Chapter 863: Old Almanac
The old scholar He Shou, one of the accompanying sages of the Literary Temple responsible for guarding the remnants of the Sword Qi Great Wall, immediately descended from the celestial canopy and suspended himself in the wind outside the half-section of wall top. Observing the agreement, the old scholar adhered to the rules and refrained from setting foot on the wall. He bowed respectfully to the most senior sword cultivator in the world and said, “Your junior, He Shou, pays respects to the Old Sword Immortal.”
The epithet Old Sword Immortal had first been coined by A Liang, and later the native sword cultivators of the Sword Qi Great Wall followed suit. With the addition of returning sword cultivators from various continents, it became customary to address Chen Qingdu with this honorific, almost as if it were an unwritten rule.
Chen Qingdu only gazed toward Tuoyue Mountain, ignoring the greeting from a sage of the Literary Temple.
He Shou was not bothered by being left in the cold. If the Old Sword Immortal were easy to deal with, he wouldn’t be Chen Qingdu.
He Shou then smiled bitterly. The concealment, emergence, and attack of that high-ranking deity had been kept entirely from him, to the extent that even the half-section of wall top where Chen Ping’an was merging with the Dao had been secretly affected by a technique of assault before the Old Sword Immortal appeared.
Regardless, this was a dereliction of duty on his part and the Literary Temple’s, and he had to acknowledge it.
For now, He Shou could only confirm one thing: that deity’s covert strike seemed to have “awakened” part of the Old Sword Immortal’s primordial spirit.
He hadn’t struck a single sword toward the Barren Wastes. He only opened the heavens with a single sword, escorting the entire city as it ascended to the Colorful World. Then, with another sword, he killed Dragon Lord, who had crossed the border.
And now, with just a single sword, he had completely shattered the golden body’s divinity of a high-ranking deity.
As for why Chen Qingdu could manifest in the world again, He Shou had no desire to probe.
He Shou had to admit that if the Old Sword Immortal hadn’t left a contingency at the Sword Qi Great Wall, He Shou would certainly be unable to protect the half-section of wall where Chen Ping’an was merging with the Dao. The consequences would have been unthinkable. Not to mention the domino effect on the overall situation of the world—if old scholar Xiu, who was so protective of his disciples that he’d risk his life, were to curse him out, that would be the least of it. Old Xiu might even secretly go to the Literary Temple and carry off his accompanying deity statue.
Back then, why had old scholar Xiu stamped down and collapsed that Central Earth mountain? Wasn’t it because he was standing up for his disciple Jun Qian? In the early years, Jun Qian had taken his junior brother Qi Jingchun traveling to visit immortals. Not only were they refused entry by that mountain lord, but he also cursed them harshly, exposing Liu Shiliu’s true nature as an alien from the demons. It was said that that great mountain lord, who had deep ties to the Jade Pure City, had even tried to detain Liu Shiliu and Qi Jingchun in the mountain.
Chen Qingdu clasped his hands behind his back, walking slowly, and shook his head. “No need to mind. The half-section of wall hasn’t been shattered yet. For Chen Ping’an as he is now, it’s not a big problem—that kid’s long been used to getting beaten. Besides, that opponent hid for so long, and we at the Sword Qi Great Wall were completely unaware. As for you scholars, your true skill is in teaching and imparting knowledge; fighting and killing isn’t really your forte.”
He Shou opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it and said nothing.
He had wanted to say that the First Saint and the Saint of Rites weren’t bad at fighting either.
But it wasn’t worth arguing with the Old Sword Immortal.
Dong Sangang, Xiao Xun, Chen Xi, Qi Tingji, and other sword immortals from the Sword Qi Great Wall, along with A Liang, Zuo You, Pei Min, Zhou Shenzhi from the Haoran World, Liu Cha, the long-bearded swordsman from the Barren Wastes, and Yu Dou from the Jade Pure City, who was hailed as truly invincible, and Sun Huaizhong from Xuandu Temple, the leader of the Daoist sword immortal lineage… Over the past ten thousand years, across all worlds, sword cultivators had been incredibly talented, stars shining brilliantly, yet not one had ever claimed to be invincible in the way of the sword.
Only because on this city wall stood an old man named Chen Qingdu.
Someone as arrogant as the Second Sect Master Yu Dou didn’t dare challenge Chen Qingdu to a sword duel in the early years, stopping at the Capture-and-Release Pavilion on Daoxuan Mountain.
Otherwise, Yu Dou needed only to step from Daoxuan Mountain through the gate, then another step onto the wall of the Sword Qi Great Wall. Why didn’t he dare, why wasn’t he willing, why couldn’t he challenge? Because a sword challenge meant loss, meant injury, meant death.
It was said that not long after A Liang arrived at the Sword Qi Great Wall, he once got drunk in the city and went to a summit meeting of peak sword immortals that hadn’t even invited him. He strode boldly to the thatched hut on the wall. His reasoning was that the Old Sword Immortal had been cultivating in seclusion on the wall for ten thousand years without a single challenger—too lonely. Let A Liang break that precedent. Step aside, I’ll take this on!
But all the sword immortals gathered on the wall and the sword cultivators watching from outside failed to stop A Liang. When the Old Sword Immortal came out of the hut and nodded with a single “good,” A Liang seemed to sober up instantly. With a leap, he landed beside the Old Sword Immortal, full of righteous indignation, and added, “Let me rub the Old Sword Immortal’s shoulders! You bunch of heartless bastards, not even caring for the Old Sword Immortal, and it takes an outsider like me to show some concern?”
After that, A Liang became famous overnight, earning a resounding nickname.
And from then on, that damned A Liang regarded himself as the Old Sword Immortal’s little padded jacket.
