The maiden, bold by nature and long accustomed to the apothecary’s crude jests, her ears calloused by their frequent repetition, cracked another melon seed and remained unfazed. “If one desires plumpness, one must needs eat more,” she stated plainly. “Yet the apothecary’s wages are so meager, I yearn for prosperity, but my purse whispers otherwise. What can a poor lass do? Master Zheng,” she pleaded, “bestow upon me a clandestine raise, and I vow not to betray the secret to the others.”

Zheng Dafeng, abandoning his playful demeanor, retorted, “That little tongue of yours wags too freely, child. It cannot keep a secret. Should I increase your wage, every girl would demand the same come the morrow. Do you believe my coin falls from the heavens? Sustaining such a flock of maidens, both small and grown, is no trifling matter, I assure you.”

The maiden, perched upon the threshold, mischievously stretched her legs towards the street. “Master,” she teased, “is there not a certain lady from a neighboring street who harbors affection for you? Plump she is, and surely to your liking. Why do you not accept her favor? Her… resources, you see, are considerable. None in our shop can compare.” With a flourish, she mimed cupping her own modest chest.

Zheng Dafeng bared his teeth in a grimace, waving her away. “Hush, you impudent girl! Such shameless talk ill befits a maiden. You risk spinsterhood with such lewdness! Back to the shop with you, and sweep the floor!”

The maiden remained unmoved, standing her ground. “Our establishment is named the Dust Apothecary, is it not? To cleanse it so thoroughly would be most unbecoming!”

Outmatched by the persistent child, Zheng Dafeng leaned back, propping his head with his hands, and gazed skyward. Ordinary eyes would perceive only clouds, but he, a martial artist of the eighth realm, saw more.

Beyond magical artifacts lay celestial weapons. Yet even the most renowned sects were scarce in the Azure Continent, let alone such holy tools. To have the leader of a sect ascend to become a true deity, and be gifted a celestial weapon? Nearly unheard of. Semi-celestial weapons, surpassing mere artifacts yet falling short of true celestial might, were the coveted dream of every cultivator. Old Dragon City possessed four. Two were held by the elders of the Fushi clan, formidable offensive treasures acquired recently from the Central Divinity Continent. Another, also brought from the central lands, prioritized defense, safeguarding the city. But the cloudscape above the city walls, purportedly a secret weapon of the Fushi clan, was another matter altogether. Some said it was merely a tale to frighten those with malicious intent. Eight centuries past, during the great conflict between light and darkness, a maiden supposedly slumbered within those clouds. Upon awakening, she commanded the semi-celestial weapon to vanquish the demon hordes. Such power, however, required two things: first, that the clouds were truly a semi-celestial weapon, and second, the user must be a cultivator of the upper realms.

The maiden, observing the man’s profile, inquired, “What do you behold, Master Zheng?”

Zheng Dafeng widened his eyes, peering upward, and answered softly, “I seek a fair sorceress of generous proportions, clad scantily, drifting by on the wind.”

The maiden rolled her eyes. “Gaze too long, and she’ll empty her bladder upon your head.”

Zheng Dafeng chuckled. “A blessing from the heavens, long awaited.”

The maiden rose. “Repulsive!”

Zheng Dafeng roared with laughter.

As the maiden stepped back into the doorway, she paused and asked, “Master, could you hum that little tune from your homeland once more?”

Zheng Dafeng shook his head vigorously. “That is my secret weapon, used to win the hearts of fair maidens. I cannot expose it so readily. Away with you, and busy yourself.”

The maiden murmured, “Perhaps one day I shall be your wife.”

Zheng Dafeng’s eyes lit up, but as he began to rise, the maiden had already settled back onto the threshold, facing him with a look of mock pity. “Master, you believed that? You’ll never find a wife with such naivety!”

Zheng Dafeng slumped back down, silent for a moment. Then, he began to whistle. The melody remained that of the familiar country tune, but this time, the man sang no words.
The maiden, elbows resting on her knees, cradled her chin in her hands, listening intently to the whistle. The innkeeper’s humming tune, a melody from his homeland, was lost to her ears.

“The moon, a crescent on the first, a silver disc by the fifteenth,” she remembered her grandmother’s words. “Eat a cake, wave to the moon, and your sorrows will fade.”

“Spring breezes blow, autumn winds sway,” her grandmother had crooned. “Crimson persimmons hang heavy on the boughs. If you stumble and fall, do not despair. Fill your wicker basket, and your heart will be full.”

“Storm clouds gather, storm clouds depart,” her grandmother’s voice echoed. “After the rain, a ribbon of light will arch across the sky. It is the Old Gods, building a palace in the heavens…”

—

Old Dragon City braced itself for a grand spectacle: the marriage of Lord Fú Nánhuá, heir to the city, and the Lady from the Jiang Clan of Cloud Forest.

