In the cobbled lane of Dragon’s Ascent, nestled amongst the shops, sat the Pixie of Years, a being of ancient wisdom cloaked in a child’s form. His silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, yet his usual mirthful eyes were dimmed with a weary sadness. As Chen Ping’an, the Hidden Lord, approached to audit the lane’s affairs, the Pixie merely offered a listless greeting.

A subtle change had graced the lane. Beside two neighboring shops, a simple wooden bench, the kind found in humble villages, had appeared. It was a gathering place, a spot for neighbors to rest and share tales of their lives.

Chen Ping’an settled upon the bench, smoothing the folds of his verdant robe. He crossed his legs, a picture of relaxed authority, and spoke with a gentle smile, “Have you ever considered venturing to the Verdant Leaf Continent? There lies a small Grotto-Heaven, where White Jade and Morning Dew, along with other youths, hone their skills in swordsmanship. I could ask Cui Dongshan to fashion a Daoist hermitage for you, with expenses borne by my coffers. The surrounding lands, stretching for hundreds of leagues, now fall under our domain. You could even impart your wisdom to those children, especially a young girl named Chai Wu, whose talent rivals that of Wei Xian’s most gifted disciple. Your knowledge is vast; surely, you could guide any of them. Choose any peak that pleases you; let Cui Dongshan know, and he shall grant it to you in my name, a dedication without the fanfare of a grand celebration. Your name would be etched upon the ancestral tablets of the Azure Lotus Peak, a revered guest to choose as you please. If you find any worthy of tutelage, you may take them as your own.”

He continued, “The presence of White Jade in Dragon’s Ascent draws the unwelcome gaze of those with hidden motives. The Azure Lotus Sword Sect, on the other hand, offers a greater sanctuary.”

“A sword cultivator of Ascended Realm perfection, especially one who has lived for ten thousand years as a savage beast, draws far more attention than a fledgling sect.”

The Pixie of Years remained listless, muttering, “The journey is too far. I lack the strength.”

“I am content as a humble acolyte here. I am familiar with everyone, and it is better than starting anew elsewhere. Passing on the Tao and teaching others is too much trouble. I am not skilled in that.”

“Hidden Lord, you must not forsake the old for the new,” the Pixie pleaded, “Just because you have acquired a few more like Cui Peanut and Xie Hound, you would cast me aside? Nevermind all else, I am a loyal as they come!”

Chen Ping’an laughed, “If you do not wish to move, then so be it.”

The Pixie sniffed, glancing furtively around before pulling a slender volume from his sleeve. “A manual of pugilism. Living and breathing. Thirty-six illustrations, each representing a singular fist technique. They represent renowned feats from the warriors of Blue Clarity. It’s the real deal. Only the best techniques have a place here, and his standards are second to none. You more than anyone should be aware of that.”

Chen Ping’an chuckled, “It would have been useful years ago, but it matters little now.”

Despite his words, his hand moved with swift purpose, and the manual vanished into his sleeve.

His comment was not entirely false modesty. Much like the techniques drawn from the Six Immortals’ Pictorials that gave rise to Pusan’s fighting style, its value to Chen Ping’an’s current mastery was limited. If he were not tasked with teaching others, he might not have invested so much energy in perfecting the theories behind Pusan, to lower the bar for beginning martial artists, and finally to arrange them into a codex.

It seemed the more styles he studied and the higher his realm grew, the more he recognized the inherent value of Quake-Mountain Fist.

Chen Ping’an desired to compile a manual of his own creation, one that would guide the disciples of both sects, pure martial artists, to steadily ascend in skill over the coming decades, centuries, even millennia. Then, like the Cloud-Grass Hall of Pusan, future generations could continuously improve upon it, surpassing even their predecessors.

Suddenly, Chen Ping’an asked, “Have you heard any alternative interpretations of the three realms beyond the Ninth Stage?”

