The final battlefield of the ancient conflict between water and fire.

Jiang She arrived in an instant, launching a thunderous fist.

Chen Ping’an didn’t rush to draw his sword. Instead of retreating, he advanced, meeting the mountain head-on to shake it once more, receiving Jiang She’s punch with a single hand.

As the fist met fist, a vortex of time appeared above their heads, an anomaly caused by the collision and surge of their martial intent against the river of time.

Within the vortex, various bizarre scenes emerged, showcasing the battles of ancient warzones like vibrant murals.

After all, it was the punch of an Eleventh Realm martial artist. Chen Ping’an staggered back, retreating again and again, stretching out a cyan line tens of miles long. He finally steadied himself, his sleeves billowing as if with muffled thunder. Chen Ping’an twirled his sword, its tip gleaming with golden light.

“Some strength. If it were a weaker martial artist who dared to take this punch head-on, they’d probably be reincarnated by now.”

Standing where Chen Ping’an had been, Jiang She rotated his wrist, dispersing his martial intent, a hint of appreciation in his eyes. He smiled and said, “You’ve improved quite a bit since last time on Mount Taiping when you pretended to be dead after taking half a punch.”

The five portions of martial fortune within his body, fighting two against three, were like a ceaseless battlefield. Within Jiang She’s personal microcosm, they were like three rebellious factions causing unrest, forcing Jiang She to divert his attention to suppress them, like an emperor having to leave the capital to personally quell a rebellion, facing a disadvantage in manpower.

Without needing any words or even a trace of spiritual energy, Jiang She merely beckoned. The earth fissure he had previously created with a stomp transformed into a “mountain range” formation, with Ancestral Dragon Mountain at its center, and other dragon veins extending from it.

This technique was like the intaglio engraving method of later generations. When Jiang She gave the order, the formation rose from the ground, mountains undulating, appearing no different from worldly mountain ranges, except for their pitch-black color. The formation pressed down like a mountain, crashing towards Chen Ping’an’s tiny mustard-seed figure in the distance, like a mountain-shaped seal no smaller than Upside-Down Mountain, using the earth as paper, stamping down on Chen Ping’an with lightning speed.

Chen Ping’an stood motionless, simply raising his sword and casually slicing upwards, easily shattering the formation.

The towering mountains crumbled, and the boundless Dao intent within the formation, without its central support, transformed into a torrential rain, scattering countless golden raindrops. The scene was dazzling.

A Dao-suppressing attack like a heavenly tribulation.

Cut down with a single sword.

Jiang She smiled. If that was all he had, he wouldn’t dare to claim he could take down half of the “One” and then ascend to meet Zhou Mi. As soon as the golden raindrops touched the ground, tinged with a bit of earth, they transformed into golden warriors, hundreds of thousands of them clad in armor, standing and forming a formation to surround and kill Chen Ping’an. Moreover, the mountain ranges that hadn’t completely shattered manifested in the air as burly divine generals wearing different colored armor, hundreds or thousands of feet tall, wielding weapons, using various divine abilities, or unleashing offensive spells. Thousands of divine abilities and spells piled up like a dense rain of arrows, chaotically converging upon Chen Ping’an…

Chen Ping’an smiled, holding his sword, and with a thought, the sword light flowed, weaving a bright full moon.

This full moon suddenly expanded, enveloping the longsword and the blue-robed swordsman with a jade hairpin, the sword energy immensely powerful, the moonlight like water, flooding the entire world in an instant.

What divine abilities, what spells, what warriors on the ground, what golden armored deities in the air… the vast and mighty killing force was all washed away by the sword energy in one breath, silently dissipating.

Chen Ping’an frowned slightly, looking down to see a short halberd of five-colored treasure light piercing his heart and back, having pierced through without him noticing.