But the Old Sword Immortal thought that description was too disgusting, so it never spread across the Sword Qi Great Wall. Otherwise, A Liang would probably have gained another nickname.
Chen Qingdu looked at the long knife that had fallen to the earth. It looked very familiar, because it was once held by an ancient deity in charge of punishments. In fact, not only was it familiar, but ten thousand years ago, they had dealt with each other quite often.
By “dealing,” he naturally meant hacking at each other with blades and swords. In the final battle, the one who defeated this deity was a sword cultivator of the same generation as Dragon Lord Guan Zhao. But later, that person followed the founder of the military strategists in trying to walk another path, leading to the death of all mortals outside of qi refiners, ultimately causing a great internal rift among humanity, with countless cultivators perishing.
This deity, who had not completely fallen back then, was once one of the twelve high-ranking beings. According to the division of duties in the old Heavenly Court, he was a direct subordinate under the Sword Bearer.
Ten thousand years ago, beneath his blade, demonic corpses piled up into mountains, and countless rivers of blood once converged into an ancient great river that ran through the Barren Wastes.
Heaven and earth regarded men as mayflies; the Great Dao regarded heaven and earth as bubbles.
Chen Qingdu sighed. It seemed that when that predecessor traveled to this wall back then, perhaps apart from meeting Chen Ping’an, he also had some intent to reminisce about old friends.
No wonder the narrow knife Zhan Kan, which had been left behind in the Blue Sky World, followed that extraterrestrial demon to the Sword Qi Great Wall, eventually passing through many hands and ending up in Chen Ping’an’s possession.
The narrow knife Zhan Kan, once an execution implement of the ancient Dragon Beheading Platform, was to this knife what a subsidiary mountain was to a sovereign mountain—a gesture of homage.
The Heavenly Dao collapsed, all lands separated, the Great Dao cycled, and the two blades stood side by side.
Chen Qingdu’s thoughts stirred slightly, and the unsheathed white long knife flew to the wall. He said, “I’ll trouble you to deliver this knife to our hidden officer. Tell him this is his wedding gift for when he marries Little Ning. I may not be able to attend in person, but the gift must be valuable.”
He Shou nodded in agreement.
Chen Qingdu waved his hand. “Go about your business. We have nothing to talk about. If we start with empty formalities, we’ll only end up talking nonsense, and both sides will feel awkward.”
He Shou hadn’t felt awkward at all—being able to chat with the Old Sword Immortal a bit more was a great blessing. But since Chen Qingdu said so, He Shou had no choice but to bow again and bid farewell to the Old Sword Immortal. The old scholar returned to the celestial canopy to continue monitoring the distant ferry points, feeling a sense of melancholy. After this parting, he would truly never have a chance to meet the Old Sword Immortal again.
Wei Jin had already risen and flown to the cliff edge of the other wall section, saluting from afar. “Wei Jin pays respects to the Old Sword Immortal.”
Chen Qingdu stepped to the cliff edge with one step, glanced at the great sword immortal of the Snow Temple, and nodded. “Your cultivation base is skyrocketing. In just a few years, I have to look at you with new eyes.”
Wei Jin felt helpless.
Cao Jun came to Wei Jin’s side, barely daring to breathe, but he thought to himself, “Why does that sound familiar?”
Chen Qingdu looked at a few wisps of pure sword intent outside the wall and asked, “I gave you the sword manual. Why can’t you still gain the recognition of Zong Yuan’s sword path?”
The Old Sword Immortal rubbed his chin. “There’s no reason. You two are separated by a few thousand years. There’s no way you could have stolen each other’s wife. Zong Yuan was famously good-tempered and devoted—there’s no reason for him to take a dislike to you.”
In the history of the Sword Qi Great Wall, there were indeed a few sword cultivators who could have a few more words with Chen Qingdu.
For example, Zong Yuan in the early days, and later Dong Guanbao.
The Old Sword Immortal suddenly squinted and turned to look at a strange battlefield deep in the Barren Wastes, where celestial secrets were isolated. “No wonder. Another mischief from Zhou Mi.”
He flicked his sleeve, and before him, he spread out a scroll of the River of Time that no outsider could see. A hundred sword immortals from Tuoyue Mountain had once practiced swordsmanship on the neighboring wall.
Looking over all those sword cultivator seedlings from the Barren Wastes, he finally saw the young swordsman who seemed to be the least talented, who had long been unable to obtain the gift of sword intent.
Seeing that the Old Sword Immortal said nothing, Wei Jin wisely kept his mouth shut.
Cao Jun widened his eyes; just getting a few more looks at the Old Sword Immortal was a gain.
When that young swordsman was practicing on the wall, he seemed absent-minded, not taking his work seriously, more like a qi refiner on a sightseeing trip, just staring blankly outside the wall.
When a qi refiner nurtured a natal flying sword, he established his own path, different from other qi refiners. The top priority was to quickly find one or two natal abilities of the flying sword.
Thus, it was rare for sword cultivators in the world to be rogue cultivators. Not without reason. First, sword cultivators were the most precious and rare—any sect would welcome them as treasures. Second, forging swords consumed vast resources like gold and silver mountains. It was possible to cultivate as a rogue in the mountains, but without the financial support of a sect, it was less effective. Most importantly, the natal flying sword’s ability made sword cultivators unique; in a literal sense, they were “gifted by nature,” a heaven-bestowed talent.
Because the root of a sword cultivator’s natal flying sword lay in the “straight channels of the riverbed” in the River of Time, it became the greatest darling among countless spells, the most “ordered,” and later evolved and derived into countless types of flying sword natal abilities.
This was why sword cultivators had the greatest innate advantage among qi refiners—they were truly “uniquely favored by heaven, different from others.”
