all flowers under heaven.
Back then, whenever there was a lull in battle, Chen Ping'an would sit in the Summer Retreat Palace with a jug of wine and a plate of peanuts, using those dusty old histories as a side dish for his drink. Works like "Mountain and Sea Records" and its supplements, as well as the countless literati notebooks in the world, contained no records of Feng Yi. The only secret files with explicit documentation were in the Central Plains Confucian Temple's Merits Forest. Nowhere else in the Righteous Qi world—not even in mountain sects or imperial dynasties' thousand-year-old powerful clans—could one find a single book on her. Descendants could only learn through oral traditions passed down by their ancestors, and they had to ensure no Confucian academies or schools overheard. Otherwise, even a sect leader or family head would have to go play chess and drink wine in the Merits Forest.
Among this female Wind God's supporters were many historically ambitious emperors and monarchs. For instance, one was the city lord of Night Boat City—the Pavilion Chief of Sishui who had slain the white serpent.
Feng Yi said in realization, "I almost forgot you were the last Hidden Official of the Sword Qi Great Wall."
In fact, in the decades before the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven shattered and fell to earth, for ancient beings like her who spanned eons, unless it was a critical juncture, they were reluctant to take a close look. They might just glance over it, keep a rough idea of the spiritual beings of each era, and at most, make their own wagers—perhaps out of interest, or to compete in judgment.
Chen Ping'an smiled. His attempts to extract information weren't going anywhere; both sides were muddling through. Maybe they hadn't drunk enough yet. He could invite Senior Feng Yi to the inn for a drink and reminisce.
Feng Yi recalled something. She seemed somewhat surprised at Chen Ping'an's patience. "Aren't you going to ask about the identities and intentions of the other old immortals who spoke that year?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head and smiled. "If you're willing to tell me, Senior, I'd be grateful. If not, I can't force you."
She raised two fingers pressed together and lightly tapped her cheek, squinting as she smiled, as if debating whether to reveal the heavenly secrets. Ma Kuxuan of Apricot Flower Alley, Song Jixin of Mud Vase Alley, Zhao Yao of Fortune Street, Xie Ling of Peach Leaf Alley... These were just the youngest of the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven. Going further back, there were other wagers. Some were pure boredom; if they saw someone who caught their eye or matched their fancy, they'd give a helping hand. Others had ulterior motives, setting threads that spanned a thousand miles. For example, one old man was the contemporary ancestor of the Dragon Tamer lineage. His family's ancestors had done meritorious service in taming dragons. That year, he concealed his identity and traveled from the Central Plains Divine Continent to the Vial Bottle Continent, cutting off heavenly secrets, and hid among the group of qi practitioners who slew the dragons.
Suddenly, Feng Yi stopped herself from laughing and said inexplicably, "Carrying a girl you like on your back for a long distance—it really isn't tiring. You had quite the nerve back then. Now that your realm is higher, you've become more timid. I'm starting to get anxious for you."
Chen Ping'an's expression changed.
Seeing this blue-robed swordsman, Feng Yi finally felt a hint of familiarity—a trace of that awkward boy from years past. Oh, and he was blushing from embarrassment. Strange. Wasn't it said that the Hidden Official of the Sword Qi Great Wall could hold the city walls for ten thousand years just with his thick skin?
Chen Ping'an stopped deliberately stooping. He took a deep breath, clasped his hands in salute, and smiled brightly. "Thank you very much for your guidance and protection, Senior."
Feng Yi nodded. One hint was enough. He was indeed a clever person, meticulous and thoughtful. He had left home young and had kept that early wisdom well maintained. Qi Jingchun had excellent judgment.
In the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven, after Qi Jingchun made that decision, certain scenes and timelines were no longer visible to anyone who tried to look. As she had said earlier, Qi Jingchun's temper wasn't really that good. After taking the boy to walk the corridor bridge, he had set down a rule for everyone: mind your eyes, don't look at the boy from Mud Vase Alley again. One old man who broke that rule was nearly forced into voluntary reincarnation. She was the exception. Not because she favored Chen Ping'an or had a wager, but because of the ancient story about "burning the dragon girl's forehead with mugwort"—she had once offered protection to true dragons under heaven.
Feng Yi nodded and stopped using heart-to-heart. She said softly, "In the capital, I have a place to stay at the Fire God Temple."