The Jiang Clan of Cloud Forest was an ancient and venerable house of the Treasure Bottle Continent. Legend held that in the earliest days of the Scholarly Way, when the Sage of Rites first codified the tenets of Confucianism, the Jiangs had produced several Grand Orators, figures of immense power who, alongside the Grand Historian and Grand Minister, formed the celestial court. They were masters of incantation, imploring the heavens for blessing and fortune.

Their ancestral home, Cloud Forest, nestled on the southeastern coast, facing the vast Eastern Sea. From their gates stretched a causeway of colossal scale, extending for thirty leagues into the sea, terminating in two gargantuan sea stacks, acting as the gate itself, encompassing the Eastern Sea itself.

After migrating from Central Earth to the Treasure Bottle Continent, the Jiangs had, over the long centuries, turned from scholarship to trade, amassing a fortune that defied reckoning, surviving countless upheavals. The Fú Family of Old Dragon City mirrored this story, and the union of these two houses sent ripples across the Southern reaches of the Treasure Bottle Continent. Whispers abounded: what treasures did the Fú offer as dowry? What wonders would the Jiang bride bring – perhaps even a semi-immortal artifact? And what gifts would be bestowed by the immortal houses aligned with the Fú Family? Consequently, Old Dragon City overflowed with cultivators eager to witness the spectacle, further fueled by rumors of the Jiang Lady’s grotesque appearance, igniting imaginations across the land.

Lord Fú Nánhuá, known for his wide circle of acquaintances, had become withdrawn since returning from the Lízhu Grotto-Heaven in the North. He hadn’t become a recluse, but aside from a few old friends like Sūn Jiāshù, he entertained no new company, remaining cloistered within the Fú estate. The pleasure houses and haunts that had once known his presence remained untouched.

Today, however, Fú Nánhuá emerged from his private residence, walking alone toward the gates of the city. Adorned with a high crown, a robe of pure white, and a jade dragon pendant of vibrant green at his waist, the young lord wore an expression of subdued melancholy, a stark contrast to the spirited youth who had departed for the Lízhu Grotto-Heaven.

Of late, Dragon City was awash with dignitaries, a constant stream of esteemed guests. Even the well-oiled machinery of the Fú family, more practiced in diplomacy than many a kingdom, struggled to keep pace.

Outside the gates, several delegations from influential immortal abodes had arrived, eager to offer congratulations for what the world deemed a “match made in heaven.” Among them were representatives from Cloudglow Mountain. Though not a pinnacle of power, Cloudglow Mountain was famed for its Cloudroot Stone, a commodity sought across many continents, bringing prosperity to the mountain. With the emergence of a few talented cultivators to carry the mantle, Cloudglow Mountain’s ascension to the ranks of the top-tier immortal houses of the Treasure Bottle Continent was considered inevitable.
For centuries, the Dragon Citadel and Cloudglow Mountain had maintained a sacred kinship. The Cloudglow Mountain’s unique Cloudroot Stone was a vital commodity for the Fu family’s two ferries, the Treasure-Swallowing Whale and the Floating Mountain. Forged from the purest Cloudroot, the whetstones were prized by the sword cultivators of the Sword Qi Great Wall for honing their blades. They were valued for their affordability, a crucial factor considering the constant threat of demon incursions and the never-ending wars. Though the finest whetstone in the world, the Dragon-Slaying Altar, was incomparably superior, even heroes were humbled by empty purses. Amidst the chaos, credit was freely extended, debts spiraling into a mire of obligations. Yet, to a sword cultivator, nothing mattered more than a trusty blade.

The “affordable” price, of course, was relative. Compared to the precious goods ferried across the Inverted Mountain to the Sword Qi Great Wall, Cloudglow Mountain’s Cloudroot Stone fetched drastically different prices depending on the buyer: one price for the cultivators of Treasure Bottle Continent, another for the Fu family of Dragon Citadel, and yet another for the sword cultivators of the Great Wall.

Today, a delegation of four arrived from Scarlet Dawn Mountain: two venerable ancestral masters and their most promising disciples. Fu Nanhua, breaking with tradition, personally ventured out to greet them, drawn by the presence of someone he believed to be long dead: the Cloudglow Mountain maiden, Cai Jinjian.

Fu Nanhua’s unexpected appearance stirred a flurry of murmurs and congratulatory calls within the citadel gates. He responded with practiced courtesy, eventually reaching the rear two carriages. His eyes fell upon the pair of magnificent azure roans, their lineage hinting at distant draconic blood. These steeds, undoubtedly hired from the Sun family’s stables, represented the most extravagant ways to experience Dragon Citadel: either purchasing a Dragon-Turning Cloud Amulet from the Fu family or renting a carriage from Sun Jiashu’s expensive establishment. Only the truly wealthy or the hopelessly foolish would indulge in such displays.

