The humble thatched cottage on Sword Worship Terrace boasted a row of small bamboo chairs beneath its eaves. Upon one, a maiden with a sable cap perched, her posture relaxed, cheek resting upon her hand in the slant of the setting sun.

Since the arrival of Old Deaf-Ear to the Terrace, intending to cultivate in its serene embrace, the place had become a bustling hub. Perhaps it was also the return of Bai Xuan from the Lower Sect that stirred the air. With Bai Xuan’s presence, Chen Lingjun often wandered over for a casual chat. And then Old Deaf-Ear, barely settled, had been bestowed a weighty task by Master Chen himself, necessitating frequent dealings with Xie Gou (Dog Xie). Xie Gou, in turn, found himself tethered to the White-Haired Child, who had inducted Guo Zhujiu into their fold, anointing him as leader. It was, as some might say, a confluence of fates, a gathering of kindred spirits, transforming the once-desolate Sword Worship Terrace into a vibrant “village square” for the exchange of secrets and news.

Today, a multitude thronged the spot, the chairs and stools barely sufficient.

A curious phenomenon occurred: each soul received a slice of chilled watermelon. The fruit had been steeped in the mountain stream for an hour, Millet meticulously guarding its refreshing soak. Brought thence to Old Zhu, the cook, his cleaver descended with practiced grace. Zhu, ever curious, inquired as to its origins, for it was not the season. Millet, grinning wide, revealed that the benevolent Master Chen, during his sojourn across the seas, had purloined it from the sandy shores of a minor Immortal Sect’s island. With a watermelon tucked under each arm, he’d made his escape. The fruit, it seemed, was commonplace there, unguarded, and the good Master’s presence had gone unnoticed.

Zhu, upon hearing this tale, nodded sagely, declaring, “Well done, indeed.”

Millet, ever the pragmatist, simply grinned, “The watermelon does look quite delicious.”

Meanwhile, at his private sanctuary in the foothills of Fufeng, Chen, the mountain lord turned petty thief, indulged in an entire watermelon, seated upon his verandah.

The Daoist Ding, abstaining from earthly fare, watched with a placid gaze. Though he harbored no desire for the simple fruit, he deemed Chen’s solitary indulgence somewhat out of character.

Chen Ping’an ate slowly, lost in thought between bites.

“When does Master Chen intend to impart the Ascension Method?” Ding finally inquired.

Snapping back to awareness, Chen smiled. “After I’ve finished this.”

Ding, hearing this, steeled himself. He immediately settled his restless heart, crossed his legs, and placed his hands upon his abdomen, breathing deeply. Though he had resided here for some time, Chen had yet to broach the subject directly. Yet, Ding found contentment in this place, at peace even in idleness. He practiced his Qi cultivation, perused scrolls, and let the seasons drift by. “In spring, I seek verses behind closed doors, and wait for the snow to reveal plum blossoms.”

Before his arrival, he had chafed in the waiting, yet now that the moment drew near, anxiety gripped him.

Ding could not resist casting furtive glances at the watermelon. It seemed a common thing, a paltry pleasure for quenching thirst on a summer day.

Moreover, Master Chen consumed the fruit seeds and all, leaving a mound of rinds beside him. He patted his stomach with satisfaction.

Chen Ping’an wiped his mouth, a faint smile playing on his lips. “To cultivate the Dao, one seeks flawlessness. To cultivate the heart, one must constantly sweep away dust. The so-called ‘asking the heart’ is akin to cleaning a room, banishing all shadows to a hidden corner, allowing no room for maneuver. One must also discern the broom from the dustpan, and the dirt from both.”

Having devoured an entire watermelon, the mountain lord spoke with tranquility, his words simple, yet Daoist Ding felt a chill creep up his spine, his heart wracked with guilt.

Was this supposed lesson on ascension to become a veiled attack? A ruthless purging of his soul?

For within certain ancient texts, lofty pronouncements were made with menacing intent. “Only through death may one find true vitality in the Dao.”

“Seek life from death’s embrace, see yourself amidst a thousand blades, and with fortitude and perseverance, carve out a new realm, finding power in the ancient and strange.”

Previously, Ding had found these pronouncements mere platitudes, his innate talent having spared him such… profound anguish.

