In the backyard of the Yang Family Apothecary, Su Dian, nicknamed Rouge, a female martial artist, guarded the empty space alone.

Her junior, Shi Lingshan, had returned to his home in Peach Leaf Lane.

Su Dian didn’t feel lonely or bored; she had been accustomed to it since childhood. In fact, she found crowds more uncomfortable.

The apothecary was set up with a shop in the front and a workshop in the back. Decoctions were brewed, and medicinal herbs were dried in the backyard. The main house was where Old Man Yang lived.

The east wing was usually kept locked, only opened by Old Man Yang when Li Huai returned home to visit. The west wing, however, had been prepared for Su Dian long ago.

In the corner of the yard was a storage room filled with old objects, bottles, and jars. The key to the room had been given to Su Dian. Her master had instructed her to inform Li Huai upon his next return that all the old items within the room were to be left to him, to sell or give away as he pleased.

Beneath the eaves on the south side, facing the main house to the north, was a long bench. Su Dian never sat there and forbade her junior from doing so as well.

She guarded the old apothecary as if it were a sacred place, upholding her master’s old rules.

Su Dian was a martial arts fanatic, but tonight, she unusually wasn’t training. Instead, she sat in a chair, lost in thought, her feet resting on the edge of a brazier, reminiscing about the past.

Finally snapping out of her reverie, Su Dian lowered her head, bent over, and pinched the hem of her trousers, which had become slightly warm from the fire.

The apothecary’s front door was ajar. Someone pushed it open, passed through the front shop, and lifted the curtain. A young man called out, “Senior Sister.”

Su Dian, in the wing, replied, indicating that it was her junior, Shi Lingshan, coming for a visit.

Shi Lingshan entered the room, moved a long bench, and sat beside the brazier. Su Dian smiled and said, “You ask for New Year’s Eve dinner at the apothecary? Aren’t you afraid of bad luck?”

Shi Lingshan reached out to warm his hands, feigning ignorance. “Is there such a saying?”

His home was certainly more lively, with four generations under one roof. The family residence in Peach Leaf Lane wasn’t poor by any means. However, Shi Lingshan was still concerned about his senior sister being alone and lonely at the apothecary.

He knew that since the death of her uncle, who had been her only family, Su Dian had no relatives in the small town, not even a poor relation to offer a few words of comfort.

Shi Lingshan pulled a packet of pastries from his sleeve and smiled. “Shopkeeper Shi from Riding Dragon Lane gave these.”

Su Dian hesitated before taking the paper-wrapped pastries. “Did you really go around asking for New Year’s Eve dinner?”

On New Year’s Eve, the traditions of Fortune Lu Street and Peach Leaf Lane were worlds apart from those outside these two streets. They generally didn’t interact.

In the old days, Fortune Lu Street and Peach Leaf Lane were dominated by four surnames and ten clans. The leading families of the town were the four surnames – Lu, Li, Zhao, and Song – with the Lu family always in the lead. Before its collapse, the Lu Dynasty had been the suzerain state of the Dali Song Dynasty, and the founding emperor of the Lu Dynasty had deep connections to the Lu family of Fortune Lu Street. In addition, families like Yuan, Cao, and Xie, among the ten clans, all had ancestors who were once prominent figures. After leaving Lizhu Cave Heaven, they had made names for themselves. For example, Cao Hang and Yuan Xie, who were considered ministers of revitalization of Dali, created the two current Duke families of the Dali dynasty. There was also the sword immortal Cao Xi of South Saha Continent and the Heavenly Sovereign Xie Shi of North Ju Lu Continent.

Just in Mud Bottle Lane, there were the Hidden Official Chen Ping An, the Dali Prince Song Jixin, and Gu Can, the direct disciple of Zheng Juzhong.

And there was the Zhenhai Tower of South Saha Continent, the ancestral home of the sword immortal Cao Xi.

As for Su Dian, besides her connection to the apothecary, the only person in her hometown whom she could call an acquaintance was Hu Feng, who was a few years older than her. Hu Feng’s family used to run a funeral shop, and he would often work as a day laborer with his grandfather, doing bricklaying, carpentry, or going door-to-door to sharpen knives. However, Hu Feng had also left the town. Even if Hu Feng had stayed, Su Dian wouldn’t have had much to talk about with him.

Shi Lingshan smiled. “Guess who I saw in Riding Dragon Lane just now?”

Su Dian remained silent, chewing on the pastry slowly. Whoever he saw wouldn’t be worth getting excited about.

Years ago, a disheveled, emaciated little girl used to frequent Riding Dragon Lane, pretending to pass by unintentionally, walking slowly, sniffing gently, drawn by the aroma of pastries. The girl’s stomach would growl louder and louder with hunger.

The delicious pastries and colorful fabrics in the cloth shop, which she had dreamed of as a child, had seemed like the most unattainable things in the world. But after she grew up and had money in hand, for some reason, she didn’t seem to crave them anymore.

Shi Lingshan said, “I caught a glimpse of her from afar; it seemed to be Wang Zhu from Riding Dragon Lane.”

Once a close neighbor in the small town, now a distant and important figure.

Su Dian merely grunted in acknowledgement. They weren’t the same kind of people. She wasn’t interested in the wealth and success of these former neighbors.

Nowadays, the old Dragon Province, the new Chu Province, was a region known for hidden dragons and crouching tigers. Talented people gathered in droves, but in Su Dian’s eyes, it couldn’t compare to the past.

The first wave of outsiders bought mountain peaks in the western mountains to establish immortal abodes. As long as they didn’t resell them cheaply halfway, they now had a treasure trove of wealth.

