(Two places are recommended: the “circle” in the Zongheng app and the Baidu Tieba forum. Divine beings often appear in these places, and many posts analyzing the plot are very insightful.)

The ferry pier where Chen Pingan boarded the ship was not the same one that went to Yun Song Kingdom. After paying ten snowflake coins and returning the seal bestowed by the Grand Commandant’s Office, Chen Pingan followed dozens of people to the pier. The location was actually the entrance to an underground cave. The entrance, a spacious five or six zhang wide, was covered with cliff carvings of famous immortal masters from various dynasties: “Fish Scale Paradise,” “A Day and Night in a Pot,” “Yaolin Grotto.” Most of the calligraphy was vigorous and powerful. After entering the cave, the passage opened up into a bright and spacious cavern. The group descended a series of steps, and after a slow walk of about a joss stick’s time, they entered a gigantic hall. On the east and west stone walls were vivid murals of flying celestials, their large sleeves trailing, their countenances ethereal. The women’s faces were clearly visible, their figures full and plump, yet without giving a sense of clumsiness.

Anchored at the pier was a three-story ship. The bow and stern were decorated with dragon head and dragon tail carvings. Besides its immense size, almost comparable to the battle ships on the imperial dynasty’s great lakes, its design seemed no different from ordinary ferries. Besides Chen Pingan’s group, there were already over three hundred people gathered there. The pier had various shops and stalls, mostly exquisite and delicate. They didn’t hang plaques or couplets, but simply displayed signs outside their doors, selling calligraphy, pastries, fruits, and local specialties from around the Shuishui Kingdom, such as the small-sized lichen tapestries and fighting cock cups from Caiyi Kingdom, pine needle calligraphy from Songxi Kingdom, and elm leaf carvings and root carving Arhats from Guyu Kingdom.

Chen Pingan had previously paid ten snowflake coins to rent a single room on the second floor. In fact, the first floor only cost three coins, which was equivalent to three thousand taels of silver. Even though it was a immortal ferry and the journey would be long, this price was still quite daunting compared to the expenses of a long journey in a mortal dynasty. Fortunately, Chen Pingan had been on the Kun ship before, so he wasn’t easily surprised. He had also sold the Five Peaks True Form Bowl and thunderstruck ebony in Qingfu Ward, gaining an additional four hundred and fifty snowflake coins, which was a good profit. Moreover, Chen Pingan needed to practice his fist techniques and stances every day, so this money had to be spent and couldn’t be saved.

A Qi cultivator from the pier was sitting on a small stone platform by the shore, seated in a grand master’s chair, holding a tea cup covered with partridge spots. He took countless sips, but the tea didn’t seem to decrease. He loudly reminded everyone that the ferry would head south in half an hour. Before boarding, they could buy some inexpensive and high-quality local specialties to take back home. Then, he emphasized the lichen tapestries from Caiyi Kingdom and the potted plants from Shanlan Kingdom, praising them lavishly and excessively. He even announced the names of the shops where they could be purchased. Sure enough, many ferry passengers were moved and went to those two shops to spend lavishly. This caused the shopkeepers of the other stores to roll their eyes or look on with envy. Money could make the devil push the millstone; they didn’t have the money to grease the wheels, so they could only stand by.

Chen Pingan stood silently in the crowd. He suddenly thought of Liu Gaohua, the son of the prefect of Rouge County, and the tree spirit scholar from Guyu Kingdom, as well as the fighting cock cups they had carried at the time. He had heard that their price would increase several times elsewhere, so he also went to buy a pair of fighting cock cups for one snowflake coin each. He put the yellow sandalwood box containing the porcelain cups into his bundle and then bought some fresh fruits with real gold and silver, carrying a large bag in his hand.

Amidst the sea of people, the youth wore straw sandals, carried a sword box on his back, slung a cotton cloth bundle across his shoulder, and also carried a bag of fruits.