The two ancestral masters of Cloudglow Mountain were far from fools. They understood the importance of maintaining appearances, especially on this occasion. Seeing Fu Nanhua’s personal welcome, they hastily disembarked with their disciples. Among them was Cai Jinjian, her face pale yet her beauty undeniable. Beside her stood a young man of noble bearing, his robes radiating an ethereal aura of swirling clouds.

After exchanging pleasantries with the ancestral masters, Fu Nanhua made a small request: to escort Cai Jinjian into the city for a private tour and a chance to reminisce. Cai Jinjian’s mentor, the venerable elder who had taken her in, was overwhelmed by the honor. How could he refuse such a gracious offer? He remembered Cai Jinjian’s return from the Carp Pearl Grotto, empty-handed. A full pouch of gold essence coins, worthless as pebbles tossed into the abyss, had yielded no profit. Those were gold essence coins, dwarfing even the Spring Rain coins like a commoner before an empress.

In the past two years, the elder had endured countless glares and reproaches within Cloudglow Mountain. His ambition to elevate Cai Jinjian to the position of Mountain Lord had crumbled into dust. Worse, Cai Jinjian herself had become a shadow of her former self, listlessly engaging in the mountain’s teachings. He was torn between concern and frustration, fearing that reprimanding her would only drive her to despair, like that useless Su Jia of Upright Sun Mountain.

Fu Nanhua and Cai Jinjian walked side-by-side, passing through the citadel gates and towards Fu Nanhua’s opulent private residence. Back when he had searched for fortune in the Carp Pearl Grotto, Fu Nanhua had only been one of many potential heirs to his family’s seat. Therefore, the astute businessman had been exceedingly polite to Cai Jinjian, who barely reached his shoulder. Now, with the esteemed elder poised to break through a major cultivation barrier and with a marriage alliance to the prestigious Jiang family of Cloudpeak looming, Fu Nanhua’s standing had skyrocketed beyond recognition.
The Elders of Cloudpeak Mountain pondered. Young Master Fu’s blatant favoritism towards Cai Jinjian defied logic. Could a fleeting alliance forged within the Lichee Pearl Grotto truly account for such deference? A scandalous affair, perhaps? No, Jinjian remained untouched, a veritable maiden. Still, the future wearer of the Dragon Emperor’s robes treated Cloudpeak Mountain with unprecedented courtesy, a spectacle that swelled the Elders’ chests with pride.

A silent understanding passed between Fu Nanhua and Cai Jinjian. They spoke little on their journey, arriving at last at Fu Nanhua’s private estate. Settling into a grand hall, Fu Nanhua idly stroked the jade pendant gifted by his father, his gaze fixed upon the immortal maiden he’d once witnessed brought low in a back alley, her throat rent by a beggar’s shard. “Let us speak plainly now,” he declared.

Cai Jinjian offered a smile, yet it held no warmth. “About what, pray tell?”

Fu Nanhua’s eyes narrowed. “I will not inquire how you escaped death’s embrace in the Grotto. I only desire to know: why did *he* save you? And what task does he demand in return?”

Jinjian’s smile vanished. “Would you believe me if I said you judge a noble soul with a petty heart?”

Fu Nanhua scoffed. “Noble? If Qi Jingchun was merely ‘noble’, then the Sages of the Confucian order would possess the entirety of the four realms!”

Jinjian’s voice remained even. “Fu Nanhua, let us dispense with empty words.”

Fu Nanhua inhaled deeply. “Very well, I shall be forthright. After your collapse, I too nearly met my end in that wretched place, foiled by a commoner cur. *He*, Qi, spared me from that lowborn’s grasp…” He paused, noting the amusement dancing in Jinjian’s eyes, and hastily amended his words. “Qi Jingchun, after halting Chen Ping’an, imparted words that compelled me to leave the Grotto. He gifted me a boon, though not in the form of any magic item or treasure. I will not divulge its nature. But strangely, Qi Jingchun made no demands. He required no oath to spare Chen Ping’an, offered no platitudes about forgiving enemies, no encouragement to make peace.”

Cai Jinjian surveyed the opulent surroundings, her expression detached. Finally, she turned to Fu Nanhua, a faint smile gracing her lips. “Ought you not address a benefactor and a Sage with the proper honorifics, ‘Master Qi’, perhaps?”

Fu Nanhua twisted his mouth in distaste. “He is dead. Crushed beneath the weight of countless celestial beings. The Confucian Temple stood idle. Qi Jingchun has no chance of resurgence. So, Sage? Master? What matter the titles now? What matters Qi Jingchun?”

Jinjian merely smiled, offering a tangential observation. “Even the ancestral retreats of my Cloudpeak Elders lack the potent aura of this estate. You Fu family truly possess untold wealth.”

