Under the watchful gaze of the Azure Dragon, carved into the exquisite coffered ceiling of the Golden Hall, Emperor Song He, in the vigor of his reign, held his court. A sea of courtiers, their silken robes ablaze with the embroidered badges of their rank, filled the chamber. In a place reminiscent of the treacherous scholar Cui Chan, stood the new Imperial Preceptor, facing the most powerful figures in the Great Li Dynasty.

Chen Ping’an, his hands tucked within his sleeves, cradled a jade seal. Around its edge were etched the true forms of the Five Peaks, the Qi Ferry, and rivers like the Jianghe, even the tranquil Shujian Lake – a testament to the nation’s landscapes held within the “Wall.”

The inscription on the base read: “Seal of Chen Ping’an, Imperial Preceptor of Great Li.”

As the Emperor himself presented this newly forged seal, the ceremony concluded, signifying that the lifeblood of the Great Li Dynasty now rested in the hands of Chen Ping’an.

The old seal, yet to be destroyed, was already replaced by the new.

Chen Ping’an remained silent, not participating in any of the day’s discussions. Yet, Emperor Song He noted a palpable tension amongst the pillars of his empire. Those who spoke did so with exaggerated volume, while the silent held their breath. Many, feigning nonchalance, stole glances at the newly robed Imperial Preceptor, hoping to glean some secret from his expression.

Chen Ping’an quietly felt the mystical resonance, as he himself had described: the Great Li Dynasty as a painting leading to Ascension, the nation as a body. With the seal now rightfully his, in an instant, he felt a connection to the Emperor’s Temple, the Bureau of Astronomy, the City God Temple, the Grand High Mystery Palace for rain prayers, the Fire God Temple… From the capital to the heartland of the Song Dynasty, the flow of the Great Meridian, the Five Peaks’ steadfast rise, the myriad cities, Song Yunjian, with his Taoist name Yingning, and even the dragon’s luck manifesting above the imperial city like a jade city in the clouds – all the qi of the realm flowed through him, its pulse beat clear.

It was as if all were rejoicing, welcoming, bowing down.

The court became a Taoist altar, a profound convergence.

A single seed of Chen Ping’an’s spirit, like a minnow leaping from emerald pondweed, or the sun rising over the sea, burst forth. Above the Treasure Bottle Continent, a divine and towering image, unseen in centuries… no, the second of it’s kind, appeared, like the heavens opening a single eye, surveying the human realm of the Great Li Dynasty.

Instantly, within Chen Ping’an’s heart-realm, the primordial chaos gave way to the division of heaven and earth. The vortex shattered, releasing golden light, as if a swordsmith, in his forge, hammered a glowing blade. Sparks flew – countless golden words, the essence of melted magical artifacts, and thick, enduring martial luck, scattering like seeds upon the landscape of his soul. In his heart-realm, buildings, figures, and the very mountains and rivers began to form.

His eyes widened, one gazing inward, the other upon the Treasure Bottle Continent. A golden bridge, linking the small world within him to the vast world beyond, connected mortal and divine.

Occasionally, Emperor Song He would turn, inquiring for the Imperial Preceptor’s opinion or seeking his gaze. Chen Ping’an merely shook his head.

The establishment of a Taoist jurisdiction in Bing Province, the revision of official ranks in the six ministries of the secondary capital, the conscription of two hundred thousand soldiers to the Barbaric Lands – weighty matters indeed.

An outsider might mistake the new, silent Imperial Preceptor for a puppet of the Song Dynasty, a deaf and dumb figurehead in the court.

Most officials expected Chen Ping’an, as a new hand, to wield his authority with swift and drastic measures upon this, his first public appearance.

A smaller faction, including Cao Gengxin of the Ministry of Appointments, Zhao Yao of the Ministry of Justice, and Dong Hu of the Ministry of Rites, who understood Chen Ping’an’s ways, did not expect an overblown display, but anticipated a few memorable, perhaps even awe-inspiring, words at the assembly’s close.

