(A massive 11,000-word chapter!)

As night descended, Swordwater Manor was ablaze with lights, its courtyards teeming with esteemed guests. Goblets clinked, laughter echoed, and countless casks of fine wine were drained, the aroma of which was said to have wafted all the way to the nearby town.

Chen Pingan inquired with Steward Chu about the Immortal Ferry. Indeed, such a place existed within Shushui Kingdom, some six hundred li distant from Swordwater Manor, bordering Songxi Kingdom. It was rumored that cultivators often frequented the area, but the surrounding three hundred li had long been declared a forbidden zone by the Shushui royal family. Without official documents issued by the state, any unauthorized entry, be it by commoner or martial artist, was met with swift and merciless execution. The astute Steward Chu, ever perceptive, readily offered that Swordwater Manor enjoyed a close relationship with a frontier Grand Commandant’s Office, a bond forged through generations. A letter from the Old Manor Lord would easily secure the necessary travel documents, sparing Chen Pingan and his companions any trouble.

Zhang Shanfeng further inquired if there were shops run by cultivators near the ferry, for trading goods. The steward confirmed their existence, mentioning that the Young Manor Lord, Song Fengshan, had personally visited the ferry after his original sword was damaged, returning with the short sword he now constantly wore at his waist. The steward, truly knowing no bounds in his candor, not only revealed these internal matters of Shushui Kingdom but also divulged that Song Fengshan had spent a staggering nine hundred snowflakes of silver on that Immortal weapon named “Azure Water,” nearly half of the manor’s accumulated wealth in gold and silver. He spilled all these secrets like beans from a bamboo tube, sharing them with the three.

This wasn’t due to the old steward being blinded by some misplaced sense of chivalry, oblivious to the dangers of oversharing with strangers. Rather, the Sword Saint Song Yushao had privately instructed him to treat the three, especially the sword-bearing youth Chen Pingan, as if they were his close friends, with no need for the manor to be guarded against them.

A promise worth a thousand gold pieces, a bond forged in life and death – the word “friend” carried the weight of a mountain.

This was the code of brotherhood upheld by the older generation like Song Yushao. Steward Chu had followed the Sword Saint of Shushui for sixty years, risking his life for the manor, sharing its triumphs and tribulations. It was this very spirit of brotherhood that had inspired him to be so diligent and devoted, without complaint or regret.

Inside Zhang Shanfeng’s room, the three had just finished a lavish dinner filled with mountain delicacies when Chen Pingan was about to head to the waterfall to practice his boxing. He was abruptly stopped by Zhang Shanfeng, who asked him to wait a moment. The bearded giant had one leg propped up on a long bench, picking at his teeth with a bamboo toothpick, and asked if they needed to be discreet about something. The young Daoist, already rummaging through his luggage, replied that there was no need. Zhang Shanfeng quickly produced a pair of bamboo chopsticks and placed them on the table, pushing them towards Chen Pingan.

Chen Pingan asked curiously, “What’s this for? We’ve already finished eating. Why are you giving me chopsticks now?”

The chopsticks on the table were one of Zhang Shanfeng’s spoils of war from胭脂郡 (Yanzhi Prefecture): one was engraved with 青神山 (Qingshen Mountain), and the other with 神霄竹 (Shenxiao Bamboo).

Zhang Shanfeng smiled and said, “They’re for you. Consider it interest on that Moist Armor Pellet of Light. This humble Daoist fears owing people money more than anything. The thought of it keeps me up at night, especially when it’s five hundred snowflakes of silver. Converted to real silver, that’s fifty thousand taels! According to Steward Chu, even Swordwater Manor, as the leading force in Shushui Jianghu, only has a century’s worth of savings, totaling a little over two million taels. If I don’t give you something, I definitely won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Chen Pingan said helplessly, “Are you stupid? If these chopsticks are really made from the Shenxiao Bamboo of the Azure Bamboo Grotto, they could probably sell for several hundred snowflakes of silver. Even if they aren’t from Qingshen Mountain, the spiritual energy accumulated in the chopsticks over hundreds of years is undeniable. Since they are a Houtian Spiritual Artifact, they should sell for at least a few dozen snowflakes of silver, right? Interest? Is there interest this high? Do you, Zhang Shanfeng, take me for a ruthless loan shark?”

Chen Pingan became increasingly agitated, pushing the chopsticks back to the young Daoist. “Besides, we’re about to go to the Immortal Ferry in Shushui Kingdom. Since there are shops that trade precious artifacts and treasures, we’ll determine the price of the chopsticks first. If they’re only worth a dozen snowflakes of silver, I’ll accept them. But if they’re worth more than fifty, you can’t consider them interest on the debt.”

Zhang Shanfeng shook his head, his tone resolute. “No! This humble Daoist’s conscience won’t allow it. The Dao seeks enlightenment, and the greatest fear is inner demons. Chen Pingan, don’t hinder my cultivation!”

Chen Pingan stood up, jokingly scolding, “Just keep spouting nonsense! Get lost! There’s no room for discussion on this matter. Take them back! Otherwise, let’s have a fight. Whoever wins makes the decisions, okay?”

