The instant Pei Qian reached the second-floor chamber door, he’d already outpaced Chen Ping’an, flinging it open with an almost unsettling eagerness.

Chen Ping’an entered with purposeful strides, while Pei Qian lingered, hesitant to follow. Chen Ping’an turned, his gaze firm. “Fetch three more chambers from the innkeeper, Jiuniang. Let the cost be settled from the account, and inform Wei Xian I shall be in seclusion for several days. Allow no interruptions. The five of you, do not stray far from the inn’s threshold.”

Pei Qian’s gaze searched Chen Ping’an’s face. “Are you well?”

A hollow amusement twisted Chen Ping’an’s lips, a mirth that bordered on despair. “I am… difficult to kill.”

Pei Qian cautiously closed the door, his voice soft. “Call, should need arise. I’ll be next door.”

Chen Ping’an merely nodded.

Two spirit swords, forged on the first and fifteenth of each moon, shimmered into being, hovering within the room. Chen Ping’an first produced a stack of talismans imbued with cleansing magic, affixing them to every corner of the room. Then, he retrieved two porcelain vials, each crafted from materials of great arcane worth. One, a crimson red, was a gift from Lutai, capable of conjuring restorative bone magic, its efficacy proven in the forest battle outside Feiying Keep. The other, a stark white, held the Yang Family Apothecary’s secret unguent, potent enough to quell even the most agonizing pain. In his travels, through treacherous mountains and monstrous lairs, Chen Ping’an had never foreseen a need for it.

Chen Ping’an shed his tattered robe, the gold-threaded seams clinging with blood and torn flesh. The pain brought a film of sweat to his brow. He sat at the table, his hand trembling as he uncorked the white vial from the Yang Family. A single black pill rolled forth; he swallowed it down with a gulp of green plum wine from his gourd. Then came the vermillion vial, its thick balm a source of fresh torment as he applied it to his battered hands, arms, and shoulders.

The Daquan dynasty’s eunuch bore a power beyond Chen Ping’an’s reckoning. He had believed himself prepared for this storm, even enlisting the aid of the madman Zhu Lian, and the beings captured in the painting, Sui Youbian and Lu Baixiang. Yet, Huai Lili, the dynasty’s guardian, acted with an unrestrained ferocity, exceeding the bounds of a mere Qi-cultivator. His physique rivaled a pure martial artist in the sixth realm.

He’d had only three Grain Rain coins remaining. Heeding the whispers of the old Taoist and the golden sword gourd, Chen Ping’an risked a gamble, wagering on the least imposing figure on the right side of the painting. One Grain Rain coin, and as foretold, it was enough. The Sword Immortal from the Lotus Bloom Blessed Land stepped forth, her presence solidifying in this world.

Clearly, the Taoist youth had schemed to lead Chen Ping’an to Sui Youbian. Had it not been for the “foolish instruction” of the Lotus Land’s resident, Chen Ping’an would have summoned the Martial Madman, Zhu Lian, or perhaps Wei Xian or Lu Baixiang. Zhu Lian alone required fifteen Grain Rain coins, a perilous cost that could have left the other three scrolls gathering dust.

Chen Ping’an sat at the table, eyes closed, hands limp, visualizing himself perched atop a sword furnace, his breath evening out, settling into the meditative stillness of a seasoned monk, the oblivion of a Taoist in seated slumber.

Two days later, as the noon sun reached its zenith, Chen Ping’an emerged, clad in clean garments. He stood on the balcony, noticing an unsettling stillness blanketing the inn’s common room. The hunchbacked porter sat listlessly on his bench, the little cripple wiped tables with a forced cheer, the proprietress served boisterous drinkers, and the green-robed scholar sat on the threshold, his face a mask of melancholy.

Had Chen Ping’an not detected Zhu Lian’s faint breathing behind the doors of nearby chambers, he would have assumed nothing had occurred. He could have deluded himself that the young master of the Shen household and the eunuch pythons were never there.

