Gu Can, for reasons unknown, abruptly reversed course, his handmaiden Lingyan and the Imperial Advisor Huang Lie in tow. They retraced their steps to a humble Taoist temple with a gate of meager stature.

Reaching the entrance, Gu Can raised a hand to the bronze ring, rapping thrice upon the door. Silence. No response came.

Gu Lingyan, impatient with the delay, strode to her master’s side and, with a clenched fist, hammered upon the wood, the blows echoing through the air.

Within the hallowed walls of Chongyang Temple, famed for its alchemical endeavors, movement at last stirred. The gate creaked open, revealing two emaciated young acolytes, one tall, one short, both bearing the same wan and sickly complexion.

Truly, it was a forgotten shrine. One could hardly expect the meals to be rich and nourishing.

Gu Can offered a respectful salute to the two boys standing within the threshold, and said with a smile, “Greetings to you, young immortals, disturbing your tranquil cultivation. We seek only a cup of water from your esteemed temple, if it is permissible.”

The taller of the two blushed crimson, stammering in confusion. The smaller, whose face had been etched with a clear intention to turn away any visitors, now broke into a wide grin. “My name is Song Juchuan,” he announced, “and this is my junior brother, Zhong Shan. We have yet to receive our formal titles, serving only as assistants to our master. We help him concoct elixirs of longevity for the wealthy who queue outside our door.”

Leading the esteemed guests into the temple, Song Juchuan lowered his voice conspiratorially. “The Imperial Advisor and our master address each other as ‘fellow Daoists.’ They often share wine and discourse within these very walls.”

Huang Lie, bringing up the rear, chuckled softly. “How curious. I was unaware of my visits here. And even more so, of Chongyang Temple’s popularity within the capital.”

Gu Lingyan, glancing skyward, only caught a fleeting glimpse of an anomaly—a flash of pure gold. She suspected that some great personage had achieved liberation from their earthly form, a process of “Cicada Shedding the Corpse.”

While it did not compare to true ascension, it was nonetheless a superior form of transformation. Gu Lingyan prided herself on her discernment. In the barbaric lands, great cultivators often found their path to ascension blocked. Yet, the heavens never fully closed a door. They would instead choose a place of shadow, construct a mausoleum or underground palace, and follow the ancient path of the grave lord or shrine master, meticulously planning their transformation. The goal was a complete dissolution of form, a rebirth into a ghost-immortal, or the chance for their reincarnated self to achieve true ascension.

Having recently visited the Bureau of Astronomy, she resolved to diligently study the art of observing the qi from her master, Gu Can.

“Master,” Gu Lingyan inquired in a whisper, “Did you find the answers you seek?”

Gu Can nodded.

Gu Lingyan pressed on, “Was it that Ma Kuxuan proved inferior, unable to withstand the mountain lord Chen? Did he have his body shattered and his cultivation ruined, only to escape using some life-saving technique? Or did Ma Kuxuan foresee this day, plotting from the very start to use Chen’s swordsmanship to achieve a dismantling of his own body? Did he wish to use the opportunity to escape his tribulations and hope for a fresh start in the next life?”

Gu Can, never looking up, replied, “Whatever he has pondered, whatever plans he has carefully laid, there will be no surprises. Besides, you are a novice in the arts of qi observation and Corpse Shedding. You only see the superficial spectacle.”

Gu Lingyan, consumed by curiosity, asked, “Pray tell, Master, what was the final fate of Ma Kuxuan?”

He was, after all, one of the most promising candidates in the lands! Could he truly be defeated? Had Ma Kuxuan been a barbarian cultivator, he could have surely claimed a spot amongst the Ten Heavenly Stems, with a boundless future before him.

She knew that her second guess was… unlikely. Ma Kuxuan’s temperament was clear from his deeds. In the rule-bound world of the Central Continent, he was one of the few figures who, from mere rumors, had stirred her affinity.

Gu Can stated, “I do not know the truth. You will have to ask him yourself when you see him again.”

Gu Lingyan sighed, her eyes filled with lament. “I would not dare. I tremble at the mere thought of meeting the Hidden Official.”

