The young Daoist disciple rose from his cushion, carefully rolled his scripture, and gave it a gentle tap against his palm. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he regarded the crestfallen youth before him, the formidable warrior whose name, for all his skill, barely echoed within the vast expanse of the world.

“Ah, the bitter taste of a lover’s quarrel,” the disciple chirped, unable to resist a touch of glee. *Probably that troublesome girl,* he mused. Unaccustomed to offering comfort, the disciple strained for a look of benevolent sincerity, his smile stretching wide. “Such a prickly blossom! A temperament like a thundercloud, a heart like a frozen lake. Only her beauty sets her apart… her lineage… her talent… her prospects… What could you possibly see in her? Good riddance, I say! Look around you, young man! The streets of Upside-Down Mountain teem with gentle maidens, each one more pliable than the last. Their waists, slender as pickled radishes, are a dime a dozen. Take your pick! I’ll even play matchmaker.”

Chen Ping’an offered a weary smile, declining to engage. *Best not to provoke those blessed with such prodigious power,* he thought. With a polite farewell to the jovial disciple, he took his leave. As for the slumbering swordsman, still lost in his sun-drenched reverie, Chen Ping’an dared not disturb his daytime dreams.

Ning Yao had spoken of this man. In the Thirteen Battles, he fought ninth, succumbing to a Great Demon of only a hundred years, a humiliating defeat. The victor, wielding a celestial weapon, had risen to prominence, his name whispered throughout the lands south of the Great Wall of Swords, while the swordsman was banished to Upside-Down Mountain, confined to a self-imposed prison.

The swordsman was a solitary sword immortal, five centuries etched into his soul. He had never planted roots at the Wall of Swords. Whispers told of a single, unremarkable partner in his earlier years, who had fallen in battle. Since then, he had remained alone, friendly with many, but close to none.

For cultivators, especially those who ascended to the higher realms, the matter of progeny was both profound and complex. To attain immortality, female cultivators were often forced to sever the Crimson Dragon early in life, making childbirth difficult. And aside from the military, many cultivators hesitated to entangle themselves in worldly affairs, unless confident they could sire a child of exceptional talent. Otherwise, the question of offspring remained unresolved, waiting for the whims of fate.

How, after all, could the immortal families accommodate descendants who were mediocre at best? Would they be treated like mere dogs and chickens? If these pitiful creatures, lacking talent yet harboring grandiose ambitions, were content to live out their days in obscurity, it would be one thing. But history was littered with tales of families brought to ruin by such discontent.

Even should a cultivator possess the patience and affection to nurture such a child, the inevitable heartbreak of outliving them was a burden few wished to bear. Wealth and lineage were matters for the family; the path to enlightenment and eternal life, a solitary journey.

The Luli Pearl Grotto above the Dali Dynasty of Treasure Bottle Continent, though the smallest of the Thirty-Six Minor Grottos, spanning barely a thousand *li*, was renowned for its remarkable inhabitants. Even the offspring of ordinary citizens held the potential to surpass the careful cultivation of celestial couples beyond its borders.

The Grotto had birthed such prodigies as Xie Shi of Julo Continent, Cao Xi of Poso Continent, and the Twin Jewels of Dali, who had helped secure the Song Dynasty’s reign.

Chen Ping’an returned to the Stork Inn to learn that the Osmanthus Island ship had already set sail for Old Dragon City. He inquired with the young innkeeper about passage to central Tongye Continent, specifically which docks along Upside-Down Mountain offered such voyages.

The innkeeper, whose family had been rooted in Upside-Down Mountain for generations, possessed a wealth of knowledge on the subject. The seas surrounding Tongye Continent were known for their treacherous currents and towering waves, making them unsuitable for ships, particularly in the south, which remained largely isolated. As a result, almost all intercontinental crossings originated in the north, a fact that contributed to the Tongye Sect’s dominance over the Jade Tablet Sect.
The youthful proprietor of the inn, after recommending passage to Master Chen, secured him a berth upon a吞寶鯨 (Tūn Bǎo Jīng – Treasure-Swallowing Whale)渡船 (Dù Chuán – Ferry), bound for the heart of桐葉宗 (Tóng Yè Zōng – Paulownia Leaf Sect), specifically the扶乩宗 (Fú Jī Zōng – Planchette Sect). Embarkation was to be at the inverted peak of the倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain), a direct route. The鲸渡船 (Jīng Dù Chuán – Whale Ferry) would depart in ten days, leaving Master Chen to take lodging at the Ciconia Inn.