Later, some well-informed cultivators came upon hearing the news and bought ancestral homes in the town from the local people or acquired snake bile stones, bronze mirrors embedded in walls, and old coins and porcelain found in the Dragon Beard River at “high prices.” It was as if overnight, everything worthless had become incredibly valuable. The only thing that had become worthless was the hard-earned savings of generations, or the gold and silver jewelry that families kept at the bottom of their chests.

Nowadays, many Qi refiners live in seclusion in the town, keeping a low profile and treating their dilapidated houses as places of cultivation.

Their household registrations and mountain lineages are secretly managed by the Dragon Spring County Kiln Supervision Office. The Huaihuang County Government, however, remains unaware of the identities and backgrounds of these mountain immortals. Anyway, no one causes trouble. Compared to ordinary county towns, it’s a place where nothing is lost, to the point where the county government is extraordinarily clean and efficient. They receive excellent evaluations from the prefectural city every year because even petty thieves don’t break in, let alone the petty family squabbles and disputes.
Heaven and earth’s spiritual energy, the fortune of mountains and rivers, magical treasures and spiritual implements – those sharp-eyed and quick-handed foreign cultivators truly profited, each gaining something, almost none leaving empty-handed.

Consider this: someone once went to the celestial canopy and exchanged blows with an ancient deity who had crossed the boundary, bringing several golden rains to Treasure Bottle Continent. Although almost all of it was collected by Lord Wei of North Mountain, and although it seemed that only Cloud-Draped Mountain benefited, Wei Bo was, after all, a continental mountain deity. The entire North Mountain territory thus rose with the tide, the fortune of mountains and rivers became richer, and the spiritual energy of heaven and earth became more abundant. The cultivators who secluded themselves in Huaihuang County and the mountains to the west dined on rosy clouds and drank dewdrops, feasting their fill. Over the past twenty years, cultivators have quietly broken through their realms from time to time.

Shi Lingshan casually asked, “Senior Sister, how many of us are there in this lineage, after all?”

According to their lineage’s generational divisions, the genealogy was simple enough: only a master who taught boxing, and on the surface, Su Dian and Shi Lingshan, with two senior brothers above them. However, Li Er and Zheng Dafeng, one having gone to the Northern Ju Continent with his family, and the other to the Five-Colored World, whether there were any other senior brothers or sisters was always a mystery. Old Man Yang didn’t like to mention it. Shi Lingshan once asked, and was met with a barrage of scolding. Old Man Yang was always like this, either not speaking at all, or speaking in a terribly unpleasant way when he did. He scolded Shi Lingshan, his disciple, for wanting to find senior brothers outside, whether he wanted to lick boots, or if the Stone family in Peach Leaf Lane was starving him, that he had to run to another family to beg for a warm bite of excrement.

After that, Shi Lingshan dared not ask another half-sentence.

Su Dian thought for a moment and said, “I don’t know exactly how many people there are, how many people are listed in the lineage genealogy, or how many are alive today. But besides Senior Brothers Li and Zheng, there are indeed others.”

Shi Lingshan looked up, filled with curiosity.

Su Dian shook her head and said, “I know the names of two senior brothers and sisters, but Master didn’t say whether or not I could reveal their identities. Don’t ask too much.”

Inside the house, the junior brother and sister had very different temperaments. In Shi Lingshan’s view, if Master didn’t say it was forbidden, then it was allowed.

But in Senior Sister Su Dian’s view, if Master didn’t say it was allowed, then it was forbidden.

Su Dian suddenly said, “I plan to follow Master’s instructions, and after the new year, after Li Huai returns, I’ll explain some things to him, and then I’ll go on a long journey.”

Shi Lingshan asked, “Where are you planning to go, Senior Sister? How far is this long journey? Is it to the ancient battlefield ruins of another continent?”

He and his senior sister had never left Treasure Bottle Continent.

The younger generation of the town seemed to like traveling far more than the last.

Su Dian knew that her junior brother had misunderstood, and explained, “This time I plan to train alone, so I won’t take you with me.”

Shi Lingshan was greatly disappointed, but didn’t pester her, because he knew his senior sister’s temper, which was very stubborn. Once she decided on something, she wouldn’t change her mind.

Su Dian rarely had a smile on her face, “Next time we meet, I’ll treat you to wine.”

Shi Lingshan was only focused on being happy, and laughed foolishly.

Even better if it’s for someone’s wedding feast.

However, the young man didn’t notice the sadness in his senior sister’s lowered eyes, her delicate face illuminated by the charcoal fire.

One optimistic, one pessimistic.

In the former’s eyes, all journeys are for the day of reunion.

In the latter’s view, all encounters are a prelude to farewell.

On this trip of training, when Su Dian reached the Distant Wanderer Realm in the Vast World, she would go to find a senior brother named Xie Xin’en.

He was far away in the Azure Underworld.

According to Master’s words, this Senior Brother Xie was doing well now, but had changed his name, no longer calling himself Xie Xin’en.

Just from Master’s tone, Su Dian could guess that Senior Brother Xie had already accumulated a considerable fortune in that world.

Master usually didn’t have a good look on his face when talking about his disciples, not even when mentioning Senior Brother Li Er, who was already a Martial Sage, he didn’t have a smile.

Master left a few words for that Xie Senior Brother whom she had never met, and asked Su Dian to pass them on.