The ordeal, the martial tempering between life and death, stirred Chen Ping’an more profoundly than his battle with Ding Ying. The gains were smaller, yet the emotions ran deeper, perhaps tied to mood and the vagaries of victory and defeat.

The first to emerge was the hunched form of Zhu Lian, a grotesque smile stretching across his face. “Young Master is blessed. It is a joy to behold.”

Chen Ping’an inclined his head. “The cavalry and the Yao family forces outside?”

Zhu Lian leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “The honorable scholar from Dafu Academy halted all factions with a single gesture. His Highness outside the door immediately withdrew his men. Only the corpse of young master Gao Shuyi remains. As for the body of the eunuch from the imperial horse supervisor, none dare speak of it. The young prince and the Yao family’s border troops dared not approach the inn. When the innkeeper’s wife awoke, the honorable scholar concocted a tale of your boxing prowess. He remains here to eat and drink. It would be interesting if Haoran held more scholars such as him.”

Zhu Lian then provided a full account of the storm’s aftermath.

As Chen Ping’an walked toward the stairs, he asked in confusion: “Jiuniang and the others are still kept in the dark? Is that alright?”

Zhu Lian smiled and said, “This honorable man from the academy must have met with the three parties, and were not allowed to disclose his identity, so he deliberately concealed the inn.”

Chen Ping’an inquired, “Where is Pei Qian?”

Zhu Lian gestured toward Hu’er Town. “She borrowed a few copper coins and has found amusement there.”

Chen Ping’an frowned and descended the stairs. He approached the scholar at the door, Zhu Lian remaining near the threshold, a picture of an old servant in a humble home.

Chen Ping’an sat on the threshold and offered his wine gourd.

The scholar, Zhong Kui, shook his head, his gaze fixed on the woman laughing with her patrons. “If it’s not the wine Jiu Niang gives me, it doesn’t taste right.”

Chen Ping’an withdrew the gourd and took a swig himself. “Who was the prisoner Gao Shuyi was escorting?”

Zhong Kui did not hesitate to answer, “It was someone from the Songzhen Lake Water Temple and the mountain god Jinhuang Mansion. Regardless, it was the fisherman who fought against the snipe and clam to benefit the big spring. His Highness of the Third Prince of the Dynasty has caught up in one go. If it weren’t for your thrust, there would probably be a lot of Yao family members in the prison car. But don’t worry, I promised you that I’ll clean up the mess, don’t worry that the Daquan Dynasty will regard you as a The enemy, whether it is the Third Prince or Duke Shen’s mansion, I can’t stop you. If you can’t even deal with these…”

Chen Ping’an smiled. “I can deal with these matters. I doubt Daquan has another Huai Lili.”

The Daquan Dynasty was stronger than Shushui Kingdom.

As for the mountain god Jinhuang Mansion, how had he gone from respected figure to prisoner? The blue buffalo was slain by Chen Ping’an. Chen Ping’an was not moved by it.

When Chen Ping’an mentioned Li Li, the scholar’s face was a little dim, which seemed to be a big trouble.

Seeing the scholar’s silence, Chen Ping’an turned his gaze outward, still plagued by worry. He rose, walked to the road, and looked toward Hu’er Town, fearful that Pei Qian would stir up trouble.

Upon returning to the inn, Chen Ping’an ordered a meal and summoned Zhu Lian, Lu Baixiang, and the others downstairs. As soon as the meal was finished, Pei Qian returned to the inn, looking very happy. After watching Chen Ping’an, he felt a little guilty and his eyes were wandering. Chen Ping’an simply asked if she had eaten. The little girl with a round belly shook her head and said, “Is it?” and then ate the remaining soup on the table. Chen Ping’an walked out of the inn alone and took a relaxing walk.

Returning to the inn, Chen Ping’an found the doors blocked, the air thick with curses, the scene lively.