A company of travelers rested beneath a curtain of vines, partaking of tea and listening to the melodies of a wandering bard. Their ears feasted upon the music, the lilting notes resonating like the chime of jade bells. The music stirred the very spirit of the land, its ethereal ripples washing over the ancient trees near the Daoist temple, deepening the vibrant green of their leaves.

Since the Huayang Palace had yet to issue a decree of expulsion, they proceeded towards the Ancestral Hall, ascending the main path. As they climbed, the vista unfolded before them, revealing the Land Lung mountain ferry, a hive of activity where Daoist officials scurried like ants. A magnificent dragon-ship, easily a hundred fathoms long and ten across, dominated the scene. Its prow and stern were adorned with gilded scales and whiskers, and its superstructure resembled a floating palace, complete with ancient pines and gnarled cypresses. Whispers claimed that this famous vessel, belonging to the Emerald Veil Palace, concealed a secret within its hold: a dense layer of iron coins, each the size of a tabletop, known as “Victory Pennies,” intended to stabilize the ship against the tempestuous whims of wind and wave.

A young man, his features marked by a certain severity, broke the silence. “The First Ancestor of the Strategists, Master Jiang, dormant for ten thousand years, has returned to the world with his Daoist companion, stirring up no small commotion. He must have grand designs. If you were in his place, how would you proceed? Let us use this moment and this place to speculate upon his ambitions.”

High above, upon the peak, a scrivener began to reassess the band of aristocratic youths. Their skills might be meager, their years few, but their audacity and pronouncements were boundless.

Yin Xian, another official of the mountain, wore a mask of discomfort. These impetuous troublemakers dared discuss the most forbidden topics.

Yet, it spoke volumes of the Hongnong Yang clan’s intelligence network, for many a dynasty’s Daoist official hadn’t even heard the family name of the Strategist’s First Ancestor.

A youth, casually swinging a willow branch pilfered from some unknown source, strolled with a carefree air. “First, one must seize control of the Strategist’s Ancestral Court, claiming the Middle Earth Martial Temple as one’s personal domain. But will Jiang Taigong, or Master Wei, willingly yield? This is an unavoidable obstacle. Were it me, I would simply assault the Ancestral Court. After all, it’s the strategist’s way. Hmm… Master Jiang, Jiang Taigong… a curious coincidence, both sharing the same name. Perhaps there’s significance in that.”

One dared to ask, the other dared to answer. Truly, they were kindred spirits, finding kinship the moment their paths crossed.

Such discussions were not, in themselves, forbidden.

It was akin to a Qi refiner in the Vast Heaven, emboldened by a little wine, declaring his intent to strike at the Jade Capital. But the problem lay in their location: they were upon Land Lung Mountain, making their words less than appropriate.

“Secondly,” the youth continued, “even if the strategists are united in their acceptance of him, the attitude of the Middle Earth Literary Temple remains crucial. This world belongs to scholars. Will the Sage of Rites give his blessing? Equally important are the views of the Second Sage and the Literary Sage. Will they tacitly approve, or voice their disapproval?”

“Finally, even if those hurdles are overcome, will the Fisherman, who refused to allow the Supreme Sage to board his craft, recognize the Strategist’s Great Dao? This is the crux of legitimacy.”

“Three invisible battlefields, each with its own gates. We can only watch to see how the Strategist’s First Ancestor will deploy his forces, conquer each obstacle, and systematically seize the citadels. One misstep, a disagreement with the Literary Temple, and the hard-won peace will crumble, plunging us into an age as turbulent as the Azure Darkness world.”

An ancient elder chuckled. “Is it possible that Jiang Taigong is simply fishing, waiting for the willing to be caught?”

“Explain yourself.”

“Perhaps the Strategist’s Ancestral Court seeks another joint execution, hoping the First Ancestor will condemn himself, allowing them to legitimately uproot and eliminate him.”

“Or perhaps there’s another figure lurking in the shadows, plotting to usurp his place.”

“What if the Strategist’s First Ancestor is already allied with the Fisherman, bypassing the Confucian Literary Temple and joining forces with the barbarians? What if he intends to completely reshape this world, reordering the Vast Heaven?”

