Within the Academy, a small world guarded by a Sage had already taken shape, but atop the peak of Eastern Flower Mountain, a separate, unique domain existed.

As Mao Xiaodong channeled his great divine powers, the mountain peak transformed into a scene of golden autumn.

The air was crisp and clear.

Chen Ping’an sat facing the west, a Five-Colored Golden Casket Stove placed before him. He used spiritual energy, nurtured and stored within the Water Mansion, to “fan the flames,” and a pure martial artist’s true energy to “ignite” the fire, causing a blazing, fiery light to erupt within the pill furnace.

Suddenly, the pill furnace emitted a brilliant light, like a miniature sun.

The golden literary gall, a product of pure thought and refined spirit, hovered above the pill furnace, slowly descending.

Chen Ping’an was familiar with this process, proceeding methodically. Using the Immortal Art of Refining, a technique derived from the Immortal Prayer Tablet in front of the Buried River Water God Temple, he controlled a palm-sized jar of golden sand, sprinkling it into the pill furnace. The fire intensified, illuminating Chen Ping’an’s face with a bright red glow. His clear eyes, having witnessed countless mountains and rivers, shone with extraordinary spiritual brilliance. The hands that had molded clay and spun porcelain countless times remained steady, his mind as tranquil as a mirror, like a placid, undisturbed ancient well.

The golden literary gall, “excised” from the City God Shen Wen’s heart, rose and fell within the pill furnace, slowly rotating.

It contained the incense offerings of the faithful from the Nation of Colorful Garments over hundreds of years, the unyielding spirit of the scholar Shen Wen after death, and the divine light nurtured by its close proximity to the Grand Celestial Master’s personally carved seals on Dragon Tiger Mountain. These elements, like tiny stars, dotted the canvas of the night sky.

Among the various celestial treasures, the most difficult to refine were the relics of the Martial Saint from the Martial Temple in the capital of a certain country in Jewel Bottle Continent – his treasured saber – and the foot and a half long millennium bull horn.

Chen Ping’an remained calm and composed, proceeding steadily and without error, slowly refining the materials with the Immortal Art of Refining, which claimed that “all things can be refined.”

The saber, which had accompanied the Martial Saint throughout his military career, hovered above the pill furnace, gradually dissolving. A drop of golden liquid, the very first one, originated from the tip of the blade and fell into the Five-Colored Golden Casket Stove. As more drops fell, the pace quickened, connecting into a line. If someone could enter the miniature world within the pill furnace and look up, they would see a golden celestial river descending to the mortal realm.

Gold governs the lungs.

And in order to nourish the lungs, cultivators had long discovered a principle: the Qi Sea, the Middle Dantian, and the Lung Acupoint are of utmost importance.

As Chen Ping’an breathed, he deliberately employed the Sword Qi Eighteen Stops technique, guiding his Qi through these three energy centers, these three gatehouses. Immediately, his sword Qi surged like a rainbow. The skin of Chen Ping’an’s body rippled slightly, like drums being struck on a battlefield. Though no sound could be heard on the peak of Eastern Flower Mountain, within his body, three battlegrounds filled with the intent of the sword. It was as if three massive battlefield ruins were permeated by the lingering spirits of sword immortals unwilling to rest.

The refining of the thirty-odd celestial treasures had a specific order. Each ingredient had to be added to the furnace precisely on time, without the slightest deviation. The heat of the pill furnace also had to be precisely controlled.

Mao Xiaodong, as the Sage guarding the Academy, could use a pure secret art to offer reminders, without fear of distracting Chen Ping’an and causing him to suffer Qi deviation.

However, Chen Ping’an never gave him the chance.

Chen Ping’an remained focused, without distraction, using the Immortal Art of Refining to transform the celestial treasures from solid to ethereal. He carefully controlled the heat of the pill furnace with the continued spiritual energy from the Water Mansion and the repeated generation of pure true energy. He enhanced the “battlefield” atmosphere of the three energy center gatehouses with the Sword Qi Eighteen Stops. Since the refining of this golden literary gall involved Confucian cultivation, it presented an even greater challenge than refining a typical cultivator’s natal treasure. He also had to silently recite texts related to the metal element of the Five Elements, such as the writings of sages and poems containing words like west, autumn, and natural. Most of these were selected by Chen Ping’an himself from bamboo scrolls, while a small portion were suggested by Mao Xiaodong in his study.