As the lad turned his back, the young proprietor, clicking beads on his abacus, cast a curious glance. Still the sword, yes, but the wooden chest was gone, replaced by a longsword of unfamiliar make. He shrugged it off. On倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain), strangeness was commonplace. Just recently, a youth from the Central Earth Continent had triggered a martial breakthrough the moment he stepped from the Sword Qi Great Wall into倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain), causing unprecedented celestial phenomena. The mirrored gate violently shuddered, forcing even the seated Celestial Lord of the solitary peak to make an appearance, intervening, it was said, with his own hand to quell the ominous disturbance.

Then there were the female Immortals of the Maritime 甘霖宗 (Gān Lín Zōng – Sweet Rain Sect), who amassed a fortune in倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain) with countless corpses of the Jiaolong lineage. The Jiaolong True Lord was the most generous patron, purchasing vast quantities of gold and silver Jiaolong whiskers. He even went into considerable debt, but no one deemed the True Lord a fool. For it was widely believed that his horsetail whisk, already a peerless semi-celestial artifact, was now verging on the threshold of true celestial status.

And a young man amongst the 甘霖宗 (Gān Lín Zōng – Sweet Rain Sect) female cultivators became an object of intense interest. This fortunate soul, recently inducted into the 甘霖宗 (Gān Lín Zōng – Sweet Rain Sect) as a son-in-law, had not only been chosen as a Dao Companion by the renowned 滂沱仙子 (Pāng Tuó Xiān Zǐ – Torrential Rain Fairy) of the 甘霖宗 (Gān Lín Zōng – Sweet Rain Sect), but had also been deemed by the 甘霖宗 (Gān Lín Zōng – Sweet Rain Sect) Ancestor to possess exceptional aptitude for cultivation. Subsequently, he gained the favor of the 雨霖仙子 (Yǔ Lín Xiān Zǐ – Rainshower Fairy), celebrated throughout the Southern Seas, who also took him as husband. Two Golden Core Immortals, both with the potential to ascend to Earth Immortal status, sharing a single husband… a union to inspire envy. On the path of cultivation, fortune, or the lack thereof, was truly the difference between clouds and mud.

Master Chen’s sojourn at the Sword Qi Great Wall had kept him rooted to one spot on the ramparts. He’d imagined there would be time for everything, but his abrupt return to倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain) revealed the fallacy of that notion. Sorrow lingered, though not acutely. Worry, however, abounded.

Collecting his key, Master Chen entered his chambers. He possessed little to set down: a sword upon his back, a gourd for nurturing his blade at his hip… little else. Heeding the young proprietor’s advice, Master Chen swiftly departed for the shops near the inn, seeking necessary supplies.

First, a copy of the *Mountain and Sea Gazetteer*, detailing the lands and customs of the vast and boundless realms, a tome of the Immortals, of course, for a mundane copy would be worthless. Each page capable of holding a dozen illustrations and thousands of characters, the images and script flowed like water, serene and continuous.

Next, books detailing the elegant speech and phonetics of桐葉洲 (Tóng Yè Zhōu – Paulownia Leaf Continent) and the refined language of the Central Earth Continent. Master Chen had no desire to arrive in桐葉洲 (Tóng Yè Zhōu – Paulownia Leaf Continent) unable to communicate. Though桐葉洲 (Tóng Yè Zhōu – Paulownia Leaf Continent) likely resembled 寶瓶洲 (Bǎo Píng Zhōu – Treasure Bottle Continent) in its patchwork of kingdoms and dialects, mastery of the雅言 (Yǎ Yán – Elegant Speech) used by the Immortal sects and imperial courts was undoubtedly essential.