From the outside, the temple’s small gate was deceiving, hinting at a modest size. Yet, once inside, it became clear that it was much larger, with courtyards stretching into the distance, connected by winding corridors.

The young acolyte Song Juchuan, a veritable chatterbox, led the group through the temple, his words flowing ceaselessly. “Our master is the abbot of this temple. A man of great learning and noble origin, he once served in the Imperial Court. But, disillusioned with the corruption of officialdom, he retreated to the mountains.

“He enjoys gathering lingzhi mushrooms deep within the hills. He has long forsaken the cooking hearth, sustaining himself on yellow essence, Tuckahoe, coarse grains, and pickled radish that he grows himself. We also have a homemade wine. It is unrefined, yet cannot be bought for any price elsewhere. Our master is a true immortal. He is over a century in age, yet retains the vigor of youth. Even during the coldest snowstorms, he refuses to wear cotton, and his body emanates steam as he performs the Hunyuan stance or sits in meditation.”

The taller acolyte’s forehead glistened with cold sweat. Song, his senior brother, was waxing far too poetic. Yet, the cold emptiness of their temple was not lost on Zhong Shan, which filled him with both admiration and gratitude for Song’s efforts.

Gu Can smiled. “I have heard that when Daoist immortals practice breath control, mists of various colors, like blue and white, emerge from their orifices. Their quantity is determined by their power. The Daoist texts call it ‘Crane’s Breath’.”

Song Juchuan clapped his palm against his fist. “Yes, that is it! Our master described those wisps of vapor as Crane’s Breath!”

Gu Can paused for a moment before remarking with a smile, “I invented the term ‘Crane’s Breath’.”

Song Juchuan fell silent, his face a mask of bewilderment.

*There goes the donation money.*

*Will the temple also have to offer tea?*

*Master is not generous, and he holds grudges.*

Ancient cypresses cast their shade upon a pond, where fallen blossoms resembled descending birds, only to be snapped up by the swimming fish.

By the pond’s edge, two cats lazed. One was pure white with a yellow tail, a pattern commonly referred to as “Golden Rope Hanging from a Silver Vase.” It sat poised, its gaze fixed upon the water, ready to strike at any passing fish. The other, yellow with a white belly and paws, known as “Golden Blanket on a Silver Bed,” was engrossed in the pursuit of butterflies.

Song Juchuan grinned. “Stray cats. Always trying to sneak into the kitchen.”

The taciturn Zhong Shan, with his usual lack of eloquence, thought that, *They never find anything to steal.*

Compared to Song, Zhong Shan was clumsy, slow to learn. His master often referred to him as a blockhead, saying that if he could practice the Dao, anyone could.

Beneath a pine tree stood an old Taoist, his hair as white as snow. Wearing simple straw sandals, he carried a hoe over his shoulder and a bamboo basket in his hand, containing several pieces of Tuckahoe, still clinging to the earth.

He gave a soft exclamation, glancing up at the sky. He calculated briefly with his fingers, shaking his head. In this era of hidden secrets, the workings of the heavens grew increasingly difficult to discern.

As the old Daoist ambled forward, his gaze fell upon the approaching group. He was understandably puzzled. His temple rarely had visitors who knocked on its gates.

*Could it be a gift of money? Is fortune really smiling upon me? Or are they not what they seem?*

The two acolytes bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Master Jing.”

The old Daoist nodded in acknowledgment, passing the hoe and basket to his disciples, preparing to personally welcome the guests.

Ready to greet his guests, the old Daoist made a salute and said with a casual laugh, “I am Cheng Fengxuan. My disciples call me Master Jing. I hail from the Prefecture of Xuyi, in the mountains of Douliang. A wandering cultivator, I arrived here from other lands some years ago. I possess no formal title, only self-designated. It would be best not to dwell on it, as it might invite ridicule.”

Gu Can inquired, “Is that near the Water Palace of Xuyi, in the mountains of Douliang?”

Cheng Fengxuan nodded in surprise. “Your knowledge is truly impressive. Most know only of the Water Palace of Xuyi, and fewer still of the Mountains of Douliang. Those who know more, will more often be aware of Scholar Du, who burned away half of Copper Mound Mountain and a large number of the Xuyi Shrimp Soldiers.”

