Right as Chen Pingan was about to dart out of the courtyard, the black-clad maiden suddenly called out, “Wait! I have something to tell you.”

Chen Pingan pretended not to hear, poised to open the courtyard gate. The maiden raised her voice, “Chen Pingan!”

Chen Pingan was left with no choice but to turn around and return to the threshold. Her complexion was now rosier than before, though her voice remained somewhat husky. She said, “First, after us outsiders arrived in this small town, although, as I told you previously, our physiques are stronger than ordinary people, we are otherwise no different from you. Second, outsiders are forbidden from killing here. Once violated, regardless of the reason or justification, we will be expelled, destined to gain nothing. This price is immense, beyond your imagination. Third, you must also understand that when we outsiders are in a crisis, we will certainly act, even at the risk of coming away empty-handed. After all, surviving is the most fundamental thing.”

Chen Pingan pondered for a moment, then asked, “Does that mean when doing things, one must act swiftly?”

The black-clad maiden grinned, her radiant face and gleaming eyes seeming to illuminate the entire room. She patted the green scabbard resting across her lap and nodded, “Correct! One must act quickly, even faster, even the fastest! Take me, for example. I carry both a saber and a sword, and I strive to be the fastest in the world at both drawing the saber and wielding the sword!”

She paused, suddenly transforming from an impassioned heroine from afar into a neighborly girl wanting to show off. She narrowed her eyes and asked with a smile, “Hey, do you know how many *zuo* there are in this world?”

Chen Pingan looked blank.

The maiden seemed to sense the youth’s lack of interest and immediately became disheartened, waving her hand to shoo him away. “Best to buy the jar back. I’m waiting to drink the medicine.”

This time, Chen Pingan’s steps as he left the courtyard were slower and more steady.

Not long after he left Mud Bottle Lane, the unlocked courtyard gate was gently pushed open. Inside the house, the black-clad maiden opened her eyes. She had been breathing and exhaling in a strange rhythm, and she regarded the doorway as if facing a formidable enemy.

The flying sword within its snow-white sheath on the table was suddenly silent, yet an invisible air of chilling intent arose, like the current false spring, capable of freezing bones and killing.

The maidservant Zhi Gui strolled to the doorway, like an ordinary neighbor making a casual visit. She did not step over the threshold, but instead craned her neck and peered into the house, looking around. She seemed to completely disregard the black-clad maiden sitting on the small bed with a saber across her lap.

Zhi Gui observed for a long while before finally noticing the living person, her face full of innocent wonder. “Esteemed sister, who are you? Why are you sitting on Chen Pingan’s bed? I haven’t heard that he has any distant relatives.”

Ning Yao glanced at the uninvited girl, then closed her eyes, ignoring her.

Seeing that she was playing deaf and mute, Zhi Gui did not get angry. She simply shook her head gently, pouted, and looked disgusted.

She glanced at the long sword in its snow-white sheath on the table. Deep within her eyes, hidden a profound hatred and fear, faint golden threads danced wildly within her pupils. The maidservant hesitated for a moment, then raised one foot, preparing to cross the threshold, when suddenly–

–she retracted her foot, coughed once, and pretended to be dignified, “I’m coming in, oh. Silence implies consent, right? Of course, this is originally Chen Pingan’s house anyway, and I’ve known him for many years… Could it be that you don’t understand what I’m saying? It doesn’t matter; we don’t have anything to talk about anyway. I’m just here to see if anything is missing. We’re about to move away, and many items can be left for Chen Pingan. You don’t know, he’s had a very difficult time these past few years.”

Her incessant chatter and sentimental tone made her and Chen Pingan seem like childhood sweethearts.

The maidservant Zhi Gui entered the house. All was calm. She walked straight to the small table, sat on the stool, her eyes constantly darting toward the sword.

At the same time, the black-clad maiden took out the three sheets of paper that the young Daoist had left for Chen Pingan and examined them closely, trying to discern some meaning from them. Unfortunately, after carefully looking them over and over again, she was still at a loss. Disappointed, she said, “These characters, they truly lack… flavor.”

She clearly remembered that on the long wall in her hometown, there were eighteen scattered characters, all carved with swords. Each character contained the boundless aura of suppressing myriad demons.

During her childhood years, her greatest hobby was to stand within a single stroke of those large characters and gaze into the distance.

Therefore, the maiden truly looked down on the small town’s four-character plaque, “Qi Rushing to the Dipper.”

The maidservant Zhi Gui turned around, subtly straightening her slender back, placing her hands folded on her knees, trying her best to resemble a refined young lady. Facing the black-clad maiden, she smiled sweetly and said softly, “Alas, esteemed maiden, you are far too careless.”