Chen Ping'an clasped his hands again. "After I finish my private affairs, I will definitely go there to pay respects to you, Senior."
She reminded him, "Let me know before you come. Someone has been wanting to meet you for a long time. It's not easy for him to go out—he has to file a report with the Ministry of Rites."
Chen Ping'an had a few candidates in mind, such as the old medicine shopkeeper from his hometown and the great general Su Gaoshan, who was enshrined in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. But he didn't want to show off these small clevernesses in front of her. He would find out soon enough anyway.
Feng Yi, for once, showed a very human tenderness in her eyes. She sighed, "In just a few decades, to have come this far—it's truly not easy. I'm going now. I won't keep you from your business."
Chen Ping'an straightened his robe.
In his blue attire, he performed a deep bow.
Years ago, in their hometown, the spring winds were abundant. There was a time when spring in the Righteous Qi world lingered very late, and summer came very slowly.
Feng Yi accepted it calmly. She had helped Qi Jingchun so much; it was only fitting that his junior brother bowed in thanks. Not even a single snow money was involved.
Before leaving, Feng Yi warned him through heart-to-heart, "Besides me, be careful. And one of them is in the capital right now."
Chen Ping'an straightened up and smiled. "I've always been careful, so they need to be careful too."
Feng Yi nodded and then moved like a rabbit leaping or a hawk swooping, gliding away at a moderate pace—not too fast, not too slow at all.
Chen Ping'an sighed with emotion. So the senior was also an expert in suppressing realms and hiding her true capabilities.
The last scene on the rooftop—Chen Ping'an's bow to Feng Yi—shocked these young geniuses. They had thought this sect master of Fallen Mountain, who had made such a stir at Bright Sun Mountain, would start a ruckus in Great Li's capital. But meeting Feng Yi, he was so respectful. He used the title "junior" throughout and even performed such a major bow at the end?
In fact, among the transmission teachers, this woman had spent the longest time with the eleven of them. Yet she hadn't taught them any advanced techniques, just a few escape methods.
The girl widened her eyes, rolling them around, then stretched her neck and called out cheerfully, "Aunt Feng, Aunt Feng! I'll treat you to good wine next time—the immortal brew from Eternal Spring Temple is terribly expensive!"
The little monk put his hands together and nodded in the direction of the departing Feng Yi. "A monk does not lie. Tonight, Aunt Feng is truly beautiful."
The sword cultivator pressed his fingers to his forehead. Bearing such like-minded colleagues—he couldn't watch, couldn't listen. But as long as they weren't fools, even the slowest would realize that they had all severely underestimated Aunt Feng's realm and identity.
Chen Ping'an was about to leave. He had nothing to discuss with these cultivation geniuses. They would just go their separate ways—each on their own single-plank bridge or sunny path. As long as the Great Li Song clan wasn't insane, they wouldn't send this group of promising young geniuses to cause him trouble.
But unexpectedly, the sword cultivator clasped his hands and said, "From the capital, sword cultivator Song Xu, greetings, Sect Master Chen."
Chen Ping'an had to stop and smiled, nodding. "A golden core sword cultivator under twenty—the younger generation is truly formidable."
Song Xu looked uncomfortable.
Since Song Xu, the leader, had introduced himself, the other five followed suit. It was a rare opportunity to exchange a few more words with the famous Hidden Official.
The Confucian qi practitioner called out "Mr. Chen," introducing himself as a scholar from the Old Cliff Academy of Great Li. He hadn't continued his studies in Great Sui and had served as a military retinue cultivator for a few years.
The young formation master, a woman named Han Zhoujin, said she came from the Clear Pool Blessed Land under the Divine Commandment Sect.
The military cultivator girl was surnamed Yu. No surprise, this Heavenly Record Pavilion was essentially her family's territory.
The Daoist had an official position as the capital's Dao Registrar. He was from Jurong in the southeastern part of Vial Bottle Continent, named Ge Ling.
The little monk in plain white gauze robe called himself a novice monk at the Sutra Translation Bureau.
The girl seemed in a carefree mood, laughing as she added, "Great Grandmaster Chen, I heard you had a fight with Cao Ci in the Merits Forest—earth-shattering, they say! You punched that supposedly handsome guy Cao Ci until his face was swollen. Would you call it a glorious defeat?"