Huang Lie was puzzled. “Scholar Du?”

Cheng Fengxuan smiled, offering no explanation.

Gu Can clarified, “In the history of the Central Continent, there was a Master Du of Wusong Mountain, nicknamed Scholar Du. He was an alchemist of renown, on par with Lady Xu.”

The prefectural seat of Xuyi was set upon a mountain. Raising the eyebrows to look out was “Xu”; opening the eyes wide was “Yi”. That was the origin of its well-known ancient name that was symbolic of far-sightedness.

The scenery along the way was delightful. The buildings were ancient, as were the flowers and trees. Huang Lie could not help but praise the excellent feng shui.

He had been blind to the obvious. It had been under his very nose the entire time.

The old Daoist led them to a thatched hut called “Quelu,” not far from the ancient pine.

Gu Can glanced at the elegant script adorning the plaque.

Cheng Fengxuan gestured towards the ancient pine. “This pine was planted by the temple’s founder, many years ago. Beneath it lies Tuckahoe, almost formed into a human shape.”

Gu Lingyan glanced at the ground beneath the pine, stifling a giggle. Like master, like disciple—both bold-faced liars.

Gu Can laughed. “Your spirit is truly lofty, immortal.”

The implication was clear: to dare to speak so openly to outsiders.

Gu Lingyan sent Huang Lie a message in her thoughts, “Can you detect the strange, earthy qi of the nascent Tuckahoe spirit?”

Huang Lie replied honestly, “I can detect nothing.”

The old Daoist pointed with his hand, laughing, “Do not take it seriously. They are just trying to scare our guests.”

At the Daoist’s gesture, the two cats transformed into butterflies, scattering in a flurry of color.

Gu Lingyan feigned surprise, uttering a gasp of feigned shock as she leaned towards Gu Can’s shoulder.

Gu Can merely held his hand against her forehead, gently pushing her away. He smiled. “There are extraordinary people in the world, and heroes and immortals often dwell in obscurity. You never believe me, always thinking I am suspicious.”

Gu Lingyan played along, feigning belated realization. She looked timidly at the old Daoist.

Cave Realm? Sea Gazing Realm?

Reaching the entrance of Quelu, Gu Can suddenly halted, saying with a smile, “I am a man of idle pursuits, fond of reading all sorts of books, even those that are rather obscure. Having dabbled in those arts, I noted the presence of divine treasures here, where purple qi rises and two energies entwine in a manner akin to dragons coiling and tigers crouching. That is why I decided to knock on your door. It was a mere chance, but I never thought I would truly encounter a secluded immortal such as yourself, guarding nascent Tuckahoe spirits. I make bold to ask, Master Jing: Is this for your own pursuit of ascension?”

Cheng Fengxuan’s countenance shifted. No longer did he bear the slightest hint of otherworldly grace. Raising his fingers like a spear, he pointed at the richly-dressed young scholar. His eyes widened, his voice harsh as he exclaimed, “I knew from the start that the three of you were up to no good! You are a young master with a handmaiden and a servant! Why do you come here? Like a mudskipper chasing a duck – You are courting death!”

Gu Can chuckled. “There is no need to pretend to be a fearsome deity, Master Jing. You will not frighten us mortals. Common folk value their seven-foot bodies above all else, while Daoists value their spiritual essence above those seven feet. Given your state of mind and cultivation, are you hoping to dissuade us with tales of Tuckahoe spirits and illusions of cats turned into butterflies? Or do you take an interest in the aptitude of the handmaiden by my side, seeing a potential to cultivate the Dao?”

The old Daoist stroked his beard, a glint of approval in his eyes. “You have grace and elegance, young master.”

Gu Can responded matter-of-factly, “The courtesy of one who lays a trap.”

The old Daoist laughed in spite of himself. In all his decades of practice, he had never met someone so honest.

Gu Can asked, “How did you determine that we were not villains?”