Zhang Shanfeng remained silent.

Chen Pingan pushed open the door and left, heading towards the waterfall to practice his boxing.

Zhang Shanfeng sighed and looked at the bearded giant. “What should I do?”

Xu Yuanxia gloated, “You’re light years away from competing with Chen Pingan in terms of scattering wealth.”

Zhang Shanfeng felt somewhat dejected, pouring himself a bowl of wine and taking a small sip, his face instantly flushing red.

It turned out that during the life-or-death battle in Yanzhi Prefecture, 彩衣國 (Colorful Clothing Kingdom), the young Daoist, in a moment of inspiration, infused his spiritual energy into the Armor Pellet, creating a Light Armor to protect himself, shielding the lofty Daoist Priest from the demon’s fatal blow. The knowledgeable old priest was shocked, exclaiming in disbelief, saying that he had only heard of the ancient榆 (Yu) Kingdom royal treasury having such a priceless Armor Pellet, one that the martial arts master of 松溪 (Songxi) Kingdom had once offered six thousand snowflakes of silver for but was rejected by the emperor of 古榆 (Gu Yu).

After that, the young Daoist had been constantly troubled by this matter, unsure how to bring it up with Chen Pingan. Later, due to the events at the ancient temple, and the seven hundred li mountain road they had walked, Chen Pingan was unusually silent, and Zhang Shanfeng found it even harder to have a frank conversation with Chen Pingan.

Now that they had arrived at Swordwater Manor and were about to go to the Immortal Ferry, he could no longer bear the torment in his heart. Zhang Shanfeng confided in the old Jianghu figure, the bearded giant, Xu Yuanxia helped the young Daoist confirm two things: First, Chen Pingan definitely knew the true value of the Armor Pellet and had intentionally offered it to Zhang Shanfeng at a greatly reduced price. Second, based on Zhang Shanfeng’s description, Chen Pingan had stayed in the 天 (Heaven) class cabin when he traveled on the打醮 (Dajiao) Mountain Kun ship from 北俱蘆洲 (Northern Club Luzhou). Although there was no doubt that the youth, carrying a sword and heading south, came from humble beginnings, he obviously possessed his own unique opportunities. Moreover, Chen Pingan seemed to place little importance on wealth, at least when it came to his friends.

Therefore, this was no longer simply a matter of owing money, but a significant favor, a debt of immense proportions.
In the end, Xu Yuanxia didn’t directly tell Zhang Shanfeng what to do, but offered two pieces of advice. The first was not to take a friend’s kindness for granted. The second was that clear accounts make long friendships; never assume that friendship allows for endless disregard, as that is the naive thinking of a child.

Thus, Zhang Shanfeng conceived of using the guise of interest to gift the mystical bamboo chopsticks produced in Qing Shen Mountain.

He chose the chopsticks over the white bowl that slowly absorbed the spiritual energy of the heavens and earth, condensing it into a drop of sweet dew, because Zhang Shanfeng himself was a Qi Refiner. For him, the white bowl was a necessity on his path of cultivation, like timely rain after a long drought, or providing charcoal in the snow. Chen Ping’an, however, was a pure martial artist who had no need for it; at best, it would be icing on the cake. Even if he received the white bowl, he would likely just sell it for a pittance.

Zhang Shanfeng drank his wine, his face flushed, and slurred, “Brother Xu, give me some advice! This humble Daoist truly can’t think of a way.”

The burly man said seriously, “If all else fails, why don’t you dress up in women’s clothes? From what I’ve seen, Chen Ping’an has no interest in women or female ghosts. He’ll strike or kill without hesitation…”

Hearing the burly man’s nonsense, the young Daoist sighed and slammed his head on the table, falling into a drunken slumber.

Ah, to live for the moment and let tomorrow worry about itself.

Xu Yuanxia stroked his beard, his mind conjuring two scenes, both within the dilapidated ancient temple. The young man telling a lithe woman to warm herself by the fire because it was cold.

Then, the woman transformed into a female ghost, and the young man grabbed her neck, pummeling her until her soul dissipated.

Xu Yuanxia recalled Chen Ping’an’s account of the waterfall incident at the dinner table, where a young woman with a backward-slung saber was punched into the water by him.

The burly man shuddered, terrified, and exclaimed, “Chen Ping’an! Could it be that you actually prefer men?”

In the grand hall of Sword Water Manor, the guests and hosts exchanged toasts, reveling in the intoxicating aroma of wine.

The hall was adorned with a large, colorful carpet, a unique “earth garment” woven by the weavers of Caiyi Kingdom.

The old Manor Lord, Song Yushao, still refused to show his face and greet guests. The young Manor Lord, Song Fengshan, sat in the main seat, with his virtuous wife beside him, who managed the manor’s affairs both internally and externally. Although the young woman was skilled at managing the household, she possessed an exceptional sense of propriety. Her treatment of others was impeccable, and she never overshadowed her husband’s brilliance. As a result, even though Song Fengshan often secluded himself to comprehend the sword, the young Sword Immortal’s reputation in the Flowing Stream Kingdom’s martial world continued to grow, eventually reaching the point where he could convene a martial arts gathering.