He slowly pulled out the non-corporeal short halberd, slightly increasing the force of his fingers, gently crushing it. At the heart pierced by the halberd, there was a mass of thick, mercury-like golden light, without any blood. Therefore, it couldn’t be considered a fatal wound, and even calling it an injury would be an exaggeration. This was the strength of this divine body, flawless, impeccable, the Great Dao circulating endlessly on its own.

Indeed, how easy would it be to kill half of the “One” who could remotely contend with Zhou Mi of the Heavenly Court, once Chen Ping’an stopped holding back?

Jiang She stood in the distance, reaching out to grasp the long spear “Formation Breaker,” resting a hand against his cheek, amused.

He had been careless and had his cheek pierced by a ghostly emerald flying sword, but the wound healed quickly. Jiang She was naturally unharmed, but he had lost some face.

Still, a drop of blood had been grazed away by the flying sword. Chen Ping’an raised his hand and put the flying sword Fifteen back into his sleeve, rubbing that trophy between his fingers, looking slightly regretful. It was a pity it didn’t involve the vital essence, otherwise, if he could chase down the great demon Hu Tu like Zheng Juzhong, he would have made a profit. Chen Ping’an flicked that drop of blood onto the ground, and a useless “Jiang She” appeared beside him.

This illusory figure, temporarily forged by Chen Ping’an with talisman techniques, was mediocre in terms of killing power, but it had a special purpose, like a rubbing used to explore the number of cavities, meridian pathways, and natal artifacts within a person’s microcosm, allowing Chen Ping’an to see some of Jiang She’s inner landscape.

But before Chen Ping’an could take another look, that “Jiang She” rebelled. Jiang She had used some means to make it defect and strike Chen Ping’an’s face with a punch.

Chen Ping’an then reached out and broke its neck. It collapsed to the ground, its body melting like snow, returning to a drop of blood, trying to escape by burrowing into the ground. Chen Ping’an spread his palm, and a miniature formation trapped it. He then detained it above his palm in an invisible white bowl. The drop of blood spun around, hitting the walls everywhere, like the sun and moon moving in a plate.

Jiang She suddenly released the spear and asked, “Do you dare to have a fair martial arts contest?”

Chen Ping’an smiled as usual. “Do you dare to have a fair battle of learning? Composing poems and essays, competing in literary talent?”

As he spoke, he gently flicked his wrist, and in the rough “bowl” suspended above his palm, the seven characters “Jiang She,” “Vital Spirit,” “Strategist,” and “Martial” evolved from the drop of blood, like tiny Zhu-ink characters written on the inner wall of a snow-white porcelain bowl, waiting to be taken to the kiln for firing.

Judging by the looks of it, did Chen Ping’an want to help this founding ancestor of the Strategist school forge a natal porcelain artifact?
The rough, unglazed white bowl was already as thin as paper and crystal clear, even before firing. Seven characters were arranged in a formation within.

Jiang She narrowed his eyes. Was this a deliberate mystification, or was there a point? Could it be that in that extraterrestrial battlefield, as a reward for working together to change the trajectory of the Azure Path, avoiding the tragedy of two worlds colliding – a deed of great merit – Mister Three Mountains Nine Marquis had made an exception and passed this secret technique to Chen Pingan?

Chen Pingan held the bowl in one hand, raising it high, gazing at the still-blank bottom. He seemed to be hesitating about what kind of inscription would be appropriate.

“The Big Dipper shines high.”

Jiang She shook his head. “So it’s just putting on airs. You lack the ‘fire.'”

Even if he were to imitate the girl Fu Kan from the Azure Underworld, setting up a Purple Forbidden Enclosure Array within Yin Province, it would be more justifiable, since Chen Pingan was half a “One.” He would naturally be more legitimate than the ghost Xu Juan and could himself become the linchpin of the array. This battlefield ruin, with its contention of water and fire, did indeed retain abundant Daoist resonance. It was a natural kiln. But to say that the Big Dipper could “inject” power was impossible. Jiang She was not a demon, and his true name wasn’t stitched onto Young Concealed Officer like clothing. Moreover, Chen Pingan wasn’t the Fire Dragon True Lord, who had reached the fourteenth realm.

