In Fallen Phoenix Mountain, a small water pond had been newly dug behind the bamboo house. The water was so clear it held no fish, an empty expanse whose purpose remained unknown. Yet Wei Bo often squatted beside it, sometimes for half an hour at a time. He instructed the boy in green robes and the girl in pink skirts to keep a close watch on the pond for the past half-year, forbidding outsiders from approaching. Perhaps distrustful of the two youngsters, Wei Bo even moved the black serpent with golden lines on its belly from its lair, making it coil and guard the area near the bamboo house.

After Chen Ping’an’s departure, the green-robed boy, lacking his usual benchmark, grew lax in his cultivation, especially as the spring chill waned and the sun warmed the days. The girl in pink skirts reminded him twice, but the boy justified his idleness, claiming it was “relaxed progress, accumulating strength for a mighty leap,” and not mere indolence.

Today, Wei Bo again visited the rear of the bamboo house, with the green-robed boy trailing eagerly behind. No matter how the boy pressed him, Wei Bo would only say, “Wait and see,” refusing to reveal the truth. This left the boy frustrated, itching to transform into his true form and stir up the pond to see what lay beneath. However, he feared Wei Bo’s status and cultivation, as well as the mountain deity’s smiling-dagger personality. Thus, the water snake suppressed his curiosity, lest he suffer further tribulations while already under their roof.

Wei Bo squatted by the pond, carefully observing the subtle currents. Though seemingly still water, it was far from it. The foundation of Fallen Phoenix Mountain’s natural fortune lay not in the mountain god’s temple on the peak, but in the bamboo house, and the water’s fortune in the pond before him. The mountain god, Song Yu Zhang, already at odds with the Northern Mountain Deity, and being a loyal subject, reported this secret to the Ministry of Rites and the Astronomical Observatory. The reply was an order to keep silent and not reveal a word. Since it was the decree of the Great Li Dynasty, Song Yu Zhang ceased his inquiries. He took the resulting constraints on his cultivation, which prevented him from fully governing Fallen Phoenix Mountain, with equanimity.

However, Song Yu Zhang’s relationship with his superior, Wei Bo, continued to deteriorate.

The green-robed boy also squatted by the pond, unsure where this pool of clear water had been drawn from. However, given Wei Bo’s status, moving mountains and rivers within the “Great Li Northern Mountain” territory was surely an easy task.

The boy stared eagerly at the clear pond water, frustrated he couldn’t discern a single clue. He failed to notice Wei Bo beside him, who, on his own territory, was pale, his brow slick with sweat, shoulders burdened as if carrying a mountain, unable even to stand.

Time flowed like water. Bored, the green-robed boy yawned, and noticed a stranger standing beside Wei Bo, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the pond with a smile. The man wore a Daoist robe and a lotus crown. Young and handsome, but his smile was unsettling, like someone who would use palmistry as a pretext to steal a touch of maidens’ hands. If they were near the Royal River, the boy would have sent the imposter running, but after so many incidents in Dragon Spring County, he had become more restrained. Besides, they had the Northern Mountain Deity beside them, and a martial arts grandmaster in the bamboo house. What was there to fear?

The green-robed boy stood, clearing his throat. “Hey, Daoist! What kind of manners are those, barging in without a word? Do you know my master, Chen Ping’an, owns this entire mountain? And there’s a fiercely savage black serpent near the bamboo house that loves to eat people. You’re lucky I’ve been diligently persuading it to abstain from meat, or else…”

The boy crossed his arms, nostrils flaring.

He laughed inwardly. *Finally, I’ve found someone I can scold!* The more he looked at the young Daoist, the more pleasing he became. He almost wanted to become sworn brothers.

“Is that so? Then I owe you my life,” the young Daoist said with a radiant smile, bowing in thanks.

The stranger’s demeanor, compared to Wei Bo’s sinister, subtle smiles, seemed much more sincere. However, in this cursed Dragon Spring County, the boy had become overly cautious, a case of once bitten, twice shy. He scrutinized the Daoist again, confirming that he showed no signs of being a cultivator. He nearly wept with joy, walked over, jumped, and slapped the Daoist’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it! My master, Chen Ping’an, said before he left, that I had to shoulder the responsibility and act as master of the house while he was away. As a guest, you shouldn’t be alarmed.”

