(Apologies for the late chapter upload.)

Just as Xiao Mo was about to unleash his sword, a faint voice echoed through the heavens and earth, like the rustling of falling leaves, carrying a heavy sense of desolation. “It truly is you.”

Xiao Mo waited patiently for what followed, and after a moment, the voice sounded again, “You should all return. Meeting serves no purpose.”

Xiao Mo sneered, no longer wasting words with the Daoist friend he had only met a few times. He advanced slowly, raising the longsword in his hand. “My lord, simply follow me. In at most half an incense stick’s time, you will see the true form of the other party.”

Xiao Mo first planted a longsword into the ground, and the entire desolate, empty world transformed in color, like an ancient painting scroll turning yellowish with age.

Chen Ping’an knew the purpose of this sword of Xiao Mo’s: it served as a temporary staging post on the river of time. No matter how powerful or crafty the Daoist friend was, Xiao Mo could always rely on his heart to find this crossing he had created. Then, he would deliver another sword, needing only a thread to connect the two places, thus preventing a complete failure. After walking a dozen steps, Xiao Mo casually unleashed another sword, the first time Chen Ping’an had seen Xiao Mo draw his sword since the Bright Moon Splendor battle.

The sword light was not a straight line, but more like a swaying wisp of silk in the wind, stretching out over a thousand leagues.

Xiao Mo continued to unleash his sword, sometimes slanting, sometimes horizontal, sometimes vertical, all done casually. But the sword qi and the Daoist essence contained within the sword light grew more majestic each time.

This was a peak Ascension Realm swordsman’s “casual” sword strike.

The rules of this small world were indeed peculiar. Xiao Mo’s sword light condensed without dissipating, but in Chen Ping’an’s vision, the traces of those sword lights had disappeared, as if folded, bent, and traveling to distant places along quiet side paths.

Xiao Mo communicated with his mind: “My lord, these side paths are similar to the roots and veins of a parasol tree. But rest assured, the number of paths and the size of the small world are both limited. I have personally experienced small worlds even stranger than this one.”

Chen Ping’an nodded, not in a hurry.

The voice echoed in their ears again, “Since it is a reunion of old friends, why resort to violence?”

Xiao Mo held his sword in one hand and sneered, “I want to see how many hundreds or thousands of swords your small world can withstand.”

As long as the sword delivery continued and the sword qi and intent accumulated, the sword light would naturally break through like an awl piercing a sack.

When all of that was condensed into one sword, it would be a true sword duel.

It was common knowledge that it was difficult for spirits and monsters to cultivate, difficult to awaken, and slow to progress. The only advantage of these mountain Daoist friends was their longevity, especially plants. Once they reached the upper five realms, their Dao age was particularly long. But when it came to the aptitude for cultivation, Xiao Mo was not being arrogant. Compared to sword cultivators like himself, there was a world of difference. Even if he slept for ten thousand years, and you were given an additional ten thousand years of Dao age, so what?

If you treat me politely, I will be even more polite. If you are impolite to me, even better, I will repay you with a sword duel.

The old coachman from the capital, the Ghost Immortal Yu Jin, was a polite man.

Since arriving in the Great Bright World, he had always conformed to local customs, so he never struck a smiling face. This had frustrated Xiao Mo for a long time.

After Xiao Mo had delivered a hundred or so swords, he was able to guide one of the sword lights with his mind, causing it to roll like a spirit snake, violently shaking on one of the paths. Sword light splattered, exploding with a bang, like a slender galaxy collapsing in an instant.

The voice was silent for a moment, then advised, “Chen Ping’an, you’d best advise this Daoist friend to not act like this. If the sword light damages the vitality of this place, it will only implicate the mountain and water qi of the entire Parasol Leaf Continent, making it even harder to restore its original appearance.”