Atop the mountain, during a Daoist duel, great cultivators all had a few trump cards up their sleeves. The problem was with those unorthodox tricks that caught one off guard.

On the path of cultivation, Jiang She had suffered considerable losses due to this. He had often been humiliated and had his Daoist cultivation eroded by strange tactics. Of course, his enemies suffered even more.

Chen Pingan feigned enlightenment, as if his trick had been exposed. He didn’t write any inscription before throwing it into the dragon kiln. He loosened his fingers, and the red-character white bowl slipped into his sleeve.

First, condense the water element to form the bowl, then use the fire element to refine it. This was Chen Pingan imitating the water and fire struggle, using the opportune time and place to draw upon the residual Heavenly Dao that had circulated for tens of thousands of years, which would regard Jiang She as a great enemy of the Dao to be eliminated.

Each step was interconnected.

Clearly, by turning the tables on Jiang She, Chen Pingan was also using the art of war.

Chen Pingan’s pure gold eyes stared directly at Jiang She.

Life in this world is like being in a long river of time, without beginning or end. All are in water.

There were many similarities.

On the path of cultivation, both were proficient in martial arts and supernatural powers.

Jiang She was the first person in the ancient world to single-handedly slay a god and break his golden body. He received the protection of the great fortune of “humanity” for this.

Chen Pingan was the first person in the Little Li Zhu Cave Heaven town to slay a Qi cultivator. As a result, he returned to that gambling table, and the incense stick in the courtyard blazed brighter.

Both were rebellious, both were heretics.

Their confrontation today seemed destined, like owing and repaying debts to each other.

A person’s reputation is like the shadow of a tree.

One of the Ten Heroes of the Ancient World, Fourth in the human realm, the Founding Ancestor of the Art of War, the eleventh realm of martial arts.

Any one of these titles was enough to put pressure on a fourteenth-realm cultivator.

Chen Pingan had also learned a trick from Xiao Mo: don’t take sword duels too seriously. What’s there to fear? At most, he’s just a person.

Jiang She asked, “You chose this place as the battlefield. Did you have this planned all along?”

Chen Pingan smiled slightly. “Forgot.”

He had indeed imagined some enemies, such as Wu Shuangjiang, with whom he fought on the Night Voyage Ship; Pei, one of the two Dao preachers of Lu Terrace; Bai Shang, who had conspired with Tian Wan and plotted against the sword aura of Treasure Bottle Continent; and that Wu Zhou, who was very likely to attempt a “sneak attack and treasure snatch” against Chen Pingan.

In order to imprison his own divinity, he had to choose to forget, using this to build a prison, piling up layers of barriers, drawing a line in the sand, using it for self-imprisonment, self-exile.

Jiang She looked at Chen Pingan holding his sword, a mocking expression on his face, clicking his tongue. “Once you’ve recognized a master, you’ve created a strict and insurmountable hierarchy. Why bother? It would have been better to form an equal contract in the beginning.”

In short, Chen Pingan, now a Celestial Realm swordsman, his Dao heart and realm were the greatest restraint on the sword holder.

The last time they met “climbing the mountain,” the sword holder had superficially exchanged a few sword strikes with Jiang She, seemingly casual and unconstrained. In fact, Chen Pingan, as the master, had no intention to kill at the time. More precisely, there were no strong fluctuations in his Dao heart. Therefore, the sword holder seemed particularly free, just like when she killed the armored warrior in the outer heavens, only because Chen Pingan, as the master, wasn’t by her side. Once Chen Pingan met an armored warrior, it would be fine if he didn’t have the intention to kill, but as soon as he did, the sword holder would have to step aside, ceding the dominant position to Chen Pingan, changing her identity, and allowing the latter to become the sword holder.

