The moon hung heavy over the capital, bathed in an expectant silence as Chen Ping An stood atop the city walls, as if patiently awaiting the dawn.

Song Yunjian, bearing the Daoist name Yingning, indulged in a bit of “official business,” his eyes feasting upon the Kyōgoku landscape. For one so near to a false ascension, like Song Yunjian, the shifting hues of day and night posed no obstacle to his sight.

A delegation approached the walls, and Song Yunjian greeted them with a silent bow.

Chen Ping An, roused from his reverie, smiled and inquired, “Your Majesty, what brings you here?”

Emperor Song He replied, “I came to see you.”

Chen Ping An jested, “Afraid I’d abandon my post?”

Song He ran a hand along the rough stone of the wall, feeling the coolness of the summer night seep into his fingertips. “I fear Da Li’s uncertain future, yes. But also, the notion of the court without National Preceptor Chen brings a certain… relief. These two thoughts war within me, but ultimately, the former prevails. Therefore, upon hearing of your safe return to the capital, Chen Guoshi, I was gladdened.”

Cui Chan, Da Li’s former National Preceptor and Song He’s mentor, possessed a character known well to the Emperor. Chen Ping An stood as his sole successor, without peer. And when Chen Ping An would relinquish his title, Da Li would truly become a dynasty solely ruled by the Song family. A tempting prospect, indeed.

Song Yunjian mused that without Chen Ping An, the Emperor would be drinking poison to quench his thirst.

Chen Ping An smiled faintly. “It’s understandable. Like squatting in an outhouse in the countryside, while a crowd idly chats outside.”

Song He burst into laughter, recalling his own rural days. Song Yunjian, however, found himself lost in their shared understanding.

Chen Ping An elaborated, “From this night onward, I pledge true sincerity to Your Majesty. Past circumstances forced me to be calculating, lest I stumble even once.”

Song He responded, “No need to explain the specifics, Chen Xiansheng. My interests lie not in the affairs of the mountains or the heavens. I, Song He, care for the morrow, and if each Da Li citizen, from the most prosperous to the most destitute, might earn a few more coins. I care for the bustling markets of the north, the lively temple fairs of the south, the vibrant streets of the southwest, and if they might grow even more festive with the coming New Year. I care for the children who first trace the character for ‘man,’ and if their numbers increase, alongside their mentors as they pay respects to the Sage. I care for the constant improvements to the Da Li border armies.”

Chen Ping An contemplated this. “The future of Da Li, envisioned by the late Emperor and Senior Brother Cui, yet unattained… Your Majesty and I shall achieve it, together.”

Song He pressed, “Chen Xiansheng, may I truly believe that?”

Chen Ping An grinned. “Within thirty years, we shall be first, without question.”

Song He spread his arms wide, slapping his hands against the ramparts. “Good! Then I shall return to my chambers and sleep soundly.”

Chen Ping An clapped the Emperor’s arm in playful camaraderie. “Young as you are, already two sons and a daughter… Your Majesty is truly weary.”

Song He chuckled. “Then you must hurry and start your own family.”

Song Yunjian couldn’t help but sigh. This was the very model of harmonious rule between sovereign and subject, was it not?

He wondered about the Song Emperors of Da Li in the past hundred years. What complex emotions did they harbor towards this tiger embroidered on their banners?

From initial suspicion to steadfast belief, from joyous elation to mistrust, jealousy, and fear… culminating in acceptance and a renewed spirit?

Song He turned. “In the past, when conversing with Xiansheng, I dared not speak my innermost thoughts. I feared misstepping, failing to grasp his meaning, and losing his patience.”

He paused, then continued self-deprecatingly, “I do not speak thus merely to ingratiate myself now that we have a new National Preceptor. Such artifice would only backfire.”

Chen Ping An nodded.

Song He rubbed his hands together. “Xiansheng once posed a question to me: what is the least changed thing in the world over ten thousand years?”

Without hesitation, Chen Ping An answered, “The human heart.”

A shadow crossed Song He’s face. “Indeed. I am not worthy of understanding the embroidered tiger.”

The Daoist temples on the mountains merely separated the true self from the false. The Imperial courts of man seemed only to diminish one’s self, while exalting their heart.