Thus, sword cultivators in the mountains had the right to be the most unreasonable: no matter how many spells you have, I have one sword that breaks all spells.
In those years, Tuoyue Mountain sword cultivators left the wall one after another. But this young swordsman, singled out by Chen Qingdu, was at the bottom, unknown. He left the wall very late, apparently gaining nothing. Rather than practicing swordsmanship, he seemed to be constantly using Water Moon Contemplation and White Bone Contemplation to inspect the ruins of the Sword Qi Great Wall. Occasionally, when the few remaining strands of sword intent belonging to Zong Yuan swept through the sky, the young swordsman acted as if facing a great enemy.
Finally, the swordsman was taken away quietly by the fourteen-realm Great Cultivator “Lu Fayuan,” who had earlier chatted with Chen Ping’an. Otherwise, Dragon Lord would have followed the Sixty-Year Account law and acted—any swordsman who failed to obtain pure sword intent would not leave the wall alive.
Chen Qingdu quickly found clues.
Of the hundred sword immortals meticulously arranged by the Barren Wastes at Tuoyue Mountain, aside from the few who were “pure” sword cultivators with clear backgrounds, almost all had inextricable ties to the deities. This young swordsman, in particular, was undoubtedly a reincarnated deity, inheriting part of the natal abilities of some high-ranking deity. The ability of his flying sword was close to “visualization.”
Seeing through the outward form to the bone structure, constantly deducing and piecing together the mental image, approaching a certain truth without limit.
All to visualize a sword cultivator from the Sword Qi Great Wall—Zong Yuan.
Clearly, this was one of Zhou Mi’s contingencies, an unexpected gift for the Haoran World and the Sword Qi Great Wall.
Whether Zong Yuan’s return to the human world was unexpected.
Whether seeing Zong Yuan again in the world was a surprise.
Chen Qingdu dispersed the scroll of the River of Time and said to Wei Jin, “Tell me the important things concisely.”
With one soul anchored and some remnant primordial spirit, he couldn’t stay long in this world.
Wei Jin briefly summarized the major events.
The First Saint, on the peak of Suishan Mountain in the Central Earth, had a remote Dao sparring session with the Barren Wastes Grand Patriarch at the Jiaolong Ditch ruins.
A Liang had been pinned under Tuoyue Mountain for several years, dropping from the fourteen realm. After visiting the Western Buddhist Kingdom, he returned to the Haoran World.
The four immortal swords gathered at Fuyu Continent, where Bai Ye alone fended off six throne seats with his sword. Later, he was taken by Wen Sheng to the Grand Xuandu Temple in the Blue Sky World.
The Barren Wastes occupied the three continents of Tongye, Fuyu, and Jinjia, but were finally intercepted by the Great Li Iron Cavalry in the middle of Rice Bottle Continent. Zhou Mi led his forces and ascended to heaven.
Ning Yao, in her new homeland named the Five Colors World, broke through realms successively, entering the Ascension Realm and becoming the number one in that world. During this time, she also personally killed a high-ranking deity.
A Literary Temple council in the Central Earth decided that the Barren Wastes would be attacked immediately.
A Liang, with a Flying Ascension cultivator, ventured deep into the interior. Later, Zuo You traveled far with his sword to reinforce A Liang.
Chen Ping’an, with four sword cultivators, had left the Sword Qi Great Wall not long ago.
During this, the Old Sword Immortal only said two sentences.
“Too bad Bai Ye isn’t a sword cultivator. If he came here, I could teach him a few suitable sword techniques.”
“Little Ning hasn’t surprised me at all.”
Chen Qingdu asked two questions.
“Has Zuo You reached the fourteen realm yet?”
Wei Jin shook his head, explaining that Senior Zuo’s ambitions were too grand. He had a chance to enter the fourteen realm but delayed breaking through in pursuit of a broader sword path.
Chen Qingdu’s final question: “In the confrontation between the Literary Temple and Tuoyue Mountain, was it the Minor Sage who said to strike?”
Wei Jin smiled. “It wasn’t the Saint of Rites. Chen Ping’an was the first to speak—he said we strike.”
Chen Qingdu nodded, a trace of a smile on his face.
The kid wasn’t bad.
Very much like himself.
The old man never thought a person’s vitality was about being cheerful and lively all year round.
Rather, it was that at every critical juncture in life, especially in times of hardship, the young could still raise their brows, brimming with high spirits.
Do the most unexpected things, deliver the fastest sword, speak the most weighty words to heaven and earth.
A man of few words should occasionally raise his voice, making others listen whether they want to or not.
Chen Qingdu withdrew his thoughts, shifted his gaze slightly, and looked at Cao Jun, asking with a smile, “This not-so-young sword immortal, what’s your name, and where are you from?”
Compared to their own sword cultivators like Chen Ping’an, Ning Yao, and Wei Jin, the outsider Cao Jun, over a hundred years old, was indeed considered not young.
Cao Jun cupped his fists. “Your junior Cao Jun, originally from the Li Zhu Cave Heaven in Rice Bottle Continent, from the same lane as the hidden officer’s ancestral home. But I was born in Southern Bodhi Continent. My ancestor Cao Jun was in charge of guarding the Sea-Suppressing Tower.”
Cao Jun couldn’t help but add, “I’m only a hundred and forty years old.”
He wanted to add that if not for having his sword heart shattered by Zuo You in his early years, he would have already reached the upper five realms, possibly even matching the great sword immortal of the Snow Temple in cultivation.
But remembering that in the eyes of this Old Sword Immortal, even a sword immortal of the Immortal Realm wasn’t worth mentioning, he swallowed the words.