Cheng Fengxuan stroked his beard with a smile. “I have some knowledge of Yin and Yang, prophecies, astrology, and observing the qi, the basic skills of a wandering cultivator. I would not claim mastery, though. There are vast chasms between myself and any true skill in them.”

Gu Can hesitated for a moment. “I once saw two lines in someone’s notes, which seem relevant to this.”

The old Daoist arched an eyebrow. “Pray tell.”

Gu Can spoke slowly, “Those who study the heavens today, only look to the movements of the stars to calculate and predict. I say that ‘Heaven’s movement is ever constant; the superior man strengthens himself thereby.’ That is the astronomy taught by the three founders.”

“Those who study the earth today, only look to the boundaries of domains to survey and examine. I say that ‘Earth’s condition is receptive devotion; the superior man upholds external nature.’ That is the geography taught by the three founders.”

“Does that accord with your views, Master Jing?”

The old Daoist’s expression shifted from astonishment to realization, his face a tapestry of emotions. “If we cultivators could truly embody these two celestial images within ourselves, then those petty skills of Yin and Yang and prophetic arts would be of little consequence.”

“The clever will never deceive the foolish. The foolish will always believe lies.”

“Why do you say this, young master?”

“Just a passing thought, nothing more.”

“Tell me, who is this ‘someone’ you mentioned? Could you introduce me?”

“No.”

“…”

“May I ask your title, immortal?”

“I have named myself ‘Huilu’.”

————

At the summit of Folded Waist Mountain, three figures stood, sat, and squatted.

Nearby stood the Temple of the Mountain Goddess, the sacred home of Song Ji’s golden statue.

Standing was Ma Kuxuan’s handmaiden, Shudian. Also standing was his eldest disciple, Wangzu, a name Ma Kuxuan had bestowed upon him. He claimed it was a convenient merging of name and title, saving trouble.

Yet, they all knew it was more than just a constituent of the proverb, an allusion to the True Dragon, “Wang Zhu”.

Ma Kuxuan’s cultivation could hardly be described as “diligent,” but he held his disciple Wangzu in great affection, imparting his knowledge of thunder magic and martial arts without reservation. He had given his disciple so many Daoist texts and martial arts manuals that they would number no less than forty or fifty. Wangzu’s present state was “Two Golds”: Golden Core and Golden Body. His aptitude was extraordinary, though his master’s legacy made it seem quite commonplace.

Squatting was a youth with a wood-chopping blade at his hip. His name was Gaoming. His relationship with Ma Kuxuan was not that of master and disciple. He addressed Ma Kuxuan as “Old Ma.”

He had even asked Ma Kuxuan directly if he could join Fallen Mountain. He gave two reasons: he thought it was more promising, and he would not suffer endless prejudice.

The wood-chopping youth frowned. “What happened? Did Old Ma lose?”

Wangzu remained silent. The answer was self-evident.

Gaoming shifted his gaze. “Senior Brother, can we even catch him? How will we find Master’s reincarnation?”

Judging by the direction, he was heading towards the Central Continent. How could they search for him in such a vast place? Had he gone north, they only would have had to search the Northern Reed Continent. Had he headed south, there would have at least been a glimmer of hope. But heading west like this, it was like searching for a needle in the ocean.

Wangzu’s face was filled with grief. “Only an immortal could hope to catch that golden light. Master said that if he lost this fight, we should not bother looking for him. It would be in vain.”

Gaoming continued, “Master also said that when he dies, you can reclaim your true name and identity. It was Su Qingshen, correct? A good name. Master told me to tell you one more thing: do not bother plotting revenge. If you see that Chen, make sure you kowtow a few times as thanks for helping you avenge our master.”

The woman was silent, her eyes filled with complexity, her face as pale as a sheet.

Ma Kuxuan left three riddles for Chen Pingan.

He asked Chen Pingan to be careful.

The answers rested with the three of them.

Ma Kuxuan asked them to keep it secret from each other. But he also told them that if they ever wanted to seek refuge in Fallen Mountain, or if Chen Pingan ever found them, they could reveal the answer. Whether it was used as a key to open doors, or as a shield to protect them, he left the choice to them.