The Pixie shook his head. “I am not one to practice martial arts. Such matters do not concern me. Even if I did hear of them, I would likely pay no heed.”

“My apologies,” Chen Ping’an said, “I should not have broached the subject.”

The Pixie grinned, “You were sounding uncharacteristically not Hidden Lord.”

Below that of Returning to the True, the nine stages of the martial path, up to the Qi-Thriving Stage, were still valued, especially the latter.

When a martial artist reached the first level of Returning to the True, he needed to forge a connection with his own martial wisdom, stances, strikes, and fighting techniques. In other words, to forge a connection with the phrase “Returning to the True and Reaching the Simple”.

“As for what ‘Spiritual Arrival’ entails… Chen Ping’an still groped in the dark. He was only able to fumble around and explore. In the Bamboo Pavilion, the Old Man never spoke of such matters. Any comments that were tangential to them usually weren’t helpful. For example, with your flimsy body like paper and your mind like mush, you dare to yearn for the Tenth Realm atop the mountains? If you were able to become a fifth realm fighter, you should count yourself lucky…”

In Chen Ping’an’s opinion, Zhu Lian would remain stuck in the Distant Excursion stage, but think every day about the mysteries of Returning to the True.

*Techniques have weight; doctrines have no high or low.*

The average person would sound unconvincing when saying such things.

However, Zhu Lian did not need to open his mouth. That was the doctrine that he lived by.

After all, he was the first martial arts madman of Lotus Flower Blessed Land to slaughter all of the other cultivators of the other worlds.

Zhu Lian’s ambition and range of spirit was so vast that even Chen Ping’an could not hope to get a true sense of what it was like.

The Pixie shifted from sitting to squatting, perhaps to appear taller. Then, both fell silent, basking in the gentle warmth of the early spring sun, lazy and content.

Chen Ping’an drifted in thought, his mind wandering wherever it pleased.

The Buddhist Zen sect had long debated the concepts of “adding a head upon a head” and “original face.”

Chen Ping’an suddenly recalled the countless shattered statues in the Graveyard of Gods.

Among them was a statue of a wrathful deity with three heads and six arms.

He shook his sleeves, closed his eyes, and meditated for a moment. Hesitating, he remained seated, forming mudras and weaving hand seals with remarkable speed, cycling through more than twenty variations.

But Chen Ping’an quickly ceased his movements.

The Pixie pretended not to notice. When Chen Ping’an stopped his flurry of movements, the Pixie chuckled from his perch on the wooden bench.

“One plus one equals two; even a child with split pants knows that. Five plus five equals ten; the answer is obvious.”

“But if you say one plus one equals two, then add three to make five, then add two and then three to make ten…”

“There will invariably be those who claim it equals eight, or perhaps nine, yet no one can find either the one or the two.”

“One plus ten equals eleven. The one is not eleven, nor is the ten. If the ten is missing, everyone can see it. So, that type of oversight is rare. But if the one is missing, it is relatively concealed.”

“If ten is like this, what about a hundred, a thousand, a million? So, someone said that the learning of the world is all about subtraction, so that there’s not even a single thing remaining. No one wants to add to the sum.”

Chen Ping’an initially smiled knowingly, then laughed outright, his face glowing with mirth, until he was roaring with laughter.

The Pixie, puzzled, asked, “Is it really that funny?”

It was merely a peculiar saying of Wu Shuangjiang’s from years past. Even the palace maid Xiu, who went by the Taoist name “Natural,” found nothing amusing about it.

She simply thought Wu Shuangjiang was lost in his own thoughts. He had always been like that.

Chen Ping’an was a reserved and self-contained man, not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, yet he was also not a brooding or taciturn soul. Even in the prison of Old Deaf’s in Sword Qi Great Wall, Chen Ping’an had found ways to make the best of a bad situation, and he was prone to strange fits of silliness. As Chen Ping’an himself would say, a man must endure hardship, but he must not appear downtrodden.

