Beneath a lotus-crowned head, the young Daoist swiftly bowed, his voice a pitiable plea: “I beg the venerable scholar to hold true to his word, and not carelessly let slip this secret.”

Within the academy’s walls this night, only a few souls lingered. Though Chen Ping’an, the old scholar’s prized disciple, was known for his discreet tongue, never one to gossip, the matter remained delicate. Zhao Shuxia was a picture of stoic composure, and Ning Ji held the young Daoist in warm regard, making either unlikely to spread tales. Yet, the old scholar, unpredictable as the wind, was another matter entirely. He might return to the Central Earth Shrine, drums and banners ablaze, or idly speak a few words over wine with friends like Yu Xuan and Sui Shan. Such casual words, spoken in jest, could easily escape his lips. Should they reach the ears of the Azure Sky and be embellished by the Xuan Du Temple, Lu Chen would forever bear the unwanted moniker of “Loser by Half.”

The threadbare-robed old scholar, his bearing that of a pauper sage, offered a humble bow. “Nay, nay, Abbot Lu merely shuns undeserved acclaim. As for myself, I am ever clumsy of tongue. In a true debate, Abbot Lu could bind one hand and one leg, and still vanquish me with ease.”

Was this gaining favor under false pretenses?

The old scholar exchanged a knowing glance with Lu Chen before turning to Chen Ping’an and the others, claiming a need for a private word. With an arm slung around Lu Chen’s shoulders, he steered him towards the door. The old scholar was short of stature, while Lu Chen was tall and slender, forcing the poor Abbot to crane his neck and stoop as he was led away.

These men, one a genial Daoist and the other a reckless scholar, held fourth position within their respective lineages, a curious coincidence.

Ning Ji was somewhat bewildered, for the name Lu Chen, and his position as Abbot of the Jade Capital, had been explained by “Daoist Wu Di” back in the Yu Xuan Kingdom’s capital. The explanation, simple enough for Ning Ji to comprehend, made it clear that Lu Chen held considerable sway “on the Mountain.” In essence, he was one of the most powerful figures in the mortal realm. Yet, for reasons unknown, this Lu Daoist, whose roots lay in this very land, had his monastery in the Southern Flower City of the Jade Capital, a most exalted position within the Daoist order.

Could it be, then, that his own unseen Ancestral Master held some advantage over Abbot Lu?

Having recently offered the tea of discipleship to the old scholar, Chen Ping’an, that man addressed as “Teacher” by his master and “Old Scholar” by Abbot Lu was now Ning Ji’s Ancestral Master.

Ning Ji lowered his voice, curious. “Debate?”

Chen Ping’an chuckled. “Teacher speaks in simple terms, but it is, in truth, a formal disputation. Both Teacher and Lu Chen have participated in the triennial debates of the Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist faiths, though not in the same contest. One opened, the other closed, and both won accolades from all. However, as their stature grew, they were barred from further participation, thus preventing a direct clash.”

Ning Ji pressed on. “The outcome of Ancestral Master’s debate with Lu Daoist?”

Chen Ping’an considered his words, striving for impartiality. “Uncertain, the victor unclear. Lu Chen’s words are a vast, untamed ocean, his mastery of allegory unmatched. His power is all-encompassing, like a sudden downpour in the wilderness, inescapable for the common man. To oppose him is to face a broken dam, while to submit is to experience relief from drought, allowing dried fish to return to the river. Teacher, on the other hand, argues with clarity, his logic unwavering and his structure sound. His prose is exquisite, though not in the way of flowery language, but like a paved road, allowing followers to tread step by step.”

Ning Ji breathed a sigh of relief. He wished his Ancestral Master to be wise and formidable in debate, yet he desired not that Lu Daoist should lose. A draw would be best, or better still, no debate at all.

Chen Ping’an smiled. “Misfortune dogs the steps of genius. Teacher taught for years in humble alleys, impoverished and frugal with every purchase of books and ink. Lu Daoist, as a minor official, also knew hardship, borrowing grain from the local river warden to keep his family from starvation.”

Though spoken lightly, Chen Ping’an’s earlier nervousness was no exaggeration. Should the Teacher and Lu Chen engage in a formal disputation, the consequences for both realms would be incalculable. A seemingly small chance encounter between the Confucian Sage and Abbot Lu in a rural academy could set in motion a chain of “inevitable” events with far-reaching effects for millennia to come.

Chen Ping’an desperately wished to prevent the Teacher from arguing on his behalf.

At this critical juncture, when the rivers and tributaries of the three faiths were about to diverge, Lu Chen had no desire for a debate with the Sage, for there could be no winner, only mutual injury.