Although there were many people, with only two or three steps distance between them, this immortal ferry was much quieter than the bustling market of a prefecture. Most people gathered in small groups of friends, whispering to each other. Few spoke loudly, and those mischievous children who couldn’t restrain their lively nature were held back by their elders, who firmly forbade them from running around.

After all, this was the legendary gathering place for immortals.

The mountain cultivators, when traveling outside, would not engrave their sect’s name on their foreheads, nor would they reveal their true cultivation realm.

The lower five realms, a total of ten realms. The realms are fixed and unchanging, but people are alive. As the sages said, natures are similar, habits are different. The Great Dao is long and winding, often requiring decades or even centuries of cultivation. Heaven knows what kind of temperament a cultivator will eventually develop? If one is unconcerned with everything and relies solely on their fists and cultivation to do as they please, they will surely be trampled underfoot and lectured by others one day.

However, those fortunate enough to be born into immortal abodes with the title of “Sect,” such as the Divine Edict Sect or the Wind and Snow Temple of Zhenwu Mountain, especially the Lakeside Academy that awed the Treasure Bottle Continent, even if they were not direct disciples, would still be qualified to roam freely across a continent, as if they carried an invisible talisman of safety.

Or, they would have a Golden Core or Nascent Soul stage mentor, which would also be a weighty protective charm.

The grievances of the mountains may be matters that common mortals could not comprehend even after several lifetimes combined. Therefore, it is better to resolve feuds than to create them. The Wind and Lightning Garden and the Orthodox Yang Mountain are the best examples. What has become of the once high and mighty immortal maiden, Su Jia? Her world’s first-class sword nurturing gourd was confiscated by her sect, her sword heart and cultivation were shattered, and it is said that she has completely disappeared without a trace. How many young cultivators who once admired her are still heartbroken?

Chen Pingan remained silent, simply drinking wine from his wine pot, waiting for the ferry to depart south. This trip would take him two hundred thousand miles south by boat. At the disembarkation point, there would be other immortal ferries that would directly reach Old Dragon City. From Old Dragon City, he would cross continents to reach Upside-down Mountain and enter the Sword Qi Great Wall. Therefore, there would be no more opportunities to travel the world with friends. Even if he wanted to drink, he could only drink alone.

The ferry was about to set sail, and the passengers began to board one after another. Chen Pingan found his room on the second floor. Compared to the Heavenly Ranked room on the Kun ship he boarded at Wutong Mountain Ferry, it was very cramped and small, with only a bed. Outside was a small balcony that could only accommodate two people.

Chen Pingan put down the bag of fruits that cost him a dozen taels of silver, took off his sword box and bundle, and sat on the clean and comfortable bed. For no reason, he thought of the wooden plank bed in his ancestral home in Mud Bottle Lane. Chen Pingan leaned back and lay down. The poor fear winter, the rich fear summer. But it seems that the wealthy have many ways to relieve the heat and avoid summer, not to mention the supremely powerful mountain cultivators.
Chen Ping’an sat up, rolled up his sleeves and trousers, revealing faint talisman patterns on his wrists and above his ankles. His vital energy flowed slowly, as if burdened by invisible weights. They didn’t seem particularly noteworthy, and the *Dan Shu Zhen Ji* (True Marks of the Alchemist’s Manual) given by Li Xisheng made no mention of them. This was the work of Old Man Yang, named the “Eight Liang of True Qi” talisman. The old man hadn’t elaborated, only saying that they could help a pure martial artist temper their physique with circulating true qi while they slept. Moreover, Chen Ping’an only needed to reach the Qi Refining realm for these four talismans to dissipate on their own. If he consistently failed to break through the bottleneck, he should go to Old Dragon City at the southernmost end of Treasure Bottle Continent and find Zheng Dafeng at a dusty medicine shop, asking that former gatekeeper of the small town to help him remove the restraints.

