At the confluence of what were once Dragon’s Whisker Creek and Iron Talisman River, a mighty waterfall roared.

Now, Dragon’s Whisker Creek should rightly be called Dragon’s Whisker River, and Iron Talisman River had been elevated to Iron Talisman Jiang – a great river.

Beneath the cloak of night, a captivating woman, clutching a longsword adorned with golden tassels, stood upon a verdant cliff where the waters met. Her youthful figure was exquisitely shaped, her garments strained against her ample bosom, obscuring her very toes from view. The golden sword tassel nestled prominently atop.

She was Yanghua, the personal attendant of Her Ladyship. Despite her striking beauty, she bore a rustic, common name.

First, she hurled the Eastern Treasure Continent’s famed sword, ‘Talisman’, into the river.

She took a deep breath and began to disrobe, casting each garment into the surging waters of the Iron Talisman Jiang.

Finally, she stood revealed, a vision of pristine, curvaceous perfection, bathed in moonlight and mist, radiating an ethereal grace.

Then, with a single step, her slender form plunged into the depths.

She would enter the water and become a god.

Yanghua, now bestowed with an edict from the Great Li Dynasty, would tonight become the river deity of the Iron Talisman Jiang.

The Great Li Dynasty’s counties were ranked into three tiers: large, medium, and small. Rivers were similarly categorized. Creeks, the smallest of waterways, were governed by the lowest echelon of water spirits. Even if the court appointed a deity to oversee a waterway, they were only granted the title of River Matron, never ascending to godhood. Above creeks were rivers, divided into upper, middle, and lower tiers. Dragon’s Whisker Creek had now risen two ranks to become a mid-tier river. Above rivers were the great rivers, or Jiang, without further distinction. Iron Talisman River had leapt to become one such Jiang.

However, neither Iron Talisman Jiang nor Dragon’s Whisker River, though linked end to end, would have temples constructed or golden statues erected just yet.

Everything would be kept simple.

Neither of the newly appointed river deities were familiar names in Dragon Spring County. The deity of Iron Talisman Jiang was called Yanghua.

In contrast to the muted fanfare surrounding the Jiang deity appointment, the Great Li Dynasty had simultaneously conferred titles upon three Mountain Gods: Mount Floating Clouds, Mount Incense Point, and Mount Fallen Soul.

The ceremonies were grand and imposing: a decree penned by the Great Li Emperor himself, the Sage Ruan Shi’s assistance in declaring the altar open, the Ministry of Rites’ recitation of the decree’s contents, the Qingwu geomancer’s ‘burying of gold and concealing of jade’, and the Dragon Spring County Magistrate, Wu Yuan, unveiling the two clay statues plated in gold. No detail, however minor, was omitted.

The Mountain Gods of the Eastern Treasure Continent were ranked into Five Peaks Deities, general Mountain Gods, and Land Gods – three tiers in total. The Land Gods, known colloquially as Earth Lords, were akin to probationary officials in the bureaucracy.

Typically, a mountain’s size remained constant over centuries, making promotions rare for Land and Mountain Gods. However, it wasn’t unheard of. If a virtuous hermit were to cultivate and be recognized by the court, becoming a transcendent Imperial Teacher or a True Lord, then the local deities could rise along with the land’s prestige, after all a mountain is defined by it’s immortals, not it’s height.

The Mountain God of Fallen Soul Mountain was particularly peculiar. Known only as Song, this deity’s statue was distinguished from the other two gilded statues by its golden head and painted garments, rather than full gold plating – a detail dictated by a secret imperial edict.

In the turbid waters, directly beneath the crashing waterfall,

The woman’s toes lightly pressed against the hilt of the rare Taoist talisman sword. The golden tassels, like vines, had somehow wound themselves around her ankles.

To possess such a treasure was to invite misfortune.

Her eyes closed, her eyelashes trembled, and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, only to be instantly swept away by the river’s current.

