High above, a lone eagle circled, while a crow perched on a withered branch, its caw a mournful sound.

The once smooth and wide official road was now a shattered ruin, causing a caravan to lurch and sway precariously.

The Kingdom of Shihao, the Zhuying Dynasty’s largest tributary state, lay to the northwest of the dynasty. Renowned throughout the Bao Ping Continent for its fertile lands and abundant resources, it had long served as the Zhuying Dynasty’s granary. Yet, unlike the Kingdom of Huangting, a tributary of the Da Sui Dynasty, Shihao had made a different choice. From the Emperor and the court ministers to the vast majority of frontier generals, they had chosen to stand firm against the iron cavalry of Da Li.

The flames of war engulfed the entire Kingdom of Shihao. Since the beginning of spring, the fighting north of the capital had been exceptionally fierce, and now the capital city of Shihao was deeply besieged.

Not only were the common people of Shihao terrified, but even the small tributary states nearby, whose military strength was far inferior to that of Shihao, were filled with dread. Of course, there were also those so-called “wise” individuals who had long since surrendered and pledged allegiance to the Song clan of Da Li, watching the fire from across the river, waiting to laugh at the misfortunes of others. They hoped that the invincible iron cavalry of Da Li would simply carry out a massacre, slaughtering all those loyal martyrs of Shihao who were devoted to the Zhuying Dynasty. Perhaps, they thought, Da Li would even remember their “goodness,” and with their help, they could smoothly seize the tall city walls and armories, untouched and intact.

The bumpy road caused the drivers of the caravan to groan incessantly. Even the sturdy men, bearing longbows and sabers at their waists, felt their bones about to be shaken apart, their spirits flagging. They forced themselves to stay alert, their eyes scanning the surroundings, lest bandits should raid them. These seventy or eighty riders, skilled in archery and horsemanship, all carried the scent of blood upon them, a testament to the hardships they had faced on their journey south in this chaotic world.

It was truly a matter of risking one’s head for meager coin. It would not be an exaggeration to say that a moment’s carelessness could lead to one’s head rolling on the ground.

The most dangerous encounter they had faced was not with the refugee bandits, but with a band of three hundred Shihao soldiers disguised as mounted brigands, who saw their caravan as a fat prize. In that battle, nearly half of the caravan guards, who had long since signed their life away, were killed or wounded. If it weren’t for the fact that one of the employers was secretly a mountain immortal, the soldiers would have devoured them, men and goods alike.

This caravan needed to traverse the heartland of Shihao, reaching the southern border and heading towards Shujian Lake, a place regarded by the secular dynasties as a dragon’s den, a tiger’s lair. The caravan had accepted a large sum of silver, but dared only to stop at the border pass. No matter how much silver they were offered, they were unwilling to take another step south. Fortunately, the dozen or so foreign merchants agreed to allow the caravan guards to turn back at the Thousand Bird Pass on the border. After that, the fate of these merchants – whether they would reap huge profits in Shujian Lake or die on the road, providing the bandits with a good year – was no longer the caravan’s responsibility.

This journey had been a living hell, a scene straight out of the asura realm.

The term “starving corpses littering the land” was no longer just a phrase glimpsed in books by scholars.

Along the way, the caravan often encountered thatched shops filled with wailing. Adults were constantly selling “two-legged sheep” – their own children. Initially, some could not bear to personally send their offspring to the chopping block, so they devised a compromise: parents would exchange their thin and sickly children before selling them to the shopkeepers.