Chen Ping’an lowered his sleeves and trousers, and walked to the ferry’s balcony. According to the Gazettes of Shuishui Country, this underground waterway was formed when the last true dragon in the world was hunted down by immortals, and it burrowed underground. It carved this path with its massive body, eventually breaking through the surface in Shuishui Country and flying north to Great Li, where a great battle ensued, resulting in the creation of the Carp Leaping Dragon Gate. Therefore, this route was commonly known as the “Dragon Walking Path.”

On either side of the river, there was a separate waterway for northbound and southbound ferries. In the middle stood an endless fence, and every few miles, a glowing lantern hung from the stone wall, illuminating the nearby waterway with a snowy light. However, at night, the lanterns would be extinguished to allow passengers to rest and sleep without being disturbed by the light.

It was quite noisy on both sides, as if many people lived there. The ferry was more lenient with the second-floor rooms, allowing up to five people to stay in each, but there were no beds to lie on; they would have to sleep on the floor. After all, ten snowflakes was no small expense. Cultivators found it difficult to cultivate, especially lone cultivators with no backing from the mountain wildernesses. Earning money, especially a large sum, was extremely risky. Without shortcuts or connections, it would not be an exaggeration to say that every snowflake earned was earned with their head tied to their belt, and it was only natural to want to stretch every snowflake into eight pieces.

Chen Ping’an’s room faced the other side of the waterway. The ferry began to move forward, and he noticed that many people near the first-floor deck railing were already holding fishing rods, with hooks that had no bait. The bare hooks emitted a fluorescent glow, and they were cast directly into the underground river, dragging and fishing in a barbaric manner.

From time to time, palm-sized, foolish fish would be hooked and dragged onto the deck, then casually tossed into a fish basket. But if they caught a snow-white, finger-length silver shrimp, the fishermen would be overjoyed. It turned out that these creatures had a significant origin, being unique to this underground river. In Shuishui Country, they were simply called “River Dragons,” while in the south, they were affectionately known as “Silvers.” These creatures could absorb water spirit energy and were highly coveted by gourmands…

The young shrimp were half an inch long, and they could grow to finger length in about a dozen years. After a century, they would barely reach two fingers in length, looking like jade-armored generals, yet being exquisite and translucent. Such a century-old “River Dragon” was rich in spiritual energy and exceptionally delicious, fetching a sky-high price of half a snowflake in the south.

If the first-floor passengers could catch six large “Silvers,” it would be equivalent to a free ferry ride. They could earn a lot of money and pass the time, so why not? However, catching finger-length River Dragons was easy, but hooking two-finger-length ones depended on fate and luck. The Shuishui Country ferry waterway had been dug for thousands of years, and it was rumored that someone had once caught a three-foot-long River Dragon, with golden whiskers that startled everyone. In the end, it was sold to the city lord of Old Dragon City, but the price offered by that wealthy and influential divine immortal remained unknown to outsiders.

Chen Ping’an himself had loved fishing since he was a child, and he rarely had the chance to not think about anything. He leaned against the railing, watching the fishermen for a long time, wondering if the ferry sold fishing rods, and if so, how expensive they were. If he could get one for one or two snowflakes, then he could indeed try his luck by the railing in between practicing his fist techniques.

Returning to his room, Chen Ping’an ate some fruits that were fresh but possessed no spiritual energy, and began to plan his fist practice. The 200,000-mile journey would take two months, with about four or five days spent stopping at various Immortal ferry ports and for repairs and supplies. This ferry was significantly slower than the Kun ferries, but that was normal; Kun ferries were the intercontinental ferries of the Da Zhao Mountain sect in the Northern Continent, far beyond what this ferry could compare to.

Chen Ping’an roughly calculated that if he spent two to three hours a day eating, sleeping, and doing miscellaneous things, he could strive to practice his fist techniques for nine to ten hours a day. With his current ability to transition from slow to fast punches, giving him a great advantage, he could perform the six-step stance about 3,600 times a day, which would be roughly 200,000 times in sixty days.

