Chapter 926: Borrowing Thousand Mountains and Ten Thousand Waters from All of You (7)
Before receiving that punch, Qingtong's Yangshen avatar suddenly gained an ancient suit of armor over its body.
This fist was too strange. Since it couldn't be matched in strength and was inevitably unavoidable, Qingtong had no choice but to endure the punch head-on. On top of the snow-white dharma robe, he added another suit of armor to protect his physique.
Clearly, Qingtong didn't think that his half-step Stopping Realm martial artist's physique, without relying on external objects, could truly withstand this punch intact.
After the punch, the precious armor on the white-haired old man shattered like a mirror, shooting out in countless streaks like meteors.
Moreover, the old martial artist's burly figure began to fall, but not in a straight line. This was because this world was like a crumpled paper ball casually squeezed by a child. In this place, the flow direction of the river of time had exceeded worldly cognition. So-called directions were all illusions—east, south, west, north, up, down, left, right—all twisted and folded. As a result, many seemingly adjacent areas were actually thousands of miles apart, while many places that appeared to be hundreds or thousands of miles away were only a hair's breadth or a single step away.
This caused the white-haired old man's figure to shake like a glass bead bouncing inside a bamboo tube, darting around chaotically.
Under normal circumstances, having such a pure martial artist at the Stopping Realm stationed in a world like this, with enemy cultivators trapped inside, was a nightmare.
When the burly old man finally stopped, struggling to stabilize the chaotic turmoil within his body's mountains and rivers, he looked down at the broken armor on his body. He spat out a mouthful of blood, peeled off all the shattered pieces of the precious armor, then waved his hand to gather the scattered fragments from the world. Together with the pieces nearby, they reformed into a dim, lusterless military armor pellet.
Qingtong felt a pang of heartache. He had finally managed to repair this ancient divine armor to the point where it could be worn, and now it would take who knows how many years to restore it.
But he had to admit that Chen Ping'an's punch was somewhat heavy.
Qingtong raised his hand, wiped the blood from his face, shook his wrist, and let the blood fall to the ground, merging into the world. He asked curiously, "Where did that punch come from?"
He absolutely didn't believe it was a fist technique created by Chen Ping'an himself.
Chen Ping'an spread his hands. Behind him in the distance, the two long blades that had been drawn earlier seemed to receive a decree. Since Qingtong had not yet hidden the Daoist patterns of the small world, the trajectory of Zhankan's path was similar to Qingtong's earlier retreat—twisting and turning, erratic and uncertain—while Xingxing was a straight line, completely ignoring the world's restrictions, returning directly to Chen Ping'an's hands.
In a bright red dharma robe, he held two knives, which swayed slightly, their blades flowing with different traces of light.
The white-haired old man saw the young man seem to curl his lips, a clear sign of mockery.
A Stopping Realm martial artist was real; a pure martial artist was fake.
This was truly just a martial artist who had painstakingly reached the Stopping Realm, relying only on the long years to polish his physique.
After Chen Ping'an's punch, exactly two quarters of an hour had passed, and the incense stick had burned out.
In the distance, Xiao Mo turned to look at Qingtong's yin spirit beside him and teased with a smile, "Daoist Qingtong, you still have some hidden resources."
Living a long time had its advantages: broad experience. Since he himself was a page from the ancient yellow calendar, an ancient Daoist from far antiquity, he didn't need to flip through dusty secret archives to easily know the truth. For instance, the armor worn by that burly old man—Xiao Mo recognized its great Dao origins at a glance. Its pedigree was quite extraordinary, not inferior to the narrow blade Zhankan, the execution tool of the ancient Dragon-Slaying Platform.
The young-looking Qingtong yin spirit wore a bitter smile on his face.
This precious armor was one of his trump cards. It had once been lent to the Demon-Suppressing Tower by the Central Earth Confucian Temple, and now Qingtong had managed to claim it as his own based on a certain merit.
Unfortunately, after years of mending, because Qingtong wasn't skilled in forging, progress had always been slow. And now, after this absurd bout of fist-fighting, it had been knocked back to square one.
Of the Five Supremes of the ancient Tianting, the Armor-Bearer used his armor as a prototype, leading to the creation of three divine armors considered second-tier authentic works. These were crafted by the Forger, one of the Twelve High-Rank Spirits, who, with the permission of the Fire God and Water God, plucked the essence of the sun, used the Fire God's palace of Mars as a furnace, and the river of time as quenching water. It took considerable time, meticulous forging, and imitation.
The silver armor "Big Frost" worn by Zheng Dafeng, the acting shopkeeper whom Xiao Mo had met at the Flying Rise City wine shop, was one of these three divine armors.
Unfortunately, in the battle of ascending to heaven, where both Daoists and spirits fell in countless numbers, the gate-guarding divine general "Zheng Dafeng," who refused to yield the way when the tide turned, was finally nailed to the gate by a certain existence with a single sword strike. The Big Frost armor shattered and fell into the mortal world.
It met the same fate as the hairpin of the first Daoist in the human world.
Later, the First Ancestor of the Military strategists, based on these three armors, evolved the Dao and derived three types of military armor pellets, creating a batch of "counterfeits" of a lower tier. These were the pioneering works of the later Warp Armor, Golden Crow Armor, and Divine Person Dew-Collecting Armor—the ancestors of three types of military precious armors. There were two sets of the "ancestral" Warp Armor, one forged with warp threads and the other with weft threads. When a cultivator wore the former, it was like gaining a kind of Buddhist boundless world's protection of divine powers. Even if standing side by side with an enemy, right in front of them, both flying swords and spells would be like headless flies, futilely searching for an enemy that was "close at hand but far away."
The latter's rank was slightly inferior, but equally mysterious. A cultivator could accumulate drops of spiritual energy from their own Dao and irrigate it. Even if the drops were as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, they still couldn't fill that bottomless pit. Thus, the toughness of this armor naturally exceeded ordinary imagination.
And all cultivators, in the accumulation of spiritual energy within their human-body worlds, had certain bottlenecks at different realms. It was like a blessed land that, after reaching a high grade, would one day overflow with spiritual energy.
It was conceivable that if a cultivator was lucky enough to acquire this armor for a thousand or even ten thousand years, even if they weren't a Fourteen Realm great cultivator but merely a Ascension Realm cultivator, simply wearing this armor would allow them to stand still and let a Ascension Realm sword cultivator hack at them for half a day.
Xiao Mo happened to know the whereabouts of that "Weft Armor." Like himself, the owner of this armor had been sleeping in a hidden place in the desolate wilderness for ten thousand years.
The problem was that this old fellow was a female cultivator, and also a sword cultivator. Ten thousand years ago, she had been famous for her immense killing power.
Xiao Mo smiled faintly. "Qingtong, I'm curious. Who gave you the confidence and the guts to be so arrogant and look down on everyone?"
Normally, Qingtong had been cultivating in the Haoran world for ten thousand years. He didn't need to be like Xiao Mo, following the custom of "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." Some interpersonal relationships and mountain rules and taboos should have been familiar to him.
Xiao Mo expressionlessly said slowly, "My young master, as the last master of the Sword Qi Great Wall's Summer Retreat Palace, the final Hidden Official appointed by Chen Qingdu—what merits he has, you peak cultivators of Haoran all know in your hearts. Even if we only talk about his toils, he stood alone, guarding half the city wall. And my young master was the leader of the battle at Tuoyue Mountain. Among the sword cultivators who accompanied him, whether it was Qi Tingji, Executioner Hao Su, Lu Zhi, or Lu Chen, the Third Leader of the White Jade Capital—if any of them came here to tour, would you dare not see them? Could you not see them?"
"Even setting aside the identity of Hidden Official, my young master is also the last disciple of the Literary Sage lineage, a student of the old Literary Sage, and the youngest junior brother of Cui Chan, Zuo You, Liu Shiliu, and Qi Jingchun."
