Chapter 882: Blossom and Fruit
At the Fire God Temple, a beaming old scholar arrived. He stood at the base of the steps leading up to the flower pavilion, saying that he wanted Aunt Feng to help him investigate what was going on inside the imperial palace. This was to prevent certain people, who relied on being a few years older to act like they were entitled, from bullying his final disciple—a person of simple and honest nature, kind-hearted, and utterly ignorant of intrigues. If those old fossils happened to slip through by luck and still didn't show any gratitude, he, as the teacher, certainly couldn't stand by and do nothing.
The old scholar didn't even cast a glance at the old coachman. Instead, he focused entirely on ingratiating himself with Aunt Feng. The moment they met, he bowed with clasped hands. After the bow, he didn't go to sit at the stone table near the old coachman. Instead, he rattled off a string of words that sounded like they'd just been fished out of a vat of pickled cabbage—something about how where there were flowers, moonlight, and beauties, there would be fine poetry, and that poetry also begged for wine's blessing. Without fine wine in the mortal world, all lovely moments and beautiful scenes would be mere illusions…
Aunt Feng couldn't stand this sourness. The only way to shut him up was to toss him a jar of Hundred Flower Brew. As the old scholar sat on a stone stool beneath the flower pavilion, he finally seemed to notice the old coachman. He quickly straightened his back and lifted his rear, letting out an "Oy vey!" Clutching the wine jar, he went to the stone table with excessive courtesy. Muttering to himself, he made a few complaints on behalf of the senior: how was it that only half a jar of wine remained? He had heard of the other's great reputation for so long—it thundered in his ears. It was rare to meet face to face; they absolutely had to drink until they were drunk, no matter what. When Aunt Feng couldn't withstand the old scholar's probing hints and tossed a jar to the old coachman as well, the old scholar just stared fixedly at the latter and the wine on the table. His gaze shifted up and down, drifting unsteadily. The latter immediately caught on and silently pushed the jar of Hundred Flower Brew he had just received over to this famously renowned literary sage of Confucius' temple.
Then the old scholar sat down by the table, pulled a handful of dried fried soybeans from his sleeve, and scattered them on the table. Using one of Aunt Feng's lifebound innate abilities, he listened closely to the conversation at the imperial palace's drinking party through the clear wind between heaven and earth.
Probably only this old scholar, among all the accompanying sages, academy heads, and libationers of the Confucian Temple, would do something so unseemly—and do it with complete justification.
The old coachman felt extremely uncomfortable sitting there and wanted to take his leave.
Unexpectedly, the old scholar glanced sideways at him, tossed a few fried soybeans into his mouth, and said, "Not giving face, huh? Did I say you could leave?"
The old coachman smiled wryly. "The literary sage must be joking."
The old scholar sneered. "Joking? Is it necessary? In your eyes, I'm already a joke myself, aren't I? Still need to 'joke'?"
The old coachman was deeply shaken inside. For a moment, he felt a bit uneasy.
Could it be that the old scholar had come today, with the authority of Heaven's mandate, to settle accounts on behalf of the Confucian Temple?
The old scholar sneered again. "I think you, senior, are quite good at telling jokes yourself. What's this? You look down on the fourth-ranking official of the Confucian Temple? Think he's not qualified to sit on equal footing with you?"
Even though the old coachman was slow on the uptake, he now understood the gravity of the situation. Sensing trouble, he immediately sent a mental message to Aunt Feng: "This doesn't bode well—this isn't like the literary sage's usual style. If he starts throwing a tantrum or decides to sling mud at me, please help cover for me. At the very least, when it comes to the Confucian Temple and True Martial Mountain, make sure they know the facts as they are."
Regarding personal honor or loss, this old scholar had never cared in his entire life. Even when his statue in the Confucian Temple was demoted again and again, eventually removed from the temple and even smashed in the streets, and when the teachings of Haoran Heaven were banned and he was imprisoned in the Merit Forest, the old scholar had never once defended himself or cried out for justice—not half a word, not a single syllable. A scholar who had earned the suffix "Sage" and ended up in such a state was absolutely unprecedented in Haoran Heaven's history; in ten thousand years, it was a singular occurrence.
Aunt Feng replied mentally, "I'll try my best. I can only promise to help if I can; if I can't, don't blame me. Right now I'm worried about whether this might bring trouble to myself."
Today's literary sage, as the old coachman said, really did have the demeanor of one who came with ill intent. It was clear he was going to call Lu Wei and others to account.
Aunt Feng could also understand. Qi Jingchun and Chen Ping'an—the two youngest disciples of the old scholar, one before and one after—had both been subjected to the "arrogance of age" by several old fossils in the Pear Blossom Cave Heaven.
Besides, now the old scholar was in the Great Li capital city itself—the very "place of cultivation" that his first disciple, Cui Chan, had labored over for a hundred years. How good could his mood be?
So it was still the old saying: don't bully those good-natured people who seem to have a good temper.
The old scholar said, "Some long-buried old history—Aunt Feng, today is a good chance to fill Chen Ping'an in."
Aunt Feng let out a soft sigh and nodded.
So Chen Ping'an, who was engaged in a battle of wits with Lu Wei and Nan Zan at the imperial palace, unexpectedly gained a few more advantages right from the start.
The old coachman watched as the literary sage sometimes looked desolate like a wilderness monk, sometimes squinted his eyes and stroked his beard with a knowing smile. Sometimes he nodded to himself, as if he had overheard some marvelous words that scratched an itch.
Finally, the old scholar had Aunt Feng invite Lu Wei to the Fire God Temple for a chat.
So Aunt Feng, Lu Wei, and the old coachman—three old friends from the Pear Blossom Cave Heaven—met again at a Fire God Temple in the Great Li capital.
The old scholar glanced at Lu Wei, the Lu Clan ancestor who had rushed over from the Great Li palace. He tucked a jar of Hundred Flower Brew into his sleeve, grabbed the last of the fried soybeans from the table, and put them into his mouth, chewing slowly. Slowly rising, he said to the old coachman some words that served as a final judgment: "From now on, don't think about entering or exiting through True Martial Mountain. If I find out even once, I won't come looking for you. I'll go to True Martial Mountain to reason with them."
The old scholar extended a finger and tapped his own chest. "What I say is what the Confucian Temple says. If True Martial Mountain has any objections, let them file a complaint at the Confucian Temple. I'll be waiting at the gate."
The old coachman felt a weight lift off his shoulders. At least the literary sage wasn't being too harsh. In the future, he could just enter the mortal world through Snow Wind Temple instead.
The old scholar looked at Lu Wei, who had just fallen in cultivation realm. "When you return to the Central Earth Divine Continent, pass a message to Lu Sheng. Tell him that from now on, when he goes to the Astrology Platform, he shouldn't take the night road. And don't say I have any backing at the Confucian Temple—dealing with a Lu Sheng doesn't require that."