The true battlefield could be summarized by two words: life and death. The marketplace, on the other hand, could be confined to a single word: money.

Chen Ping An spoke plainly. “Before today, I, Chen Ping An, might have declared that Your Majesty could advise, object, and veto any decision made by the National Preceptor’s office. I might have added, ‘My sincerity is absolute, strategy lies in my words, and character lies in my deeds. The National Preceptor’s office welcomes Your Majesty’s oversight.’ Such words, appearing to grant power to Emperor Song He, were, in truth, a trap. Your Majesty is not an executor of national policy, and after a few missteps, your confidence would wane, until finally, you relinquish all authority.”

“Such a declaration would have been the optimal solution, distilled from a hundred or a thousand variations of similar meaning.”

Chen Ping An tapped his temple with a smile. “Speaking those words requires no thought at all.”

“Now, such ideas may still occur to me, but I would relegate them to a secondary position, forcing myself to pause, to consider more carefully, even to deliberately complicate matters.”

The former approach was like standing amidst a sea of clouds, where emotions were expressed with a seemingly profound affection, yet they lacked true scrutiny. Too perfect, too detached.

The latter was like squatting on the earth, gazing at a flower blooming from a patch of mud, nurturing it with cupped hands, and glaring fiercely at any passerby who threatened to trample it, perhaps even erupting in anger, cursing, or even physically fighting.

The truth of history was fragmented, existing sometimes, then disappearing, then reappearing again, much like the unique memories held by each of us.

Each moment of our lives was like a layer of soil, adding to the accumulated strata of the earth.

Song He sighed. “A pure and sincere heart… is no more than that.”

Chen Ping An chuckled. “Far from it.”

Then Song He asked suddenly, “Will the dilapidated shrine to the Earth God on the old village path be repaired this year?”

Chen Ping An smiled and nodded. “Assuredly.”

Many people, events, and objects, if forgotten by one generation, risk being lost forever – dialects, pavilions, and even the Chenfu Shrine that the Emperor held dear.

Song Yunjian recognized how deeply the Emperor cherished his days in the countryside.

Of the Ten Great Dynasties of Haoran, the Central Continent held five: Cheng Guan Dynasty, Da Duan Cao Clan, Da Shou Yin Clan, Xuan Mi Dynasty, and Shao Yuan Dynasty.

Da Li Song Clan of the Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent ranked third, while Da Yuan Lu Clan of the Northern Rest Continent languished at the bottom. The remaining three belonged to the Snowy Continent, the Flowing Sunset Continent, and the Southern Po Suo Continent respectively.

The Floating Cloud Continent, the Golden Armor Continent, and the Parasol Leaf Continent did not yet have a strong enough nation to be included on this list.

It was an invisible, yet fierce, struggle for the Great Dao.

Of course, the Da Shou Yin Clan was sure to fall from grace. Several dynasties, including the Da Yong Dynasty of the Central Continent, had the opportunity to take its place.

Cao Zhao had expressed his desire to visit Da Li’s secondary capital and Qi Du, while Lu Jun also received permission from National Preceptor Yang Houjue to see more of Da Li’s customs and traditions. The two princes, therefore, agreed to travel south in the guise of wandering adventurers. One adopted the name Cao Lue, and the other Lu Jun, both pretending to be retainers of Canal Chief Liu Sibash. They rode out of the capital at the first light of dawn.

Whether they would make a name for themselves in the Jianghu, or encounter a few chivalrous women and leave behind a tale of romance… they harbored immense confidence in their prospects.

Before dismissing the court, Song He remembered something and asked, “The Great Quan Empress, Yao Jinzhi?”

Song Yunjian chuckled. It seemed even Emperors were, after all, human. They, too, were curious about the “unofficial histories.”

Chen Ping An replied with a smile. “Though she is a woman, she is a fine ruler.”

Song He hummed in acknowledgment.

He pointed into the distance. “I once stood here with Xiansheng, gazing at the great central canal soon to be completed.”

“He said that it might flood, devastating both banks; it might dry up, leaving those who relied on it for irrigation in despair. But it might also bring abundant rainfall, national peace, and prosperity.”