From the window of the bamboo house, the barefoot old man chuckled. “Go ahead, slap the Daoist’s shoulder again.”

The green-robed boy grew wary, looking up at the Daoist, then at the crazy old man at the window, and then at the lotus crown on the Daoist’s head. He tentatively asked, “Let’s talk this through, shall we? Are you a tenth-realm Grand Master or an eleventh or twelfth-realm Heavenly Sovereign?”

The young Daoist shook his head, smiling. “Neither.”

The green-robed boy was skeptical, and asked in a low voice, “Brother, when we wander the world, regardless of seniority or cultivation, we value sincerity. Don’t lie to me.”

The young Daoist nodded. “I truly am not lying.”

Below the tenth realm, he could handle it, especially with Wei Bo and the old man here. If he still hesitated, it would be a disgrace!

The boy quickly assessed the situation, feeling secure in his invincibility. He smiled brightly, jumped up, and slapped the Daoist’s shoulder again. “I can tell you have extraordinary talent. Don’t be discouraged! Just a nascent soul realm terrestrial immortal of the Daoist school. With a few centuries of effort, you might have a chance. If things get tough, just say you know… the Royal River White Stripe, or the Fallen Phoenix Mountain Little Dragon King. What do you think of those nicknames? One is romantic, the other is impressive…”

The old man in the upper level laughed heartily, and gave the boy a thumbs up. “Little water snake, you have some guts! If you survive today, you can brag about it for the rest of your life!”
Lu Chen saw through the little fellow’s thoughts and said in an annoyed tone, “First, this Daoist is not your long-lost father or ancestor. Second, this Daoist doesn’t fancy your dragon hide after you transform into a Flood Dragon. Third, the reason this Daoist enlightened you once is because your origins are rather special, and perhaps I will need to ask you again in the future whether you wish to journey to the Azure Profound Heavens.”

This Lu Chen vanished in a flash.

The blue-clad little boy stood up and looked around, finding that the lotus-crowned Daoist had also disappeared from beside Silly Girl and Wei Bo.

Instantly, he burst into laughter through his tears, swaggering towards the pink-skirted girl by the bamboo building, his nose in the air. “Silly Girl, you know what? The immortal elder praised my talent as being too good, almost kneeling down to take me as his disciple, and even said he’d take me to some-such heaven to eat and drink my fill! Who am I? Since I’ve acknowledged Chen Ping An as my master, I have to show some Jianghu integrity, right? So I rejected him without hesitation. You didn’t see the glittering tears in the immortal elder’s eyes at the time. Alas, pitiful immortal elder, such a loyal heart! Blame Chen Ping An for having such good luck, taking in a little page like me, and blame me for being so loyal! Oh, right, Silly Girl, what did the immortal elder say to you?”

The pink-skirted girl raised a small hand, golden light radiating from it. She said awkwardly, “The immortal elder talked to me about the rules of calligraphy, and said at the end that you would definitely spout nonsense, and asked me to do him a favor and slap you.”

A crisp and melodious “smack.”

The blue-clad little boy was slapped heavily on the face by the golden palm, spinning several times in the air before falling to the ground. The blue-clad little boy lay on the ground, deciding to play dead.

Wei Bo stood by the pond, gazing towards the quiet second floor of the bamboo building, his heart filled with worry.

In the Ancient Elm Kingdom, within a private mansion named “Great Verdant Manor,” a tall and handsome scholar, his face with a sickly pallor, was eating a steamed Peach Blossom Mandarin Fish. In his left hand was a specially made silver hook, and in his right, a pair of green bamboo chopsticks. He slowly savored the seasonal delicacy, occasionally putting down his chopsticks to take a sip of the Ancient Elm Kingdom’s tribute wine.

Standing before the refined scholar’s dining table were four of the Ancient Elm Kingdom’s top martial arts masters and Qi cultivators, figures of renown in their respective domains.