The topic ignited a flurry of opinions, a chaotic swirl of debate.

From the peak, Yin Xian reported, “The young man who started this, his license identifies him as Shang Jiao, a rogue cultivator hailing from one of the lesser provinces. He carries the distinct, dense aquatic essence unique to Thunder Marsh Lake.”

Nan Qiang held a different view. “He strikes me as a carefree wanderer, perhaps simply returning from a floral appreciation trip at Thunder Marsh Lake.”

Yin Xian shook his head. “A Daoist’s travels rarely leave a trace of the waterways. Lord Wang and Thunder Rain, the masters of that lake, are reclusive and unpredictable. Outsiders wouldn’t dare be so brazen.”

Mao Zhui chimed in, “It’s difficult to ascertain his lineage and teachings, but it’s certain that his Daoist roots are deeply entwined with the Taiyi lineage. He’s interacted with that goose-loving Wang clan more than once. Even Shang Jiao’s page boy exudes an unusual air, not one easily controlled.”

The Shan Yin hermit, surnamed Wang, bore the Daoist title Taiyi. He ruled over a lake within the lesser provinces, and both he and the demon Thunder Rain were contenders to inherit it.

Nan Qiang, unable to discern the page’s origin, inquired, “Is he merely strange, or truly divine?”

“Strange” indicated an entity that had practiced since the primordial era, or an artifact imbued with a spirit, taking on human form and walking the path of cultivation. “Divine” implied a reincarnated god or the “reborn” self of a great cultivator.

Mao Zhui simply said, “Ask him yourself when you meet him.”

Nan Qiang laughed. “If we can’t pierce their illusion with magic, we’ll treat it as a riddle. It’s rather amusing.”

Mao Zhui narrowed his eyes, changing his mind. He spoke to Yin Xian, “Yin Xian, send word. Grant them passage to the summit. Let us meet and exchange a few words.”

A motley crew indeed. Dissecting the origins and lineages of the dozen individuals who journeyed together revealed at least four distinct factions.

He would see whether they were merely boastful, engaging in idle speculation, or possessed true knowledge and insightful purpose.

Yin Xian hesitated, for there was no precedent for entertaining guests here. Mao Zhui’s ascension to palace lord had gone unremarked. Not a single soul had come to offer congratulations, an unprecedented event on the mountain.

Mao Zhui waved it off. “No matter. They can find lodgings at my humble abode.”

Yin Xian relaxed, knowing that this gesture would more than fulfill the Huayang Palace’s obligations.

Amongst this disparate group was a brother and sister of the Hongnong Yang clan, accompanied by two maids and a guardian.

Their declared identities, presented at the mountain gate, listed them as not belonging to any Daoist order: Yang Zheng, the sister, and Yang Yao, the brother. The youth’s name was exceptionally rare.

The woman, her face veiled by a conical hat, possessed a captivating figure. A maid fanned her, the fan’s painted design depicting magpies perched on branches, symbolizing joy.

The handsome youth, his head adorned with a Three Mountain crown, wore a light purple robe fastened with a sash. Yang Yao’s expression was haughty, his gaze dismissive, rarely meeting another’s eye directly.

He now offered his sister a confection known as “Dimples,” a honeyed pastry, which she delicately nibbled, lifting her veil slightly.

Of the two maids, one possessed a charming face but dressed in a masculine manner, wearing an embroidered brocade coat. A short sword hung from her belt. Her given name was Jade Scroll, and she bore the Yang family name.

The other maid, called Dewdrop, was older and possessed only a simple beauty. She held a round fan, wore a small cap, and donned a yellow robe over a blue underdress.

Set apart from the others was a gaunt man with a vacant stare. He seemed intent on separating the Yang siblings from the rest of the “rabble.” In truth, he wore five-colored armor concealed beneath plain clothes. His face was hidden by a helmet. He carried a sword, possessed a formidable physique, and his armor bore ornate brocade serpents. He wore boots that resembled ancient imperial footwear.

Two Yang family retainers completed the group: an elderly man with remarkable features, a long, thin face, and a flowing beard. He resembled the statues of gods and demons found in temples. Accompanying him was a middle-aged man who appeared to be his disciple. He was reserved, his gaze constantly drifting towards the maid, Dewdrop.