The old scholar raised his thumb and pointed to the sky. "I have connections up there."
Fu Lu Yu Xuan had merged with the Starry River.
I and Bai Ye are good brothers. Old Yu also had a life-and-death friendship with Bai Ye. So that makes me and Old Yu close friends as well.
Why did the First Sage personally pave the way for Yu Xuan's Dao integration? Because Fu Lu Yu Xuan truly lived up to the title "Fu Lu." Back when he crossed continents to aid Bai Ye, Old Yu was willing to abandon his entire Dao technique and a million talismans just to join that chaotic battle.
At the same time, the Confucian Temple was dissatisfied with the Lu Clan of the Central Earth. But in some matters, the Lu Clan had acted both ambiguously and cleverly, staying within the rules at every turn, so the Confucian Temple couldn't make its punishment too obvious.
Heaven has Yu Xuan; Earth has the Lu Clan—that's what it truly means to live under someone else's roof!
The old scholar's threat sounded like a tantrum, a joke—something neither painful nor damaging.
But Lu Wei couldn't laugh at all.
A good-natured, easygoing man couldn't produce students like Qi Jingchun and Zuo You.
A scholar who only put on airs couldn't teach people like Cui Chan and Chen Ping'an.
A Confucian sage lacking true scholarship wouldn't have had Liu Shiliu proactively joining his school when his reputation was still obscure.
And he wouldn't have had friends like Bai Ye or Bai Ze.
The more the old scholar talked, the angrier he got. He put his hands on his hips and cursed at those two.
"When I try to reason with you properly, you refuse to listen. You insist on stirring up trouble."
"It's only when I press your heads down that you're willing to listen to reason and speak like humans."
"My final disciple has a good temper. If it were me instead... ah, forget it. I'm too low in ability, too small in face. I won't throw out harsh words today. Otherwise, I'd just be giving you a show to laugh at."
The old scholar turned to look at Aunt Feng, who was sitting on a stone stool in the flower pavilion.
Aunt Feng looked utterly resentful. She patted her chest and said timidly, "Oh, so it's my turn to get scolded now? Literary sage, scold as you please—I'll take it all."
The old scholar looked a little embarrassed and rubbed his hands together. "Not at all, not at all. It's just that my mouth is parched from talking. How about a jar of wine to moisten the throat?"
Aunt Feng smiled. "The literary sage is much more effective when you're scolding people directly."
Wine was good to drink but hard to trick.
Lu Wei, who had lost all spirit, merely made a Daoist bow of salute to the literary sage, then silently departed. From then on, he would travel far to the Central Earth Divine Continent and return to the Lu Clan.
This Lu Clan ancestor made up his mind: he would never set foot in Bottle Gourd Continent again. This was a place of trouble, with too many formidable opponents—first Qi Jingchun, then Chen Ping'an.
The old scholar drank until he was slightly tipsy, then strolled out of the Fire God Temple. When he reached the temple gate, he suddenly stopped, sighed, and seemed to want to speak but hesitated.
The old woman, a mortal housekeeper who served as both the gatekeeper and the temple warden, stood there.
Her figure was stooped. She smiled softly and said, "The literary sage has taken on a good disciple—gentle, respectful, frugal, courteous. Out in the world, he sees sages in everyone on the street and recognizes Buddha-nature in every person. Though born in poverty, he has great wisdom and a compassionate heart."
The old scholar was overjoyed, grinning from ear to ear, but still waved his hand. "Not at all, not at all. It's not as good as the senior says. He's still young; he'll get better."
This "old woman" was merely a borrowed vessel, like an inn in the mortal world. Her true identity was rather convoluted and complex. She was somewhat similar to the pair of Chen Qingliu and Zheng Juzhong in relation to the blind old Daoist of Qilong Lane. Among her more superficial identities, she was one of the Dragon-Boosting Patriarchs of the Pear Blossom Cave Heaven, and in earlier times, a governess for a certain dragon girl. Even earlier, she was one of the Confucian Temple's own people—from the main lineage of orthodox Dragon-Raising Scholars from three thousand years ago, and her status was that of a Confucian ritual official.
So when Lu Chen had set up his fortune-telling stall in the town back then, and Liu Xianyang overturned it, there was a hidden causal thread.
In the entire Bottle Gourd Continent, the place with the strongest dragon qi was previously the Pear Blossom Cave Heaven; now, of course, it was the Great Li capital.
The old woman said seriously, "The lowest of people have the highest of wisdom."
The old scholar's smile faded. He was silent for a moment, then nodded lightly. "Senior has even better eyesight than Aunt Feng."
The old woman shook her head. "In terms of eyesight, none of us come close to Qi Jingchun."
The old scholar hesitated, then tugged at his beard with a sigh. "A youth's heart should reach for the clouds; who cares about sitting in cold gloom sighing?"
His implication was that when Lu Chen had sailed out to sea back then, he still hadn't found a place of peace for his heart. In the end, to pursue his great Dao, he left his homeland for the Azure Underworld, becoming the Third Disciple of the Dao Ancestor. Still waters run deep. Knowing what cannot be done and accepting it as fate—though it seemed against his heart and ruthless—actually never violated his heart's great Dao.
The old woman smiled. "Lu Chen set up his stall in the Pear Blossom Cave Heaven for many years. Partly it was to protect his senior brother's path, and partly it was the last 'unreasonable move' to suppress Qi Jingchun. Clearly an enemy, why would the literary sage defend him?"
The old scholar shook his head. "One thing is one thing. A real man distinguishes clearly between kindness and enmity."
Over at the flower pavilion.
The old coachman shook the jar that now had only a little wine left, sighing deeply with a gloomy expression.
Aunt Feng laughed. "This is called just retribution. Just stand there and take your beating—no need to act delicate like a woman."
The old coachman said helplessly, "Who was it that said: Whatever you do, don't become enemies with the old scholar, Zheng Juzhong, or Fiery Dragon True Person?"
One was too good at arguing, one had too good a brain, and one had too many friends among the mountains.
After the old coachman left the Fire God Temple in dejection, the old woman tottered over to the flower pavilion.
Aunt Feng clicked her tongue. "It's been too long since I've truly experienced a Confucian Temple sage's dignified wrath. Luckily, it was just a false alarm."
In later generations, whether newly appointed supplementary gods, registered mountain cultivators, or itinerant wild cultivators might at most have some dealings with an academy head. As for the accompanying sages of the Confucian Temple, they were largely unknown. Between three thousand years ago and eight thousand years ago, there were two distinct watersheds. The images of those accompanying sages grew increasingly faded in people's minds—some even forgotten entirely.