Chen Ping’an said calmly, “Between two evils, choose the lesser. It’s better than getting the cold shoulder and returning home empty-handed, without even seeing the senior’s face. Today, the crux of the problem is not what Xiao Mo and I do, but whether you are willing to open your door to guests. You and I know that your so-called restoration is just for show. In fact, there are many hidden dangers, and the descendants of Parasol Leaf Continent will have to repay the debts of today one by one. You follow the Way of Heaven, so naturally you don’t care. The many consequences of the collapse of ritual and music in the past do not affect your own cultivation. As long as the overall number of a certain ‘one’ remains unchanged, you can still be considered to have completed your merits, benefiting the continent’s heaven and earth. You only need to wait three to five hundred years, until the Confucian Temple and cultivators, as well as the various dynasties below the mountains, and of course, me, replenish the mountains and waters of various places, and you will be able to safely pass through this great tribulation of heaven and earth, and be able to return to a state of perfection. But I am using the human path to make up for the lack of a continent. The longer it is delayed, the more troublesome it will be. Your alliance with the Confucian Temple has ended, and today you are refusing to see us. When your realm of cultivation approaches the perfection of the Ascension Realm, unconsciously replacing the vacancy left by the old Daoist priest of the Eastern Sea, becoming a vague Lord of a Continent, it will be even more difficult to find you, let alone meet you again.”

The voice did not deny this, “Indeed. I will soon enter secluded cultivation, to perform a great Dao deduction, seeking the path to reach the Fourteenth Realm.”

Clearly, Chen Ping’an had hit the mark.

Xiao Mo, however, heard this for the first time and was immediately angered. He felt that the previous address of “Daoist friend” was a slap in his face.

Therefore, he unleashed dozens of swords in an instant, sword light like rainbows, and the entire yellowish world turned snow-white.

Chen Ping’an walked slowly behind Xiao Mo, stopped, and stamped his foot on the ground. He lowered his head and smiled, “Senior, you are highly respected. In your early years, you were able to become an ally of the Sage of Rites and build a Demon Suppressing Tower for the Confucian Temple. I have read the secret files of the Confucian Temple and know that your temperament is gentle and you are not one to contend with the world. This is why I am willing to talk to you properly. But now that you will soon be completely free, you can’t be sure that I must do something. This is not just standing idly by, but crossing the river and tearing down the bridge. It’s too difficult for a junior who has not even reached sixty years of Dao age. Even a clay figure has three parts fire, let alone me?”

Chen Ping’an smiled slightly, “If it really comes down to it, I will ask the Sage of Rites to move half of Sword Qi Great Wall here.”

“I want to see if you can still see me when you want to reach the Fourteenth Realm, and whether you will still have the chance to ask me face to face whether I agree or not.”

“I think it will be difficult.”
That voice, laced with irritation, hastily declared, “The Wen Temple promised me that once this great calamity passed, the covenant would be nullified. Even the enshrined sages residing here shouldn’t hinder my cultivation.”

If this young man truly acted in such a way, failing to find the path to the fourteenth realm in seclusion would be bad enough. But if he did find that Great Dao, only to be blocked by a wall, that would be truly vexing.

Furthermore, once trapped in such an awkward predicament, a true battle over the Great Dao would erupt between himself and this young sword cultivator. As long as one party desired to ascend to the fourteenth realm, they would be locked in a life-or-death struggle.

You, Chen Ping’an, are still a closed-door disciple of the Wen Sage lineage, a Confucian student, are you not?!

Chen Ping’an shook his head. “Since I cannot represent the Wen Temple, the Wen Temple certainly cannot represent me.”

Whoever obstructs my mending of a continent’s flaw, I will challenge them with my sword.

This is no jest. Please take it seriously.

The voice immediately became exasperated. “The Most Sage Teacher once came here and personally wished me a smooth path in my cultivation!”

Chen Ping’an remained expressionless. “Then, on this matter, I fear I must disappoint the Most Sage Teacher.”

Upon hearing this, the other party was clearly shocked beyond words, rendered speechless for a time.