A trio of siblings with different surnames accompanied them. The man called Shang Jiao brought along a frail bookish boy known as Xiao Bing. Xu Duan, a powerfully built, taciturn man with a ruddy complexion, had been friends with Shang Jiao for years. These few had intended to ascend the mountain without deception, but joined company with the Hongnong Yang clan.

The page boy, Xiao Bing, appeared languid, as if the mountain’s coolness was lulling him to sleep.

The red-faced man said telepathically, “Third Brother, on our way here, in an unremarkable patch of barren wilderness, I encountered a reclusive master, a true hermit.”

Shang Jiao was unimpressed. “Not one of those fame-seeking charlatans?”

The red-faced man replied, “I tested him. He’s undoubtedly stronger than me. It was impudent of me, but I couldn’t help myself. Luckily, he had a good temperament and didn’t take offense. Had it been anyone else, we would have fought. He’s not adept at dueling, but his cultivation is such that he would wear me down if I couldn’t kill him instantly.”

Shang Jiao was shocked. “Stronger than you?”

One of his sworn brothers, Luo Yi, bore the Daoist title “Fire Official,” and, along with Marquis Wu Xi, was a candidate for the Ten Pillars of Azure Darkness.

Of course, “Shang Jiao” had access to many extraordinary individuals.

In terms of family connections, friends, and the favor of elders, even within the entire world of Azure Darkness, few could match the man known as Shang Jiao. That was why he dared discuss such matters so openly here on Land Lung Mountain, almost within earshot of the White Bone Realist.

It wasn’t merely his status that emboldened him. He was intimately familiar with Land Lung Mountain. His two elder sisters wished to see the place where their brother had practiced Daoist arts in his youth. The small temple where they had rested was where he had spent those early years.

The red-faced man nodded. “Without a doubt, a full realm above me.”

Shang Jiao’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You must introduce me. I wouldn’t mind being turned away.”

The red-faced man chuckled. “Easily done.”

Shang Jiao, ever prone to flights of fancy, inquired, “Why do some ancient texts describe the Dao Ancestor with the phrase ‘Daoist arts like a dragon’? Is this not a veiled insult?”

Silence fell, for no one dared to speculate on the Dao Ancestor.

Even Yang Yao turned to Yang Zheng, silently asking if her vast learning could shed light on the matter.

The veiled woman shook her head.

Shang Jiao persisted. “And why is exceptional strategic prowess described as ‘Intelligence Approaching the Demonic’? Is this praise or condemnation?”

Again, only silence greeted him.

The ancient elder chuckled. “Daoist friend Shang, both phrases have their origins.”

Shang Jiao’s eyes widened. “How so?”

The elder said, “Legend speaks of a naturally forming procession in the distant past. It stretched along the earthly path like a serpent. Daoists, upon hearing the Dao, cultivating, and achieving enlightenment, would transform, shedding their earthly forms. As the Daoists parted ways, weeping or laughing, they would kneel and offer their respects to the Daoist at the head of the procession. More and more Daoists would join the procession, eventually forming a simplified salute. The Dao Ancestor walked at the very end.”

“One of the Daoists at the head of the procession, acting as a protector and transmitting the Dao without reservation, would share whatever understanding he gained. During droughts, he would expend his own energy to transform, riding the clouds and wielding water magic to bring forth rain, earning merit on earth. Alas, his clan committed a great transgression, and both his merits and demerits became weighed against him. He invoked the wrath of Heaven, and few of his clan escaped their doom.”

“As for the other phrase, it describes a woman skilled in alchemy. She was of demon origin, but possessed great wisdom. Thus, at that time, there was no derogatory meaning.”

Hearing this, Shang Jiao exclaimed, “How do you know these ancient tales, sir?”

The elder chuckled and countered, “From hearsay, of course. How else?”

Shang Jiao burst into laughter, clasping his hands in apology.

The topic seemed to have stirred something within the elder, for within the depths of his ancient eyes, threads of gold flickered, like dragons lurking in an abyss.

Though years had passed, he had witnessed these events firsthand. They were the matters of those nearest to him. It was hard to forget, and he did not wish to deceive himself.