The leaders of the top martial arts sects in Flowing Stream Kingdom had all arrived tonight. In addition to these renowned figures of the righteous path, there were also a considerable number of wandering immortals, some elderly seniors who had long disappeared from the martial world. Most were in their seventies or eighties, and there were even two venerable elders in their nineties who took this opportunity to reunite and celebrate together, giving Sword Water Manor ample prestige.

The brother and sister from the Han family of Little Chong Mountain, the scholar Han Yuanshan and the maiden Han Yuanxue, were not seated in the most prominent positions. Their identities were somewhat sensitive, belonging to officials. If their seats were too conspicuous tonight, it would displease both Sword Water Manor and the Han family, inevitably provoking whispers and complaints from many martial arts heroes.

The seats of Wang Yiran and his daughter, Wang Shanhu, from the Horizontal Saber Manor, carried more weight than those of the Han siblings, separated by two wine tables.

The maiden Han Yuanxue was quite resentful of this, feeling slighted by the manor. The Han family should not have encountered such a situation anywhere in the Flowing Stream Kingdom. The seemingly refined scholar, Han Yuanshan, lightly waved his folding fan with one hand and raised his cup to drink with the other, unconcerned. His other identity, however, was shocking – he was actually one of the Flowing Stream Kingdom’s Four Fiends of the “Mountain.”

Although Flowing Stream Kingdom had a celestial ferry crossing, there were no mountain sects stationed within its borders. Therefore, the Four Fiends, despite their unsavory reputation, largely represented the most outstanding handful of experts in Flowing Stream Kingdom, looking down upon the martial world and scorning martial artists. Han Yuanshan also possessed the clean identity of the Han family of Little Chong Mountain, with countless family connections and senior figures in the imperial court and local government, allowing him to move freely wherever he went. The prestigious Sword Water Manor was naturally no exception.

Sitting alone at a wine table was a burly man and a beautiful young woman, occupying a central position on the left-hand side, noticeably distanced from the tables on either side. This was because everyone in the martial world knew of the man’s illustrious identity: the foremost figure in the Flowing Stream Kingdom’s underworld, named Dou Yang. Appearing to be a man in his prime, it was rumored that he was already a hundred years old. He claimed to be the leader of a Demonic Sect, with over a dozen demonic generals and guardians under his command. He had been causing storms in the southern part of Flowing Stream Kingdom. Fortunately, his sect was located in a remote area, on the border between Flowing Stream Kingdom and Pine Creek Kingdom, and had been relatively peaceful for the past few decades, refraining from bloodshed. However, the older generation of martial artists present loathed and feared him. Fifty years ago, the righteous and demonic paths in Flowing Stream Kingdom fought three bloody battles to seize territory, resulting in chaos and darkness, and the deaths of thousands of righteous experts.

Sword Water Manor’s seating arrangement, not placing Dou Yang and his maid in a prominent position, immediately impressed the assembled guests, earning the young Song Fengshan more admiration.

Although Song Fengshan was the host of this alliance and occupied the main seat, he spoke sparingly, merely drinking slowly on his own, not deliberately engaging in conversation with anyone. Occasionally, someone would invoke their connection with the old Sword Saint to try to establish a relationship with the future leader of the martial world. Song Fengshan, clad in a green robe and carrying a short sword at his waist, would at most return a cup of wine. More often, his young wife would recite the other party’s martial achievements as if they were treasures, adding some comments heard from her ancestors. She even knew the martial accomplishments of the other party’s outstanding descendants, which not only prevented the other party from feeling slighted but also made them feel comfortable and dignified.

If someone treats me with an inch of respect, I will return it with a foot.

The young woman conducted herself in a way that no one could find any fault with Sword Water Manor.
The old matron from the ancient temple, mistaken for Dou Yang, the great demon lord’s personal maid, possessed a seemingly innocent and delicate face that shimmered with light. Her eyes subtly scanned the surrounding guests, occasionally meeting Han Yuanshan’s gaze, only to break away instantly. However, the corners of the young woman’s lips curved upwards, her eyes filled with alluring charm. The scholar understood her intent and reciprocated with slight, suggestive gestures. The young woman’s heart blossomed with burgeoning affections. As she lowered her head to drink, she stealthily ran her tongue around the rim of the cup, causing Han Yuanshan’s eyes to narrow and his mouth to dry. He had personally experienced the old vixen’s bedroom skills, where she would always summon several graceful and seductive female ghosts. Even with his extraordinary talents and cultivation of demonic secret arts, he found it difficult to admit defeat.

Dou Yang, taking in the entire scene, sneered, “You lewd woman, you can get horny anytime!”

The young woman giggled, “Oh, is the great leader Dou jealous?”

Dou Yang picked up a chopstick of vegetables, seasoned to perfection, and ignored the teasing of his fellow Daoist.