Even with her extraordinary constitution, nurtured from childhood with affinity for great rivers and seas, and despite the wandering Taoist who had divined her fate in youth, warning her of attracting aquatic spirits and urging her to avoid bodies of water, especially temporary pools, the girl named Yanghua grew and eventually caught the eye of a Great Li Qingwu geomancer. Taken to Her Ladyship’s side, she studied superior water arts, her cultivation advancing at an astonishing pace, three years of her practice equaling thirty, or even more, for others.

But the true reason forcing her onto this ‘path of no return’…

Becoming a River Lord or Jiang deity had always been seen by orthodox cultivators as a ‘dead end,’ a deviation from the path of immortality.

Imagine a bridge promising immortality, yet crumbling halfway, preventing passage to the other side – what kind of immortal bridge is that?

She knew in her heart: to possess such a treasure was to invite misfortune.

She had gained the talisman sword’s recognition, mastering the Talisman before the young sword cultivator Liu Baqiao of Wind and Thunder Garden could.

After obtaining this incredible opportunity, her cultivation soared, and she felt the Upper Five Realms within reach. Yet, simultaneously, a series of misfortunes befell her. First, Her Ladyship needed the sword to cleave the Dragon-Slaying Platform twice in the Li Zhu Cave. Then, when the sword was returned, it was on the verge of collapse. What could she do? One was her benefactor, the other a revered guest of the Great Li Dynasty. She had to grit her teeth and accept the result. But she never expected the Emperor’s decree, hastily appointing her as the Iron Talisman Jiang’s water deity.

In the water, the woman standing upon the sword hovered motionless, a deity enshrined in a shrine.

She banished all distracting thoughts, focusing her mind, forming hand seals, unmoving as a mountain.

First, strands of her dark hair fell, dissolving into the river, carried away by the current.

Then, the flesh of her body gradually melted away.

The excruciating pain came not just from the flesh, but from the wails deep within her soul. Despite the Great Li Dynasty’s secret techniques isolating her senses, her gradually dissolving form trembled uncontrollably.

Reduced to bones!

Finally, the woman was nothing more than a skeleton.

The water roiled, and steam rose high.

The half-ruined Talisman sword remained rooted in the riverbed, but the skeletal remains, still vaguely humanoid, began to sway like drifting seaweed, fragile and seemingly about to be swept away by the river.

At that critical moment, the golden tassels of the Taoist talisman sword, “Talisman,” began to emit a golden light. The strands tightened around the woman’s ankles and slowly crept upwards, stopping at the bones of her knees.
Only then did the White Bones stabilize her form, preventing her from being rejected by the profound divine will within the river, ultimately becoming the lowest of water ghosts and shadowy entities.

Gathering divinity, reshaping the golden body, her flesh achieving pseudo-saint status.

Atop the White Bones’ head, the first strand of hair began to sprout.

Not the crow-black hair of the Dragon Beard Creek River Woman “old crone,” but strands of pale golden hair. One by one, they appeared atop the White Bones, growing ever more lush, eventually coalescing into a head of golden hair that stretched for several yards, incomparably radiant.

This was a “Rain Master” phenomenon, a sight seen only once in a hundred years!

The river deities beneath the heavens, regardless of size, ultimately relied on the earth, flowing in accordance with its contours. Yet the Rain Masters, practically extinct in Treasure Bottle Continent, could be considered celestial beings. Although the Rain Master’s rank would not be much higher than that of a river deity, the difference between them was like a common Qi Refiner facing a sword cultivator of the same realm – the difference in combat strength was vast. It was somewhat similar to the lantern-carrying old man’s position as a Physician in the Great Li bureaucracy, whose weight far exceeded that of other Great Li officials of the same rank.

Taoism revered the Golden Immortals of the Great Luo, the Buddhist protectors possessed Arhat golden bodies, the world’s deities had clay sculptures and golden forms, and even the secular dynasties valued so-called golden branches and jade leaves – all bearing the character “golden.”

The golden body of a deity was, in fact, a figurative term, not implying that the deity was truly golden throughout. The Dragon Beard Creek River Woman’s golden body was merely the birth of a glimmer of gold in her eyes. This woman, however, possessed a full head of golden hair, symbolizing her Rain Master qualifications, a difference as vast as heaven and earth.