The general meaning was to have Xie Xin’en, after seeing Junior Sister Su Dian, act as a substitute for the master and teach her boxing and swordsmanship, and then, when Su Dian reached the Mountain Peak Realm, help her establish a sect there, take root, establish a new lineage, and after that, they would go their separate ways and not reveal their fraternal relationship to the outside world.

As for how Su Dian would go to the Azure Underworld, and where to find Senior Brother Xie, Master had already arranged everything.

Shi Lingshan asked curiously, “Senior Sister, what’s the background of that Li Huai?”

It was said that the young Hidden Official once gave Li Huai a nickname, ‘Tyrant at Home’.

In this town, Li Huai was truly the only one who could be a tyrant at home.

Su Dian shook her head and said, “According to the elders on the mountain, Li Huai himself has no background, just an ordinary mortal.”

However, their master really treated Li Huai like his own grandson.

But this kind of thing couldn’t be envied.

Shi Lingshan sat in the house for about half an hour, and then took his leave. Su Dian sent him to the entrance of the pharmacy. After her junior brother’s figure disappeared at the corner of the street, she closed the door, returned to the backyard, and stared blankly at the long bench under the eaves.

She had heard from Senior Brother Zheng Dafeng that this long wooden bench had been placed here for many, many years, and no one was older than it.

The last time she saw Master, the old man was still sitting on the steps outside the main room, holding a dry tobacco pipe, exhaling clouds of smoke.

Master said something that Su Dian couldn’t understand.

The old man tapped the steps lightly with the dry tobacco pipe, then raised the pipe and pointed to the long bench, saying that the wooden bench was ‘us’.

Seeing Su Dian hesitate to speak, the old man said that if there was a chance in the future to meet in the Azure Underworld, she could ask that person, and he would definitely know the answer.

What could a wooden bench have to do with ‘us’?

Su Dian couldn’t figure it out.

A woman, young and beautiful, with dark hair at her temples, graceful figure, like a fish swimming in the Dragon Beard River.

She was inspecting her jurisdiction as the local River Deity, accompanied by several child-like attendants from the River God’s Water Mansion. Among those children with their immature faces, there were both boys and girls. In fact, apart from their pale and colorless faces, which looked rather eerie, their attire, expressions, and childish tones of speech were no different from the children in the market on the shore.
Following the River Goddess’s leisurely meanderings, although all were water spirits, they should have been accustomed to the water long ago. Yet, occasionally, they would mimic choking, flailing their limbs, as if drowning like children in the mortal realm unskilled in swimming. However, they would quickly recover, exchanging mischievous grins with their peers, as if finding the whole thing amusing.

Because it was the eve of the Lunar New Year, according to custom, the River Goddess gave each of her little followers a red envelope. Inside the red paper packets were ancient copper coins, tarnished with rust, that had long been lost in the streams.

Alas, their River Goddess was renowned for her frugality, or rather, her stinginess.

Malanhua, the Dragon Beard River Water Goddess formally recognized by the Great Li Dynasty, still halted at the mouth of the waterfall where the Dragon Beard River met the Iron Talisman River. As she swam upstream, she passed the smithy on the bank of the Dragon Beard River. Taking advantage of the shop’s current emptiness, she poked her head out of the water to observe.

The smithy had changed owners three times. First, there was Master Ruan, an unassuming blacksmith who was actually the last Military Strategist Sage to reside in the Li Zhu Grotto Heaven, hailing from the Wind and Snow Temple.

Later, it was Ruan Qiong’s apprentice, Xu Xiaoqiao, a female sword cultivator missing a thumb on her right hand. After that, there was Liu Xianyang, and a foreign woman named Yu Qianyue who seemed a little slow-witted.

Now, the Dragon Spring Sword Sect, with Mountain Lord Wei Bo personally assisting, had relocated several mountains, including the ancestral peak of Divine Splendor Mountain, to the north, effectively severing ties with the former Li Zhu Grotto Heaven.

Each time she swam past the stone arch bridge, which had been stripped of its bridge corridors and old sword strips by the Great Li Song Clan, she felt a pang of unease.

Swiftly passing the stone arch bridge, she arrived at a deep pool with a verdant stone cliff. Malanhua paused, hovering in the water.

Several children, unable to stop in time, bumped gently into each other. After a brief grumble, they erupted into laughter once more.

The old woman from Apricot Blossom Lane, Granny Ma, had died when a female immortal sought revenge upon her. But due to Yang the Elder gathering her spirit, she was able to serve as the River Crone and gradually regained her youthful appearance, seemingly “growing younger” with each passing day. The Dragon Beard River had originally been a stream, but after the Iron Talisman Stream was promoted to a river, the Dragon Beard Stream, as its upstream source, followed suit.

And she had risen from a River Crone to a River Goddess, a promotion she couldn’t quite comprehend. However, nearly thirty years had passed, and though she finally had a shrine along the riverbank where she could take refuge, it still lacked a divine statue, even an incense burner.

What kind of pitiful River Goddess was this?

Yet, Malanhua dared not voice any dissatisfaction. Year after year, she counted the days on her fingers, a period that felt like an eternity. She even asked a friendly Land God to inquire about news, to see how many old immortals in the prefecture city still knew the name “Malanhua” and recognized her youthful appearance. It was said that only two elders of her generation from her hometown remained. The more this was the case, the more she revered the apothecary, Old Yang. If there were no unforeseen circumstances, once the thirty-year deadline was up, those two elders in the prefecture city would die of old age?

She had been half of the six matrons, the busybodies, of the ancient times: a sorceress who performed rituals, a matchmaker who arranged marriages, and a midwife who assisted with births. Malanhua of Apricot Blossom Lane had been all of them.

