A jolly old scholar arrived at the Fire God Temple, standing at the base of the flower arbor steps. He asked Aunt Feng to inquire about news from the Imperial Palace, lest his closed-door disciple, known for his virtuous nature and naivety in the face of scheming, be bullied by some who relied on their age. Should those old fogeys succeed, and then not show any gratitude, he, as the teacher, could not stand idly by.

The old scholar didn’t even glance at the old coachman, focusing instead on cozying up to Aunt Feng. He greeted her with a bow, and without taking a seat at the stone table near the coachman, launched into a flowery speech that sounded like it had been pickled in a jar of sauerkraut. He spoke of how beautiful women and the moon inspired poetry, and how poetry was enhanced by wine, declaring that without fine wine, all beautiful moments in life were mere illusions.

Aunt Feng, unable to bear the saccharine scent, tossed him a jar of “Hundred Blossom Brew,” as a silencing gift. She then sat on the stone steps at the base of the flower arbor. The old scholar seemed to finally notice the old coachman, immediately straightening up and offering a respectful greeting as he carried the wine jar to the stone table. He muttered something about injustice done to a senior, lamenting how only half a jar remained, and insisting that after hearing so much about his illustrious name, they should drink until they were thoroughly intoxicated. Aunt Feng, unable to resist the old scholar’s veiled requests, tossed another jar to the old coachman. The old scholar then fixed his gaze on the latter and the wine, his eyes darting back and forth. The coachman immediately understood, and silently pushed the newly acquired brew towards the renowned Literary Sage.

Then, the old scholar sat at the table, pulled out a handful of dry-fried soybeans from his sleeve, scattered them on the table, and, aided by Aunt Feng’s innate mystical ability, listened intently to the conversations within the Imperial Palace’s banquet, catching the whispers on the wind.

Perhaps among all the accompanying Sages and Academicians enshrined in the Literary Temple, only this old scholar would engage in such unseemly conduct, and still maintain a sense of righteousness.

The old coachman felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave.

Unexpectedly, the old scholar glanced at him, tossed a few fried soybeans into his mouth, and said, “You’re not giving me any face, are you? Did I say you could leave?”

The old coachman gave a wry smile, “Literary Sage, you jest.”

The old scholar scoffed, “Jest? Do I need to? In your eyes, aren’t I a joke already? Does it need to be said?”

The old coachman was shocked, and felt a sense of unease.

Was the old scholar planning to use his divine pronouncements to settle scores on behalf of the Literary Temple?

The old scholar sneered, “I think you’re quite the joker yourself. What, do you look down on the Literary Temple’s fourth in command? Do you think I’m not worthy to sit as your equal?”

Even the dimmest understood the gravity of the situation. The old coachman sensed danger and immediately conveyed his thoughts to Aunt Feng, “He’s not here with good intentions. This isn’t like the Literary Sage’s usual behavior. If he starts acting like a scoundrel, or tries to smear me, help me bear the brunt. At least, in the Literary Temple and True Martial Mountain, remember to tell the truth.”

The old scholar had never cared about his own honor or disgrace in this life. Even when his divine statue was repeatedly downgraded in the Literary Temple, until it was removed and even smashed in the streets, and his teachings were banned throughout the Grand Azure World, imprisoned in the Merit Forest, the old scholar never defended himself or uttered a single word of complaint. A scholar who had earned the title “Sage” had reached such a state – a unique case in the Grand Azure World’s history, unmatched for ten thousand years.

Aunt Feng replied with her thoughts, “I’ll try my best. I can only promise to help if I can. Don’t blame me if I can’t. I’m worried about getting burned myself.”

Today’s Literary Sage, as the old coachman had said, certainly seemed to be here for trouble. He was clearly intending to interrogate Lu Wei and the others.

Aunt Feng could understand. Both Qi Jingchun and Chen Ping’an, the old scholar’s two youngest disciples, had been “bullied by the old fogeys” in the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven.