Chen Ping'an had never met a girl so bad at chatting. Insulting two people at once? Did she think she was Gu Jianlong? Besides, these people had been quite rude in their idle chatter before the game began. If he remembered correctly, it was this seemingly careless girl who had boasted about wanting to test his skills—since he was here, she couldn't miss the chance! And from Ge Ling's words, it seemed she had once sparred with Pei Qian on the front lines and ended up groaning about liver pain for a whole month afterward. When Han Zhoujin said something fair—"Our Hidden Official isn't bad-looking"—the girl immediately retorted, "Sister Han, your eyesight is terrible. He's just average."
So Chen Ping'an smiled and said, "In the martial world, trouble comes from the mouth. More words mean more mistakes."
If it were his senior disciple, she would often squat outside the shop on Riding Dragon Alley, holding down a dog's head on the ground, and lecturing the Left Protector of Riding Dragon Alley: "Next time you go door-to-door, don't shout. Be careful with your words. I know a lot of butchers and dog-killers in the martial world. One chop and you're on the chopping board. Ah, why aren't you talking? Not a single fart. Not convinced, huh..."
As for how Chen Ping'an could clearly hear their conversation, it was naturally due to the divine ability of his natal flying sword, "Moon in the Well." This sword could split into many copies, depending on Chen Ping'an's realm. After entering the capital, he had released several copies of Moon in the Well to fly stealthily.
Han Zhoujin glanced at the moonlight on the branch of an ancient cypress nearby and said with hidden barbs, "Mr. Chen, as a fifth-realm sword immortal, isn't such behavior inappropriate?"
"Better to be safe than sorry. A cautious ship can sail for ten thousand years."
Chen Ping'an remained composed, raised his sleeve, and waved his hand casually, withdrawing a sword light into his sleeve. That sword light seemed to have already merged with the moonlight, leaving no trace.
Song Xu was full of admiration. As a sword cultivator, he understood the weight of Chen Ping'an's move. Making a flying sword intangible and hiding it somewhere—any sword cultivator could do that. But the spiritual energy in the world wasn't static; it flowed unpredictably. If one refined talismans into the sword and fused them with the sword's intent, such added immortal techniques had pros and cons. The benefit was that it was harder to detect, and the sword's trajectory was more concealed. The drawback was that it damaged the sword's "purity," reducing its killing power. Chen Ping'an's sword light was like a river of time, with fish swimming through the water. Like a fish gliding through clouds and water. Just showing this one technique made Song Xu realize the gap.
In short, if Chen Ping'an really wanted to kill anyone tonight, as Yu Yu had said, it would be like slicing melons and vegetables—he could kill them all effortlessly. Of course, they had some "not-so-reasonable" trump cards, but against this Hidden Official of the Sword Qi Great Wall, they truly had no chance. There was no shame in admitting it. The five sword immortal prodigies of the Jia Shen account had failed in a carefully laid ambush against an entire wasteland of geniuses. And the six of them were merely the so-called top talents of one continent.
Chen Ping'an, having more or less exchanged faces with them, intended to leave. After all, Dong Hu was still waiting at the alley entrance. This old vice minister, whom he had met when they were still young, was someone Chen Ping'an was willing to remember.
Ge Ling called out, "Sword Immortal Chen."
Chen Ping'an asked suspiciously, "Something else?"
Ge Ling pointed to a spot and said helplessly, "With my shallow cultivation, what could I have? But could you please put away that other flying sword of yours? My back is feeling chilly, and it's making me uneasy."
Chen Ping'an nodded in praise. "Little Immortal Lord, you have sharp eyes, like opening a heavenly eye."
Ge Ling clasped his hands at his chest and shook them lightly, smiling. "You flatter me, Sword Immortal Chen. I dare not accept it. But if I could borrow your auspicious words, I might soon advance to Immortal Lord."
"Easily said, easily said. If we hit it off, I've got a whole basket of fine words and good omens here."
Chen Ping'an smiled and waved his hand again. A sword light returned to his sleeve, and then another and another. Six in total—one for each person on the rooftop.
Ge Ling exchanged a wry smile with Han Zhoujin, the formation master. Among the six, they were the most adept at sensing the flow of celestial spiritual energy and finding clues. The girl turned her head, having learned her lesson this time—she looked elsewhere while muttering, "Really treacherous. Not upright at all. He's a sword immortal, and he still bullies us little Earth Immortals."