Many refugees, driven mad by hunger, wandered in groups across the land of Shihao, like walking corpses and ghostly apparitions. Whenever they encountered a place where food might be found, they would swarm forward. The beacon towers and relay stations of Shihao, as well as the earthen forts built by some powerful local clans, were all stained with blood and littered with corpses that had not been cleaned up in time. The caravan had once passed a large fort with five hundred strong clansmen as guards, and purchased a small amount of food at a high price. A daring and spirited young man, envious of a caravan guard’s strong bow, tried to get close. He pointed to a row of shriveled heads used as a display of power outside the wooden fence of the fort, squatted down, and said to a caravan attendant with a smile, “Summer is the most troublesome, with mosquitoes and flies, and the risk of plague. But in winter, when it snows, it saves a lot of trouble.” After speaking, the young man picked up a stone and threw it at the wooden fence, accurately hitting a head. He clapped his hands, glanced at the caravan attendant who showed admiration, and felt quite pleased with himself.

At that time, a young woman dressed in green with braided pigtails caught the young man’s eye. The reason he spoke and acted like this with the caravan attendant was simply because he wanted to show off in front of that beautiful sister.

Unfortunately, that sister in green didn’t even look at him from beginning to end, which made the young man very disappointed. What a pity it would be if such a beautiful woman, like a celestial being from a temple mural, were to appear in a refugee group seeking death! Then she would definitely survive. He was the eldest grandson of the clan leader, and even if it wasn’t his turn first, he would eventually have his chance. However, the young man also knew that there were no such delicate women among the refugees. Those few women were mostly dark and gaunt, skin and bones, as thin as starving ghosts, their skin rough and unsightly.

Beside that sister in green stood an older woman, carrying a sword on her back. However, her appearance was far inferior, especially her figure, which was worlds apart. If the latter had appeared alone, the young man would have been tempted, but when they stood together, he no longer saw the latter.

The caravan continued south.

Often, refugees would block the road with sharpened wooden sticks. Those who were smarter, or rather, those who hadn’t truly been driven to the brink, would demand some food from the caravan, and then they would let them pass.

The caravan, of course, didn’t bother with them, and simply continued forward. Generally, as soon as they drew their blades and took down their strong bows, the refugees would scatter in fear.

There were also some refugees who, with bloodshot eyes, simply rushed forward, intending to loot. The caravan guards were originally martial artists from the pugilistic world, and not people of Shihao. They had become numb along the way, and so many brothers and friends had died in the ranks. Deep down, they even hoped that someone would rush forward to give them a chance to vent their hatred. So, the elite riders spread out like a fishing net, their swords rising and falling, or competing in archery, with the best shot being one that hit the eye socket, followed by one that pierced the neck, and then one that pierced the heart. If one could only hit the abdomen or legs, that would invite ridicule and laughter.

The merchants who had hired the guards and the caravan were few in number, only about a dozen people.
Aside from the rarely seen maiden with a green dress and ponytail, and the sword-carrying woman missing her right thumb beside her, there was also an unsmiling black-robed youth. These three seemed to be together, tending to stick close whether the caravan halted for repairs or camped in the wilderness.

Furthermore, the head of this band of merchants, who valued coin above life, was an old man in a blue scholar’s robe, surnamed Song, whom the guards affectionately called Master Song. He had two retainers, one with a black iron staff slung across his back, the other unarmed, both clearly seasoned martial artists of the Jianghu, and of similar age to Master Song. Besides these, there were three individuals, a man, a woman and a child, whose smiles could not mask the coldness in their eyes, their ages greatly different, the woman being of plain appearance, the other two appeared to be grandfather and grandson.

The guards felt that, aside from Master Song, the merchants were all aloof and taciturn.

That night, they rested at a dilapidated post station, long abandoned and its officials fled, every valuable item already looted.

The green-clad maiden with the ponytail perched atop a crumbling mud wall outside the station.

Her inseparable companion, the sword-carrying woman, stood below, softly saying, “Senior Sister, in half a month, we’ll pass through the checkpoint and enter the territory of Shujian Lake.”

The green-clad maiden, somewhat distracted, simply hummed in agreement.

Master Song slowly emerged from the station, lightly kicking a youth squatting on the doorstep, before heading alone towards the wall. The sword-carrying woman immediately greeted him in the official Dali dialect, “Greetings, Master Song.”