Moreover, the old scholar was now in the Grand Azure Capital, the “place of cultivation” that his eldest disciple, Cui Chan, had spent a century building. How could he be in a good mood?

So, it came down to the old saying: don’t push good-natured people too far.

The old scholar said, “Some long-buried history, Aunt Feng, use this opportunity to fill Chen Ping’an in.”

Aunt Feng sighed softly and nodded.

Therefore, Chen Ping’an, who was currently locked in a battle of wits with Lu Wei and Nan Zan in the Imperial Palace, gained some unearned advantages.

The old coachman watched the Literary Sage, sometimes looking desolate like a wandering monk, sometimes smiling knowingly as he stroked his beard, sometimes nodding to himself as if he had heard a wonderfully humorous saying that scratched an itch.

Finally, the old scholar asked Aunt Feng to invite Lu Wei to the Fire God Temple for a reunion.

Adding to Aunt Feng and the old coachman, three old friends from the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven reunited in a Grand Azure Capital Fire God Temple.

The old scholar glanced at Lu Wei, the old ancestor of the Lu family who had rushed from the Grand Azure Imperial Palace. He pocketed a jar of Hundred Blossom Brew, grabbed the last of the fried soybeans from the table, and slowly rose, saying to the old coachman, “From now on, don’t even think about entering or leaving through True Martial Mountain. If I find out even once, I won’t bother you. I’ll just go to True Martial Mountain and argue with them.”

The old scholar pointed to his chest, “What I say is what the Literary Temple says. If True Martial Mountain has any objections, they can file a complaint with the Literary Temple. I’ll be waiting at the door.”

The old coachman felt relieved. Fortunately, the Literary Sage wasn’t being too unreasonable. He could just enter and leave the mortal realm through the Wind and Snow Temple in the future.

The old scholar looked at Lu Wei, who had just suffered a setback in his cultivation, “When you return to the Central Earth Continent, give my regards to Lu Sheng. When you go to the Astrology Platform in the future, don’t walk at night. Don’t say that I have any backing in the Literary Temple, dealing with Lu Sheng doesn’t require that, it’s not necessary.”

The old scholar stuck up his thumb and pointed to the sky, “I have people in heaven.”

Talismans with Yu Xuan, he harmonized with the Dao of the starry sky.

Bai Ye is my good brother, and Yu Laoer has a life-or-death friendship with Bai Ye, then Yu Laoer and I are close friends.

Why did the Most Sage Master personally pave the way for Yu Xuan’s harmonization with the Dao?

Of course, it’s because the talismans of Yu Xuan were worthy of the name “Talismans”. Back then, when he rushed across continents to aid Bai Ye, Yu Xuan was willing to give up his cultivation and millions of talismans to participate in that chaotic battle.

At the same time, the Literary Temple was dissatisfied with the Lu family of Central Earth, but some things were done ambiguously and cleverly by the Lu family, always within the rules. Therefore, the Literary Temple’s punishments could not be too obvious.
The heavens possess their mysteries, and the Land of Lu is grounded in reality. This is the true essence of being a dependent!

The Old Tutor’s threat sounded like a harmless jest, a playful, insignificant remark.

However, Lu Wei found no humor in it.

A gentle, affable man could not have cultivated disciples like Qi Jingchun and Zuo You.

A scholar merely putting on airs could not have nurtured talents like Cui Chan and Chen Ping’an.

A Confucian sage lacking profound knowledge would not have drawn Liu Sixteen to his tutelage before his name was widely known.

Nor would he have enjoyed friendships with figures like Bai Ye and Bai Ze.

The Old Tutor grew increasingly agitated, his hands on his hips, unleashing a torrent of scolding at the two.

“When I try to reason with you nicely, you refuse to listen, insisting on causing trouble.”

“Only when I forcefully hold your heads down will you listen to reason and speak human words.”

“My last disciple has a good temperament, otherwise, if it were me… never mind, my abilities are too meager, my influence too weak. I won’t make any rash threats today, lest I become a laughingstock.”