Chen Ping’an smiled softly. “Daoist Ding, let us begin with a private lesson. Be cautious, be attentive, and remember well. Remember to preserve your life in times of chaos. The words ‘preserve life’ contain boundless wisdom, and must be understood not merely as the cessation of breath.”

Ding stared at the solicitous Chen, and the former suddenly felt as though he were seeing a corpse.

Chen’s expression softened further, becoming almost tender. “If life’s journey were a book, Daoist Ding, what opening would you desire? One of humble beginnings, or one of lofty pedigree? A life that blossoms early, or one that waits patiently for its time?”

Ding stuttered, unable to utter a single word.

Chen Ping’an continued, heedless. “I have even chosen a title for your book: ‘Youth’.”

Doom descended upon Daoist Ding.

Chen’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “When fate knocks, there is no escape. A wavering Dao heart is unacceptable.”

A primal dread consumed Ding.

In an instant, he fell backwards, striking the ground with a thud. He slumped into an unawareness, his sleep profound.

As the Daoist, lost in the unconscious, began to dream, a single voice cut through the silence: a voice dripping with murderous intent.

“To abandon the battlefield? The law demands execution!”

Then, turning away from the Daoist cast aside for the trial:

“Finally, I dared to steal a watermelon.”

Chen Ping’an gazed at the rinds at his feet, then looked up and murmured, “Perhaps I am eating freedom itself.”

Beyond the heavens, two ancient figures watched.

Yu Xuan lauded Chen’s daring, while the Old Scholar demurred.

The Old Realist proclaimed the ascendance of the lineage of the Sage of Literature, while the Old Scholar countered that the lineage of Peach Talisman Mountain was thriving.

Gu Qingsong, whose Dao name was Xian Cha (Raft of the Immortals), wandered the cosmos, steering his small boat. He had intended to visit the ruins of the ancient Heavenly Court, to exchange pleasantries with his master’s master and acknowledge his toil.

Alas, the journey proved too arduous, and Gu Qingsong, unable to find the way, was forced to turn back. Discontented, he sought a conversation with Yu Xuan.

Instead, he discovered the Old Scholar and Old Yu, sipping wine, enjoying their camaraderie.

The Old Scholar waved, beckoning the Elder Brother Xian Cha to join them.

Gu Qingsong glanced at Yu, who remained uncharacteristically silent, and shook his head. “My cultivation is too meager, and I lack the Sage’s status. This gathering, with a combined cultivation of twenty-eight realms, is far beyond my reach. I could leap for days and not even reach Yu Fourteen’s tabletop.”

Turning his boat, Gu Qingsong departed, leaving behind a parting shot: “I will steer my broken boat, while you drink your status-driven wine.”

The Old Realist, now branded with the epithet “Yu Fourteen,” bristled, rendered speechless by circumstance. *This humble Daoist isn’t allowed to speak!*

As the surly boatman sailed into the distance, Yu Xuan lamented, “Head Teacher Lu dared not accept this man as his direct disciple, and with just cause.”

The Old Scholar chuckled softly. “Were it not so, Gu Qingsong would fear his master forgetting a disciple already unknown.”

Yu Xuan nodded in solemn agreement.

Yu Xuan whispered with a technique that only allowed the intended recipient to hear his words, “I believe I have discerned the essence of Daoist Chen’s Ascension Method.”

The Old Scholar hesitated. “In this matter, the words spoken by the Dao Ancestor in the courtyard behind Old Yang’s apothecary are of utmost importance.” (Note 1)

Yu Xuan sighed in relief.

The Old Scholar chuckled. “The Dao Ancestor’s words were not an inspiration, but rather a distillation of existing thought, a refinement of the path. The Dao and the Path, two sides of the same coin.”

Yu Xuan gasped once more.

Upon Flower Shadow Peak of Jumping Fish Mountain, eight youths assessed their instructors.

Gantang, said to be an offering of Fallen Phoenix Mountain, taught diligently, never straying from his syllabus, elucidating grand principles with clarity.

The Daoist Liang Chaoguan, with his mellifluous accent, spoke with conciseness, weaving enthralling tales without reference to texts. Bai Feng’s tone was monotone, lulling the listener to sleep.