The old scholar, in a fit of determination, could at least delay, or even obstruct, Lu Chen’s ascension to the fifteenth realm, though at a terrible cost to himself.

Few indeed could accomplish such a feat, perhaps only one or two in all the realms, and the old scholar was among them.

Thus, the old scholar’s hurried return from beyond the heavens was a firm declaration from himself, Abbot Lu, indeed from all of the Jade Capital, or even the Daoist Ancestor, that he would protect his disciple on the path to the summit, even if it meant his image being removed from the Shrine and losing his place of honor.

But knowing Lu Chen’s preference for avoiding trouble, the old scholar carefully maintained a balance, offering face in return for face, as was the way of the world.

Having aided Yu Xuan in achieving celestial union, he had laid claim to the River Diagram, and the entire Daoist order would owe him a debt. While a common Daoist might not care, the stature of Lu Chen and his master, the Daoist Ancestor, demanded that they uphold this obligation.

At a small wine table, the old scholar sat opposite Lu Chen, placing two cups on the surface. With a smile, he requested that the Abbot produce two jars of the finest spirits from the Azure Sky. Lu Chen, in turn, drew two jars from his sleeves, one from the Jade Capital’s Azure Cloud Tower and the other from the Earth’s Hollow Mountain’s Hua Yang Palace. As they filled their cups, the old scholar praised his guest’s devotion, comparing it to jade hidden within mountains. Lu Chen returned the compliment, not by praising the old scholar, but by speaking of Chen Ping’an’s nearby room, filled with the fragrance of books, a scent sweeter than water nourishing fish.

In the past, the Sub-Sage had traveled through the Azure Sky, and apart from arranging for Abbot Kou Ming to “disperse the Dao” in the Vast Expanse, he had also sought to spread the Dao and establish academies in the foreign land. However, Yu Dou, who had then presided over the Jade Capital for a century, disliked such matters. He remained aloof in the outer heavens, constantly battling demons, and had no desire to meet with the Sub-Sage. Thus, a few respected Daoist officials of the Jade Capital met secretly with the Sub-Sage, and the matter fell through. In truth, if those officials had foreseen the dispersal of the three founders, they would never have rejected the proposal. The beneficiaries, of course, were the Vast Expanse, with its blossoming of a hundred schools of thought, particularly the Buddhist temples and Daoist abodes.

The reason those officials declined was not only a fear of Confucian influence taking root and running rampant, but also the tendency of some great cultivator to overthink matters and stray from the truth. Had a worldly man like River God Gao Liang been involved, one experienced in officialdom, he might have seen through the matter at once: the officials believed Yu Dou’s silence to be his stance, and without his assent, there could be no negotiation.

As one of the two remaining Abbots of the Jade Capital, Lu Chen could have facilitated the matter, perhaps by speaking with his senior, Yu Dou, in the outer heavens, and then sending word to the Jade Capital’s five cities and twelve towers. It would have been a simple matter. But for reasons unknown, Lu Chen feigned ignorance, preferring to wander the lands, seeking scolding at the Xuan Du Temple or cadging meals from great cultivators like Gao Gu and Wu Shuangjiang.

“No one is as carefree as Abbot Lu, coming and going unseen, acting without record.”

Since assuming the position of Abbot, Lu Chen had accomplished no grand feats in the Azure Sky, nothing to compare with the deeds of his two elder brothers.

Any stories that circulated about him were nothing but absurd tales.

“Sage Wen has never idled a single moment. He observes human affairs as one would gaze upon mountains and rivers. Wherever he treads, there lies accomplishment. A scholar who can influence countless others – if that is not a great achievement, then what is?”

The old scholar scratched his head, then, holding a cup in one hand and tugging at his beard with the other, lamented: “I know not when old age will arrive, turning my hair white in an instant. Alas, how I decline!”

Lu Chen smiled gently. “Looking back on my life of seeking the Dao, I find myself fortunate in all things.”

“Such words can only be uttered by Abbot Lu; others dare not.”

“Awaken without anger, never scold your wife at dusk. Read the scriptures, and greet all things with a chuckle. Cultivate oneself, and tread the world with grace; such is the path.”

The old scholar fell silent.

Seeing that the two were truly only making small talk, Chen Ping’an walked to the door and asked if the Teacher desired a midnight snack. The old scholar patted his belly, nodding vigorously, and joked that his temple of the five viscera was about to rebel. Seeing Chen Ping’an standing still, the old scholar bade him sit and chat, to drink wine if he could, or tea if not. Chen Ping’an sat at the table, while Zhao Shuxia and Ning Ji busied themselves in the kitchen, preparing several dishes to accompany the wine, as if planning for a second feast.