The Fu family’s private residence boasted eight primary support pillars crafted from “Dragon Embrace,” each carved with a serpentine dragon coiled about it, its jaws clutching a luminous pearl. Every pearl was a priceless artifact of primordial energy, imbuing the dwelling with a torrent of spiritual essence, transforming it into a miniature blessed grotto, supremely conducive to cultivation. Truly, for the elite scions of these immortal families, conversation was cultivation, slumber was cultivation.

It was only natural that rootless wanderers and solitary cultivators gnawed their teeth in envy and resentment.

A flicker of impatience crossed Fu Nanhua’s face. He narrowed his eyes. “Cai Jinjian, do not presume upon my generosity. I am on the verge of acquiring a Devouring Whale Ferry. If I refuse Cloudpeak Mountain’s Cloudroot Stones, your Sect’s revenue will diminish by a fifth. However well you are regarded by your Elders, recall that you already lost a pouch of golden copper coins. Should you obstruct Cloudpeak’s path to prosperity again, consider carefully the consequences.”
Cai Jinjian chuckled, a sound like wind chimes in a jade pavilion. “Enough with the threats, Fu Nanhua. I know not the extent of the Fu family’s coffers in Old Dragon City, but their way of doing business these past millennia? I know it intimately. Speak not of a mere treasure-swallowing whale; even as city lord, you could never tamper with such ancient custom.”

Fu Nanhua sighed, the sound of a defeated dragon. “If you are so astute, and we suffered together within the Pearl Grotto, why not forge a mutually beneficial alliance? Let us, with honest hearts, bury the lingering shadow of that calamity. Afterwards, I will not only secure the city lordship, but also pave the way for your ascent. Imagine, I need only subtly increase the price for cloud-root stones swallowed by the whales, whispering that it is thanks to your brilliance, Cai Jinjian. Would the Cloud-Glimmer Mountain dare slight their golden goose? Your own talent is undeniable, your benefactor elder invested solely in you, a mountain to lean upon. With Old Dragon City as a powerful ally, the seat of Cloud-Glimmer Mountain Lord will be yours within a century!”

As he spoke, Fu Nanhua rose to his feet, his words ringing with fervor, his aura that of a future sovereign charting his dominion.

Cai Jinjian lifted her head, gazing at the ambitious young lord with clear, untroubled eyes. Little moved she.

Not that Fu Nanhua’s words lacked sincerity, nor his vision beauty. Nay, Cai Jinjian was no longer the scheming, burden-laden fairy of Cloud-Glimmer Mountain.

To truly die, then tread back from death’s gate, differs from merely brushing against the veil.

The Confucian Sage, acting as a teacher in the Pearl Grotto, used his mighty power to save her. Within that humble schoolhouse, they shared conversations like those of elder and protégé, speaking casually of life. Cai Jinjian’s mortal body remained grievously wounded, far from healed, yet Master Qi simply separated her spirit. Within the schoolhouse, time flowed like a gentle stream. The master questioned her about matters beyond the grotto, trivial things. The price of rice in the markets below, the ease with which books were now printed and spread. Initially, Cai Jinjian was apprehensive, but soon she relaxed, answering his questions to the best of her ability. Some she could not answer, others she could. Throughout, the master smiled serenely. Occasionally, Cai Jinjian would ask about cultivation ailments that even her own master had deemed incurable. The master, with a few well-chosen words, would illuminate the path.

Finally, Master Qi recommended several Sage classics, explaining that mountain cultivation required not only power and abundant spells, honed from chaos to clarity, but also the cultivation of the heart. Reading these texts would not make her a saint, but the heart, like fertile soil, needed living water to thrive and bear fruit. Only then would true longevity be achieved.

Upon leaving the Pearl Grotto, Cai Jinjian remained ambitious, yet no longer believed cultivation was solely for its own sake.

Before her departure, Cai Jinjian gathered her courage and asked the master why he had saved someone like her.

Master Qi replied with a candid smile, “To save you violates the rules of this world, yet it aligns with my own.”

Cai Jinjian then asked why he would impart the wisdom of the Sages to such as she.

The master, earnest and solemn, replied, “To impart knowledge and resolve confusion, even a single instance, is enough. To speak the truth found in books, even a single precept, is enough.”

Returning to Cloud-Glimmer Mountain, though her cultivation troubles were eased, she did not rush to ascend. Instead, she read and reread the books Master Qi had recommended, pondering his words again and again.

Others believed she was neglecting her cultivation, but Cai Jinjian knew otherwise.
Later, she overheard her master speak in hushed tones of the demise of Master Qi. In the northern expanse of Jewel Bottle Continent, he stood alone against a host of celestial immortals, and in the end, he was reduced to naught but ash. Qi Jingchun was no more. Cai Jinjian felt no gut-wrenching grief, only a sense of profound loss.