The old woman smoothed the hair at her temples and smiled, nodding.
Aunt Feng drank wine and muttered to herself: "Worrying about clouds obscuring the moon for the moon's sake; worrying about bookworms for books; worrying about the passing of the torch for scholarship; worrying about wind and rain for flowers; worrying about the rough and uneven path of the world; worrying about the ill-fated lives of talented scholars and beautiful women; worrying about the loneliness of drinkers among sages and heroes. Truly a heart of first-class Bodhisattva compassion."
The old woman murmured, "Blossom and fruit are cause and effect to each other."
---
A young boy jumped down from the carriage and walked toward an alley, holding a pair of pink-glazed flower-and-bird painting tubes containing no fewer than twenty scrolls.
Liu Jia laughed and scolded, "You moving house, kid?"
Since when did Little Zhao's calligraphy and paintings become so worthless?
Or was it that his exceptional willingness to accept calligraphy and paintings had flattered Little Zhao to this extent?
Zhao Duanming reached the alley and entered the White Jade Dao Field. He planted the two painting tubes on the ground and then whispered, "Master, it seems my grandfather already knew who wanted the calligraphy and paintings."
Liu Jia lifted a scroll and chuckled. "That's normal. Your grandfather has been a smart little monkey since he was a kid. He was so thin he seemed to be just a pair of eyes, darting around whenever he saw someone. Good thing you don't take after him, or I'd never have accepted you as my disciple."
He really wondered how that young man, who couldn't take his eyes off a big butt back then, had become such a high-ranking official famous throughout the court and countryside, with his calligraphy worth a thousand gold pieces—even cultivators from the mountains had to beg for it.
That was the good thing about Daoists: they could see many "youths" of elderly people down on the ground.
Liu Jia untied the golden silk cord on the scroll, flicked his wrist to unroll it in the air. Two lines of bold, spirited large characters were revealed: "Alone in form, not pitiful; facing all sides alone, who else but me."
Liu Jia laughed and scolded, "Good one, Little Zhao! Your calligraphy's as good as your flattery—veteran and vigorous."
Zhao Duanming complained, "Master, enough already. He's my grandfather, after all. You keep calling him 'Little Zhao' and it makes it hard for me. If I pretend not to hear, I'm unfilial. If I argue, I'm still unfilial."
Liu Jia smiled but suddenly asked, "These aren't fakes copied by someone else, are they?"
Zhao Duanming craned his neck to look. "Master, what eyesight do you have? The ink isn't even dry yet. And besides, the signature seal—there's no way to fake that. Only his proudest works get that seal."
"Besides, Master knows that my grandfather is the most face-conscious person. Even when he was young and short of money, at most he'd copy paintings to make a few coins for buying books."
Liu Jia turned his head. "Why are you pulling a long, bitter face?"
The young boy squatted on the ground. "Grandfather said you have to give him two seal stamps you carved yourself, inscribed 'Sword Immortal' and 'Master of the Game.' If you don't, he'll come block the door and collect the debt himself."
The old cultivator glared. "Did Little Zhao not look where he was going and get his head caught in a door? A frail old man who'd fall over at a gust of wind dares to come block my door?"
Zhao Duanming looked at his master with a pitiful expression.
Why did he have to be stuck with such an obtuse master?
Liu Jia soon figured out the connection. He coughed a few times to give himself a way out. "It's fine, it's fine. Your master is actually a master seal carver in hiding—just not in the habit of showing this skill."
Damn it—these scholar-officials were full of tricks, always beating around the bush.
Liu Jia opened another scroll. "Huh?" He was quite surprised.
Even though the old cultivator was a layman when it came to calligraphy, he could tell that this scroll exuded extraordinary quality the moment it was opened.
Simple—it was an extremely rare one character per line format!
So when the whole scroll was unrolled, it was a whopping three zhang long!
It began with the words: "In the sixth year of Yuanjia, in a bitter cold land, the flood damage slightly abated. Saw a figure in blue, rowing a solitary boat, gracefully crossing the river. Human or spirit? Ghost or immortal?"
It ended with the four characters: "Returning home by candlelight."
The calligraphy was like a long spear or a great halberd—imposing and striking.
Zhao Duanming was stunned for a long time. He murmured, "Why did grandfather give this scroll away too?"
His grandfather had said more than once that this scroll would go into his coffin as a pillow.
Grandfather was a typical frail scholar. He'd been sickly as a child, they said. At thirty, while serving in the Ministry of Revenue, he had disagreed with Minister Cui Chan, thinking the Great Li border troops were engaging in militaristic adventurism. As a result, he was exiled to a bitter cold border region and spent six years in the rugged mountains and rivers of Rong Prefecture. The former Director of the Ministry of Revenue's Pure Revenue Department could only serve as a county magistrate of a lower-level county at that border. And when he left the capital back then, he never expected to return alive.
Zhao Duanming had once heard his father mention that his grandmother was an iron-willed woman who had never cried in front of outsiders—except that one time. She really cried terribly.
When Grandfather returned to the capital, there was no "umbrella of the people," no good official reputation in the local area, and not a single poem or essay left behind. It seemed that apart from a bundle, the only extra item he carried was this scroll.
Every time he slowly unrolled this scroll on his desk, the head of this Tianshui Zhao Clan would take out a jug of wine.
From one sip per character in his prime, to one sip per several characters in his later years, and now, the old man could finish the entire scroll with just half a jug of wine.
And the opening line of the scroll: "The sixth year of Yuanjia."
That happened to be the year when the Great Li border troops won the hard-fought border battle against the Lu Clan cavalry.
Those Great Li Iron Cavalry, which a bookish civil official from the Ministry of Revenue had denounced as "militaristic," had in that very year beaten down the once-overbearing twelve thousand elite Lu Clan cavalry, slaughtering countless enemies. According to common folk, they ground the Lu cavalry into the dirt. The Great Li border troops killed so many that they reached deep into Lu territory for the first time in centuries—a great victory at the border!
In the more refined language of the Great Li officialdom, they had slaughtered the once-invincible Lu Iron Cavalry to the point that "not a single rider remained on horseback!"
From then on, in the northern mountains and rivers of Bottle Gourd Continent, there were no more Lu Iron Cavalry—only the Great Li Iron Cavalry.
Liu Jia carefully rolled up the scroll and turned to the young boy. "Tell your grandfather that those two seal stamps are my responsibility."
Han Zhoujin, a cultivator of the Earth Branch lineage, secretly left the capital. She arrived at an obscure little temple in the capital's outskirts.
She stood at the gate and saw a young man copying sutras in a monk's chamber. He was focused, meticulous, copying a Buddhist sutra in tiny standard script.
He looked like nothing more than a dashing, romantic son of a noble house.
But Han Zhoujin was extremely nervous, to the point that her palms were sweaty.