Yang Yao chimed in. “Five-colored earth is understandable, but what about ten-thousand-year earth?”

Did all the dirt in the world have an age, and different levels of Daoist experience?

Yang Yao was prone to chatter. Yang Zheng often remarked that he must have been mute in a past life, trying to compensate in this one.

The elder smiled. “Among the five elements, earth is the hardest to keep pure. If you don’t believe me, look down at the ground beneath our feet. This earth, which bears all creation and all sentient beings, what if it became too… clean? Like water too pure, it could not sustain life.”

The veiled woman nodded. This was an unusual claim, but contained both a profound truth and an ineffable beauty.

Yang Yao was impressed. He had only known this Yang family retainer, who called himself Deaf Daoist, to be from a minor clan from one of the lesser provinces who often attempted to take advantage of the Yangs. His Daoist arts were minor, and he prized searching and gathering, and was skilled as a catalogist. Yang Yao thought that he was just a charlatan trying to scrape by, so he had not expected him to know something.

The one most uninterested in world affairs, and who had no way to participate in the conversation, was the middle-aged man next to the elder, who looked bored.

Shang Jiao noticed the man’s boredom, so he struck up a conversation with him. When there was something to talk about, there was no reason to be bored.

Tian Gong, his eyes downcast, figured that “Shang Jiao” was just there to give the real guests someone to talk to, and was grateful to him.

It wasn’t that Tian Gong had lustful intentions toward the maid named Dewdrop. He was sure that he could not. Even the servants of a direct descendant of the Yang clan would be out of reach for him.

Her eyebrows and eyes just reminded him of someone from his hometown. Thus, he could not help but look at her more often. However, Tian Gong knew that it had to be a coincidence.

A person’s accent, whether odd or rough, would reveal something.

They both spoke with a Yu Province accent, but Yang Yao’s was unnatural. Tian Gong knew that it would reveal an outsider.

There was a proverb in Azure Darkness, “Fear nothing in heaven or on earth, except when a Yu Province Hongnong county person speaks in government tongue.” Thus, there was another saying: when speaking with a descendant of the Hongnong Yang clan, let everything go in one ear and out the other, because if one had to attempt to answer, one had to listen closely, or it would be impossible to understand. Xu Xuanyuan had realized that when traveling with the two sisters through Yu Province’s Hongnong county. He remembered that when an old lady from the city insulted someone, it was cruel and clever, and that she liked to call older men soft-shelled turtles, and lazy wanderers floating corpses. She would insult herself, not her husband, simply saying, “I am destined to become a widow,” which was something.

In addition, in Hongnong County, women and men alike were used to drinking and playing drinking games. Even if a woman’s voice was soft and she was well-mannered, she was still very open. She would roll up her sleeves, put her hands out, and her eyebrows would fly, giving her a special flair. The people at the table found the game enjoyable and refreshing.

In fact, Shang Jiao’s real name was Xu Xuanyuan. Especially his two sisters, who were great ascetics.

Xu Mian, the master of Azure Mud Grotto. Xu Yingning, the lord of Heaven Earth Blessing.

They were both mountain cultivators on the list of the ten candidates.

Xu Xuanyuan glanced at the veiled woman. In his hometown, there was a custom of women, when they were soon to be married, wearing a “wind, flower, snow, moon” coin. It was said that it could ensure that the couple would stay in love forever.

Those coins were made of heavy bronze, had beautiful text, and were in good condition. If the coins were embedded in the ridgepole of a wealthy family, the family would become rich.

A marriage between great clans was like a bet: once the bet was placed, it could not be returned.

How unfortunate, he thought, such a beautiful woman had no interest in taking care of a husband and teaching children, showing that she would marry into Daoist arts.

Xu Xuanyuan had one rule when traveling: there were brothers everywhere under heaven. In any case, his family was not poor, so he paid in gold to earn loyalty. If a friend asked him for money, it was not really a loan: it was just him taking back his money that was deposited there. Friends on the mountain were also like that, when “borrowing” magic treasures, spirit books, and secret scrolls. Xu Xuanyuan never let money be more important than his friends.