One was a sword dao grandmaster at the peak of the fourth realm of martial prowess, self-taught, with a heavy heart for killing. His reputation in the Ancient Elm Kingdom and surrounding countries was mixed. He was generally acknowledged as having great merit but lacking virtue. Supporters firmly believed that this grandmaster could confidently win against any sword cultivator below the fifth realm from outside a sect.

Another was a fourth-realm assassin, not wearing a mask. He was an unremarkable, rustic man, but his face was clearly covered with a false skin. This man was the master of the Ancient Elm Kingdom’s “Buying the Casket” building. “Buying the Casket” was a well-known assassin organization in several countries, the name meaning that the price was fair, and employers only needed to pay the price of a wooden box to receive the reward of a pearl.

He had once personally taken on a job to assassinate a fifth-realm Qi cultivator, nearly succeeding. If the other party had not possessed a secret treasure passed down within the sect, he would likely have succeeded. After that, the “Buying the Casket” building suffered a round of thunderous revenge, almost disappearing. However, during this period, the “Buying the Casket” building also displayed enough Jianghu courage, sparing no expense to specifically assassinate the disciples of that immortal family who were traveling the world. After more than twenty years of protracted entanglement, one side was nearly destroyed, while the other was deeply wounded. Finally, under the personal mediation of the Ancient Elm Kingdom’s National Preceptor, the two sides ceased hostilities.

Thus it could be said that Jianghu sects were not limited to eking out a living and depending on others; they also possessed the heroic spirit of daring to risk everything to drag immortals down from the mountains.

The remaining two Qi cultivators were, a bewitching woman, a rogue cultivator, skilled in the use of poisons, with endless tricks that were hard to defend against, capable of corrupting the soul. Whether they were Jianghu martial artists or mountain immortals, they were unwilling to provoke this “scorpion woman.”

However, the other Qi cultivator was an unfamiliar face that had never appeared in the Ancient Elm Kingdom’s government or public eye.

The reason that these four big figures could gather together was simple. The young man who looked like a scholar on his way to the capital for the imperial examination was the Ancient Elm Kingdom’s National Preceptor.

After finishing the delicious and fragrant Peach Blossom Mandarin Fish, he took out three pieces of paper from his sleeve, each depicting a portrait of a person. He tapped the middle one, a youth carrying a wooden box on his back, with a bent finger, and smiled, “There is a Mysterious-ranked treasure in the national treasury. Whoever successfully intercepts and kills this person can take it. Let me say in advance that this youth is very likely a sixth-realm sword cultivator, and the facade of a third-realm pure martial artist is just an illusion. Don’t be deceived by him. I only care about collecting the head; as for how you kill him, I don’t care. If you kill the other two, there will also be some rewards. Everyone, please rest assured.”

The three left one after another, leaving only the Qi cultivator whose name was not well-known.

He sneered, “National Preceptor Chu, is it not good to be generous with others’ possessions?”

The scholar asked with a smile, “Is this your meaning, or His Majesty the Emperor’s meaning?”

The man was silent.

The scholar smiled, “As long as you bring back the head, wouldn’t that be enough? The things still belong to the Chu clan’s treasury, but they are just passing through my hands.”

The man snorted coldly and turned to leave.

After a brief stop in the Southern Ravine Kingdom, the Knocking on Prayer Mountain’s Kun ship continued to ascend, riding the wind south.

The Kun ship was sailing over the central-southern part of the Treasure Bottle Continent, still in the good season of light clouds and gentle winds.

One day at dusk, the old Confucian scholar with a sable cap and a missing tooth walked out of his exclusive luxurious courtyard and came to the bow of the ship. As far as the eye could see, the sun was setting in the west, a magnificent sight.

The old Confucian scholar kept watching, and unknowingly, a woman who was also out for a stroll stood beside him. She used the small flying sword “Lightning,” famous throughout the Juru Continent, as a hairpin, a truly imaginative and incredibly lavish gesture.

The tail of Lightning was hung with a bead pendant, for an even stranger reason: the woman’s father was afraid that Lightning’s speed was too fast and his daughter wouldn’t be able to control it, so he found a Chi bead obtained from a secret dragon palace realm. To this end, he did not hesitate to reforge the sword in order to pierce a hole and suspend the bead, so as to slow down its speed.