The current head of the Zizhao Yan Clan was Yan Yongfeng, the Chief Minister of the Court of Imperial Banquets. For someone bearing the surname of a Pillar of State, his official rank was neither high nor low—a minor position in a minor nine-court. But the true power behind the Yan Clan was someone no one dared to underestimate.
That was the man in Han Zhoujin's eyes—a cultivator who had preserved his youthful appearance: Yan Jiaoran.
Yan Jiaoran was a master of cursive script, but he preferred to copy sutras here in standard script. Every time he entered the capital, it seemed, he would come here in his spare time to copy sutras.
This was already the third time Han Zhoujin had met him here.
After finishing a line, Yan Jiaoran turned and smiled. "Come in and sit. What are you standing there for?"
He lowered his head and said softly, "Miss Han, wait a moment. There are still about a hundred characters left."
Han Zhoujin gently closed the door and stood by the entrance.
Before meeting that Mr. Chen, the only person Han Zhoujin feared was this man before her.
For a moment, the room was filled only with the rustling sound of the brush tip moving across paper.
After Yan Jiaoran finished copying a sutra, he gently set down the brush and turned to look at the woman standing by the door. "Won't you sit?"
Han Zhoujin hurriedly stepped forward, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Yan Jiaoran reached out and pressed down on a rare calligraphy manual he always carried with him. "Minister Cui once told me that calligraphy is the most lowbrow of arts—even worse than painting. He advised me not to waste my thoughts and energy on it. Later, perhaps he saw that I was incorrigible, or maybe he thought I had some talent? After one meeting, he casually gave me a few pointers and tossed me this cursive manual."
Han Zhoujin listened attentively, not missing a single word.
But she didn't know what use remembering all this would be.
Yan Jiaoran suddenly asked, "At that inn, you nine seemed to have suffered quite a bit?"
Han Zhoujin was about to recount the details of those several battles.
Yan Jiaoran waved his hand. "No need for details. Just tell me how that Impartial Official gave you guidance. For instance, did he mention that Tongbai Blessed Land ruin, or the sword immortal attendant by your side?"
Han Zhoujin dared not hide anything and recounted everything in full detail.
The nine who were still one short of completing the Earth Branch—except for the boy Gou Cun—each had their own backgrounds. Back then, the Minister had not forbidden them from having contact with the outside world.
"Ten thousand hairs exerting force together, eight directions revealing the edge. Qi pulse unobstructed, laws and measurements severe."
Unexpectedly, Yan Jiaoran patted the calligraphy manual lightly and changed the subject again. "Sidelong brush entering the paper, centered brush executing the stroke. Cursive script seems sloppy, but its essence lies in the word 'upright.' Only then can there be a magnificent and grand atmosphere. Miss Han, isn't that strange?"
Han Zhoujin was not stupid. She finally understood the implication. She immediately nodded. "Mr. Chen acts with great propriety. He seems untrammeled and unconstrained, but if you pay a little attention, you'll find that he has rules and methods, and everything stays within the bounds."
Yan Jiaoran smiled without speaking.
Han Zhoujin held her breath and sat upright beside him.
Yan Jiaoran laughed. "Miss Han, there's no need to be so formal."
Han Zhoujin nodded.
But her formality didn't diminish at all.
Yan Jiaoran.
He was responsible for deploying all the military-accompanying cultivators of the Great Li Iron Cavalry, recording their meritorious deeds as well as rewards and punishments. Therefore, when it came to military-accompanying cultivators, even the Ministries of War, Justice, and Rites might not have true authority.
Yan Jiaoran was like a shadow of the Great Li dynasty, existing only in the darkness of night.
He was universally recognized as one of Minister Cui Chan's absolute confidants.
Han Zhoujin naturally couldn't verify the truth of this obscure claim.
But she could be absolutely certain of one fact: in his early years, Yan Jiaoran had engaged in a great battle with Song Changjing!
Besides that, Han Zhoujin was also aware of a secret matter: Yan Jiaoran and the Great Heavenly Lord of the Shengao Sect, Qi Zhen, had a friendship that transcended age—they were bosom friends.
That was why the Yan Clan had been able to snatch her ahead of the Great Li Sticky Pole Agents from the Qingtan Blessed Land and bring her back to the Yan Clan.
"That friend Chen Ping'an mentioned, if I'm not mistaken, should be Liu Jinglong of the Taihui Sword Sect. As for his telling you to go to Aunt Feng at the Fire God Temple, just go ahead and ask her about the central formation hub. Cherish these two mountain immortal opportunities."
Yan Jiaoran stood up. "Come on, it's just about time to eat. I'll treat Miss Han to a bowl of vegetable noodles."
Yan Jiaoran led Han Zhoujin out of the monk's chamber and into the next room. Inside, there was just a table and four long benches.
Because he was a major donor here, Yan Jiaoran didn't need to go to the vegetarian restaurant. He simply had a personal attendant, who materialized, go ask the temple monks for two portions of vegetable noodles.
Yan Jiaoran didn't take the host seat facing the door. Instead, he gestured for Han Zhoujin to sit. "The reason I like coming here is half appetite, half Zen."
Soon, a novice monk with a steady step arrived carrying two bowls of vegetable noodles.
Han Zhoujin looked down at the bowl in front of her. It was a feast for the eyes and nose.
Mushrooms, bamboo shoots, green onions, fried tofu, vinegar radish, and several kinds of sour-spicy vegetables she couldn't name.
Plus the topping—even as an ascetic cultivator, she suddenly had an appetite to pick up her chopsticks.
They each ate their own.
Yan Jiaoran twirled a bunch of noodles on his chopsticks, chewed slowly, then picked up a vegetable and put it in his mouth. Out of nowhere, he said, "Actually, when I was young, I secretly went to Hanging Sword Mountain."
Han Zhoujin started to put down her chopsticks, but Yan Jiaoran smiled. "I told you not to be too formal. It's not that I think there's something wrong with you being this way—it's that I hate trouble above all else. I find it incredibly annoying. I have to keep reminding you of these useless things. Whether you find it annoying or not doesn't matter, but you're really annoying me now."
Han Zhoujin said nothing. She just twirled a large bunch of noodles and lowered her head to eat.
"It was pretty miserable. I took the Mountain-Sea Turtle from Old Dragon City to Hanging Sword Mountain. That was my first—and only—intercontinental journey. Along the way, I was learning the refined speech of the Central Earth Divine Continent. Otherwise, when I got to Hanging Sword Mountain, I'd be treated like a bumpkin. I'd have trouble even spending money. Back then, our Bottle Gourd Continent was very much looked down upon. And our Great Li was seen as a barbaric northern land. That kind of discomfort—not huge, not small—was everywhere. As someone who Minister Cui called 'obsessive-compulsive,' you can imagine how uncomfortable I was."