In Confucian cultivation, this stage was known as “using the words of the lungs to visit and consult with the Sages.”

Mao Xiaodong was particularly concerned about this stage.

In fact, the initial trip to the Great Sui capital’s Confucian Temple was not only to retrieve the dividends rightfully belonging to Mountain Cliff Academy, but also to borrow more ritual implements and sacrificial tools. Mao Xiaodong feared that Chen Ping’an’s refinement would encounter a flaw here. After all, Chen Ping’an had never been exposed to the cultivation methods of the Academy’s Confucian disciples, and there was no shortcut to circumvent the process. He could only use the dense literary fortune contained within the Confucian Temple’s artifacts as compensation, forcibly breaking through the barrier.

Fortunately, Chen Ping’an performed even better than the old man had imagined.

This meant that Chen Ping’an had truly absorbed the meaning behind the books he read. Readers and the principles on the pages reached a mutual understanding, becoming the foundation of Chen Ping’an’s character. Just as Mao Xiaodong had casually said on the way to the Confucian Temple, the words in the books would not grow legs and run themselves. Whether they could enter the stomach or fly into the heart depended on one’s own ability to “break through” them. The “breakthrough” in reading ten thousand volumes! Confucian principles were indeed numerous, but never cages that bound people. Instead, they were the foundation for doing as one pleased without overstepping the boundaries.

Mao Xiaodong was filled with emotion.

In the central China Divine Continent’s orthodox Confucian Temple, there was a secret chamber of learning, containing all the articles and principles left by the Confucian Sages for the Grand Azure World, and recognized by Heaven and Earth.

The characters varied in size, and the golden light varied in intensity.

The golden characters closest to the ground were often larger and radiated a purer, brighter light.

Many founders of the various schools of thought, as well as rising stars famous throughout the world, had come to behold this place. Regardless of the divine powers they employed, even if they could shake some of the higher texts, which were inscribed in characters carrying ten thousand jun of weight each, immovable like the five sacred mountains of central China and worthy of being passed down through generations, and even move many of them elsewhere, none had ever been able to slightly shift the golden characters on the ground, which were as large as giant millet grains.

Because those were the fundamental teachings of the Supreme Sage and the Sage of Rites.

However, even so, some of the Supreme Sage’s and the Sage of Rites’ characters, which were suspended slightly higher in the chamber of learning, would still lose their golden light and dissipate on their own. After the first occurrence of this phenomenon in the Confucian Temple’s secret history, the scholars of the Academy were shaken and terrified. Even one of the Vice-Deans of Confucianism, who was stationed at the Confucian Temple at the time, had to quickly bathe and change clothes before going to the statues of the Supreme Sage and the Sage of Rites to light incense.

However, neither of the Sages appeared.
It was then that the scholar, not yet revered as a sub-sage by Confucian scholars, declared, “There is no immutable knowledge under Heaven, nor is there perfect writing. There is no need to make a fuss. Otherwise, what is the point of us descendants studying and learning?”

Thus, the Confucian Temple’s morale stabilized.

Mao Xiaodong recollected his thoughts and looked at the young man sitting across from him.

His appearance was ethereal and transcendent, like a jade tree in a celestial grove, naturally detached from worldly affairs.

His spirit was like a radiant pearl, resembling a miniature moon fallen to Earth, yet to be reclaimed by the celestial deities. Countless fragments shone like brilliant starlight, as if stars were worshiping the moon.

Having such a junior brother, as a senior brother, how could he not feel honored?

This had nothing to do with noble or humble birth, nor the height of cultivation.