Lu Chen chuckled. “No need to be so tense. The Sage and I will not come to blows.”

Normally, when the Teacher declared a need to speak with Lu Chen, Chen Ping’an, as a student, should not interfere, be it for public, private, or personal reasons. It was simply not proper.

Perhaps this was a privilege reserved only for the prized disciple.

Lu Chen, having been a prized disciple for thousands of years, understood perfectly. He had to.

Chen Ping’an retorted, unceremoniously. “Whether a fight erupts is in my Teacher’s hands; what Abbot Lu says matters not a whit.”

The old scholar stroked his beard and smiled. Such sincerity, such warmth!

Hearing Chen Ping’an address him as Lu Daoist rather than Abbot Lu, and perceiving the familiarity in his words, Lu Chen let the matter pass.

The old scholar remembered something, fumbling in his sleeves, but finding nothing. He merely looked up at Abbot Lu.

Lu Chen smiled, raising a finger to his lips, indicating that he understood the rules and would keep his silence.

Only then did the old scholar produce a rubbing of the River Diagram. Hastily made, it likely contained only a tenth of the original’s mystical truth.

The old scholar warned Chen Ping’an not to open it just yet, but to wait until he had ascended to the upper five realms. To peruse its contents now would only ensnare his Daoist heart.

Only because it was his prized disciple, one of disciplined heart, did the old scholar trust him. To give even a copy of the River Diagram to any other cultivator, even an immortal, would be to bestow a gift that became a curse.

Chen Ping’an nodded, silently slipping it into his sleeve, treating this unconventional act as a mere indulgence amidst the wine. Within his sleeve, he used his magic to shrink the land and connect the earth veins, as if tracing a branch of the ancestral mountain, placing it on the desk on the first floor of the bamboo building.

The old scholar chuckled. “It is good to cultivate an interest in the art of calculation. When you travel to the Central Earth Divine Continent, you can seek instruction from the Old Ancestors of the art. They owe your eldest brother a great debt. If you have questions, ask them boldly. Should you stump them, that will be a new connection to exploit. Little Treasure Bottle, Little Dry, and Ning Ji can all pester those old fellows for learning with a clear conscience.”

The old scholar then produced a fleeting image, a scroll of passing time, not meant for long preservation, like a fleeting glimpse.

Lu Chen knew the old scholar’s good intentions. Great cultivators were often less impressive in person than in reputation. As Chen Ping’an would surely visit the Azure Sky one day, it was best to have a glimpse of their faces and hear their words beforehand.

Upon the scroll, in the outer heavens, were boundless stars and vast thoughts.

The old scholar sat hunched on the gourd, sighing deeply, each sigh accompanying a sip of wine. The host, Old Immortal Yu, felt a growing sense of embarrassment.

The less the old scholar said, the greater Yu Xuan’s guilt became.

When the old scholar finally raised his wine pot and offered Yu Xuan a word of comfort – “The Heavenly River finds new life tonight, no need to fear for your idle body. Let your thoughts guide you forth, a Daoist in the River of Stars.”

Yu Xuan found himself increasingly uneasy. Among those who had come to the outer heavens to offer congratulations, Liu Qi had arrived empty-handed. Gu Qingsong, arriving by boat, had scolded Yu Xuan soundly. Xu Fuzi and Cheng Longzhou of the Great Fu Academy were both scholars, and their friendship was as light as water. But Wei She, the lord of the Aiai Isle and the Seventy-Two Peaks, universally acknowledged as a man of immense wealth, for reasons known only to those with such wealth, did not bother with any gifts whatsoever. As the old scholar waited eagerly to receive the offerings, he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of a single celestial coin, let alone a magic treasure from the Mountain.

After Wei She’s departure, a great cultivator from the Flowing Sunset Continent, the Azure Palace Protector Jing Hao, hurried over. As the foremost Mountain immortal in Flowing Sunset Continent, he had, upon sensing the strange happenings in the Heavenly River, reported to the Shrine before documenting his leave. The Shrine had granted permission to travel beyond the heavens, but with a strict time limit of one hour.

But when Jing Hao saw the old scholar beside Yu Xuan, he almost, truly almost, turned and fled.

Last time at the Shrine, he had only witnessed the bustle of the Mandarin Duck Isle from afar, hearing a few less-than-pleasant words from guests and Mountain friends.

Then Zuo You had come calling, demanding an accounting. Though he had only delivered a single strike, he had left Jing Hao, known for mastering “eighty Daoist arts,” with a grievous wound.