Love between a man and a woman, the joys of the flesh, were insignificant compared to the struggle for the Great Dao and the solitary ascent to the peak!

Wang Yiran clearly sensed his daughter’s dejection and the numerous glances she stole at Song Fengshan, filled with deep affection and heavy disappointment.

Wang Yiran was well aware that this doomed romance would not end well. However, the rugged man did not feel the need to interfere and play matchmaker. Firstly, the reputation of Swordwater Manor was not something the inferior Horizontal Blade Manor could criticize. Secondly, for his daughter, Wang Shanhu, to become a qualified future manor lord, experiencing a bit of heartbreak or, like today, being knocked unconscious with a single punch and publicly humiliated was not a bad thing. It was better than making a bigger mistake and suffering even more in the future.

Wang Yiran decided to turn a blind eye to it. In the Jianghu world, who among them, the grandmasters in the eyes of the common folk, didn’t have a few close female friends in their youth? How many ended up living out their days together, and how many were forgotten in the Jianghu? Once one truly stood at the peak of the Jianghu, one would realize it was all fleeting smoke.

Take Han Yuanshan, the cunning scion of a powerful family. It was said that he was most skilled at keeping beauties hidden away, and, more importantly, could make them devotedly follow him. The daughter of a powerful official with real power, the female disciple of a Jianghu grandmaster, a cold and murderous young female demoness, and a renowned immortal of the Jianghu—all had been brought into his fold.

If his daughter, Wang Shanhu, were infatuated with such a person, Wang Yiran would intervene forcefully, absolutely forbidding any involvement between his daughter and Han Yuanshan. Otherwise, even Horizontal Blade Manor might become a dowry offered with both hands! Clearly, Han Yuanshan was scheming greatly and had a far-reaching plan. Moreover, he must have a true expert behind him offering advice. Doing business with such a person was fine; you wouldn’t lose money. But you must never become a close friend, as that would be tantamount to seeking death.

As for his daughter’s secret love for Song Fengshan, Wang Yiran didn’t mind at all. Because Song Fengshan was a true member of the Jianghu world. If one day Song Fengshan was truly willing to marry his daughter as a secondary wife, Wang Yiran wouldn’t mind merging Horizontal Blade Manor into Swordwater Manor. But the new manor must have the word “Blade” in its name, and at least one of the future children must be surnamed Wang. Then, for the next hundred years, the Jianghu of Shuishui Country would only have two surnames: Song and Wang!

Someone raised their glass in a toast, and Wang Yiran smiled and returned the gesture. Wang Shanhu, though absent-minded, did not lack this bit of etiquette and raised a glass with her father.

After putting down the glass, Wang Yiran looked ahead and said softly, “Still thinking about the back-sworded young man? Do you feel that killing him is the only way to vent your anger and shame? Let me advise you, that young man is no ordinary person. Even Song Fengshan already regards him as a potential rival. However, Old Sword Saint Song seems to have a deep connection with the young man. Han Yuanshan guessed correctly about one thing: the young man is very likely the favored disciple of the Sword God of Caiyi Country. This time, his journey is to evade the power of his enemies after his master’s sudden death. Because of the close relationship between Sword Saint Song and the Sword God of Caiyi Country, he is taking care of the young man, even personally teaching Ma Lu a lesson.”

The young woman gripped the handle of her blade, her eyes downcast. “Father, are we just going to let it go? That hateful guy who hid his face knocked me out with one punch at the waterside pavilion. I accept that. Even if he had seriously injured me with a punch, I would have conceded defeat! But he humiliated me like that! In front of so many outsiders, what face do I have left to walk the Jianghu? Am I supposed to hide in Horizontal Blade Manor for the rest of my life?”

Wang Yiran slammed his glass heavily on the table and sneered, “Face is earned through great victories in the Jianghu. The Jianghu is a place with the best and worst memory. Decades later, when you, Wang Shanhu, become a blade master even stronger than me, reaching the legendary Sixth Realm grandmaster level of the Sword God of Caiyi Country and Sword Saint Song, who do you think will mention this trivial matter at the waterside pavilion? They will only remember which sword master you, Wang Shanhu, defeated, how many underworld demons you slaughtered, and when your blade is drawn, the blade energy is like a waterfall! Who wouldn’t applaud and cheer? Who would dare not?”

The woman’s shoulders trembled slightly. She lowered her head sadly and said, “But I can’t even beat a swordsman younger than me. I wasn’t even a match for one of his punches. How can I stand shoulder to shoulder with you in the future? How can I even talk about the legendary grandmaster realm?”

For the central part of Bao Ping Continent, in the Shuishui Country area, the Sixth Realm of martial arts was the ultimate realm for pure martial artists. Beyond that, for hundreds of years, no one had known the glory of that realm. It could be considered the invincible “Great Martial God” of the world. Legend had it that the Sword God of Caiyi Country, at the peak of his power before retiring to the mountains, had once touched that threshold, but for some reason, his realm fell sharply, and he was disheartened, completely withdrawing from the Jianghu.