His, Mao Xiaodong’s, teacher was a Sage, his senior brothers were Qi Jingchun and Zuo You. He had also known Aliang early on, and had even been favored by the Rite Records Academy, even seeking guidance from that scholar who had opened the Yellow River’s small cave heaven with a single sword strike.

He too had encountered many great opportunities, traveled many paths of learning, and met countless eminent hermits. He had even drunk countless cups of wine with the Old Ancestor of the Farmers, traveling ten thousand miles of mountains and rivers together.

Yet, Mao Xiaodong still felt inferior to Chen Ping’an.

Because he, Mao Xiaodong, had missed too much, failed to seize it.

Cui Dongshan had once inadvertently mentioned the most dangerous period of Chen Ping’an’s mental journey after leaving the Lizhu Grotto Heaven.

It was not about fighting and killing, but that Aliang had found him.

That seemingly fortuitous test, devoid of any risk, if Chen Ping’an’s state of mind had shifted even slightly, he would have become like Zhao Yao. Perhaps in the years to come, he would have his own opportunities, but Chen Ping’an would certainly have missed Aliang, missed Qi Jingchun, missed the greatest opportunity that Qi Jingchun had painstakingly earned for him, missed the Old Scholar, and finally missed the woman he admired. One wrong step, every step wrong, and the whole game would be lost.

Mao Xiaodong had had to ask, “Then, what did Chen Ping’an rely on to overcome that danger?”

Cui Dongshan had given a very improper answer at the time, “My teacher knows he’s stupid, and of course, there’s some luck involved.”

Mao Xiaodong still wanted to get to the bottom of it, but Cui Dongshan was unwilling to say more.

In the end, the ritual vessels that Mao Xiaodong had brought from the Imperial City Confucian Temple did not provide timely help, but merely added to the splendor.

However, Mao Xiaodong was naturally even happier about this.

This meant that the grade of the golden literary courage refined into a natal artifact would be even higher.

It would certainly be inferior to that Water Character Seal, but where in the world could one find another seal engraved with Qi Jingchun’s spirit and energy?

Even Mao Xiaodong felt sorry for Chen Ping’an, that he had broken the Mountain Character Seal in the Jiaolong Gully. Otherwise, creating a grand pattern of “mountains and waters in harmony” would not have been as simple as breaking through the Second Realm bottleneck and ascending to the peak of the Qi Refinement Second Realm after two natal artifacts were successfully forged! It would have been a certainty to reach the Third Realm peak! Even if the remaining three natal artifacts were of poor quality, as long as the five elements were gathered, he would inevitably break through the first great threshold of Qi Refinement and directly reach the Middle Five Realms!

However, Mao Xiaodong also knew that taking Qi Jingchun’s Mountain Character Seal to the Upside-Down Mountain was highly likely to cause great turmoil.

These seemingly untraceable trade-offs and gains were probably Chen Ping’an’s more intrinsic “fundamental learning” than boxing, swordsmanship, reading, or even some of the principles he had already comprehended.

Regarding this matter, Cui Dongshan was actually the most studious. The distinction between deities and humans, the depths of the soul, the reason for being human, Cui Dongshan and Cui Chan had traveled extremely far on this subtle and profound path, perhaps the farthest in the world.

Rumor has it that before Cui Chan decided to betray the lineage of the Literary Sage, he went to that school in the Central Earth Confucian Temple. He stayed there in silence for three days and three nights, looking only at the words on the ground, like golden millet, never looking at the words even slightly higher.

Mao Xiaodong sighed softly.

In any case, successfully refining this golden literary courage into a natal artifact was already an extremely remarkable opportunity.

Do not seek perfection in all things, do not set your sights too high.

No longer wandering in his thoughts, Mao Xiaodong successively poured the literary fortune from the ritual vessels into the pill furnace, his technique reaching the pinnacle of perfection.

Only then did that scene of exquisite beauty appear in Xie Shiro’s eyes, where the light and shadow of time on the mountaintop were dyed with a layer of golden brilliance.

The pill furnace, filled with multicolored auspicious energy, suddenly fell silent, and the smoke and clouds dissipated.