Ning Yao could not help but ask, “Who are you?”

Zhi Gui exclaimed with a light *aiya*, touching her chest in feigned surprise, “Esteemed maiden, you can speak our local dialect, ah!”

Ning Yao asked again, “Do you have business?”

Zhi Gui pointed to the long sword on the table, “Yours?”

Ning Yao frowned, not speaking.

Since the black-clad maiden remained silent, Zhi Gui did not mind. She stood up and walked to the corner of the wall, examining the bottles and jars on the wooden shelf, Chen Pingan’s meager possessions. The maidservant looked at them very carefully.

When he was an apprentice at the kiln, Chen Pingan walked barefoot all over the mountains and rivers surrounding the small town, going alone to the mountains to dig clay and chop firewood, running up and down the mountains quickly. As long as someone was willing to teach him something, whether it was a superficial introduction or an obscure and difficult subject, Chen Pingan would put in twelve parts of effort to do it. As for what extent he could achieve in the end, Chen Pingan did not care, and of course, he couldn’t care. Just like how Yao Laotou taught him the art of firing porcelain, always stingy, unwilling to reveal his true hidden skills, as long as Yao Laotou had spoken or acted, Chen Pingan would do it exceptionally seriously. Later, Liu Xianyang taught him how to make wooden bows, fishing rods, and so on, and Chen Pingan learned them equally meticulously. Song Jixin next door was always harsh in his words, saying that Chen Pingan’s habit, according to the books, was called “do one’s best and leave the rest to fate.” It was a pity that Chen Pingan had no good fortune. Since this was the case, it would be better to laze around and wait for death, give up completely.

Zhi Gui waved her hand, smiling brightly, “I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Esteemed maiden, you should recuperate properly. If you need anything, just shout. My name is Zhi Gui. I live in the courtyard next door.”

Ning Yao was expressionless.

As the maidservant left the house and walked into the courtyard, she muttered in a voice that the black-clad maiden could just barely hear, “Not that good-looking anyway.”

Ning Yao also intentionally or unintentionally said softly, “That name is truly vulgar.”

Zhi Gui closed the courtyard gate with some force, slamming it shut.

Ning Yao closed her eyes again to rest.

She felt no agitation towards the strange girl’s visit.

However, she greatly disliked this small town, especially those cultivators who came here seeking opportunities, scheming and struggling, calling themselves immortals and experts, merely because they were standing on the mountain, not because they themselves were high.

In maiden Ning Yao’s heart, the Great Dao should not be so small.

—

The straw-sandaled youth walked out of Mud Bottle Lane, the sunlight somewhat dazzling. He raised his right hand to shade his forehead, gently exhaling a breath.

Then he began to jog slowly, his steps light. Even though he had traveled through the streets and alleys many times, he still felt no fatigue. After all, for a youth accustomed to going up and down mountains, this distance was truly insignificant. What truly deserved to be called hardship was burning charcoal on the mountain. A dragon kiln needed two to three thousand pounds of charcoal each year, especially during rainy days, living on the mountain to chop firewood and burn charcoal was truly a kind of suffering. The youth had almost died in a charcoal kiln that collapsed during construction. The things the youth had done over the years were almost all physical labor, requiring some skill, but after entering the door, it was purely a matter of earning a living with strength. So the youth’s superficial thinness and weakness were just an illusion, possessing an inner toughness that had been tempered by thousands of refinements.

Chen Pingan stopped at a crossroads, leaning against the wall, squatting down, one hand always clenched into a fist, the other hand tightening his straw sandals.

At this moment, the youth’s heart was as still as water.

He just missed his only friend in the small town.

That fellow had once mysteriously boasted to Chen Pingan, saying that his grandfather had told a story. When his grandfather was a child, he had personally seen someone standing on the bank of a stream who, with only a few steps of running, jumped over the entire stream in one leap. Later, Liu Xianyang and Chen Pingan went to try it themselves, choosing the narrowest section of the stream. The two of them retreated and ran at the same time, jumping at the same time. As a result, Liu Xianyang, who was several years older than Chen Pingan, ran out of strength and fell into the water, then discovered a dark shadow above his head,嗖, continuing forward, finally landing far away.

After that, Liu Xianyang never mentioned anything about a stream-crossing immortal.

After that, Liu Xianyang knew that Chen Pingan would often go to the stream by himself, running, jumping, leaping, falling.

The youth got closer and closer to the other side, never tiring of it.

Once, unable to resist, he secretly watched from afar. When Liu Xianyang saw that heart-stirring scene, he felt that the dark youth at that time seemed a little different from the impression he had of him being an idiot.

When the youth flew across the stream, he was like a snake-catching eagle that often circled in the sky above the small town.