Thereafter, she forsook her books and returned to her cultivation with renewed vigor. Soon, she shattered the first barrier, yet deliberately restrained her power, lest she incite too much wonder and awe. It was this that granted her the opportunity to appear at Dragon Wold during this visit.

Such are the intertwined threads of fortune and misfortune, all stemming from that fateful encounter in Mud Bottle Lane. In truth, it was her own misguided path early in her cultivation that had so sorely wronged the young boy.

And it was clear, the Master’s demeanor towards the youth was not that of a Sage gazing down upon the masses, bound by rigid decree, but rather that of an elder protecting a younger, even to the disregard of established rule. For had she perished in that alley, the backlash of Heaven’s will and the karmic retribution of the Buddhist faith would have surely befallen that boy.

Later, Master Qi imparted wisdom and guidance unto her without reservation, likely believing she could still be saved, and thus deigned to teach. Cai Jinjian finally understood matters she had never before considered, her heart and mind now clear, the dust of ignorance swept away. And since Cloudglow Mountain held观想 meditation as paramount, her cultivation advanced with astounding speed.

Within Dragon Wold, in the future Lord’s very own manor, Cai Jinjian did not depart with a flick of her sleeve. Instead, a knowing smile graced her lips. “Fu Nanhua,” she declared, “our first alliance ended in wretchedness. Shall we gamble once more today? I wager that you shall don the Dragon Lord’s robes, and you wager that I shall ascend to the seat of Cloudglow Mountain Lord. What say you? I pledge to you now, that should I grasp the power of Cloudglow Mountain, all Veinstone shall no longer be divided amongst the other five great families of Dragon Wold, but will flow solely to House Fu! Until then, I shall strive through my master to increase your share of Veinstone to that Whale vessel寶.”

Fu Nanhua was taken aback, suspicion clouding his features. He wondered if there was treachery afoot or some hidden motive. For a moment, he lacked the assuredness he had held before.

Though the events of Pearl Grotto Heaven had not become an outright demonic hindrance upon his path, Fu Nanhua was greatly troubled by his inability to untangle its threads and determine the proper course of action regarding the barefooted boy of Mud Bottle Lane.

Cai Jinjian had already risen and approached a dragon-carved pillar, gazing with interest at the pearl gripped in its jaws.

Fu Nanhua neither agreed nor refused Cai Jinjian’s offer, only bidding her to tarry a few days longer.

After Cai Jinjian departed from his private residence, Fu Nanhua removed the jade pendant, a relic of immense importance to Dragon Wold. He clutched it in his palm and paced about the hall, weighing the advantages and disadvantages.

A towering man clad in dragon robes, radiating immense authority, materialized within the hall, standing beside the dragon-carved pillar. He gazed up at the pearl held by the dragon, as if trying to see beyond it through the eyes of Cai Jinjian of Cloudglow Mountain.

He had arrived silently, unseen by Fu Nanhua. When Fu Nanhua finally became aware of his presence, the dragon-robed man lowered his gaze and asked his heir, “Why did you not agree?”

Fu Nanhua replied, “My heart feels unsettled.”

The man, none other than Fu Qi, Lord of Dragon Wold, stated plainly, “Simple. Either slay Chen Ping’an, forcefully suppressing the ripples in your heart and mind, and use your power to sever all influence brought upon you by a Confucian Sage. Or ride the tide, allowing those minor, lingering knots to remain. Elsewhere, such blemishes would grow with ascension, but within Dragon Wold, they are but the seeds that form the pearls of the Heart Lake.”

The man scoffed, “Such a small predicament, and you agonize over it so? It seems you have no intention of ever donning these Dragon Lord’s robes, eh?”

Fu Nanhua was drenched in sweat.

The man shook his head. “A dead man and a boy… and you are so disquieted. A fine son I have, indeed.”
The pallor of death crept across Fu Nanhua’s face. The man twisted his lips in a mirthless smile. “Do you even comprehend, wretch, that I, in my youth, donned the raiment of an emperor long before my time? That for the sake of the Fu name, I groveled and pleaded, shattering the very bone of my brow upon the cold stone? Do you think any pact still binds me?”

Fu Nanhua’s mind swam in a void, silent tears tracing paths down his cheeks, unnoticed. With a scornful laugh, the man vanished like smoke on the wind.

—-

Any who might traverse the treacherous Inverted Mountain, surviving its arcane wards, and stumble upon the confluence of two realms, would surely gasp at the spectacle. A wall, impossibly high, piercing the heavens themselves, stood immutable and ancient between the worlds. South of this colossal barrier lay the dominion of this realm’s true masters. North, an unwalled city sprawled defiant.

The earliest pioneers, the sword saints who first took root in this place, declared: “If the demon hordes breach the Sword Qi Bastion, what wall anywhere in the world shall stand?” Since that day, not a single brick graced the city’s perimeter.