The golden literary courage, lying quietly at the bottom of the multicolored golden cabinet stove, transformed into golden liquid, and then slowly “grew” and rose to become a sword-carrying Confucian scholar the height of a finger. It was all golden, and it leaped to the edge of the pill furnace’s top, looking up at Chen Ping’an. However, its face was still blurry, not yet clearly defined, roughly resembling Chen Ping’an. Besides carrying a long sword on its back, it also had several small golden books tied with thin golden threads at its waist. The little golden Confucian scholar said in a serious manner, “Read more books! Furthermore, you said it yourself, to err is human, to forgive, divine!”

Chen Ping’an, already drenched in sweat, wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded with a smile, “Let’s encourage each other.”

The little golden Confucian scholar transformed into a rainbow and quickly swept into Chen Ping’an’s lungs and acupoints, sitting cross-legged and picking up a book tied to his waist, beginning to read.

In addition to this, there was also a golden literary courage suspended in the cave, actually one with the sword-carrying, book-suspending Confucian scholar.

Mao Xiaodong was stunned for a moment, then began to frown.

Chen Ping’an asked in confusion, “Is there something wrong?”

Mao Xiaodong’s expression was solemn as he asked, “That golden literary courage that was refined into a natal artifact, condensing its spirit into a Confucian scholar, I don’t think is too surprising or strange. But why did it say that sentence?”

Chen Ping’an seriously considered for a moment and said, “After I learned to read, I have always been afraid that the principles I have summarized are wrong. Therefore, whether it was when facing the young man in green, or later Pei Qian, or Cui Dongshan, who asked me those two questions, I was very afraid that my own understanding was actually reasonable to myself, but wrong to others, or at least a shallow principle that was not comprehensive enough or high enough, so I was worried that I would mislead others.”

Mao Xiaodong was relieved and smiled happily, “That’s… very right!”

Mao Xiaodong stood up, waved his hand to remove the Sage’s divine power from the mountaintop, but the small world of the academy was still there, and he instructed, “Give you
A single incense stick’s time. Next, you can retrieve that golden jade tablet inscribed with ‘I Nourish My Vast Righteousness,’ absorbing any remaining ritual implements, sacrificial tools, and literary fortune. No need to worry about overstepping your bounds and inadvertently pilfering the literary fortune and spiritual essence of Donghua Mountain. I will weigh the pros and cons myself. After this, you will be a bona fide Qi Refiner of the Second Realm.”

Chen Ping An hastily rose to express his gratitude.

Mao Xiaodong waved his hand, grumbling, “I truly don’t understand where you, my little junior brother, learned this excessive politeness.”

Chen Ping An jested, “Perhaps from Old Master Wen Sheng himself?”

Mao Xiaodong immediately adopted a stern countenance, saying gravely, “You must deeply understand the Teacher’s earnest intentions!”

Chen Ping An said awkwardly, “I was only joking.”

Mao Xiaodong chastised, “The Teacher imparts the Way through words, through deeds, through every little thing. As a junior, how can you be careless, how can you jest!”

Chen Ping An could only nod.

Mao Xiaodong turned away, his face beaming, with no hint of anger. *Little junior brother, you’re still quite green.*

The River of Time on the mountain peak slowly flowed backward, the golden autumn retreating to the verdant scenes of high summer, fallen leaves returning to branches, withered yellow turning into lush green.

After Mao Xiaodong departed, Chen Ping An retrieved the golden jade tablet, held it in his palm, and began to absorb the residual literary fortune atop Donghua Mountain, the remnants that the furnace had not refined.

A tiny golden stream, as thick as a thumb, coiled around the jade tablet before slowly flowing into it.

From the jade tablet, it entered Chen Ping An’s palm, heading toward the Qi Repository where the golden literary soul in Confucian robes resided.

Wherever it passed, it nourished Chen Ping An’s heart.

As the golden stream of literary fortune surged into the Qi Repository, the Confucian scholar no longer read, but grinned from ear to ear, leaping and dancing with joy.