Chen Qingdu hummed in acknowledgment. “That’s about the same age and realm as Zuo You. Impressive for a younger generation.”
Wei Jin suppressed a smile.
Cao Jun felt as if he’d been slapped with mud and dared not talk back to the Old Sword Immortal, so he suffered in silence.
He had fully experienced the unique character of the Sword Qi Great Wall—any sword cultivator worthy of the title “sword immortal” had a distinct personality.
Ning Yao was unsmiling and cared about nothing.
Lu Zhi seemed to want to chop anyone from outside the Great Wall with a few sword strikes.
Qi Tingji’s “Young man, be more careful in your next life” was said with the kindest expression and the sharpest words.
Then there was the Old Sword Immortal’s affability and approachability.
Even Wei Jin, the upright great sword immortal of the Snow Temple, had the quip: “You can’t get into the Summer Retreat Palace.”
Chen Qingdu looked beyond the wall and said softly, “Go if you must. There’s nothing to cling to here. As a pure sword cultivator, when alive, you draw your sword with a certain allegiance. But since you’re dead, leaving only this sword intent, what good is there in distinguishing friend from foe?”
Wei Jin remained calm, turned around, and faced the area south of the wall.
At that moment, Wei Jin’s sword heart became even clearer and more transparent. He bowed from afar to the departed sword cultivator Zong Yuan, a gesture of respect.
If they meet on the battlefield later, he would settle the matter of who was higher in the way of the sword with those who inherited Zong Yuan’s sword intent, living or dying.
Chen Qingdu smiled and nodded. “Zong Yuan is Zong Yuan.”
A thousand autumns of spirit still fierce.
The few wisps of sword intent that had never been close to Wei Jin suddenly condensed into four rainbow-like streaks of sword light in the air, slowly swirling around the Snow Temple’s great sword immortal, lingering without leaving.
This meant that from now on, Wei Jin belonged to Zong Yuan’s lineage in the way of the sword.
No complicated rituals of master-disciple inheritance, no burning incense or bowing to portraits in the ancestral hall.
Wei Jin secretly asked, “May I ask the Old Sword Immortal, what exactly was that existence from ten thousand years ago?”
Chen Qingdu hesitated, his expression complex, but finally shook his head. “I’ve seen him twice. Nothing worth saying.”
In the battle to ascend to heaven, aside from the Five Supremes, most of the twelve high-ranking ancient deities had fallen in that earth-shattering war.
The rest either left the ancient Heavenly Court site, becoming lost spirits beyond the heavens, or fell on unknown human lands, sleeping long in a trance of form.
The Azure Lad Celestial Lord, who guarded one of the Ascension Platforms, was one of the earliest humans to become a deity, once tasked with guiding male earthly immortals to ascend.
One lurked in the Five Colors World, wounded in the early human battle to ascend to heaven, once a subordinate of the Armored One.
The deity that descended to Tongye Continent from beyond the heavens crossed the sea to Rice Bottle Continent, and when it landed, it was jointly named “the Echo” by Cui Chan and Qi Jingchun.
She Yue inherited part of a divine position—she wasn’t merely a lunar seed; she was the most likely to ascend to that high existence of “previous incarnation of the bright moon.”
Killing these high-ranking deities had both benefits and drawbacks for the human world. The advantage was removing powerful human enemies; the disadvantage was vacating divine positions, which Zhou Mi could use after ascending to create new deities to fill the gaps.
Ten thousand years ago, these high-ranking deities were not easy to deal with. But after ten thousand years, on one hand, the Heavenly Dao had collapsed—like a fourteen-realm Great Cultivator losing most of his offensive means—and on the other, the invisible prison of words in heaven and earth heavily bound the deities.
Zhou Mi from the Literary Sea had created his own script, which had spread in the Barren Wastes for thousands of years.
This was to allow both old and new deities, when they returned to the human world, to escape as much as possible from the prison of words established by the Saint of Rites.
Without a doubt, the Barren Wastes before them was the landing point for many deities of the new Heavenly Court in the human world.
The only language of the ancient deities was actually similar to what today’s cultivators called “heart speech,” but not exactly.
The high-ranking deity whose golden body was shattered by Chen Qingdu’s sword was called “the Executor,” once under the Sword Bearer. The demons of the world, especially punished true dragons, had suffered greatly from him.
But his divinity was incomplete; he had been long asleep, and Tuoyue Mountain had already stripped away part of his remaining natal abilities, making his situation worse. Still, he was not easy to kill, even if not as skilled in fighting as before.
The high-ranking deity chosen by Tuoyue Mountain as a special trump card to target A Liang and Zuo You was likely the one called “the Dreamer.”
One of his natal abilities was imprisonment within nightmares. As the old saying goes, long nights bring many dreams; this was part of the source of various later extraterrestrial demons.
There was also the “Silent One,” also known as the “Heart-Speaker,” with the ability of “cessation of speech.”
And the “Replicator,” also called the “Imaginer” or the “Forger,” who created numerous suns, moons, and countless mountain and river secret realms.
Of course, the names of these ancient deities were given after the battle to ascend to heaven.
They were not recorded in writing, like leaving a blank page at the front of an old almanac specifically for these ancient existences.
Living in the world, it seems children are curious about everything, young people know everything, middle-aged people doubt everything, and old people accept everything.
As for who is good or not, each person has their own scale—it’s hard to say who is definitely good.
Just hope that in the future, for thousands of years, the silent ones’ contributions are not ignored.
A child too young can’t do much.
In fact, an old person may not be able to do much either.
Chen Qingdu rubbed his chin, gazing into the distance at the Barren Wastes.
He had roughly one more sword strike left.
Who to challenge?
Who to cut?
That Bai Ze who had returned to the Barren Wastes?