Jiang She shook his head, his eyes filled with pity. “I truly feel sorry for you two lovebirds, and even more awkward.”

Otherwise, if Chen Pingan had a powerful killer like the sword holder by his side, as his fighter and protector, wouldn’t it be very easy for Chen Pingan to roam the world freely, even if he was just a Jade Purity Realm swordsman?

Even if the divine position was as high as the sword holder, she was ultimately not the Lord of the Ancient Heavenly Court, and ultimately could not obtain true, pure freedom.

Only because the other four supreme deities were still higher than the Heavenly Dao.

Jiang She suddenly said something strange, “That meeting by the River of Time, I believe the moment you first saw the sword holder, you must have felt very desperate, and even a little angry?”

Chen Pingan ignored him, saying to himself, “I wasn’t going to look for trouble with you, but you took the initiative to come to my door.”

“And even helped me find a reason, so I don’t have to worry about my conscience.”

After a moment of silence, Chen Pingan looked complicated and murmured, “My senior brother…”

He didn’t know how to evaluate him. He was truly speechless.

The Wildlands.

This was a very strange traveling party, with a mix of the peculiar, the divine, the ordinary, and the mortal.

The Nameless One of the Wildlands acted as the guide, as the only local, leading a group of outsiders to travel through the mountains and rivers, introducing the local customs and culture. With him as their guide, they could avoid many unnecessary troubles. The atmosphere in the group was quite harmonious. Since they had no grievances or enmity to begin with, the Nameless One considered it to be forging a connection that might be useful in the future. Perhaps one day, when he went to the Azure Underworld, he would need to rely on them for a place to stay.

In the Wildlands, making a friend among the mountain people often meant making a whole host of enemies for no reason. This was similar to the officialdom in the mortal world of the Vast Expanse.

He wondered what it was like in the Azure Underworld, which was full of Daoist officials. The Nameless One, walking alongside Zhang Fenghai, glanced at the group behind him and smiled. Since he was curious, he would find out once he went.
In the vast expanse of the Azure Underworld, a sect of independent Daoists resided, their ancestral mountain the Leap Month Peak. Their territory was exceedingly small, encompassing merely the mountain where their ancestral hall stood, along with a stretch of the Weak River’s midstream.

The sect leader, Zhang Fenghai, was a newly ascended Fourteenth Realm cultivator, who had taken on the rather rustic Daoist name “Mud.”

His second-in-command and chief protector was Lu Tai.

Lu Tai was invariably followed by a mongrel he had named “Silt.”

Then there was Li Huai, the virtuous scholar from the Magnificent World’s academies. He was the most ordinary of the group, making him stand out as quite the anomaly amongst them.

Lu Tai walked beside Li Huai, constantly pestering him with questions, always managing to steer the conversation, however circuitously, toward the Mountain Master Chen or the Hidden Official.

The Nameless One mused, “I am truly curious as to just how powerful that Crow Mountain Lin is.”

Zhang Fenghai replied, “His lethality is such that he cannot be judged by the standards of ordinary Fourteenth Realm cultivators.”

The Nameless One nodded. “For warriors like myself, that is virtually the highest praise one can receive.”

Zhang Fenghai looked puzzled. “Does Senior still consider himself a warrior at heart?”

The Nameless One chuckled. “It is a matter of personal inclination. After all, the path of martial arts, unlike the refinement of Qi in Daoism, has fewer established titans blocking the way. The opportunities are naturally greater.”

Although Zhang Fenghai had not known this nameless, ancient demon of the Wildlands for long, he found himself quite drawn to him. The Nameless One, for his part, felt the same way, constantly reminding himself to observe and wait before impulsively joining Zhang Fenghai’s sect. The ebb and flow of fate were like the tides, retreating in quiet tranquility, surging with overwhelming force.

The Nameless One steeled his resolve and asked directly, “Has your Daoist cultivation reached its peak? Is your accumulation of merit complete?”