"My young master is also the mountain master of the Fallen Mountain, the sect master of a Haoran world sect, and now he's about to establish a lower sect. After the Spring Festival celebration, my young master will become an upper sect patriarch in the eyes of future Xian Du Mountain cultivators. Others may not know the details, but with your awareness, Qingtong, you can't be unaware that this will be a genuine sword Dao sect. It's the first sword Dao sect in Tungye Continent since the destruction of the Bition Sword Sect in the central part of that continent thousands of years ago. Therefore, this act will open a new chapter for Tungye Continent, adding vitality to the originally stagnant mountains and rivers. My young master and his student Cui Dongshan are the ones who will dig the canal for this source of living water."
Moreover, my young master was also the guide on the path of cultivation for a certain Daoist in this life. They would be fellow travelers ascending the mountain together.
This person was now called Nian Jing, courtesy name Xianwei.
My young master was also the Dao companion of Ning Yao, the number one person in the Five Colors World.
However, these two private matters, whether big or small, Xiao Mo did not put them on the table.
If you, Qingtong, were a reckless greenhorn who didn't care about my young master's identities at all, then consider this: the Literary Sage once merged with the Dao of three continents, sacrificing his own great Dao to desperately protect those three continents from total collapse. Among them was Tungye Continent.
Moreover, if it hadn't been for the successive actions of Cui Chan of Bottle Gourd Continent, his junior brother Qi Jingchun, and Liu Shiliu who returned to Haoran—three direct disciples of the Literary Sage lineage—who had a secret, undercurrent-filled confrontation with Wenhai Zhoumi right here in Tungye Continent, then the very survival of this Demon-Suppressing Tower would be a big question mark.
Qingtong, whose Dao was deeply intertwined with it, if he had betrayed the Confucian Temple and defected to Wenhai Zhoumi, would at least have needed to sever the close connection between himself and this majestic tower. Even if Zhoumi really had the means to help him sever this connection, Qingtong would probably drop at least one or two realms, barely surviving. Then, when the situation between the two worlds reversed, old throne demons like Yuan Shou and Feifei could escape back to the desolate wilderness. But Qingtong, bound by Dao to Tungye Continent, unless Zhoumi took him to ascend together, would end up like the demon Yangzhi, who was imprisoned in the realm of the Old Lord's Furnace—a prisoner of the Confucian Temple. Moreover, with the temperament of the Supreme Sage, if Qingtong dared to do such a thing, even if Zhoumi was willing to protect him and ascend together, Qingtong would probably be knocked down from the sky halfway.
Furthermore, Chen Ping'an's senior brother Zuo You had also personally guarded a gate passage to the new world on Tungye Continent as a sword cultivator member of the Sword Qi Great Wall, helping Tungye Continent preserve some vitality. When the gate opened next time, the many refugees who had fled to the Five Colors World, whether they were willing to return home or not, could to some extent feed back into the fortune of Tungye Continent.
Thus, the Literary Sage lineage—whether it was the old scholar as the teacher, the four senior brothers of Chen Ping'an, or Chen Ping'an himself—all had grace toward Tungye Continent, this Demon-Suppressing Tower, and even a single parasol tree.
Chen Ping'an and Xian Du Mountain's endeavor to repair the earth's flaws in Tungye Continent was a great blessing for Qingtong, allowing him to lie back and enjoy the benefits.
This benefit to the great Dao was a steady stream of income, more relaxed and comfortable than a rent collector or landlord making a thousandfold profit.
Chen Ping'an chose to locate his lower sect in Tungye Continent, especially since the Green Lotus Sword Sect was a sword Dao sect. This meant that some sword Dao fortune connected to the Hidden Official of the Sword Qi Great Wall would be brought to Tungye Continent by Chen Ping'an, rather than being gifted to his home Bottle Gourd Continent. Those sword Dao fortunes would take root here, through Xian Du Mountain and the Green Lotus Sword Sect, and through future sword cultivators who became registered disciples of Xian Du Mountain. Like duckweed gathering from all directions to a single mountain, then like dandelions scattering in all directions, over time, flowers would bloom and bear fruit in various places.
Xiao Mo stopped speaking, only shaking his head.
His old friend, the Master of the Azure Sky Grotto, had already left Tungye Continent, and his Dao field, the Guan Dao Abbey in the Eastern Sea, had also moved away to the Azure Desolate World. This meant that the old abbey master was unlikely to return to this place in the short term. The Confucian Temple seemed to have released the restrictions on the Demon-Suppressing Tower, effectively granting Qingtong his freedom.
Putting aside everything else, this time when our young master brought me here, even if we met and the price wasn't right, the deal could fall through, but business is business, and goodwill remains. Given my young master's usual disposition of being open to negotiation, at worst he would make a few more trips to the Demon-Suppressing Tower, still acting courteously as a junior as he did today.
Thus, in both public and private matters, in both reason and emotion, this Qingtong should have met with Chen Ping'an, who held multiple identities, today.
To get to the root of it, simply put, Qingtong had adopted a principle of "I want all the benefits, but don't come to me for work" and chose to close his doors to guests.
He didn't even want to see Chen Ping'an's face, let alone negotiate.
This behavior was no different from Fire Dragon True Person visiting the Liu family in Aiai Continent, arriving at the mountain gate with a kind face, saying he had something to discuss, and then Liu Juba not showing up.
Later, even when forced to open the door and receive guests, he still didn't handle things properly.
It was like Fire Dragon True Person having to pass tests to see Liu Juba at the family ancestral hall.
What a mess—"looking for the donkey while riding it." A total of twelve scroll paintings, twelve illusionary worlds, a series of tests by Qingtong—all of them were like peeling silk from a cocoon on Chen Ping'an's Dao heart, working on human hearts, digging to the bottom in the field of the heart, visiting and exploring the mysterious in the mountain Dao field of the cultivator.
This was already a form of Dao technique sparring among cultivators, a kind of questioning of the Dao.
This was fist-fighting between sword cultivators, fist-fighting between pure martial artists.
To use another analogy, it was like Chen Qingdu leaving the Sword Qi Great Wall to visit the Central Earth Confucian Temple.
He would have to pass layer upon layer of examinations on poetry and scholarship.
Xiao Mo turned his head and asked, "Qingtong, let me ask you one last time: Do you have any unspeakable difficulties?"
After asking, Xiao Mo waited for an answer. Qingtong opened his mouth several times, but in the end, remained silent.
Xiao Mo nodded to himself. "If you don't speak, I'll take it as a no."
In Xiao Mo's view, this was a classic case of giving face but not wanting it.
He had been holding back for a long time.
Previously, in the Great Li capital, that old coachman was merely a former chief officer of the Thunder Department's Pivot Academy's Execution Division—not a high official, not very capable.
Besides, those were all old grudges from sesame and millet years ago, and the matter wasn't big; it had already been turned over. Bringing up old accounts wasn't Xiao Mo's style.
As for the ghost immortal Yu Jin beside Zhong Kui, it was more like a joke, just playing around.
Xiao Mo tucked the walking stick into his sleeve.
Qingtong's yin spirit immediately panicked. No longer playing the mute, he said hastily, "Wait!"
But Xiao Mo no longer paid him any attention.
And Qingtong was unable to stop Xiao Mo's... sword offering.
It was like a mirror surface separating two small worlds above and below. The border where the two worlds met was like a piece of cloth covering all things in heaven and earth. Then someone pinched the cloth, lifted it, and finally tore a hole in it.
It was also like a silkworm cocoon, with a sword cultivator breaking out of it.
In the distance, Chen Ping'an, who had immediately sensed the unusual signs, turned his head to look at Xiao Mo's side.
The first time they met, it was within the bright moonlight. Xiao Mo had the face of an old man, arrogant and fierce, his sword strikes sharp.
