Chapter 866: What Does the Mountain Have?

Chapter 866: What Does the Mountain Have?

On Mount Luopo, the weather was crisp and clear. In the courtyard of a residence, there was hardly any space to set foot—rows upon rows of large bamboo woven flat sieves and big willow winnowing baskets were all covered with dried red chili peppers, bright and gorgeous.

Under the eaves of the corridor, Zhu Lian lay on a reclining chair, eyes closed in repose, gently waving a palm-leaf fan.

Cen Yuanji finished her stake-walking practice along the mountain path and came over to sit for a while.

She enjoyed chatting with Old Mr. Zhu, not just because Zhu Lian had brought her up the mountain and guided her onto the path of martial arts. On Mount Luopo, she also regarded Old Mr. Zhu as her only elder and family member.

The old gentleman often advised her to go down the mountain more often, to return home to the prefectural city to visit her parents. He said that even if she faced marriage pressures, she shouldn't be impatient, and even less should she take Mount Luopo as a place to escape from noise and trouble.

Some things can't be avoided. Even if you evade the immediate worry, you can't escape future regret.

The most futile thing in life is nothing more than chasing after remorse.

A wandering son in a foreign land is like an unstable kite. Only longing in the heart becomes that string. If a person has no attachment to family or homeland, they truly become a kite with a broken string. Then all joys and sorrows, partings and reunions, are like the grass on the plain—their withering and flourishing are determined by heaven, not by oneself.

Old Mr. Zhu also said that Cen Yuanji was lucky—she was so close to home that returning was just a few steps away. But being close also had its own troubles.

The reason Cen Yuanji liked to talk heart-to-heart with Old Mr. Zhu was probably that when he reasoned or spoke, he never put on airs as an elder, demanding that the younger generation immediately take his words to heart.

Zhu Lian asked with a smile, "Yuanji, over the years of stake-walking, how many punches have you accumulated in total?"

Cen Yuanji replied, "By the beginning of this spring, I had reached two million punches. After that, I stopped counting."

Zhu Lian asked again, "Why did you stop? Did you feel it was meaningless to keep track, or did you forget one day and then just couldn't be bothered to count anymore?"

Cen Yuanji answered honestly, "When you deliberately keep count, it's easy to get distracted during practice. It feels like practicing boxing is just for a number."

Zhu Lian nodded. "Very good. The master once said to me in private that the day Miss Cen stops deliberately remembering the number of punches she throws is the day her boxing art enters the hall of mastery."

Cen Yuanji said, "The Mountain Lord's talent for learning boxing is indeed far better than mine."

She had to admit that through gritted teeth.

Zhu Lian asked, "And then?"

Cen Yuanji shook her head honestly. "Nothing else."

Zhu Lian chuckled. "Well, people tend to like those they like and hate those they hate."

That was a bit tongue-twisting.

But Cen Yuanji wasn't stupid; she understood.

Cen Yuanji explained, "I don't dislike Mountain Lord Chen. He's a good person, but my first impression of him was a bit poor, and I really couldn't bring myself to like him. Later, on the mountain, I didn't pay him much attention. Actually, it was because I didn't know what to say when we met."

"Understood."

Zhu Lian nodded. "Yuanji, to be honest, the master has always had high hopes for your boxing path. If it weren't that he knew you wouldn't agree, and worried that you might overthink things, the master would have taken you as a direct disciple, just like that Zhao Shuxia. That kind of optimism isn't about thinking that you or Zhao Shuxia will necessarily achieve great martial accomplishments in the future. It's just that the martial artists on Mount Luopo are purely divided into two types: one focuses on technique, the other on the mind. The former quickly grasp boxing intent, understand boxing principles, and master boxing methods. The latter are relatively inconspicuous, but they persevere, regardless of others' opinions and gazes."

Cen Yuanji was somewhat surprised and murmured softly, "The Mountain Lord's thoughts are quite good."

Cen Yuanji was sitting on a bamboo chair beside the corridor, and the range of Zhu Lian's fan shaking widened a bit.

Zhu Lian said with a smile, murmuring, "Willows yellow by the post, streams swelling green, man like a mountain, heart like water. The green mountain stands upright like a string, still has its veins and meridians. Life stands isolated, the mind absent—how sorrowful it is."

Just listening, Cen Yuanji felt a faint sadness.

Zhu Lian turned his head and smiled. "Yuanbao likes Cao Qinglang, doesn't she?"