And Old Sword Saint Song Yushao stated frankly that he had no hope of reaching the Martial God realm in his lifetime.

If Chen Pingan knew these things, he would probably be stunned. After all, Zhu He, a Fourth Realm martial artist from Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven, knew that the Ninth Realm was the end of martial arts. Of course, Zhu He had not seen the full picture of martial arts either. In fact, not long after, Song Changjing and Li Er successively successfully ascended to the Tenth Realm, and the Eleventh Realm was the true peak of martial arts, the true Martial God, and the old man surnamed Cui who taught Chen Pingan the “Strongest Three Realms” happened to miss the Eleventh Realm.

Water has depths, and mountains have heights.

Chen Pingan’s hometown, Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven, now Dragon Spring County of Great Li, belonged to the most mysterious place in the entire Bao Ping Continent, where the water was deepest, the mountains were highest, and the situation was most chaotic.
In that realm, formidable green-robed youths, the so-called “Greater Demons” who held sway over swathes of Huang Ting Country, would be too embarrassed to even greet acquaintances, fearing a sudden, inexplicable death by a single punch. Their greatest aspiration was to cultivate diligently, striving to become heroic figures worthy of being felled by two blows.

No wonder the green-robed youth was utterly bewildered, racking his brains trying to understand, “How did my master even survive until today?”

Chen Ping’an himself didn’t truly know the answer; it felt like he had simply endured, bit by bit.

Initially, some wished him to live. Later, as the endgame, the “birds exhausted, bow concealed” moment approached, certain influential figures who desired his demise repeatedly encountered a learned scholar, who advised Chen Ping’an not to lose hope in the world, and a hat-wearing, saber-wielding man, who taught him how to navigate it. Concurrently, Chen Ping’an matured rapidly, extricating himself from the game early on.

However, the hardships of life during this period, the agonizing choices involving his very core, the hidden currents and perilous situations, the physical and mental torment the Mud Lane boy endured, were beyond the comprehension of outsiders.

This son of Mud Lane, now possessing a collection of magical artifacts and a precious nurturing gourd, still wandering the world alone, only deigned to purchase the cheapest wine.

Of course, he was currently practicing his fist techniques, using a novel method distinct from the Six Stance Walk and Sword Furnace Standing.

Near the waterfall pavilion, Chen Ping’an had chosen to leave his sword case behind this time, staying in the courtyard, trusting the bearded stalwart and the young Daoist.

But the wine flask remained secured at his waist.

Wandering through unfamiliar lands, avoid trouble, don’t fear it, and above all, prioritize survival. This was Chen Ping’an’s way of navigating the pugilistic world.

Chen Ping’an once again stepped onto the waterside railing, about to leap towards the thunderous waterfall, but hesitated. He took a step forward, onto the stone foundation, to avoid accidentally breaking the wooden railing with the force of his punch. Even if Senior Song wouldn’t demand compensation, it still wouldn’t be appropriate.

Chen Ping’an took a deep breath, the soles of his shoes grinding against the ground, gently rotating his wrists a few times.

This first punch was to test the weight and strength of the falling waterfall.

He would try with seven or eight tenths of his strength.

Chen Ping’an took a step, the ground resonating with a dull thud, fortunately drowned out by the roaring waterfall.

Chen Ping’an’s figure shot towards the waterfall like a crossbow bolt.

His momentum soared, and he unleashed a punch.

His fist pierced through the waterfall’s depths, but as his entire arm almost crossed the water curtain, his head and shoulders were struck violently by the cascading water. Chen Ping’an’s entire body was forced to tilt, instantly swept away, plunging into the depths of the pool, tossed and turned by the turbulent currents. Finally, his head emerged near the pavilion, where the water was relatively calm. Chen Ping’an slapped the surface of the water, leaping towards the pavilion and standing on the foundation outside the railing. He felt dizzy, especially the arm he had punched with and both shoulders, which throbbed with pain. The pool’s depths were strewn with jagged rocks, and Chen Ping’an had taken a nasty bump to the head.

Fortunately, the bamboo building in Fallen Phoenix Mountain had tempered his body, making suffering commonplace. This didn’t even scratch the surface of the external wounds that reached the core of his body and soul. While it wasn’t exactly a tickle, Chen Ping’an found it rather insignificant.

For his second punch, Chen Ping’an used nine tenths of his strength, employing the Iron Cavalry Charge formation taught by the old man surnamed Cui, attempting to break through the water curtain with both fist and body, striking the stone wall behind the waterfall.

Alas, his fist barely grazed the surface of the stone wall before the torrential water, like a mountain crashing down, slammed him back into the depths of the pool.

Emerging from the water once more, returning to stand by the pavilion’s edge, Chen Ping’an didn’t release the swiftly circulating breath this time, stubbornly holding onto the true energy surging like a fiery dragon, he unleashed a full tenth of his strength and momentum towards the waterfall.

This time, Chen Ping’an’s fist successfully struck the cold stone wall at the end of the waterfall, but it was weak and feeble. He couldn’t even leave a dent, let alone any discernible mark.

Under the moonlight.