When they met again, he had the gentle, refined appearance of a young man.
But at this moment, Xiao Mo, true to his name, was truly "strange."
No true form was visible, only a dharma form.
He wore a loose dharma robe, his face faintly visible, white and lustrous like jade. His entire body was crystalline and transparent, pure as glass, with no bones, muscles, or blood visible.
His snow-white hair was extremely long, ethereal and misty, with an air of immortality.
In his hand, he held a sword, his bearing majestic, his sword intent awe-inspiring, presenting a posture of wielding a sword to ascend.
Perhaps this was Xiao Mo's peak state of perfection in his realm?
He stepped into the world above the mirror surface.
The true form of the parasol tree was right there.
Before Xiao Mo could truly deliver a sword strike, his sword qi had already filled the entire world.
In an instant, countless "pillars" of sword qi appeared, crashing down, piercing through the world wantonly.
Poor world—it was like a carefully woven and mended brocade pouch, simultaneously pierced by hundreds or thousands of sharp, icy stalactites.
A vast world was sliced into pieces by tens of thousands of sword lights. The most terrifying part was that these sword lights, arranged in no discernible pattern, were still multiplying wildly, so that the old pillars formed by sword qi were shattered by new sword lights in the blink of an eye.
The upper fifth realm cultivators of Tungye Continent, depending on their realm and spiritual awareness, felt varying degrees of trembling in their Dao hearts, vaguely sensing something amiss.
The three Confucian sages responsible for guarding the heavenly canopy of Tungye Continent looked into the distance and smiled. They saw what appeared to be a ball of light above the central part of Tungye Continent, but for some reason, it was covered in spikes, exuding a dense sword aura.
One old master, who was closest to that ball of light, said softly with a smile, "What a fine Demon-Suppressing Tower. How did it become... a hedgehog?"
This was a private grudge between cultivators. Why interfere?
Besides, if I didn't go and take sides, that was already giving this Daoist friend Qingtong a lot of face.
In the years after the great war ended, because the Supreme Sage, the Ritual Sage, and the Second Sage hadn't said anything, for some reason, this Demon-Suppressing Tower had been playing deaf and dumb, like a miser clutching his money bag, unwilling to spend a cent, only watching from the sidelines. So, cleaning up the mess in Tungye Continent—broken landscapes, scattered hearts—could only be done by the mountain masters, gentlemen, and sages of the three academies, running around and breaking their legs. Because not participating in worldly affairs was an iron rule set by the Ritual Sage in the early years for them, the accompanying sages guarding the heavenly canopy, they could only worry and couldn't even say a single complaint to that majestic tower.
In fact, they had been dissatisfied for years.
One cannot demand that others be sages.
This old master, who had once sincerely praised the young Hidden Official with "What a fine young man," flicked his sleeve to cover up the celestial phenomenon.
So what if it was his duty? Who could find fault with him?
A majestic tower enshrined by the Confucian Temple and Confucian scholars of the Literary Sage lineage—this was a family quarrel behind closed doors, a domestic shame not to be aired.
In the new battlefield within the world, Qingtong's yin spirit and the burly old man who was his yangshen avatar both disappeared, returning to his true body.
After all, facing an Ascension Realm sword cultivator, Qingtong dared not be careless.
And the true form of the parasol tree transformed into a slender figure, with alternating light and dark, a blurred face. He wore a hibiscus Dao crown, a new suit of armor, a golden dharma robe inside, green shoes on his feet, a string of ancient jade pendants at his waist, bright red arm rings on his arms—in short, everything that could be worn was put to use: a motley collection of mountain treasures, flashy decorations...
At the same time, this long-lived Ascension Realm great cultivator did not wait for death. He stepped on the Big Dipper, formed hand seals, and his avatars bloomed like flower buds.
Over a thousand Qingtong avatars each displayed their own divine powers, offering different treasures and casting various offensive spells and defensive techniques.
What a fine example of "multiple skills don't weigh you down."
Just in terms of the number of spells and their variety—never mind the profundity of Dao techniques or the height of cultivation—Qingtong could probably rank in the top ten of Haoran just based on this display.
Among these avatars, about a hundred were responsible for temporarily forming a formation, creating a landscape array. The rest, more numerous talisman avatars, did not hesitate to perish together with the sword lights to block them.
And Qingtong, this Ascension Realm cultivator who claimed to know a few great talismans, also offered his trump cards—a few great talismans—each aligned with one of the Five Elements, representing the pinnacle of talisman mastery.
A fire talisman was offered, and a thousand-zhang tall fire spirit appeared, its body interwoven with hundreds of flames, smashing the sword lights that kept approaching the landscape array.
Another water talisman was linked with successive talismans, streaming out like a rolling river. Tens of thousands of talismans intertwined and overlapped, shimmering, eventually converging into a thousand-li long green carp. Each scale on its body was as large as a courtyard, each a talisman's spiritual light.
One by one, "mountain-gathering" talismans slammed into the ground. Five ancient great peaks took root, and three mountains formed a pincer formation, surrounded by five more ancient peaks. This helped stabilize the outer landscape array.
Behind Qingtong's true body, a wood talisman scattered its light in threads, piling up into what seemed like the most intricate and dense wooden puppet in the world.
But facing all these chaotic tricks, Xiao Mo had only one sword.
A dazzling sword light, like a fish flicking its tail, headed toward the formation and Qingtong's true body.
Where the sword light passed, it was devastating.
Around the sword light, a channel appeared, like a void outside the heavens.
Even the countless inclined pillars formed by his own sword qi, simply because they blocked the way, shattered together and turned into nothingness.
This was the true killing power of a peak Ascension Realm sword cultivator.
Elsewhere in the world, at the same time, a dozen or so subtle springs appeared, like water splashing and causing ripples.
Where those water sources were, there was a tinkling sound, like heavenly music.
All the great rivers in the world, no matter how majestic they were when entering the sea, had their sources often only a few tiny springs.
These seemingly insignificant existences, with sword qi so fine it could be ignored, were like the beginning of Xiao Mo's sword technique.
On your own territory, where could you hide?
If you run, where can you run once you leave the Demon-Suppressing Tower?
The landscape array broke in the blink of an eye, the sound of shattering shaking the heavens and the earth.
Qingtong exhausted all his great talismans just barely to cancel out that terrifying sword light that had been like entering an empty land.
Ten thousand years ago, he knew that this famous sword cultivator's swordsmanship was very high. But Qingtong still couldn't imagine it would be this high.
But wasn't it said his swordsmanship wasn't known for killing power? Wasn't it only because of his balanced offense and defense that he was so troublesome?
Wasn't it said his killing power couldn't even rank in the top five among sword cultivators of the world?
Suddenly, Qingtong's eyes widened as he saw an increasingly clear face.
This ancient demon sword cultivator's face, with a smile, came closer and closer. In his hand, a sword swept horizontally.
The entire world was dragged into a long arc, heading straight for Qingtong's head.
That guy who now called himself Xiao Mo seemed to be saying.
Hello, Daoist Qingtong.
Goodbye, waste of an Ascension.
With his life hanging by a thread, Qingtong, though not exactly waiting for death, suddenly shouted, "Chen Ping'an! The Supreme Sage has a message for you!"
That bright red dharma robe was stepping across the small world through the gap Xiao Mo had opened, like an ancient immortal ascending to heaven, treading on empty space, stepping up, slowly appearing.
He had his hands tucked into his sleeves, two knives folded at his waist, and a Ye You sword that flew on its own beside him.
But Qingtong instantly felt as if he had fallen into an ice pit. Xiao Mo, holding the sword, closed in, and they passed each other. Qingtong, standing in place, had his head severed by that arcing sword light.
A head was thrown high into the air.