Lu Biyu lectured without flair, more nervous than his students, beads of perspiration forming on his brow with each sentence.

Yet, outside of the classroom, he underwent a transformation. When questioned privately, he was eloquent, erudite, and unconventional, offering witty remarks that stood in stark contrast to his classroom demeanor.

As for the one who called herself Bai Jing, and styled herself as Grand Master, and General Instructor, her lessons proved incomprehensible to the eight.

Dog Xie, seemingly lethargic after the watermelon feast, yawned suddenly, straightened, and declared, “Gan, usually, I heard the mountain lord mention, in passing, that your rise to the ranks of peak sword immortals of the Great Wall of Swords was unusual. The mountain lord didn’t elaborate, saving you the secret, saying that good wine only gets better with time. Don’t hold out on us, share the tale.”

In calling Old Deaf-Ear “usual offering,” Xie seemed to overindulge in her official status. Like Bai Xuan, she was fond of nicknames, thus she created this title for Old Deaf-Ear.

Old Deaf-Ear inwardly protested that Master Chen had far too loose of a tongue.

But his wrinkled old face beamed with a smile. “There’s not much to tell. When I was young, I had a fiery temper. During a standoff between armies, three cups of wine went to my head, and I didn’t know who I was anymore. Coupled with incitement from that old rogue from Official Lane, I drew my sword and challenged Chen… Grand Sword Immortal, to a duel. The Grand Sword Immortal accepted.”

Bai Xuan gasped. “You weren’t cut down by the Grand Sword Immortal?”

Chen Lingjun added, with mock astonishment. “A valid question!”

Rarely did one hear a query framed from such a devious angle.

Bai Xuan murmured to himself, “Right, if he’d been killed, Old Deaf-Ear wouldn’t be here, playing the big shot.”

Bai Xuan cupped his hand and whispered, “Deputy Xie, is Old Deaf-Ear some kind of lingering ghost?”

Xie shook her head. “A living man.”

Bai Xuan almost retorted to the deputy offering, *What kind of man is Old Deaf-Ear?* But, then, remembering that Xie was born in the Savage Lands, *Best leave it be, lest I offend her.*

Mi Yu scoffed. “Valor compensating for lack of skill, voluntarily stretching your neck beneath the Grand Sword Immortal’s blade? Or perhaps you asked the Grand Sword Immortal to extend his sword, yet without drawing it, you’d sprint forward and impale yourself?”

Old Deaf-Ear ignored Mi’s cutting remarks, simply straightened, clasped his hands on his knees, and assumed a wistful gaze.

It was as though he had imbibed a vintage wine, its potent fragrance lingering even after the night had passed, leaving the drinker to smack his lips and savor the aftertaste.

At last, Old Deaf-Ear was willing to break the seal on this vintage wine and share it with others.

This time, in speaking of that Grand Sword Immortal, he dispensed with honorifics.

“Chen Qingdu, who had not been asked about swordsmanship, for who even knew when he had last asked about swordsmanship, raised his hand, demanding a standard-issue blade, proclaiming that I should deploy my best technique.”

“For over fifty moves, we exchanged blows. And, of course, Chen Qingdu granted me concessions.”

“Regardless, it remains a unique feat in the ten thousand year history of the Great Wall of Swords.”

Even Bai Xuan and Grand Sword Immortal Mi, who rarely treated Old Deaf-Ear with respect, were impressed.

Xie Dog seemed the least enthralled, but remained silent, for Gantang was laboring hard at Flower Shadow Peak.

In the ancient days when Bai Jing and Little Mo wandered the world with their swords, Chen Qingdu was not so strong.

It wasn’t that Chen Qingdu was a poor swordsman, but that there was not a vast gap between his skill and that of other swordsmen.

Moreover, Chen Qingdu held a special station, with his fellow sword-wielders working to protect Chen Qingdu from enemies. They particularly took steps to limit the number of times that Chen Qingdu and the ancient Daoists had duels about the Dao.

Finally, the era was one in which there was an unknown head of all swordspeople. This person represented all swordspeople and was recognized as one of the ten greatest figures in the world. Thus, Chen Qingdu, at this time, could only be ranked number two.