Even the Wen Sage wouldn’t dare utter such words! A madman who dares defy the Most Sage Teacher! What kind of scholar is this? Disgracing civility! You sword cultivators, your foul tempers never change in ten thousand years…

Xiao Mo smiled knowingly.

After a long silence, likely exerted to calm his Dao heart, the voice spoke again, finally with a hint of weakness. “I trust the Sage of Rites, but not you.”

Xiao Mo narrowed his eyes and said in a deep voice, “I checked the almanac. Today is inauspicious for moving earth, encoffining, building stoves, planting, and burials. It is auspicious for venturing out, logging, raising beams, building houses, and establishing alliances.”

Chen Ping’an stepped forward and gently patted Xiao Mo’s arm, signaling him not to rush to offer his sword. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Xiao Mo, he smiled with his hands in his sleeves. “I also understand the senior’s situation. All living beings that arose in response to this shattered land, to the senior, are not simply a matter of caring equally for both sides. Heaven and earth are but a fleeting journey, the Great Dao is paramount, and all things are disposable like straw dogs. There is no distinction between loyal subjects and rebellious bandits, filial sons and unfilial offspring.”

The voice continued, “To be precise, I cannot trust sword cultivators who act solely on whim and wield their swords without restraint.”

After a moment, he added, “I might even be willing to trust that wandering swordsman who entered Flying Eagle Stronghold back then, but not a Last Generation Hidden Official from the Sword Qi Great Wall.”

Chen Ping’an chuckled. “If senior had been so sincere earlier, you wouldn’t have fallen out with a ten-thousand-year-old friend.”

“Chen Ping’an! Your killing intent is heavier than this ‘Xiao Mo’s’.”

“Then I shall restrain it somewhat.”

Before Chen Ping’an and Xiao Mo, a passage resembling an驿路appeared, its sides as dark as the night sky, similar to the ends of the Sword Qi Great Wall, linked to some kind of Grand Void realm.

Chen Ping’an glanced back. White mist obscured everything, and they had lost their way back.

Xiao Mo frowned, but Chen Ping’an smiled. “Since we’re here, let’s make the best of it. Consider it a short journey.”

Chen Ping’an took out a golden “White Steed Flitting Past” talisman from his sleeve, from the *Esoteric Texts of Alchemy* given by Li Xisheng, also known as the “Moon Talisman.” This talisman was placed towards the end of the book.

This talisman hovered beside his shoulder.

At the same time, within Chen Ping’an’s heart lake world, a sundial appeared, used for precise timekeeping. Sure enough, the flow of time differed greatly between the inner and outer worlds.

Glancing at the burning speed of the White Steed Flitting Past talisman, Chen Ping’an roughly estimated that one year might pass in this world for every day in the outside world of Tongye Continent.

Chen Ping’an reminded him, “No matter how hospitably senior treats us, according to the time of the outside world, I must see senior’s true form within ten hours at most and agree on a deal.”

Two donkeys appeared out of thin air by the roadside, probably as means of transportation. Chen Ping’an chuckled, not worried about any schemes. He directly climbed onto a donkey.

Wearing a green robe and carrying a sword on his back, with a vermilion wine gourd hanging from his waist, he gently nudged the donkey’s belly, and with a clatter of hooves, they began to leisurely move forward.

Xiao Mo shook his wrist, and a long sword scattered into sword light, returning to his sleeve. Xiao Mo was still dressed in a yellow hat and blue shoes, holding a green bamboo staff, sitting on the donkey’s back.

Only black and white existed in this world. Xiao Mo looked around, resembling a hastily drawn ink wash painting.

Xiao Mo asked, “Young Master, what about the rest of those sword lights?”

Chen Ping’an complained, “There’s no principle of taking back a gift once it’s given.”

Xiao Mo nodded lightly, feeling quite regretful. If he had known, he would have offered two or three hundred more swords.