Perhaps feeling unaccustomed to his official robes, Chen Ping’an adjusted his collar, a slight shift of his shoulders.

His vantage point afforded him a clear view of the officials’ faces and demeanor.

Even the bold Cao, a Vice-Minister, dared not bring his purple gourd of wine to court.

Zhao Yao, elevated from common scholar to a Vice-Minister’s rank, possessed a surprising maturity.

But for fate’s cruel hand, the Minister of Appointments would have been Ma Zhan, also headmaster of Piyun Mountain Linlu Academy.

A delegation of elder Song Dynasty royalty attended, their ambitions for power long thwarted, their hopes now extinguished. Cui Chan had crushed their aspirations, and now, the scholar’s junior took to the court.

Only Song Changjing of the old guard, and Luo King Song Mu of the new guard, could hope to rise. The Empress’s family of Nan Zan, lacking even a sixth-rank official, fared no better than the family of the Empress Yu Mian, who was slightly favoured due to her lineage from the House of the Uppermost Pillar. However, a secret family council, disguised as a return to the homestead, convened several days prior, only to be disrupted by the presence of a Grand Eunuch, wielding an imperial decree. Yu Mian’s uncle and a cousin, both holding office, were dragged away to places that Heaven alone knows.

Yu Mian remained expressionless, remembering her Emperor’s words. He would have aided her if only Zhao Yao had investigated. But officials with the surname Yu were conspiring against him. The Empress asked: “What do you think we should do?”

Thus the council convened for a night of sorrow. The Empress saw clearly the path the Uppermost Pillar’s House would take: retirement from the political and military scene. For the family Yu, it was now a long wait for the winds to change once more.

As the head of the family Yu said: “A friend of mine, who was often against Cui Chan, had this to say to me – he was the same as me, drinking a cup of poison before realising it was poison. But some people drink the whole damn poison up.”

“Those types are unmoving, like uncooperative pigs,” the old man said, much to the Queen’s dismay.

“We must get ready for a new table and a new wine. I will not be waiting but there is hope for you.”

Zhao Yao knew the details of the affair. Chen Ping’an had followed through with his investigation, leaving no stone unturned.

And Zhao Yao carried a major case of his own. Liu Suo, the former servant of Deputy Capital Minister Liu Qingfeng, now a cultivator of the Fallen Peak, had secretly given Chen Ping’an a record detailing Liu Qingfeng’s transgressions as the director of the Great Meridian. The document implicated two hundred members of dozens of families, including over twenty third-rank officials of the court and local regions. Eight of them were present at the court, perhaps oblivious to the fact. Zhao Yao was certain Cui Chan knew everything, and had deliberately chosen to conceal it.

Dong Hu, who had long languished in the Ministry of Rites, let his mind wander, for the tricks to do well in court are many.

No one was invited to view the ceremony, further showcasing the dynasty’s arrogance.

The Ministry had been responsible for determining the seal’s font. The current style was out of the question, and to use Cui Chan’s writing would have made the dynasty uneasy. Finally, they drew inspiration from the calligraphy of the Immortal Swords.

Even with the font decided, the team at the Ministry faced another challenge. The old seal consisted of eight characters, giving a sense of balance.

The “formation” of the new seal’s characters proved a headache for Dong Hu and his peers. Finally, they agreed the solution was to work with the character for “of.”

The difficulties were immense. Nevertheless, the celebration drew to a satisfactory conclusion, much to the delight of the Ministry of Rites.

Chen Ping’an once more looked to the carved dragon.

For some reason, he sensed a separation, an invisible door between himself and the heavens. He lacked a key.

After a moment’s contemplation, Chen Ping’an retrieved the old Imperial Preceptor’s seal and crushed it to dust.

He was reminded of Cui Chan destroying Zhao Yao’s seal on the mountaintop.

Outside the hall, the female swordsman Zhu Su abruptly ended her closed-door meditation.