The riddles were three names, all of whom were young members of the Lizhu Grotto, like Gaoming’s acquaintance, Lu Zhengchun.

He seemed to be a descendant of the Lu family of Fortune Street, now making a living with the Xu family in Qingfeng City.

Within the Capital City God Temple of Yuxuan, two “foreigners” arrived, having clearly traversed continents, yet without disturbing the local City God.

If one were to draw a parallel, it would be like the Emperor and his Grand Secretary on an incognito tour, entering a local county hall.

One was a dark-skinned, squat man, and the other was a handsome man with a face like jade.

The former was shorter than Pei Qian, clad in black, a white jade belt cinched around his waist. He held his hands to his waist.

Unfortunately, the dignified man was a head taller than him.

Though surprised, Pei Qian’s smile was bright and natural as he clasped his hands in greeting. “Pei Qian greets City God Zhou and General Fan.”

The small man nodded. “General Fan is obligated to patrol the City Gods of each continent during the day. I have nothing better to do, so I am just accompanying him.”

The handsome man smiled. “Little bookworm, we meet again.”

Pei Qian grinned.

Her master’s mentor had once praised the Zhou City God, the highest in the realm.

“I have never seen a man so small in stature, yet with such an aura of greatness. How magnificent!”

————

For inexplicable reasons, Senior Long Er, who now bore the title “Dragon’s Voice”, temporarily changed his route. He did not head directly to Li Huai, but instead led his disciple away from the Hundred Thousand Mountains, flying his sword over the Great Wall of Sword Qi. Gantang cast a spell to conceal their presence, avoiding any unnecessary complications. Youyu, riding on his sword, gazed down, spotting groups of foreign cultivators scattered across the top of the Wall. They were clustered like flowers.

Hovering over what was once the private residence of a sword immortal, Senior Long Er couldn’t help glancing back at the Wall. He had assumed that a sage of the Confucian Temple would halt him. He would have to declare his identity and present his credentials. At the very least he’d undergo an inspection, but to his surprise, he passed over the wall without issue. This caused him to wonder. Did the Confucian Temple think him unworthy?

If he had been stopped, Gantang would have surely complained. Even though the Old Sword Immortal was gone, the new Hidden Official had only recently written his words, and Ning Yao had just ascended to the Fourteenth Realm. Did the Confucian Temple genuinely disregard the Great Wall of Sword Qi’s existence?

Reaching the old city ruins, Senior Long Er sighed, landing on the ground. Revisiting the site evoked a mix of emotions.

A great cultivator naturally had the vision of a great cultivator.

The words created for the mortal realm by the Sage of Rituals were, in truth, an invisible cage for the remnants of ancient deities. Upon appearing in the world, they were forced to face the “thorns” laid out and forged by these mortal words. The human Confucians, cultivators, and water spirits sanctioned by the later dynasties barely felt this. Only those ancient deities of the higher realms felt it, with their refined golden bodies. It was just like humans traveling on a path covered with thorns, where it was easy for their clothing to be caught and their skin scratched. In the same way, an ancient deity descending from beyond the heavens was like walking on a road of thorny words. Each step would erode the golden body.

That was why Zhou Mi had created new words for the barbarian lands. It wasn’t just to help the demons distinguish themselves from the civilized and human, but to secretly guide the ancient gods hidden beyond the heavens.

Youyu whispered, “Ning Yao and that senior did not ask why Master was able to return to the Ascension Realm.”

Gantang nodded, unconcerned. “That’s probably the air of those at the Fourteenth Realm. Those below it are mere illusions. The rises and falls of others are of no consequence.”

This risky return to the Daoist site was, of course, not just to take a look around.

Youyu asked, “What are we doing here, Master?”

Gantang replied, “I heard someone say that the flavors of home are found either in the food or the wine.”

Youyu guessed that this had been said by the young Hidden Official.

After all, in the Great Wall of Sword Qi, very few people were willing to chat with his master.

The Great Wall of Sword Qi had been roughly divided into three sections: the main city, the private residences of the Sword Immortals to the south, and the Mirage Market to the north, a bustling mountain market.