But in the Pixie’s memory, Chen Ping’an had never laughed so freely.

Chen Ping’an, not feigning amusement, said, nodding his head, “It is very funny!”

The Pixie pouted, “You are all strange.”

Chen Ping’an crossed his legs again, resting his hands on his knee, and smiled gently, “Scholarly disputes, even the noblest kind, are usually not the most logical. Well, truthfully they’re not even good at it. But even if they were, it is already too late. The discussion at Goose Lake is considered an example. One step down would be the struggle for poetic forms under Su Shi’s wing. Down one more level, and people are trotting out terms like Benevolence and Righteousness. The worst are the ones who bring up personal issues. In such cases, since a person’s virtue is tarnished, their learning must also be worthless. Where is the nuance in the growth of Confucianism or the efforts of countless scholars and sages? How many sacrifices, heartaches, false steps are involved? To know how it is now, is to ask what of the thousand years to come?”

Within Buddhist history, not only was there a split between the Mahayana and Theravada schools, but the most grandiose sect of Chan also had its differences with the Sages of the Ground Theories, the Sutra Masters with their profound Buddhist teachings, and the Lawyers who strictly upheld the tenets of the law. Even within the Chan sect, there was constant controversy, and many koans, records, songs, stories, and phrases were born…Just like Chen Ping’an, who would often reread The Blue Cliff Record, The Empty Valley Collection, and The Book of Serenity while he was in the Summer Palace.

If you don’t like reading, naturally you’ll agree that scholars are useless.

If you do like reading, then of course you will read for the betterment of the afterlife.

But whether one likes to read seems to have little bearing on what type of person one becomes.

In much the same way as the old abbot of Mind Image Temple in the Lotus Flower Blessed Land once said, “How we see the world is how the world sees us.”

The Pixie of Years said, “Must you always read?”

Chen Ping’an laughed, “The reading that I speak of is not limited to just books.”

To live an unruffled life through difficult times was something that Chen Ping’an believed he was incapable of.

However, Chen Ping’an had seen such people.

During his time in Book-Slip Lake when the Devil strikes, he had seen a poor, yet cleanly-dressed woman.

As such, Chen Ping’an believes such people to be the bodhisattvas of mortal misery.

When a child grew up, especially after the death of their parents, it would be like a household losing its front door. Death would wait outside for them to meet it.

The Pixie of Years turned his head and said softly, “Hidden Lord, wipe away your tears.”

Chen Ping’an was taken aback. Raising his hand, he paused before touching his face, then scoffed and slapped the Pixie’s shoulder.

The Pixie ducked away, gleeful, and burst into hearty laughter.

Xie Hound was not at the shop, probably off peddling his plasters and matching wits with the wealthy families of Fortune Lane and Peach Leaf Lane.

Chen Ping’an stood up and entered the shop. The acting manager, Shi Rou, immediately produced the account books. Chen Ping’an stood by the counter, casually flipping through the ledgers, glancing at a boy engrossed in a book of strange tales. He asked, “Junchen, the proprietor of Crimson Candle Town says you have a habit of buying books on credit?”

It would be difficult to get his Great Great Grand-disciple to address him as Patriarch.

Zhou Junchen, for once abashed, played dumb, hoping to ignore the question.

Chen Ping’an was unafraid of any discussion of ancestral lineages, but when money was involved, the boy grew timid. Three copper coins could stump even the mightiest hero.

Chen Ping’an said, “I passed the bookstore earlier and settled your debts of several taels of silver. I even paid some in advance, so do not buy books on credit.”

The little rascal was extravagant and bold when it came to buying books. Chen Ping’an wondered who had taught him this, but it could not have been his master, Pei Qian, who would never teach such a thing.

Hearing this, Zhou Junchen’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile.

But the patriarch immediately added, “What I mean is that you cannot borrow from bookstores. It does not sound good. It is fine to owe me, and you can pay me back later, through deductions from your monthly salary.”