Tens upon thousands of sword cultivators, sequestered from the world beyond, dwelled here generation after generation. Save for a scant few who dared venture to the Inverted Mountain, nearly all obeyed the ancient decree, never setting foot in the boundless lands beyond.

Here they were born, and here they would die, embracing death at the foot of the Sword Qi Bastion as honor, and shunning the decay of old age within its walls as a shameful fate.

In some ways, this place differed greatly from the Haoran lands. Yet in others, similarities stubbornly persisted. This nameless, unwalled city harbored its own entrenched families. Unlike their counterparts beyond the Wall, they needed not preach vigilance and caution to their descendants. Here, such pronouncements were redundant. For even the most privileged scion, the sole heir, was obligated at the age of twelve to assume the duty of “Sword Sender,” and by sixteen at the latest, to stand upon the ramparts, drawing their blade against the South. Before their thirtieth year, they were expected to leave the battlements altogether and descend into the South, to hunt and slay the demon hordes.

Here, almost every woman yearned to wed a man whose swordsmanship surpassed her own. And if he fell in battle, she would follow soon after, and their children after her.

No ballad of the borderlands, however evocative, could capture the reality of the unending war here. Indeed, outsiders who dared express pity or a sense of tragedy would often be met with scorn. What was so remarkable about such things?

The second grand offensive had drawn to a temporary close, and the city north of the Sword Qi Bastion had once more settled into an uneasy quiet. Within its boundaries, narrow canals trickled past walled gardens, and stately mansions with guardian stone lions stood alongside bustling sword smithies, their overhanging eaves nearly touching. Humble thatched cottages nestled beside them, sheltering generations under one roof.

In a tavern beside one of the city’s narrow streets, six figures clustered around a table. A spirited young woman with eyes like drawn daggers sat on a long bench beside a taciturn, one-armed girl. Though slight of frame, the latter bore upon her back a greatsword of astonishing size.

The eldest of the group, a handsome youth barely past his coming-of-age ceremony, radiated a palpable aura of sword qi. The blade at his hip seemed to pulse with righteous energy. A pudgy young man with a perpetual grin sat cross-legged on the bench, his wide frame barely contained by its narrow surface. The sword resting upon his thighs, though sheathed, crackled and sparked with violet energy, and every so often, a stray arc of electricity would leap out and touch his belly, causing him to shudder and gasp.

Next to him sat a scarred and swarthy youth with a grim face. The blade he carried, however, possessed a surprisingly delicate name: Rouge. Across from him, a fair-faced youth sat, one sword at his hip, sheathed, the other, bare, carved with the ancient, twisting “Cloud” script.

These six had fought shoulder-to-shoulder in the first offensive. Yet this time, they felt the absence of a comrade named Qiqiu.
Fortune, this time, smiled a touch brighter. Though each of the six bore the marks of battle, none had perished upon the field. Yet, from their band, two esteemed Sword Masters, tenth-realm cultivators whose foundations ran deep, would not tread the cobbled streets of Sword Qi Great Wall again, nor return to hearth and home beyond the ramparts.

The portly lad held a fondness for the wine flask, and an even greater zeal for pressing its contents upon others. The handsome youth, named Dong, seemed to derive an odd pleasure from tormenting the scarred and unsightly one. The maiden with the single arm would occasionally cast a fleeting glance toward the man of just-past manhood. As for the spirited young woman, she preferred to drink and brood in solitude. Yet, even lost in her reveries, no hint of fragility marred her countenance; her martial bearing remained undiminished.

Presently, two women, barely past their teenage years, arrived. One, with a sweet, round face, settled beside the scarred youth, the three squeezing onto a single bench, leaving the portly lad’s ample posterior to dangle precariously. The youth Dong, however, dared not utter another insult, cowering as if in fear of the round-faced sister.

The other, a delicate creature with a pointed chin, planted herself resolutely beside the handsome youth, eliciting an eye-roll of exasperation. He silently lamented, “Does this slip of a girl, barely prettier than myself, truly harbor dreams of wedding and bedding?”

At the prompting of the round-faced sister, it came to pass that the man of just-past manhood, having completed his trial, was soon to return to the Confucian Academy in the Central Continent, where he would ascend from the title of Scholar to that of a True Gentleman. He lifted the sword “Haoran Qi” and laid it upon the table, declaring it a gift from Ah Liang to the swordsmen of Sword Qi Great Wall, not to himself, and thus, he must leave it behind.

The portly lad’s face lit up with avarice. He had coveted that blade for an age, and eagerly nodded, praising the Confucian gentleman’s integrity and adherence to custom, promising a boisterous welcome upon his return.

The taciturn, one-armed maiden, contrary to her usual nature, spoke. She declared that he had fought bravely twice, slaying countless Fifth-Realm demons, and thus, deserved to carry the Haoran Qi with him.