Gantang pointed north. “That used to be a romantic, lucrative place where money was more useful than cultivation.”

It was unlike the Great Wall of Sword Qi.

It was more like the civilized.

What the Great Wall of Sword Qi was criticized for was the arena in the Mirage Market.

It was more cruel and bloody than Mount Dilithium in the Northern Reed Continent. Each time, two combatants would be sent up, and only one would emerge, or the other would be dead. Of course, there were often times where both died, or the survivor was crippled.

Now, on the site of the Mirage Market, there was a place that could barely be called an inn. Its main business was providing lodging and selling wine. Its secondary business was selling third-rate magic items. Relying on the reputation of this inn, a street had appeared. Those who could do business here must have a strong backer.

Senior Long Er even suspected that one of the backers was a “private sword” of the Great Wall of Sword Qi who had returned from abroad.

Senior Long Er was more than familiar with the origins of this “market.”

There had been over forty buildings, large and small, clustered together, high and low, stacked on top of each other, forming a tall building.

Those civilized merchants and tourists who still wanted to take a look at the Great Wall of Sword Qi after the Upside Down Mountain, but who didn’t have the courage or want to go to the main city, would spend a few days at this market. They would see what they wanted to see anyway. Some of the larger sects from the same continent built guildhalls in the Mirage Market to make it convenient for their fellow Daoists to find lodging.

Gantang sighed. “The market used to be so lively, with lights on all day and night. It was said that there were three thousand buildings, selling all kinds of strange and precious treasures, brothels, gambling dens, restaurants, and private residences with abundant spiritual energy. There was also a large group of ‘no-names’ who openly sold Daoist texts, and provided assistance for cultivators. Everything the civilized had could be found here, and everything the civilized didn’t could be found here too. There were mountain spirits who specialized in worshiping the moon, and experts in the arts of the bedchamber who harvested yin to replenish yang. Just sleeping with them would earn money.”

Youyu’s expression was strange.

Gantang blushed, explaining, “I just heard about it.”

If Youyu hadn’t become Gantang’s disciple, he would have followed the great city to the Five Colors World.

There were many kinds of ascension for cultivators: daylight, transformation into a rainbow, riding a dragon or a crane, soaring on clouds, shedding the corpse, feathering, and so on. The quality of these ascensions varied. To later generations, the most enviable was probably the lifting of the entire household. The ascension of the entire family was very rare, with only a few instances recorded throughout the past ten thousand years.

Just like the Old Sword Immortal had revealed to Chen Pingan, the Summer Palace, the Winter Palace, and the Mirage Market together formed a Three Mountains formation.

Since it was called the “Three Mountains,” it was of course the work of Master Three Mountains and Nine Lords.

The Mirage Market was a flying ascension platform meticulously built by the Great Wall of Sword Qi, and it had taken a very long time.

The foundation of the Mirage Market had been built by the Hidden Official before Xiao Xuan. He was an ambitious man whose low realm kept him from living long.

Senior Long Er had had a good relationship with this man.

In the end, this Mirage Market became the tip of the sword that Chen Qingdu used to open the path and lift the city in ascension.

The Great Ancestor of Mount Tuoyue had foreseen this, but there was no need to stop Chen Qingdu from using this sword.

After all, they were all low-realm young sword cultivators. Even Ning Yao had not yet reached the Jade Pure Realm at that time.

If the barbarians wanted to kill them all, they would have to pay a huge price.

What the barbarian lands sought was not the Great Wall of Sword Qi, a hard bone that had no meat. What the Great Ancestor of Mount Tuoyue and the great demon kings of the thrones were after was the civilized world, that fat piece of meat that had everything but “poverty.”

In fact, if Chen Qingdu had given way to the barbarian lands, giving them two continents, what would that have mattered?

Was that not enough? Then in the barbarian lands, he would give the sword cultivators of the Great Wall of Sword Qi everything they needed to establish a sect, to have Chen Qingdu named their ancestor.

The two strolled along the dirt road. Senior Long Er picked a roadside wine shop with the best business. The owner was a plump woman with a mole at the corner of her mouth. She wore a soft jade crown made of colorful gemstones, and a green robe of silk. Leaning casually against the counter, she held a fan and looked very beautiful.