Shi Rou stifled a laugh. Her close friend, the mute boy, had been confident about this matter. His original plan had been to borrow from Pei Qian, and according to Zhou Junchen’s calculations, if you borrowed money from your teacher, would she be so bold as to ask for it back?

As a result, the situation had been made crystal clear by the patriarch. Zhou Junchen already regretted his purchases. He should not have bought so much.

Chen Ping’an asked again, “Who came up with the idea for the sign at Ox-Horn Crossing?”

Zhou Junchen proudly claimed, “I came up with it all on my own! It has nothing to do with anyone else!”

The boy was inexperienced in the ways of the world. The phrase “Nothing to see here”, was spoken by all involved.

Shi Rou grew worried. The rules of Fallen Phoenix Mountain were lenient, that was true.

However, once Chen Ping’an was determined about something, he would be insistent.

The mute boy, unfazed, found the situation annoying. It seemed that he and this patriarch were not meant to be. How could his master have found a master like this?

Shi Rou reached beneath the counter and tugged lightly at the boy’s sleeve, signaling for him to yield to the mountain master.

But Chen Ping’an nodded. “It is still too stingy. In the future, you can add Yuan Lingdian of the Jade Finger Peak of North Entirety Continent and Wei Jin, the Sword Immortal of the Wind-Snow Temple. They are both guests of Fallen Phoenix Mountain, registered as such, and they will not seek retribution if they pass by Ox-Horn Crossing. And there are the two direct disciples of Sect Master Wei of the Jade Rule Sect of Verdant Leaf Continent, Wei Gusu and Wei Xianyou. They will both be famous Land Immortals. You can add their names as well, remembering to specify their realms. They are currently at the Golden Core Stage. After their names and realms, add a parenthesis.”

The boy, puzzled, asked, “The names only apply to the future, when they are Sword Immortals? Then what is the point of writing them down now? Taking up space? Like squatting in the privy but not crapping, lowering the status of the other guests.”

“What do you know? It will be meaningless when we add them in the future. It will only work now. Once they reach the Nascent Soul Stage, or even the Jade-Pure Stage, it will be said that they achieved a breakthrough from eating the pastries of Pressed-Years Shop.”

Zhou Junchen’s eyes widened. Was it possible to be that shameless?

He had thought that Xie Hound was shameless enough in his pursuit of wealth, but this patriarch was even worse.

Chen Ping’an warned, “That is just a suggestion. It has nothing to do with me.”

The mute boy grinned, offering Chen Ping’an a rare, radiant smile.

The unreliable patriarch had a few tricks up his sleeve.

No wonder he had bought so many mountains.

Chen Ping’an chuckled, “Not counting cultivation, you are far behind me and your master when it comes to business.”

The mute boy ignored the comment. After a moment of careful deliberation, he asked seriously, “Will saying such things violate any taboos of the mountain?”

Chen Ping’an leaned against the counter, flipping through the ledger. “What taboos are there? It is called good marketing. I will bet you that those two Weis will definitely buy pastries from the shop in the future, and they will not be angry in the slightest.”

“I’m not betting. Not even one copper coin.”

“A small bet is fine. Just a few coins. The winnings will be small.”

“The white-haired dwarf outside said that your reputation was immense back in Sword Qi Great Wall. You were one of the New and Old Four Greats. You could defeat anyone in a single punch, and you were an unbeatable gambling cheat. Everyone who sat down at the gambling table was killed. If one person sat down, they died. If two, then they died. If three, then they all died…”

Chen Ping’an dismissed the comment with a smile.

The white-haired Pixie outside immediately became anxious, leaping into the shop and cursing, “Mute boy, watch your mouth! When did I ever say the Hidden Lord was a gambling cheat?”

The mute boy said, “Oh. You meant that Chen Ping’an was an honorable gambler. I just misheard.”