Since the other party dared to ask such a sensitive question so openly, Zhang Fenghai was willing to answer in kind, giving a straightforward reply: “I still have a tribulation to overcome. When leaving the Smoky Cloud Grotto, I made an agreement with the Dao Ancestor. I must participate in the Three Teachings Debate. One tribulation has just ended, and another has already begun.”

The Nameless One said, “This debate is a monumental affair. To weather the storm is itself a form of Daoist cultivation.”

Zhang Fenghai smiled. “That is precisely the principle.”

In this life, whether mortal or immortal, cultivating the Dao or not, everyone faces their own tribulations and moments of fortune.

“Little people” follow the course of their own destiny, while “great figures” are swept along by the will of Heaven, none are exempt.

Like Wang Jia, the city lord of Fuyu Continent, known as the False Ruler, who prophesied that he would face three trials of warfare, the sinking of a continent, the destruction of his sect, and his own demise.

It was the same reason why Ning Yao left home to wander the continents of the Magnificent World, ultimately stopping in the small town of Lychee Grotto.

The Nameless One cupped his fist and said, “Allow me to be somewhat selfish. After the debate concludes, I would like to visit Leap Month Peak, to see if I can, with the help of your blessed ground, determine the direction of my Great Dao.”

Zhang Fenghai nodded. “To seek benefit and avoid harm is human nature. There is no need for pretense.”

The Nameless One asked, “Then what is the will of Heaven?”

Zhang Fenghai smiled slightly. “When you arrive at Leap Month Peak, I can venture an opinion, and you can venture to listen.”

The Nameless One rubbed his chin, thinking of a troubling matter. “Old Man Bai may not let me go. You may have escaped the Smoky Cloud Grotto, but I may not be able to leave the Wildlands.”

Zhang Fenghai said, “This trip was originally intended to seek an audience with Master Bai to discuss a matter. Presumably, the Wildlands must have a dispensable contingency plan, in case the overall situation collapses, to preserve the embers of civilization.”

The Nameless One was, after all, an accomplished cultivator. He understood Zhang Fenghai’s unspoken meaning immediately. It was simple: if the Wildlands were defeated by the Magnificent World, and even Bai Ze, despite his best efforts and sacrifices, could not salvage the situation, then the Wildlands would need a few embers, Dao seeds, to continue the light somewhere, to take root, sprout naturally, and one day return home… This was similar to Flying Ascention City of the Great Wall of Sword Qi, Qi Tingji and the Dragon Elephant Sword Sect of the Southern Subhassa Continent of the Magnificent World, and the Dao protectors Cheng Quan and former penal official Hao Su, now residing in the Azure Underworld. Different paths home, same process and good intentions.

The Nameless One said solemnly, “Whether this matter succeeds or not, I thank you in advance.”

Zhang Fenghai smiled. “‘To seek benefit and avoid harm is human nature. There is no need for pretense.’ This saying applies to both of us.”

The Nameless One laughed heartily. If a wise person could also be interesting, then that would be wonderful. The matter of fate on the path was truly wondrous beyond words.

Their conversation was casual, without using voice transmission or heart-to-heart communication. Li Huai overheard a few words along the way, taking them as mere wisps of clouds in the sky, far from the earth, the fanciful words of immortals.

Lu Tai said furtively, “Sect Leader has smiled more today than he usually does in a year. What’s this? Has the Old Man in the Moon tied the knot? Is the crimson star of romance ascendant?”

Shi Xingyuan glanced at the Nameless One, spitting in disgust at Lu Tai’s words. “Filth from a dog’s mouth!”

Lü Bixia exclaimed in surprise, “I didn’t expect Sect Leader to find such a kindred spirit in this uncivilized Wildlands.”

If Zhang Fenghai could truly persuade this great demon to go to Leap Month Peak from the Wildlands, it would be a great boon. Could he perhaps serve as… a mountain-protecting protector?