Cen Yuanji suppressed a smile and nodded. "She likes him a lot, but she doesn't know how to say it. Anyway, every time Cao Qinglang sits at the gate reading a book, Yuanbao will deliberately quicken her pace, hurriedly turn around, and go up the mountain to practice boxing."

Zhu Lian continued, "And Yuan Lai secretly likes you. Do you secretly know that?"

Cen Yuanji blushed slightly. "I know, but I don't like him."

Zhu Lian put down his fan and said softly, "He who has seen the ocean finds it hard to appreciate small streams; he who is infatuated finds it hard to handle feelings."

"The bitterness and joy of love between men and women are merely when the person in your heart becomes the memory in your mind, or when the person in your heart becomes the person beside your pillow."

For Cen Yuanji, the same words spoken by Old Mr. Zhu and by Zheng Dafeng carried entirely different meanings.

One was a kind old man weathered by years, the other a lecherous rogue who couldn't control his eyes. Fortunately, Zheng Dafeng had the thief's heart but not the thief's courage; he never dared to be fresh with her.

Cen Yuanji suddenly said, "The Mountain Lord has gone on another long journey."

Zhu Lian grunted in acknowledgment, then said slowly, "One person busy, the world can be at leisure."

---

The two shops in Qilong Alley had more and more staff.

The acting manager of the New Year's Eve Shop was Shi Rou, and there was Zhou Junchen, nicknamed Aman. Not long ago, a white-haired child named Konghou had also joined.

Next door, the acting manager of the Herb Shop was the blind old Daoist Jia Sheng, a Dragon Gate realm old immortal. Besides the master-apprentice pair of Zhao Denggao and Tian Jiuer, there was also a girl named Cui Huasheng, who claimed to be Cui Dongshan's sister—that almost made Chen Lingjun die laughing.

Today, after finishing his chat with Brother Bai at the pavilion, Chen Lingjun sauntered into the town, swaggered into the New Year's Eve Shop, and shouted with a laugh, "Little sis Konghou!"

The one Chen Lingjun affectionately called "little sis" was Konghou, who looked like a child but was actually a Flying Ascension realm external celestial demon, the dao companion of Wu Shuangjiang of the Suichu Palace.

The white-haired child was still an outer sect handyman disciple on Mount Luopo, helping out in the shop.

She had given herself the alias Konghou.

But how could Chen Lingjun know that this pathetic, stunted, white-haired dwarf was of what realm, what background, or who her backer was?

All he knew was that she was a little girl picked up by the master on his travels. Pei Qian and Xiaomili had also been brought back to town by the master with little cultivation.

Right now, the white-haired child had her back to Chen Lingjun, chewing on a pastry in her mouth, holding two pieces in her hands, and eyeing a large pile.

She was busy.

No time to deal with that noisy blue-clad child.

Aman watched that white-haired child who was only slightly better than a petty thief. The boy was quite resentful and dropped his silent act. "Eat, eat, eat—all I know is to charge it to the account. Charge what? With her salary, when will she ever fill the gap? And the Mountain Lord, though wealthy, is not generous. He comes every so often to check the accounts. In the end, it's us managers who get the short end of the stick."

Aman was still angry. "Even skipping stones makes a sound. Eating without a sound is a skill in itself."

Sister Shi Rou worked from dawn to dusk, barely earning some money that could have turned into a few silver pieces. But now with this heartless one, it had all become debt figures on the ledger.

Moreover, this girl seemed mentally off—she would often spin in circles in the back courtyard, pumping her arms and shouting things like, "Hidden Official Patriarch, might shakes the rivers, martial arts unmatched!" and "Hidden Official Patriarch, peerlessly handsome, swordsmanship invincible!"...

Aman had long wanted to take her to see a doctor.

The white-haired child heard the mute boy's complaints and, instead of ignoring them, deliberately shook her head.

This made Aman want to argue with her. If it weren't for her being a little girl, one punch... and he'd have to pay for medicine again.

Shi Rou smiled. "We're all family. Why quibble over these things?"

When Chen Lingjun heard this little mute dare to speak ill of the master, he was so angry he put his hands on his hips, glared, and said, "Zhou Junchen, watch your mouth! I know your master—we're of the same generation. Your master knows all the butchers in town. You weigh your words."

Aman sneered, "You know my master? I know my master's master too. So what if I don't watch my mouth? Come on, hit me if you can!"

For all else, the best thing about Mount Luopo was that cultivation level didn't matter at all.

Shi Rou patted the child's head and said softly, "No angry words among family."