At this moment, the painting depicted a twilight scene. The two rode donkeys and soon arrived at a small, abruptly appearing hillside. Reaching the top of the hill, they looked into the distance and saw that the road was narrow, with simple buildings resembling inns by the roadside. A vast and mighty procession stretched along the mountain road, numbering no less than several thousand people. There were even imperial carriages among them. Judging by the panicked expressions of the civil and military officials, were they fleeing the capital to seek refuge? Chen Ping’an took down the sword-nurturing gourd, took a sip of wine, and his eyes reflected a scene like a painting of all the departments of the capital rushing to the 行在. In the painting, only one person stood out in vibrant color, a middle-aged man with a long bamboo tube hanging from his waist. The tips of the index and middle fingers of his right hand had slight calluses. After leaving the crowded road, he chewed on a cake and walked along a stream towards the depths of the mountains.

Chen Ping’an noticed an interesting thing. If the previous small world was an ink wash painting, then when he saw this man, with that man as the center, or rather, what the man saw, would gradually transform into a meticulous brush painting, with every detail meticulously depicted. Every flower, every tree, and the swimming fish in the stream were lifelike, full of vitality, and ultimately became a vivid green landscape painting, no different from the “truth” of the human world.

Chen Ping’an smiled. “Let’s follow this little local deity.”

In the twilight, the man found a rustic house by the stream, with low thatched eaves. Only an old woman and a woman, reliant on each other, sat facing each other, weaving chicken coops.

The old woman offered the man some food. To avoid suspicion, the man slept under the eaves at night, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He simply took out a chess manual from his bosom by the moonlight. He sat up straight, flipped through it for a moment, then closed his eyes and concentrated, his fingers mimicking the pinching of chess pieces, placing them one after another, seemingly practicing a game record.
Chen Ping’an, standing beneath a distant tree away from the thatched hut, had just seized the opportunity to glimpse the cover of the chess manual. It turned out to be a well-documented and renowned chess score. It enjoyed considerable fame in the history of the Vast Continent, although only amongst those down the mountain. The two players in the match played five games, giving rise to the saying, “One should not watch five games of chess when ill.”

Chen Ping’an, riding on the donkey’s back, glanced at the White Colt Passing Gap talisman beside his shoulder. The flow of time remained unchanged.

In truth, even if a cultivator were to soar through the air and look down upon the entire world at this moment, it would seem that only this scene existed. Perhaps that predecessor was using this as a reminder that after passing one checkpoint, there would be scenery for the next. Once all the checkpoints were cleared, they would finally meet? What was the purpose? Was it to buy time, hoping for help from the Confucian Temple? Otherwise, inviting someone to rush here to assist in blocking him and Xiao Mo would be of little use.

Xiao Mo asked, “Young Master, do you need me to test the waters with my sword?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head and smiled, “Let’s be patient and observe what happens.”

Xiao Mo asked, “Is that person a Chess Attendant?”

Chen Ping’an nodded. “His chess skills don’t seem weak.”

The man under the eaves of the thatched hut didn’t seem to be studying the score at this moment, but rather playing against himself. To say how high his chess skills were, it didn’t seem to be all that impressive.

Regarding the openings and established patterns in the world of Go, Chen Ping’an considered himself quite familiar, capable of memorizing them. Furthermore, of the four individuals from Lotus Flower Blessed Land, besides Wei Hailiang, the other three—Zhu Lian, Lu Baixiang, and Sui Youbian—would be considered experts even in the Vast Continent. Moreover, there were Zheng Dafeng and Mountain Lord Wei Bo at Fallen Mountain, both proficient in the art. Back then, the Summer Palace was also filled with experts, such as Lin Junbi and Xuan Shen Cao Gun, who were all top-notch masters.

With Chen Ping’an’s current Go skills, he could play the first thirty to fifty moves with someone and pretend to be a master without a problem, but after that, he would be exposed.

Therefore, when teaching people to play Go at the Summer Palace, the Hidden Official liked to call himself half a terrible player.