The handsome youth, caring little for the matter, scanned the street, hoping to espy a familiar face to settle his tavern debt. The scarred youth merely swilled his ale, oblivious. His sister, the round-faced one, gently urged him to moderate his intake, but he paid her no heed, leaving her with a sigh of resignation.

The spirited young woman spoke, her words like a hammer blow, “He takes it.”

And with that, the matter was settled.

For amongst this company, one was poised to become a Confucian Gentleman, and two bore the surnames Dong and Chen. Should a third carry the name Qi, then all three prominent families of Sword Qi Great Wall would be represented.

Suddenly, the handsome youth frowned, muttering, “Why is it that wherever I go, I’m knee-deep in ordure?”

A company of young men, mostly in their twenties, approached. Their sword intent was palpable, their aura thick with the scent of battle. By ill chance, the leader bore the name Qi. He carried a double-bladed sword strapped to his back, and his presence was both imposing and aggressive.

He broke away from his men, approaching the tavern. His eyes fixed upon the spirited young woman, he did his best to appear less menacing, and asked with forced joviality, “Ning Yao, that Dragon-Slaying Platform of yours, will you sell it or not? We can negotiate a fair price. My family would never cheat you. Besides, you know as well as I do the friendship between our parents. If not for my grandfather’s intervention, we would have been betrothed as children, wouldn’t we?”

The spirited young woman did not even look up. “Begone.”

The man named Qi, showing no sign of offense, rubbed his chin and turned away, his retreat swift and efficient.

From within the ranks of his company, a voice, dripping with venom, hissed, “Some people are just blessed, aren’t they? Parents both Great Sword Immortals. So formidable, so powerful that they almost lost us the entire Sword Qi Great Wall. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The spirited young woman remained unmoved. But at the tavern table, everyone leaped to their feet. Even the Confucian scholar, here on his trial, grasped the hilt of the Haoran Qi.

The portly lad grinned, revealing a flash of menacing teeth. “Eh? What was that you were saying? This old man didn’t quite hear you. Say it again!”
The fair-faced youth spat his venom, “Curse you, whelp, and your eighteen generations of ancestors!” He cast a sidelong glance at the soot-stained boy opposite. “Well? Who wishes to dance first?”

The mud-caked boy, ever direct, shrugged free from his sister’s grasp, drawing forth two blades. The Qi-named young man raised a hand, silencing his own companions. “Dong Heitan,” he said, a false smile plastered on his face. “Do you truly desire conflict?”

The boy remained unblinking, continuing his advance, his calloused hands gripping the hilts of his twin swords. One, bound in scripture, the other etched with swirling clouds, gifts haphazardly flung to him by a vagabond named A Liang from the distant, jewel-laden continent of Bao Ping. Now, A Liang was gone. And Ning’s parents, the woman who had saved him thrice, were also lost to the world. Dong Huafu could not stand idly by. To do so would mean he was unworthy of the name Dong.

The round-faced woman offered a placid smile. “Just no killing, alright? Anything else, I can smooth things over with my grandfather.” Her words hung heavy in the air, even the Qi-named man felt the weight of her influence.

Suddenly, a rhythmic tapping shattered the tension.

The soot-stained boy turned to see Ning Yao, her expression unreadable. “Heitan, return and drink.”

With a sullen obedience, the boy retreated, resuming his seat. The round-faced woman ruffled his hair, earning a dark glare in return. Her only response was a playful grimace that captivated the fair-faced youth.

And so, violence was averted.

The Qi-named sword cultivator led his companions away. Once a safe distance had been reached, he spoke to the one who had sparked the confrontation. “Stay indoors for the time being, or seek refuge within my family’s estate.”

The youth nodded, accepting the command without question, his heart filled with trepidation.

Once everyone was seated, Ning Yao sighed. “Must you all be so childish? This is a matter for my family, not for outsiders to meddle with. I alone shall remember this.”

She paused, a cold smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I hear the vagabond received a fist from Dao the Second and was sent tumbling back to the Infinite World.”

The mention of this vagabond brought smiles to nearly every face, save for the scholar who offered a wan, rueful grin.

The rotund youth was lost in thought, his expression shifting between sorrow and mirth. He took a long swig of ale.

He remembered his first taste of battle, standing atop the city walls. The boy, face alight with anticipation, had turned to the disheveled wanderer. “A Liang, A Liang! How was my strike? Did it possess even half your skill?”

The man, his face flushed with wine, simply mumbled, “Aye, aye,” dismissing the question.

“A Liang! Give me your honest opinion, good or bad!”

“Very well. Your swordplay… it was rather flamboyant.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you swung your blade like a whirlwind, only to slay a field mouse.”

The blood-soaked boy had nearly wept, convinced his destiny lay in mediocrity. But then, the wanderer had tossed him his wine flask, a mischievous glint in his eye. “When I was your age, I was far worse.”