Actually, among everyone on Mount Luopo, Shi Rou wasn't afraid of many people. The one she feared was Cui Dongshan—he could say the strangest, most hurtful things, like... "walking the bird."

But that was ancient history from a dark past. In recent years, it had been much better, especially when the Mountain Lord was in his hometown. Cui Dongshan would give everyone a smile.

Last time, Cui Dongshan brought back a sister, Cui Huasheng, and gave Shi Rou a sandalwood comb with a three-character inscription: "Thinking of Beauty."

Aman stood on a small stool, leaned on the counter, and stretched out a hand to Chen Lingjun with a straight face. "Don't give me empty talk. If you have the guts, help her pay off the debt, and then she can eat as much as she wants. When it's gone, I'll make it myself. If it doesn't taste good, you can curse me all you want."

Chen Lingjun rolled up his sleeves. "Damn it, your Uncle Chen has weathered great storms and hardships—baskets full of them, I won't even bother to mention—but I've never stumbled over money. How much silver?!"

The white-haired child turned her head, cheeks bulging, and mumbled indistinctly, "No need, just let it be owed. It's not like I won't pay back. Owing money is better than owing a favor."

Chen Lingjun came over to the white-haired child. If the white goose hadn't revealed the truth, he wouldn't have guessed she was a girl.

Before, the girl's name wasn't this. It was Zhilan.

Then Chen Lingjun wasn't happy and reasoned with her until she changed her name to Konghou.

"Little sis, take your big brother Chen's advice: a little girl picking a name should avoid grass radical characters."

In former years, at the Suichu Palace, the female official Tianran had the dao name Fengshou.

Her most beloved possession was a konghou, with dragon body and phoenix shape, adorned with gold and colorful tassels.

The white-haired child's cheeks were full, and she said indistinctly, "Stop calling me 'little sis.' It sounds terrible. Change it quickly."

Chen Lingjun was troubled. "But you don't have the equipment. I really can't call you 'little bro.'"

The white-haired child said impatiently, "Go away."

Chen Lingjun had no choice but to go next door to find Old Brother Jia for a drink.

Old Brother Jia was full of worldly wisdom. He could say that those who curry favor only spread their veneer of decency.

Since ancient times, people are busy but gods are not. So one must steal a moment of leisure amidst busyness. He also said he had once been a dashingly handsome man, but it was a pity that in his early years he didn't know the hardships of the world in his dissolute life.

Isn't that much more elegant than the gossipy old women and bachelors at the village head?

Good brothers, one familiar with the place, the other familiar with the way, quickly set up a drinking party. They sat facing each other, drinking. Today, Chen Lingjun brought two jars of good wine. Old Immortal Jia took a sip, shuddered, and said, "Good wine, good wine."

Chen Lingjun sat cross-legged on a long bench, grinning. "Drinking and pissing, both shivers."

The old immortal wiped his mouth with his thumb. "Three shivers is right."

The old and the young burst out laughing. Drink, drink.

Jia Sheng came from a small vassal state in the central region, a place called Bozhou. He said his hometown had been a land of wine since ancient times—even sparrows could drink two ounces.

It got to the point where even the little mute next door had learned to curse, saying someone wasn't even as good as a Bozhou sparrow.

Suddenly, Chen Lingjun furrowed his brow, set down his wine bowl, and said telepathically, "A few people with considerable cultivation have entered Qilong Alley. Old Brother Jia, you go to the back courtyard first. If I'm sure they're not here to cause trouble, you can come out and receive them."

The blind old Daoist laughed. "No matter, let your old brother have a look..."

Chen Lingjun said, "At least three Nascent Soul stage."

The old Daoist immediately stood up. "I'll take Jiu'er and Huasheng to the back courtyard and also secretly notify the Law Keeper."

Chen Lingjun nodded, put on his boots, walked alone to the shop entrance, and warned Shi Rou via telepathy to be careful and keep Konghou and Aman inside. No matter what happened next, don't stick their heads out.

Three guests, two men and one woman, all unfamiliar faces.

One was a young-looking man with a refined demeanor. One was a stocky, sturdy man with an ancient air, carrying a heavy cloth bundle slung across his shoulder.

There was also a tall woman, not exactly a beauty, but heroic and spirited. At her waist hung a long knife with a white poplar handle.

The three descended from the top of Qilong Alley. The woman said telepathically, "This place indeed has thick water fortune and vibrant dragon qi, unusual. No wonder the master once stayed here."