The woman began to regain her appearance.

Flesh grew upon the White Bones.

Finally, when she opened her eyes, her beauty surpassed even her previous allure.

A dress of azure, woven from the essence of river water, enveloped her alluring form.

She walked forward slowly, as if on solid ground, breathing freely. She felt more refreshed than when cultivating in a spirit-rich cave abode.

The woman raised her hand, and the talisman sword that had remained unsheathed at the bottom of the river leaped out on its own, into her grasp. Held horizontally before her, she gently drew the sword from its scabbard, gazing at the shocking cracks upon its blade, like scars on a beauty’s face, eliciting regret and pity.

Yang Hua, now a recognized Great Li River deity, rotated her wrist, holding the talisman sword aloft. Looking down, she stared at the blade, its sharpness undiminished despite its age. Softly, she said, “In the end, only you have remained, never abandoning me.”

The talisman sword trembled slightly, its spiritual energy depleted, like a withered old man on his sickbed, devoid of spirit.

“I will not despise you. Be it a dead end or not, we will walk it together to the end.”

Yang Hua lowered her head, slightly turning her cheek, using the blade to carve bloody grooves into her face, deep enough to see bone.

The iron talisman river water surged, its momentum growing ever more majestic and fierce, filled with killing intent, devoid of any resentment or melancholy.

Such is the way of the world: to possess a treasure is to invite disaster.

Such is the way of people: to wield a sharp weapon is to awaken a killing heart!

On the Green Ox Back of the Dragon Beard Riverbank, an old man squatted on a rocky cliff, smoking his dry tobacco pipe. Sitting carefully on the edge of the cliff was a “young woman,” her hair hanging down, extending into the river. Having ascended to the position of orthodox river deity recognized by the Great Li court, she could now briefly come ashore in this manner. This small step should not be underestimated; for river women and river lords, no matter how many centuries they cultivated, remained powerless to do so.

The woman, whose hair covered the water surface below the rocky cliff, timidly said, “Immortal, why can’t I, Ma Lan Hua, have a river deity temple? Even a tiny, dilapidated one would do.”

The old man exhaled smoke, scoffing, “With your infamous reputation, you still dream of continuous incense offerings? I’m afraid you’d only receive vats of spit and saliva. Besides, do you think enjoying incense offerings is a guarantee against droughts and floods? And that it’s just a matter of lying back and enjoying the good life, doing nothing?”

The woman smiled ingratiatingly. “Immortal, you know I’m just a simple village woman, long on hair and short on brains. Please enlighten me, so I don’t commit some taboo and offend some great figure. I’m not afraid of being beaten, but if I cause trouble for the Immortal, my heart would be filled with unease.”

As she spoke of being long on hair and short on brains, the woman glanced sidelong at her raven hair, a hint of self-satisfaction in her heart.

Her hair was truly long. Those short-lived crones and foolish women in the town, many of whom were only in their forties, already had gray hair. How could they compare to her? In terms of status and background, what did they have to compete with her, a dignified river deity?

The old man slowly said, “Once the ancestral hall is built, the altar established, and the incense burner placed, after the first incense stick is lit, you will be truly bound to this land and water. For example, when the two earthquakes from Red Candle Town reached Dragon Spring County, the ground shook and the river surged. If you had a territory, an ancestral hall, and a clay sculpture of your golden body, then you would suffer the impact of those tremors.”

Although the woman pretended to nod in agreement, she was somewhat unconvinced in her heart.

The old man remained expressionless, holding his tobacco pipe in one hand, casually tapping the rocky cliff with the other.

The woman’s flesh instantly crumbled inch by inch, causing her so much pain that she fell into the river, frantically howling beneath the surface, her body twisting and writhing.

The old man ignored her, slowly saying, “Why do mountain and water deities choose to wholeheartedly follow the mortal kings, helping to restrain the cultivators on the mountain? Aside from the matter of incense offerings, the fact that the cultivators’ battles affect the rise and fall of the luck of a place is also crucial. Who wants to be in a precarious situation, with their golden body possibly severely damaged tomorrow, and perhaps perishing between heaven and earth the day after?”