The Old Tutor turned to gaze at Aunt Feng, seated on the stone steps of the flower trellis.

Aunt Feng wore a face of sorrowful grievance, patting her chest, and timidly said, “Oh, it’s my turn to be scolded? The Literary Saint may scold as he pleases; I shall endure it all.”

The Old Tutor appeared somewhat embarrassed, rubbing his hands together, and said, “No, no, I’m just a little parched from all this talking. How about a flagon of wine to moisten my throat?”

Aunt Feng chuckled, “The Literary Saint is more effective when directly scolding people.”

Wine is pleasant, but deception is not so easily swallowed.

Having lost all his spirit, Lu Wei merely offered a Daoist salute to the Literary Saint before departing in silence, embarking on a long journey to the Central Continent, to return to the Lu Clan.

This ancestor of the Lu Clan resolved that he would never again set foot on the Treasure Bottle Continent. It was a land of trouble, filled with too many formidable individuals, first Qi Jingchun, and now Chen Ping’an.

The Old Tutor, slightly tipsy from the wine, strolled out of the Fire God Temple, pausing at the entrance and sighing, his words catching in his throat.

The old woman, the mortal wife, served as both gatekeeper and caretaker of the Fire God Temple.

The hunched old woman chuckled softly, “The Literary Saint has taken a fine disciple, gentle, kind, respectful, and courteous. When he goes out, he sees sages on every street, each person possessing the Buddha-nature. Though of humble origins, he possesses great wisdom and compassion.”

The Old Tutor’s face beamed with joy, his smile wide, yet he still waved his hand, “No, no, he’s not as good as you say, senior. After all, he’s still young; he’ll improve in time.”

The “old woman” before him was merely a vessel, a temporary dwelling, like an inn in the mortal world. Her true identity was rather complex. She was somewhat similar to the master-disciple duo of Chen Qingliu and Zheng Juzhong in relation to the blind Daoist of Riding Dragon Lane. One of her more apparent identities was one of the ancestral Dragon Ascendants of the Carp Leaping Grotto-Heaven, as well as a former tutor to a certain Dragon Daughter. Even earlier, she was considered family by the Confucian Temple, a member of the orthodox lineage of Dragon Keepers from three thousand years ago, holding the position of a Confucian Ritual Officer.

Thus, there was a latent thread of cause and effect when Lu Chen set up his fortune-telling stall in the small town, only to have it overturned by Liu Xianyang.

The region with the most potent dragon aura in the entire Treasure Bottle Continent was previously the Carp Leaping Grotto-Heaven, but now, of course, it was the Great Li Capital.

The old woman spoke solemnly, “The lowliest of people possess the highest wisdom.”

The Old Tutor suppressed his smile, paused for a moment, and nodded slightly, “Senior’s discernment is several degrees superior to Aunt Feng’s.”

The old woman shook her head, “When it comes to vision, we are all far inferior to Qi Jingchun.”

The Old Tutor hesitated, stroking his beard and sighing, “A young man’s ambition should reach for the clouds; who mourns a solitary cold, sitting and sighing in despair?”

The implied meaning was that when Lu Chen sailed away, he still failed to find a place of peace, ultimately leaving his homeland for the Azure Mystery World in pursuit of his Great Dao, becoming the third disciple of the Dao Ancestor, his heart as still as an ancient well, accepting the inevitable with resignation. Although it seemed to betray his heart, it did not contradict his Great Dao.

The old woman smiled, “Lu Chen set up his stall in the Carp Leaping Grotto-Heaven for many years, both to protect his eldest brother’s path and to suppress Qi Jingchun with a final unreasonable move. They were clearly enemies, so why does the Literary Saint defend this man?”

The Old Tutor shook his head and said, “One matter is separate from another; a true man distinguishes between gratitude and grievances.”

Over by the flower trellis.

The old coachman shook the wine jar, which was now only half full, sighing and frowning.

Aunt Feng chuckled, “This is what they call karmic retribution; just stand still and take the beating. Why act like a delicate woman?”