Xu Xuanyuan asked seriously, “Friend Jin Sheng, why do you want to cultivate to become an immortal? Is there a reason? Something from a past life? You were moved, so you wanted to walk the path and become an immortal?”

This was common on the mountain.

Tian Gong had no master, and had never been named a Daoist official, so he had no title. However, just like the Deaf Daoist, the title that he gave himself, “Jin Sheng” would not be recorded by the Jade Capital.

Even though Xu Xuanyuan had been casual with Luo Yi, and reckless when first meeting the blessed son Yang Yao, once they had become close enough, if Yang Yao was curious and asked one question, Xu Xuanyuan would not hesitate to say with a smile, “A father knows his own son best.”

However, he showed extreme respect to Tian Gong, and took care of him often, finding things to talk about so that Tian Gong would not be at a loss for what to do, or where to stand.

Tian Gong did not try to hide it, and said the truth. “At first, I wanted wealth. Later, I wanted longevity.”

Xu Xuanyuan asked curiously, “After going through so many difficulties, and becoming a real immortal, what do you think?”

Tian Gong seemed embarrassed. “Brother Shang, you’re joking. What kind of immortal am I? I’m already over forty, and I still have no strength. It’s a fortune to know all of you, and I can only feel like I’m just filling space on the way.”

Xu Xuanyuan smiled. “May I be rude and ask: is the Deaf Daoist your teacher?”

The small provinces were not small, and after the White Jade Capital had put down the heavenly demons from without, one of the provinces had sunk and become a lake. Many unaffiliated and secretly sworn Daoists liked to develop strength there. Xu Xuanyuan was familiar with the local conditions, but he had never heard of the Deaf Daoist.

Tian Gong shook his head, and did not wish to say more.

Since it involved extremely private Daoist lineage matters, Xu Xuanyuan did not ask more, and changed the subject. “Friend Jin Sheng, how do you feel about cultivation?”

Tian Gong thought for a moment, and said, “Studying the Dao is like reading ancient books.”

“That’s a great way to put it.”

Xu Xuanyuan smiled and said, “Friend Jin Sheng, I will invite you to eat stewed goose with an iron pot.”

Before coming up the mountain, Xu Xuanyuan learned through casual conversation that Tian Gong had loved immortals and cultivation since he was young, but had never found the correct method, and had never found a good teacher to guide him. He had lost an ear, and had damaged his viscera. Later, he had gone out to find an immortal, going through mountains and rivers in order to find a high-level Daoist who could cure his illness and guide him to become an immortal. Luckily, there was always a way out. He had found an alchemist who was playing in the mortal world. After many trials, the high Daoist saw that his heart was firm, and led him onto the path to cultivate real immortal arts. Thus, Xu Xuanyuan thought that the “Deaf Daoist” was the teacher who had been led astray, and had lost an ear.

In Xu Xuanyuan’s eyes, the best candidate for a teacher would be Gao Gu, so he had gone to a Daoist temple on Land Lung Mountain and had become a Daoist with the temple, hiding his identity for over a hundred years, learning talismans and refining pills. However, Gao Gu had not taken him on after a few years. Perhaps it was that he did not want him to waste any more time, so he had appeared and told him to find another teacher. Since Gao Gu had put it so clearly, Xu Xuanyuan could not continue to stay there. In particular, Gao Gu had advised him to travel to one of the lesser provinces, so Xu Xuanyuan had gone there and had met the man who raised geese, and learned much from the Wangs. However, they were not master and student.

Tian Gong just figured that he was saying it politely, and nodded with a smile. He was a foreigner and had no one to rely on, so he was a little lonely, and he was pleasantly surprised to have found a friend.

Luo Yi knew what was going on, and there was nothing that he could do. If Xu Xuanyuan’s stewed goose was offered to him, he would avoid it.

Xu Xuanyuan said telepathically, “Friend Jin Sheng, you used a fake name as well, right?”

Tian Gong hesitated, and nodded.

Xu Xuanyuan patted Tian Gong on the shoulder. “To tell the truth, my real name is pretty well-known. However, it’s better not to say it. Making friends is about making friends with hearts, not names.”