The waiter, who served food and wine, was a low-realm youth with energy. In cultivation terms, he had good roots. The woman glanced at the hunchbacked old man and the young sword cultivator. She did not dare to be negligent, and called out, “Tong Tuo!” She called out a few dishes to the kitchen in the back.

Senior Long Er chose a table by the street. Hanging on the wall were wooden plaques.

Youyu frowned slightly, already disliking this. How could such wish plaques be hung so casually?

Senior Long Er didn’t care that the wine shop was using this kind of thing to attract customers.

Wine first, then food. Senior Long Er poured the wine and drank it himself. His disciple, Youyu, did not drink.

Senior Long Er took a sip of the so-called “Ivy Wine.” As the waiter had said, the wine sizzled as it was poured into the bowl.

Youyu liked to ask his “living almanac” master about the past of the Great Wall of Sword Qi. On their journey, he had asked about the last three hundred years.

Senior Long Er sat cross-legged on the long bench. He stirred the complimentary plate of cold Houttuynia cordata with his chopsticks. He found the taste lacking, so he asked the owner for another plate of chili oil, poured it on, and slowly chewed. Then, he took a sip of wine. He whispered to Youyu about things that seemed like they had happened just yesterday.

“Before Ning Yao, Qi Shou, and Pang Yuanji, the so-called young geniuses of the previous generation added up to ten people. Calling them geniuses is stretching it.”

“This generation was a bad harvest. It can’t compare to the generation before them. Compared to Ning Yao’s generation, it’s even worse.”

The most popular figure, Mi Quan, was an early genius. He was said to have been a Golden Core sword cultivator at the age of twenty, but he died in battle shortly after.

This was not an exception at the Great Wall of Sword Qi. Seven people, including Mi Quan, had died early. One of the remaining three, Wang Zongping, bloomed late. He steadily reached the nascent soul realm, but in one battle, he injured the root of his Dao. After his flying sword was broken, he stagnated in the nascent soul realm for a long time. One could say that it was a blessing in disguise. He became an “old nascent soul” in Flying Ascension City in the Five Colors World. Although he had never been to a wine shop, he was now the most supportive sword cultivator of the young Hidden Official.

The other two had very different lives.

“Su Yong’s sword cultivation aptitude was second only to Mi Quan, but he was afraid of death. He didn’t like to fight for his life. He always wanted to wait until he reached the Jade Pure Realm, then find an immortal demon in order to trade their lives in a clean and profitable transaction. In the end, the circumstances of his closed-door cultivation caused his training room to be destroyed, and he directly fell in realm. Not only did he fail to reach the Jade Pure Realm, but he became a broken Golden Core with a shattered sword heart. At the Great Wall of Sword Qi, this was a joke. Not falling due to battle injury, but falling due to closed-door cultivation was the most despicable thing a sword cultivator could do.”

Hearing this, Youyu nodded. “I used to see Su Yong often when I was young.”

Even though he had already gone without food, Youyu still asked the waiter for two bowls of rice when the dishes were served.

Those who ate qi became immortal. Those who didn’t eat became gods. Some cultivators would vomit when they smelled the fumes of cooking, and those from established sects had immortal food and pills to help them. This was harder on the rogue cultivators.

Senior Long Er shook his wine bowl. Su Yong was a drunkard and a gambler who liked to visit prostitutes, but he never paid back his debts. He often went back and forth between the city and the Mirage Market to do trivial business and earn a difference. Whoever treated him to wine was his master. A sword cultivator who fell from the nascent soul to the Golden Core would still be a respectable land immortal anywhere else, but Su Yong was at the Great Wall of Sword Qi.

“Later, his days got a little better after he became someone’s lackey.”

“Who?”

“Who else could it be? That person once advised Su Yong to go to the civilized world, believing that the Golden Core sword cultivators of the civilized world were more sought after. Su Yong was tempted. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to the gate from time to time, but he never went.”

“Since he was a Golden Core, did he go to the Five Colors World?”

“No.”

Hearing this, Youyu knew there was no need to ask anymore. He began to eat.