The old coachman sighed helplessly, “Who said that no matter who you offend, you should never become enemies with the Old Tutor, Zheng Juzhong, and the Fire Dragon True Man?”

One argues too fiercely, one is too intelligent, and one has too many friends on the mountain.

After the old coachman dejectedly left the Fire God Temple, the old woman, her steps faltering, came to the flower trellis.

Aunt Feng clicked her tongue, saying, “It’s been too long since I’ve personally experienced the unyielding aura of a sage from the Confucian Temple. Fortunately, it was just a false alarm.”

Whether it was the newly appointed, substitute deities of the later generations, or the registered cultivators of the mountains and the wild cultivators of the marshes, they mostly only had interactions with the principals of the academies. In fact, they were not very familiar with the Confucian Temple’s enshrined sages. There were two distinct watershed moments, three thousand years ago and eight thousand years ago. The images of those enshrined sages became increasingly blurred, even forgotten, in the minds of the people.

The old woman smoothed the hair at her temples, nodding with a smile.

Aunt Feng drank her wine, muttering to herself, “Worrying about clouds for the moon, about bookworms for the books, about the succession of learning, about the wind and rain for the flowers, about the unevenness of the world, about the ill-fated lives of talented scholars and beautiful women, about the loneliness of the drinkers for sages and heroes, truly the most compassionate of hearts.”

The old woman murmured, “Flower and fruit are mutually cause and effect.”

A young man jumped off the carriage and walked towards the alley, carrying a pair of famille-rose flower-and-bird calligraphy tubes, containing no less than twenty scrolls.

Liu Jia scolded with a laugh, “Are you moving house, kid?”

Since when had Little Zhao’s calligraphy become so worthless?

Or was it that his unprecedented bestowal of favor had caused Little Zhao to be so flattered?

Zhao Duanming arrived at the alley and entered the White Jade Dojo, planting the two calligraphy tubes on the ground and whispering, “Master, it seems my grandfather knew long ago who would be asking for the calligraphy.”

Liu Jia picked up a scroll, chuckling, “That’s normal; your grandfather was cunning as a monkey since he was a child, skinny as bones with only a pair of eyes left, constantly darting around when he saw people. You’re fortunate not to be like him, or I would never have taken you as a disciple.”
I truly cannot fathom how that lad, who back then couldn’t take his eyes off a woman with ample… assets, transformed into such a renowned official, his words worth a thousand gold pieces, even mountain immortals clamoring for his calligraphy.

Such is the boon of cultivators, they have witnessed many “lads” among the elderly down in the mortal realm.

Liu Jia unfastened the golden silken cord on the scroll, with a flick of his wrist unfurling the painting in the air. Inscribed upon it were two rows of bold, unrestrained calligraphy: “Alone and unpitied, I stand against the four sides, who else but me?”

Liu Jia chuckled, “That little Zhao, his calligraphy is as vigorous as his flattery.”

Zhao Duanming grumbled, “Master, show some respect! He’s still my grandfather. You keep calling him ‘little Zhao,’ making it difficult for me. If I feign deafness, I’m unfilial; if I retort, I’m still unfilial.”

Liu Jia smiled, then suddenly asked, “Could they be some counterfeits, penned by a hired brush?”

Zhao Duanming craned his neck for a look. “Master, what are you even looking at? The ink hasn’t even dried completely. And that distinctive seal he never uses unless it’s a masterpiece – how could it be fake?”

“Besides, Master knows perfectly well that my grandfather values his reputation above all else. Even when he was short of funds in his youth, at most he would only imitate paintings to earn some money for books.”

Liu Jia turned his head and asked, “Why the long face? What’s troubling you?”

The young man squatted on the ground. “Grandfather said to tell you to send him two personally carved seals, inscribed ‘Sword Immortal’ and ‘National Hand,’ respectively. If you don’t, he’ll come and block the door, demanding his due.”

The old cultivator widened his eyes. “Did little Zhao not look where he was going and hit his head on a door? An old codger who could be blown over by the wind dares to come here and block the door?”