Chen Ping’an’s dantian qi sea churned uncontrollably, forcing him to exhale a mouthful of turbid air, slowly breathing using Yang Old Man’s breathing technique. The Eighteen Sword Stops circulated, honed through practice, had become Chen Ping’an’s instinct. Without conscious control, it flowed naturally, rapidly passing through a dozen acupoints, whose names differed from the current nomenclature of the qi residences. Previously stuck between the sixth and seventh stops, it was now stuck between the twelfth and thirteenth, as if blocked by a chasm, unable to advance.

Chen Ping’an focused his mind, punching towards the waterfall for the fourth time.

Repeatedly like this, after a dozen punches, Chen Ping’an could only stand steady by leaning against the railing. He simply sat down cross-legged, and in the pauses between stabilizing his qi sea, he took down his wine gourd and began to drink slowly.

Chen Ping’an looked up at the bright moon overhead. Books said, “The moon is brighter in one’s hometown,” and also, “The moon surges, the great river flows,” and “At sea, the bright moon rises with the tide.”

The waxing and waning of the moon in his hometown, the youth who had toiled for a living had seen countless times. He had seen it with Liu Xianyang, and with the snot-nosed Gu Can. After seeing it for so long, except for the Mid-Autumn Festival, Chen Ping’an felt nothing special about it. On two occasions, he had traveled far away, and had seen the magnificent sight of “Stars hang low over the vast plains, the moon surges, the great river flows,” which was indeed beautiful. Now, to deliver the sword to Inverted Peak, he had to travel to the southernmost Old Dragon City. He wondered what the sight of “At sea, the bright moon rises” would be like.

Chen Ping’an collected his thoughts, stood up, fastened his nurturing gourd, and began the next round of punches. He had set a rule for himself: he must unleash three Iron Cavalry Charge formations in one go. The barefoot old man in the bamboo building had once laughed and said that in the battlefield, amidst the clash of gold and iron, the best cavalry would never collapse after only one or two charges, never be a pushover.

Each time, as the enormous waterfall crashed down on his head, Chen Ping’an’s physical body became more aware of the pain. He called it a day this time, directly lying down on the foundation, gasping for breath.

If, back in Fallen Phoenix Mountain, the old man surnamed Cui had only delivered single punches from beginning to end, solely tempering Chen Ping’an’s body and soul, making him passively endure, and not demanded that Chen Ping’an “peel his skin and draw his tendons” afterwards, without these horrific actions, perhaps Chen Ping’an’s fist practice today would have only reached this point, with no more tenacity to punch.
Once, the barefoot old man looked down at Chen Ping’an, who was lying in a pool of blood, and sneered, “You can’t even endure this little hardship, and you still dream of reaching the ninth or tenth realm?”

At that time, Chen Ping’an only wanted to curse the old geezer a few times, but alas, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak, and he couldn’t utter a single word.

Compared to the suffering he endured in Fallen Mountain, this was a life of luxury!

He couldn’t allow his journey through the martial world to lead him further and further away, making him less and less accustomed to hardship.

Silently chanting these words in his heart, Chen Ping’an slowly rose and once again gritted his teeth to throw a punch.

A quarter of an hour later, under the moonlight, the waterfall continued to crash against the pool with a deafening roar, seemingly mocking the youth’s overestimation of his abilities, an ant trying to shake a tree.

Chen Ping’an floated on his back on the water’s surface, his eyes wide open, gazing at the sky.

Once again, he went ashore and threw a punch, Chen Ping’an roared, “Open for me!”

The waterfall’s curtain of water was indeed punched through with a fierce fist force, creating a large hole, but it was fleeting. Chen Ping’an’s fist slammed heavily into the stone wall, his entire body almost completely passing through the waterfall, but soon he was undoubtedly knocked back into the water, drifting with the current in the deep pool before finally crawling onto the waterside pavilion’s foundation.

Just like this, intermittently, stopping and starting, until the latter half of the night, Chen Ping’an, soaked to the bone, sat on the railing. He could only shakily pick up the wine flask, tilt his head back and take a swig of aged Huadiao wine, only to feel a burning sensation in his throat and scalding heat in his liver and intestines. He had to put away his Sword Nourishing Gourd, not daring to drink even a small sip.

In the distance, the Sword Water Manor was brightly lit with lanterns, and the banquet was far from over. Young women, disciples of the manor serving as sword attendants, were performing sword dances for the guests’ entertainment, and cheers rang out incessantly.

Chen Ping’an tilted his head, staring intently at the waterfall that seemed invincible.

Chen Ping’an threw his last punch, using the Divine Man Drumming style, skimming across the water’s surface like a dragonfly, repeatedly punching through the waterfall with his fists and arms as he approached it…

Human strength ultimately has its limits. Chen Ping’an knew that he could call it a night with his fist practice. He was already exhausted, and if he continued to strike the waterfall, he might be washed into the depths of the pool and completely pass out, eventually floating up as a corpse.

Chen Ping’an walked out of the waterside pavilion, drenched from head to toe, passed by the mountain and water pavilion, and returned to his courtyard.