Maybe Chen Ping'an didn't have time to stop Xiao Mo, maybe he spoke with his heart, and Xiao Mo didn't have time to sheathe the sword.
Maybe Xiao Mo heard the heart voice, but this ancient demon sword cultivator's heart was filled with malice, and he was unwilling to stop the sword.
More likely, Chen Ping'an didn't speak at all, because he simply didn't want to.
Too lazy to speak.
Who knows.
Xiao Mo's sword, formed by sword intent, dissipated on the spot. He changed hands holding the sword, looked around, and smiled slightly. After all, he was an Ascension Realm cultivator; it wasn't that easy to kill him on the spot. There was still some distance from so-called death and Dao extinction.
Still, it was much easier than trying to kill Yangzhi back then. First, Yangzhi's Ascension Realm was more peak, and her physique was innately tough. Moreover, in the ancient human world, the territory was vast, and Yangzhi's cultivation path was blessed by heaven, carrying part of the great Dao of water fortune. So whenever she was near water, Yangzhi fled very fast, her speed even surpassing sword light.
This Qingtong, however, was trapped in a cage of his own making.
That head, visible to the naked eye, rotted like a piece of dead wood, then turned to ash and scattered in the air.
Behind Xiao Mo, where Qingtong's true body had been, the precious armor clattered to the ground with a crisp sound. The dharma robe fell limply on top of the armor.
He had used a kind of cicada-shedding escape technique.
A big tree, only damaged in its branches and leaves, not in its trunk.
Of course, a certain loss to Qingtong's great Dao was inevitable.
From all directions in the world, a thunderous, furious voice echoed, "Don't push too far!"
This was one of the nine majestic towers of the Haoran world, the Demon-Suppressing Tower.
And you, Xiao Mo, were a demon from the desolate wilderness!
But Xiao Mo smiled brightly, his dharma form vanishing in an instant, chasing along a faint clue.
A ethereal dharma form, like moonlight over reeds, disappeared without a trace.
After a moment, a bizarre black full moon hung in the sky. Qingtong was forced to appear, using a life-saving trump card—the Moon Phase.
Xiao Mo's dharma form, in comparison, was like a mustard seed next to a wellhead. But near that full moon, first a tiny point of light appeared, then instantly spread into a line. Finally, that long line of sword light coiled like a huge dragon rising into the sky, swimming sinuously above the moon.
This was a self-created sword technique from Xiao Mo's past, "Moon-Eating," based on a net he had quietly set on the paths of the sun and moon, swallowing up one of the moons.
However, compared to that ancient Daoist friend with the "Weft Armor," whose "Sun-Eating" Dao technique lived up to its name, Xiao Mo admitted he was still far behind.
Back then, when this group of peak demons received Bai Ze's decree and had to wake from their slumber, one of the ancient existences had her Dao field, or rather, her place of healing, inside the great sun of the desolate wilderness. So this female sword cultivator had casually exchanged a few words with Xiao Mo, who lived in the bright moonlight, using their unique divine abilities. They had agreed on a place to meet again in the human world. She had said she had given herself a new alias.
Xie Gou.
Earlier, when Xiao Mo had mentioned these ancient existences and their cultivation and combat power to Chen Ping'an, Xiao Mo, acting as a death warrior, had been honest, saying he wasn't the strongest in killing power or the strongest in defense. But he could be sure that his offense and defense both ranked in the top three. However, since he hadn't been dealing with Chen Ping'an long, and due to the nature of a sword cultivator's heart, he had still held back, not revealing more details. For example, among the top three in offense and defense, aside from himself occupying two spots, the remaining weren't four, but only three, because that "Xie Gou" was also a peak powerhouse with both offense and defense.
And between Xiao Mo and this friend now named Xie Gou, there was a long story of grudges and love.
That was probably one of the reasons why Xiao Mo was reluctant to reveal more truth.
Chen Ping'an's shoulders sank, and he hunched over even more.
It was Qingtong once again invoking his identity as the master of the Demon-Suppressing Tower.
After a moment, sword lights still flared up abruptly in various places, then suddenly vanished.
Qingtong finally showed his true appearance for the first time, disheveled and covered in blood. His body was crisscrossed with wounds, no fewer than a dozen, exposing white bone—a gruesome sight.
He had a young, handsome face, androgynous.
But Qingtong no longer had the dignified air of a peak cultivator. He looked somewhat flustered, standing not far from Chen Ping'an, as if that was the only way he could catch his breath.
Qingtong's choice was correct.
Xiao Mo indeed did not continue to offer his sword. His hand holding the sword was placed behind his back, a gesture of sincerity.
I'll allow you to rest beside my young master for a moment.
Seeing Qingtong's appearance, Chen Ping'an had a strange expression for a moment.
According to the secret archives of the Summer Retreat Palace, the ancient saying was "male parasol, female Chinese parasol," and they grew and aged together, lived and died together.
And Lu Tai, who came from the Yin-Yang School of the Central Earth, was a once-in-a-thousand-year Yin-Yang fish physique.
It was also Lu Tai who accompanied Chen Ping'an on his travels through Tungye Continent back then.
A cultivator, yet naturally afraid of heights.
Zouzi and the swordsman Pei Min were both Lu Tai's master-teachers.
When Lu Tai parted ways with him back then, might he have been brought here by Zouzi?
But Chen Ping'an didn't ask Qingtong about this. It didn't matter—whether Lu Tai or the sword cultivator Liu Cai, he believed that in the years to come, there would be a day of reunion, or a time to meet.
Xiao Mo tilted his chin toward Qingtong, indicating he could leave.
Qingtong gritted his teeth and fled far away.
When he appeared a second time, one of Qingtong's arms had been severed by Xiao Mo. But with a shake of his shoulder, Qingtong grew a new arm.
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Still haven't thought of a good line? Are you struggling right now? Not confident enough to make something up and fool me, but also not brave enough to falsely pass off the Supreme Sage's decree? But if you don't say something, Xiao Mo will keep chasing you. Even if you won't die anytime soon, the loss of cultivation with each sword strike is a real depletion of decades or centuries. Not to mention an incense stick and two quarters of an hour—probably within a quarter of an hour, you'll drop a realm, right?"
Qingtong wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Aren't you afraid that I'll first let the Demon-Suppressing Tower be destroyed, then run to the accompanying sages guarding the heavenly canopy to beg for my life?"
Chen Ping'an took one hand out of his sleeve and raised it high. "Go ahead."
Qingtong gritted his teeth. "The Supreme Sage never asked me to pass on a message to you, but he did come here. It's true—he left me a word, hoping I would cultivate well. If you dare to destroy a Demon-Suppressing Tower, and allow a Ascension Realm sword cultivator from the desolate wilderness to ruin my great Dao..."
Chen Ping'an put his hand away and nodded. "When I have time, I'll go to the Confucian Temple and confess my guilt. Yes, I'll first find my teacher, then see the Ritual Sage."
Qingtong's face darkened.
You, Qingtong, like to lie back and enjoy the benefits?
Fine.
No problem at all.
Earlier, while Xiao Mo's sword light was breaking the heavenly restrictions, Chen Ping'an had actually used "Caged Sparrow" plus "Moon in Well" to send a flying sword message to that old master.
He had made a gentleman's agreement with that accompanying sage.
He asked him to be sure to keep it from his teacher and send a letter to the Ritual Sage.
He begged the Ritual Sage to move half the Sword Qi Great Wall here.
As for the merit deduction, it was just a matter of clear accounting—the Ritual Sage and the Confucian Temple would follow the rules.
On the Xiping gentleman's merit ledger bearing the name Chen Ping'an, however much should be written off would be written off.
But you, Qingtong—forget about the Fourteen Realm for the rest of your life.
It was laughable. All this time, Chen Ping'an had been thinking about the Three Religions Patriarchs scattering their Dao, and certain Fourteen Realm great cultivators openly slaughtering, or secretly scheming against peak Ascension Realm cultivators.