In addition, Chen Qingdu was joined by Yuan Xiang, Dragon Lord, and others whose swordplay, though inferior to Chen Qingdu’s, was not far off.

Due to Bai Jing’s imprudence in the Heavenly Ascent Battle, she suffered grievous wounds, forcing her to sleep for millennia, causing her to miss a great deal.

Thus, today’s Xie Gou did not entirely understand why, millennia hence, the realms revered Chen Qingdu, practically worshipping him as a god.

Chen Lingjun praised with gusto, clapping his hands. “Old Long, how could you be so… dull? If it were me, I’d be out there, beating a drum and shouting the tale to the world!”

But some exploits, though singular, cannot be shared.

After all, Old Deaf-Ear was under the employment of Fallen Phoenix Mountain. Suppressing his true nature, Old Deaf-Ear gave a canned answer, “I have little of value, I should keep my mouth shut.”

On the walls of the Great Wall of Swords, Old Deaf-Ear dueled Chen Qingdu.

Most critically, Chen Qingdu accepted the duel, though there was a vast gap in skill.

This wasn’t some dogshit scholar like Chen Ping An, who relied on every trick to build up his number of wins, all to brag about it to others!

Old Deaf-Ear had fought in a way that could not be described as an honorable defeat. If it had not been for Old Deaf-Ear’s purity of sword intent, Chen Qingdu would never have bestowed such a great honor.

The battle alone gave Old Deaf-Ear a reason to be proud.

Mi Yu, always in white robes with a jade belt, carried a sword gourd named Haoliang about his waist.

A handsome and romantic swordsman, he was the very reason that Sect Leader Cui opened the dreamlike mirror world.

There were many well-recognized beauties at the Great Wall of Swords: the ever-youthful Qi Tingji, Sun Juyuan, and Wu Chengpei, and Mi Yu, who would sleep amongst the rosy clouds. Wu and Mi were called the “twin jewels” by foreign female cultivators. The youngsters amongst them were Pang Yuanji and Chen Sanqiu.

The White-Haired Child, as head of the registry, squatted in the corner, dutifully recording this occasion.

Chen Ping’an suddenly appeared at Sword Worship Terrace, saying that he must retire into true seclusion for some time.

Other than Millet, who continued to patrol the mountains, all others were to give up on the idea of visiting.

Without using his sword or the art of ground-shrinking to return to Fufeng Ridge, Chen Ping’an chose to walk down the mountain, bringing the lazy sable-capped girl and the White-Haired Child, who vigorously praised the Hidden Official Ancestor for his cultivation, hoping that it would all lead to flying.

Though Old Deaf-Ear’s expression did not change, as he watched the group disappear and heard their praises, his heart was filled with anxiety.

Suddenly, he heard the voice of Senior Bai Jing in his mind, “I will not drink your wine for free. In the future, I will teach you two sword techniques. Whether you can learn or master them is not my concern.”

Old Deaf-Ear was deeply touched. Straightening, he clasped his hands and bowed in the direction of the mountain path.

Bai Xuan and Chen Lingjun looked at each other. Why had the thick-headed Old Deaf-Ear suddenly gained such an understanding of the world? Could it be that the old Immortal Jia had possessed him?

In contrast to the recently-arrived Old Deaf-Ear, the martial artist Zhong Qian, who had come to Fallen Phoenix Mountain to join his good friend in having a good time, had only been in these parts for a few days. Zhong Qian’s martial skill were vastly inferior to Old Deaf-Ear’s. But the man, whose name could easily be mistaken for a woman’s, Zhong, the number one master of Lotus Root Blessing Land, was quite at ease at Fallen Phoenix Mountain. At dinner, Zhong Qian had asked about Gan Tang, the offering at Sword Worship Terrace. If their realms weren’t too far apart, could Zhong Qian also become an offering? The old cook replied that Old Deaf-Ear was a flying sword cultivator. Zhong then ate two more bowls of rice.

That day, the old cook, rarely taking the initiative to act, had fried a number of dishes to eat while drinking. Then he pulled Zhong Qian over to drink and chat.