"Miss Han, you're young, so you might not understand what I mean. And of course, in the future, you'll understand even less. That's a fortunate thing."
"Can you guess, after I crossed Hanging Sword Mountain and reached the Sword Qi Great Wall, what my biggest regret was?"
Han Zhoujin could only shake her head.
How could she guess?
Yan Jiaoran smiled.
Too bad it wasn't that young Impartial Official.
"It was that among the cloud of sword immortals on the Sword Qi Great Wall, only one had the surname Yan."
"His name was Yan Ming."
"And he was a hero who knew how to do business well."
Having said that, Yan Jiaoran twirled the noodles with his chopsticks and nodded to himself.
What was the true lifeblood of a kingdom?
Horses' hooves and silver.
What was the most intuitive sign of national strength?
The thunderous sound of hoofbeats on the battlefield.
And the sound of abacuses in the accounting room, harmonizing from afar with the sound of study halls reciting.
"So when I arrived at the Sword Qi Great Wall, the first thing I did was go to the Yan family's main gate. I announced my name and said I also had the surname Yan and came from Bottle Gourd Continent."
Yan Jiaoran wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Unable to hold back, he grinned from ear to ear. "In the end, the old gatekeeper didn't even bother to report it. He just gave me one single word. Miss Han?"
Han Zhoujin raised her head and said reluctantly, "Was it 'get lost'?"
Yan Jiaoran continued, "I was young back then, with a big temper. I wanted to fight that old geezer. Little did I expect that old gatekeeper, who could barely walk steadily, was actually a Golden Core Sword Immortal."
Yan Jiaoran extended a finger and tapped his own forehead. "A flying sword stopped right here. My hair stood on end."
"Well, I didn't wet my pants. Though I was young and not highly cultivated, I wasn't someone who'd never killed before."
"But that feeling of having my life hanging by a thread—I still can't let go of it to this day. It's not that I can't get over almost being killed. It's the feeling of powerlessness—so infuriating. How could the other side be so strong? How could I be so weak—and so stupid?"
"I think you nine are even stupider than I was."
"Heh heh. Heaven's chosen elite selected from the mountains and rivers of an entire continent—empty realm cultivation and treasures, but your heart and nature are so utterly useless."
"Before, I was wondering why the Minister, who is so skilled at sculpting the human heart, just left you all hanging there, letting you sit at the bottom of a well and look at the sky, with your eyes on the top of your foreheads. Now I understand. The Minister had a plan all along."
Yan Jiaoran talked and seemed to go off on a tangent again. He squinted and smiled. "I heard that Sword Immortal Yan, before the final battle's conclusion, was in a certain accounting room of the Spring Breeze Studio at Hanging Sword Mountain, working an abacus."
"So no one knows how much I wanted to meet that young Impartial Official and ask him personally: that Sword Immortal Yan, who went to the city wall even after losing both arms—how was his swordsmanship? And how did he fight the demons?"
"But to avoid suspicion, I couldn't meet him, couldn't ask. So this time I called you here for a small matter—I need you to ask on my behalf."
---
To itinerant cultivators of Haoran Heaven facing the swordsmen of the Sword Qi Great Wall,
and later, the border troops of various Bottle Gourd Continent kingdoms facing the Great Li Iron Cavalry—
their feelings were probably similar to what Yan Jiaoran felt facing that gatekeeper swordsman long ago.
Soon, Yan Jiaoran would accompany the Patrol Envoy Cao Ping to the Barren Wasteland World.
The temple was built at the foot of a mountain. After Han Zhoujin left, Yan Jiaoran leaned against the doorframe, looking up at the green mountain above.
The empty mountain had no one; water flowed, flowers bloomed.
Doubt not that the Daoist sits in meditation idle; when the hero sheathes his sword, he becomes an immortal.
---
Ma Yuan, the head of the Poyang Ma Clan, was broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a fierce-looking face. But he wrote an exquisite, delicate "hairpin flower" small standard script, was proficient in calculations, and always spoke in a quiet, gentle voice.
Ma Yuan was not yet fifty years old. For a capital official serving at the central level, this was the prime of his official career.
But Ma Yuan was neither a battlefield martial artist nor a cultivator. Now, he was the man in charge of the entire Great Li treasury.
In terms of promotion speed within the Great Li officialdom, the fastest were Ma Yuan in the northern capital and Liu Qingfeng in the southern secondary capital.
He was also the one who received the most criticism.
Because now, Ma Yuan had become the Minister of Revenue.
The financial minister of the entire kingdom.
Today, a group of high-ranking directors of the various revenue departments had been summoned into the Minister's office by the Minister himself. None of them dared to breathe loudly.
Except for Guan Yiran, who was the exception.
As long as the door was closed, this fellow, after finishing official business, would even dare to put his arm around the Minister's shoulder.
While on duty in the government office, they dared not drink alcohol, but drinking tea was not forbidden. Guan Yiran would come here, finish his business, and then search everywhere for tea leaves.
After all, Ma Yuan's patron in the civil service examinations was Guan Yiran's great-grandfather.
And after all, Ma Yuan had always received top marks in every triennial evaluation during his time as a capital official or a provincial official.
The problem was that every three years, the capital evaluation was always under the sole authority of the Guan family's old master. Even though there were assistant officials from other departments with fairly high-ranking hats, Old Master Guan was famously decisive and held all the power.
Ma Yuan cursed those revenue officials up and down, one after another. None of them escaped.
After scolding those directors like grandchildren, Ma Yuan kept Guan Yiran alone. Looking at his subordinate, who was no longer young, Ma Yuan was filled with mixed emotions. Out of nowhere, he thought of this man's great-grandfather.
"Ma Yuan, now you're ranked third from the top. The good news is that you've been promoted. The bad news is that from now on, your evaluations will depend on the Emperor's will."
"But don't worry. I still have some say with His Majesty and the Minister."
During those years when Ma Yuan was gradually promoted from the Ministry of Personnel to Vice Minister, it had indeed been a bit difficult.
It wasn't that being an official was hard—it was that being a person was hard.
Having a Heavenly Official in the Ministry of Personnel so openly escort and protect him caused a lot of gossip among the young men of the Pillar of State families.
In those three years, with seven promotions within the Ministry of Personnel, who wouldn't be jealous, even if Ma Yuan was from the Poyang Ma Clan?
Later, he was transferred to the Ministry of Revenue. Once, when Ma Yuan was discussing matters with a large group of officials in the Minister's office, he slammed the table in anger and blurted out a famous saying that spread throughout officialdom.
"Damn it! I admit it—I'm Old Master Guan's bastard son! Satisfied?!"