It sounded like a simple calculation, but Chen Ping’an, being extremely skilled in fist techniques, knew very well that it could be maddening. Even Chen Ping’an, who considered himself to have good perseverance, felt it would be difficult. Before, whether he was going to Great Sui or traveling south to Shuishui Country, he would encounter mountains and rivers along the way, each with its own scenery. But this time, on the ship, he would be in this small space, like facing a wall in meditation.

Most importantly, the stance practice was different from the hardships he endured when practicing fist techniques with the old man in the bamboo building. The latter was more about testing his ability to endure physical pain and wandering thoughts, a “quick and short pain,” while the former seemed relaxed and leisurely, but the further he went, the more it became a dull and prolonged pain, like the snowy days on the ancient plank road entering Great Li from Yellow Court Country, where every breath felt like swallowing a knife.

No wonder the old man said that martial artists tempered themselves by both fighting against the power of heaven and earth, enduring the pain of mountains crushing their bodies, and fighting against their own hearts, slowly simmering out a character of perseverance.

Chen Ping’an took a deep breath, closed the balcony door, and began to practice his stance, moving lightly and punching quickly, with his fist intent flowing.

After that, it was a monotonous and tireless cycle of day and night. Chen Ping’an didn’t even go to the ferry’s restaurant for meals, just eating dry food and drinking some diluted wine to get by.
After entering summer, even with the cool air of the underground waterway, Chen Pingan was drenched in sweat. He practiced his stances, stopping precisely at the edge of the balcony’s wooden door after each round. After completing a series of stances, he turned and repeated the process. Over time, the entire floor of the room became covered in sweat stains. Each time he practiced until utterly exhausted, he would take a short break. Unlike his previous travels, where he always had various concerns, he now simply focused on his practice within this confined space. For twelve hours a day, subtracting two hours for sleep and several breaks, he spent a full nine hours throwing punches, completely losing himself in the process. The world seemed to shrink to this small space, devoid of famous mountains and great rivers, devoid of rushing currents, mountain breezes, and harsh rain and snow. It was as if spring, summer, autumn, winter, life, aging, sickness, and death existed only within this square foot.

Two weeks passed, and the wooden door of the balcony remained unopened.

In the darkness of night, Chen Pingan lay on the floor, his clothes soaked and the floor wet, like a fish dragged ashore, gasping for breath.

Chen Pingan grinned, wanting to laugh but unable to. What if the Pavilion Master of Maidou Manor, a master of assassination, were to attack him now?

His gaze lowered, looking at the gourd containing the sword spirits. He could only rely on these two little ancestors.

In the following ten days, Chen Pingan had to remove the wine flask from his waist and even take off his straw sandals. He rolled up his sleeves and pants, practicing stances and boxing barefoot in the room.

He felt so close to breaking through to the fourth realm of martial arts, the transition from body refinement to qi refinement. It seemed as if only a single breath was needed to cross that remaining foot. However, that foot seemed to be stuck deep in the mud, and Chen Pingan couldn’t pull it out no matter how hard he tried. A whole month of practice yielded only slow progress, managing to pull the foot out of the mud a little.

During his practice breaks, the outside world was not entirely silent. After getting used to life on the ferry, the neighbors on both sides became less restrained. The room to his left seemed to be filled with Jianghu heroes, drinking heartily and eating large portions of meat every day, discussing Jianghu grievances and feuds. However, they mostly spoke in the official language of other countries, only occasionally uttering a few sentences in the elegant language of Treasure Bottle Continent. Chen Pingan, when reaching the extreme stages of his practice, would jump out of the profound and mysterious state of “forgetfulness.” The slightest noise would sound like thunder in spring, so listening to their loud conversations, Chen Pingan only felt a bit annoyed.