The old man smiled and nodded. “Miss Xu, you are still so polite, quite unnecessary.”

This Master Song was no apothecary.

This elegant old man in blue robes was a Principal of the Office of Sacrificial Rites in the Ministry of Rites of Dali.

In tributary states like Huangting or Shihao, this position would be that of a minor official. Within the Ministry of Rites alone, there were Undersecretaries and the Secretary above him. He might even be replaced by an Assistant Secretary or a Vice Secretary of equal rank. However, in Dali, this was a vital position, one of the three most powerful Principals in the Dali Dynasty. The rank was not high, only Fifth Grade, but his authority was immense. Besides the usual duties of a Principal of Sacrificial Rites, he also oversaw the evaluation and recommendation of all the righteous gods of the land and rivers.

The Chongdan River, where Dali had never established a river god or temple, suddenly gained a river spirit named Li Jin, who had risen from a mere bookstore owner in Red Candle Town to become a river god. It was said that he had gained access through this very Principal, achieving a metamorphosis and ascending to a high position on the divine altar, enjoying incense offerings from all directions.

The two women were none other than Ruan Xiu and Xu Xiaoqiao, on a journey of cultivation away from Dragon Spring Sword Sect.

As to why they had traveled so far from the Dali Dynasty, even Xu Xiaoqiao and Dong Gu found it surprising. Their senior sister Ruan Xiu, however, seemed completely indifferent.

Seeing that Master Song seemed to have something to discuss, Xu Xiaoqiao discreetly withdrew.

Master Song walked to the wall, sat cross-legged, and smiled. “I must thank Miss Ruan for her magnanimity.”

Ruan Xiu put away a handkerchief, concealing it in her sleeve, and shook her head, vaguely saying, “No need.”

Master Song chuckled, asking, “May I venture to ask, Miss Ruan, are you unconcerned, or are you simply being tolerant?”

Ruan Xiu asked, “Is there a difference?”

The old man nodded solemnly. “If it’s the former, then I won’t interfere. After all, this old man has also experienced the passions of youth and knows that it’s difficult for a lad like Li Muxi not to be smitten. If it’s the latter, I can drop a hint to Li Muxi or his grandfather. Miss Ruan need not worry that this is an overbearing request. This journey south is a matter of official business entrusted by the court, and the proper decorum must be maintained. Miss Ruan would be entirely within her rights.”

Ruan Xiu said, “It doesn’t matter. Let him look if he wants to. His eyeballs aren’t under my control.”

Master Song was momentarily speechless.

Among the entourage, the two seasoned martial artists at his side, one was a pure martial artist, a Golden Body Realm expert, temporarily drawn from the Dali army. It was said that a Green Ripple Pavilion spy, tasked with requisitioning the man, had been cursed by the decorated general to his face, though in the end, the man was handed over.

The other was a Seventh Realm master from a major Jianghu sect of Dali.

The remaining three were a team of temporary “Adhesive Rods”. Among the grandfather and grandson, the youth named Li Muxi was a genius in the Dao of talismans and arrays. He, his grandfather and father made up three generations of Adhesive Rods for the Dali court, his father recently died in a mission, so this journey south was for the grandfather and grandson, part official business, part personal vendetta.

This trip south to Shujian Lake had two objectives. One was the official one, not insignificant. He, the Principal of Sacrificial Rites, was the spokesman, and the three members of the Dragon Spring Sword Sect had to obey his orders and follow his directives.

This autumn, the Dali Adhesive Rods, who had not suffered any casualties for many years, suddenly lost two members. A concealed Golden Core cultivator from out of town had secretly taken away a disciple, a young man who was quite special. Not only was he a born sword embryo, but he also possessed martial fortune, attracting the attention of several Martial Temple Sages in the local prefecture.

Dali was determined to acquire him. Even the National Preceptor had heard the news and attached great importance to it.