Within Longzhou territory, besides the high-ranked Iron Rune River, there are also the Chongdan, Yuye, and Xiuhua rivers that converge near Red Candle Town.

But now the River God Yang Hua of Iron Rune River had been transferred to that great river.

The young man smiled. "Daoist Lingjun."

Chen Lingjun was puzzled. "You are?"

The young man wiped his face, dropped the concealment spell, and revealed his "true appearance" in town.

Chen Lingjun laughed. "So it's Master Chen, long time no see."

He recognized the man but hadn't interacted much.

The man had once served as a master at the Longwei Creek Chen clan's school for a while. Word was he was an old drunkard who loved liquor. Soon after, he left for a long journey. His fame was low, and his teaching skills were mediocre, so no one at the school cared much.

Because Pei Qian had attended the school as a child, Chen Lingjun was worried and secretly went to squat on the wall to take a few looks at the old master. It seemed his name was Chen Zhenrong. According to the white goose, this old gentleman from outside came from the Southern Baswa Continent and had a good relationship with the sage Ruan Qiong.

The old master's companions introduced themselves. The sturdy man called himself Luoshan Muke, with the dao name Songzhi.

The woman smiled sincerely and said briskly, "I'm Qin Buyi, from Middle Earth Tonglong Commandery."

Chen Lingjun's head ached. What's all this "Muke" and "Tonglong"? He was totally confused! If only the master were here—he couldn't keep up at all.

His quick mind came to a rescue. Chen Lingjun shouted, "Old Brother Jia, there are honored guests at the shop."

The blind old Daoist immediately ran out to receive them eagerly. There happened to be a wine table. Old Immortal Jia and Chen Lingjun sat on the same long bench.

Besides that Luoshan Muke being taciturn but drinking plenty, the rest—Master Chen and Qin Buyi—were straightforward people who spoke freely and without restraint. Old Immortal Jia pondered while smiling and toasting continuously. Soon he had a clear picture: the taciturn man with the dao name Songzhi was on a journey and planning to visit Oxhorn Mountain as a bundle pack merchant; Qin Buyi had heard that Mount Luopo had many pure martial artists and even a martial grandmaster of the rankings. She wasn't coming to challenge or spar; she was just very interested and wanted to see if she could go up the mountain for a look.

Old Immortal Jia said that was not difficult, but he needed to inform Mount Luopo first. He also took the chance to praise their peak: "The qi is excellent, lush and verdant. The elegance of manners is superb, Confucianism flourishes." He dared not say "the best," lest he seem to be boasting like a melon seller.

Qin Buyi asked with a smile, "Shopkeeper Jia, what kind of person is your mountain lord?"

Jia Sheng sipped his wine and laughed. "Speaking of our mountain lord, poor Daoist can't be modest: he is gentle and warm, his words kind; his conduct is fair and his character harmonious."

The old master, whose real name was Chen Rong, laughed silently.

That could be considered an unattainable praise.

Qin Buyi smiled. "Daoist Jia holds Master Nanfeng in high regard?"

Chen Lingjun was completely lost.

Jia Sheng put down his wine bowl, stroked his beard and laughed. "Not at all. Actually, our mountain lord greatly enjoys the essays of Master Zeng. He often advises me to read them, saying especially Master Nanfeng's prose—they unfold leisurely, logically rigorous, with elegant qi and deep meaning. At first glance, they seem unremarkable, but the aftertaste is endless."

Qin Buyi smiled. "I never expected your Mountain Lord Chen to be uniquely fond of Master Nanfeng's essays. That's quite surprising."

Compared to Bai Ye, Su Zi, and Liu Qi, Master Zeng's prose is indeed less famous throughout the world.

Old Immortal Jia immediately explained with a smile, "It's not 'uniquely,' just relatively speaking. In scholarship, our mountain lord most advocates the saying 'opening a book is always beneficial.' He once joked with me that because he was poor in his youth and couldn't attend school, he later made up for that debt of reading during his travels on the path of cultivation."

Qin Buyi exchanged a smile with the man who called himself Luoshan Muke.

It was a pleasant drinking party. Chen Rong, from the Pure Confucian Chen Clan of the Southern Baswa Continent, took his two friends to find an inn to settle in first. They would wait for news from Mount Luopo.

Chen Lingjun always felt uneasy around strangers.

Fortunately, there was the reliable Old Brother Jia, who, outside the drinking table, was fearless.