The residents next door on the right seemed to be immortal cultivators from small mountain sects, traveling down the mountain. They were relatively quiet, but they would loudly recite their sect’s rituals in unison twice a day, morning and evening. The wooden walls provided poor soundproofing, and these Qi refiners below the fifth realm also used unique breathing techniques, which was another source of annoyance.

If these things were tolerable, there was one thing that happened every few days that made Chen Pingan both amused and exasperated.

The third floor of the ferry, above him, was inhabited by wealthy people. Apparently, above Chen Pingan’s room was a pair of immortal lovebirds, unusually amorous and inseparable. There was often a creaking sound of the bed shaking, transmitted through the floor to the floor below. This would have been alright, but the female Qi refiner was probably one who struggled to restrain her emotions and would often “cry out,” in a soft and continuous voice, obviously being bullied by the man. Chen Pingan couldn’t understand why, if the woman suffered so much, she didn’t resist her man every time. Since they were husband and wife, why not have an open and honest conversation?

Chen Pingan felt helpless about this. He couldn’t very well go upstairs and knock on their door, telling the man to be more considerate of his Dao partner and not take advantage of her so much. These were private matters of other people’s bedrooms, and Chen Pingan, as an outsider, couldn’t possibly interfere. It would be rude and unreasonable. However, Chen Pingan also noticed that he disliked the disturbance from upstairs, but those Jianghu heroes on the left seemed to enjoy it very much. Whenever there was a creaking of the bed and a woman’s sobbing, they would immediately stop talking and everyone would laugh with a “hehe”. Chen Pingan learned the truth from the rare few understandable sentences in the elegant language of Treasure Bottle Continent: they were observing a peak battle of martial arts masters, and their discussions were extremely earnest.

The mountain immortals on the right seemed to have a tacit understanding as well. When the four of them encountered this, they would all remain silent in tacit agreement, but their breathing was obviously more disordered than usual.

They seemed to be quite angry and annoyed.

Fortunately, Chen Pingan was gradually adapting to these worries that hindered his practice.

There was even one time during the day when the bed upstairs shook thunderously and the woman cried loudly. Chen Pingan simply drank his wine and ate his dry rations in silence, only hoping that the floor wouldn’t collapse, bringing the people and the bed crashing down on his head.

During the ferry’s several stops at other docks, Chen Pingan did not experience the customs and culture of the southern countries because he had never opened his door.

Chen Pingan calculated the time and realized that it was probably the season of Mangzhong (Grain in Ear). If he were in his hometown, it would be the busy farming season. There was a saying, “Plant millet urgently during Mangzhong, then plant rice.” Even young and strong men who fired porcelain in the dragon kiln would be allowed to go home to help. Yao Laotou, the kiln master at his dragon kiln, although bad-tempered and fond of scolding people, was very generous in such matters. Other kilns usually only gave three days of leave, but Yao Laotou would give four or five days. However, this was difficult for poor kiln workers like Liu Xianyang and Chen Pingan, who had lost their ancestral fields early on. Because the kiln lacked manpower, the dragon kiln fire wouldn’t care whether there were fewer people or not, so Chen Pingan, in his early years, was even more tired at this time than those who worked in the fields.

Chen Pingan had been practicing boxing for a whole month, and had unknowingly performed stances ten thousand times.

His greatest interest at the moment was to know if any of the fishermen on the boat had caught a two-finger-long rare river dragon.

One day, while practicing boxing around noon, Chen Pingan suddenly discovered that there was still wine left in the gourd, but the dry rations were not enough for three meals. He had no choice but to hang up the wine flask, carry the sword box, put on his straw sandals, and open the door for the first time to buy some easy-to-store food from a restaurant at the stern of the boat. It wasn’t too far away, and because it was lunchtime, it was the time when passengers were coming and going. When Chen Pingan went out, the group of Jianghu heroes from the room on the left was also going out to find food. Chen Pingan slowed down slightly, keeping a distance of five or six steps behind them. One of them couldn’t help but turn around to look at this strange neighbor he was meeting for the first time. Soon, someone tugged at his sleeve, signaling him not to cause trouble.