Having slept for less than three hours, the next morning, Chen Ping’an hastily ate breakfast and went to the waterfall pavilion with the six-step walking stance.

It was not until noon that he returned the same way. This time, however, Chen Ping’an had to ask Zhang Shanfeng to inform the Sword Water Manor that he needed a large bucket. After Steward Chu dispatched a trusted manor maid to bring a bucket and fill it with hot water, Chen Ping’an closed the door and soaked in it.

The medicinal herbs that Wei Bo had purchased from the Niujiaoshan Bao Fu Zhai were only enough for three uses. He had used one in Rouge County, leaving him with only one last chance after this.

Today, the Sword Water Manor was still welcoming various martial artists who had come to visit. Tomorrow was the auspicious day for the election of the Martial Alliance Leader.

This was even better. Outlaws and martial heroes were busy visiting each other, either exchanging martial arts techniques, seeking advice from seniors, or trying to get acquainted with grandmasters. They came and went in groups, creating a lively atmosphere.

In the evening, Chen Ping’an ate dinner with Xu Yuanxia and Zhang Shanfeng, and then went to the waterfall alone again.

This time, in addition to using the fist techniques taught by the old man surnamed Cui to strike the waterfall, Chen Ping’an also had another idea. In the pool about two feet from the water’s surface, not in the center of the waterfall, there was a towering stone pier, about the size of a chessboard. For some reason, it had not been eroded away by the water flow for centuries. Chen Ping’an stood on that stone, using the Sword Furnace Standing Stance to remain still, allowing the waterfall’s heavy water to crash down on his head, forcing him to change from a standing posture to a sitting posture. Finally, unable to sit still, he fell into the water.

After several attempts, Chen Ping’an was able to maintain the Sword Furnace Standing Stance for a little less than half an incense stick of time, then maintain a sitting posture with his head held high and chest out for half an incense stick of time. Finally, he lowered his head, extending it out of the waterfall to allow his back to bear more of the impact. Roughly combined, he managed to endure for one incense stick of time. Compared to striking the waterfall with his fists, Chen Ping’an was surprised to find that this “immovable as a mountain” water grinding effort was even more beneficial. Inwardly, the acupoints and qi reservoirs in his body seemed to be swept by a great wind, and the gates of each reservoir were somewhat loosened. The circulation of the Eighteen Stoppings Sword Qi became even more swift and violent, as fast as lightning.

Discovering this unexpected joy, Chen Ping’an took a hearty gulp of fine wine, but it burned fiercely in his stomach. Chen Ping’an had no choice but to jump around wildly in the waterside pavilion, grimacing in pain.

He went to the waterfall to perform the standing stance several more times. In the latter half of the night, with the moon still shining brightly, the songs and laughter of the Sword Water Manor grew louder. The youth, full of vigor, walked back to the courtyard. Inside the house was the bucket, and outside the courtyard were the two sword-bearing maids from the manor who were waiting to be summoned at any time. Chen Ping’an used up the last of the Bao Fu Zhai medicinal herbs.

This time, Chen Ping’an had a rare and unprecedentedly long lie-in, sleeping until the sun was high in the sky.

After eating a hearty meal, he left the courtyard with a radiant face, smiling and nodding in greeting to the two manor sword attendants, and slowly began his walking stance. He passed by the mountain and water pavilion and arrived at the waterside pavilion that had faced the waterfall for nearly hundreds of years. He heard that the Sword Water Manor had only been built for sixty or seventy years, but this nameless waterside pavilion had existed long before. It was just that, over time, people had become accustomed to including the waterside pavilion within the Sword Water Manor.

As Chen Ping’an walked away in the walking stance,

The two bored young sword attendants gathered together, whispering secrets to each other.

One, a girl with an oval face, said that the outsider young master was a strange person. The other smiled and said, “If he weren’t a strange person, how could he have caught the eye of our old manor lord?”

The oval-faced girl joked with her companion, “Although this young master’s appearance is not as good as the young manor lord’s, he is still quite handsome. Do you like him?”

The other sword attendant said, “Having seen the young manor lord’s peerless elegance, I can’t fancy any other man.”

The two girls, taking advantage of the absence of others, playfully teased each other. For them, practicing swordsmanship in the Sword Water Manor was a great fortune. In the future, they might be married off to a promising martial arts talent under the arrangement of the kind-hearted madam, but the Sword Water Manor would always be their family, and they would never have to worry about the great waves and dangers of the martial world.

When Chen Ping’an approached the waterside pavilion today, he found that Senior Song was already sitting on a long chair, waiting for him.

Quickly walking up the steps, he sat down opposite him. Song Yushao, who had been gazing at the waterfall, withdrew his gaze, sized up Chen Ping’an, and nodded in admiration. “There’s a bit of promise, it’s quite impressive.”

Chen Ping’an grinned.

Song Yushao asked, “Does the wine brewed by this old man’s manor taste better?”
Chen Ping’an scratched his head, “It tastes much better, but it will be a headache for me when buying wine in the future.”