In earlier years, when Wei Xian and Lu Baixiang passed through Qilong Alley and sat here for a while, Old Brother Jia met Wei Xian and actually got scared. Later, Pei Qian revealed the truth, and it turned out to be a huge joke—just how "immense capacity" did Wei Xian's drinking capacity actually mean?

He escorted them to the end of Qilong Alley. On the way back to the shop, Chen Lingjun jumped up and patted Old Brother Jia's shoulder. "Nice talk."

Old Immortal Jia stroked his beard and smiled. "When it comes to dealing with people, if I may say so humbly, I dare not claim to have half the master's skill, but maybe two or three tenths, at least."

A figure in a snow-white long robe, the Law Keeper Changming, slowly descended the steps of Qilong Alley and stopped at the entrance, a slight smile on her face.

This woman always smiled with narrowed eyes all year round, but no one found her easy to talk to. Even Aman from the neighboring shop, who feared nothing, would wilt obediently when he met Changming, becoming a proper mute.

But today, the smile on Changming's face seemed genuinely sincere. The flattered Old Immortal Jia didn't dare get carried away—he immediately lowered his head, bowed, and gently waved his hands a few times at the door, then sidestepped and turned, extending one hand with a bright smile. "Law Keeper, please come in, please come in."

Changming leaned against the doorframe, nodded to the blind old Daoist, then said to Chen Lingjun, "This group is probably here for you."

Chen Lingjun felt as if struck by lightning. He stomped his foot, waved his sleeves fiercely, and wailed, "What sin have I committed?! Impossible! Who have I offended? I try to get along with everyone every day—I wouldn't even dare step on an ant by the roadside!"

Aman, sitting at the door of the neighboring shop, stood up, walked over, crossed his arms, and asked, "Should I tell Pei Qian?"

Chen Lingjun's eyes darted wildly. Telling Pei Qian—effective, yes, but Pei Qian loved keeping accounts.

One shouldn't be too much like Konghou, right?

Changming, cracking melon seeds, laughed. "Can't it be good news when someone comes for you?"

Chen Lingjun coughed and waved at Aman. "Shoo, shoo, kids don't mix in adults' business."

Aman curled his lip and turned away.

Chen Lingjun added, "I appreciate the thought. Next time you go buy books at my brother Li Jin's shop, just mention my name."

Mentioning his name was useless, of course—even mentioning the master's name didn't get a discount.

But he could sneak a trip to Red Candle Town to pay for the books in advance as an advance to the bookshop, then ask Li Jin to pretend to give a discount when the little mute came with sacks to buy books.

Such a small matter, River God of Chongdan River, you wouldn't make it difficult, right?

If you wouldn't even give that much face, how can you still call yourself a part of the martial world? Want Uncle Chen to teach you a thing or two?

---

In the Great Li capital, Bronze Camel Ward.

An old gentleman in worn-out clothes crouched in an alley, having just finished a game of chess.

The other player made money by setting up street chess, and the old man seemed like a generous god of wealth giving away money.

Chess games took too long, so the alley was mostly filled with Chinese chess. Some won money by true skill; more set clever old trap endgames to cheat people.

The old man stood up, rubbed his wrists, jumped a couple of times, and muttered that he needed to get serious now.

He was angry—not only had he lost money, but a few old men who loved to talk big had called him a lousy player.

Crouching and winning quite a bit of money was a young man with a shifty smile, short and stunted, somewhat ugly. Right now, he was just worried that the poor old scholar's money pouch wasn't deep enough.

The old man crouched down again, took a deep breath, but after one game, he had to pay up again.

This old man's chess etiquette was... indescribable. His skill at taking back moves was greater than his skill at playing.

Almost every three to five moves, he would shout, "Let me take that back." Oh, I put my piece in the wrong place. Old age—my eyesight isn't what it used to be.

Eventually, the young man got used to it. As soon as the old man looked up, he knew a request was coming. Simple answer: no taking back moves, no discussion.

Fortunately, when it came time to pay, the old man was prompt enough—he admitted defeat, though his skill was poor and his manners low, his gambling ethics were passable.

The old man seemed still unconvinced. "If my student were here, I definitely wouldn't lose."

The young man smiled. "Old sir, just call your student over. We can raise the stakes."

The old man tugged his beard and sighed. "That's not possible."

The young man casually teased, "Old sir, are you a teacher with students all over the world?"

Looking very poor—a worn-out cotton money pouch, now even thinner. Take away the coins, it couldn't hold much silver.

The old man laughed. "Not many students, but each one has turned out well, surpassing the teacher."