“Besides, the local customs, culture, and the undercurrents of strife will also affect your cultivation, either subtly or through sudden changes, all beyond the control of the deities’ will. The former is like being cut by a dull blade, the latter is a disaster falling from the sky. Ah, cherish the current leisurely scene. This is the true carefree joy of an immortal.”

The woman dared not come ashore again, her head, pale as snow, slowly emerging from the water, begging for mercy. “Great Immortal, I understand the importance of things now.”

The old man waved his hand. “Go away.”

The woman submerged into the water, her waist swaying, her form instantly passing through the stone arch bridge, fleeing for two or three miles along the waterway.
The woman, once the River Consort of Dragon Beard Creek, now strolled past the blacksmith shop section of the river with a newfound ease. She no longer feared that formidable young girl, for these days, besides diligently adding the murky weight of the river’s flow to aid the Saint of the Military Strategists, she was occasionally summoned by the girl to recount some trivial, long-forgotten happenings of the town. Gradually, she felt her own importance growing.

As for the strange girl, Ruan Xiu, as the woman knew her, she spent her days not only hammering iron but also keeping a close watch on the old house nearing completion. She also regularly helped clean some houses and had even moved her old hen and chicks to the blacksmith shop.

The woman couldn’t quite grasp the girl’s way of thinking. How could the only daughter of a Military Sage live like an ordinary village girl, so dull and without any grand ambitions?

But she wouldn’t dare voice her thoughts to Ruan Xiu.

Having become a true river deity, she felt the power of that fire dragon all the more keenly.

Now, however, she felt truly supported! She considered herself an ally of sorts to the Xiu girl, a part-time helper for the Military Sage, and perhaps even an unacknowledged disciple of Old Yang.

All these things filled the woman with immense pride.

Truth be told, she did hold grudges, but she was also forgetful, often forgetting the pain once the wound had healed.

Yet, she delighted in it all.

The old man sitting alone on the back of the green ox sighed, “A frog in a well, upon seeing a fleeting glimpse of the round moon, is momentarily relieved of its worries.”

After a long while, a young man with a cinnabar mark between his eyebrows slowly walked onto the stone cliff and squatted beside the old man, sighing deeply.

Old Yang chuckled and asked, “Much reading at the academy today?”

The “young” State Preceptor was so wounded by this question that he trembled with anger.

The old man didn’t rub salt into the wound, as they had been brief allies. “The Yuan family’s Literary Pavilion and the Cao family’s Martial Temple, their clay statues with gold leaf are complete, correct? But the location hasn’t been decided yet? Aren’t you going to help your student? Are you truly willing to watch his career falter in this Dragon Spring County?”

The handsome young man with the cinnabar mark looked dejected. “In the past, I would have had a backup plan. But do you think I need to now?”

Old Yang nodded. “It’s quite pitiful.”

The young man snapped, “Hey, Old Yang, it’s one thing for you not to plead my case, but do you have to mock me?!”

Old Yang remained unmoved. “I’m merely being sarcastic, not mocking.”

The old man thought for a moment and added, “If I were willing to swallow my pride and plead for you, would it even work?”

The young man mumbled, “You should still speak up for me, say something!”

The young man leaned back, lying on the uneven green stone cliff, gazing at the towering, bottomless night sky, muttering to himself, “Did you and Song Changjing have a secret pact, like I did?”

Old Yang laughed. “Yes, and we weren’t very secretive about it. Otherwise, Li Er wouldn’t have made such a fuss with Song Changjing. Rather than let Your Majesty fret and suspect, it’s better to put it on the table for him to see for himself and have a grasp of things. But I reckon with Song Changjing’s rebellious nature, he probably told him everything to his face when he got to the capital.”

The young man fumed. “I’m just less fortunate than Song Changjing. I shouldn’t have come to this forsaken place. A blessed land? This place is simply my, Cui Chan’s, unlucky ground!”