Tian Gong smiled. “My real name is insignificant. It doesn’t matter if I tell you.”

Xu Xuanyuan put his arm around Tian Gong’s shoulder, and lowered his voice. “Let’s show each other our cards. Shall we tell each other our real names?”

Tian Gong just shook his head.

Xu Xuanyuan lowered his voice and said, “Actually, my surname is Chen, and my name is Ping’an. You can know that, but don’t tell anyone else.”

Tian Gong was stuck where he was, staring blankly at the man.

Perhaps he had been shocked by “Shang Jiao’s” thick skin, or perhaps he doubted himself, because he had thought that “Shang Jiao” was someone who could be a friend, but his actions were just a show?

Xu Mian’s eyes widened, and he reminded him telepathically, “Remember: do not call the Hidden Official by his name!”

Xu Xuanyuan frowned.

Huang Zhen patted Xu Xuanyuan’s hand on his back, and said with a smile, “Since friend ‘Shang Jiao’ is willing to show his hand, I cannot be impolite. Single name, ‘Wood, Water, Fire, Earth are all fake.'”

Xu Xuanyuan let go, with a puzzled expression.

At that time, a Huayang Palace Daoist came up the mountain and said that the palace lord wished to see everyone.

While he was still thinking, his sister Xu Yingning laughed and helped explain, “Of the five elements, Jin is missing. Since they are all fake, there must be a real one, and the Jin character radical and the Zhen character is ‘镇.’ It also matches Jin Sheng’s Daoist title.”

Single named Zhen? So what was the real surname?

Xu Yingning saw that her brother was dull, and did not understand such an obvious clue. Was that the meaning of Tian Gong’s “name?”

As she was about to help him, she looked up and saw the plaque of the Ten-Thousand Scroll Pavilion, so she switched her thoughts.

Luo Yi asked, “Why are you so interested in that Tian Gong?”

Xu Xuanyuan joked, “What? You think that friend Tian Gong is just average, with a common air, so you look down on him? This is calling a mud foot looking down on another!”

Luo Yi could not help but laugh. Scholars always liked to make odd claims. As the founding emperor of the largest dynasty of one of the continents, the only thing that Luo Yi was good at doing to scholars was to cut off their heads.

In fact, Luo Yi had very low origins. He had stepped up from being a border guard all the way to the top, so he would not look down on Tian Gong just for not coming from a powerful family. Besides, what were powerful families? Back then, when the world was being determined, when his soldiers had killed their way into the old capital, the blood had flowed for street after street, all of it coming out of the houses of the gentry. His horse’s hooves had slipped.

At the time, one of his advisors had told him that he should not do this. “Are you not going to control it? If there’s too much killing, it’ll be easy to lose the hearts of the people. It won’t be good for the historical books.”

Luo Yi was sitting high on his horse, with a calm expression. He had simply said, “I have to control it, but the knives are too slow.”

Xu Xuanyuan said quietly, “My two sisters are famous for having high standards and being good at judging people. I won’t mention what they think of brother Wu Xi. As for you,”

He glanced at Xu Mian, who was a stern man, and just said a single syllable, “Mmm,” and after a moment, he said, “We’re family, so I’ll say this: call me brother-in-law in the future.”

Wu Xi had not proclaimed himself an emperor like Luo Yi, but he was the commonly acknowledged “father of the Emperor” of Pei Province. However, the female emperor Zhu Xuan of the Fish Tally Dynasty of the adjacent Yong Province seemed to have gone insane and was building a great universal altar, divining the four continents. Pei Province happened to be one of them.

Thus, there was no way for Wu Xi to travel and play with his brothers. In particular, the destination was the Huayang Palace, so if Wu Xi appeared on Land Lung Mountain, it would look like a revolt to the Daoist officials of the White Jade Capital.

Years ago, after learning that the beautiful pearl heavenly paradise had fallen and become a blessed land, Wu Xi had long wished to take a trip to the Vast Heaven and invite the True Dragon King Zhu to Azure Darkness.

At the top of the mountain, Cui Wei Palace’s Yin Xian and Great Wood Pavilion’s Nan Qiang had long been waiting.