Zhao Duanming cast a pitiable gaze at his master.

How did he end up with such an obtuse master?

Liu Jia quickly understood the implications and coughed a few times, finding an excuse for himself. “Easy, easy. Your Master is actually a hidden master of seal carving, but he rarely reveals this skill.”

Damn it, these officials and scholars were all full of tricks, always speaking and acting with hidden meanings.

Liu Jia opened another piece of calligraphy and let out a surprised “Eh.”

Even though the old cultivator was an amateur in the art of calligraphy, he felt that this piece was remarkably extraordinary from the moment it was unrolled.

Very simple, it was an extremely rare one character per line format!

Therefore, when the entire piece was unrolled, it reached a length of three zhang!

It began with the phrase, “In the sixth year of Yuanjia, in a bitterly cold land, the floods subsided slightly, I saw a figure in green, poling a lone boat, gracefully crossing the river. Human, god, ghost, or immortal?”

It concluded with the four words, “Returning home by candlelight.”

The characters were like spears and halberds, with a commanding aura.

Zhao Duanming was stunned for a long time, muttering, “Why did Grandfather give away this piece of calligraphy too?”

Grandfather had said more than once that this piece of calligraphy would accompany him into his coffin, as a pillow.

Grandfather was a typical weak scholar. He heard that he was frail and sickly since childhood. At the age of thirty, while working in the Ministry of Revenue, he disagreed with National Preceptor Cui, feeling that the Great Li border army was simply exhausting the country’s resources. As a result, he was demoted to the desolate borderlands, exiled to Rong Prefecture, a place of perilous mountains and waters, for six years. The former clerk of the Ministry of Revenue could only become a magistrate in a small county on the frontier. Moreover, when Grandfather left the capital, he never expected to return alive.

Zhao Duanming once heard his father mention that your grandmother was strong-willed and never cried in front of outsiders, except this one time, she truly cried terribly.

When Grandfather returned to the capital, there were no banners of praise, nor any reputation for good governance in the region, not even a single poem or essay left behind. It seemed that besides a package, the only extra thing he had was this piece of calligraphy.

Every time he slowly unrolled the painting on his desk, the head of the Zhao family of Tianshui would take out a pot of wine.

From the youthful habit of taking a sip of wine for each character, to the later years of taking a sip of wine for several characters, until now, the old man could finish the entire piece of calligraphy with only half a pot of wine.

And the year Yuanjia six, at the beginning of the calligraphy.

It happened to be the year that the Great Li border army won the bitter border battle against the Lu clan cavalry.

The Great Li iron cavalry, which was criticized as exhausting the country’s resources by a bookish official of the Ministry of Revenue, was the one that, in this year, crushed the invincible Lu clan’s 120,000 elite cavalry, or as the common people would say, beat them into the ground, killing countless enemies. The Great Li border army reached the Lu clan’s borders for the first time, an unprecedented victory on the border for hundreds of years!

In the parlance of the Great Li bureaucracy, to put it more elegantly, they had annihilated the once invincible Lu clan cavalry, leaving “not a single person on horseback!”

From then on, the northern lands of Treasure Bottle Continent were rid of the Lu clan cavalry, leaving only the Great Li iron cavalry.

Liu Jia carefully put away the calligraphy and turned to the young man, saying, “Tell your grandfather that those two seals are as good as done.”

Han Zhoujin, a cultivator of the Earthly Branch lineage, secretly left the capital and came to a small, unremarkable temple in the capital region.

She stood at the entrance and saw a young man in the monk’s room, meticulously copying a Buddhist scripture with fly-sized characters, his expression focused and precise.

The man looked like a suave scion of an aristocratic family.

But Han Zhoujin was extremely nervous, even her palms were sweating.

The current head of the Zi Zhao Yan clan is Yan Yongfeng, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, a small official with a high-ranking surname, but the real decision-maker of the Yan clan is a figure no one dares to underestimate.