The old man chuckled. “That’s not necessarily true for the other half of the State Preceptor, Cui Chan.”

The young man sat up, enraged. “Old Yang, if you say another word like that, I’ll fight you to the death!”

Old Yang glanced at the young man who had suffered a series of misfortunes and refrained from adding fuel to the fire. “Have you realized how much you’ve changed since being severed from the connection?”

The young man frowned, puzzled. “Have I?”

The old man nodded, his expression serious. “Yes. Your character is gradually changing, your soul is stabilizing. Although your cultivation is negligible, compared to the previous State Preceptor Cui Chan, you finally have a semblance of the young Cui Chan.”

The young man’s face turned ashen, his eyes burning with fury.

The old man looked into the distance, teasing, “Looks like reading is useful after all.”

The one who was originally just residing in this precious body, Cui Chan, now seemed like an immigrant who had moved far away and settled down.

Cui Chan, split in two.

The State Preceptor Cui Chan lost a part of his soul, and the body inhabited by the young Cui Chan’s spirit was both a place of residence and a cage.

The young man didn’t want to dwell on this, fearing he might impulsively drown himself. He quickly changed the subject. “Your Majesty didn’t agree to merge Dragon Beard Creek and Iron Amulet River into one, then allocate it all to the River Consort, but divided it in two, promoting each separately. At the same time, he unexpectedly promoted Song YuZhang, who ‘died of illness’ here, to Mountain God of Fallen Phoenix Mountain. And he secretly had a golden head made, sent to Dragon Spring County. So, he’s giving his imperial brother Song Changjing and that woman beside him each fifty lashes.”

Old Yang looked towards the undulating mountains and peaks to the west, asking, “You, Cui Chan, the great State Preceptor, also need to speculate on the Emperor’s mind?”

The young man was stunned, then sighed. “Firstly, being caged for too long makes the horse thin and its coat long, poverty shortens one’s ambition. Secondly, that Emperor has high ambitions, favors open plots, being upright and honorable, which makes him not to be underestimated. In another dynasty, Song Changjing would have usurped the throne long ago, and that woman might have already tasted being Empress.”

“East Jewel Bottle Continent is small, but there’s one thing unique to it: in recorded history, there hasn’t been an Empress who has ruled the world. Countless women are eager to seize the opportunity to achieve everlasting fame, even if it’s notorious, they’d probably be willing.”

“I wonder if Great Li can survive this crisis. Even if it does, I wonder how many years it will regress.”

“But, only I know what A Liang wants to do, can guess what he will do.”

Speaking of which, the young man suddenly became radiant.

Old Yang asked, “Does the Cui Chan in the capital not know?”

The young man sighed, his expression complex. “That me, probably doesn’t know anymore.”
The boy vigorously rubbed his cheeks, “That Chen clan of Dragon Tail County has suddenly established a school here, offering free lessons to all young children in Dragon Spring County. They’ve spent a fortune to hire three teachers, all renowned scholars and literary giants from the state and surrounding counties, all close associates and esteemed guests of the Chen clan. Is the Yin’s Chen clan behind this? Are they, this branch of Confucian scholars, plotting something in Treasure Bottle Continent?”

Old Man Yang chuckled, “I know the cause and effect of this matter, but I won’t tell you. You’re about to pack your bags and get out of here anyway. I’m being more than generous just by chatting with you this much.”

This time, the boy, Cui Chan, didn’t get angry. “Good riddance,” he said.

As soon as the boy stood up, his face changed instantly. He stomped his foot in anger and cursed loudly, “Good riddance, my ass! I can tolerate being saddled with two burdens, but to make me be that kid’s disciple?! What were you thinking, old man?! Did you lose all your cultivation, status, and even your knowledge?! If you dared to stand in front of me right now, I swear I’d curse you until you bleed from the ears! Old man, you’re shameless! You’re a scoundrel! Have you any sense of honor or reason…”

Old Man Yang raised his thumb, clicking his tongue, “Such youthful heroism, such a courageous spirit.”