The chubby boy puffed out his chest, accepting the flask. It was his first taste of liquor, and he thought it tasted like burnt straw.

The fair-faced youth, propping his chin on his hand, delicately nibbled at his wine glass. This elegant gesture was one he had emulated from the vagabond, a sign of ultimate coolness.

“A Liang, I hear you traveled to the Bamboo Sea Grotto-Heaven. Tell me, how fair is the Bamboo Wife?”

“Fair indeed. Her legs stretch for leagues.”

“I asked of her face! What use are long legs?”

The wanderer, with a rakish grin, had shoved the boy’s head. “We have nothing left to discuss.”

Even the round-faced woman, though she did not drink, wore a dreamy smile. She once stood before the wanderer, her voice filled with audacious hope. “A Liang, do you long for home?”

“I do.”

“Will you bring back a wife on your next visit?”

“I would like to.”
“Ah Liang, take me with you, please? Please?” the maiden pleaded, her face alight with hopeful smiles and innocent wonder.

The man, Ah Liang himself, chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and genuine surprise. “Well, I’ll be! Never thought my wanderings would lead to this. Ah Liang, a solitary blade on the windswept roads, felled not by a dragon’s breath, but by the gentle sway of a blossoming peach tree…”

The girl’s younger brother, still sporting the glistening badge of youth upon his lip, squatted nearby, a smudge of charcoal dust upon his cheek. Though young, he possessed a wisdom beyond his years and, with a dismissive snort, spat upon the dusty earth.

Ah Liang took a draught from his wineskin, then offered it to the maiden, gently ruffling her hair. “As charming as the offer may be, little dove, becoming my wife is a path best left untrod. I am but a vagabond, a restless spirit, and it would be a cruel fate to burden such innocence with my unsettled life.”

She hesitantly accepted the wineskin, her fingers brushing against his. She hesitated, unsure.

Ah Liang threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Go on, take a sip! What harm can come of it? Even the sternest ancestors loosen their tongues when it comes to Ah Liang’s brew! No scolding shall fall upon your head, only upon mine.”

As the bewildered girl cautiously tasted the wine, Ah Liang leaped with uncanny grace onto the ramparts of the Sword Wall, the very edge of civilization. He gazed into the vast and unknowable distance, running a hand through his wind-tossed hair. “Wine warms the cheeks, and sorrow frosts the hair,” he mused, his voice a low rumble against the wind’s sigh. “Little one, when you seek a husband, look for a man like… well, like a refined version of myself, versed in poetry and song. Though, not *me* precisely, mind you.”

Suddenly, a small voice pierced through the poignant moment. “Ah Liang! I need to… ease myself! Southward, southward! It’s a dire emergency!” The young boy squirmed with discomfort.

Ah Liang chuckled, then, with a resigned sigh, leaped down from the wall. Grumbling affectionately, he scooped up the small rascal, and vanished in a blur of motion towards the south.

Whether hidden dangers lurked in the southern shadows, whether monstrous spirits stalked the wilderness, Ah Liang did not concern himself. Neither did the round-faced maiden, for this was Ah Liang, and he was invincible. In all of this world, there was no place Ah Liang, and his sword, could not reach.

Though her grandfather might disapprove of the man, even he could not deny the sharpness of Ah Liang’s blade.

But alas, the small terror could no longer contain himself. He unburdened himself, staining his trousers. Ah Liang, kneeling by a clear pool, diligently scrubbed the offending garment, while the naked boy frolicked wildly. He muttered, a smile playing on his lips, “So this is my penance, eh? Refusing your mother seven or eight times wasn’t enough, I suppose. Now I’m playing father to a brat more devoted than his own kin…”

Eventually, Ah Liang departed. The man without a sword, he carved a single word into the stone – “猛” (Might) – donned a wide-brimmed hat, and turned his back on the Sword Wall.

That day, in the city nestled behind the Sword Wall, many women drank wine, their faces flushed with wistful longing. Their husbands, in turn, drowned their sorrows in even deeper draughts.

Further on, a man with a bamboo sword found the boy Qi Jingchun believed in. He said to him: I’m Ah Liang, the Liang of kindness. I’m a swordsman.

After they were acquainted, Ah Liang smiled at the young man from Mud Bottle Lane: Did you know, there’s a lot of women under the sun who like me.

The boy only thought he was boasting.

—-

The banquet ended, and the friends departed.

Ning Yao went home alone.

Along the way, there was a lot of pointing.

There was pity, ridicule, sighing, and admiration.

Ning Yao returned home, still one of the largest mansions in the city, still with many family sword cultivators, but fewer people.

She walked to the training ground, then lay on the dragon-slaying platform, which was as big as a hut, and began to squint and doze off.

A letter said that a fool was coming to deliver a sword to her, why hadn’t he arrived yet?

The girl was a little angry.