Song He smiled wistfully. In Xiansheng’s eyes, even his student, himself, and the entire Da Li court were merely newly literate schoolchildren.

Chen Ping An was reminded of a certain “question” posed by his eldest brother.

Little Brother, to truly surpass Yu Dou, it would take more than mastery of swordsmanship and Daoist magic.

Chen Ping An turned to Song Yunjian, who understood his gaze. The illusion veiling the city walls was dispelled. Chen Ping An retreated a step.

In the lamplight, people began to discern the Emperor’s yellow robes and the blue figure of Chen Ping An.

On the roads outside the city, someone recognized the new National Preceptor. Another cried out the Emperor’s name. Finally, the winding line of lights burst forth in a chorus: Da Li! Da Li!

—

Once again, Wei Shenjun was called upon to perform his art of transference, conveying Chen Ping An directly to the Peak of Collected Spirits.

Though a hot pot feast had been promised, a few individuals conspired to change the menu. Hot pot, they argued, would not showcase the Old Chef’s skills. Instead, they would opt for a few simple dishes.

The number of registered members of Fallen Phoenix Mountain was not great, but the number of minor factions was abundant.

Several tables were set up in the Old Chef’s courtyard, each faction proudly displaying their allegiance.

For instance, Pei Qian, Nuan Shu, and Little Rice Grain belonged to the “Bamboo Tower” lineage. Even the Mountain Mistress was dragged over by Little Rice Grain. Pei Qian also summoned Zhang Lü Changming to join their table.

Since Ning Yao sat there, Sun Chunwang, a candidate disciple, would naturally follow. Changming, in turn, invited his beloved disciple, forming a sizable group.

Guo Zhujiu, Xie Gou, and the White-Haired Child represented a smaller faction, eager to contend with the Bamboo Tower, especially Pei Qian. Xie Gou dragged Xiao Mo to their table.

Bai Xuan’s presence at this table held great significance.

Zhong Qian, the leader of the pack, brought along Chen Lingjun, Zheng Dafeng, Wen Zixi, and other loafers. They squeezed in at Guo Zhujiu’s table, already clamoring for wine and meat.

“This is unseemly! Is my army composed solely of gluttons?” Zhong Qian frowned slightly, raising a hand and quieting Chen Lingjun and the others.

The sword cultivators, Qi Tingji and Lu Zhi, sat at their own table. They were united by a singular curiosity: why was that golden-bodied martial artist with a toothpick held in such high esteem?

It was as if the dining table was his Daoist platform, and his natal flying sword was named “Late Night Supper.”

The Watchman Daoist had already gone to bed, his snores thunderous. Wen Zixi went to the house at the foot of the mountain to call him, but to no avail. Wen Zixi decided to have the Old Chef prepare a few extra dishes, and deliver a food box to the Immortal Guardian after the supper.

Old Deaf, having received notification from the Peak of Collected Spirits, remained at his straw hut at Flower Shadow Peak. He had devoted himself to passing along the Dao and considered the periods of hai and zi to be crucial for Daoist lessons. He was worried about the group of children and needed to oversee them. He would leave them to feast and would join later.

Wei Bo sat at Zhong Qian’s table. Ning Yao’s table was full of women, and Qi Tingji’s was filled with members of the Dragon Elephant Sword Sect. Fortunately, a seat was saved for Zhu Lian next to Wei Bo.

At another table sat the Old Scholar, Cui Dongshan, Zhou Shouxi, Cao Qinglang, Deng Jianping, Ning Ji, and Zhao Shuxia, with a spot left open for the Mountain Master.

Chen Ping An hurried into the courtyard, sat down, and smiled at the Old Scholar. The Old Scholar picked up his chopsticks and grinned. “Let’s begin!”

In any other sect, the fall of a cultivator from the fourteenth level, or even a ascension cultivator falling through the ascension, Immortal, and Jade levels to Nascent Soul level, would be a disaster.

But in the courtyard of the Peak of Collected Spirits, the sable-hatted girl who had kicked off her boots and was sitting cross-legged, was engaged in competitive bickering, her cheeks puffed out as she mumbled, “Although I haven’t fallen as far as the Mountain Master, I started from a higher level…”

Xie, the enthusiastically speaking helmswoman, was interrupted by a glare from the Old Master with the White-Haired dog legs, a warning that she, too, should kick off her boots.