Palace Lord Mao Zhui was not at the gate, and even if the Hongnong Yang family had been there, he may not have come to greet them.

Yin Xian led them to Palace Lord Mao’s courtyard, where there was one main room, with an eight immortals table and four wooden benches that had all been made by Mao Zhui himself, taking wood nearby. The room had no plaque and no shrine. The two rooms on the sides, one was Mao Zhui’s bedroom and the other was his study, had no doors, so it was possible to see everything within them.

The youths from the Hongnong Yang family were curious, because it seemed that they were seeing what was written in books: a “humble house,” like the home of a regular person.

Yang Yao found an excuse and ran to the Watching Fish Pavilion by the deep pond. Seeing that there was no one around, the youth felt like playing, so he stood on one leg, put his two fingers together, widened his eyes, and chanted,

“Duo, North River snake, West Lake snake, South Sea fish, East Sea carp. Don’t look down at the fish, mortals look down on you. How would you know that a divine spirit could not be kept in a pond, and when it meets the winds and clouds, it will transform into a dragon.”

Yang Yao realized that the Deaf Daoist and Tian Gong were there as well, and had come there for a walk. The youth no longer had any interest, and went to learn more from the Huayang Palace Elder Mao.

After entering the yard, and stepping over the doorstep, he saw that his sister had taken off her hat. What a surprise! Yang Yao smiled brilliantly, and asked directly, “Palace Lord Mao, can I take a look at your study?”

Mao Zhui said, “At your leisure.”

Before Yang Zheng could stop him, the youth had already gone quickly into the study, and stared at the few items on the table, stopping at an ink stone that still had some ink on it, and said to himself, “I know that stones like these have unique features, but how can anyone see that it is good?”

Those words had a meaning.

Even though you, Mao Zhui, were favored by Gao Gu, your Daoist skills must be extraordinary. But my eyes are narrow, and I cannot see where you’re so special.

The woman, who still had her face covered, said telepathically that he was not to be impolite, and if he said another word, she would immediately have him go down the mountain. Then, she said, “When a youth appreciates an ink stone, they can only see the beauty, not the ugliness. In the end, it is because their experiences are insufficient.”

Yang Yao immediately held his hands toward the room, and said, “Good sister, don’t scold me. I was barely able to sneak out, and on the way here, I was scolded so many times. I am full of scolding.”

Perhaps, as an aristocrat, he could not help but be prideful, and after receiving Yang Zheng’s scolding, he did not greet the host and picked up the inkstone, viewing the inscriptions on it.

“The light of a sword, awakening the black dragon, in a muddy pond, resting after a long slumber. In the river and lake, nights are long and the water is cold, and the pearls on the chin are like lamps. The wind and thunder press down on the dragon, but it is rebellious. In a thousand-year dark room, my heart has connections, and with one point, there is light everywhere.”

Those who valued rules such as Yin Xian thought that the youth was impolite, and even Nan Qiang, who did not care much, frowned. Did they think of the Huayang Palace as their own home?

However, Mao Zhui remained calm. When he had rented out little comic books outside the Zhu Xu Temple, there had been fingerprints and snot on the pages of those comic books.

Yang Zheng stood up, and grabbed the youth’s ear, and forced him onto a long bench.

Earlier, Mao Zhui had stood at the door, watching the guests coming to visit. The White Bone Realist’s gaze had landed on the maid who was behind the veiled woman.

They were so bold to come to Land Lung Mountain.

At that moment, Mao Zhui looked at the energetic “youth,” the one who was really in charge.

In the Watching Fish Pavilion, the old man did not need to say anything, because it seemed that he could cut himself off from the heavens and the earth on the water’s edge, and was confident that he could hide himself from the White Bone Realist. He said, “It is easy to make mistakes if you speak too much. You should not have spoken your name to Shang Jiao. His family is large, and he can afford to make mistakes, but can you? You certainly cannot. One wrong step, and it will be a bad end that cannot be helped. Your teacher sent you here, and had you find a place by Thunder Marsh Lake so that I would take care of you, not so that you would make mistakes. Silence is golden. You must be more careful when you are out, and learn from that Hidden Official.”

The one who can turn a life of depression into a life of splendor is the one who is extraordinary.