Qi Tingji and Lu Zhi were surprised, as was Xie Gou. She asked: “Sister Zhu Su, why, you were on the verge of a breakthrough. Whilst this isn’t catastrophic, to start again is a painful task.”

Zhu Su smiled wryly: “For some reason, I felt I needed to leave and halt the forging of this sword.”

Only Ning Yao and Xiao Mo were aware of what was happening.

Zhu Su’s intuition was correct. She had to yield to a greater “Tao.”

To resist would not be worthy of the name: she had to retreat to follow the wider path.

As the bell chimed, the Great Li Dynasty morning court concluded, and the officials made their way to the imperial study where the Emperor would be.

The sword immortals had already left for the Fallen Peak, and their qi reverberated through the sky.

Many of the officials looked up as the skies filled with swords, and dreamt of telling their children of the events to come.

After some time, the inner court’s morning meeting began.

But for some reason, the new Imperial Preceptor did not accompany the Emperor, or bid farewell to the sword immortals, remaining within the hall.

He wandered alone, as if strolling through his own garden, occasionally shaking his head, even hopping in place.

—-

At the Temple of the Flower God, Nian Xin said flatly: “There’s nothing to discuss, Hundred Flowers Land apologizes to Feng Yi. If that is an issue, there is nothing to discuss.”

Luo Fumo nodded: “We’re happy to apologize and leave the land, whenever she wants.”

Feng Yi laughed: “That settles that.”

Nian Xin turned to Feng Yi, the Mistress of the Winds, and said: “On reflection, the Hermit has to decline the position of honoured guest of the land. In light of this, what alternative conditions are we offering?”

Luo Fumo seemed taken aback: Chen Ping’an’s acceptance would have been a great thing. Why refuse it?

Then, Luo Fumo realized: Chen Ping’an was now the Dynasty’s Preceptor! That was an issue.

Like Wang Zhu, Tuo Yan was an outsider, but that didn’t mean she was unconcerned.

Earlier, she had accompanied her friend Shao Yunyan to visit the Hundred Flower Land. Chen Ping’an had agreed to return the “knot” Feng Yi had asked him to hold onto. He was willing to return it, but was reluctant to put into writing the details of it’s return.

Nevertheless, the flower goddess was overjoyed at the news.

For millennia, this “heart knot,” this “handle,” had been held by another. They dared not approach “Feng Yi,” for even if they did, what could they do if she refused to see them?

The brocade bag Feng Yi had given the old scholar for Chen Ping’an contained a coloured knot, refined from the essence of the flowers.

Feng Yi had proposed two conditions: an apology from the Flower Goddess and Chen Ping’an’s acceptance as the land’s honored guest.

Feng Yi also made it clear that if they refused, Chen Ping’an would have to serve as their protector against the flower thieves.

Feng Yi smiled: “Luo Goddess, I don’t ask for that much. If you can come up with a price that can settle the matter, it will be. If not, we can either negotiate, or my dignity has been insulted, in which case I will resolve all old debts!”

Tuo Yan was apprehensive. She and every other flower on earth depended on Feng Yi.

Nian Xin said: “Luo Goddess, shall we talk?”

Luo Fumo was conflicted. The Flower Lord had hoped Chen Ping’an would accept the invitation, but his appointment as Imperial Preceptor had been an unexpected event. Such a worldly position would be more of a burden than a blessing.

For years, they had sought a way to bypass Feng Yi, to find a solution that didn’t involve confrontation. Could they accumulate merit, petitioning the Confucian Temple for help in retrieving the knot? Or invite a great cultivator to become the land’s honored guest, then travel to the Great Li Dynasty together?

During the Confucian Temple meeting, the Flower Lord had entertained Liu Qilang.

The flower goddess wanted to invite him to become the land’s honored guest,

However, Liu Qi refused.

Cultivation, talent, appearance, reputation, and flawless merit were all required!

Bai Ye also fit the criteria, but he was too powerful to persuade.

In fact, his position as an honored guest was self-appointed.

Before departing, Liu Qi smiled and said, “The one who tied the bell must untie it.”