Unexpectedly, he himself had become the first person to block someone from reaching the Fourteen Realm.
So, Qingtong, whether you heal your wounds for a hundred years, a thousand years, or ten thousand years here in Tungye Continent—what difference does it make?
But since this matter had come to this, there was no need to say it out loud.
Lest it seem like a threat.
Although the price was a bit high, the gain was not small.
The fortune of an entire continent would soon stabilize.
And the repair work would go much more smoothly.
With harmony among people, there is advantage in terrain, and then favorable timing.
Many things that originally required Qingtong's help could be done by himself.
The only trouble was that when his teacher learned of this, he would probably be quite angry.
Whatever.
Damn it.
The old Sword Immortal was right: cultivation shouldn't always be so rigid.
In every hundred years, one must do something that doesn't need to be justified.
Suddenly, Qingtong's expression showed slight surprise. Reluctantly, he opened a landscape restriction, like opening a door.
Chen Ping'an was even more surprised, because the flying sword that had left this world earlier flashed and came straight for him. Chen Ping'an could only put that sword light into his sleeve.
Then Qingtong started jumping and cursing, "Chen Ping'an, you madman! Bastard, you're really possessed, out of your mind! Were you hit by a door panel when you were a kid? Damaging others for no benefit to yourself—you do it so smoothly! Why do you have to target me like this? If you really move half the Sword Qi Great Wall here, do you even know the consequences? As long as Tungye Continent's mountains and rivers remain broken, you won't be able to break through your realm for a single day. Don't even dream about it..."
Chen Ping'an frowned slightly, not because of Qingtong's harmless cursing, but because he didn't know what that old master intended. They had already settled on that deal.
In Qingtong's heart lake, it seemed he received a scolding, and the wording was certainly not euphemistic. So Qingtong suddenly became listless, staring blankly at that bright red dharma robe. He sighed, first closed the door, then hesitantly took two leftover talismans from his sleeve. One talisman was made of ordinary yellow seal material, the other was a rare golden material.
Chen Ping'an's eyes narrowed instantly. He said in a deep voice, "Xiao Mo, if you need to act later, disregard the consequences."
Xiao Mo, who had been about to revert to his true form, nodded instead, maintaining his dharma form and, for the first time, holding the sword with both hands.
Qingtong said via heart voice, "Your memory is so good. You must still remember these two old talismans."
Chen Ping'an was expressionless.
Of course he remembered.
One was a yin energy guiding talisman he had made back then at Eagle Fort, following Lu Tai's guidance, by inverting a yang-energy lantern-lighting talisman.
The other, the golden talisman, had its paper given by Chen Ping'an to Lu Tai, who eventually drew a "Ghost Realm Ferry Talisman."
Qingtong continued via heart voice, "You guessed right. Zouzi did bring Lu Tai to me back then. Besides leaving me a not-so-auspicious prophecy, Zouzi also gave me these two leftover talismans, saying they might help me survive a calamity in the future. I thought Zouzi was joking."
Chen Ping'an nodded. "It is a joke. You were right not to take it seriously."
Qingtong was already mentally prepared to grasp at straws. If that didn't work, he would just have to resign himself to fate.
He would rather let the Demon-Suppressing Tower be destroyed than let this Chen Ping'an and that Xiao Mo get away with it. At worst, it would end up before the Confucian Temple, and both sides would be punished.
Qingtong hesitated, then mentioned a small matter, "When Zouzi was here, he brought along... a group of yin-object children. He said I should give them some merit, that he had a use for it."
Chen Ping'an asked, "And then?"
Qingtong said helplessly, "Just a bit of merit, and it was Zouzi's request. Of course, I did it."
This was the first time Xiao Mo saw his young master show a hesitant expression.
Many years ago, when he traveled with Lu Tai, they stayed at the Eagle Fort. Outside the door was a narrow alley, a dead end, and a wall covered with corpses.
At that time, Chen Ping'an hadn't yet lent the brush named "Little Snow Cone" to Zhong Kui. His talisman drawing probably couldn't even be called entering the hall.
In the end, Chen Ping'an said nothing. He reached out, grasped the Ye You sword, turned and walked away. He turned his head to Qingtong and said, "Don't let me see you again."
Qingtong's expression was complicated, and he was puzzled in his heart. Was this guy really just going to leave like that?
Xiao Mo, however, didn't bother to think about why his young master had changed his mind. Whatever the young master did was always right.
Qingtong hesitated, then called out, "Chen Ping'an, aren't you curious why I was so... unreasonable?"
The last four words, Qingtong said with difficulty, forcing himself.
Chen Ping'an, with his back to Qingtong, only looked up at the heavenly canopy and said in a deep voice, "Open the door quickly. No need to see me out."
Damn it, you Qingtong—as soon as I turn around, it's a "reunion." You're really asking for a beheading.
Qingtong continued, "I have my reasons, of course."
Chen Ping'an turned his head and smiled. "Do you like complicating things so much?"
Qingtong felt a chill run down his spine at that look. After a moment of silence, he had to force himself to ask tentatively, "How about a little review? Chat for a bit? Who knows, if we talk well, cooperation might not be out of the question."
First, he was worried that the misunderstanding between them was too deep, and that Chen Ping'an would hold a grudge.
Qingtong wasn't really thinking about "who knows, we might hit it off." He was more worried that if this guy was stubborn, once he left the Demon-Suppressing Tower, he would continue discussing moving half the city wall with that Confucian Temple master. What then? And what if that young master agreed?
Moreover, Qingtong was still unwilling to accept defeat. He wanted to regain some ground on certain matters. As for fighting, forget it. The situation wasn't favorable. He had suffered enough. These two fights, especially the latter, had left him full. He was still shaken. If at all possible, it didn't matter whether you, Chen Ping'an, saw me or not. Just don't let me see that "Xiao Mo" by your side again.
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment, smiled, and nodded. "A guest follows the host's convenience. I'd be glad to do so."
He flicked his sleeve, sat cross-legged, and laid the sword across his knees.
Right in front of Qingtong, he took out a "White Colt Passing Through a Crack" talisman from his sleeve and suspended it beside him to mark the time.
Qingtong's eyelids twitched. Was this guy being overly cautious, or was he simply not giving him any face?
Seeing Xiao Mo also sit down, Qingtong hesitated but chose to sit opposite them.
Chen Ping'an's first words were full of murderous intent: "Tungye Continent, Tungye Sect, Du Mao's Parasol Tree Grotto-Heaven—did you give that to him?"
Qingtong had clearly learned his lesson. Losing in the fight, he didn't lose in spirit. He said impatiently, "The Parasol Tree Umbrella you brought out of the Lotus Flower Blessed Land back then, besides being able to shield heavenly secrets, also contained a quarter of the Lotus Flower Blessed Land. Trace it back to its source, it's also an object that left from my side."
What was the point of dragging up old accounts?
Chen Ping'an smiled. "I'm not dragging up old accounts. That matter with Du Mao was turned over long ago."
Qingtong unconsciously glanced at Xiao Mo.
Xiao Mo smiled slightly. "Don't use your own mind to gauge my young master's thoughts."
Parasol branches had been called "phoenix branches" since ancient times.
The Lotus Flower Grotto-Heaven was split into four parts. The part Chen Ping'an obtained was an oilpaper umbrella given by the old abbey master, and its ribs were made of parasol branches.
And parasol branches and leaves had always been afraid of strong winds and waterlogging.
The young sword cultivator before him had a faint Dao aura, having borrowed great Dao aura from that wretched woman Feng Yi.
Moreover, in less than half a century of cultivation, Chen Ping'an's Dao was heavily water-attuned, and not in the way that a cultivator naturally suited water-element techniques.