The Nameless One suddenly asked telepathically, “Lin Jiangxian established himself in your Azure Underworld, there must be a plausible reason, right?”

Zhang Fenghai remained silent, a conjecture forming in his mind, clearer than before within the Smoky Cloud Grotto, yet he could not reveal it to the Nameless One, who was not yet one of his sect’s cultivators.

The White Jade Capital and Lin Jiangxian, each waiting for a “Chen?”

The White Jade Capital waiting for Grand Teacher Kou Ming’s successful Dao integration.

The last sacrificial official of the Great Wall of Sword Qi, the Yan kingdom waiting for the Hidden Official?

The question was, when the latter arrived, what would happen?

Having seen Zheng Juzhong in the Forbidden Land that cannot be spoken of, it was worth the trip. Knowing that he would not attack the White Jade Capital for now, Chief Lu could safely return home. A meritorious deed indeed!

He felt invigorated by the auspicious occasion, humming an off-key folk tune, the sleeves of his Daoist robe flailing higher than the Daoist crown on his head.
Lu Chen gave a soft “Hmm,” pausing in his tracks. He raised a hand, shielding his eyes, and peered into the distance. To his surprise, he spotted a figure far off. Lu Chen stood on tiptoe, focusing intently, and a look of joyous relief spread across his face. A living being! In this desolate place, weren’t they all fellow wanderers, sharing the same fate? A familiar face was a welcome sight indeed.

With a light tap of his toes, Lu Chen employed a swift movement technique, hurtling toward the figure. As he approached, he called out, alerting the other cultivator to his presence, lest he be mistaken for someone with ill intentions, avoiding unnecessary conflict.

He saw a young-looking cultivator, a seemingly enlightened being on the cusp of attaining perfect merit, yet he appeared as a lifeless, decaying log, slowly rotting away in this place.

The cultivator sat cross-legged in the void, holding a horsetail whisk, engaged in the practice of meditative breathing.

With each breath, two strands of multicolored Qi billowed from his nostrils, like a mighty river, flowing ceaselessly.

This single feat alone, displayed in any realm, would surely elicit cries of “Old Immortal!” from onlookers, admiring his venerable, ethereal presence.

However, around the cushion upon which he sat, the ground was covered in a thick layer of ash, accumulated over days, months, and years, never dispersing.

Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the cushion itself was composed of layers of this ash, like the rings of an ancient tree, one circle upon another.

Seeing that the cultivator remained unresponsive, Lu Chen had no choice but to raise a hand to his mouth and call out, “Fellow cultivator, fellow cultivator, might I have a word?”

The cultivator slowly opened his eyelids, and another patch of ash fell from the back of his hand. He sighed softly, exhaling lightly, causing the ash to settle upon a ring of the cushion.

“What brings you here, fellow cultivator?” the cultivator asked in a raspy voice. The language he spoke was one with which Lu Chen was familiar, an ancient refined tongue from a certain region. It clicked – the Cai Prefecture Daoist temple of Uncle-Master Bi Xiao?

Lu Chen felt a pang of empathy. This cultivator had likely offended his uncle-master, and, seemingly, felt unsafe hiding anywhere, so he came here to seek refuge.

Anyone bold enough to provoke Uncle-Master Bi Xiao must possess considerable cultivation.

Lu Chen respectfully performed a Daoist salute. “This humble one is Lu Chen, come to pay respects to this senior.”

The cultivator’s eyes were deep and probing as he scanned the young Daoist’s attire. After a moment of silence, he asked, “How fares Bi Xiao, the Cave Master who goes by the alias Cai Prefecture Daoist? Is he fifteen yet?”

Judging from the tone of his voice, full of vigor, and the fullness of his spirit, he was probably a newcomer to this place.

Regardless of their origins or lineage, those who lingered here were mostly seeking refuge from tribulations, only to face the grinding wheel of the heavens.