One could not hope to stumble upon a lucky find, an unexpected bargain in倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain), especially in regards to magical artifacts and spiritual weapons. The cultivators here possessed great skill and discerning eyes, and prices were often far higher than on the mainland. However, integrity was prized. Forgery was practically nonexistent. Merchants who established businesses here were often old and reputable, valuing their reputation above quick profit.

A single 穀雨錢 (Gǔ Yǔ Qián – Grain Rain Coin), comparing it to the golden essence copper coins of the 驪珠洞天 (Lí Zhū Dòng Tiān – Black Pearl Grotto-Heaven), was exceedingly valuable, even here in倒懸山 (Dào Xuán Shān – Upside-Down Mountain), where Immortals were as common as pebbles.
With coin jingling merrily in his pouch, and no immediate path to multiplying its worth, lest it gather dust and mold, Chen Ping’an resolved to purchase suitable, if costly, enchanted items for Lin Shouyi and Xie Xie. The younger members of their company, Li Huai and Yu Lu, were excluded. The former were yet untamed by the path of cultivation, their years too tender, while Yu Lu, like himself, was a simple martial artist. Selling was out of the question, for Chen Ping’an was far from wanting in funds.

Having acquired his desired tomes from the Crane Pavilion Inn, he made his way to the Spirit Fungus Hall. His prior visit with Jin Su had been a mere stroll, admiring the wonders in a cursory fashion. Now, with purpose in his heart, he dismissed the priceless, nigh-unattainable treasures meant for accomplished Qi cultivators. He sought instead a manual of thunder magic or a relic akin to the Dew Bowl of Zhang Shanfeng, one that would steadily gather celestial essence for the benefit of its user.

Even with narrowed parameters, his eyes swam amidst the array. He spent the better part of the day within the Hall, meticulously scrutinizing the wares. At last, a handful had caught his interest, a dozen or so to be further contemplated in the solitude of his room at the Crane Pavilion. Come the morrow, he would make his purchase. Among the selections were a treatise on lightning, deemed a unique manuscript, along with two elixirs of supreme quality, intended to scour bone and marrow, one hailing from the Azure Mystery Sect of Floating Continent, the other from the Incense Burner Mountain of Po Su Continent, both hallowed lineages of Daoist alchemy. And then there were the seven or eight mystical artifacts.

During his perusal, Chen Ping’an’s gaze fell upon three soldier’s armor pellets, resting side-by-side within a wooden case. The accompanying inscription proclaimed them to be of the same make as the divinely imbued armor worn by the Imperial Preceptor of Old Yu, yet of significantly finer quality. All three pellets could be worn simultaneously, granting the wearer unmatched protection without encumbrance.

But the price! A king’s ransom of thirty thousand Snowflake Coins. A single Snowflake Coin was worth roughly a thousand taels of silver. A Lesser Heat Coin was equivalent to a hundred Snowflakes, while a Grain Rain Coin commanded ten Lesser Heat Coins. Such was the “thousand-hundred-ten” reckoning of celestial currency. Chen Ping’an recalled that even the treasure of the Kun ship, on the Mountain of Prayers, had not fetched such a sum. Moreover, two of the pellets were marred by imperfections, their repairs less than perfect, far from “flawless.”

Yet this was far from the Hall’s most extravagant offering. Many enchanted wonders were spared the indignity of Snowflake or Lesser Heat Coin price tags, instead demanding payment in Grain Rain Coins. Within a glass case, a single golden feather, wreathed in flame, floated serenely, bearing no inscription save the stark “One Hundred Grain Rain Coins.” Still others, objects both radiating power and utterly unassuming, bore no price at all, merely the cryptic “Negotiations Welcomed.”

Chen Ping’an’s teeth ached at the sight.

That evening, Chen Ping’an reached his final decision. He would acquire the lightning magic book that the Spirit Fungus Hall dared to proclaim “the world’s sole surviving copy, alas lacking several dozen pages, else priceless,” for Lin Shouyi. He would also purchase the collection of armor pellets that could no longer reform into a suit, but held a formidable power none the less. Both items were far more expensive than he had anticipated, bordering on the cost of true enchanted weapons.

Having resolved his course, Chen Ping’an banished all hesitation.