If Feng Yi's great Dao aura was still shallow, then there was also the immense great Dao gift from an ancient Rain Master's reincarnation. Although Chen Ping'an hadn't fully accepted it, to Qingtong, this was a kind of loathsome and deeply feared great Dao suppression.
On top of that, Chen Ping'an was a sword cultivator, especially one who had stayed at the Sword Qi Great Wall for so many years.
Back then, he had also carried Chen Qingdu's "Sword Qi Long" on his back.
Now, Chen Ping'an's body bore a demon's true name, which naturally clashed with the Demon-Suppressing Tower's great Dao.
All these reasons combined—how could Qingtong feel close to this person?
Hearing Qingtong's "complaint," Chen Ping'an nodded, squinting and smiling. "Sound reasoning, understandable."
These reasons were all reasons.
But none of them were the real reason.
At this moment, in Qingtong's eyes, this person's words lacked any sincerity.
It gave Qingtong an additional reason to dislike this person.
So similar!
This young sword immortal of unpredictable temperament was just like that certain Daoist Sun from the Azure Desolate World back then. The latter had traveled here, deliberately hiding his identity as a Xuan Du Abbey abbot, and had caused a misunderstanding completely of the other's making. After the uproar, the other said, "This poor Daoist's chest is as broad as the sea, and his tolerance is as high as a mountain. A little misunderstanding, why bother? This poor Daoist won't take it to heart. Daoist Qingtong, if you hold a grudge and can't let it go, then you are measuring a gentleman's heart with a petty man's measure. If Daoist Qingtong is so petty, then don't blame this poor Daoist for not being generous..."
Before leaving, Daoist Sun didn't say anything directly. The old Daoist just mused aloud, like composing poetry, lingering under a tree, speaking circuitously in a sour, literary tone: "When this poor Daoist returns home, I shall pick an auspicious time on a moonlit night to transplant a green parasol tree in my own abbey courtyard. Its bark is as green as jade, its leaves are shaped like flowers, pure and elegant. One can say it is delicate and lovely. When we walk beneath it, our clothes will all be green. In spring and winter, it sheds leaves to enjoy the warmth of the sun; in summer and autumn, it offers shade to shield from the burning heat. The joy is boundless..."
A leading figure of the Azure Desolate World's sword immortal lineage, the unshakeable fifth in the world—when that old abbey master talked about transplanting a green parasol, how could it be just picking a slender branch? It was undoubtedly the same as asking Qingtong to cut off one of his own arms.
Fortunately, the Pure Yang Daoist was present back then to mediate, sparing Qingtong a disaster.
Qingtong again spoke via heart voice, "When Zouzi left here, he told me one thing: that I was to examine someone's Dao heart in the future. As for the result or my impression, I didn't need to tell him. As for who that someone was, he only said I would know when I saw them."
"Someone?"
Chen Ping'an asked doubtfully, "I was carrying 'Sword Qi Long' back then. Didn't you keep staring at me? Isn't it obvious?"
Qingtong said helplessly, "Whether you believe it or not, in my eyes, that Lu Tai was never by your side. Even many scenes I thought I saw were a series of illusions that Zouzi deliberately made me see. It was a true case of 'a leaf before the eye blocks the view of Mount Tai.' As for how Zouzi did it, I don't know. It wasn't until I saw you this time that I sensed something was wrong. While you were walking through those illusionary scrolls earlier, I immediately conducted a great Dao deduction, working backwards, and only then got this... terrifying truth."
Chen Ping'an looked half-convinced.
But this reason from Qingtong, whether true or false, could barely be considered a passable excuse.
He let Xiao Mo revert to his true form.
Qingtong breathed a sigh of relief, waved his sleeve, and picked out twelve leaves from the golden fallen leaves on the ground.
He suspended them before him, pressed two fingers together, lightly touched one of the leaves, pushed it forward, and floated it toward Chen Ping'an.
Each fallen leaf was like a "horse-racing" map of the river of time.
Each had a key point.
Playing chess. Lü Yan, a Yellow Millet Dream. Great drought, officials praying for rain. Prefect controlling floods, two lamp wicks. War lord unwilling to attack mid-crossing, benevolence. Talented scholar and beautiful woman's marriage, old monk, little novice. Old woman on horseback, Ghost Festival, separation between light and darkness. Local deity, solemn vows of eternal love. A flower kingdom with a slightly heavy makeup aura. Being a monarch. A Dao attainment practitioner, time flowing backward. Buying a cake.
Qingtong's expression turned serious, with a touch of nostalgia. He said slowly, "In ancient times, those who attained the One were truly few and far between."
"Heaven and earth attained the One, becoming clear and serene. Spirits attained the One and became numinous, that is, divine. Valleys attained the One and became full. All things attained the One and were born. Among them, the river of time and the spiritual energy used by cultivators both arose from the corpses of dead spirits."
"All the magical techniques and divine powers in the world are like a big tree reflected in water, each with its own branches and veins, which later became the Dao traditions and lineages. Whenever one blossoms and bears fruit, that is a Dao-attainment practitioner."
Hearing this, Xiao Mo chuckled.
You're just blowing your own horn here.
If you were really that capable, how could you not even take a few of my sword strikes? And I haven't even used any of my life-bound flying swords.
Qingtong was furious. Embarrassed, he said, "This analogy wasn't said by me."
Xiao Mo reached out and lightly patted the green bamboo staff lying across his knee, indicating the other party should lower his voice, as he was timid and easily frightened.
Chen Ping'an asked, "By 'few and far between,' who do you mean?"
Qingtong said, "Of course, the 'Ten Great Heroes of the World' in ancient times!"
Chen Ping'an remained calm.
But this was actually the first time he had heard of this. The Summer Retreat Palace had no records, nor did the Confucian Temple. His own teacher, his student Cui Dongshan, and Xiao Mo beside him, the old Sword Immortal back then, and his senior brother Zuo You—none of them had ever mentioned it.
Unfortunately, Qingtong only mentioned part of that "list."
It turned out that in the ancient era, before the war between water and fire and the battle of ascending to heaven, there had been the Ten Great Heroes of the World.
Without exception, they had become sages like gods.
Ten cultivators of different origins, with no ranking between them.
Among them were the Three Religions Patriarchs.
The First Ancestor of the Military.
The first cultivator in the world.
And a rightful sword Dao chief of the world.
The best talent for sword practice, the fastest to break through realms, the largest number of flying swords, and the highest rank of all.
How powerful these existences were, one could tell just from the "alternates."
There were only four alternates in total.
They were sword cultivator Chen Qingdu, the Young Master, Bai Ze, and the creator of talisman Dao, the Marchmount Marquis Sanshan.
When Qingtong mentioned Chen Qingdu, he couldn't help but glance at that young man across from him who seemed more demon than human.
Back then, both were sword cultivators. The relationship between Chen Qingdu and that sword Dao chief was somewhat similar to the Green vs. White debate on the martial path today—Chen Ping'an and Cao Ci, with the former always chasing the latter.
In the end, the highest sword Dao in the world fell to the "alternate" Chen Qingdu, who came later and surpassed.
Qingtong continued, "In the ancient era, the struggle between water and fire ravaged heaven and earth, breaking the pillars of heaven and severing the cords of the earth."
"For the beings of that time, it was certainly a calamity. But at the same time, for all sentient beings who survived the disaster, especially cultivators, it was..."
Qingtong paused, searching for a vivid analogy.
Chen Ping'an interjected, "After extreme adversity, great opportunity. Like later farming: after burning and plowing, the soil becomes fertile instead of barren."
Qingtong nodded. "The Heavenly Dao tilted, and the movement patterns of the sun, moon, and stars became more evident. The terrain was uneven, the five lakes and four seas of the world rose, and dust and water rose everywhere—all were opportunities for the survivors to cultivate."
And the prophecy Zouzi had given Qingtong last time was exactly "The ground sinks in the southeast, the sky tilts to the northwest."