Bai Ze got along well with the Minor Sage, but he wasn’t familiar with me, Chen Qingdu.
—
Bai Ze and Crimson Consort walked along the dry riverbed of a tributary of the Yeluo River.
Crimson Consort sensed some strange phenomenon from the Sword Qi Great Wall ruins, making her heart tremble. She asked softly, “Mr. Bai, that old immortal… is he not dead?”
Bai Ze said, “Just because Chen Ping’an merged with half the wall doesn’t mean you forget that the Old Sword Immortal merged with the entire wall. When Zhou Mi stepped onto the wall back then, besides reaping his net, he also wanted to confirm this. Since Zhou Mi didn’t act, either he was completely unaware—even he was deceived—or he thought taking a full-powered sword strike from the Old Sword Immortal wasn’t worth it, so he made other long-term plans.”
Zhou Mi from the Literary Sea had once toured the Sword Qi Great Wall in the guise of the fourteen-realm Great Cultivator Lu Fayuan—also the master of the old throne demon Qie Yun and Fei Ran—and had chatted casually with Chen Ping’an.
Bai Ze suddenly reminded with a smile, “Still, you should show respect to the Old Sword Immortal.”
Crimson Consort noticed that even with Chen Qingdu appearing, Bai Ze’s attention was still on Tuoyue Mountain, which was very strange.
That Tuoyue Mountain was now just an empty shell supported by the Prime Culprit, unable to influence much of the Barren Wastes’ time and fortune.
Even if that madman Chen Ping’an successfully split the mountain, it might not have as far-reaching an impact as when Ning Yao and others flew up with their swords and cut down that bright moon.
Crimson Consort didn’t hide her thoughts and asked directly, “Mr. Bai, are you worried about the Grand Patriarch’s first disciple?”
Bai Ze nodded.
This time, returning to his homeland, Bai Ze would awaken a handful of demons from long hibernation and make an agreement with them to follow him.
As for those who were defiant and hard to tame, they would continue to sleep for a few thousand years, along with their true names.
After ten thousand years away, Bai Ze’s ties to his homeland were few. Of those still alive, only the Grand Patriarch’s first disciple at Tuoyue Mountain remained.
The Prime Culprit was, of course, just an alias for this first disciple of the Barren Wastes Grand Patriarch. His true name had a beautiful meaning: Yuan Ji.
It meant both “yellow garments bring good fortune” and the “Yuan Ji” of “the serpent lord’s blessings.”
Ten thousand years ago, after that internal strife and the riverside council, things had settled in heaven and earth.
Originally, by agreement, sword cultivators and military strategists could each occupy a world. The founder of the military strategists could even establish a sect and become a patriarch.
But that ambitious founder, along with a group of sword cultivators including Chen Qingdu and others beyond Dragon Lord Guan Zhao, plus some restless demons eager for chaos, ultimately lost.
Later, the demons were given the Barren Wastes as their world.
The Barren Wastes Grand Patriarch, with a child, settled in that world and began climbing a mountain — the future Tuoyue Mountain.
At that time, Bai Ze was also traveling with the master and disciple.
Near the summit, the old cultivator stopped and smiled. “Bai Ze, you have great learning. Why not help name this child? Make sure it’s an auspicious name.”
Bai Ze looked down at the bright-eyed child, thought for a moment, and said with a smile, “How about Yuan Ji?”
That demon child, newly formed, had countless questions for the most learned Bai Ze.
“That Minor Sage, is he really that good at fighting? Then why isn’t he called the Major Sage?”
“You’re called Bai Ze—is that your surname and given name? Why does everyone call you ‘Mister’? My master says it means you were born early, so you’re older. Then what does ‘master’ mean? Is it true that he who teaches is both father and teacher?”
“We got this world—I heard it’s the biggest. Is it because we contributed the most?”
During the climb, Bai Ze patiently answered each question for the child.
When they reached the summit, the Barren Wastes Grand Patriarch looked around and finally laughed. “Bai Ze, this mountain doesn’t have a name yet. Since you’re capable, why not name it too?”
Time flows like water beneath the moon; the moon’s fall never leaves the sky.
Bai Ze named the mountain Tuoyue Mountain.
Finally, Bai Ze patted the child’s head and said with a smile, “The cycle begins anew, all things renew. Let each cultivate on their own path; we’ll meet again to reminisce.”
Bai Ze withdrew his gaze from Tuoyue Mountain.
Crimson Consort asked, “Mr. Bai, you’ll stand on our side this time, right?”
Bai Ze nodded.
—
A big white goose hurried from the Fallen Mountain to the blacksmith shop, paddling in the air with its feet. Once it landed, it shook its feathers and sleeves, making crackling sounds.
This noise woke Liu Xianyang, who had been dozing in a bamboo chair.
Under the eaves were three chairs; one was empty, reserved for guests. Cui Dongshan twisted his body, touched his toe, and leaned back, flying backwards, landing squarely on the middle bamboo chair. He shifted the chair next to Liu Xianyang.
Then, as if reading each other’s minds, the two raised their adjacent elbows and bumped them against each other in a dizzying flurry.
“Brother Liu!”
“Brother Cui!”
The round-faced girl in a cotton-padded jacket sitting on the edge chair rolled her eyes.
Their addresses even carried a slight tremolo.
Cui Dongshan wiped his mouth, craned his neck to look toward the Dragon Beard River. “Brother Liu, is there any stewed old duck with bamboo shoot?”
Liu Xianyang chuckled, rubbing his hands. “Whether there is or not, it’s not up to me to say.”
Yu Qianyue turned her head and glared at the white-clad boy who was daydreaming.