Why were scholars so quick to anger? No matter how extraordinary his swordsmanship, Zuo You was not fit to be an enshrined sage.

Yu Xuan pretended not to see the awkward Jing Hao, and instead asked with a mental chuckle: “Old Scholar, what is this? I recall Jing Hao only taking a single blow from Zuo You. Even if your disciple is not one to forget old grudges, he usually considers matters closed after a sword spar. Jing Hao should not be so terrified to see you.”

Yu Xuan was being diplomatic. Given Jing Hao’s nature, he would seize any opportunity to ingratiate himself with Sage Wen and seek to put the past behind him.

The poor Jing Hao, the foremost man of the Mountain in Flowing Sunset Continent, hesitated in the distance, caught in a terrible bind.

Indeed, if it were merely a beating, Jing Hao could have swallowed his pride and borne it.

But not long after Zuo You’s departure, another great figure, one who commanded Jing Hao’s respect and deference, had arrived. He, too, was a swordsman, and one closely linked to the Azure Palace Mountain, where Jing Hao’s sect resided.

If the ancient Shu lands were where this man had found enlightenment, then Azure Palace Mountain was where he had cultivated the Dao.

Thus, Jing Hao’s lineage had essentially occupied the mountain as squatters. The true owner, since the end of the Dragon Slaying Campaign, had vanished for three thousand years. Over time, none in the sect, save for Jing Hao, knew of this secret.

The old scholar smiled. “Old Brother Yu, you are mistaken. Zuo You had only just left the Shrine when Chen Xianjun followed on his heels, pouring another bucket of cold water over Jing Hao’s head. The man was quite shaken.”

Yu Xuan grew even more curious. “Pray, elaborate.”

The old scholar said: “Jing Hao’s Ancestral Master has close ties to Chen Xianjun, their relationship akin to… Gu Qingsong and Lu Chen. Should the latter return to the Mountain, Jing Hao would have to surrender the ancestral mountain, returning it to its rightful owner. Not even a tantrum thrown at the Shrine would help.”

Yu Xuan understood. Azure Palace Mountain had once been the dojo of Chen Qingliu, the Dragon Slayer?

Thus, when the Dragon Slayer reappeared during the Shrine’s deliberation, the most terrified cultivator in the world was likely Jing Hao, who saw himself as “unworthy and unskilled.”

Sure enough, after Chen Qingliu called upon him, Jing Hao had decided to relocate the entire sect out of Azure Palace Mountain, choosing a short, sharp pain over endless anxiety, even if it harmed the sect.

Unexpectedly, Chen Xianjun, who had indeed intended to “reclaim the mountain,” seemed to change his mind, effectively gifting Azure Palace Mountain back to Jing Hao.

However, he made two requests: one, that Jing Hao restore to the sect a disciple who had been confined, for Chen Qingliu found him pleasing.

Chen Qingliu had even said, “If you are unwilling, so be it.”

Of course Jing Hao dared not refuse. No matter how unwilling his heart, his head had no choice but to nod.

Chen Qingliu’s second request was that, in the future, a mountain friend of his might visit Flowing Sunset Continent. Should he pass by Azure Palace Mountain, Jing Hao was to treat him with the utmost care.

The mountain senior, whom Chen Xianjun called a “good brother,” was known as “Little Dragon King of Fallen Mountain.”

He added that Jing Hao would recognize him upon meeting him.

Afterward, Jing Hao had sent several trusted disciples to the Treasure Bottle Continent to gather information about Fallen Mountain, but the reports that returned to Azure Palace Mountain infuriated him. He issued a stern edict, scolding them roundly and adding the two words “Investigate again!” to the end of the message.

The reason was that there was indeed a cultivator in the shape of a green-clad child in the Treasure Bottle Continent’s Fallen Mountain. However, the initial report indicated that he was a nascent soul-stage water dragon who had managed to walk the paths of corruption in the Northern Reed Continent. Just a water dragon? No wonder Jing Hao had flown into a rage. Were they a bunch of fools? Did they think their master was an idiot?

The second report was more detailed, tracing the Little Water Snake Chen Lingjun’s origins to the Yellow Court Kingdom, a tributary state of the Great Sui, where he had been on friendly terms with the River God. He was a cheerful… green-clad child. Later, he had encountered the young hidden official Chen Ping’an before his rise to prominence, and had been among the first to follow him to Fallen Mountain.

This made Jing Hao even more uneasy.

Could a Dragon Slayer and a nascent soul-stage water dragon truly be brothers?