And later, she also became a River Crone…

Malanhua sighed softly, appearing in her true form in the emerald green pool. Stepping onto the water’s surface, the river parted to allow her passage to the stone cliff. She walked onto it and sat down on the verdant stone cliff, pulling out a white jade comb from her sleeve to groom her dark hair, planning to try a new hairstyle today.

The little ones also leaped out of the water, gathering on the cliff, running around the stone precipice, frolicking joyfully. Under normal circumstances, Malanhua would never allow them to come ashore, not in the daytime, when the sun was like fire and would obliterate any ghost that was exposed to it, and not even at night.

Moreover, they themselves dared not cross the boundary without permission, for any collision with a mortal would cause a clash of Yin and Yang energies, and they would be defeated in battle and die.

Malanhua looked at these carefree children and sighed. She forced a smile and softly repeated the same warnings she always gave: don’t get lost, behave yourselves, and don’t go onto the land, or you’ll be punished with a spanking.

In reality, their “lifespan” on the shore was not long. Having become ghosts, they were trapped in a strange kind of adolescence, growing slowly, or rather, not growing up at all. Unlike the children of the common folk, who grew so quickly, seemingly transforming from children to teenagers in the blink of an eye, soon reaching the age of marriage, starting families, having their own children, and then becoming elderly people who slept lightly and woke up early, only to fall asleep one day and never open their eyes again…

Malanhua looked into the distance. Even in the dead of night, she found looking at Spreading Cloud Mountain painful to the eyes.

The Great Li Dynasty had initially established three Mountain God Temples. Spreading Cloud Mountain housed the great temple of the Mountain Lord, a place beyond reach.

The southernmost mountain, Falling Phoenix Mountain, once had a Mountain God whom his colleagues mockingly called the Golden Head Mountain God. He had once served there, and there was a Mountain God Shrine on the summit, though not a grand one. Unfortunately, he had a miserable time, and the Mountain God Shrine was almost turned into the “family temple” of the orphan from Mud Bottle Lane. What incense could there have been? Malanhua knew that the Golden Head Mountain God, Song Yu-zhang, was of no small origin. He had served as the Kiln Supervisor for many years, and was the only official in the small town during the years when it had no county yamen. The previous Kiln Supervisor, Cao Gengxin, was young and became a Vice Minister of the Great Li after leaving his post. In contrast, Supervisor Song had no such luck.

As for the Mountain God Temple built on Wind-Cool Mountain, because of its advantageous geographical location, being the northernmost mountain in the mountain range, it was closest to the prosperous area of the prefecture city. The shrine was always bustling with activity, filled with devout men and women, and throngs of pilgrims. The mountain road was wide and flat, like an official road or post road, and was lined with teahouses, wine shops, and inns.
A land deity of Cool Breeze Mountain, familiar with the Malan Flower spirit, was a lecherous old scoundrel. Though he dared not lay a hand on her, every time they met, the old fellow would find some way to utter lewd jests, as if he would perish if he didn’t steal a verbal advantage.

And this land deity’s direct superior was none other than the Mountain God of Cool Breeze Mountain. Based on the appearance of that divine statue, Malan Flower vaguely recognized him as someone who used to run a funeral shop in the small town. Look at his current grandeur, and then look at the desolate state of her own shrine – comparing oneself to others could be the death of one!

Truth be told, when that Mountain God was younger, he had even sent someone to propose marriage to her.

It was just that she didn’t know why, when she was still the River Crone, he would occasionally frequent the vicinity of Dragon Whisker River to meet her. But it wasn’t long before he grew distant.

This irked Malan Flower greatly. *I’m only asking you to inquire about my grandson’s whereabouts. Can’t you even help with this little thing?*

In this Dragon Whisker River, her immediate superior was the Water God Yang Hua of the Iron Talisman River downstream, said to be a person of high standing near the Empress Dowager of Great Li, with a frigid countenance. Malan Flower dared not approach her at all. Occasionally, when attending the Water Mansion council of the Iron Talisman River, she would be on tenterhooks. When she encountered those clerks of the Water Mansion, who were always so arrogant, she could only offer a smile, never daring to put on airs, lest she say something inappropriate or do something wrong and lose her position. Therefore, Malan Flower could only glean information about matters happening outside the prefecture from the gazettes of the mountain and water officialdom from the prefectural City God Temple.

According to the promise Old Man Yang had made, after thirty years had passed and most of the old people in the small town who knew her youthful appearance and identity had passed away, she could erect a divine statue, enjoy incense offerings, and thereby temper a golden body.

But Malan Flower both anticipated this and was fraught with anxiety. The Water God Temples of the Iron Talisman River and Jade Nectar River were very effective in granting requests for marriage. The Land Deity Temple of Mantou Hill was also extremely famous for granting requests for children. Moreover, Song the Overseer had been transferred to Checkerboard Mound Mountain and Cool Breeze Mountain. At these two Mountain God Temples, it seemed that scholars seeking good fortune in the imperial examinations and protection for their literary fortune achieved considerably good results. So, even now, Malan Flower couldn’t think of a way to obtain incense offerings for her own shrine after erecting a divine statue. Speaking of suppressing the waterways, would it be her turn? The Chu Prefecture was never short of proper river gods.

Malan Flower sighed deeply as she combed her hair.

On this pitted and uneven cyan stone cliff, the children of the small town used to come to swim and catch fish, each with their own selected “seat.”

After becoming a mountain and water deity, her perspective was completely different from that of the mundane scholars of the mortal world.

Located at the border between the western mountains and the small town, that unremarkable True Pearl Mountain was actually the location of a dragon pearl.