This was likely the childlike nature that Chen Ping An rarely had the chance to express during his formative years.

Once the golden sprite waded through the water and arrived at the gates of his cave abode, he let out a great shout. Instantly, a fire dragon formed from pure true Qi soared over.

He jumped, straddling the dragon’s head, hooting and hollering, kicking his legs wildly, and rode the dragon to patrol this miniature world within his person.

Chen Ping An felt somewhat ashamed when he saw this scene through internal observation.

*How could “I” be so mischievous?*

*It doesn’t seem much better than Gu Can and the youth in azure robes.*

In truth, Mao Xiaodong had been discreetly observing this the entire time.

In the end, Chen Ping An absorbed every last drop of literary fortune from the Great Sui Dynasty’s Literary Temple through the golden jade tablet.

Even though the refinement of his Natal Treasure had nearly depleted the accumulated spiritual energy in that Water Mansion, and he was now a true Qi Refiner, he didn’t take even the smallest amount of Donghua Mountain’s literary fortune – or even its relatively worthless spiritual energy, despite his senior brother having already given him permission.

Only at this moment did Mao Xiaodong feel that he roughly understood how Chen Ping An had safely navigated that perilous mental state.

Self-restraint.

It was that simple.

Such a rigid, almost pedantic adherence to principles, where a cultivator seemed oblivious to maximizing personal gain, would give the world’s clever individuals ample reason to mock and ridicule him.

Therefore, the principles Chen Ping An derived from this would be especially loathsome to those who disregarded reason.

A sudden tremor ran through Mao Xiaodong’s heart.

The boulder weighing upon his mental state, the obstacle that had almost blocked Mao Xiaodong from advancing to the Upper Five Realms, seemed to begin to loosen.

Principles transcended literary lineages.

He, Mao Xiaodong, respected the Teacher and vowed to follow him alone in this life, but he needn’t be constrained by sectarian biases. For the sake of the Academy’s literary fortune and incense offerings, he shouldn’t deliberately reject the teachings of the School of Rituals.

Some principles in this world were interconnected and complementary.

Mao Xiaodong sat in his study, gently placed the discipline ruler on his desk, and began to close his eyes and cultivate his spirit.

Accumulating strength gradually, a sudden epiphany, the world transforming, the wind and moon bright and clear.

In the small courtyard’s veranda, Cui Dongshan sat up, astonished, “Is that blockhead Mao Xiaodong about to merge with the Dao?”

Cui Dongshan fell backward, flailing his limbs like an overturned snow-white turtle… He shouted, “Why am I still a useless Nascent Soul cultivator? How am I going to live from now on? I have no face to meet the Teacher. Someone just kill me already…”

Fengwei Ferry.

Three old men walked shoulder to shoulder.

They appeared to be of similar age, but in truth, there was a vast difference.

The old man who had been born and raised in this land had been reluctant to show himself in the past, as he was weary of worldly entanglements.

However, this time, an old acquaintance said, *You aren’t some rat scurrying across the street. What’s with all this skulking?*

Thus, the three of them brazenly appeared on Fengwei Ferry’s streets.

The old man named Liu Laocheng had already noticed the shocked gazes, but he pretended not to see them, silently leading the two beside him toward the ancestral home in that small alley.

*If only they knew the identities of the two beside me, they’d be scared out of their wits,* Liu Laocheng thought to himself.

Apart from him, Liu Laocheng, who was originally from Fengwei Ferry at the junction of Qingluan, Qingshan, and Yunxiao Kingdoms, ultimately becoming the only person from Treasure Bottle Continent still alive who had ascended to the Upper Five Realms through wild, untamed cultivation.

The other two were Old Gang Leader Gao Mian from the Invincible Divine Fist Gang, a famous Treasure Bottle Continent cultivator who twice plummeted from the Jade Purity Realm back to the Nascent Soul Realm for the sake of martial brotherhood.

He was a close friend of Liu Laocheng, so Liu Laocheng specifically invited Gao Mian to help him contend for the fragments of the Glazed Golden Body after Du Mao’s failed ascension.