This was why they had been excited by the news Tuo Yan had brought back. For Feng Yi had taken the first step.

Luo Fumo cautiously said: “May I consult the Flower Lord?”

Feng Yi nodded: “Of course. I’m at the Fire God Temple. When you have a decision, come find me. Nian Xin, I will leave you to deal with this.”

Afterwards, Feng Yi and Wang Zhu left the Temple. Wang Zhu said she wanted to explore the city. Outside the temple gate, Feng Yi paused. Her eyes were now full of affection, and she said: “Don’t live life in bitterness. If things get to be too much, come see me. I might not be able to fix it, but I can at least curse with you!”

Wang Zhu grinned: “Don’t get annoyed with me!”

The Mistress pinched Wang Zhu’s face: “I’m afraid you’re too nice!”

Wang Zhu smiled, and as she left, she glanced back at the standing Mistress.

Wang Zhu waved goodbye and disappeared.

Feng Yi walked the streets, passing the Grand High Mystery Palace where the Great Li Dynasty had prayed for rain. Feng Yi had witnessed the rise and fall of the dynasty, and knew it all to well. She saw a Dowager Empress, leading a young Emperor to the hall. The boy sobbed as they kneeled on the cold floor. In those days, the halls of the Emperor were not as grand as the halls of the Lu Dynasty – from whom the dynasty had sprung.

Feng Yi knew, as did the Dynasty officials, that everyone wanted to rip them apart. Everyone wanted to see the Dynasty fail.

Earlier, sword ships sailed across the Great River.

Their shadows fell across the nations and peoples of the land.

And as the ships left the Great Meridian, they shone like a beacon of hope in the endless night.

—-

Yang Hua had secretly visited the Queen.

Nan Zan had changed. She shared a few drinks with Yang Hua and they spoke of old times. As Yang Hua left, the Queen bid her farewell, and said to not visit her often due to the troubles that plagued her.

Leaving the palace, Yang Hua was like a new woman.

Had the Dynasty so simply cut her off?

After court, the Lord of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, walked up to a lesser courtier. The Lord had been in the same position for as long as anyone could remember. This all changed when the King cast his eyes on him.

The Lord asked: “Wenmao, how many times have you taken this position?”

The courtier spoke with reverence: “I have seen it at the Academy of Scholarly Pursuits. Later I was a teacher at the School of Law. I also took the position of Lord of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.”

The Lord paused, “Plus the governor. It is enough. You have a reliable persona.”

The courtier tried to hide his excitement, and said: “I have much to learn.”

The Lord said: “Always see the wider picture. If you are not strong in your convictions, you will fall for greed and lust. The road to a man’s doom is long and winding. I tell you this as you leave for a new position.”

The courtier bowed.

The Emperor and Queen had been present at his wedding. The family could hardly believe it.

The blue robed man was now the Dynasty’s Imperial Preceptor.

Nearing the Temple of the Fire God, Feng Yi heard Wang Zhu’s voice: “Qi Fang has arrived, accompanied by a ghost. They meet with Cui Minhuang of the Guanh Lake Academy.”

Feng Yi laughed: “That ghost is the Emperor of the Great Yong Dynasty. He was a fool, whose obsession with the flowers led to his doom. Not a bad man, just very vain.”

There was only one Flower Lord of the Hundred Flower Land, and she went by the name of Qi Fang.

During the days of the sword fortress, an official called Hao Su and she were in love.

Regarding matters on the Green Land Mountains, they spoke of the mountain deity’s wife, and of the feast.

But stories about the Hundred Flower Land tended to be more scandalous.

For example, Fu Jin, of the White Emperor City, had a flower deity to his name, who greatly admired his swordsmanship. The Long Beard Immortal was also supported by a flower deity, a close friend who had once accompanied him to the North West.

Twelve flowers for twelve months – flowers of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Only the Lord could take the flowers of the world.

Each monthly flower could invite a male guest – who would be called a Man Flower Deity. There could also be another honoured guest.