And the Dragon Whisker River at Malan Flower’s feet was truly a “dragon whisker.” That was why so many priceless serpent gallstones had appeared in the water back then. As for the other dragon whisker, it was the main street of the small town, with the crab workshops, Iron Lock Well, and old locust tree lined up along it, extending eastward and stopping at the east fence gate. There used to be a reckless young bachelor, the gatekeeper Zheng Dafeng, who now, she didn’t know where he had died, leaving behind only an uninhabited mud house.

There was a refined saying for this, called “a tiger crouching and a dragon coiling,” as if those dragon kiln openings were built on this dragon’s body.

In truth, over these years, Malan Flower had been most afraid of that thin, weak little girl from Mud Bottle Lane coming to settle old scores with her.

After all, back when she was drawing water at the Iron Lock Well, every time she saw that lowly maidservant by the side of this “illegitimate child of Song the Overseer,” Malan Flower was often the gossiping crone who took the lead. Back then, she had indeed said some unpleasant words. After all, the widow of Mud Bottle Lane and that orphan, no matter how poor they were, weren’t of lowly status. No matter how bare their walls were, they at least had a clean and clear identity. But as for this little girl with the strange name, what if she lived a prosperous and affluent life…

Back then, the women of the small town, let alone pointing fingers at Zhi Gui, as long as they were arguing and cursing in the streets, no matter who you were, they could always pick out a pile of faults. They would say some heart-wrenching, backstabbing words to your face, such as, *So what if your family has some stinking money? Do you have a son to carry on the family line? Be careful that your ancestors’ incense is cut off. Who will the money belong to in the future? That’s another matter…* This kind of mutual exposure of shortcomings was really too common. When one side couldn’t win the argument, they would grab hair and scratch faces.

Speaking only of verbal sparring, not of physical altercations, then Granny Ma of Apricot Flower Lane, the Gu family widow of Mud Bottle Lane, the Li family woman at the westernmost part of the small town, the Yellow Second Mother who sold wine, etc., were all first-rate experts.

This simple and honest folk custom had been personally experienced by the Iron Smith Ruan, the fortune-telling stall owner Lu Chen, the ever-drunk Overseer Cao… these outsiders couldn’t even refuse to acknowledge defeat.

In fact, everyone who had come into contact with the younger generation of the small town, regardless of their status or realm, would have similar feelings to a greater or lesser extent.

Speaking only of that council at the Confucian Temple, someone, with a few words, had bestowed two resounding new nicknames upon the barbarian co-lord Fei Ran and Zhou Mi, the closed-door disciple of Wen Hai respectively, one was the “Lying Saint of Supporting Moon Mountain” who became a co-lord of the world while lying down, and the “Saint of Losing Battles in Jia Shen Tent” who had never won a battle. The young Hidden Official even declared that he would personally carve a private seal for these two great contributors to the Vast World, with the words “Never Regret Death” and “Heart Set on Vastness”…

This made the great barbarian demons who were qualified to participate in the Supporting Moon Mountain council feel even more that the young Hidden Official was not one of their own. What a pity, really.

Malan Flower rubbed her cheeks.

She had even been slapped hard across the face by that sharp-tongued little vixen.

She took out several old gazettes of the mountain and water world from her sleeve. The only thing they had in common was that the gazettes contained news of her grandson. In fact, she had long memorized the contents, reciting them backwards. These years, being idle was also being idle. This River Goddess then began to find ways to learn more characters.

And these types of gazettes of the mountain and water officialdom were issued by the Prefectural City God Temple. Basically, there would be two or three letters every quarter. City God Zhang Ping would have the underworld clerks send them to City Gods and mountain and water deities at all levels of counties and prefectures. This made Malan Flower especially smug. When she was a River Crone, she wouldn’t receive more than a few gazettes a year. But after being promoted to River Goddess, her official status was equivalent to entering the pure stream of the Great Li mountain and water officialdom, and the number of gazettes she received each year doubled.

Better than those below, not as good as those above.
Living life, people strive for higher ground, water flows downward. Looking up at those who are doing well gives one hope for the future. Looking down at those less fortunate brings peace to the heart.

The woman had forgotten who had said those words.

People live and toil, deceiving themselves, and that is hope.

Lü Yan led Xiao Mo and Qing Tong along the corridor, heading elsewhere, intentionally giving the two scholars of vastly different ages a chance to chat about “domestic matters.”

The Sage of Sages smiled and asked, “Chen Ping’an, how did you come up with the idea of ‘eating books’?”

Chen Ping’an was taken aback for a moment, but quickly realized that “eating books” referred to the art of refining characters.

Chen Ping’an explained, “Before, on the city wall, there was really nothing to do. It just so happened that Li Zhen from the adjacent wall tossed me a book of landscape travelogues, and it came in handy.”

The Sage of Sages smiled subtly, “A fortunate coincidence, perfectly timed.”

Chen Ping’an raised his head to look at the sky.

The Sage of Sages clearly meant something more.

If he hadn’t refined all the words in that landscape travelogue, and without a certain stroke of luck, Chen Ping’an could have spent ten thousand years on the city wall without figuring out what his senior brother Cui Chan was up to.

It was probably like Li Zhen later grumbled, only those with a touch of madness can truly connect with their fellow madmen, understand each other, and grasp the unspoken.

The Sage of Sages drifted into reminiscence, recalling faces, all belonging to the ancient sword cultivator faction.