Chen Ping'an raised one finger and tapped his ear, smiling. "Miss, better to hit people than scold them. And if you're going to scold, don't let it be heard. That's the old rule of the martial world."
The girl nodded vigorously. "I don't know why you're talking like this, Sword Immortal Chen, but I think you have a point."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Excellent. Being able to accept good words and advice is like a market trader accumulating slowly—stick by stick—until you become a wealthy man with a fortune."
Talking about money? She liked that. Suddenly, she found this blue-robed swordsman much more agreeable.
Ge Ling smiled. "Earlier, you passed by a small temple, Sword Immortal Chen. I cultivate there temporarily. I could offer you some tea."
That was the small Daoist temple under the Unreal Void Bureau, which managed the capital's Daoist affairs.
Chen Ping'an didn't bother with pleasantries. He said he'd better not and didn't linger any longer. His figure flashed, disappearing from the Heavenly Record Pavilion's rooftop.
As soon as Chen Ping'an left, there was a moment of silence. The young Daoist withdrew a divine ability, confirming that he was truly gone. The girl sighed and looked at the Confucian qi practitioner. "I dragged Chen Ping'an into talking so much. How many words did he say? Still no success?"
The latter shook his head. "All the words remain unmoved."
Then another flash of sword light.
The little monk put his hands together. "Buddha bless us for a peaceful night. Tomorrow, I'll go donate incense money to the donation box."
Yu Yu stamped her foot. "Annoying! Now I finally understand why the Jia Shen account suffered losses. With such a high realm, he still stoops to such low tactics."
Song Xu smiled and reminded her, "Back then, when he was ambushed at the Sword Qi Great Wall, Mr. Chen's cultivation level wasn't very high."
None of them felt like moving from their spot. They all sat down on the rooftop, drinking and cultivating. According to National Teacher Cui Chan's plan, within the next hundred years, a sect would suddenly appear in the southern part of Vial Bottle Continent. Eleven qi practitioners, at least at the Jade Pure realm, plus one Martial Dao grandmaster at the stop-realm. They would establish a sect. Everyone present, along with the other five, would be founding patriarchs. Each sect leader had to be a Confucian academy disciple, at least with a gentleman's status. "If you in the Central Plains Confucian Temple are too embarrassed to act, Great Li will take the lead and see how it goes." The strategy given by Wenhai Zhou Mi didn't have to be completely rejected by the Righteous Qi world. Rejecting a person and his work was fundamentally contrary to the study of practical accomplishments.
Han Zhoujin leaned back and murmured with a smile, "The Hidden Official is really handsome."
Yu Yu sat cross-legged and rolled her eyes.
The last sword light quietly vanished. It seemed that just one sincere, inadvertent comment from the woman formation master had scared away one of the young Hidden Official's flying swords.
---
Dong Hu had been left waiting by the young sect master. The old vice minister felt helpless but wasn't furious. What they had discussed tonight was of great importance. Even if Chen Ping'an didn't come back at all, leaving him to wait until daybreak, the old man wouldn't have a single complaint.
Dong Hu glanced at the alley entrance. The old Nascent Soul cultivator named Liu Jia, recorded in the Ministry of Rites archives, stood there with his eyes closed in meditation. Cultivating, cultivating—why not just become a Flying Ascension? As for the young man from the Heavenly Waters Zhao clan, he was squatting on the ground, munching on a big handful of peanuts. Noticing the old vice minister's gaze, he extended his hand. Dong Hu smiled and waved. Eat, eat. Your grandfather and your father were both fat.
It seemed the old vice minister had no complaints, but he did have some resentment. He wondered what the National Teacher had been thinking back then, hiring such an old antique who only cultivated behind closed doors as a gatekeeper. He was impervious to anything—throughout the year, he never stepped out of the alley a single step. And yet this Zhao Duanming kid never told the transmission teacher anything about the outside world.
The boy grinned cheekily. "Grandpa Dong, don't look at me. You know that every time I go out, I only go to Cao the Drunkard's place to freeload food and drink, shooting the breeze. We never talk about serious business. And besides, how could anything serious come out of the mouth of such an unreliable person?"