The young man asked with a smile, "Among your proud students, have there been any successful candidates, like jinshi or juren?"

A tricky question.

The old scholar was momentarily speechless.

Among master and disciples, the only soft spot was scholarly honors and officialdom.

Except for himself having the xiucai title, that was all.

Fortunately, among his disciples' disciples, there was Cao Qinglang, a good seedling. What a blessing.

Seeing the old man shake his head.

A glimmer of heat and hope in the young man's eyes faded in an instant.

He had thought he had met some retired official from the Great Li court.

The young man who had won money found it so easy that whenever the old man took back moves or hesitated, he would lean against the wall, pull out a finely printed book from his bosom, and flip through a few pages to pass the time. He had long since memorized the content.

The old scholar smiled. "Little brother, are you a provincial examinee on your way to the capital?"

The man shook his head. "Not yet. I'm here for the autumn exams. My ancestral home is in Huazhou, but my family moved to the capital region. I'm barely half a local. The journey was short, so I had enough travel expenses, but I spent too much on two rare editions. So I had to set up this stall to play chess. Otherwise, with no relatives in the capital, I couldn't make it to the provincial exam."

The old scholar said, "Pass the provincial exam with your name on the osmanthus list, and feast at the Deer Cry Banquet. No doubt."

"How can you tell? Old sir, do you read faces?"

"Reading faces—I know a little. But the sages said, 'Reading people's faces was not done by the ancients; scholars do not speak of it.'"

The man was startled, then laughed heartily, waving the sage's book that had only recently been unbanned. "Reasonable, reasonable. I never thought the old sir was of the same school."

The old scholar stroked his beard and smiled. "Indeed, indeed. I never thought a young man could have such a sharp eye."

The man rolled up the book, cupped his hands in a bow, and shook them. "Anyway, I'll take your auspicious words, old sir. If I pass the provincial exam, I'll treat you to a drink."

The old scholar smiled without speaking.

The man put away the book into his sleeve. Seeing the old man still smiling at him, he slapped his forehead as if in sudden realization. "I almost forgot to tell you, old sir—my name is Lu Lingchang. On the day the results come out, if I pass, I'll come to this alley and wait for you. If not, I'll head straight home."

"That sounds good."

The old scholar nodded. "Brother Lu, let me offer a few more words. The appearance of good and evil is not a fixed rule for fortune. High talent requires guarding against overbearing qi."

Lu Lingchang smiled and nodded in agreement, but didn't take it too seriously. When he passed the provincial exam, then the metropolitan exam, then became an official—then he'd talk about virtue matching position.

The old scholar stood up and took his leave. Lu Lingchang crouched on the ground, and when the old man turned back after a few steps, the man smiled and waved goodbye.

The old scholar sighed, hands clasped behind his back, and strolled away.

North wind blows miasma, south wind brings many sounds of death. This life trapped in hardship and trouble—worry and suffering are truly my teachers.

Young and ignorant, old and lazy; in scholarship, I gain one or lose ten. Water and land frozen, sky with icy clouds—one glimpse of plum blossoms clears the eyes.

The old scholar was stirred by poetic inspiration, feeling that this was excellent poetry. Even if Brother Bai Ye were here, he would have to hold back the urge to pound the table in admiration.

At the alley of the Everyone Says Cloud Building, Li Xisheng was accompanied by his book boy Cui Ci, touring the Great Li capital.

Previously, after returning from Central Earth Divine Continent to Northern Ju Lu Continent, Li Xisheng continued his studies in a small vassal state. An old master had suddenly visited him. Later, on his way south, he happened to meet a young Daoist and an old temple head.

Actually, this reunion was a bit awkward for Li Xisheng.

The old temple head of the Eastern Sea Guandao Temple was very amused.

Now, Li Xisheng was a Confucian scholar. When he met the Dao Ancestor again, should he make a Daoist salute or a Confucian bow?

In the end, Li Xisheng first made a Daoist salute, then took a step back and performed a bow.

After that, Li Xisheng had hurried to the capital with Cui Ci, mainly because the commotion here earlier had been so great that even Li Xisheng, far away in Northern Ju Lu, had sensed it.

The Great Li iron cavalry is invincible.

The world trembles, but people's hearts are not worried.

At the entrance of the small alley, Liu Jia saw a man in Confucian robes with an extraordinary bearing standing outside, then stepping toward the alley.

The old cultivator immediately glanced at his disciple.

The youth answered with his eyes: What?