Zhu Qian asked Zhong Qian about his strengths and weaknesses. Zhong Qian replied that he had neither strengths nor weaknesses. In the world of martial artists, one simply muddles about.

Zhu then smiled and said that, in this world, there were those who were anxious, as if they were collapsing in on themselves, but there were also those who were relaxed and free.

The ethos of an establishment was usually determined by the character of its owner. This was why many offspring of prominent families were afraid to breathe loudly at home. Walking, talking, eating, and learning were done with such restraint that they wouldn’t dare speak out. But as soon as they left home, they changed entirely, acting wickedly, violently, and cruelly. In large part, that was an act of vengeance and an effort to compensate.

At this time, the azure-clad boy and the Grand Sword Immortal Mi were both in attendance. Chen Lingjun was unable to stop laughing, and hit the table, saying that Master Zhong couldn’t understand those things. The old cook was trying to seduce a blind man!

If Zhong Qian got angry when hearing such words, he wouldn’t be Zhong Qian. He just laughed and said that Jing knows me, but people who know me will remain single.

Chen Lingjun immediately challenged Zhong Qian to a contest of skill!

Of course, it was a drinking game.

However, Mi Yu suddenly realized something, and resolved to no longer remain in a lazy posture.

Zhu continued, saying that we weren’t necessarily good at expressing ourselves, and we also might not be good listeners.

We might know what others said in a sentence, and what they meant by their words. However, we might not understand why they spoke those words or performed those deeds.

Passively going with the flow and proactively adapting to customs were two separate things.

Once you understood the twists and turns of the world, the manner in which you lifted your wine bowl at the table demonstrated your character.

Otherwise, the world of affairs would ambush you and beat you unconscious. You’d be tripped by the same person, you’d stumble in the same way, and you’d suffer the same fate.

When Zhong Qian heard this, he finally couldn’t help but ask a question. Did the old cook want him to train hard, so that he wouldn’t lose the name as the number one martial artist of Lotus Root Blessing Land?

The old cook must be working hard and treating him as if he were a junior member of the family. At the time, Zhong Qian had felt warm and touched.

However, Zhu restrained himself for as long as he could, but finally lost the battle and pointed his finger at Zhong Qian, scolding, *I wanted you to have good insight and to pay attention. Don’t treat this place as a dining hall!*

Grand Sword Immortal Mi, who came there every day to drink in the morning, immediately spit out his drink. Chen Lingjun, who would frequently come to eat a late night snack, was pounding the table as he clutched his stomach and laughed.

As the scolding old cook’s gaze shifted to them, the two rose and quickly departed, making sure to drag Zhong Qian along with them.

At the door, Zhong Qian said that the group should come back later for a midnight snack. Today, they would change it up, and he asked to have a big bowl of spicy hotpot, with meat and vegetables.

At the time, the registrar was crouching in the corner of the wall outside the door. In performing his duty, he took out paper and brush, and recorded this grudge.

On the mountain path, Chen Ping’an said, “Upon returning from the Fuyou Continent, Yu True Man reminded me that I’d passed the East Sea Water Lord’s Manor, and seen that Dragon Slayer who was planning to make a big deal of things.”

Xie Dog chuckled. “With me by your side, and so close, the mountain lord can even speak the names of Chen Qingliu and Wang Zhu.”

The White-Haired Child, as head of the Fallen Phoenix Mountain registrar, was a model of putting one’s heart into their job. He asked, “May I ask the Hidden Official Ancestor, what was the exact date of your meeting?”

Chen Ping’an was exasperated. He raised his arm and put two fingers together.

The White-Haired Child shrank back, but immediately changed his tone. “Forget it. Since the Hidden Official Ancestor is trying to conceal it, your humble servant will not record it.”

Chen Ping’an said softly, “Retell the episode at the Old Year Money Shop, and see if you have missed anything.”

The White-Haired Child complained, “To Heaven and Earth, I did not leave out a single word!”

Also, earlier, when I reported military affairs to you, I was going to embellish some details about Wang Zhu’s actions, but the Hidden Official Ancestor got tired of listening and said for me to skip the nonsense!

Bai Jing smiled. “I don’t think I’ve heard that before. Chief of Konghou Branch, quickly tell the whole thing to the Chief, and I’ll put in a good word to Leader Guo so that she takes note of it.”