The Pixie, momentarily lost for words, said with mournful eyes, “Hidden Lord, I am wronged! I am treated unfairly!”

Chen Ping’an ignored the clown, simply ruffling Zhou Junchen’s head. “Keep being cheeky. You can be rude to me all you want, but try saying these things in front of your master.”

The mute boy chuckled. “My brain is not missing a screw like some people’s.”

The white-haired Pixie crossed his arms. “Mute boy, if you keep being so sarcastic, be careful that I don’t scold you! To be honest, I let you win every argument. I was only using 10% of my power!”

The mute boy’s lips curled into a smile of disdain. “Then scold me. Feel free to scold me all the way back to my ancestors, if you can. My master isn’t here anyway. What are you afraid of?”

The white-haired Pixie was truly angry. Hmph, he was even looking askance at him. Who did he learn that from?

However, when the white-haired Pixie noticed that someone else was looking askance at him, he immediately quieted down, sniffing, wrinkling his face, and gazing at the sky. He was bitter inside.

Shi Rou rested her hands on the counter, smiling at the antics of the three.

Chen Ping’an was planning to visit the adjacent shop. Cui Peanut from the Straw-Head Shop would follow Hong Xia and Yunzi to Immortal Capital Mountain, but the girl would become Cui Dongshan’s direct disciple.

To think, long-lost siblings meeting in this way, only Cui Dongshan could come up with such a plan.

Shi Rou suddenly said telepathically, “Mountain Master, Pei Qian asked someone to deliver me a box of rouge. Thank you.”

It was no longer her usual coarse voice. Instead, it was the gentle voice of a woman.

Chen Ping’an nodded with a smile. “You don’t need to stand on ceremony with her.”

Pei Qian had spent a brief period studying in the shop. It was then that she had grown close to Shi Rou.

Hesitating, Chen Ping’an asked telepathically, “Shi Rou, would you like to change your appearance and resume your original female form? Aside from the Fox-Skin Beauty Talismans of the Xiang Estate, Immortal Capital Mountain also possesses a secret method of making talismans from Jade Mushroom Mound, which can help you…change your dwelling.”

Shi Rou shook her head. “Mountain Master, there is no need. I have grown accustomed to it over the years, and I genuinely do not think there is anything wrong with it. Besides, being within this divine shell is a Daoist temple that is impossible to dream of acquiring.”

Zhou Junchen, being uncharacteristically serious and respectful, asked Chen Ping’an for his opinion on something. “Patriarch, since you make so much money, why don’t you give some advice for the future of Pressed-Years Shop and Straw-Head Shop?”

Chen Ping’an smiled. “Whether it is God’s money, loose silver, or copper coins, you have to earn it. As long as the money comes from a good place, regardless of the amount, the goal is to make a steady income. I do not seek sudden wealth; I seek a steady stream of income.”

After a moment of silence, Chen Ping’an placed his hand on the boy’s head. “When you grow up, you will understand that this is not a doctrine.”

The mute boy nodded.

Even though doctrines are worthless, at least they are doctrines. And since it didn’t cost him anything to listen, he might as well.

Chen Ping’an smiled gently. “In reality, it is better to not understand some doctrines.”

Many doctrines are seen within books, and many doctrines are understood when hardships arise.

To see, but not to understand, is fortune.

Chen Ping’an left Dragon’s Ascent. The Pixie of Years, having nothing else to do, followed the Hidden Lord as his little assistant.

First, they went to Yang’s Medicine Shop.

Only a young shop assistant was guarding the place. Business had not been good due to the incident from years ago, but the Yang family had deep pockets and was not worried about the money.

Shi Lingshan, from a family in Peach Leaf Lane, might not be part of the Four Great Clans, but was still of good standing.

Perhaps the young martial artist did not know that he was the last disciple of the old man in the backyard, and he was even more ignorant of the identities and achievements of his martial brothers.

The white-haired Pixie sat outside the shop; he had no interest in the herbal smells.