Inside the house, without any lamps or candles, the old woman and the woman, each in their own room, began to play chess. There was no chessboard or chess pieces; they simply verbally announced the placement of the pieces. They pondered for a long time, so much so that by the time dawn broke and the sky turned a fish-belly white, they had only played less than forty moves. The man had long since taken out chess pieces and paper from the long bamboo tube, spreading them on the ground. He listened attentively to the chess moves inside the house while placing the pieces on the paper chessboard. When the old woman declared victory by nine pieces and the woman conceded defeat, the man finally mustered his courage and gently knocked on the door. After a moment, the old woman and the woman came out of the house, and the man humbly sought guidance. The old woman went to light the fire and cook, but asked her widowed daughter-in-law to impart her chess skills to him. The woman with her simple hairpin and plain dress only taught him for less than half an hour before saying that it was enough to make him invincible in the mortal world.

Speaking of this, the woman raised her head and looked at the tree outside the thatched hut. She intentionally or unintentionally brushed her hair at her temples.

Chen Ping’an ignored this, and the woman got up to busy herself. The man bid farewell and left, looking back along the stream, but the thatched hut had disappeared. The man was disappointed.

In an instant, Chen Ping’an and Xiao Mo seemed to be traveling back along a river of time, once again riding the donkey on the hillside, and again seeing the man with the bamboo tube at his waist, walking along the stream.

Xiao Mo smiled and asked, “Does Young Master need to win against them in chess to pass?”

Chen Ping’an nodded. “That should be it. You continue to watch that Chess Attendant, and I’ll go to the post road to see if I can find anything. I’ll meet up with you at dawn.”

Afterward, Xiao Mo continued to follow the man on the donkey, while Chen Ping’an went to the road at the foot of the mountain and found an old official who looked like a figure from a painting. He was wearing a purple robe and a golden fish pouch. Chen Ping’an casually started a conversation with the old man, eventually saying that he was willing to pay a high price for books. The old man politely declined, saying that those few boxes of books had been treasured for a long time and were worth more than a thousand taels of gold. Without saying anything more, Chen Ping’an overturned the boxes of books from the carriage onto the ground. Then, with a wave of his hand, a gentle breeze blew, and all the books were opened page by page. Apart from the covers, all the pages were blank.

The figures of people and horses seemed to be frozen in place. Chen Ping’an stood there and shook his head, smiling. “The landscape is barren, and the predecessor’s collection of books is too small, to the point that even putting on a show is impossible.”

Afterward, Chen Ping’an had no interest in further investigation. This kind of counterfeit world was too thin, having only bones and no flesh. Without flesh, how could there be a deeper level of spirit?

He remounted the donkey by the side of the road, intending to find Xiao Mo and that thatched hut again.

He didn’t forget to wave his hand again, returning the books to the boxes, reversing the scene, and returning them to the carriage one by one.

Again, he waited until dawn of “that day.” Before the woman could raise her head to look at him again, Chen Ping’an had already led Xiao Mo forward on the donkey. As soon as the old woman said those words of invincibility, he opened his mouth and smiled, “Not necessarily.”

He arrived at the wooden plank corridor under the eaves, cupped his fist to the chess official and smiled, “May I borrow your chess pieces and chessboard, sir?”

Afterward, Chen Ping’an set up a game that Senior Brother Cui Chan had played with Zheng Juzhong, the Colorful Clouds Score. However, today Chen Ping’an was of course being opportunistic, pretending to be Zheng Juzhong and inviting the other party to continue the chess score.

The woman was stunned and speechless, and the old woman also murmured to herself, “Has the chess path of later generations reached such a high level?”

Chen Ping’an folded his hands in his sleeves, looked at the chessboard, and said casually, “I suppose the path of chess is like the path of the world; it always goes higher.”

The old woman nodded and smiled, and the woman also raised her hand to brush her hair at her temples, smiling at the jade-hairpin-wearing green-robed guest.