The man quickly withdrew his gaze. The young swordsman carrying a wooden box was traveling the Jianghu alone. He looked young, but his demeanor was steady and calm. It was indeed best not to provoke him. If he were truly a once-in-a-million sword cultivator, even if his group came from well-known Jianghu sects, they still couldn’t afford to offend him.
Traveling the mountains, one fears not ten thousand possibilities, but that single, devastating exception. Aboard this immortal ferry, that “one in ten thousand” could become a “one in a hundred”!

If fate turns sour, even cold water can choke you. What if disaster strikes, and that rare, catastrophic event occurs? Argue with those Qi Refinement cultivators from the mountains?

This martial artist of the Jianghu had once witnessed a swordsman’s prowess from afar. That young swordsman, barely twenty, unleashed his Natal Sword, and the sword Qi blazed like a rainbow, unstoppable. Facing renowned Jianghu figures – masters of sword-Qi emission, invulnerable martial arts grandmasters – *thwack, thwack, thwack*, the mountain swordsman pierced holes in their heads!

Ordinary Qi Refinement cultivators are manageable. After all, the myriad schools and nine streams include immortals not always skilled in battle. But vying with a mountain swordsman, especially a Sword Immortal who nurtures a Natal Sword, is like an old man swallowing arsenic – a death wish.

The journey proceeded uneventfully. He bought several pounds of dried cakes from a busy eatery, paid, and returned to his room. Closing the door, he opened the wooden door to the balcony, standing there, nibbling the cakes and sipping wine from his sword-nurturing gourd. A few anglers still dotted the deck railing below, but after watching them for what seemed like an eternity, all they caught were ordinary fish, not even a young silver carp.

Chen Ping’an suddenly recalled a memory. The young Cui Chan, bored atop a mountain peak, practiced the Sword Furnace Stance alongside him. He said there was a superior blessed land, unique in all the world, connected to a Grotto-Heaven. Both differed greatly from other Grotto-Heavens and blessed lands. The Divine Edict Sect of the Southern Stream Kingdom of Treasure Bottle Continent possessed such a blessed land, the Clear Pool Blessed Land. Blessed lands resembled vassal states, but with vaster territories, self-contained systems, and varying Heavenly Dao rules. They were often rich in resources, ceaselessly exploited by immortal sects, creating a disparity where large sects grew larger, and mountain peaks grew higher. For example, the Emerald Pearl Grotto-Heaven, one of the thirty-six lesser Grotto-Heavens, produced the two paragons who turned the tide and prolonged the Song Dynasty’s reign – they were Emerald Pearl Grotto-Heaven talents first claimed by the Great Li Dynasty, enjoying the advantage of proximity.

The world is vast. Chen Ping’an, even without leaving Treasure Bottle Continent during his two journeys, has glimpsed this. Old Man Yang’s description of the town’s immensity proved true in Chen Ping’an’s experience.

However, this southern journey missed many places. Some were too far out of the way, like Green Cliff Island in Book Scroll Lake, where Gu Can and his mother resided. Chen Ping’an wished them well, hoping they weren’t bullied, but even more, he hoped Gu Can wouldn’t become a Qi Refinement cultivator only to oppress others, like Fu Nanhua, the young city lord of Old Dragon City, a mountain immortal.

Other places were currently unsuitable, like Righteous Sun Mountain, home to the Moving Mountain Ape, Qingfeng City, where the Xu family held sway, and True Martial Mountain, ruled by Ma Kuxuan.

Reason would fail, strength would be outmatched. Away from Emerald Pearl Grotto-Heaven, without Master Qi and Instructor Ruan’s rules, he’d be crushed like an ant. Chen Ping’an possessed that much self-awareness.