She and Guo Zhujiu secretly formed a small faction. They had a deep friendship, like sisters who had pledged themselves to each other.

In the hometown of the mountain lord, there was a tradition of asking about the New Year’s Eve dinner, with the elderly women preparing a table of food and drink. On the previous New Year’s Eve, Shi Rou had been sitting by the firepot with the Little Mute, keeping watch on the year, when Wang Zhu came over to ask about the dinner. Shi Rou had only politely asked whether Maiden Zhu wanted to have a drink. She did not expect that Wang Zhu, who had become the East Sea Water Lord, would say yes and praise Shi Rou’s stinky fish. Shi Rou felt that Wang Zhu had been in a good mood. Afterward, the White-Haired Child, who was standing on a bench and playing a drinking game, came over, and spoke words of frankness to the East Sea Water Lord, who had just been a neighbor of the Hidden Official Ancestor. In speaking of Chen Qingliu, the Dragon Slayer, the White-Haired Child expressed his opinion of him. The White-Haired Child said that even a strong dragon was no match for a snake in its territory, so Chen Qingliu was nothing but a snake crossing the river, and was not something to be afraid of.

But Wang Zhu’s response had been interesting, for she had said, “I may reach the fourteenth rank one day, but, in the face of the Dragon Slayer, I will die if I don’t flee.” (Note 2)

The words shocked the White-Haired Child. They differed greatly from the opinion of Zhi Gui, a servant in Mud Bottle Alley. She had been so self-aware.

The reason that the White-Haired Child took the initiative to speak of this taboo topic was that Wu Shuangjiang had instructed him to convince Wang Zhu to leave the Boundless World and to join Years End Palace. But the White-Haired Child was not a diplomat. Wang Zhu seemed to recognize the White-Haired Child’s identity, and she mentioned Crane Tower. But the White-Haired Child did not dare to admit it. Wang Zhu was politely refusing the invitation from Years End Palace.

Hearing this, Xie lifted her sable cap and said derisively, “Die if I don’t flee? Those were Wang Zhu’s words?”

The White-Haired Child vigorously nodded. “Not a single word was changed!”

Today was different than last time. After much hesitation, the White-Haired Child spoke more of the inside story, revealing Wu Shuangjiang’s schemes and ideas.

Chen Ping’an did not usually act in ways that had any other significance, so for him to bring her and Bai Jing to come down the mountain together meant that she had to treat the Hidden Official Ancestor with sincerity.

The White-Haired Child said guiltily, “Chen Ping An, was this that I didn’t say this, leading to something bad happening?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head. “It has little to do with it. And even if it did, it has nothing to do with you.”

The White-Haired Child was about to say more.

Xie Dog smiled comfortingly. “It’s nothing big. No need to make things so stilted.”

Chen Ping’an was thinking. Of course, he did not know a deeper secret.

Wang Zhu was unwilling to speak of it, so nobody would ever find out.

Qi Jingchun had found Wang Zhu and gifted her the proverb, “Climb Crane Tower and all of Heaven and Earth will be open. Descend Crane Tower and the source will be long.”

Qi Jingchun had even taught her how to deal with Chen Qingliu, and how to escape the Sword Judgement.

To go to Years End Palace and to join Wu Shuangjiang at Crane Tower was a way to the Great Dao and her best path.

To remain in the Boundless World and to avoid Chen Qingliu could be seen as a neutral path.

To sum up, the choice was hers.

But Wang Zhu rejected both, insisting on opposing that old scholar with hair like frost.

It was like a naughty child who refused to listen to his elders. He had to get angry. If they told him to do one thing, he would do another.

In the end, Qi Jingchun had laughed and given her a suggestion. If you were to encounter an insurmountable obstacle, seek out his junior disciple, and tell him that it was Qi Senior’s request.

Was that the worst path?

The two disciples of the Sage of Literature were the one who freed her and the one who made an agreement with her.

No matter how much she did not understand or agree with their behavior, she could not deny that they were the two most important figures in her life.

Qi Jingchun requests for the junior disciple Chen Ping’an!

Chen Ping’an begs Chen Qingliu not to lift his sword!