Seeing that his disciple didn't catch on, Liu Jia asked telepathically, "Should we stop him?"

Zhao Duanming thought back, "I don't know him anyway."

"Are you sure? Look again?"

"Master, I really don't know him."

"There are so many portraits of sages enshrined in the Confucian Temple. Think carefully. Show a bit of the discernment expected of a Tianshui Zhao."

"Master, you're so annoying. I really don't know him. He doesn't look familiar at all!"

"Duanming, swear an oath."

"Master, that's enough. If this continues, our master-apprentice bond might really thin out."

Liu Jia relaxed, revealed himself, and asked, "Who are you?"

Li Xisheng smiled. "My name is Li Xisheng. My hometown is Huaihuang County, Longzhou, Great Li."

Liu Jia said amiably, "So you're from the same hometown as Chen Ping'an. I'm sorry, but you must stop here."

Earlier, a tall old Daoist had also come, accompanied by a young acolyte who was probably his disciple.

They had appeared here, stood outside the alley, side by side, and peered inside a few times.

Of course, Liu Jia had stopped them. They looked suspicious, out of place.

Since they were Daoist practitioners, it was his duty. What was there to fear?

Besides, those two Daoists didn't wear the robes of any of the three White Jade Capital Daoist sects.

---

In Chen Nuanshu's residence, a calendar and a large chart hung on the wall.

There was also a small booklet, one per year. Every New Year's Eve, it would be bound into a volume—three hundred and fifty-six pages, one page per day.

Every day she kept accounts. Nuanshu also wrote down interesting trivialities she heard or saw.

So on Mount Luopo, the thickest ledger and the most volumes belonged to Nuanshu, not even Pei Qian, and certainly not Xiaomili, who only recorded every expense on melon seeds.

Every day, besides sweeping the courtyard, she tended the flowers and plants, categorized the increasing number of mountain books, and when there were books, she needed to pick a day to sun them. She helped Old Mr. Zhu find old bamboo in the mountain's bamboo grove to carve bamboo carvings and offerings. She picked seasonal wild vegetables, brewed her own wine, pickled vegetables and meat, and hung ham. She also had to maintain several of Xiaomili's patrol paths to prevent weeds from growing wild. At year's end, besides cutting window paper-cuts, she asked Old Mr. Zhu or Master Zhong to write Spring Festival couplets, then pasted them with Xiaomili. She also made offerings to the Kitchen God and saw off the God of Poverty.

There were so many vassal peaks that often needed construction and maintenance. She would hang her sword talisman, fly out, land at the foot of the mountain, climb to deliver tea and snacks to the craftsmen. During festivals, there were social obligations: places like Ao Yu's Back, Yidai Peak, and even earlier, Ruan Qiong's Dragon Spring Sword Sect—she definitely had to go. Down in the town, there were many elderly neighbors to visit from time to time. She also studied account-keeping with Master Wei. She made regular trips down the mountain to Longzhou for supplies.

Then there was the master's residence in Clay Vase Alley—besides cleaning the ancestral home, there were two neighboring houses, though no one lived there. But their roofs and mud walls also needed attention—if they could be repaired, she repaired them.

As more and more people came to Mount Luopo, she had to deal with the county office frequently because of household registrations. For example, recently there was Konghou at the New Year's Eve Shop and Cui Huasheng at the Herb Shop. At first, Nuanshu was worried that the Huaihuang County office might think she was just a young girl and not reliable, so she would ask Old Mr. Zhu to accompany her down the mountain. Later, Sword Immortal Yu also helped, going with her to the county town. But now, it wasn't necessary—the office was very familiar with her. The one she used to call Uncle Song had become Grandpa Song. As for the years passing without her growing any taller, the county office seemed to have gotten used to it and no longer discussed it.

From the many vassal peaks, she searched out all kinds of strange rocks to make miniature landscapes as art objects and scholarly ornaments. Like a swallow gathering mud, she continuously moved them into residences that were seldom inhabited. There were also landscape, flower-and-bird, and beauty paintings drawn by Old Mr. Zhu himself—they couldn't be piled up carelessly, or they would look vulgar. She also had to consider how to match them with porcelain, such as flower vases. According to refined scholars, these were the "spirit abodes of the flower gods." First choice were old bronze vessels, followed by several official porcelains that were as blue as the sky, fine and glossy.