The former Sword Cultivator Guanzhao wasn’t the chatterbox like the later Li Zhen; he was a notoriously taciturn man, barely speaking to anyone. During secret meetings, he would hide in a corner or stand beside Chen Qingdu, never uttering a word.

However, Guanzhao was one who wouldn’t act unless absolutely necessary. Once he resolved to cross swords with someone, while not guaranteeing absolute victory, he could at least ensure his own invincibility.

In some ways, it could be said that Guanzhao lived his entire life for others, practicing and wielding his sword for the greater good. Therefore, Guanzhao was the one among all sword cultivators who lived the least carefree life.

In contrast, the Dragon Lord of the same generation of sword cultivators simply enjoyed dueling. Win or lose didn’t seem to matter. Whenever war broke out, he was reckless of his life, much more uninhibited than Guanzhao, who “dared not die carelessly.”

The three leaders of the criminal sword cultivators, Chen Qingdu, Guanzhao, and Dragon Lord, were the architects of that Sword Qi Great Wall.

But soon after gaining their footing, led by Chen Qingdu, the three sword cultivators embarked on a long journey together.

That far-reaching sword trial at Mount Tuoyue successfully prevented the Great Ancestor of Mount Tuoyue, who was only half a step away, from refining the opportune time, strategic location, and popular support of an entire world and ascending to the fifteenth realm.

And Chen Qingdu and the others paid a heavy price. Chen Qingdu’s natal sword, “Duckweed,” shattered completely, forcing him to merge with the Sword Qi Great Wall. Chen Qingdu also lost his chance to reach the fifteenth realm.

Otherwise, according to Dao Ancestor’s calculations, if Chen Qingdu were given another two or three thousand years to refine his sword, he would have had a chance to become an unprecedented, pure sword cultivator of the fifteenth realm.

Unprecedented because those sword cultivators who had a chance to reach this realm all died halfway due to the suppression of the ancient deities.

Without parallel in the future, because once Chen Qingdu reached this realm, it would be as if he alone occupied the entire path of the sword, standing on a narrow bridge, leaving no room for others.

The Sage of Sages had once taken the Ritual Sage to the Sword Qi Great Wall to persuade Chen Qingdu, but to no avail.

Chen Qingdu blocked the two “scholars” with just two sentences:

“We sword cultivators don’t necessarily have to do the right thing.”

“You scholars, remember to keep your promises.”

The Dragon Lord was extremely dissatisfied that sword cultivators had been reduced to criminals. Therefore, during that journey, the Dragon Lord never intended to return to the Sword Qi Great Wall alive.

He intended to end his life as a pure sword cultivator, not as a criminal exile of the Sword Qi Great Wall, in a grand and spectacular way.

Therefore, after his “death,” the Dragon Lord felt he owed nothing more to the Sword Qi Great Wall or to his old comrade, Chen Qingdu.

The Dragon Lord’s natal sword was named “Great Ruins Immortal Tomb.” During the ascent, plus the previous generations of sword cultivators in the human realm who died without burial grounds, countless in number, it was fortunate that he, the Dragon Lord, could use his natal sword as a tomb.

And Guanzhao possessed an even more special natal sword.

In the two or three thousand years before ten thousand years ago, the sword cultivator most targeted by the ancient deities was Guanzhao, who possessed the natal sword “River of Time.” There was simply no other.

Therefore, Guanzhao’s path of cultivation was the most arduous and dangerous. The sword cultivators who protected Guanzhao were endless, one after another. The number of ancient “earthly immortal” sword cultivators who died alone amounted to more than the fingers on both hands.

The Sage of Sages collected his thoughts and asked, “If we trace back to the source, mountains have dragons, waters have sources.”

Chen Ping’an said, “Back then, Mr. Li told Xiao Nuanshu a principle. Although I was eavesdropping, I have always remembered it since then.”

Li Xisheng of Fulü Street once went to Niping Alley to find Chen Ping’an.

At that time, it was Chen Ping’an’s first return from a long journey, and he had Qingyi Xiaotong and Fenqun Nüton by his side.

That time, Li Xisheng taught Qingyi Xiaotong, who was accustomed to “speaking without restraint,” a principle, saying that all words in the world have power. Words form phrases, phrases string together into sentences, and sentences connect into text. The great Dao lies within.

Chen Lingjun didn’t take this seriously, letting it go in one ear and out the other. But it left a deep impression on Chen Ping’an, although it was not engraved on the later bamboo slips, he always kept it in mind.

Afterwards, Xiao Nuanshu plucked up her courage and asked the scholar a question that had puzzled her for a long time: why, when reading, would she suddenly seem not to recognize a certain word, feeling unfamiliar with it?

Li Xisheng smiled and gave the answer, saying that it was because, at a certain moment, the words in the book had been secretly borrowed by certain sages.

At that time, Xiao Nuanshu obviously did not believe in this kind of mysterious statement, so she directly retorted Mr. Li, which, in the eyes of a certain bystander, was “teaching” Mr. Li a lesson.

This was a rare and wonderful scene.

After that, Cao Jun, a sword cultivator from Southern Suopo Continent whose ancestral home was in Niping Alley, casually used the excuse of “stirring up trouble on the Tai Sui’s head” to find trouble with Chen Ping’an.

As a result, this current last-ranked offering of Xiandu Mountain ran into Li Xisheng, who had taken the initiative to get involved, in the small alley. Neither was willing to give way, so they fought.
One was merely a Qi Refinement cultivator of the Sea Gazing realm, while the other claimed his realm was between “eight and nine”—a peculiar statement from Cao Jun because his Golden Core realm was, in truth, a sham. His sword heart had shattered, his Dao heart was a tattered mess, and the imagery within his mind was reduced to a pond of withered lotus. Before his sword heart’s collapse, Cao Jun was the foremost sword immortal seedling in the Southern Bosuo Continent, renowned for his exceptional talent in swordsmanship.