Qingtong sighed. "After this, Dao-attainment practitioners who had mastered techniques each occupied a territory."
He paused again, then finally gave these ancient Dao-certified practitioners a grand statement.
"I am the host of the east."
"The way of heaven reduces the abundant to supplement the deficient. The way of man, however, reduces the deficient to serve the abundant."
"Hence, the Dao Ancestor said, 'Who can have abundance to give to the world? Only one who has the Dao.'"
"Today's mountain sects and immortal mansions, regardless of size, all have a 'worshipper' position in their Patriarch Hall. This is the great Dao root of this position, meaning 'to perform worship and reverence to heaven and earth.' But now, most of these mountain worshippers, those registered cultivators, who still knows this? Even if they know, how many take it seriously? Even if someone takes it seriously, with the Dao setting like the sun, what can the travelers in the twilight do?"
"So, when you said earlier that you would use human methods to mend the mountains and rivers of Tungye Continent—Chen Ping'an, if you look back now, do you think those words were laughable?"
The other party directly countered, "The Dao Ancestor's distinction between the heavenly and human ways is different from the Confucian tenets. Which do you find laughable, or are both ridiculous?"
Qingtong's scalp tingled, and he was momentarily speechless.
Damn it! How did this lead to the Dao Ancestor and the Supreme Sage?!
Qingtong was almost scared into standing up, first mimicking a Confucian bow, then performing a Daoist salute.
The atmosphere became awkward.
Qingtong finally remembered something and withdrew all the Dao resonance of the Demon-Suppressing Tower.
Xiao Mo showed no change.
But Chen Ping'an gradually reverted to his original appearance of a blue shirt.
Only then did Qingtong say, "Heaven and earth giving birth to humans was originally a mistake. As for those sages who go their own way, as Leader Lu said, 'If sages do not die, great thieves will not cease...'"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Still at it?"
You, Qingtong, are good at a few great talismans, right? Your talisman aura is so vast—why not just stick a label of "Old Heaven's Co-Leader" on me? Then call the Three Religions Patriarchs to come and see?
After that, Chen Ping'an pointed at the "White Colt Passing Through a Crack" talisman, signaling the other to cherish the time.
Qingtong's expression turned somewhat embittered.
Seeing this, Chen Ping'an's mind wandered, thinking about human nature, and whether a cultivator's yin spirit leaving the body and forging a yang spirit could be considered a kind of "Heavenly Dao tilting, sun and moon manifesting"?
Not to mention the "Yang Mumao," cut off from Xiao Tianjun Yang Ningxing's Three Corpses, or Old Real Person Liang Shuang's yin spirit traveling far away, or the current state of Xiao Mo before his eyes, and of course, his student Cui Dongshan.
A slight difference leads to a thousand miles of error—differences in Dao hearts lead to shifts in personality.
The only exception might be Zheng Juzhong.
Qingtong pushed the second leaf toward Chen Ping'an.
Qingtong asked curiously, "In that inn by the Handan road, why didn't you confirm whether that Lü Yan was real or not?"
Earlier, in the first scroll illusion, Chen Ping'an had left Xiao Mo, gone to the road alone, and without hesitation overturned the book box, finding the books blank.
Imitating a gourd, it was a simple thing to do.
He could have just had Xiao Mo deliver a sword strike at that inn's old Daoist to know the truth.
Chen Ping'an said, "We must sincerely respect the ancestors and predecessors on the path of cultivation. We juniors, who enjoy the shade under a big tree, walking on the broad roads they opened and trampled flat, should naturally hold them in high regard. Especially so for the Ancestor Lü, whom I have long admired."
Qingtong looked uncomfortable.
Chen Ping'an said, "Of course, when encountering some elders who are not respectable, especially those who like to trade on their seniority, after showing a bit of courtesy and going through the motions of proper etiquette, there's no need to be overly polite. After all, we are all cultivators. Age and years of cultivation don't fill the stomach. Don't you agree, senior?"
Xiao Mo smiled. "At this moment, Daoist Qingtong should answer with 'I deeply agree.'"
The young Hidden Official immediately said, "Ah," with a rising tone, "How can you talk to a fellow Daoist and old friend like that?"
Xiao Mo nodded. "I'll pay attention next time."
Qingtong didn't want a next time. He quickly changed the subject. "After you leave here and the sect celebration is over, you might as well head straight to the Yellow Millet Kingdom, the hometown of Ancestor Lü. According to the old abbey master's words, that sword manual points directly to the Golden Core Great Dao."
Seeing that Chen Ping'an seemed uninterested, Qingtong continued to advise, "This isn't forced. Since Lü Yan said so, then you are already one of the fated ones. Heaven gives, and if you don't take it, you will suffer the consequences..."
Speaking up to here, Qingtong felt very awkward, so he stopped and changed the subject. "Your Xian Du Mountain is a sword Dao sect. If you can obtain this opportunity, plus the prayer-rain Dao manual you got from Maihe, I believe that within two to three hundred years, the number of Earth Immortals in Fallen Mountain and Xian Du Mountain might be described as sprouting like bamboo shoots after rain—maybe a bit exaggerated—but compared to some top sects in Central Earth Divine Continent, both in quantity and quality, it won't be far off."
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Like duckweed gathering and dispersing, everything follows fate."
Then he added, "When the dream ends, the yellow millet is not yet cooked. True or false, good or bad—hard to say. Just like right now, how can you, Qingtong, be sure that you are not still in the illusionary world Zouzi created for you?"
Qingtong smiled, obviously thinking such nonsense was best left to those who worry about the sky falling.
Chen Ping'an lightly brushed that golden leaf, also sending it back to the pile.
The next two leaves contained several hints. For example, putting them front to back together was actually a page of an old almanac.
Great drought plus flood.
The ancient struggle between water and fire that caused heaven and earth to collapse, with countless casualties.
Also, the demon army of the desolate wilderness swept across a continent, sinking mountains and rivers, collapsing rites and music, and destroying all order.
Regardless, no matter the reason, you, Chen Ping'an, came too late and were destined to be too late to save anything. Life and death are fated.
At best, you could be like that official praying for rain and do some remedial measures afterward, but even that might not succeed.
Moreover, Qingtong had another "digression": that very rainfall was the reason why "in one commandery, there was a great flood, and it sank into the water."
The Heavenly Court collapsed, the Heavenly Dao fell into ruin, all because of your "this one" standing by. Do you only now think of cleaning up the mess you yourself caused?!
Could it be that Wenhai Zhoumi's departure to ascend, and the Three Religions Patriarchs' scattering of the Dao, were all part of your calculations?!
All this cause and effect, separated by ten thousand years, had been calculated and foretold by Zouzi, who "speaks of heavenly matters"?
Otherwise, back then, during that war of water and fire, couldn't you have stopped it? Even if you couldn't, why didn't you even lift a finger to intervene? Why did you never show up at all?
This was Qingtong's merciless mockery.
As for that official praying for rain during the great drought, holding the prayer text from Chen Ping'an's hand, the opening lines were, "Rain Master, Wind Uncle, Thunder Lord, Lightning Mother, hear my decree: those who disobey shall be beheaded."
Actually, when Qingtong saw that scene from afar back then, he wasn't just trembling in his Dao heart—his liver and gall nearly ruptured from fear.
Thinking back to that long era ten thousand years ago, that "one" was the supreme among supremes.
But no one in the human world, and probably no spirit, knew what this existence was thinking.
The closest to the truth might have been only the Dao Ancestor?
Chen Ping'an looked down at the scenes on the two leaves and suddenly smiled. "Senior Qingtong seems quite skilled at mocking others?"
Qingtong frowned. "What do you mean?"
In one of the earlier scroll illusions, Chen Ping'an had been a prefect in charge of flood control. He came from a humble background, was young, had passed the imperial exams, and was not yet married.