It was Yan Jiaoran, the man in Han Zhoujin’s eyes, a cultivator with eternal youth.

Yan Jiaoran was proficient in cursive script, but he liked to copy scriptures here in regular script, as if every time he came to the capital, he would come here to copy scriptures in his spare time.

This was the third time Han Zhoujin had seen this person here.

After copying a sentence, Yan Jiaoran turned his head and smiled, “Come in and sit down, what are you standing there for?”

Yan Jiaoran lowered his head and said softly, “Miss Han, please wait a moment, there are still a hundred or so characters left.”

Han Zhoujin gently closed the door and then stood near the door.

Before meeting that Mr. Chen, Han Zhoujin only feared the person in front of her.

For a time, the only sound in the room was the rustling of the brush on the paper.

After copying the Buddhist scripture, Yan Jiaoran gently put down the pen, turned to look at the woman standing at the door, and smiled, “Well, take a seat.”

Han Zhoujin quickly took a few steps forward, moved a chair, and sat down.
Yan Jiaoran reached out and pressed down on a rare calligraphy model book she carried with her. “I heard National Preceptor Cui say before that calligraphy is the most insignificant of skills, even worse than painting. He advised me not to waste my time and energy on such things. Later, perhaps seeing that I was incorrigible, or maybe feeling that I had some talent, he casually gave me a few pointers after a meeting and threw this cursive script model book to me.”

Han Zhoujin listened to every word.

She just didn’t know what use it would be to remember all this.

Yan Jiaoran suddenly asked, “At the inn, you nine seemed to have suffered quite a bit?”

Han Zhoujin was about to describe the battles in detail.

Yan Jiaoran waved her hand and said, “No need to go into specifics. You just need to tell me how that Lord Hidden Official instructed you, such as whether he mentioned the ruins of the Tongbai Blessed Land, and that Sword Immortal follower beside you?”

Han Zhoujin dared not hide anything and recounted everything.

The nine who had yet to complete the earthly branches, with the possible exception of the boy Gou Cun, each had their own backgrounds and origins. The National Preceptor had never forbidden them from contacting the outside world.

“Ten thousand hairs working together, sharpness in all directions, flowing energy, strict discipline.”

Unexpectedly, Yan Jiaoran gently patted the calligraphy model book and changed the subject again, saying, “Entering the paper with a side stroke, writing with a centered brush. Cursive script is scribbled, but the essence of its learning lies in the word ‘upright.’ Only then can it achieve a grand and magnificent atmosphere. Miss Han, don’t you find it strange?”

Han Zhoujin was not a fool after all and finally understood the other party’s implied meaning. She immediately nodded and said, “Mr. Chen acts with great discretion. He seems unrestrained, but upon closer inspection, one discovers that there is a method to his madness, and everything is within the bounds of rules.”

Yan Jiaoran smiled without saying a word.

Han Zhoujin held her breath and sat upright to the side.

Yan Jiaoran smiled and said, “Miss Han doesn’t need to be so restrained.”

Han Zhoujin nodded.

But her restraint did not diminish in the slightest.

Yan Jiaoran.

She was responsible for coordinating all of the Great Li Iron Cavalry’s accompanying cultivators, recording military merits and administering rewards and punishments. Therefore, even the Ministry of War, Ministry of Justice, and Ministry of Rites of Great Li might not be able to truly intervene in the matter of accompanying cultivators.

Yan Jiaoran was like a shadow of the Great Li Dynasty, existing only in the night.

She was universally recognized as one of National Preceptor Cui Chan’s absolute confidantes.

Han Zhoujin naturally could not verify the truth of this veiled statement.

But Han Zhoujin could be absolutely certain of one fact: Yan Jiaoran had fought Song Changjing fiercely in her early years!

In addition, Han Zhoujin was also aware of a secret matter: Yan Jiaoran and Qi Zhen, the Grand Heavenly Lord of the Divine Edict Sect, were friends of vastly different ages and were even close confidantes.