Wen Zixi was proposing a toast to Jiang, the vice-Mountain Master, telling him that brothers did not need many words. He added that he will go first, and that his feelings are all in the wine, and that he needs help in the future…

Ning Yao was serving dishes to Pei Qian, Little Rice Grain and the others.

Wei Bo raised his glass to the Old Chef, tapped his glass, and drank his glass.

Chen Lingjun, having finished a chicken leg, stood up and held his cup with both hands. He said that he will start, that everyone toast the Literary Saint, and that the Literary Saint’s table will be first, then the rest…

Chen Ping An glanced at the Little Boy, who immediately whimpered. The Old Scholar laughed, pulled up his own closed-door disciple, and said that as a teacher, he must drag the Mountain Master to toast everyone first.

The Old Scholar stood in place, and whispered to Chen Ping An, asking if he could drink. Chen Ping An laughed and said that it would be easy to deal with them, and whether he could drink or not was irrelevant.

There was an uproar, and everyone except Ning Yao’s table was unconvinced. Even Ning Ji was eager to join the teacher for a drink, but he worried that it was inappropriate. When he saw Senior Brother Cao and Senior Brother Zhao stand up with glasses in hand, wanting to exchange blows with the teacher, he knew better.

Pei Qian stood up with a smile. She did not use a wine glass, but filled a bowl with wine, and then picked up a pot of wine. Cao Qinglang quickly sat back in his seat. Zhao Shuxia deliberately turned to chat with Deng Jianping next to him. Ning Ji was left standing stupidly, looking at the teacher, waiting to drink.

What night is it tonight? The heart of the moon in the heavens.

The Ruler of the Clouds, asked about the Dao and about the sword, the Jianghu warrior, asked about grievances and about fists, has everyone asked about wine?

—

The capital was a nation’s foremost city, where Da Li Dynasty’s most powerful officials and richest people put all their effort to chase after greater wealth and power, seeking to fulfill their ambitions and ideals. The ebb and flow of power and wealth were ceaseless, day and night. Especially now, as clear-eyed observers knew that after tonight, Da Li Dynasty’s bureaucracy would usher in a soul-shaking purge. Many officials who appeared glued to their seats in government offices, along with their families, would lose their former glory. At the same time, many of the already disheartened, upon the arrival of dawn, after the morning and mini court assemblies, would win seats, honors, and powers that they had never dared dream of in the past.

In the Yi Chi Lane, in the Yuan Clan family home, in the study of Clan Master Yuan Chong, the old man, who has spent many years dominating the Censorate, ignored the anxious members and leaders of his family, Yuan Chong only called Yuan Cheng and Xu Mi, brother and sister, and also invited a “peer” of the family that he has not seen in many years, the Sword Immortal Yuan Huajing.

Not far from the Yuan family residence, at the Wei family, several young people, including Wei Xia, had already been beaten to death with staffs, and the women were kneeling outside the ancestral hall, crying in a heap.

Dong Hu, an Assistant Minister, sat in a carriage in the dark night and entered the Zhao family residence through a side door to meet with Zhao Duanjin, Minister of Rites. The officials from the Ministry of Rites and the Court of State Ceremonial had all been involved in the blocking of Lao Ying Lake during the day.

Changsun Mao, who had recently been promoted from the Court of State Ceremonial to the Office of Transmission, and then transferred to the Ministry of Appointments as the “Heavenly Official” of the Dynasty, was declining all visitors.

But in reality, the old man had secretly asked the assistant director of the personnel department, Guan Yiran, to come over. He was declining visitors who were colleagues and outsiders, but he watched Guan Yiran grow up and had high hopes for him. Moreover, in Da Li bureaucracy, or even the entire Treasure Bottle Continent, who didn’t know that the Ministry of Appointments in Da Li Dynasty was the Guan family’s? That Lord Guan was so strong was the tacit agreement of three successive emperors of the Da Li Song family and the former National Preceptor Cui Chan.

The old man asked, “Yiran, do you think you are a good person?”

Guan Yiran laughed. “How is that supposed to be answered?”