All of this matched Chen Ping'an's background and situation.
From a poor alley, he eventually rose to a high position, becoming the last Hidden Official, stationed at the Summer Retreat Palace. The demon army's assault on the Sword Qi Great Wall was like a flood.
He had to go everywhere to beg for resources, like the fifty-four cross-continent ferry ships, the Spring Breeze Studio in Hanging Mountain.
Although he and Ning Yao were known to the world as Dao companions, they had yet to formally marry, and so on.
Not entirely similar, but with careful examination, there were many common points.
Also, when Chen Ping'an encountered that idle literatus, he said emphatically that if one excels at the eight-legged essay of the civil service exams, then other things can be done with a single strike leaving a mark, a single slap leaving a palm print; otherwise, they are all wild fox Zen and heretical ways...
All professions are inferior, only book-learning is noble. What is the purpose of reading? To become an official? To ennoble one's wife and children?
The mountain's myriad techniques—only the path of the sword cultivator, like reading among all professions, looks down on the world and despises others.
Wasn't this Qingtong taking the opportunity to sneer at sword cultivators who, relying on "one sword breaking all laws," look down on everyone?
Every place was full of insinuations and hidden meanings.
For example, that high mansion symbolized the former Sword Qi Great Wall. And Ning Yao of the Sword Qi Great Wall was the woman who unfortunately wasn't born a man, so the son-in-law who married into the mansion was "well-matched and also talented," of course, because this person was the last disciple of the Literary Sage lineage, the junior brother of Cui Chan, Zuo You, and the others. Thus, the old Sword Immortal valued him highly. And the phrase "unwilling to pursue the imperial exams" hinted that Chen Ping'an wasn't a sword cultivator at that time...
Qingtong felt a bit guilty.
What? Can this person guess his thoughts and intentions as well?
This time, it was Xiao Mo's turn to be baffled.
Such a winding mind—only a woman whose thoughts are like the bottom of the sea, or... one of us scholars.
Chen Ping'an glanced at the opposite Qingtong. Was he actually a woman at the moment?
As for the final scene, where the prefect pushed open the door and removed one lamp wick from the oil lamp on the table, it was probably Qingtong, who had a lot of resentment toward sword cultivators, still speaking indirectly about the old Sword Immortal and himself.
Was he saying that the old Sword Immortal failed to preserve his integrity in the end, having to entrust his orphan to an outsider who had arrived at the Sword Qi Great Wall only a few days ago?
In the end, that old man lying on the sickbed without saying a word was like Chen Qingdu, who didn't even deliver a single sword strike on the battlefield.
So in the end, only half the Sword Qi Great Wall was left?
Chen Ping'an tucked his hands into his sleeves, squinting and smiling. "You're not cursing me—you're just cursing a dead old Sword Immortal. I'm not angry. How could I be angry? Not worth it. No need."
"It's like on the Sword Qi Great Wall—any living lower fifth realm sword cultivator can casually joke that Zong Yuan is inferior to him."
"By the way, Senior Qingtong, you didn't curse me, did you?"
Qingtong remained silent, neither admitting nor denying.
Xiao Mo thought this fellow should have listened to his young master's advice earlier and not complicated things. He should have just let the young master return to Xian Du Mountain.
Qingtong was somewhat relieved because Chen Ping'an had already pushed away those two leaves and moved to the next scroll.
Chen Ping'an asked, "Is this a friendly reminder? Still Zouzi's arrangement? Or your own intention?"
Qingtong gave a vague answer, saying softly, "It's the trend of the times. Whose intention it is doesn't matter."
Chen Ping'an sneered. "Still don't get it? This is Zouzi's reminder to you."
The image was of a war lord, a hegemon, facing a question of "benevolence" regarding attacking at mid-crossing.
Qingtong realized it belatedly, his Dao heart shaken.
Originally, Qingtong thought this leaf was about how, once the Three Religions Patriarchs scattered their Dao, there would be a new pattern unseen in ten thousand years. Heroes would rise, all competing to cross.
Certainly, Ascension Realm and Fourteen Realm great cultivators would make moves to block the crossing, or even burn the bridge after crossing, killing anyone who might engage in a great Dao conflict with them on their own path.
But then, thinking back to Chen Ping'an's earlier flying sword message, Qingtong couldn't help but feel a chill down his spine.
Chen Ping'an sneered. "When dealing with Zouzi, do you just lie on the ground and play dead, resigning yourself to fate?"
In the following scroll, there was a pair of talented scholars and a beautiful woman tangled in a love affair. Probably, in the world, the same beautiful full moon and long life, the same lovers who eventually marry, yet they walked different paths of longing.
Actually, when Chen Ping'an was the prefect of that place, either traveling to beg for resources or traveling incognito to "investigate the people's suffering," he had once seen a poor old scholar. When he was about to go home, passing a street corner at dusk, he saw a food stall set up. The old man walked far away, repeating over and over, "I shouldn't, I shouldn't. I'm a scholar—how can I go buy things on the street myself?" When he reached his doorstep, he was still craving the food. He looked at the sky. When it got dark and no one could recognize him... But then he thought, when the moon rises bright, it will be bright enough to recognize people. Better to wait for twilight when the moon hasn't risen yet; that would be dark enough... In the end, the old scholar went into the house, got a basket, walked quickly to the food stall, didn't dare haggle over the price, bought a basketful, and cursed the merchant for being black-hearted, blacker than the sky...
He had also seen a man who had lost his wages, sitting by the street, not far from home, slapping his own face hard.
Not far away, a group of young and old gamblers were gambling away money that slipped through their fingers like flowing water, their shouts echoing alongside the slaps.
After that, the old monk in the temple was chopping up Buddha statues for firewood.
Wild fox Zen falsely claiming enlightenment, scholars' textual obstacles in studying Buddhist scriptures, the tangled vines of Chan, and the mad Chan that cursed Buddha and patriarchs at the slightest provocation...
Chen Ping'an, however, knew that these incidents, including the earlier encounter with Ancestor Lü's pillow of yellow millet, the official's rain prayer, and the prefect's flood control, were all Zouzi probing his Dao heart's tendencies, or more precisely, weighing the importance of the three religions' tenets in his heart.
What Zouzi had put the most effort into was the encounter with the old woman on the road after the rain. The old woman was dressed in rags but rode a fine horse with ornate saddle and bridle.
If one simply understood this as ghosts having living relatives to worship them during the Ghost Festival, then how should those who wander in the living world deal with themselves? Heaven and earth mourn autumn, plants and trees are sad. Offerings are laid, libations poured. In years of misfortune, people are displaced. Sacrificial offerings do not arrive, and souls have no support... Thinking this way was fine, but Zouzi's intention was definitely not limited to this level. Rather, through the old woman, he was illustrating the current situation of the remnants of ancient spirits. The real meaning lay in the phrase "Where is the gentleman going?" and later "The road is waterlogged; rest a while. Set out early tomorrow, and you will be at ease."
Because in the next scroll, Chen Ping'an and Xiao Mo became local deities.
Resting at ease, ascending to reclaim divine positions?!
But in Chen Ping'an's heart, Zouzi's most sinister intention was still the last scroll, that scene both familiar and strange.
Maybe because all the joys and sorrows in the world can only come from shared experience.
Chen Ping'an looked around, sensing not the slightest abnormality.
He believed that even if he sacrificed a "Caged Sparrow" to completely envelop this parasol tree world, he would still find nothing.
It seemed that knowing more only brought more unknown.
Many times, he envied Qingtong, this cultivator who just lay on the ground, thought about nothing, let things be, and didn't care whether it rained or shined tomorrow.
Chen Ping'an took out the gourd from his sleeve, took a sip of wine, raised his eyes to Qingtong opposite, and said, "Tell me.