Chen Ping’an stepped over the threshold and asked, “Is Miss Su not here?”

Shi Lingshan said, “Senior Martial Sister has gone traveling.”

His senior martial sister had not said where she was going, but it seemed like a long trip, very far away.

She might come back next year, or maybe the year after that. Or perhaps she would never come back. All he could do was wait.

Shi Lingshan asked curiously, “Chen Ping’an, do you need something from Senior Martial Sister?”

They were all locals. Because of their shared lineage, Shi Lingshan did not think anything special of the mountain master of Fallen Phoenix Mountain. His multiple identities had no bearing on his life. If he became rich and looked down on others, then he should not visit at all. As long as everyone treated each other as equals, then he would not look at his face.

Most importantly, there were rumors that had been spread by the shop owner, that were not to be shared with others, that Chen Ping’an had received great kindness from the medicine shop when he was young.

Chen Ping’an laughed. “It is nothing. I was just asking. There were some old matters that I wanted to discuss with Miss Su.”

Shi Lingshan became vigilant. “What do you have to discuss with my senior martial sister?”

Chen Ping’an chuckled. “Shi Lingshan, you cannot guard against me no matter how hard you try.”

Shi Lingshan pursed his lips. “That’s what you think.”

Zheng Dafeng had once said that an honest man was not liked, but if the honest man had money, he was very likable.

The white-haired Pixie, having been listening all along, snickered. He was reminded of an incident of Fallen Phoenix Mountain. It was said that Li Huai had followed Chen Ping’an to Cliffside Academy as a burden and wholeheartedly wanted Chen Ping’an to become his brother-in-law. But after thinking about it, the little fool had come to the conclusion that his sister was not worthy.

Damnit, the group that Rice-Grain belonged to was full of talent.

Why couldn’t he join? The white-haired Pixie crossed his arms, pondering the matter. Was he only capable of succeeding Zhu Yi’s position as the Right Enforcer of Dragon’s Ascent?

Wouldn’t that be even worse than being a dog?

Inside the shop, Chen Ping’an asked, “May I open the drawers and look at some of the herbs?”

Shi Lingshan said unhappily, “I am running a business. As long as you follow the rules, I have no animosity toward you. Look all you want.”

Chen Ping’an reflexively raised his hand to rub his ribs before walking to the medicine cabinet, reading the labels, and gently opening a drawer.

Whether it was gathering herbs, filling prescriptions, or brewing medicine, Chen Ping’an might be even more skilled than an experienced herbalist.

It was said that the people of a region were nurtured by the local land. The same was true of herbs. The same herbs would have very different properties if they grew in different areas, and so the amount of each herb would need to be changed. In the past few years, the mountains to the west had become private property, and so gathering herbs had become difficult. As such, many of the herbs in the shop needed to be purchased through other means, such as the merchants of Crimson Candle Town.

Growing angrier the more he thought about it, the white-haired Pixie suddenly stood up and ran into the shop, planning to take a shortcut around Pei Qian and get the Hidden Lord to directly decree that he be made Deputy Head. He would be content with that and would not mind having a small role.

The white-haired Pixie told the Hidden Lord of his plan in a hushed tone. Unsurprisingly, the Hidden Lord told him to get lost.

Chen Ping’an opened another drawer and sniffed. The name of this herb was interesting: “Vaccaria segetalis.”

Chen Ping’an gently pushed the drawer back and suggested with a smile, “Shi Lingshan, in the future, you can go to Immortal-Herb Mountain, Vermillion Sand Mountain, or Rainbow Haze Peak to gather herbs. There should be 50 or 60 types of herbs that are better than those purchased elsewhere, and they will save you money.”

Shi Lingshan idly fiddled with his abacus. “You can’t tell me this. I am just an employee who runs the shop. I can tell the idiot in charge, but he is very unreliable. He talks a big game, but does very little. If the shop still hasn’t closed, it’s because his ancestors were burning incense.”