The old Confucian scholar did not turn his head to look at the young woman with whom he had recently “feuded.” The old man’s face was smiling, but his lips did not move, he just secretly conveyed his thoughts, “Little girl, you shouldn’t have come to see me. Be careful not to give yourself away. When that happens, no matter how much your father dotes on you, he won’t let you off lightly.”

The young woman’s expression was cold, and she replied with her mind, “Sword Casket Gentleman, why did you act like this? You have no relatives, no children, and no disciples…”
The old scholar adjusted his sable cap, no longer hiding his thoughts, and spoke plainly, chuckling, “Little girl, if you truly dislike that young master Hulyu, just say so directly. Don’t feel obligated to like someone simply because you think he’s a good man. And in the future, if you meet a man you admire, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s bad, forcing you to dislike him.”

The young woman’s cheeks flushed slightly.

The old man sighed, “I’ve wandered all my life, a home in every corner of the world, yet now I find this small courtyard on the Kun vessel offers the most peace of mind. Fortunately, I brought a chest of books before boarding. Every morning when I open the door, I’m greeted by the billowing sea of clouds, the mountains, rivers, sun, and moon – a feast for the eyes! Closing the door, I have a table full of books, moral essays, to cultivate my heart…”

The young woman softly sighed.

This southward journey was arranged by her father, who said it was to help her relax and clear her mind.

At first, she thought her father was trying to match her with young master Hulyu, but she only realized it wasn’t so simple when they reached Wutong Dock in the Dali Dynasty.

Just yesterday, she learned the real truth, discovering that this Mr. Jianweng was a key piece in the game.

What an elaborate scheme!

She even worried she would become a pawn to be sacrificed.

The old man with the sable cap waved his hand, “Go, go, I’m no handsome young man. What would a maiden like you want with an old geezer watching the sunset? You might not feel awkward, but I certainly do.”

The young woman silently departed, returning to her courtyard, holding her breath, and quietly awaiting the unfolding drama.

The old cultivator from Julu Continent, nicknamed Mr. Jianweng, smacked his lips, took off his sable cap, vigorously brushed it twice, and tossed it carelessly over the edge of the Kun vessel, letting it drift away with the wind, “Farewell, old friend.”

The old man turned to gaze northwards. In his youth, he was a promising scholar of Julu Continent, but his temperament was too abrasive, arrogant with his talent. He constantly grumbled, day in and day out, year after year, cursing court officials for incompetence, berating military generals for being useless, scolding the emperor as a fool. In the end, wasn’t he just cursing himself for being a useless scholar?

Later, when his home and country were lost, the old man could no longer bring himself to curse.

The old scholar without his sable cap returned to his small courtyard. Along the way, the stewards and servants of Dazhao Mountain treated him with utmost respect. The old man felt a pang of guilt, but his smile remained as warm as ever, greeting them and joking, making them feel at ease. Compared to the taciturn young master Hulyu and the sinister Madam Qinggu, this Mr. Jianweng was much more “lovable.”

In the twilight, the old man returned to his room, picked up a Confucian classic, sat in the courtyard, but didn’t bother to read. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to doze.

Below the Kun vessel lay the territory of the Zhuying Dynasty, one of the most powerful dynasties in Treasure Bottle Continent, known for its abundance of sword cultivators. Legend had it that the Snowwind Temple’s Land Immortal, Wei Jin, had spent the longest time in the Zhuying Dynasty during his first journey through the world, engaging in several life-and-death battles against renowned sword cultivators of the Zhuying Dynasty.

The Zhuying Dynasty was a leading power in the central and southern regions of Treasure Bottle Continent, with over a dozen vassal states. In terms of land area, it was second only to the Dali Dynasty in the north, which had annexed the Lu Clan Dynasty. Among the many sons and grandsons of the Zhuying Emperor, two ninth-realm sword cultivators had already decided to renounce their claim to the throne. Among the four royal guardians, one was a tenth-realm sword cultivator who had fought with Li Tuanjing of the Wind and Thunder Garden, known as the strongest below the fifth realm in Treasure Bottle Continent, three times, losing each time but with a narrow margin. Otherwise, Li Tuanjing wouldn’t have accepted the subsequent two challenges.