Sipping his wine, Chen Ping’an learned from the eatery that the ferry would dock for half a day at Fertile Land Wharf, allowing passengers to disembark and enjoy the scenery. Near the wharf lay a famous scenic spot called Azure Liquid Pool. At this time of year, mountain flowers bloomed, and a walk from the wharf to the nearest peak offered bird song and floral fragrance. With luck, one could even catch a “Fragrant Herb Maiden,” a flower spirit whose delicate fragrance made it a prized living sachet, popular among female Qi Refinement cultivators and wealthy women.

Chen Ping’an thought a stroll would do him good, clear his head. A month of seclusion had left him feeling stale.

Resolving to go, Chen Ping’an left the balcony, closed the door, and resumed his fist practice and stance work.

The next day, at dawn, the ferry docked. The cave hall was petite and exquisite, filled with fragrance, unlike the spacious grandeur of Combing Water Kingdom, offering a unique charm.

The ferry shuddered slightly. Chen Ping’an, having slept less than two hours, opened his eyes and began packing. He carried everything, unwilling to leave anything in his cabin. Perhaps due to Azure Liquid Pool’s renown, almost all four hundred passengers disembarked to enjoy the scenery.

Mingling with the crowd, Chen Ping’an disembarked near a group of distinguished men and women. Two elders possessed exceptionally deep, flowing auras, like slow rivers. Even if not Middle Five Stages mountain immortals, they weren’t far off. Chen Ping’an wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but confined indoors for so long, he couldn’t resist. Hearing people speak in Treasure Bottle Continent’s refined language, he instinctively perked up his ears.

They discussed the continental landscape, the latest movements of immortal residences, and anecdotes of famous figures from various kingdoms.

Mostly, they spoke lightly. The two elders spoke the most, their younger companions listening attentively, rarely interrupting. Even questions were posed with utmost respect, unlike some he’d met, like Liu Baqiao, the Sword Cultivator from Wind and Thunder Garden, Cao Jun, the娑婆洲 swordsman from the Cao ancestral residence in Mud Jar Lane, or Zhou Ju from Viewing Lake Academy, none of whom were so reserved.

Finally, an elder with a black jade seal hanging from his waist spoke of Mount Dazhao’s Kun vessel crash, with heavy casualties. He expressed outrage, acknowledging the Kulu Continent Dao Lord’s profound Dao, perhaps surpassing even Treasure Bottle Continent’s Dao Lord Qi Zhen, yet more so, he disapproved of the Dao Lord’s overbearing actions.

Another elder worriedly said that while sword Qi caused the Kun vessel’s destruction, why would a sword cultivator-rich Central Dynasty of Treasure Bottle Continent want to shoot down a vessel from Northern Kulu Continent? What benefit could it bring? The power capable of gathering so much sword Qi would only be that dynasty’s court, yet the emperor had personally gone to Divine Edict Sect, vowing innocence. Later, accompanied by Qi Zhen, he personally met with Kulu Continent Dao Lord Xie Shi, who simply said that Kulu Continent cultivators would investigate the truth.

Near the cave entrance, Chen Ping’an suddenly stopped, then abruptly quickened his pace, cupping his fists to the two elders, asking, “Esteemed Immortals, pardon my intrusion, but what happened to the passengers on that Kun vessel?”
An old man turned a deaf ear to this, not even glancing at the sword-carrying youth with his heavy northern accent, and continued onward.

However, the old man with the hanging seal of office paused, patiently explaining, “Passengers in the lower five realms, almost none survived. Even many Qi Refiners of the upper five realms perished. At the time, countless sword energies erupted from a mountaintop into the air, no different from a full-powered strike from a Sword Immortal of the upper five realms. Just imagine, what immense power that must have been?”

The old man, noticing the subtle shift in the young man’s expression, sighed and resumed his journey.

Chen Pingan stood rooted to the spot, bumped on the shoulders by the jostling crowd, yet oblivious to it all. When he finally came back to his senses, he realized almost everyone had already left the cavern and gone to admire the scenery at the Taiye Pond.