Chen Ping’an simply smiled.

The people of the village had always been so kind.

They always liked to speak with sarcasm and were self-taught experts of the world.

Shi Lingshan, with his family from Peach Leaf Lane, was merely an outer disciple.

The white-haired Pixie admired the young man. He dared to speak to the Hidden Lord in that way.

Even after so much had changed, there was not much difference between the people who lived in Fortune Lane and Peach Leaf Lane and the locals of the other lanes, even with the hidden separation of the immortals and mortals.

There were still people who wore clean robes and spouted Confucian phrases.

There would also be people whose nails were caked in dirt, whose hands were stained yellow by coal, and who liked to curse.

Chen Ping’an left the shop, standing for a moment after he stepped over the threshold.

Afterward, he passed the Crab Archway.

Chen Ping’an slowly circled the archway, gazing up at the phrase, the four panels now lacked any Daoist meaning.

The White-Haired Pixie stood where he was. There was nothing to see.

Chen Ping’an continued his stroll. The inn, which was the tallest building in the town, was truly owned by Aunt Feng. Business was good; the locals liked to hold grand events such as weddings and celebrations there. Some of the cultivators who had bought property and used them as Daoist temples also liked to have a few drinks there, but their wine was naturally different from that of the commoners.

The Well-With-A-Chain had long been cordoned off by the county government with stone barricades so that commoners could no longer draw water.

Even the locust tree was gone.

He continued down the main street toward the mud brick house on the east end of town, which belonged to Zheng Dafeng, the first doorkeeper of Fallen Phoenix Mountain.

Further out was the Graveyard of Gods, which had once been overgrown with weeds, and old Porcelain Mountain to the north, but both had been converted into temples by the Dali court.

Chen Ping’an sat down on a wooden post by the side of the road and said to the white-haired Pixie, “You should stop following me. People might misunderstand.”

The white-haired Pixie feigned ignorance, raising his hand to show the difference in height. “What could anyone misunderstand with the two of us?”

But in truth, being the Hidden Lord’s daughter would be very fortunate.

From Pei Qian, Chen Nuanshu, and Rice-Grain, it was apparent that he would spoil his daughter.

Why didn’t he and Ning Yao jump at each other so that it could all work out? What a coward. He deserved to be single for the rest of his life.

Chen Ping’an ignored him, sitting on the wooden post and looking at the road stretching into the distance.

There were countless sword cultivators in Sword Qi Great Wall. It wasn’t surprising that it was inhospitable to other cultivators, as the sword qi that permeated the world was too much for them to bear.

However, there was something that Chen Ping’an couldn’t figure out, and the more he thought about it, the more mystical it seemed.

The number of martial artists in Sword Qi Great Wall who had achieved the peak was far too small. It could even be said to be infinitesimally small.

Granny White had once been a master, but she had fallen in realm due to injuries sustained on the battlefield.

According to the records of the Summer Palace, only one martial artist in the history of Sword Qi Great Wall had achieved the peak, and she too was a female master.

Was it possible that the martial prowess of Sword Qi Great Wall only favored female martial artists?

Chen Ping’an tapped his finger against his knee, furrowing his brow.

On the Golden Bridge, she had once uttered the secrets of heaven, that the ancient star known as Evening Star was in fact the location of the strange peak.

For pure martial artists, the body was everything.

It was a shame that the old master of the military arts had not truly succeeded in this path.

The three officials of Sword Qi Great Wall were the Judge, the Hidden, and the Sacrificer.

According to the original intention in establishing the three officials, the Judge was in charge of killing, the Hidden was in charge of strategy, and the Sacrificer was in charge of sacrifices.

But the last Sacrificer’s files, according to the secret archives of the Summer Palace, were unusually detailed compared to those of his predecessors, with a mere few words, about sword cultivator, Jade-Pure Realm, and few achievements on the battlefield.