Senior Long Er continued, “Su Yong shaved his beard, put on clean clothes, and secretly went to the battlefield. He picked up a standard long sword produced by a sword workshop, killed some barbarian grunts, but not enough to accumulate the war merit of a Golden Core. He was ambushed and killed by a demon cultivator passing by the battlefield. He still lost money.”

As for Wang Wei, the Jade Pure Realm sword cultivator, he and his Daoist partner had mysteriously disappeared on the battlefield.

When he was at the Golden Core Realm, he had become a servant of the Qi family. Later, upon reaching the Jade Pure Realm, he opened his own residence and married a woman from the Yu Huai street.

About fifty years ago, the ninety-year-old Wang Wei successfully reached the top five realms.

If Su Yong broke the pot, it was still understandable. But Wang Wei, who liked to freeload wine and fawn over everyone, was despised.

Youyu tentatively asked, “Did Wang Wei betray and join the barbarian demons?”

Senior Long Er casually said, “That’s what they say. He secretly joined Xiao Xuan and Luo Shan, but I didn’t see it myself, so I can’t say for sure.”

Youyu asked, “Master, you don’t seem to want to become a servant of Fallen Mountain?”

Senior Long Er raised his wine bowl and took a sip, replying evasively, “People are not free once they want to be.”

He had felt very comfortable managing the prison at the Great Wall of Sword Qi. He could always find some way to have fun and not feel bored. Now that he was free, he felt restricted everywhere.

Senior Long Er took a big gulp of wine, shrugged, and hiccuped. “It’s good as long as you’re happy. Don’t worry about my complaints.”

Children loved the New Year. They thought about new clothes and lucky money. Adults couldn’t avoid thinking about expenses or paying back debts.

At this moment, a new customer came to the door. He wore a green robe, and a sword and wine pot hung on his back. He whispered to the two, “Fellow Daoist Dragon’s Voice, are you drinking here because you don’t want to lower yourself to Fallen Mountain?”

Senior Long Er smiled awkwardly. Those words were hurtful.

Youyu was excited. The man pressed down, telling Youyu to sit. He looked up at the plaques on the wall and smiled. He sat down beside Youyu. He reached out and picked up Youyu’s wine bowl. Senior Long Er immediately stood up, stretched out his hand, and hurriedly filled the bowl with wine.

Chen Pingan picked up the bowl, clinked it against Senior Long Er’s, and drank. He asked about the price and learned that a pot of Ivy Wine cost three snowflakes. He said with a smile, “That’s outrageous.”

The waiter, who didn’t have to serve anyone at the moment, stood beside the owner. He was displeased when he heard this, but the woman patted his arm, telling him not to be rash.

Her eyes sparkled as she stared at the slender man who was about thirty years old. A stream of golden light flowed in her long eyes, an extremely subtle anomaly. It was like a dragon swimming in a lake. She was obviously using a concealed skill to observe the qi. She couldn’t see the other’s cultivation root, but she knew that the people at the table were all extraordinary. The green sword cultivator was the most impressive. At the very least, he was a high-ranking official. Compared to the officials of the lower dynasty, he had more Daoist qi. Unfortunately, her qi observation skills were not high enough to discern the depth of those qi. If her master were here, he could probably see more.

Senior Long Er whispered, “Hidden Official, do you need me to remind her that she has violated the rules of the cultivators?”

Chen Pingan shook his head. “No need.”

Senior Long Er was puzzled. “Why aren’t you with Ning Yao?”

Chen Pingan smiled. “Let’s not talk about that. I’m about to return to Treasure Bottle Continent.”

Unexpectedly, the woman picked up a pot of wine, went around the counter, and approached them. She stood by the table. “May I sit down?”

Senior Long Er glanced at Chen Pingan, but Chen Pingan ignored her. Senior Long Er had to wave his hand and say, “Sorry, it’s inconvenient.”

She remained calm and didn’t leave. Instead, she introduced herself, “My name is Wei Yudian. I come from the Qujiang Shangsi Sword Sect, from the Partridge Palace. I’m saying this so you won’t think I have