Dong Hu, this old vice minister, according to official protocol, had a good relationship with the Heavenly Waters Zhao clan but wasn't considered their spokesman in the court. In fact, among the pillar-named clans, the Zhao clan had no real influence in the capital's open officialdom. The Heavenly Waters Zhao's official network in Great Li was mainly in the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Works, and no one was in charge of a department. However, the Zhao clan firmly controlled Great Li's horse administration, so their relationship with the border army was obvious. As for Zhao Duanming, a cultivation prodigy who had clearly given up his future role as the Zhao family head, the old vice minister was no stranger. During holidays and festivals in Tranquil Lane, they would meet. The boy was mischievous, a real troublemaker since childhood. He used to lead a horde of peers from Tranquil Lane to attack the military descendants from Flute Street.
These two historically ancient streets in Great Li had their own child king in each generation. Few children had never been bruised and battered. Each would have their own dog strategist, who would study military books for formation planning. But when a fight actually broke out, they didn't bother much with tactics. For example, the generation older than Zhao Duanming—Cao Gengxin, Liu Xunmei, and the like—had the same experience. However, Cao Gengxin was the most treacherous; he would specifically cultivate relationships with the girls from both streets. Before each fight, he would tip them off and ask for money from the sisters, saying he could secretly protect someone or ensure someone would take fewer punches—at least be able to walk home. He even had business sense at a young age, hiring people to make wooden and bamboo swords. When he incited trouble and triggered brawls, he would start handing out weapons—on lease, of course—and if they broke during the fight, they had to pay compensation.
Children from Tranquil Lane, whose ancestors held higher official positions, were often ganged up on by Flute Street kids and beaten severely. As for Yuan Zhengding, who was around the same age as Cao Gengxin, he never liked to be involved in such messy affairs since childhood—he was quite an exception. Earlier, there were people like Patrol Envoy Cao Ping. Old Master Guan, before his death, had loved watching these scuffles. The worst part was that the old man would stack a row of discarded bricks by the Guan family's back door every year, free for the taking.
Dong Hu had been through this himself. His sons, now his grandsons, and even some granddaughters—whether they liked fighting or not—had all experienced both hitting and being hit. When the child king mustered his troops, if anyone dared not show up, they would be ostracized afterward. So there was a saying in Great Li officialdom: Those who hadn't borrowed bricks from the Guan family usually wouldn't amount to much.
Dong Hu felt that this Great Li capital was a good place. Both streets had the sounds of youthful reading and the shouts of fighting. Since Dong Hu was old and wasn't in court, he squatted by the roadside, his back against the wall.
Liu Jia opened his eyes and laughed. "A vice minister, a high official, squatting on the ground? That's a disgrace to learning. Unbecoming."
The old cultivator wasn't deaf or blind. Though he ignored the outside world, he still had some friends passing on gossip. He had only heard that this old vice minister, who had spent half his life in the Ministry of Rites, had weak knees in officialdom and a mediocre reputation—a vice minister who had struggled his way up. Of course, he was a layman when it came to official matters. He didn't really believe that just because this high official never spoke harshly, he was necessarily a coward. After all, Great Li's officialdom, especially the capital's court, had too many ruthless people—many who didn't say harsh words but did harsh deeds.
Dong Hu said impatiently, "I'm not an immortal like you who doesn't need to eat. I have to crap every day. If I can't squat, am I supposed to stand and crap, huh?"
Tonight, the emperor had urgently summoned him to the palace for a meeting, and then he was stuck with this thankless task. The longer the old vice minister waited, the worse his mood became, especially recalling Empress Dowager's narrow peach blossom eyes—it was unnerving.
But in truth, Dong Hu's impression of the young Fallen Mountain sect master wasn't bad at all. In fact, Dong Hu had always felt that the old Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven had excellent feng shui—that was how it could produce so many talented people. The Ministry of Rites managed the nation's mountains and waters, and as vice minister, Dong Hu knew many insider stories. Even the arrogant and ungovernable Ma Kuxuan had never shirked his duties in the great battles. Moreover, there was Zhao Yao, who was now a capital official, and Lin Shouyi, who was currently in the capital—all geniuses among geniuses.
Liu Jia laughed. "Then Vice Minister can keep squatting here, drinking the northwest wind."
Dong Hu turned his head and said angrily, "Duanming, give me some peanuts to munch on."
Zhao Duanming flicked his wrist, stood up, and clapped his hands. "All gone."
Liu Jia stroked his beard and smiled. Good disciple—he and his master were of one mind.