As soon as Chen Ping’an said this, the scenes of heaven and earth all disappeared, leaving only an ancient chess manual in the corridor and inside the house. Chen Ping’an glanced at them and put both chess manuals into his sleeves, accepting them with a smile.

Xiao Mo turned his head and looked, “That Daoist friend even took the donkey.”

Chen Ping’an patted Xiao Mo on the shoulder and praised, “No wonder you can be a member of Fallen Mountain.”

Afterward, the two walked on foot, because a wider official road had appeared beneath their feet, with rice paddies on both sides, looking like it was harvest time.

Suddenly, a rider passed them from behind, heading into the distance. Xiao Mo looked into the distance, and a hostel soon appeared.

The rider was a young man dressed in coarse clothing, riding a blue horse, looking like a poor and downcast scholar. However, Chen Ping’an took a few more glances and discovered that this person’s official fortune was prosperous, possessing the aura of a “person in a green gauze” in feng shui books. In short, he was a noble destined to be a prime minister.
As Chen Pingan and Xiao Mo leisurely entered the roadside inn, they found a young man fast asleep with his head resting on a celadon pillow. Beside him sat a white-haired old Daoist with a beaming smile, leaning against a large package on the steps. To anyone familiar with tales of the strange and wondrous, this was surely a transcendent master to whom one should seek the secrets of immortality.

The innkeeper seemed to be steaming millet; a fragrant aroma wafted from the kitchen as it approached readiness.

Chen Pingan clasped his hands in greeting and asked with a smile, “May I ask, Immortal Elder, where does this official road lead?”

The old Daoist replied with a smile, “Handan.”

Chen Pingan questioned, “Is it truly not to Mount Daoxuan, to a certain wine shop that sells Yellow Millet Wine?”

The old Daoist exclaimed in surprise, and began to seriously examine this young man with such remarkable insight. Shaking his head, he chuckled, “Young master’s question spoils the mood greatly.”

Chen Pingan glanced at the bag. The old Daoist understood, patting the package he carried, and said with a laugh, “Nothing else, just a knapsack of unfulfilled ambitions and a bellyful of grievances. I won’t open it for you, lest it become a foul atmosphere.”

The old Daoist looked at the young scholar still sleeping soundly on the celadon pillow. After retracting his gaze, he looked at the road outside and sighed, “I seek nothing else, only the meaning within the Book of Taiji. Beyond that, all others are mere travelers on the road to Handan.”

Chen Pingan immediately smiled, rose, took two steps back, and bowed, saying, “This junior, Chen Pingan, pays respects to Patriarch Lu.”

The old Daoist, addressed by Chen Pingan as “Patriarch Lu,” waved his hand, signaling for him to sit and talk. He asked, “Has Liang Shuang of the Central Earth Divine Continent, Mr. Fire Dragon of the Julu Continent, or Daoist Sun of the Xuandu Temple in the Azure Heaven Realm broken through their realms?”

Chen Pingan shook his head. “None have broken through.”

The old Daoist sighed deeply and looked up at the sky. “The spirit merges with the vast void, the Dao penetrates beyond heaven and earth. The essence grasps the mysteries of the five elements, the sun and moon within an inch of the heart.”

Chen Pingan sat cross-legged and smiled. “Wine surges like a great river’s flow, men ascend to the Yellow Crane Tower. Daoist secrets shine with boundless light, each age has its own thousand autumns.”

The old Daoist clicked his tongue in wonder, stroking his beard and smiling, “Quenches frustrations, dissolves a thousand sorrows.”

Chen Pingan asked curiously, “Venerable senior, do you have any connection to the Yellow Millet Kingdom of the Treasure Bottle Continent?”

The old Daoist nodded. “My origin is there, but I left my hometown long ago to wander. I’ve spent more years in the Azure Heaven Realm than in my homeland.”