Changsun Mao continued, “Can you be a good official who is both honest and pragmatic, can be remembered in history, and especially can be recognized by the people?”

Guan Yiran said, “Of course I have confidence, but what the result will be, we will see in a few decades, and it’s not up to me to decide.”

Changsun Mao was silent for a moment and said, “Tomorrow’s mini court assembly, I will suggest to His Majesty and the National Preceptor that you be transferred to the Ministry of Appointments.”

Guan Yiran thought for a while and asked, “A rocket promotion, directly to the minister?”

Changsun Mao laughed and scolded, “Stinky brat! Even giving you a Right Assistant Minister may not pass, and you want to be the minister! I might as well take off my official hat and let you wear it to experience being a minister!”

Promoting him directly to Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Appointments was difficult. In fact, it was precisely because of the “Guan” surname that Guan Yiran’s promotion speed was far inferior to the other two major canal construction officials. There was also an inside story that ordinary officials could not understand: Lord Guan had contacted “the people above” in the past, so that Guan Yiran deliberately tempered himself for… a dozen years. The court also looked at the situation, and if it felt okay, they would promote him, and if they felt it was not okay, Guan Yiran would be a mid-level official in Da Li Dynasty for the rest of his life. In addition, within a dozen years, Guan Yiran could be transferred to various ministries for training, but he could not be placed in Guan family’s Ministry of Appointments, otherwise their Guan family’s many married families and former students would do their best to support Guan Yiran’s continued promotion, and help Guan Yiran solve all the problems outside the Ministry of Appointments.

Changsun Mao also had his own calculations. Assuming that the proposal to promote Guan Yiran to Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Appointments was not feasible, he would propose to let Guan Yiran leave the capital and become the governor of a state in a remote location. The old man had already thought of which state to go to: poor, remote, and with few household registrations, but a state governor was still a state governor. Guan Yiran could then step into the ranks of the country’s frontier officials.

Guan Yiran laughed. “Being an official in the Ministry of Appointments is not really being an official, but being an official who is both restrained and can lie down and be promoted, Grandpa Changsun, I will go to Ju Prefecture. It is the poorest and smallest cold borderland.”

Changsun Mao was both gratified and heartbroken. “Ju Prefecture is too poor, and there are many folk customs and miasma. The place has not been civilized by politics and education…”

Guan Yiran reached out and stroked the top of his head, smiling. “But the official hat is as big as all the other governor’s hats.”

“Then do it. If you can’t be a governor, don’t come crying to me.”

The old man nodded, and after a moment of silence, he sighed: “When I was young, I saw in those martial arts and public security novels an official who appeared like he was riding the clouds, and he overturned those unjust, false, and wrongly decided cases, or a new scholar in the imperial examination, who came from hard study, and did not have any experience in officialdom. He won the emperor’s appreciation, and could quickly manage a place in an orderly manner so the people could live and work in peace.”

Guan Yiran laughed: “Novels and performances are for us to express our grievances, and what makes us feel comfortable is the first priority. Life is not easy, why make it unpleasant in books.”

Changsun Mao squinted at Guan Yiran. “Books are books, the world is the world, the pages can be skipped at will, depending on personal preference, but life is something you see every day. Now that the young Chen National Preceptor is at the helm of the Da Li ship, do you think it is reasonable, or in line with the heart?”

Guan Yiran smiled. “It is both reasonable and in line with the heart. Reason and the heart are tied at first.”

The old man nodded. “It’s good, it’s good.”

In the middle of the night, the streets of Yi Chi Lane outside the house became noisy from time to time.

Yan Yongfeng, the Minister of Court of State Ceremonial, the short and spirited clan master of the Zi Zhao Yan family, was eating chilled watermelon with his brother Yan Jiaoran.

The Qi’er Street area was also very lively. In addition to the ordinary soldiers led by Hong Ji, there were also accompanying cultivators personally selected and promoted by Yan Jiaoran, who were responsible for arresting people.

Those who were brought out of the mansions were mostly young faces with a lot of clout in Da Li’s capital, and were young and strong. If that’s what it was like in the capital, it would only be more so in the localities.