In fact, Chen Ping'an had already returned near the alley, but he didn't show himself immediately. It wasn't that he was deliberately putting on airs; he just wanted to see how patient the old vice minister was. Conscience appears in the cool of the night air.
Earlier, near the river as bright as day, a drinking party had finally ended. A young official, barely suppressing his rising alcohol, bowed in farewell to the few older public servants with larger official hats. Once they were far away, he immediately covered his mouth and ran to the riverside. He crouched down and vomited, then lay on the ground, retching until tears came to his eyes. Drinking was painful, and his heart hurt even more. After twenty years of hard study, he had finally become an official, only to have to smile on the wine table like this. The old man, his fellow townsman, crouched beside him, gently patting the young man's back. This young man was praised in Great Li's scholar circles as one whose "essays are like white snow." If he lacked talent, he might have accepted his fate. But he was profoundly talented, yet he had to humble himself at the wine table like this. Wasn't his grievance justified? If the young man didn't feel wronged, the old man wouldn't have needed to guide him.
The young man wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and smiled bitterly, his voice trembling. "Teacher, even if I only have to do this once a month, I can't take it. When will it end?"
The old man smiled. "When you become a high official and others have to invite you to drink, then you can drink less. If you're in a good mood and the wine is good, you can drink more."
The young man turned and retched again. He dipped his hand in the river, rinsed his mouth, and sat on the ground. He couldn't vomit anymore and finally felt better. The old man sat on the steps beside him and smiled. "It's said that heaven doesn't forbid people from being wealthy, but it alone forbids them from being idle. In officialdom, you'll only be busier. You'll get used to it. But there's a saying my examination mentor once told me after a wine party like today: 'If you've read many books but still don't understand human feelings and observe worldly matters, then it's better not to be an official. A scholar ought to read to understand the world.'" He paused here, stroking his beard and smiling. "So, boy, you owe me money."
The young man, already flushed, felt even more mortified. He whispered, "Teacher, I'll have to owe you the wine money for now."
The old man laughed cheerfully. "No hurry. Pay me back when you have money. My old bones are still sturdy. Save your meager salary for now—it'll be your wife-buying money. Living in the capital isn't easy. To marry a beautiful local girl costs even more silver."
Seeing the young man's unnecessary embarrassment, the old man smiled. "When a gentleman establishes his career, poverty is not a shame."
The young official staggered to his feet and bowed in silent thanks. There was still some grievance in his heart, but not as much as before.
The old man and the young man walked together down the street. The night was deep, but the place was still bustling.
Another drinking party had also ended.
A man asked, "How was it?"
The two female immortals smiled sheepishly. They had indeed misunderstood their senior from the sect. But they couldn't be blamed for overthinking—the phrase "accompanying at a wine party" sounded terrible if it got out. That Ministry of Justice secretary, a scholar, was indeed a gentleman. What they had discussed at the banquet was mostly local customs and traditions, along with some official pleasantries—like hoping that the registered immortal masters of their sect would come down the mountain more often for worldly experience, benefiting the local people and protecting the populace.
In the river, a green-robed river god hovered in the water, looking up at the bustling taverns along the entire Calamus River bank. He was the Calamus River God. Since the river was short, his mountain-and-water rank wasn't high—sixth grade. That was only because they were at the foot of the Son of Heaven. Otherwise, managing such a small domain that colleagues jokingly called "a few buckets of water" would have barely qualified him for an official river god position in the countryside. Beside him, a water spirit from his mansion quickly used a hand to disperse a few streams of greasy water so as not to dirty their river god's official robe. Then he rubbed his hands and smiled. "Sir, this street is really disgraceful. They make so much noise all day and all night. If I had to endure it, I couldn't. Indeed, you have great tolerance, sir—your stomach can hold a ship, just like a prime minister. If you went to court as an official, you'd be at least a department head."
The river god laughed. "Are you blabbering nonsense from drinking too much freeloaded wine?"