Lu Chen nodded, saying, “He is fifteen now. It was only a few years after returning to Azure Vault that he turned fifteen. A cause for universal celebration! Even those from White Jade City are actively planning to visit and offer congratulations.”

Upon hearing this, the cultivator’s Daoist heart trembled, unable to restrain his fear.

Without regard for anything else, the cultivator flicked his sleeves and hastily began to form hand seals.

As the old cultivator performed his calculations, his fingers radiated with iridescent light, and layers of shimmering halos revealed wondrous and ineffable omens. The cultivator’s face gradually darkened as he glared at the young Daoist, who was spouting nonsense. “Deliberately deceiving me, wasting my spirit, do you find this amusing?”

Lu Chen sat cross-legged not far away, smiling as he asked, “Senior, why don’t you also calculate the ‘Lu Chen’s’ destiny?”

The cultivator’s expression shifted erratically, but eventually settled into a weary resignation. “Who are you, what is your realm, what is your identity, what does it matter to me?”

Lu Chen nodded. “That makes sense.”

The cultivator seemed somewhat surprised. “I never imagined that Daoist Priest was also skilled in martial arts?”

Lu Chen was also taken aback, blushing slightly. “Skilled is far too generous a word. I only know a little bit. It’s a necessity, you see. I’m constantly traveling north and south, earning a meager living from my labor. Exposed to the elements, without some skill in hand-to-hand combat, some martial ability to protect myself, what would I do when I encounter bandits or highwaymen? Senior, isn’t that right?”

The cultivator nodded. “What Daoist Priest says makes sense. When traveling, reason can only be spoken to those who understand reason, but fists are a language that everyone understands.”

As for making money by relying on his physical labor, that was best taken with a grain of salt. Having spent three thousand years in a cloud-wandering life of cultivation, not counting the years accumulating here, he had met all sorts of people, with all kinds of temperaments, but one like this “young” Daoist Priest was indeed rare.

Ultimately, the cultivator preferred quiet, so he issued a tactfully worded invitation to leave, tentatively asking, “Since this is merely a chance encounter, where does Daoist Priest intend to travel after this brief rest?”

Lu Chen declared decisively, “When I’m hungry, I go home to eat, of course.”

In Fallen Mountain, he would first accompany Right Protector in patrolling the mountain. The White-Haired Child would be carrying a ledger under his arm, raising one arm high as he shouted, “Follow the Hidden Official Grandfather, eat nine meals a day, get promoted and get rich!”

After inspecting the back of Spirit Gathering Peak, they would part ways. The White-Haired Child said he needed to go to Sword Worship Terrace to supervise his beloved disciple’s sword practice, clasping his fist to say farewell to Little Rice Grain. “We’ll meet again in the world.”

“Esteemed disciple” Yao Xiaoyan, ha, as tall as her master.

The White-Haired Child, praised by the Hidden Official as a “walking armory,” had already taught Yao Xiaoyan three sword arts, each corresponding to three natal flying swords.

The White-Haired Child was in no hurry to travel by wind to Sword Worship Terrace, walking alone on the mountain path, dipping his finger in his mouth to turn the pages of the ledger, a sub-ledger of a sub-ledger, recording in detail the trivial matters and grudges on the mountain.

For example, Wen Zixi was so bold as to badmouth Hidden Official Grandfather to Zheng Dafeng, saying that some mountain and water newsletters contained grievances, questioning why Hidden Official Grandfather didn’t go to the Savage Desolation.

Recalling this matter, the White-Haired Child closed the ledger, muttering to himself, infuriating, infuriating.

At that moment, a voice resounded in his heart, “Not going naturally has its reasons.”

The White-Haired Child felt as if he had been struck by a blunt weapon, his nerves tensing up. He stood rooted to the spot, as if he had been hit by a petrification spell.

A ray of golden light shot out from the center of his brow, and Wu Shuangjiang appeared, walking straight forward. “Follow.”