Liu Xianyang immediately caught on and laughed. “Even a clever wife can’t cook without rice. Brother Cui, please understand.”
Then Liu Xianyang asked curiously, “Any serious business to discuss?”
Cui Dongshan flicked his sleeves. “No, just came to relax. There’s not much melon seeds left on the mountain, so I got an order from the Right Protector to buy some. Hey, according to Xiao Mili’s price quote, I might even earn a few silver coins.”
Liu Xianyang said in exasperation, “You’d really cheat Xiao Mili out of her silver?”
Cui Dongshan grinned. “You don’t get it. This is the Right Protector’s deliberate tip for my errand.”
Liu Xianyang nodded and quoted Xiao Mili’s catchphrase, “Very smart, very shrewd.”
Cui Dongshan supported his head with his hands and sighed sentimentally, “It’s a good season for survivors.”
If only his master were still at home and hadn’t traveled far again, it would be even better.
Liu Xianyang hummed in agreement, understanding the reason but not elaborating. He was mainly afraid of scaring the round-faced girl, who pretended not to care but was listening intently.
Cui Dongshan was referring to that old turtle and Qi Jingchun’s gamble on the humanity in Fire God Ruan Xiu—whether she would leave even a trace, whether she would still feel some attachment to the human world.
Otherwise, at the extreme summer solstice on the day of Wuwu in May, they would make a great sacrifice to the sun and match it with the moon.
Chen Ping’an, Liu Xianyang, Song Banchai, She Yue who had been thrown here, plus the exceptionally abundant water fortune of Dragon Prefecture—all were originally used by Ruan Xiu to refine a mirror to open the heavens.
The three humans and one demon, whether spirits, fortune, or flesh, were all to be refined into a mirror as steps for the Fire God to ascend.
Liu Xianyang once joked half-seriously that Li Liu had deflected a disaster for them. Because Li Liu’s Water God’s Daoist divinity had been “eaten” by Ruan Xiu.
Liu Xianyang said, “Actually, it wasn’t a gamble. It seemed certain she wouldn’t act that way.”
Cui Dongshan nodded. “We just don’t know what Qi Jingchun said to her in the end. Hard to figure out.”
It indeed wasn’t a gamble, but a belief in humanity.
Liu Xianyang glanced at the Ten Thousand Year Bridge spanning the Dragon Beard River and shrugged indifferently. “Then don’t think too much. Life goes on. Many things will sort themselves out when the boat reaches the bridge.”
Cui Dongshan handed him a handful of melon seeds, tipping half into Liu Xianyang’s palm. “Brother Liu is indeed the most carefree.”
Liu Xianyang cracked the seeds, only to have Cui Dongshan step on his foot. He turned his head, raised his palm, and said, “Miss Yu?”
She Yue shook her head with a straight face.
But her mood had lifted a bit.
Cui Dongshan spit out shells and lamented, “My senior sister’s state of mind is worrying. I think it’ll still take the master to smooth it out.”
Back when Pei Qian first returned from her travels, she brought foreign pastries called Wudu Cake. Later, at Sui Youbian’s place, they almost got into a fight.
Because Pei Qian had once seen a prohibition stele at a village entrance in Jinjia Continent.
The inscription had only one sentence: “It is forbidden to drown female infants and male infants born on the fifth day of the fifth month.”
Why set up such a prohibition stele? Because such forbidden acts were too common, and local authorities needed to erect monuments to stop such tragedies.
Valuing sons over daughters, abandoning female infants, secretly drowning them. Male infants born on the fifth day of the fifth month were considered ill-omened, bringing calamity.
Chen Ping’an’s birthday happened to be the fifth of May. Not just in the town, but in the entire Haoran World, children born on that day, especially male infants, were unwelcome.
Cui Dongshan finished his seeds, clapped his hands, and smiled brightly. “For the master’s sake, I have to thank you. As for feelings, they’re all in the seeds!”
Liu Xianyang laughed. “Seeds year after year, the more you crack, the more you have. Not bad.”
Cui Dongshan stretched his legs, leaning lazily against the chair. “Don’t exhaust all your wealth; leave some to accumulate blessings. Don’t deceive yourself in poverty; respecting yourself is respecting heaven.”
“The first bow, the first fist salute, the first time wearing boots, pinning a hairpin, the first calling yourself ‘mister.’”
“Whenever I think of the master doing these things, I can’t help laughing.”
Liu Xianyang cracked seeds, listening to the white goose’s words, and nodded. “Good people have late blessings; the virtuous are favored by heaven. As the old saying here goes, everyone will have a bitter wind blow before their door a couple of times. The earlier it comes, the better. If you get through it, you can enjoy your blessings peacefully. But if that bitter wind comes when you’re too old to jump over a wall, you can’t avoid it or endure it. Besides, the more you’ve eaten from hundred families, the more you know that you can eat any food in the world except your descendants’ food. That’s why we have the saying ‘leave some’ here.”
Cui Dongshan stood up. “I’m off. Won’t delay Brother Liu’s business.”
Liu Xianyang waved.
Before leaving, Cui Dongshan tossed out a grinning remark. “Some things are better done after marriage to be proper. But dry firewood and fierce flames, thunder setting off a fire—that’s understandable.”
Liu Xianyang smiled awkwardly.
She Yue chuckled. “Birds of a feather flock together.”
After the white goose rolled away, Liu Xianyang didn’t continue dozing and practicing swords in his dreams. He told Miss Yu next to him about some old matters.
He said that in the town there was a local custom: “asking for the night meal, dreaming the night meal.” In the local dialect, “asking” and “dreaming” were homophones.