He had been stationed here for hundreds of years. Since the first day of Great Li's founding, he had been the Calamus River God. He had seen almost all the Great Li emperors, generals, ministers, civil and military officials. There had been arrogant and extravagant ones, unruly generals entering the capital in droves. What this Calamus River God remembered most vividly was, strangely enough, not a particular person's great feat, nor a traitor who tried to usurp the throne and suffered utter defeat. Instead, it was the last hundred years or so: those severely worn official robes and boots, and the cheap jade pendants of crude craftsmanship hanging from their waists. Even today, especially in Tranquil Lane and Flute Street, many officials attending court sessions would change their robes and boots frequently, but they never changed their jade pendants. It seemed to be an unwritten rule in Great Li officialdom. They said that once at a court session, a young official from a prestigious family, a newcomer, changed his jade pendant to a priceless one. Old Master Guan, sharp-eyed as ever, was the first to notice. He called a bunch of central court heavyweights together, and they gathered around the young official, watching the spectacle. They all expressed envy, asked about the price, praised the craftsmanship, making the young official utterly embarrassed. Later, in the dead of night, the young man came here first, drowned his sorrows, and then, seeing no one around, burst into tears, saying those old foxes had ganged up to humiliate him. He had bought the pendant with his clear family wealth—why couldn't he wear it?
Later, that once-young, no-longer-young Great Li Ministry of War official—still a civilian official—died in a defensive battle at the front lines. One court session in the capital, several elderly men, after court, left together and stood with their hands in their sleeves at a place outside the palace gates. Those old men, now with dim eyesight, deaf ears, and loose teeth, who no longer spoke loudly or laughed, said nothing. They seemed to hear the sound of jade shattering.
So this Calamus River God sincerely felt that it was only in this last hundred years that the Great Li capital truly had wine that could intoxicate people. It seemed that each generation of youth, the more wine they drank, the more heroic spirit Great Li had—whether in court or on the battlefield.
A thin sword light flashed by.
In this brilliantly lit place, even immortals would be hard-pressed to detect that sword light. The Calamus River God, for instance, hadn't noticed it.
Chen Ping'an sat on a wall not far from the alley, retracting the sword light into his sleeve, resting his cheek on one hand, with a faint smile. He stood up, his figure landing on the street, and went to meet Vice Minister Dong Hu.
Inside the Great Li Imperial Palace, the Emperor and the Empress Dowager sat facing each other in a small room. Beside Song He sat a young-faced woman named Yu Mian, the Empress of Great Li, from the pillar-named Yu clan. No officials were present to discuss matters; it was just like a family chat. Yu Mian held a round fan, her body leaning slightly against a small table, gently fanning the Emperor. Since the room was small and the windows were closed tonight, the heat was considerable. Among all the pillar-named clans, the Yu clan was the farthest from officialdom. In name, they now only managed the official silk and tea affairs in the provinces. Compared to the "mother-in-law" beside her, Yu Mian, the Song family's daughter-in-law, was virtually unknown. There wasn't even any praise for her being "virtuous." She only participated in rituals as required or had a few words with the noblewomen who entered the palace.
Song He asked softly, "Mother, can't we just hand over that shard of porcelain?"
One shouldn't confuse family matters with state affairs. And the Great Li Song clan had already obtained everything they wanted. Why make trouble over such a trifle? What use was it to keep it? In fact, when the Imperial Observatory had sent the news, they included a scroll depicting the landscape of the Guoyun Tower Inn at Bright Sun Mountain. It was copied and handed to him, the Emperor. As soon as Song He saw the gesture Chen Ping'an had made that time, he knew this would become a considerable problem.
The woman suddenly raged, "When has a Son of Heaven's family matter not been a state matter?! The ruler of a nation, the supreme sovereign—do I need to teach you such a simple truth?"
She pressed one hand on the table. "That Chen Ping'an, as a subject of Great Li, from being a mud-sucker back then, struck it lucky with a few bags of gold and copper coins, bought Fallen Mountain, and later established a sect. Over the years, when has he ever shown a good face to the Great Li court? He even deliberately ignored the Dragon Prefecture—from the Supervisor's Office to the prefect, the commandery governor, the county magistrate—turning a blind eye. Has he ever had any dealings with them?"
"Establishing a sect, he didn't even need to go through the Great Li court, making our Great Li Song clan lose face all the way to the Central Plains Confucian Temple! Is that his sincerity?"
"Ha! He can sit in the Ancestral Hall of the First Peak and drink tea with Zhu Huang. How many years has Fallen Mountain been around, and he dares to be so presumptuous? In a few years, will he come here to drink tea? Your Majesty, are you planning on asking me to pour tea for him?"
The Emperor could only smile bitterly.