His face pale, Chen Ping’an began to practice his stances and fist forms. Not from regret over the expenditure did he appear so wan, but from the weight of the old sword saint’s “Everlasting Breath,” loaned to him for a decade. The subtle yet relentless permeation of sword qi into his soul caused no immediate hindrance to his breathing, but with prolonged bearing, it would exact a heavy toll, akin to the old Cui’s Divine Drumming Stance, compounding in its strain.
The Eighteen Stoppages Breathing Technique, Chen Pingan discovered, proved a far more effective bulwark against the bone-chilling, soul-scouring sword intent than the old man Yang’s tutelage. Yet, the struggle remained arduous, a trial by frost and fire. Still, this familiar ache, this comforting torment, brought a strange sense of peace to his heart.

The following dawn found him at Lingzhi Apothecary, purchasing his sought-after goods. Coin exchanged for wares, the transaction proceeded without incident. Save for a most unexpected gratuity: a small carving of mutton-fat jade, depicting a white bull offering a sprig of spiritual fungus. Lingzhi Apothecary, it seemed, celebrated the venerable anniversary of a Patriarchal Ancestor’s birth, a day on which favored patrons, those whose coin flowed freely, received a token of esteem. A humble trinket, perhaps, the least expensive among enchanted objects, fit only for the writing desks of wealthy families, a bauble for idle hands. Chen Pingan noticed the increased bustle within the apothecary, and witnessed children, escorted by elders, departing with similar white jade carvings in hand. His curiosity allayed, he departed, his heart at ease.

Back at the Stork Inn, as night’s shroud deepened, Chen Pingan paused in his footwork practice, interrupted by a gentle rapping at the door. “Who is it?” he asked softly, turning his head.

A voice, laced with the cadence of the Sword Qi Great Wall, chuckled, “The stable hand’s watchman asked me to bring you a message, and a little something.”

Hesitation flickered across Chen Pingan’s face, yet he approached, unbolting the door. He retreated a few steps, cautious, yet relieved. It was, indeed, the sword-bearing warrior. Though visage could be altered, the unique resonance of sword qi could not be feigned. This time, however, the man carried no blade. Noticing Chen Pingan’s query, he grinned. “A watchman must leave something behind, wouldn’t you agree? So, I came, and the sword remains at the hitching post.”

Ever the straightforward sort, the man tossed a small bundle, slightly larger than a clenched fist, towards Chen Pingan. “Ning丫头 sends this. Furthermore, she asks you to tarry a while in Upside-Down Mountain. You possess those two golden dragon whiskers, yes? I can find someone to weave them into a passable binding rope. If you’d rather not wait, I’ll save myself the favor.”

The man seated himself at the table, pouring a cup of tea. “Ning丫头 also made inquiries concerning that golden robe of yours. It’s quite the valuable item, a raiment of the highest quality, coveted even by Land Immortals. It’s called ‘Golden Dew,’ a rare relic of a Dragon Tiger Mountain Celestial Master, a recluse estranged from his kin, who passed away on a remote southern isle. A wandering cultivator chanced upon it, only to have the Old Flood Dragon of Dragon Gulch seize it. Yet, fear not, it will fit you perfectly; it is a true enchanted robe, its size ever accommodating. Now, bring it forth. I’ll weave a minor enchantment to dull its gleam. Too conspicuous as it is.”

This time, Chen Pingan did not hesitate. From his shrinking space, he produced the golden robe.

The Sword Qi Great Wall veteran snapped his fingers, offering a cursory explanation. The glamour he wove was akin to the sword-nourishing gourd gifted by Wei Bo: undetectable to those below the rank of a Land Immortal. Of course, in the throes of life-or-death struggle, the robe would naturally unfurl its protective magic, and even the dimmest wit would then perceive the truth.

As the man departed, he claimed the two golden dragon whiskers. Chen Pingan, after securing the door, carefully unwrapped the cloth bundle. Within lay a miniature Execution Platform, crafted from jade, no longer than his palm. Etched upon its surfaces, both front and back, were two words: Innocence, Ning Yao.

This, clearly, was the work of a master swordsman, most likely a gift bestowed upon a young Ning Yao by her parents, crafted with loving care. And when Ning Yao had grown, one day, she met a boy she cherished, and she gifted it to him.