The White-Haired Child drooped his head, following listlessly, afraid.

Given Chen Pingan’s personality, since he had promised Wu Shuangjiang that he would take good care of the White-Haired Child, he would definitely do his best, without the slightest hesitation.

In fact, Chen Pingan likely knew the general outcome of Wu Shuangjiang’s party’s inquiry at White Jade City even earlier than the mountain peak cultivators of Azure Vault. For example, when the Fallen Mountain registrar’s realm fell to nearly “no realm,” that was when this Konghou Daoist Friend’s physical and spiritual souls were at their weakest. Chen Pingan knew at that time that Wu Shuangjiang had likely “died” within the territory of White Jade City.
Both in terms of sentiment and reason, whether from a public or private perspective, Fallen Mountain should immediately arrange a Dharma Protector for the White-Haired Child. For example, Xie Gou, or the Old Deaf Man. In any case, it should at least be a cultivator of the Ascended Realm.

However, since Chen Ping’an hasn’t done so, that in itself is an answer. This answer doesn’t require Wu Shuangjiang, who has been to the Night Navigation Boat, the Wild Desolate World, and the Five-Colored World, to inform Chen Ping’an.

With Wu Shuangjiang’s talent and aptitude, she naturally possesses secret techniques to open up a “heaven-reaching” path, imperceptible to both Jade Capital and the Confucian Temple, making it impossible for them to immediately detect her whereabouts.

A realm transposition.

Of course, if Jade Capital and the Confucian Temple were so inclined, assuming the possibility that Wu Shuangjiang could “borrow a corpse to return the soul,” and then use this to deduce the truth and the process, focusing on Fallen Mountain, they would likely be able to find clues. But the problem is that the Sage of Rites has already visited Great Li’s capital, and several of the most esteemed disciples of the Sages have even visited Fallen Mountain because of the sealing of titles… Since they haven’t said anything, then the Confucian Temple’s attitude towards this matter is worthy of contemplation.

The appearance of the Sword Holder in the Azure Gloom World previously was not Chen Ping’an’s show of force to Jade Capital, but a kind of reminder to Wu Shuangjiang.

According to the agreement, it’s time to act.

Liu Xiang prostrated himself in worship. After rising, he pondered for a moment and crossed continents in a single step, arriving at the Tongye Continent.

Soon, a solemn-faced “Tongye” Daoist friend appeared beside Liu Xiang.

He wore a jade crown, had a pair of golden eyes, and wore a jade scepter at his waist. His appearance was ancient and dignified, possessing the aura of a monarch.

However, his face was covered in scabies, and his attire constantly changed, sometimes wearing azure robes with a jade belt, sometimes plain white hemp, and sometimes clad in armor.

This was the manifestation of the merging with the Grand Dao due to the shifting fortunes of the Tongye Continent, or rather, a sacred manifestation.

Liu Xiang said, “The Sages of the Confucian Temple are filled with worry about the A’ai Continent, so I will favor it a bit more. The Northern Ju Reed Continent is the least obedient, so I will show it more attention. Your Tongye Continent has always been the most isolated, so I am willing to let you manifest. In the future, when he goes to the Wild Desolate Battlefield, regardless of what identity he assumes, you will follow him, considering it a return of courtesy to the Wild Desolate.”

For some reason, Jiang She felt that Chen Ping’an had become unfamiliar in his eyes, causing this founding ancestor of the Military Strategists to inexplicably feel a murderous intent and pressure arising from the contention for the Great Dao.

Chen Ping’an muttered to himself, “Finally remembered. The three Daoist Founders have already scattered their Dao, an unprecedented change in ten thousand years. Everyone is vying to cross the river, but only one can attain the Dao. So it turns out Senior Brother Cui had already calculated it all.”

“To have Junior Brother lead the Military Strategists.”

“To have Chen Ping’an establish a sect and become a patriarch.”