The Empress of Great Li kept her eyes lowered, appearing docile and weak. She set down her round fan gently, silently. She picked up a citrus from a porcelain basin, peeled the yellow rind with slender fingers like green onions, and then gently handed it to the Emperor.
In truth, the Empress Dowager didn't care much for this daughter-in-law. She was too obedient, too submissive, too restrained—in short, too much like the Empress Dowager herself in her youth. But this marriage had been personally arranged by the late emperor and handled by the National Teacher. How could she dare say no?
The more the Empress Dowager spoke, the angrier she became. She slammed the table. "Song He, don't forget! Great Li's reverence for martial arts is the foundation of our nation!"
She turned to look at Yu Mian. "You may leave."
The Empress immediately rose, made a respectful bow, and picked up her round fan. Song He frowned slightly and reached for her hand. The woman's fingers moved slightly, shaking them secretly. Song He smiled knowingly and didn't stop her departure.
The Empress Dowager pretended not to see the daughter-in-law's little gesture, but sneered inwardly. Witch! Even more of a fox spirit than a fox spirit.
Once Yu Mian had left, the Empress Dowager immediately dropped her furious demeanor. Her expression darkened. "Don't forget the word 'harmony' [He Mu]. Chen Ping'an knows about this. And who do you think is closer to him? You, whom he's never met? Or 'Song Mu,' his neighbor for many years? Don't forget, in the Great River Shrine, the one who traveled with Chen Ping'an, who returned alive, was Song Jixin of Mud Vase Alley—the vassal king who guarded Great Li's front lines, 'Song Mu.' Not Your Majesty!"
The Emperor was silent.
The Empress Dowager smiled. "Your Majesty, don't worry. I know how to deal with Chen Ping'an."
Great Li Empress Yu Mian walked slowly along the corridor. Behind her, at a respectful distance, followed her palace maids. Their footsteps were light and proper, but none of them looked worried. Yu Mian occasionally asked about odd characters and interesting stories from the Bead Abyss Grotto-Heaven. The Emperor would only pick and choose what to tell. One thing she remembered vividly: she had heard that the young sect master, who had grown up eating from various households, after making his fortune, still took care of his former neighbors. Fallen Mountain and the Riding Dragon Alley shop would still serve tea to passing woodcutters resting at the mountain gate. A black-clad girl in charge of the gate would bring out tea during the day and set up tables by the roadside, only taking them back at nightfall. So she actually had some fondness for Fallen Mountain. She felt it was very similar to her own family's atmosphere.
But what could she do with these thoughts? They weren't important.
She turned her head to look at the night sky. The bright moon hung high. She wondered if tomorrow would be overcast, clear, or stormy. She only knew one principle: a wealthy and noble family that maintains connections with poor relatives, never sending them away empty-handed, is a loyal and generous household. If commoners pass by a noble family without rushing away in fear, that is a family that accumulates good deeds.
Outside the small alley near the "Everyone Says the Same" Tower.
Chen Ping'an clasped his hands and smiled. "I've kept Vice Minister Dong waiting."
Dong Hu had risen as soon as he saw the blue-robed figure on the street. When he heard those words, his heart tightened. The young man with many identities then said a second sentence that left Dong Hu with mixed feelings, unsure whether to be happy or worried.
Because Chen Ping'an smiled and said, "Please trouble Vice Minister Dong to report back to the palace. If they truly want to talk, have that woman come here to discuss things herself. Otherwise, I'll have to go visit her house."
Dong Hu asked softly, "Must it be this way?"
Chen Ping'an turned his head and looked at the aged coachman, who seemed to be dozing. "Don't like the look of me?"
Dong Hu's head was splitting. That coachman hadn't even looked at Chen Ping'an once!
The old coachman opened his eyes and said indifferently, "So what if I do? So what if I don't?"
Chen Ping'an grinned. "So you're the second person who spoke back then, Senior."
The old coachman tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Spar?"
Chen Ping'an was about to speak when he suddenly looked up. Above the entire Vial Bottle Continent, a vortex suddenly appeared, and a sword light shot straight down, aiming at Great Li's capital.
Chen Ping'an knew that leaving the inn earlier had been the right decision. Otherwise, the one getting hit would definitely be him.
Because the one who struck was Ning Yao, who was lying on the table, growing more annoyed the more she thought about it. When she saw this old man putting on airs and saying "Spar," she thought, "Spar your mother's sparrow!"