Song Yushao couldn’t help but chuckle, “What, are you short of silver?”

Chen Ping’an thought for a moment, and said honestly, “I’m not short of money now, but drinking doesn’t seem to help with practicing boxing. I feel like spending this money is a waste. But I’ve gotten used to drinking, and if there’s no wine in the flask, I’ll feel empty.”

Song Yushao teased, “You’re not a married woman. It’s only natural for a man to have money to drink, and to drink the best wine. Why bother with being thrifty?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head vigorously, “I still need to save money. I’m used to drinking now, so I can’t change it. But if I develop extravagant habits, I’ll regret it to death.”

Song Yushao pointed at the young man, “You’ll never be able to enjoy the life of a wealthy man.”

Chen Ping’an smiled brightly, “Having food at every meal and wine with every dish is already very good.”

Song Yushao was infected by the young man’s emotions and smiled a little, “Then who cooks for you, who buys you wine?”

Chen Ping’an blurted out, “Even with a wife, I’ll still be the one cooking and buying wine!”

Song Yushao spat and glared, “You little rascal! Are you an idiot? You take a wife, only to treat her like a deity to be worshipped? Don’t you know that women, young and old, will cause trouble if you don’t discipline them for three days?”

Chen Ping’an was uncharacteristically timid, and took a small sip from his wine gourd.

The girl he likes said she could beat a hundred Chen Ping’ans with one hand.

If he had such thoughts, wouldn’t he be beaten to death?

Besides, he hasn’t even confessed his feelings yet. Who knows what his future wife’s surname will be?

Of course, it would be best if it was Ning.

Chen Ping’an grinned foolishly.

Song Yushao looked at the young man lost in thought, and said helplessly, “So you really are an idiot.”

Song Yushao was too lazy to instill in the young man the idea that a heroic figure must be able to control his wife. She composed herself and said solemnly, “From Three Breaks to Four, besides the impurities in the body of a martial artist that need to be tempered and removed little by little, you need to pay attention to your state of mind. Boxing must be clear and unobstructed, understand the essence of the word ‘thoroughly’, and have a firm and invincible heart, generating the aura of one man standing against ten thousand! Chen Ping’an, have you truly strengthened your original intention?”

At the end, Song Yushao’s expression was sharp, her voice extremely loud, almost glaring at Chen Ping’an.

Chen Ping’an, both body and mind, remained unshaken, and nodded, “I never change my mind about something I’ve decided on.”

Song Yushao stood up, her aura vast and unparalleled, like a waterfall of sword energy pressing down on the young man, “What big words, said so lightly! I think you, Chen Ping’an, have never truly understood!”

Chen Ping’an followed closely behind and stood up, his eyes bright, “Senior Song, I don’t really understand the true meaning of the mental state you mentioned, such as unobstructed, thorough, but I just feel that…”

Chen Ping’an said, turning his head and pointing to the waterfall that resembled a celestial being’s sleeve drooping sword energy, “I must punch through the entire waterfall and leave a fist mark on the stone wall. I even think that sooner or later, I will punch the waterfall backward, punch the water into an explosion, and never let it press down on my head even a little!”

Song Yushao suddenly shouted, “Since that’s the case, if not now, when will you strike?!”

Almost purely instinctive, Chen Ping’an turned sideways, facing the waterfall outside the waterside pavilion, took a few steps back, stood on the top of the steps, and adopted an ancient boxing stance, the name of which the old man Cui had never mentioned, as the starting position, all in one go.

Even though the Sword Saint of Shuishui Kingdom, Song Yu, was in the waterside pavilion, Chen Ping’an no longer saw Song Yushao, or even the entire waterside pavilion. Between heaven and earth, there was only the opponent towards whom his fist was aimed, the waterfall falling from the sky to the earth!

During Chen Ping’an’s journey south, the six-step walking stance sought slowness, and even more slowness.

But this time, Chen Ping’an sought speed, the fastest!

The steps were extremely large, so that the last step of the six-step walking stance directly shattered the railings of the waterside pavilion, and one foot stepped on the platform. From the head of the waterside pavilion steps to the edge of the platform outside the railing, six footprints were directly stamped by the young man, and then he rushed out, the thickness of the fist aura like a green dragon coiled around his sleeve.

With one punch, he broke through the waterfall, and Chen Ping’an rushed into the water curtain, his fist slamming into the stone wall.

The stone wall shattered instantly, and countless gravel rebounded, shattering countless waterfall splashes again.

This was not all. Chen Ping’an switched left and right, punching the stone wall swiftly and repeatedly, again and again.

This was the true grand sight of a divine being drumming.

Countless flying stones, chaotic waterfall currents.

From the waterside pavilion to the top of the waterfall, because of the large dispersion of water vapor, a magnificent rainbow appeared in the end.

Song Yushao, standing in the waterside pavilion with her hands behind her back, felt the surging gale blowing against her face, rustling her temples, and making her sleeves flutter. The old woman looked up at the rainbow created by human power and laughed heartily, “Magnificent!”