The old Daoist then smiled playfully. “If I had interfered in the Sword Inquiry of Cicada Sloughing Grotto back then, that one surnamed Chen might not have escaped unscathed.”

Chen Pingan didn’t comment on this; it was the kind of boast that would offend two people with one statement.

Chen Pingan then asked, “Have you encountered an old tree spirit?”

The old Daoist thought for a moment, then nodded. “By chance, I guided it somewhat in its cultivation.”

Earlier, while Chen Pingan was participating in the Central Earth Confucian Temple discussions, he had visited the Bao Fu Zhai in the Yuanyang Islet, browsing through thirty-odd rooms. Li Huai had only chosen one item he liked, a bonsai. It was a fist-sized rock, engraved with the words “Mountain Immortal,” or “Immortal Mountain.” At the base of the mountain, an old miniature willow tree was entrenched, and beneath the tree stood an old tree spirit of the Ocean Gazing Realm, in the form of an old man only three inches tall. He was old, with an even older temper, calling himself Old Heavenly Lord of the Southern City. He seemed to have a celestial restriction on him, suppressing his realm. Whenever a guest showed even the slightest interest in buying him, he would start ranting with his hands on his hips, spitting everywhere, urging them to achieve ascension in broad daylight.

Later, Li Huai had said that the old tree spirit had claimed to have met a sword immortal with the Daoist name “Pure Yang,” a high-ranking figure in the Daoist sword immortal lineage. He had humbly sought guidance in swordsmanship, and with his good aptitude, he had consecutively broken through realms with just a few words of instruction.

Such words should only be half believed. Sure enough, the old tree spirit did indeed have a karmic connection with this “Pure Yang” Patriarch Lu.

Chen Pingan asked further, “Venerable senior, and Bao Fu Zhai?”

The old Daoist laughed loudly. “Good eye! I can be considered an old friend of Bao Fu Zhai’s founder.”

The scholar groggily woke up. He had just had a beautiful dream of enjoying worldly glory and wealth. Now, he looked around blankly, seeing the old Daoist still sitting beside him and the innkeeper still steaming millet, though now there was a man in green robes and an attendant.

The scholar lamented for a long time, finally sighing and bowing to the old Daoist to express his thanks. He said he now understood the ups and downs of life, the love between men and women, and the principles of life and death.

Just as the scholar was about to leave, Chen Pingan quietly waved his sleeve, and clouds of mist rose. Suddenly, in the open space in front of the inn, a large ancient scholar tree appeared, its branches and leaves dense, providing shade over several acres.

The scholar was dazed, as if still in a dream. Looking aside, he could no longer see the old Daoist or the green-robed guest. Instead, from the hole in the large locust tree, a small green-oiled carriage emerged, pulled by four tall, magnificent horses. A purple-robed envoy, holding a jade tablet, knelt before the scholar, claiming to be from a neighboring kingdom, where the emperor admired his talent… The scholar was somewhat tempted, but still had some doubts. The green-oiled carriage had bamboo curtains hanging down. Behind the curtains, there was vaguely the figure of a beautiful woman, who lifted the edge of the curtain with her slender jade hand. The woman was a peerless beauty, her eyes filled with affection for the scholar… The scholar’s heart immediately fluttered, hesitant and indecisive. The beauty’s eyes were filled with sorrow, and she gently bit her lip. The purple-robed servant prostrated himself, his words sincere. The scholar finally moved forward, stepped onto the carriage…

In an instant, the green-oiled carriage, the purple-robed servant, the beauty with whom he was holding hands, and the large locust tree all vanished into thin air.

The scholar fell to the ground, rubbing his buttocks, exclaiming “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

This time, he finally confirmed that it was not a dream.

The old Daoist suddenly clapped his hands and laughed. “Wonderful!”

At the same time, Chen Pingan and Xiao Mo had changed to another landscape painting. However, in Chen Pingan’s heart-lake, ripples of the old Daoist’s voice echoed, saying that a sword manual was left somewhere in the Yellow Millet Kingdom.