That was why Wang Zhu had been so shaken at the manor.

She would rather suffer the strike, and have her head cut off, than allow Chen Ping’an to humble himself.

The three were silent for some time. Then the White-Haired Child asked curiously, “Before you went to her aid, they met face-to-face, and had a fight?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head. “They weren’t going to fight.”

Wang Zhu did not even try to exchange blows with Chen Qingliu.

Xie Dog did not hold back from speaking derisively. “And she’s fourteenth rank. What a coward.”

The White-Haired Child seemed to have had a good conversation with Wang Zhu and spoke in defense of her, “When a water dragon sees that man, it is like a contemporary swordsman seeing Chen Qingdu, or an ancient swordsman seeing the sword holder.”

Xie Dog rolled her eyes, not denying this. Wasn’t that how her Xiao Mo was?

Chen Ping’an said, “According to that plan, Wang Zhu will go to the Blue Underworld. She won’t have to divide up the water with Lady Dandan and Li Yehou. She can even walk the path of water a second time, starting with Crane Tower, which is a way to get her name on the books.

“Then, after going down Crane Tower and entering the sea, if people encourage her from the side, she will likely reach the fourteenth rank. Then she will be able to fully control a realm’s water. This will allow her to join with the Blue Underworld and be recognized by Jade White Capital.

“All along, the Years End Palace can serve as a pillar. This is a fair deal, so Wang Zhu will not have to take what is not hers.”

Xie Dog said, “A plan that is interconnected, worthy of a military strategist.”

The White-Haired Child tentatively asked, “Hidden Official Ancestor, is there a question that I should not ask?”

If it were usual, Chen Ping’an wouldn’t let her speak.

The White-Haired Child said, “Is it possible that Wang Zhu went to the Old Year Money Shop because she wanted you to make the decision for her?”

Chen Ping’an blinked, frowning. “Impossible?”

When Wang Zhu walked into the Old Year Money Shop, he had only thought that, now that Wang Zhu was the Water Lord of the East Sea, she would want to show off.

Of course, that was one of Wang Zhu’s ideas, but it was only a surface-level thought. Wang Zhu was now at a different stage of life. Now that her realm was higher, her vision would be greater, and she would be able to see further.

Xie Dog laughed. “Mountain Lord, don’t think about it. That’s definitely what it was.”

Women best understand women.

They had reached the foot of the mountain.

As Chen Ping’an prepared to use ground-shrinking, Xie Dog’s eyes started to sparkle. Rubbing her hands together, she asked, “Chen Qingliu’s path of breaking through and breaking through again is so interesting. Can Mountain Lord tell me more about it?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head. “We can’t speak carelessly about that.”

About Chen Qingliu’s path of the Dao: He had succeeded in dragon slaying, but he lost his rank. How had he hidden himself for three thousand years, and how had he regained his rank?

Even old sword immortals of the Great Wall of Swords like Qi Tingji were curious. During a recent meeting at the Temple of Literature, Qi Tingji had even asked A Liang directly.

In the eyes of the Boundless World, Chen Qingliu, whose path of the Dao, home, and sword practice were unclear, had only done two things.

The slaying of the dragon.

The acceptance of Zheng Juzhong as his first disciple.

At the time, Zheng Juzhong had been at the Temple of Literature, so A Liang had told Qi Tingji to go ask the “Old Huai Immortal” in White Emperor City. (Note 3)

They weren’t that close. A Liang had secretly swam across the mighty river that broke through the Yellow River Falls, struggling all the way, again and again leaping like a carp.

Zheng Juzhong had probably seen all sorts of things. He watched the messy swordsman, and casually spoke to him.

A few days later, countless rumors spread, saying that City Lord Zheng had invited A Liang into the city and that they had played chess, from one match to hundreds.

At the time, in the Temple of Literature, Zheng Juzhong did not wish to reveal the truth to those outsiders, especially to A Liang.

Although Zheng Juzhong was recognized as the number one of the Devil’s Path, the people at the peak were shocked by two matters. One was Zheng Juzhong’s nostalgia, and the way that he revered his teacher.

Guo Ouding of Iron Tree Mountain was proof of this. It had been Zheng Juzhong’s ascent that prevented Guo Ouding from descending.