Jing Hao could not believe it, but what could he do? He could hardly be beaten to death before he believed it.

No matter the truth, it all came back to Fallen Mountain and Chen Ping’an.

Since he could not avoid Chen Ping’an, Jing Hao was even more nervous to see Sage Wen.

Rite Sage rarely interfered in the Shrine’s affairs, and Sub-Sage was in the Wildlands Continent. The one truly in charge was the old scholar, seemingly serving as a temporary leader.

The old scholar chuckled. “Old Brother Yu, you were hardly wronged by Xiancha Daoist’s scolding.”

Yu Xuan sighed. “One does not strike a smiling face. As an official Daoist, I must attend various ceremonies and banquets, where polite words are exchanged.”

The Flowing Sunset Continent of the Vast Expanse was a land of mountains and rivers, a place for cultured men to wander. Countless cultivators from other continents had built villas there. In particular, the Daoist couple of the Heavenly Corner Grotto Heaven were renowned for their hospitality. The Green God Mountain banquet in the Bamboo Sea Grotto Heaven and the Three Suppression banquet in the Heavenly Corner Grotto Heaven were famous far and wide. Yu Xuan often traveled, and Jing Hao, ever eager to join in the fun, was an acquaintance of sorts. Jing Hao told others that he was a friend of Yu Xuan, and Yu Xuan could hardly issue an official denial.

Thus, Jing Hao had steeled himself to congratulate Yu Xuan and apologize to Sage Wen.

The old scholar did not reprimand him, only smiling without a word.

Worthy of a man who had attended thousands of banquets, Jing Hao acted boldly, chatting jovially with Yu Xuan and occasionally mentioning Chen’s youthful talent, managing to talk for half an hour before taking his leave.

The old scholar, sitting on the gourd, drinking his wine, felt embarrassed for both Yu Xuan and Jing Hao.

During that time, Jing Hao had mustered his courage to ask Sage Wen if it might be possible for Chen to give him a few seal carvings and a folding fan. If so, Jing Hao would be so bold as to ask for two more seal carving manuals.

The old scholar smiled, sensing that the request was not as simple as it seemed and that it related to a “friend” he did not know. He hesitated to make any promises.

Last time at the inn of the Great Li capital, his prized disciple had flown into a rage at the old scholar’s clumsy meddling.

That was Chen Ping’an. Try pulling that stunt with Zuo You or Jun Qian and they would knock your skull.

Seeing this, Xu Mian, ever perceptive and understanding, said quickly: “If it troubles Sage Wen, then forget about it.”

The old scholar said: “I cannot promise anything, but I will mention it to my student. I do not think he will mind.”

Xu Mian thanked the old scholar and gave a graceful curtsy.

Afterward, several Daoists from outside the Jade Capital came to congratulate Yu Xuan.

The old scholar waved his hand, gently dispersing a scroll of time that was fading in color.

Chen Ping’an silently noted the words and actions of each cultivator from the Azure Sky.

For no reason, Lu Chen said. “To right wrongs with wrongness, is to leave things still wrong.”

Chen Ping’an nodded, then shook his head, his expression complex. “The logic is sound, but matters are not so simple.”

Lu Chen chuckled. “Since it is a riddle posed by Showy Tiger, there is no easy answer.”

After that, the three ate their midnight snack together. Zhao Shuxia and Ning Ji were not hungry and did not join them at the table. They wished to give the elders space, and so remained near the threshing ground, one gazing at the mountains and the other listening to the water.

Zhao Shuxia pondered the scorched-earth policy, while Ning Ji recalled a question posed by Lu Daoist, asking him what his aspirations were after becoming a scholar, a disciple of Chen Ping’an.

Ning Ji could not answer.

A Daoist asks a scholar: what can be achieved by wielding a sword and studying books?

Coincidentally, Chen Ping’an was lounging in a rattan chair, enjoying the cool moonlight and fanning himself, sharing his thoughts on scholarship with his student, Zhao Shuxia.

It was as if the wisdom of this life came from the books read in the last, as if the books read in this life were for the sake of the next.

At the time, Ning Ji had been thoughtful, seeming to grasp something.

Lu Chen had simply smiled and encouraged the youth, who was about to join a lineage, to think more about it. When he had an answer, he could share it with him, Lu Chen, when they met again.

After that, humanity would persist for ten thousand years, with its mountains and rivers, its yellow birds and green bamboo, its white clouds and azure peaks. The bright moon would illuminate the Dragon Spring sword, newly sharpened to three feet. Ask the scholars, who dares to calm the waves? Who can calm the waves?