Yet, even this half-baked, paper-tiger Golden Core realm swordsman, despite pouring all his strength into his sword strikes, was unable to gain any advantage against a sixth-realm cultivator.

Chen Ping’an had only glimpsed the general outline of that sparring match back then. As his own horizons broadened, especially after becoming a swordsman himself, he increasingly sensed the unusual nature of it.

A non-swordsman Qi Refinement cultivator, facing a sword cultivator’s sword inquiry, and with a lower realm to boot, was somehow able to maintain a firm grip on victory?

Li Xisheng’s calm and collected, seemingly effortless reception of the sword strike was like imparting a silent truth to the future swordsman, Chen Ping’an.

Since a sword cultivator’s single strike could shatter ten thousand dharmas, the method to counter it was “simple”: accumulate ten thousand and one dharmas.

In the years to come, Chen Ping’an felt that two encounters came closest to resembling Li Xisheng’s “realm.”

One was near the thatched hut on the Sword Qi Great Wall, and the other was on the battlefield outside the city.

Cao Ci’s fist techniques.

Fei Ran’s swordsmanship.

It wasn’t just their ability to foresee and anticipate the enemy’s moves, which was strikingly similar to Li Xisheng’s techniques, but also the aura and state of being emanating from Cao Ci and Fei Ran.

Without the need for formations, divine abilities, or flying swords, completely unreliant on any external assistance, they could each create their own miniature world.

Beyond combat, there were also two individuals who evoked this same feeling in Chen Ping’an.

Senior Cui, who taught him fist techniques on the second floor of the Bamboo Lodge on Fallen Peak.

And Cui Dongshan, seated before a chessboard, poised to make his move.

Cultivators often spoke of the human body as a miniature world.

But these individuals seemed as though they themselves were the Great World.

The Sage Master thought back to the earnest young boy in blue in the small town, sincerely advising the Dao Ancestor that the name “Dao Ancestor” was too grand and should be changed. The Sage Master couldn’t help but chuckle, teasing, “Your friend Jing Qing has some real attainment.”

Chen Ping’an felt a sense of helplessness, wryly remarking, “It’s like inviting a little tyrant home.”

However, there was tenderness in the young mountain master’s eyes as he spoke.

On Fallen Peak, even though Chen Ping’an was accustomed to being a hands-off manager, the young mountain master was always aware of even the smallest tidbits of news whenever he returned home.

While the overt merits were often attributed to Little Rice Grain, Chen Lingjun was also a significant behind-the-scenes contributor—one diligently patrolled the mountains, while the other enjoyed leisurely strolls, and neither could keep what they saw and heard to themselves.

The Sage Master said, “When Chen Lingjun went to the Northern Club Lusaka Continent’s Great River to control the waterways, he felt he had made a mistake, and it seemed he wasn’t thinking of concealing anything, but rather of returning home as soon as possible. At worst, he’d get a scolding from you, and then a great weight would be lifted from his heart. You should know that when ordinary people make mistakes, regardless of the size, they always hope that heaven and earth don’t know, and that it’s best if no one notices. That’s human nature.”

Chen Ping’an was puzzled, unsure why the Sage Master was bringing up Chen Lingjun.

The Sage Master asked, “Chen Lingjun either cares about face, but only with you, he seems to completely not care about face or anything. Do you know why?”

Chen Ping’an had never considered this before. After a moment of thought, he tentatively replied, “Because I walked through Scroll Lake.”

Everyone on Fallen Peak, whether cultivator or martial artist, seemed to tacitly avoid Scroll Lake, never touching upon the topic.

The more flawless a person, the greater the invisible pressure others feel in their presence.

Especially someone as perceptive as Chen Ping’an, who, as an orphan from Mud Bottle Alley, had spent his entire life tirelessly pursuing the concept of “flawlessness.”

A person who frequently drinks but has never been drunk is terrifying.

It was precisely those regrets and mistakes on the path of life, those unspoken pangs of conscience, that allowed Chen Ping’an to become a skilled drinker who rarely became intoxicated, but could ultimately be drunk.

The Sage Master said, “In addition to that, there’s another intention. Cui Chan knew that the situation was urgent, and there wasn’t time for a relatively gentle approach. So, he simply helped you create a bottomless pit in your heart, then forced you to use other things to fill that gaping hole. Whether you use your conscience, guilt, or some more harmonious learning, there’s a place for it.”

The Sage Master intentionally spoke with some restraint. In reality, Cui Chan used a method that was the opposite of “finding and patching up flaws.” Calling it digging a well would be inaccurate; he essentially carved a heartless lake into Chen Ping’an’s state of mind. As for the mending, it was up to Chen Ping’an himself. Difficult to endure? Suffer it!

Otherwise, Chen Ping’an’s original Dao heart could not have borne that divinity. To be precise, Chen Ping’an, whose lines of good and evil were too close together, was too compatible with divinity. The more he cultivated, the higher he climbed, the closer his humanity moved towards divinity—an involuntary trend. Just as the Sage Master had used his horsetail whisk to draw a circle and discuss the Dao, intentionally asking Chen Ping’an how many possibilities there ultimately were, and Chen Ping’an couldn’t answer. In the Sage Master’s view, if one wasn’t careful, there might only be one result: Zhou Mi, who ascended to heaven and occupied the remnants of the old heavenly court, might lose to Chen Ping’an, who seemed to stay in the human world and lost the initiative, because the latter’s divinity became purer.