Gao Mian was short and stout, dressed in coarse linen, and reeked of banditry. He appeared more like a wild, untamed cultivator who would rob and pillage than Liu Laocheng.

As for the last old man in long robes, a cultivator from another continent, it was estimated that if Liu Laocheng and Gao Mian hadn’t helped vouch for him, even if he yelled his name at the top of his lungs, no one would believe him.

His surname was Xun, and his given name was Yuan.

He was the old Sect Master of Jade Tablet Sect, the number one Immortal Realm expert in Tongye Continent.

Even a tyrannical great cultivator like Jiang Shangzhen, the family head of Cloud Grotto Blessed Land, would act subserviently in front of Sect Master Xun Yuan… or, to be precise, would act like a Jade Purity Realm Immortal.

Upon arriving at the end of the hidden alley, Gao Mian boisterously asked, “Hey Liu Lao’er, when is that kid Jiang Yun coming to our gang as a guest elder? He’s so handsome; I reckon he could trick plenty of fairy maidens into visiting my mountain.”

Liu Laocheng helplessly replied:

“My disciple hangs around the Divine Fist Gang just so you can get an eyeful and ogle at fairy maidens? How could I ever ask Jiang Yun such a ridiculous thing? You want to lend me your face to ask?”
Gao Mian strode across the threshold, “Don’t play dumb with me! Back when we roamed the Jianghu together, what were you aiming for when you mastered that unorthodox secret art? Besides stealing magical treasures, how many celestial maidens did you…”

Old Man Liu hastily covered Gao Mian’s mouth, exasperated and embarrassed, “Who doesn’t have some foolish, romantic years in their youth? Talking about this nonsense, aren’t you afraid of offending Senior Xun?”

Xun Yuan smiled amiably, “Not at all, not at all.”

Gao Mian sat down in the courtyard, waving his hand grandly, “Old Liu, go buy a few jars of the most authentic Well Immortal Brew. I bet the brat Jiang Yun has finished it all back home, without even thinking.”

Liu Lao Cheng bid farewell to Xun Yuan and left the courtyard to buy wine.

When he returned, he found the two fellows once again admiring the “ways to make a fortune” displayed by many small mountain peaks in the Treasure Bottle Continent through those Water-Flower-Mirror-Moon displays. It was a painting, and Gao Mian had already prepared a pile of immortal coins. Old Immortal Xun Yuan had even more on the table in front of him.

Liu Lao Cheng wasn’t particularly interested in these things, but as he handed a jar of Well Immortal Brew to Xun Yuan, he politely said, “Senior, you truly have refined tastes.”

Xun Yuan nodded with a smile.

On the painting, a “celestial maiden” was burning incense and painting, her figure graceful, deliberately choosing a slightly tight-fitting dress. Since the scene in the painting could be rotated by the viewer, even the size of the embroidered stool she sat on was carefully considered, accentuating her voluptuous figure and revealing her curves.

Gao Mian glanced sideways at the formally seated Xun Yuan, scoffed, and reached out to rotate the painting’s image slightly. Instantly, it became a captivating painting of mountains seen from the side. He then subtly manipulated the painting, and the woman within abruptly enlarged, while the surrounding scenery receded from view.

Gao Mian didn’t forget to mock, “Why pretend to be so righteous?”

Xun Yuan smiled sheepishly, seemingly not daring to retort.

Liu Lao Cheng drank his wine in silence, feeling helpless.

It was said that these two comrades, hailing from different continents, initially met as rivals who eventually became friends. Gao Mian, known in the Treasure Bottle Continent’s world of Mirror-Flower-Water-Moon as the Jade-Faced Young Lord, alias Martial Tenth Realm, and the true identity of the Invincible Divine Fist Gang’s Old Leader, was consistent in his words and actions, possessed a fiery temper, and often cursed, especially at those pretentious and snobbish celestial maidens. He couldn’t stand them fawning over one or two rich benefactors and flirting openly, completely ignoring the other viewers. Xun Yuan, who called himself One-Inch Spear, had always quietly tossed immortal coins. He wouldn’t say anything even if he didn’t like something.