Chen Pingan and Xiao Mo arrived at a place where heat was rising, suffering from a drought. It hadn’t rained for three months, the rivers and lakes were dry, and there was no harvest. For thousands of miles, the grass and trees were withered. Chen Pingan performed a water technique to bring down sweet rain, but after using the technique, it would return to its original state. To travel by riding the wind would also be the same as time reverting, so he had to walk with Xiao Mo on the earth. In this time of great drought, the five grains were not harvested, the people were displaced, and along the way, there were piles of bones, a heartbreaking sight of human suffering. Earlier, they encountered a group of women, children, and old people who were about to die on the road. Chen Pingan squatted down and gave them wine and food, but it would only slide through their throats and intestines, falling straight to the ground.

Chen Pingan then squatted there for a long time, unable to get up.
Little Mo comforted him, “Young Master, it’s all illusory.”

Chen Ping’an nodded, then shook his head, “It was all real once.”

After resuming their journey, Little Mo glanced at the Young Master’s expression, finding nothing amiss.

Later, they encountered a county town. The city had previously opened its granaries to provide disaster relief, setting up porridge kitchens for many days. However, a band of bandits, hearing the news and arriving in haste, swept through the town.

By the time Chen Ping’an entered the city, it was a living hell.

Within the gate of a family that had been slaughtered, a young man lay in a pool of blood, his face covered in tears. He struggled to turn his head, looking at an old man who had been hacked to death with countless blades.

The young man repeatedly said to his father, “Since ancient times, disaster relief has required military escort. Why didn’t you listen? Why didn’t you listen…”

Chen Ping’an sat on the steps of the courtyard, amidst the blood and corpses. He stood up and came to the side of the young scholar, wanting to gently take his hand, but it was only an afterimage. However, Chen Ping’an’s hand remained suspended in place, and he softly said, “Do not fear. For good people like you, walking through this world is already walking through hell.”

Afterward, leaving the county town, he and Little Mo arrived outside a prefecture city, by the side of a dried-up riverbed. A desiccated official was praying for rain, while within the city, they were performing the folk custom of sunning the Dragon King.

Chen Ping’an squatted on the opposite bank of the river, reaching out to grasp a handful of loose soil. Listening to the official’s hoarse voice reciting the prayer for rain, once, and then again from the beginning, Chen Ping’an stood up. With a single stride, he shrunk the distance, arriving on the opposite bank of the river. Standing beside the incense altar, he took out paper and brush, helping to rewrite a prayer for rain, and handed it to the sallow-faced official. The latter, with the mentality of grasping at straws, prepared to recite this prayer, which was incongruous with ritual propriety. However, just as he uttered the opening words, the official’s expression turned frantic. He turned his head to look at the blue-robed man, seemingly asking with his eyes, “Is this really acceptable? Will it not invite more calamity?”

For the content of the prayer on the paper was far too disrespectful.

Generally speaking, such prayers for rain had a standardized format, similar to officialdom, interspersed with respectful words, such as “fearfully and sincerely,” beginning with “I wish to write to the Rain Master,” and then writing words like “Spring rain is like an imperial edict, summer rain is like a pardon.”

But the prayer he held in his hands began with, “Rain Master and Wind Earl, Thunder Lord and Lightning Mother, hear my command! Those who disobey shall be executed!”

Therefore, the official’s voice trembled as he recited the prayer. It was also because he had not had a hearty drink of water in too long. Otherwise, he would probably have been drenched in sweat long ago. When he finished reciting the blasphemous prayer, the official felt as if a great burden had been lifted, collapsing to the ground.

Moments later, dark clouds gathered, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and in an instant, a torrential rain poured down, and sweet rain fell upon a thousand miles.

Little Mo looked up and softly said, “Young Master, back in the county town, I almost couldn’t help but offer my sword. Killing it would have been fitting. We can’t indulge it, letting it deliberately disgust you all the time.”