Wasn’t Old Yang from the medicine shop also gambling? And he couldn’t lose. Regardless of whether Chen Ping’an, who had taken all the divinity from the table, won or lost the tug-of-war between humanity and divinity, it was all the same to Old Yang—a matter of the left hand going in and the right hand coming out, still that one. The former male terrestrial immortal ancestor, one of the twelve high-ranking deities, the Azure Child Heavenly Sovereign, who held a ascension platform in his hand, had not waited in vain for ten thousand years.
Therefore, Cui Chan took action early. So that Chen Ping’an, one day, when he truly becomes that ‘One,’ successfully gathers all the divinity of those vying to cross in the Dewdrop Grotto, becoming the last one left at the gambling table. The majority of the purest divinity, even if it was originally uncontrollable, would simply be like a waterfall cascading down from the heavens, pouring into the heart lake. In terms of affairs, it would save effort and worry; in terms of people, it would benefit cultivation.

The Sage Confucius suddenly asked, “Have you ever wondered why Cui Dongshan is afraid of Li Bao Ping? Back when you went to the Great Sui Academy, Cui Dongshan never fought back or argued with that little girl in the red padded jacket.”

Chen Ping’an was stunned. This was another question he seemed to have never deeply considered.

Then, Chen Ping’an quickly wore a complicated expression.

During his second journey to the Sword Qi Great Wall, when he reunited with his senior brothers Zuo You there, at first, one didn’t acknowledge that junior brother, and the other didn’t think he was his grand senior brother.

But Chen Ping’an felt the most conflicted emotions towards Cui Chan, the grand senior brother who “deceived his master and extinguished his ancestors.”

“Because Li Bao Ping and Treasure Bottle Continent share a relationship of shared destiny, intertwined fortunes, you think, who orchestrated the ‘substituting peach for plum’ incident?”

The Sage Confucius revealed the secret, “Kou Ming, the Grand Master of White Jade Capital, has lofty ambitions, to transform into three purities, to ultimately and truly fuse the roots of the three teachings. Divine Edict Sect’s Zhou Li is a Daoist, Fortune Street’s Li Xi Sheng is a Confucian, Cui Chan calculated that Li Xi Sheng would know the truth and still protect the stability of his younger sister Li Bao Ping. If Li Xi Sheng chooses this, then what about White Jade Capital, or even the Azure Billow World? Do you believe that if Treasure Bottle Continent suffers in war and cannot hold the Great River and the auxiliary capital, and the Great Li Iron Cavalry is forced to retreat to the northern capital, and something happens to Li Bao Ping, Li Xi Sheng would directly break through realms all the way, returning to the fourteenth realm within a day, choosing to face Zhou Mi head-on? At that time, junior brother Yu Dou, and Lu Chen, what choices would they make? Could even the Dao Ancestor possibly make an exception for this most promising disciple, and intervene once?”

“Not necessarily.”

The Sage Confucius slowly said, “But Cui Chan only needs that ‘not necessarily,’ and that’s enough.”

“So, back then, Qi Jingchun said that phrase ‘A gentleman can be deceived with principles,’ it was not only for you, the junior brother, but also for the grand senior brother Cui Chan. It was a hope that the latter’s pragmatic learning wouldn’t become too extreme, to consider propriety when doing things, to be close to human sentiments. Unfortunately, Cui Chan didn’t listen. If we’re talking about ‘close to human sentiments,’ we really can’t blame him. A person who doesn’t leave himself any room for retreat, what more can we ask of Cui Chan?”

The Sage Confucius placed his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky.

A former Hao Ran Jia Sheng, a past Savage Zhou Mi, now the new master of the Heavenly Court.

Relying on his own strength, he has forced the three founders to join forces against him.

Chen Ping’an was silent for a long time, and asked, “Can’t you calculate it? Not even the Dao Ancestor?”

The Sage Confucius shook his head and said, “It really can’t be calculated. Some things are extremely intricate and complex. If the evolution of the Great Dao only involved deriving hundreds or thousands of paths and following one path to the end, no matter how many, it wouldn’t be difficult. Then any cultivator above the fifth realm could go and become a Yin-Yang scholar. The difficulty lies in the fact that when the human heart stirs, the heavenly will shifts. For example, just take the matter of Feng Yuanxiao in the Five Colors World. Of course, the Dao Ancestor could calculate her appearance. Let’s assume the Dao Ancestor is a bit petty and insists on targeting her. Then the Dao Ancestor would be resisting the Great Dao of the entire Five Colors World, destined to be a thankless task, only to press down one gourd and raise another.”

“After all, it’s not the same as that Military Ancestor of the past.”

“But if we few each transform into a world, only speaking on our own territory, of course, we can calculate without leaving anything out.”

“I don’t think there’s much meaning in that. The Dao Ancestor believes that knowing when to stop, the world will correct itself. The Buddha believes that sentient beings achieving Buddhahood is their own affair. Anyway, we few, as the earliest ‘Daoists’ in the human realm, all believe that the Dao is in the world.”

Chen Ping’an suddenly saw a flash before his eyes, a vision that disappeared in an instant, followed by a tremor in his Dao heart.

Looking intently again, there was no trace of it.

Just now, he seemed to have seen a legendary…Qilin, flashing across his vision.

The Sage Confucius had a composed expression, and laughed freely, “Three cups lead to the Great Dao, a dipper harmonizes with nature. Why are you standing there dumbfounded? Another pot of wine!”