After the morning court session the next day, Old Master Guan specifically called out to the fast-walking Ma Yuan and said earnestly, "Ma Yuan, don't talk nonsense like that in the future. At yesterday's meeting in the Imperial Study, His Majesty and the Minister had both heard about it. The Minister even mentioned it specifically. His Majesty's look at me wasn't right either."
Ma Yuan nodded.
He had indeed violated an official taboo.
Unexpectedly, Old Master Guan slapped Ma Yuan on the back of the head. "Good thing the Minister put in a fair word and said that I couldn't have produced an ugly monster like you."
Jokes aside.
Ma Yuan knew very well why he had risen so smoothly in officialdom.
Because he was skilled at calculation and had a natural keenness for numbers.
When Ma Yuan was still a newly minted successful candidate working in the Ministry of Revenue, Minister Cui Chan had privately given Ma Yuan a large stack of mathematical texts, plus an extra sheet of paper with ten mathematical problems and ten topics similar to the civil service examination policy questions.
Ma Yuan asked, "Yiran, do you think Great Li needs a new prime minister?"
Guan Yiran's head spun. "Uncle Ma, why ask a low-ranking cold-bench sesame official like me? You should ask His Majesty."
He didn't call him "Minister" anymore. Someone who could answer this question could only be a pair of uncles and nephews from different families.
Ma Yuan put on a stern face and scolded, "Bullshit. Among the six ministries and nine courts, ours is the least cold bench."
Guan Yiran began rifling through cabinets again. Nowadays, the Minister's tea was hidden more and more cleverly. As he searched, he said casually, "Whoever's hat is bigger has the louder voice."
Truly worthy of being "the Minister's bastard son"—only he dared to speak and act so recklessly.
Ma Yuan rubbed his face. That little bastard really needed a beating.
The Minister leaned back in his chair. The documents on the table were neatly sorted by category, all the books and memorials without a single wrinkle.
It wasn't that every civil and military official of the Great Li officialdom was born wanting to be a good official or capable of being an able minister.
It was just that when there was someone in the court, year after year, coldly watching everyone, and no one knew what that person was thinking—that made it impossible for them not to be good officials.
But that person had privately told Ma Yuan that if they could still be like this after he was no longer in the officialdom, then that would be the true "pragmatic learning."
Having two or three bosom friends in the world—one could die without regret.
Ma Yuan dared not say that the Minister was his bosom friend, let alone claim to be the bosom friend of Minister Cui Chan.
But there was one thing in his life that brought him extreme joy, making life worth living.
I, Ma Yuan, as the kingdom's financial minister, have done my small part for the Great Li court. I ensured that the invincible Great Li Iron Cavalry never lacked a single tael of silver for military supplies in battle and never had a single tael of compensation deducted after the war.
If I'm not awesome, then who is?
Thinking this, the Minister suddenly found that little bastard rummaging through his cabinets a bit more tolerable.
Ma Yuan glanced at a inkstone on the table. "An inkstone without an inscription is a flaw."
"Let's just consider it unadorned jade."
Guan Yiran finally found a tin tea canister. It was inscribed with a poem, signed "Shi Mou," from a master's hand—more valuable than the tea inside.
Ma Yuan said nothing.
Guan Yiran tucked the tin canister into his sleeve, slapped his head, and said he had an urgent document to process. He hurried out the door.
Ma Yuan suddenly said, "Yiran, although choosing friends is the most important thing in life, you must maintain proper boundaries. Only when distances are appropriate can you advance and retreat with decorum."
Guan Yiran had just stepped over the threshold. He turned back with a bright smile. "Got it, Minister."
Ma Yuan reached out. "Hand it over."
Guan Yiran played dumb. "What?"
---
At the Court of State Ceremonial, which neighbored the Ministry of Revenue, an old man summoned Xun Qu.
Xun Qu was merely a low-ranking ninth-rank usher. Logically, the distance between his rank and that of the Chief Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial was astronomical.
As one of the Great Li's minor nine courts, the Court of State Ceremonial had been teased by the six ministries as a "silent farting place." But now, with the Great Li court flourishing and frequent interactions with other continents, the Court's status had risen. Originally being transferred to the Court of State Ceremonial was considered a demotion with no future, but now it was different.
The Chief Minister looked kindly and smiled. "Xun Qu, how are the official gazettes from the various departments coming along?"
Xun Qu answered respectfully, "Except for the Ministry of War, which still refuses to budge, all other departments have been very cooperative. We have six more gazettes than last time."
The Chief Minister laughed. "Six weathercocks, swaying with the wind."
Xun Qu pretended not to hear the old man's complaint.
This Chief Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial was named Changsun Mao. He came from a native capital gentry family, the same old official who had once waited at his door for Guan Yiran all night during the First Month and then cursed the young man for not knowing how to behave. However, both in age and official seniority, Changsun Mao was a "generation" below old Master Guan of the Ministry of Personnel.
He fancied himself a child prodigy for ten years, a talented scholar for twenty, a famous minister for thirty. When he finally retired, he planned to live a few more years and be an immortal for another thirty—then he could be a man who enjoyed both wealth and leisure in the second half of his life.
The Court of State Ceremonial was one of the old government offices of the Great Li court that had never moved. So its grounds were particularly spacious. The upper reaches of the Sweet Rush River flowed past here, giving the office small bridges and flowing water and beautiful scenery. In the past hundred years, one of the achievements of each successive Chief Minister was to resist all pressure to relocate or yield their posts.
Changsun Mao gently rubbed his wrist, taking the young usher for a walk on a bridge over the river. The pines and cypresses along the river were evergreen, their dark green reaching the sky. The old man walked slowly on the bridge, looking at those ancient trees that were about the same age as the Great Li Court of State Ceremonial. He couldn't help but sigh, "Man's life is upright; these things grow for years. What goes and never returns is water; what does not change with time are pines and cypresses."
The old man stamped his foot and smiled. "Before you young people entered the Court of State Ceremonial, you had no idea how humiliating it was to be an official here. In the earliest days, when officials from the suzerain Lu Dynasty and the Great Sui empire came as envoys to Great Li, they would speak here—no matter their official hat size—with their voices raised a few notches higher, as if afraid the officials of the Great Li Song Clan's Court of State Ceremonial were all deaf. Tell me, wasn't that infuriating?"
"Among all the government offices in the capital, Minister Cui showed the least interest in the Court of State Ceremonial. The number of times he came here as a guest could be counted on one hand—literally on one hand. The last time Minister Cui set foot here was at the end of winter in the fifth year of Yuanjia. So the old-timers of the Court of State Ceremonial, whenever officials from other departments brought this up, really felt guilty—they couldn't hold their heads high. That end of winter, a mere low-ranking official of the Lu Dynasty led a delegation to the Great Li capital. As the newly appointed Chief Minister, I accompanied them on a tour to this spot, when I heard a remark that made my face turn green with rage, my lips trembling—I almost rolled up my sleeves and started a fight with them…"
The old man patted the bridge railing. "If I remember correctly, it was right around here."