As they threw more and more money, their fame grew. The last time, they argued over who was the number one celestial maiden in the Treasure Bottle Continent – He Xiaoliang of the Divine Edict Sect or Su Jia of the Righteous Yang Mountain. They “fought fiercely,” one sentence at a time, each sentence accompanied by a Lesser Heat coin, tossing a large pile, astonishing everyone. People speculated whether these two were ancestors from some sect, spending Lesser Heat coins like snowflakes, yet never had there been any rumors of scandals or romantic affairs with the celestial maidens.

Many female cultivators from small mountain peaks, in order to attract business for their sects, didn’t hesitate to, or were forced to, let those unorthodox Qi practitioners skilled in bone reading alter their innate appearances and figures. As for whether this would affect their destiny or harm their Great Dao cultivation, they didn’t care; they couldn’t afford to. They allowed those cultivators who specialized in this art to operate on their faces. On one occasion, the Jade-Faced Young Lord and One-Inch Spear encountered each other again. Many sharp-eyed viewers immediately noticed that a certain celestial maiden from a third-rate immortal sect had undergone a significant change in appearance. Ridicule arose, sharp and biting, filled with strange and unpleasant remarks.

The celestial maiden was ashamed and furious, but dared not retort. She could only apologize, repeatedly apologizing.

As a result, the ridicule and insults increased, becoming more and more unrestrained.

Unexpectedly, the Jade-Faced Young Lord suddenly threw money and spoke up, righteously standing up for her, cursing the viewers. One-Inch Spear followed suit. For the first time, these two rivals were on the same side, united against a common enemy.

After throwing all his immortal coins, the Young Lord continued to curse, “Earning money is hard, cultivating is hard. Is this little girl fighting for the Great Dao with you, or did she kill your whole family? Why do you have to keep insulting her like this? You little bastards shouldn’t have been born in the first place! If I had the great power, I would travel back along the river of time and slap the bed to pieces when your parents were fighting on it!”

Finally, the Young Lord said to One-Inch Spear, “You’re still a man, but your taste is terrible. You actually like He Xiaoliang more than Su Jia. It’s obvious you’re not going to achieve much in cultivation.”

After that, One-Inch Spear became the Jade-Faced Young Lord’s “follower.” Whenever they ran into each other, One-Inch Spear would be extremely sycophantic.

Before Gao Mian and Xun Yuan threw money, someone had already started to verbally harass the celestial maiden. In the world of Mirror-Flower-Water-Moon, since no one knew who anyone else was, they often acted without restraint, indulging in vulgarity. People often had erotic novels popular among mortals placed beside them when they admired the paintings and water mirrors.

Perhaps as collateral damage, the maid standing to the side grinding ink for the celestial maiden was also implicated.

The maid’s name was Shi Qiu. She was a newly accepted disciple of the mountain gate, a disciple in name only. Whenever her mistress appeared, she would occasionally appear in the painting, either serving tea and water or delivering things, doing menial tasks.

In fact, her figure was even better than the celestial maiden’s, but on the mountain, status was always determined by talent and realm.

Gao Mian and Xun Yuan, being seasoned veterans, were accustomed to these things. Generally, as long as it wasn’t too excessive, they wouldn’t say anything.

However, the maid named Shi Qiu was probably not yet accustomed to the unbearable insults. Her eyes were slightly red, and she bit her lip.

To make matters worse, from the angle of the painting, Gao Mian happened to see the celestial maiden, perhaps annoyed by the maid’s lack of appeal, quickly stomp on the maid’s foot under the table.

Gao Mian had originally wanted to start throwing immortal coins, but after seeing this scene, he threw the handful of snowflake coins in his hand back into the pile.

He picked up the wine jug, took a sip, and snorted coldly, “Another one of these women. Such a waste of the scholarly aura she brought from the secular clans up the mountain.”

Xun Yuan smiled slightly.

Gao Mian felt…