Slowly, Chen Pingan walked towards the entrance. Outside, the sunlight was brilliant, and in the distance, he could see a gently sloping mountain covered in a vibrant tapestry of wildflowers, blooming in unrestrained splendor.

After slaying the viperous woman in Rouge County, Chen Pingan had, in fact, acquired a treasure. But he hadn’t brought it out for sale in the Azure Coin Market of Stream Comb Country. It was a brush-washer, around the base of which were sixteen characters: “Spring flowers, autumn moon; spring breeze, autumn trees; spring mountains, autumn stones; spring water, autumn frost.” The characters were minute, and flowed around the base like tadpoles in slow motion. Chen Pingan liked the character for “spring,” and because the Kun vessel had twin serving girls whose names resonated with those words, he’d regretted that there was “spring water” but no “autumn fruit.” Otherwise, if he ever met them again, perhaps boarding a Dazhao Mountain Kun vessel at Wutong Mountain Ferry, he would definitely show them the brush-washer, so they could know that such wonderfully improbable things could happen in this world.

Chen Pingan stood at the entrance, his face betraying no grief, merely lost in a daze, gazing at the enchanting scenery in the distance.

Finally, Chen Pingan turned and walked back towards the ferry.

The riot of color bloomed behind him, unseen by the youth.

Back on the ferry, he returned to his second-floor room, closed the door, and resumed practicing his boxing.

Nearly a month passed by, slipping away like sand through fingers. In just two days, he would disembark.

On this particular night, unknowingly, Chen Pingan had completed his basic boxing stance twenty thousand times.

He changed into a clean set of clothes, and barefoot, opened the wooden door to his balcony. The ferry was unusually silent, and seeing that he was alone, Chen Pingan lightly leaped onto the railing, finally settling on it, facing the gently flowing river beside the vessel. He began to drink, thinking of nothing at all. As he drank, he finally discovered that his wine gourd was empty.

The Sword-Nourishing Gourd, filled with over ten catties of fine wine brewed by Swordwater Estate, had only been partially emptied by the big-bearded man and the young Daoist before he boarded the ship. Because he had drunk sparingly over the past two months, it had lasted until now.

Chen Pingan shook the wine gourd, its base marked with the character “Jiang,” with all his might, but it was truly empty.

Unwilling to accept defeat, he raised the wine gourd high, tilting his head back, hoping to catch even a few remaining drops.

Not a single drop remained. Truly empty.

Then, on a four-story ferryboat approaching from the opposite direction on the adjacent river, a guest residing in a top-floor cabin, also sitting on their balcony railing, stared blankly at the youth shaking a Sword-Nourishing Gourd, trying to squeeze out some wine. Finally, resigned, she lowered her arm, embraced the fine-looking gourd with both hands, and rested her chin on its mouth.

She thought this young man must be a fool from drinking too much.

Seized by a playful impulse, she raised a jade wine pot in one hand and cupped the other around her mouth, shouting, “Over here! Over here, you little drunkard! I have wine here, take it if you want it!”

Chen Pingan remained in his original posture, glancing over at the sound.

A young woman in a dark green robe, seeing that he didn’t react, simply tossed the wine pot in her hand. The pot traced a beautiful arc, landing just two zhang away from Chen Pingan, before whooshing back into her hand. The young woman chuckled, laughing to herself.

The two ferries brushed past each other.

Chen Pingan remained expressionless, his heart untroubled. He only thought, “Could she be a fool?”

He secured his Sword-Nourishing Gourd, flipped backward onto the balcony, closed the wooden door, and continued practicing his boxing.

Wine was gone, he could buy more. But what if a person was gone? Chen Pingan didn’t know.

So, for the first time, Chen Pingan stopped his boxing practice midway, and in the middle of the night, went to the restaurant to buy wine. But the restaurant was already closed for the night, its doors tightly shut. He had no choice but to return to his room and continue practicing his boxing.