Previously, the two major dynasties north of Guanhua Academy fought to the death, both suffering heavy losses. The Zhuying Dynasty not far to the south watched the conflict from afar, and the court officials rejoiced in their misfortune.

Treasure Bottle Continent was filled with various countries, but only a handful were truly worthy of the title “Dynasty.”

The Northern Lu Clan Dynasty was now a thing of the past. It was said that the royal descendants either hanged themselves or jumped into wells. Those who survived were reduced to criminal laborers, forced to mine and cultivate land for the Dali Song Clan. The Great Sui Gao Clan was struggling alone, and further south were those two hostile dynasties locked in a fierce battle, throwing their last family possessions onto the battlefield, resulting in mutual destruction, corpses everywhere, and rivers of blood. The battlefield where the two countries fought was destined to become a historical site recorded in the annals of history.

The northern region of Treasure Bottle Continent, north of Nanjian Kingdom and Guanhua Academy, was a scene of intense fighting.

The southern region remained peaceful.

However, in the twilight of this day, on an unknown mountain peak within the Zhuying Dynasty, countless sword auras suddenly erupted, illuminating the surrounding dozens of miles as bright as day. The sword auras shot straight into the sky, like a waterfall surging upwards, violently crashing into a floating Kun vessel.

In an instant, the massive Kun vessel, travelling across continents, was riddled with holes. Hundreds of people died on the spot, and the severely damaged Kun fish wailed and violently thrashed. The formations used to stabilize the buildings on the Kun fish’s back were destroyed by the impact of the sword auras. The Kun fish’s violent shaking made matters worse, and coupled with the strong gusts of wind in the sky, hundreds more people were thrown off the Kun vessel’s back, falling to their deaths on the land of the Zhuying Dynasty.

The destruction of the Kun vessel was inevitable. The ship owner and the Qi refiners of Dazhao Mountain were helpless, forced to watch the dying Kun fish struggle as it crashed towards the ground.

During this time, many powerful cultivators soared into the air in panic, including Madam Qinggu and her party.

The slender and withered Madam Qinggu’s face was ashen, her eyes narrow and long, even more like sharp blades when she squinted. She held her son in one arm and grabbed her husband’s neck with the other, staring intently at the rapidly descending Kun vessel, then her gaze swept towards the origin of the sword auras, as if trying to find the culprit.

Tiny figures of cultivators constantly ascended, quickly leaving the Kun vessel.

However, those Qi refiners who could not fly were destined to their fate. Moreover, if the Kun fish rolled over and crashed into the earth, they would all certainly die, with no chance of survival.

Just then, an extremely long golden rainbow appeared from the northern sky.

The golden rainbow arrived beneath the head of the Kun fish.

It was a middle-aged monk with a resolute face. He supported the Kun fish with both hands, let out an angry roar, and squatted slightly, a large area of golden lotus flowers appearing beneath his feet.

However, the force of the Kun vessel’s descent was so powerful, it was like a mountain crushing down.
The monk was pressed downwards, his golden lotus pedestals crumbling beneath him. His arrival, though slightly slowing the descent of the Kun leviathan, wouldn’t likely prevent the creature’s head from driving him dozens of feet into the earth.

Blood, not of the usual crimson hue, but golden, seeped from the seven orifices of the middle-aged monk’s face.

He was, in fact, a Golden Body Arhat of the Buddhist faith.

Showing no sign of yielding, the monk roared, suddenly turning to face the impending doom. He hunched his back, as if carrying a heavy load, and with his freed hands, began forming a mudra at his chest.

The Buddhist cultivator raised his right forearm, fingers extended upwards like towering peaks, palm facing outwards.

It was the Abhaya Mudra, the gesture of fearlessness.

Golden blood streamed down the monk’s body, yet his expression remained serene, seemingly impervious to the immense suffering and the loss of painstakingly accumulated cultivation.