He remembered that Ning Yao had mentioned that during her first visit to the town, she had heard the old man of the Yang family mention a traveling sword immortal who had left behind a book of travels through mountains and rivers.

The old man said that he often read the book and thus knew of the outside world.

He had used the title “sword immortal” rather than “sword cultivator” when speaking of someone who had come from Sword Qi Great Wall.

Chen Ping’an had not paid attention to the detail then, but now he could not help but think about it.

Therefore, Chen Ping’an suspected that the records of the last Sacrificer had been intentionally falsified by the Summer Palace.

Chen Ping’an naturally thought of Yu Lu.

Standing up, Chen Ping’an turned back, passing through the streets and alleys and leaving the town, heading toward the stone arch bridge.

The white-haired Pixie still followed, sauntering along. On the bridge, he pointed to some green on the riverbank and asked curiously what it was.

Chen Ping’an glanced at it, saying it was Chinese mugwort. It was delicious when stir-fried with meat, but it was a seasonal vegetable that was not available all the time.

In spring, everything flourished. In the winter, it was as if everything had disappeared. Digging for bamboo shoots in winter was not easy, especially when the mountains were covered in snow.

Chen Ping’an said with a smile that Su Shi might have been the first to write of the mugwort in poetry, and that he could use just a few words to describe the seasons.

The white-haired Pixie asked if Old Chef knew how to cook the dish. Chen Ping’an said that he did, but the white-haired Pixie simply said, “Oh,” and did not try to pick the vegetables.

Chen Ping’an stood on the bridge, looking out into the distance. It seemed that there were more ducks in the river. Liu Xianyang and the round-faced girl were not at the smithy.

No wonder.

The white-haired Pixie crossed the bridge and sat down on the steps, saying, “Hidden Lord, I will wait here.”

She knew what Chen Ping’an was going to do. Many things could be done without taboo, but there were some things that should not be joked about.

Chen Ping’an turned around and said, “Just follow me. There are no taboos.”

He was going to offer incense and add soil to a grave.

During his journey to the Verdant Leaf Continent, he had visited many mountains. On his way back to Fallen Phoenix Mountain, he disembarked at Old Dragon City and walked along a road with Senior Song. After saying farewell, Chen Ping’an had secretly followed the old man until he reached a city gate. Chen Ping’an then smiled and left. Afterward, he had passed by many green mountains, some of which were still covered in snow.

Chen Ping’an offered incense, added soil, and poured wine on the grave.

The white-haired Pixie watched from afar.

Chen Ping’an turned to look, the grave facing a distant mountain with twin peaks.

Chen Ping’an was startled. This was the first time he had noticed it. He had been ignorant as a child.

After leaving home and learning a little about geomancy, he had never even looked at the distant mountains when visiting the grave.

It was now obvious that there was a reason why the grave had been chosen.

It might have been selected by an old man from the village.

Year after year, there were fewer old people, and the atmosphere of New Year’s faded.

Pei Qian and Rice-Grain had both told him that the tradition of midnight supper had become less lively.

One year when Chen Ping’an was not home, Pei Qian and the others had stayed up at the mud-brick house in Mud-Puddle Lane. In the morning, they had set off firecrackers.

If Chen Ping’an hadn’t told them to save their money, Pei Qian might have bought out an entire shop of firecrackers.

Rice-Grain once had a riddle. It had truly been her own idea, and Chen Ping’an had not taught it to her.

One time, Rice-Grain had asked what ran the fastest, and what ran the slowest, and yet could not be caught. Chen Ping’an had given many answers, but Rice-Grain said no. Chen Ping’an was stumped, which made the girl very happy. She had gleefully told him that the answer was yesterday and tomorrow.

It seemed that all yesterdays could not be retrieved, and all tomorrows were in the future.

The white-haired Pixie did not disturb him.

The mountains were warm, the water was soft, the willows were swaying, the grass was growing, and the flowers were blooming.