That was why the Yan Clan was able to take her from the Great Li Whipping Sticks and bring her back to the Yan Clan from the Clear Pond Blessed Land.

“If I’m not mistaken, the friend Chen Pingan spoke of should be Liu Jinglong of the Grand Azure Sword Sect. As for him telling you to go to the Fire God Temple to find Aunt Feng, you should go ahead and ask about the location of the array core. Cherish these two immortal opportunities on the mountain.”

Yan Jiaoran stood up. “Let’s go. It’s time for a meal. I’ll treat Miss Han to a bowl of vegetarian noodles.”

Yan Jiaoran got up and led Han Zhoujin out of the hermitage and into the room next door, which contained only a table and four benches.

Because she was a major benefactor here, Yan Jiaoran did not need to go to the vegetarian restaurant. She directly asked a close attendant, who revealed himself, to ask the temple monks for two servings of vegetarian noodles.

Yan Jiaoran did not sit in the host’s seat opposite the door. She gestured towards Han Zhoujin with a gentle hand and smiled, “The reason I like coming here is half for the craving and half for the Zen.”

Soon, a steady-footed young novice brought two bowls of vegetarian noodles.

Han Zhoujin looked down at the bowl of noodles in front of her, which were pleasing to the eye and fragrant.

Shiitake mushrooms, reed shoots, scallions, fried tofu, pickled radishes, and several kinds of spicy and sour vegetables she couldn’t name.

Added to the topping, even a pure-hearted and abstinent cultivator like Han Zhoujin suddenly felt her appetite whetted.

Each ate their own.

Yan Jiaoran rolled up a chopstick of vegetarian noodles, chewed slowly, and then put a piece of vegetarian dish into her mouth. For no reason, she said, “Actually, I secretly went to the Upside-Down Mountain when I was young.”

Han Zhoujin was about to stop her chopsticks, but Yan Jiaoran smiled and said, “Telling you not to be so restrained is not because I think there’s anything wrong with you, but because I’m the most afraid of trouble and the most disgusted by it. I have to remind you of some nonsense from time to time. It doesn’t matter if you’re annoyed, but if you really annoy me…”

Han Zhoujin didn’t say a word. She just rolled up a large chopstick of noodles, lowered her head, and ate.

“It was quite miserable. I took the Mountain and Sea Turtle from Old Dragon City to the Upside-Down Mountain. That was my first long journey across continents and also my only one. All the way, I was learning the elegant speech of the Central Earth Divine Continent.

Otherwise, when I arrived at the Upside-Down Mountain, I would have been treated like a bumpkin, and it would have been difficult to get money out of my pocket. At that time, our Treasure Bottle Continent was very unwelcome, and our Great Li was even regarded as the northern barbarians. That kind of discomfort, not big or small, was everywhere. You can imagine how uncomfortable someone like me, who was said by National Preceptor Cui to have obsessive-compulsive disorder, felt.”

“Miss Han, you’re young, so you may not understand this saying. Of course, you’ll never understand it in the future. That’s a very fortunate thing.”

“Guess what, when I passed the Upside-Down Mountain and arrived at the Sword Qi Great Wall, what was my biggest regret?”

Han Zhoujin could only shake her head.

How could she guess that?

Yan Jiaoran smiled.

It’s a pity it wasn’t that young Hidden Official.

“It’s that the Sword Qi Great Wall, with its clouds of sword cultivators, had only one Sword Immortal with the surname Yan.”

“His name is Yan Ming.”

“He’s also a hero who’s very good at doing business.”

Speaking of this, Yan Jiaoran rolled up the vegetarian noodles with her chopsticks and nodded to herself.

Where does a country’s true dragon vein lie?

In horseshoes and silver.

What is the peak of national power? The most direct thing is the deafening sound of horseshoes on the battlefield.

And the sound of abacuses in the accounting room can echo with the sound of books in the school.

“So when I arrived at the Sword Qi Great Wall, the first thing I did was go to the Yan family gate, announce my name, and say that my surname was also Yan and that I came from the Treasure Bottle Continent.”