The second matter was that Zheng Juzhong seemed to tolerate his troublemaking junior disciple, Liu Chicheng.

A Liang had arrived at the Great Wall of Swords with the same mind as Qi Tingji. He was interested in all sword users with great skill.

A Liang had almost become the old Grand Sword Immortal’s adopted son.

Old Dong, Chen Qi, and Qi Tingji had been embarrassed to ask, or knew that there was no answer to be had.

The old Grand Sword Immortal seemed to never talk about things outside the Great Wall of Swords.

A Liang didn’t hold back. If he had a question, he wasn’t ashamed to ask.

Before becoming the old Grand Sword Immortal’s adopted son, the first thing that A Liang did when arriving at the Great Wall of Swords was to swagger up the wall and ask about Chen Qingdu.

“Have you heard of A Liang, the swordsman of the Boundless World?”

At the time, Chen Qingdu had glanced down at the short swordsman, who couldn’t even reach Lu Zhi’s level when on tiptoe. Chen had smiled and said, “I know your dad.”

A Liang laughed and struck his palm, “Your temper agrees with me! You have to look after me in the future.”

Perhaps for this reason, A Liang started asking Chen Qingdu if Chen had heard of Bai Ye, or Pei Min of the Three Absolutes.

At the time, Chen Qingdu had simply walked back and forth.

A Liang had then followed him, talking so much that he was parched.

Having no other option, he used his trump card.

A Liang was a master of fighting one against many, but Chen Qingliu seemed to be stronger. It wasn’t right for him to be so powerful.

As A Liang said, the old Grand Sword Immortal had given him an answer. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it had helped A Liang tremendously.

“Anybody who practices swordsmanship, will never be stronger than me. Why should I waste my brainpower on it? You can figure it out yourself.”

After another bit of walking, Chen Ping’an reached out and pressed down on Xie Dog’s sable cap, smiling. “Don’t be so reckless in the future. There’s no need.”

The White-Haired Child’s eyes darted about. There was a story! Given the Hidden Official Ancestor’s behavior, the story would not be romantic, which meant that Xie Dog had fought someone.

Xie Dog laughed and said, “Heroes have it good and Saints suffer. We swordsmen are heroic and unmatched!”

On the shore of Treasure Bottle Continent was a solitary peak that jutted up, pointing to the heavens like a sword.

The area was barren, lacking spiritual energy, so no cultivators ever came here.

However, at this time, there was a messy Daoist with bare feet.

This Taoist Ge styled himself as the Daoist of Three Hundred Coin, and the other name, Huainan.

When the Temple of Literature had made the Treasure Bottle Continent’s Five Peaks official, Ge had appeared at Central Peak and congratulated Mountain Lord’s Manor from afar. Even Jin Qingdu had been unable to recognize the Taoist, but Chen Qingliu had managed to find hints of him.

The ancestral Central Peak was one of the old Daoist’s alchemy locations. The old Mountain Lord who chose Jin Qing to be his successor had actually worked for one hundred years as Ge’s fire starter. Before setting out to travel the world, the old Daoist had not told the lad when he would return. Instead, he had left a prophecy: In the future, the mountain would be ruled by a sincere quarryman.

Recently, Chen Qingliu had taken the old Daoist to meet his junior disciples, Liu Chicheng and Gu Can, introducing them as Daoist Ziqing. According to the barefoot Daoist himself, he and Chen Qingliu were friends. (Note 4)

The old Daoist frowned, waiting for the one who had traveled to the sea. It was Chen Qingliu, who had said that he would only be gone for a moment. Of course, he might not come back, and they would be parted forever, so the Daoist should wait.

Of course, Daoist Ge knew what Chen Qingliu was doing. He wanted to advise him, but nothing would stop him.

The old Daoist was sad. On the road, his old friends had withered away. Sadly, only grass will grow at the same places.

At the peak of the mountain, beside the barefoot Daoist, were two others that were vaguely related.

They had recently moved there and set up a thatched hut. The old one was Ge’s junior disciple, the Lord Wei from Lofty Pearl Cave Heaven’s Peach Leaf Lane, or to be more accurate, Daoist Wang, who