Of course, the most well known thing was a set of twelve cups that could each hold a certain wine.

The glasses were as good as any imperial glass could be.

The Lord and the lesser lords even had glass with their names signed on them.

A certain Taoist, once said that all this talk of wine meant that the Founder of the House of Stealth was no longer able to keep his hands off of them.

In fact, even the masters of the White Lotus, have managed to get a glass or two.

There was also a very famous flower garden on the Dragon Tiger Mountain.

Seeing that Feng Yi didn’t really care, Wang Zhu spoke no more. The city felt alive, filled with energy.

Long ago, as winter had passed, a family sheltered a lonely person.

One person huddled outside, whilst another lit a lantern.

The latter slept lightly, worried whether the noise was that of a thief, or a drunkard who had fallen into the alleyway.

Wang Zhu didn’t agree with the statement that a man was defined by his “who.”

In the outer city’s gardens, Qi Fang realised Chen Ping’an was the Dynasty’s Preceptor, and hesitated.

If Chen Ping’an didn’t hold this secular position, and was at the Confucian Temple… how good would that be?

It had been said the Temple would build a new academy. Who would be the master?

Whose name would be forever remembered?

Was he now ready to “speak his mind”?

Could he now finally earn the right to speak?

In the Flower Deity’s company, was a middle-aged looking man who looked regal by nature. He came from the Great Yong Dynasty, a land of flowers. He was called Cui Jian.

His peer was known as Cui Minhuang. They shared a name but hailed from different homes. In their land, the Dynasty valued talented and capable men.

Cui Minhuang was an up-and-coming member of the family, who was soon to be it’s next leader.

The Cui family from the Bao Ping Land, was a noble family.

The reason the dynasty picked Chen Ping’an was very simple. During the temple meetings, many famous people had offered themselves up.

For example, Zheng Juxhong, of the White Emperor City, was there.

Su Zi had entered the fourteenth stage and now Wu Shu was doing well on the Barbaric battlefields.

There was great fortune to be had by becoming aligned with the land.

If Feng Yi didn’t change her mind, Chen Ping’an had intended to visit the Hundred Flower Land. Zhu Lian said: “Lord, you must ask whether it’s true that there is a Deity of the Flowers.”

Within the halls, Chen Ping’an finally stood still.

Rivers were like veins, connecting the body together. Lakes and cities were like veins in the system.

A strong body, makes for a strong people. A shared heart, makes for a unified nation. An ascendant nation, makes for an ascendant people.

He rarely felt good. When things had gone his way, he was always afraid of losing everything. The same was true if he didn’t get what he desired.

He rarely felt content, and life was always bleak.

But sometimes, things happened that made him overjoyed. As a young hero, alongside Song Yushao. On the battlefield, standing in for Ning Yao, against Li Zhen. With the ghost of the White Jade Palace. Returning to the homeland, killing Jiang She.

In an instant, the city shook.

A ripple that flooded the lands.

Not far from the Flower God Temple, Liu Laocheng felt something wrong, and was fearful of things to come.

Daoist Liang Shuang was in awe of the events that occurred. It would take at least a nation’s worth of luck.

At the Dynasty’s office, Song Yun slammed the table: “Great events are to come!”

Chen Ping’an called out to Liu Xiang.

In the hidden village, Liu Xiang heard and listened.

But that wasn’t enough.

The old blind man grabbed a hold of Zhici, and held up the world.

He dragged something with him.

At the same time, the Fortress began to rumble. A great force raised the fortress to the sky, and merged it with the long river of time. The fortress began to crumble, and formed a new sword.

The sword flew to the Treasure Bottle Land, to the dynasty, and to the Palace. Chen Ping’an reached out and grabbed it.

He held it.

One sword, held by a man.

A true self remained where he was, whilst another soared to the sky.

The Heavens and Land began to quake, and the sound of silk being torn could be heard. The land tore, and opened before the heavens.

The man poked his head through, and overlooked the White Jade Palace. He looked towards Yu Dou.