The old man raised his hand high above his head. "The Lu officials at that time looked at us like this and spoke to us like this."
"'If the hoofbeats at the border aren't loud, then no matter how loud the officials of the Court of State Ceremonial speak, it's useless.'"
"'Only when hoofbeats on the battlefield thunder like drumfire can you say nothing at all—and no one will dare talk nonsense.'"
The old man lowered his hand and pointed at Xun Qu. "You young people of the Great Li officialdom—especially those of you now serving in our Court of State Ceremonial—are very fortunate. So you must cherish this hard-won fortune. Stay vigilant in times of peace, and keep striving."
The old man put his hands behind his back and laughed self-deprecatingly. "That time, I was so angry I internalized an injury. Furious, I planned to resign. I thought, whether I was here or not, it didn't make a damn difference anyway."
"The day I submitted my resignation to the court, Minister Cui unexpectedly came to the Court of State Ceremonial. At the time, I was still the highest-ranking official here, so I came to see him. I was full of resentment and deliberately didn't say a word. The Minister didn't say anything either—didn't persuade, didn't scold, didn't get angry. Contrary to later rumors that the Minister and I had a frank heart-to-heart about state affairs, it had nothing to do with that. In fact, the Minister only asked me one question: 'If being an official is only enjoyable when the nation is strong, then who should be the official when the nation is weak?'"
The old man suddenly patted his own shoulder. Unfortunately, it wasn't the end of winter—the snow hadn't come yet.
That encounter at the end of the fifth year of Yuanjia had been in the dead of winter, with heavy snow on the roads. The snow weighed down the pines and cypresses, and branches could be heard snapping now and then.
Before leaving the Court of State Ceremonial that year, the Minister had patted Changsun Mao on the shoulder, smiled calmly, and spoken to the soon-to-be-retired Chief Minister.
"But it's okay. You, Changsun Mao, don't want to be a humiliated official. There will be others who step up. You can just retire to the mountains and enjoy your ease. Scholars can fold their sleeves and talk idly, cursing heaven and earth. Rest assured—the future Great Li court will have room for your kind of scholarly spirit."
Changsun Mao looked into the distance down the road.
As if he could still see a scene from years past.
An old man in Confucian robes with graying temples, walking away in the wind and snow, gradually disappearing from the Court of State Ceremonial.
There were still some things Changsun Mao didn't say today.
Like how, when that Lu official's remark had made his blood boil, what truly made his heart feel like dead ashes was the expression on the faces of the Great Li Court of State Ceremonial old-timers he caught in his peripheral vision—that nearly numb look, that bone-deep sense of inevitability.
Changsun Mao continued walking. "As for me, I was born into a peaceful, prosperous era, raised in a wealthy family, known as a prodigy in my youth, served under wise officials, enjoyed a comfortable life, married a virtuous wife, and fathered intelligent children. I witnessed a millennium's upheaval—the government was clear, the army strong, and I rose to the occasion to turn the tide. I will dandle grandchildren on my knees. If I can die a natural death and receive a decent posthumous title, then my life can be called completely blessed."
Changsun Mao suddenly turned his head. "How is that Academy Head Chen's scholarship?"
Xun Qu was surprised. The last time they met, the Chief Minister had already asked the same question, and Xun Qu had given his answer.
Changsun Mao raised both hands, gently breathed on them, and smiled. "How hard is it to compose poetry? Just level-level-oblique-oblique-level."
Poetry was like this. Being an official was too. Perhaps being a prime minister was also like this.
Xun Qu was completely lost.
---
In a large residence on Yichi Lane, a spirited old woman sat in the upper seat. She rested both hands on a walking stick and squinted with a smile at the Empress and a little girl outside the door.
This old woman was respectfully called the Old Matriarch in the Great Li officialdom.
She was only twelve years younger than Old Master Guan, exactly one zodiac cycle apart—both born under the same zodiac sign.
The old woman stood up and bowed to the Empress.
After receiving the bow, Yu Mian, the Empress, bowed back as a junior family member.
Yu Yu shouted boisterously, "Auntie!"
The old Matriarch nodded with a smile.
Song Xu felt extremely awkward.
The old Matriarch usually retired to her hometown for rest and recuperation.
Not all the Pillar of State families had settled entirely in the capital like the Yuan and Cao families.
For instance, the Guan family's roots were still in Yunzai Commandery of Yi Prefecture.
The old Matriarch and Empress Yu Mian sat on two adjacent chairs. The old woman gently took Yu Mian's hand and looked at the little girl sitting across from them, her expression kind and gratified. "I haven't seen you in a few years. Finally, you're starting to look like a girl. There's a bit of curvature in your walk. Before, you looked like a tomboy—hard to marry off."
Yu Yu laughed heartily. "No problem. I gain two or three catties a year. In a few years, I'll be 'magnificent'! Gai Yan and Han Zhoujin combined won't be able to compare to me."
Empress Yu Mian maintained a composed smile.
The Prince seated beside Yu Yu could only keep a straight face and silently drink tea.
The old Matriarch listened to Yu Yu, who acted as a walking information network, chatting about recent strange and interesting events in the capital.
Occasionally, she made a few comments.
"In life, it's simple: try to do fewer things that make you frown, and have fewer people around who make you gnash your teeth. Then your path will widen."
"That little turtle Yuan Huajing—his cultivation is too smooth, his realm has come too fast, and his expert mentality hasn't caught up. It's like a person growing too fast in height without the brains to keep up."
Prince Song Xu still pretended he hadn't heard anything.
Actually, the old Matriarch and Yuan Huajing were about the same age.
From the outspoken Yu Yu, Song Xu had also heard an old story: Yuan Huajing, in his youth, had a relatively "martial" conflict with the old Matriarch when they were the same age.
The old Matriarch said, "On my way here, at the border of the capital's territory, I saw a ferry boat hovering in the distance. Was the Luo King on board?"
The Great Li vassal king Song Mu, the full brother of Emperor Song He, had been enfeoffed with Luozhou as his fief. Luozhou was also one of the sources of the great river in the central region.
Song Xu immediately replied, "In reply to the Matriarch, His Highness the King has already taken the boat to the Barren Wasteland World."
The old Matriarch hummed in acknowledgment and gently patted Empress Yu Mian's hand.
The old woman smiled and asked, "Your Highness, do you think that Sword Immortal Chen of the Fallen Mountain is more like our Minister Cui, or more like Academy Head Qi of the Cliffside Academy?"
Song Xu was troubled. He glanced at his mother.
Yu Mian shook her head gently.