On New Year’s Eve, after every family had eaten the New Year meal, the elderly would stay home with open doors, attending to the fireplace. The table would be laid with dishes of snacks and wine. Young men would visit each other, sit at the table, and drink. If they were close, they’d drink several cups; if not, just one before moving on. The children were even livelier. Dressed in new clothes, they often went in groups, each carrying a cloth satchel slung over one shoulder, filling it with fruits, cakes, melon seeds, peanuts, sugarcane, and so on. When it was full, they’d run back home immediately.
She Yue asked, “Is this a custom of the entire Dragon Prefecture?”
She knew that most areas in the nine continents of the Haoran World had the tradition of staying up on New Year’s Eve. But the “asking for the night meal” was something she heard for the first time.
In the few years she’d been here, she’d at most gone to Red Candle Town a few times in the twelfth month with Liu Xianyang to buy New Year goods.
Liu Xianyang shook his head. “It’s unique to our town. As more people move to the prefectural and county cities over the years, this custom has faded. In another twenty or thirty years, it’ll probably be completely gone.”
On Fortune Street and Peach Leaf Lane, the “asking for the night meal” seemed bland and tasteless. But in the poor alleys, it was more lively—a kind of poor people’s fussiness. But it was warm, full of human touch, a kind of indescribable New Year flavor and humanity.
Before Chen Ping’an met Liu Xianyang and before Gu Can was born, every New Year’s Eve, he would stay alone in his house on Mud Vase Alley, keeping vigil until dawn. No neighbor would visit him, and he wouldn’t visit anyone. For one thing, he was alone and couldn’t leave; for another, he was unwelcome. No one wanted to see him on that day. Even the old folks who were willing to talk freely with him on other days would have some scruples on that day. Mainly, they were afraid their younger family members would consider it unlucky. On New Year’s Eve, no one would cause discord in their own family for an outsider.
She Yue listened to Liu Xianyang recounting the past and said softly, “The hidden officer had such a hard childhood.”
Liu Xianyang pointed his thumb at himself. “After he became friends with me, Chen Ping’an was much better off. Every year, after I had the New Year meal, I’d close my door and go to Mud Vase Alley to keep him company. We’d set up a little stove, poke the charcoal with tongs, and keep vigil together.”
In fact, Liu Xianyang often fell asleep early, and Chen Ping’an would sit quietly by the stove until dawn.
She Yue suddenly asked doubtfully, “But if you closed your door, didn’t you need to receive guests?”
Liu Xianyang laughed heartily. “I was so broke that even the big brother and second brother didn’t meet. Receive what guests?”
She Yue understood the saying. It was a unique expression of Liu Xianyang’s: gold was the master, silver was the boss, and the two types of copper coins were called big brother and second brother.
In the old days, in the town, among ordinary households outside Fortune Street and Peach Leaf Lane, gold and silver weren’t commonly used in financial transactions. Only the kiln heads of the dragon kilns and some highly skilled old masters had their wages calculated in silver.
She Yue asked, “Keeping vigil together, what did you two talk about? You said that back then the hidden officer was as quiet as a fart? Wasn’t it boring?”
Liu Xianyang laughed indignantly. “Chen Ping’an didn’t talk much usually, but he wasn’t mute.”
Liu Xianyang was silent for a moment. “Besides, in front of me, he was willing to say a few more words.”
She Yue turned to look at Liu Xianyang.
This guy only got especially proud and smug when talking about his friend.
Chen Ping’an’s few valuable possessions at home had been pawned off cheaply by him as a child. He would indeed talk to Liu Xianyang about his thoughts.
For example, first, repair his parents’ graves. The few acres of fields left by his ancestors, scattered here and there, he hoped to buy back, even at a higher price. If he earned more money, he would repair the ancestral house. If there was surplus, he’d buy the neighboring house that had been empty since he could remember. Actually, during his years as a kiln apprentice, aside from some random expenses on Gu Can, he could have saved some silver. But Liu Xianyang borrowed it all and squandered it. Liu Xianyang never hid any of this from She Yue.
“Later, there was that little snot-nosed brat in Mud Vase Alley, and Chen Ping’an started smiling more. He truly treated Gu Can as his own younger brother. Maybe… because he couldn’t pity his own childhood self anymore, he became even more fond of the little snot-nose who was right in front of him every day. And Gu Can was clingy from a young age. Few people knew that Chen Ping’an essentially taught Gu Can to talk and walk, hand in hand. In Mud Vase Alley, that widow and orphan, Gu Can’s mother, slaved away to support the family and refused to remarry. She had no free time. Often, she’d just dump Gu Can on Chen Ping’an and not bother.”
It was impossible to imagine what it looked like: a young man who barely knew a few characters, holding a twig, squatting on the ground, teaching a little snot-nose to write “Gu Can.” It might have seemed ridiculous to others, but somehow it wasn’t funny.
Suffering was the one subject no one needed to teach. Maybe the only thing harder than suffering was never seeing the end of it.
She Yue listened to these not-so-distant past events.
Liu Xianyang smiled. “Don’t think it’s a big deal. Compared to mountain cultivation, it’s just chicken shit and dog shit in the alleys—it happens every year, in every household. Don’t think Chen Ping’an became a quiet one because he went through these things. From what the old neighbors near Mud Vase Alley say, that guy was always quiet. In their memories, there are many different accounts, but they all agree that his eyes were very bright from a young age.”
She Yue silently repeated “bright” and nodded. “That’s a beautiful saying.”
Liu Xianyang said smugly, “There are plenty of unique sayings from my hometown.”
She Yue asked suspiciously, “‘Bright’ isn’t unique to your town, is it?”
Liu Xianyang laughed. “Just think of it that way.”
After that, Liu Xianyang closed his eyes and dozed off.
She Yue went to the riverbank. She was afraid someone might come to throw stones and steal ducks again.