The boy suddenly stopped cursing and whispered, “I didn’t mention anyone by name. The old man used to have earth-shattering abilities, but that was ages ago. Now he only has a tiny bit left. Surely, he can’t still hear my words, can he?”

Old Man Yang stood up, put away his pipe, patted his behind, and prepared to leave. “You never know. After all, you were once his first disciple. You might be an exception.”

The boy, Cui Chan, gave a dry laugh, trying to reassure himself, “Impossible, impossible.”

Just then, ordinary Confucian primers appeared out of thin air in front of the boy, one after another. Without anyone touching them, they slowly opened to the first page.

The boy with the cinnabar mark between his eyebrows was dumbfounded, as if he had lost his parents.

Old Man Yang walked away, “Ah, someone’s going to have to study again.”

The boy straightened his clothes with a dazed expression, stood up straight, and began to loudly recite, “Heaven and earth have righteous energy, manifested in countless forms. Below, it becomes rivers and mountains; above, it becomes the sun and stars…”

The boy suddenly came to his senses and looked at the old man’s back. “You bastard! Did you deliberately leak my words to the old man?! You old turtle, why are you bullying me like this? I just exposed your identity! Do you have to hold a grudge like this…”

The boy’s hand trembled for no reason, and he yelped in pain, as if a strict teacher in a private school was standing beside him, striking a naughty student with a ruler.

The boy continued to roar, “In man, it is called the Grand Righteousness, filling the vastness between heaven and earth. The imperial path should be clear and smooth, holding peace and expressing a bright court…”

At the entrance of Pillow Post in Red Candle Town, the clerk who had been rude to a poor old scholar probably felt that he couldn’t fight an old man. In the end, he grumbled and told the old man the answer, saying that those people had left by boat during the day, heading south along the Embroidered River.

After seeing the old man turn and leave, the clerk spat heavily on the ground. He only remembered afterward that it was in front of his own post station, and he awkwardly rubbed it away with his toe.

Ever since those children came to Pillow Post, strange things had been happening one after another, and in the end, they had even caused the kind-hearted postmaster to lose his job. They were a jinx.

The old man carrying his baggage walked down the street, thought about it carefully, and decided to give up on the pursuit. Time will reveal people’s hearts.

The old man quietly reached out, grasped a jade hairpin, and put it back in his sleeve.

Those children went south to Great Sui, while the old scholar went west.

The road ahead is wide open, each going his own way.

Whether they will eventually meet again, nobody knows, it’s hard to say.

But the path under one’s feet must be walked step by step.

On a large boat, because of an annoying white donkey, Chen Ping’an and the others could only stand at the bow of the boat, unable to sit comfortably in the cabin.

Fortunately, the four of them were already used to a hard life. Only Li Huai was angry that the boat owner looked down on them, but he soon smiled happily and asked Lin Shouyi to help him lead the donkey. He climbed onto the donkey’s back, riding the donkey while on the boat, making Li Huai grin from ear to ear.

The other passengers on the boat looked at these boys and children with an idiotic gaze.

Lin Shouyi held the reins, and the river wind blew gently, caressing the boy’s temples. The boy touched his chest, where he kept the yellow paper talisman and “Cloud Top Library Book”.

Chen Ping’an was squatting nearby, skillfully chopping green bamboo with a machete. He had promised to make two small book boxes for Lin Shouyi and Li Huai.

The little girl in the red cotton-padded jacket, who was squatting and unwilling to take off her emerald green book box, suddenly exclaimed in surprise, “Little Martial Uncle, your hairpin is gone! It was clearly still there before we got on the boat.”

Chen Ping’an was stunned and touched the bun on his head, feeling somewhat lost. However, over the past period, the boy had grown accustomed to all sorts of accidents. Although he felt very disappointed, he still smiled and said, “It’s okay. I remember those eight words. I’ll make one for myself in the future and engrave the same words on it.”

Li Bao Ping nodded.

The old scholar walking on the street of Red Candle Town smiled knowingly and whispered, “Good.”