As for whether these people, who were almost simultaneously called home by their families from all over the capital, would be thrown directly into the Ministry of Justice to eat prison food, or be sent to the Court of Judicature to be convicted, or be sent to the Censorate to be tried, it depended on how many Gu Yu coins they earned from digging the great canal that year. Occasionally, there would be a high-ranking and influential official with real power who would shout loudly, talking about how the Da Li Dynasty’s laws and regulations were, and asking if they knew who he was.

It was not only one street and lane where Da Li Dynasty’s nobles were gathered, but also several neighborhoods were directly surrounded by soldiers and accompanying cultivators, and were especially brightly lit.

Mu Yan, Minister of the Household, who was known as the national accountant, did not live in Yi Chi Lane or Qi’er Street. He came from a local gentry family with average means.

Mu Yan, who was nearly fifty years old, was an extremely shrewd official who had a rare sense for money and accounting numbers. This was why he had been promoted from the Left Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Justice to Minister of the Household, replacing Ma Yuan, and becoming the national accountant.

And the Minister of Justice Ma Yuan actually wore his official robes tonight and personally paid a visit. Looking at the pale Minister of the Household, and Mu Yan’s shivering children, Ma Yuan said indifferently: “It’s better for me to take you away personally than to be dragged away by armored soldiers.”

By the side of Chang Pu River, in a small restaurant, a fat man was leading a shy but curious girl around his restaurant’s hall, private rooms, and kitchen. Beside them was Cao Gengxin, with a purple wine gourd hanging from his waist, who was urging Miss Chen Xi to find a job here. If Shopkeeper Wei dared to have any immoral thoughts or touch her, he would throw Wei, the fatty, directly into the Ministry of Justice, and make him lose a hundred pounds of fat… Wei, the fatty, stomped his feet in a hurry, and the floor of the corridor shook. He said that he was a decent person, and Miss Chen Xi should not listen to what Secretary Cao… Brother Cao, was saying…

The foreign girl squinted her eyes and smiled, wanting to say something but stopping. But she couldn’t help but ask Cao Gengxin softly, “Brother Cao, are you an official bigger than Magistrate Han?” Cao Gengxin sighed, beaming with joy, and patted his wine gourd, saying that the girl’s knowledge was too shallow. The official hat on his head was much bigger. When the lowly Magistrate Han saw him, he would stammer. With a glare and a cold snort, they would panic. Therefore, Miss Chen Xi could rest assured, since they had become sworn siblings, she could be confident and haggle loudly with shop owners when buying rouge…

The girl was at a loss, asking when had they become sworn siblings…

—

They walked together in twos and threes along the mountain path from the Peak of Collected Spirits to the ancestral hall on Qi Se Peak. Clouds and mist swirled around them, carrying with them a light scent of wine.

The Old Scholar had already returned to the Central Continent’s Literary Temple with many affairs, because the two lands were about to face off head-on. According to the Old Scholar, not only was the Sage-Viceroy furious, but the three leaders of the Literary Temple had also made it clear that, in addition to the badly wounded Floating Cloud, Parasol Leaf, and Golden Armor continents, the other continents would continue to draw troops to the Barren, and all war-related needs such as ferries and equipment would need to be maximized within six months. Many immortal residences and Daoist temples would need to contribute people and money, with no exceptions.

Wen Zixi was not even a registered member of Fallen Phoenix Mountain and had wanted to say goodbye and go down the mountain, but Chen Ping An persuaded him to stay, telling him that they would go together.

Zhong Di, with a toothpick in his mouth, learned that he would also be able to participate in the ancestral hall conference, and no longer hiccupped.

Wei Bo suggested that they should be careful. Fallen Phoenix Mountain would open the mountain protection array within six months.

Qi Tingji and Mi Yu would travel together to the Barren Land to go to Heavenly Master Zhao Tianlai and the Fire Dragon Daoist’s Return to Emptiness Ferry.

Guo Du had already given the map of the Barren Land to the Literary Saint.

Chen Ping An asked Xie Gou to call Old Deaf over to participate in the ancestral hall conference. Old Deaf was reluctant, saying that the Mountain Master could just issue orders and he, an ordinary enshrinement, would just do as he was told. He could not interject during a real conference.

After entering the ancestral hall, they all offered incense and took their seats. Chen Ping An cut to the chase, saying that over the next