One day later, the Dragon Spring Sword Sect’s ancestral hall had been relocated, and Ruan Qiong rarely came back. She Yue happened to be walking by the river.
She tentatively asked, “Master Ruan, would you like some stewed old duck with bamboo shoot?”
She suddenly smiled shyly, both cherishing her carefully raised ducks and feeling awkward. “It’s not that old.”
Silently, she prayed: Master Ruan, be polite, act distant, and don’t nod!
Ruan Qiong then remembered that on the road here, as he neared the blacksmith shop, there seemed to be a flock of ducks happily swimming in the Dragon Beard River.
The man’s face rarely showed a hint of a smile. He shook his head.
When Master Ruan shook his head, She Yue’s conscience pricked her. Whatever, she’d leave it to Liu Xianyang to handle. She’d act as if she saw nothing and just wait for the steaming pot of stewed old duck with bamboo shoot to be served, then she’d dig in.
Ruan Qiong asked, “Where’s Liu Xianyang?”
She Yue blinked. She couldn’t lie to Master Ruan, so she pretended to be clueless.
Ruan Qiong said helplessly, “I need to see him about something.”
She Yue seemed to suddenly remember where Liu Xianyang had gone. “I’m not sure. He only said, ‘When neighbors fight, he rushes to help with disheveled hair and cap,’ and ran off to the town. Must be busy with something important. He’s a scholar, after all.”
Ruan Qiong looked over at the town. In one alley, two old women were scratching each other’s faces and pulling hair.
Liu Xianyang was squatting with a group of young men and small children, cracking seeds and watching the show.
It was said that as people grow up, their hometown shrinks.
It was also said that places you frequently visit have no scenery.
But for Liu Xianyang, such sayings didn’t apply.
She Yue asked, “Should I call him back?”
“No need. It’s not urgent.” Ruan Qiong waved his hand. There were two bamboo chairs under the eaves, but he went inside to bring out a long bench.
She Yue sent a mental message to Liu Xianyang to return quickly.
Liu Xianyang immediately scurried back from the arched bridge. Pity—he’d almost seen the two women tear each other’s clothes off.
After Liu Xianyang sat down, She Yue had already gone into the house.
Ruan Qiong was silent for a long time before speaking. “Liu Xianyang.”
Liu Xianyang said, puzzled, “Huh?”
Master Ruan was acting strange today. What, did he miss his little disciple so much that he came just to call his name?
Ruan Qiong remained silent.
Liu Xianyang handed him a jug of wine.
Ruan Qiong didn’t refuse; he took the jug and began drinking morosely.
Liu Xianyang didn’t drink. He tucked his hands into his sleeves, lifted his feet, and lightly tapped his shoes together.
Ruan Qiong suddenly said, “If I hadn’t stopped them back then, would things be better now?”
Liu Xianyang was at a loss for words.
At that moment, Liu Xianyang, who prided himself on being eloquent, truly couldn’t say a single word.
Ruan Qiong drank, his voice hoarse. “It’s my fault.”
Liu Xianyang looked ahead and said softly, “Master, please don’t say that or think that. Really.”
Ruan Qiong was silent again for a long while before saying, “Any more wine?”
Liu Xianyang brought out two more jugs. Master and disciple, one each.
When drinking, you fear not having enough, you fear not getting drunk, but most of all, you fear not feeling that you’re drinking.
Life is short, sorrows long.
In Chen Ping’an’s mind lake.
The lake was as smooth as a mirror. All mental images on the surface—sun, moon, stars, book tower, graves, and many others—were reflected perfectly.
The mind is the mirror.
Only one thing was extraneous.
Like a figure standing beneath the water, on the other side of the mirror.
Thus, if the mirror were turned over, it would truly be heaven and earth overturned.
“This person” looked like Chen Ping’an at first glance, and at another glance, more like that divine-natured Chen Ping’an from the Great Li capital. If someone stared long, it would be neither exactly the same nor completely different.
The person kept his eyes closed, with a peaceful smile on his face, walking slowly on the mirror’s surface. All sounds in heaven and earth were silent, quiet as a grave mound.
It seemed that only the heart of a cultivator might be the one place in the River of Time that didn’t exist, or perhaps the River of Time chose to be eternally still here.
On the golden arch bridge.
Li Zhen grinned and said, “I declare in advance, I guarantee this is the last time I’ll be gleeful! The hidden officer didn’t choose She Yue’s spot. He changed his mind and picked the middle bright moon. Isn’t that a bit surprising? Need me to help stop those sword cultivators? Or is this even within your calculations, sir?”
Zhou Mi shook his head. “I didn’t calculate it. Truly unexpected.”
Li Zhen stepped back a few paces, jumped, and sat on the railing, arms crossed, staring blankly.
The new Heavenly Court’s territory was too vast, and there were too few people to talk to.
Li Zhen asked, “Ten thousand years ago, what was that guy thinking? Why did he let Sister Ruan and Li Liu fight a heaven-cracking, sea-drying battle of water and fire?”
Ruan Xiu, standing on the railing, turned her head toward Li Zhen, the successor of the Armored One.
Li Zhen immediately changed the subject. “Even earlier, why did he allow other deities to create humans on the earth?”
Deities pursue golden bodies that are immortal and indestructible.
Zhou Mi gave his own answer in his heart. “The truly immortal feel the most loneliness.”
It was loneliness.
Probably not solitude. Because extremely pure divinity doesn’t allow such perceptions.
Even if briefly possessed, it knows it’s an illusion.
The ancient deities, with gods above their heads.
Li Zhen began to murmur.
He who will one day shake the earth must have long kept silent alone.
He who will one day light the lightning must have drifted like clouds eternally.