As the monk’s feet touched the ground, the Kun vessel’s downward momentum began to stabilize. However, the monk was ultimately forced deep into the earth. When the Kun vessel came to a rumbling halt, the monk was nowhere to be seen. After a long while, the soil shifted, and the monk, covered in dust and golden blood, clawed his way out from beneath the Kun’s belly. His face filled with compassion, the middle-aged monk turned, pressed his palms together, and chanted a soft “Amitabha.”

Under the cloak of night, the monk walked atop the back of the deceased Kun leviathan, amidst collapsed buildings and shattered ruins, all littered with corpses and the injured.

He tended to each and every one to the best of his ability. Finally, he came before a young girl, her face smeared with blood. The monk sighed, seeing her unharmed, pressed his palms together, and silently departed.

The girl, her eyes devoid of light, clutched a corpse of another girl her age. The face of the deceased was unrecognizable, but a beautiful embroidered pouch hung limply at her waist.

The surviving girl gently patted the corpse’s back, repeating in a murmur, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.”

Colorweave Kingdom, Rouge Prefecture.

The sun blazed overhead, the prefecture city’s streets bustling with activity, the official road outside the city thronged with merchants and travelers.

The Old Immortal had taken up residence in a large manor not far from the Prefect’s residence. The owner, a man of immense wealth, had sent out invitations far and wide, inviting all the influential figures in the city to be his guests. For this occasion, he had erected a high platform in the middle of the lake, adorned with lanterns even before nightfall. Guests arrived one after another, bringing their families, numbering no less than three hundred.

Thanks to Prefect Xu’s son, Xu Gaohua, Chen Pingan and his companions were able to enter. However, their position was not ideal, placed along a covered walkway by the lake, with two long benches provided. They did, however, have a small table with fruit and refreshments, making them somewhat better off than those guests nearby who only had seats. The table had been added at the last minute when Xu Gaohua decided to stay with his friends instead of accompanying his father, the Prefect.

Chen Pingan had intended to practice his Sword Furnace technique, but fearing it would draw too much attention, he instead took out his wine gourd and slowly drank.

Xu Gaohua sat between the bearded strongman and the Daoist Zhang Shanfeng, whispering to them about the host’s immense wealth and his intricate, secret connections to a prominent general in the Colorweave Kingdom.

The Old Immortal and his yellow paper beauty arrived as promised. First, they swooped down from a tall building in the distance, gently landing on the high platform in the lake. Their landing, light as a dragonfly skimming water, with sleeves billowing, displayed the Immortal’s elegant bearing. This single act garnered thunderous applause and cheers, echoing along the lake’s edge.

The Old Immortal, his face flushed with health and a slender, scholarly air, was dressed in the attire of a cultured recluse. After landing, he wasted no words, even forgoing pleasantries with the Prefect and the military general. With a flick of his wrist, a yellow talisman appeared between his fingers. Those with sharp eyes, like martial arts grandmasters, could see the lines depicting a woman, though far from lifelike.

The Old Immortal lightly flicked his finger, and the yellow paper shot out, exploding into a cloud of green mist as it touched the ground.

A graceful woman in colorful garments emerged slowly from the green smoke, offering a graceful bow to the main guests seated in a waterside pavilion.

The bearded swordsman and the young Daoist clicked their tongues in wonder, while Xu Gaohua applauded enthusiastically.

Chen Pingan, however, suddenly raised his gaze.

Someone else looked over at the same time.

The person was crouched on the courtyard wall in the distance, grinning at Chen Pingan.

Chen Pingan stood up calmly, telling Zhang Shanfeng that he was going to find the privy. The young Daoist told him to hurry back, lest he miss the exciting spectacle. Chen Pingan nodded with a smile.

As Chen Pingan walked out of the covered walkway and down the steps, the black-clad youth, about the same age as Chen Pingan, began to walk atop the wall.

The distance between them rapidly closed.

Chen Pingan took a deep breath, as if facing a formidable foe.

Some partings are best left unrepeated, yet they often lead to unexpected encounters.

Such as the meeting between Chen Pingan and that fellow named Ma Kuxuan.

Some partings, though filled with hope for reunion, are destined to have no return, like Chen Pingan and that girl named Qiushi.