Every residence on the mountain needed different styles of stationery and the Four Treasures of the Study, wardrobes and bookshelves, screens and murals, and different planted flowers and trees, according to the preferences of the owners. So Nuanshu built her own flower shed. She learned the art of forcing flowers from Old Mr. Zhu and Master Zhong, and also looked up books herself. Her bookshelves were all full of such books.

Even as people and tasks increased, inside and outside the mountain, it was still a little girl in a pink skirt who kept everything clean and organized.

Moreover, on Mount Luopo, Nuanshu knew everything that had happened, big or small, almost without exception.

Of course, Xiaomili often helped too, carrying a golden carrying pole and a walking staff, and chirping, "Orders received! Orders received!"

Today, Mi Yu was wandering around the mountain and noticed that Nuanshu was unusually idle, sitting at a stone table by the cliff, staring blankly.

Mi Yu walked over and asked with a smile, "Nuanshu, how many years have you been here?"

Nuanshu quickly stood up, curtsied to Sword Immortal Mi, and sat down before answering with a smile, "It hasn't been thirty years yet."

Mi Yu cracked melon seeds and asked softly, "Don't you ever get bored?"

Over twenty years, busy like this every day. And the key point was that these trivial tasks repeated year after year, day after day, with no end in sight.

Even he, who was idle and loved nothing more than lazing around on Mount Luopo eating and waiting for death, occasionally felt the need to go down the mountain for some recreation. He would silently fly on his sword to Huangting Kingdom for a scenic trip during the day, then take a flower boat on Red Candle Town at night, or visit Piyun Mountain to drink and admire the moon with Mountain Lord Wei.

Nuanshu shook her head. "No."

Mi Yu asked, "Aren't you tired?"

Nuanshu smiled. "I do rest."

She was about to say she was half a cultivator, but thinking of her own cultivation level, she felt embarrassed to speak.

Mi Yu was speechless.

In previous years, there was the cynical blue-clad child, the mischievous charcoal-black girl, the lively little Millet...

Now, there were Bai Xuan, who had set up a table at the roadside pavilion, and Konghou.

Only the pink-skirted girl Chen Nuanshu, perhaps because of her gentle nature, had remained relatively inconspicuous.

Actually, just like Chen Lingjun boasted to Old Immortal Jia, he was the earliest follower at the master's side, the most senior but least pretentious old-timer on Mount Luopo. He came before Pei Qian acknowledged the master and before the white goose acknowledged the teacher. Brother Dafeng was a local, but he had come up the mountain later. If you really wanted to rank by seniority, shouldn't they be at the back?

Moreover, who else had stayed overnight with the master in the ancestral home at Clay Vase Alley? If you had the guts, step forward! Chen Lingjun would kowtow a few times right then.

Since Chen Lingjun could say that, then Nuanshu of course could too.

Mi Yu suddenly said, "If anyone ever bullies you in the future, come to me."

But as soon as the words left his mouth, Mi Yu felt they were wasted words.

It wouldn't be his place to act.

If anyone dared to bully Nuanshu, even if the other party were a Flying Ascension realm cultivator, they would die, and it would be without any suspense.

So Mi Yu quickly changed his words. "For example, if that Chen Lingjun says some silly things again, I'll teach him a lesson for you."

Nuanshu's eyes curved into crescents. She waved her hands. "No, no."

A blue-clad child with fluttering sleeves laughed loudly. "Aiyo, Sword Immortal Yu, giving advice on cultivation to this silly girl? Good, good. Otherwise, crawling like a turtle and moving like an ant is really too disgraceful."

Mi Yu squinted at Nuanshu with a smile. Nuanshu hesitated, blinked, then nodded slightly.

Mi Yu clapped his hands, stood up, and walked toward Chen Lingjun.

Chen Lingjun sensed something was wrong. "Brother Yu, what are you doing?! Let's talk nicely—there's no ditch we can't cross, no misunderstanding we can't resolve, no issue we can't discuss!"

Mi Yu smiled. "What are you thinking? I'm just giving you some cultivation guidance."

Chen Lingjun turned and ran without a second word.

On Mount Luopo, there were once three little girls, all about the same height—the difference between their heights was very particular.

They often lay together on the floor of the second floor of the bamboo lodge, a breeze drifting in, bringing waves of summer cicada sounds.

They pillowed their heads on palm-leaf fans, waiting for the watermelon placed in a pond behind the lodge to slowly cool down.

Small worries were like white clouds passing beyond the mountain—they came and went. Some were fatter and moved slower; some were thinner and moved faster.

What does the mountain have?

A single blue robe and all that is beautiful.