Yu Yu slapped the armrest of her chair. As always, the girl said whatever came to mind. "He looks like both!"
"Impossible."
The old woman shook her head. "When Academy Head Qi lectured at the academy, he gave people the feeling of sitting in a spring breeze, yet also the loveliness of a winter day. On the other hand, Minister Cui, maneuvering in the court, gave people the feeling of autumn's killing frost, yet also the awesomeness of a summer day. The two had completely different temperaments. There's no overlap. How could one person have both? Yu Yu, you must be mistaken. Your Highness, perhaps you can tell me?"
Song Xu had to carefully choose his words. "Probably similar to Yu Yu. Maybe I'm mistaken too."
The old Matriarch nodded with a smile. "The glutinous rice cake is delicious."
---
At the Imperial Observatory.
The Director and Vice Director began inquiring about Yuan Tianfeng's opinion. Because the Great Li court planned to rename Longzhou to Chuzhou, following the theory of constellations. In addition, the names and boundaries of various commanderies and counties would change accordingly. Originally, Longquan County had been upgraded to Longzhou because its territory encompassed most of the settled Pear Blossom Blessed Land. Compared to a typical prefecture, Longzhou's territory was extremely vast, but it only had four commanderies—Celadon, Treasure Stream, Three Rivers, and Incense Fire. This was a highly unusual setup in the Great Li court. So now, besides changing the prefecture name, they also needed to establish several new commanderies and add more new counties—essentially completely reshuffling Longzhou's entire county structure and starting over.
The current Governor of Longzhou, Wei Li, would soon be reassigned to another important post.
In the Great Li officialdom, there were two places widely considered the best "feng shui" spots for quick promotion: the home territory of Longzhou and the former vassal state of Qingluan Kingdom.
Yuan Tianfeng looked at the old map of Longzhou and smiled. "I'm only responsible for naming. I won't offer any suggestions regarding the specific division of commandery and county boundaries. As for these names—whether they're used for commandery seats or county seats—you at the Observatory can discuss it with the Ministry of Rites yourselves."
Besides compiling the almanac, the Imperial Observatory—whose members were collectively called "Green Crow Gentlemen" or geomancers—also had the authority to survey geography.
If changes in celestial phenomena were closely related to the rise and fall of mortal emperors, then using mathematical calculations to infer the movement of the heavens, thereby compiling the calendar and proclaiming the heavenly time on behalf of Heaven, was an act of establishing the legitimate rule.
Vice Director Ma smiled. "We implore Mr. Yuan to speak freely."
Divination, physiognomy, exorcism, prayers, bone-weight fortune-telling, birth horoscopes, Ziwei astrology, dream interpretation…
This Mr. Yuan was proficient in everything.
Yuan Tianfeng recited a string of name candidates for commanderies and counties: Xiandu, Jinyun, Lanxi, Wushang, Wuyi, Wencheng…
After hearing those names, the Director and Vice Director Ma exchanged a smile.
Yuan Tianfeng suddenly said, "For naming, you might also seek the opinion of a certain someone. There might be unexpected surprises."
The Director looked at the Vice Director and coughed.
Vice Director Ma pretended not to hear. The Director started coughing again.
Vice Director Ma turned his head and asked, "Director, having throat trouble?"
The Director sighed deeply. "Forget it."
Vice Director Ma breathed a sigh of relief.
But the Director said, "The capable are always expected to do more. This time, let Brother Ma take the lead again. With the surname Ma, you're sure to gallop ahead and succeed."
---
At the Capital Daoist Academy.
The leading Daoist from the Great Li's Chongxu Bureau had been listening to the discussions the whole time but hadn't interjected a single word.
Only after the meeting ended did he walk out of the temple together with Geling.
Geling was a native of Jurong in the southeastern part of Bottle Gourd Continent.
He and the Daoist from the Baiyun Temple of the Qingluan Kingdom came from similar home regions, but they had no interaction before entering the capital.
---
In the imperial garden, a woman lay slumped on the table, sobbing.
Suddenly, she raised her head and snorted coldly. Just wait and see!
But when she saw the green bamboo chopstick on the table, she couldn't help but sink back into sorrow, complaining bitterly about heaven and fate.
---
In the alley.
Liu Jia's heart suddenly tightened. He turned his head and looked into the alley.
The young boy's eyes widened. It was the first time he saw an uninvited guest coming out of—rather than entering—the alley. A thief with such a high level of cultivation?
Liu Jia was furious. "How dare you trespass into the Minister's residence?"
Did this man think this old Nascent Soul cultivator was a vegetarian?
The old cultivator's face was as dark as water. "Announce your name immediately, and then come with me to the Ministry of Justice."
If this fellow had barged into the alley, there might have been some leeway. He could have tried to stop him, and if he failed, well, that was just someone more skilled. But for this guy to directly cross the boundary and stroll out from the Minister's residence, swaggering right up to him—that was unforgivable. No room for negotiation.
The man stood at the edge of the White Jade Dao Field and introduced himself. "White Emperor City, Zheng Juzhong."
The young boy was about to habitually explain for his master, add a few more comments, and then note that he had never seen a painting of Zheng Juzhong of White Emperor City, so he couldn't verify whether this man was the real deal. That would be something for his master to determine himself.
Old Immortal Liu almost wept with joy. Finally—someone who introduced himself by name the moment they met!
Liu Jia, radiating righteous aura, stepped aside to clear the path and said solemnly, "Welcome, Mr. Zheng! Feel free to visit anytime!"
---
Chen Ping'an walked out of the imperial city gate and said, "Xiao Mo, let's take a few more steps, and then lead me to catch up to that ferry boat."
Pei Qian and Cao Qinglang had just boarded an immortal ferry boat heading south not long ago.
Xiao Mo nodded and then asked, "Is the young master worried about those two disciples and students?"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Nothing to worry about. I just want to see them a little longer. And also have them pass a message to another of my students."
Xiao Mo asked curiously, "Is that student of the young master the Mr. Cui that Daoist Lu mentioned?"
Chen Ping'an countered, "How did your Daoist friend describe Cui Dongshan?"
Xiao Mo replied, "Daoist Lu had four character assessments for each period: early, middle, late, and latest. They were: 'heavenly prodigy,' 'meritorious achievement without parallel,' 'rise again,' and 'world-stunning.'"
Chen Ping'an nodded, showing a rare trace of disappointment. He said softly, "So as his teacher, I've always been unworthy of the title."
Xiao Mo shook his head. "I believe that this student of the young master would never think his teacher is unworthy of the title. He would only feel how fortunate he is and proud to be associated with you."
Chen Ping'an resisted and resisted, but finally couldn't hold back. He slapped Xiao Mo hard on the shoulder. "What's with this atmosphere! Clearly, it has nothing to do with me."