It was a case of karma, perhaps. Ironically, this young man was first found and selected by the Dali Adhesive Rods, and the three individuals who discovered this promising seedling took turns to stay behind and cultivate him, wholeheartedly, for four years. However, the elusive Golden Core cultivator, appearing from who knows where, killed two of them and abducted the youth, fleeing south. They evaded two pursuits and ambushes, proving to be very cunning and powerful. The young man, during their escape, demonstrated exceptional wit and talent, greatly assisting the Golden Core cultivator on two occasions.

Finally, Green Ripple Pavilion intelligence indicated that the Golden Core cultivator and the youth had fled into Shujian Lake, disappearing without a trace.

For such pursuits, not only the Dali Dynasty, but also all the mountain forces in Treasure Bottle Continent, would not make the foolish mistake of underestimating their opponents. Experienced sects, with any foundation at all, would strive to emulate a lion hunting a rabbit, resolving the matter with a single, all-out effort, rather than adding fuel to the fire like a mediocre general, sending wave after wave of men to their deaths, allowing the enemy to replenish their strength through battle and ultimately nurturing a future threat.
He was a seasoned Golden Core cultivator, skilled in the art of killing, and held a geographical advantage. Therefore, Song Langzhong’s group was not simply the sum of two Golden Core cultivators’ combat strength. Instead, they were collectively comparable to a powerful Nascent Soul cultivator.

On this point, Dong Gu and Xu Xiaoqiao had conducted several meticulous private deductions, and the conclusion they reached was relatively reassuring.

Otherwise, if their Eldest Sister suffered the slightest mishap, Dong Gu and Xu Xiaoqiao, the two founding disciples of the Dragon Spring Sword Sect, would, both morally and logically, have no place left for them at Divine Show Mountain.

As for another matter, one known only to Song Langzhong himself, it was of much greater significance.

It involved the ownership of the entire Shu Jian Lake.

Even he had to act on orders.

Even that certain island lord, who had secretly taken root in Shu Jian Lake for eighty years, was merely a pawn.

On this journey south from Great Li, there was a minor matter that Song Langzhong found interesting.

The young Li Muxi found it impossible to understand the sights and sounds he encountered during the southward journey, especially on the Stone Millet Kingdom segment in the carriage. Deep down, he even harbored resentment towards the culprit, the Great Li Dynasty. Perhaps in the boy’s eyes, if the Great Li cavalry had not marched south, or if the continuous wars had not been so bloody and cruel, so many commoners would not have been displaced. In the calamity of war, each of those originally honest men and women had become less than human, more like ghosts.

But Li Muxi’s grandfather, the ninety-year-old “young” cultivator, was indifferent to this, but did not explain anything to his grandson.

Ruan Xiu asked, “I heard there’s a child from Mud Bottle Alley at Shu Jian Lake?”

Song Langzhong nodded. “Surname Gu, a child with great fortune. He was taken as a closed-door disciple by Liu Zhimao, the strongest force in Shu Jian Lake, the River Interception True Monarch. Gu Can himself brought a ‘big loach’ to Shu Jian Lake. With that scaled-dragon follower, whose combat strength is equivalent to a Nascent Soul, he’s been making waves. At such a young age, his reputation is great. Even the Vermillion Fluorescence Dynasty has heard of the existence of this pair of master and servant at Shu Jian Lake. Once, while chatting with Mister Xu, Mister Xu smiled and said that this little fellow named Gu Can is simply a natural wild cultivator of the mountains and swamps.”

Ruan Xiu raised her wrist, glanced at the fire dragon, which resembled a scarlet bracelet and was fast asleep, then lowered her arm, lost in thought.

A middle-aged man arrived at the edge of Shu Jian Lake, a prosperous city teeming with people, named Pool Water City.

He had hired a carriage along the way. The driver was a talkative old man who had traveled far and wide. The man was generous and loved to listen to stories, so he didn’t like sitting in the carriage and enjoying himself. He spent almost the entire journey sitting next to the old driver, letting him drink a lot of wine. The old driver was in a good mood and told many hearsay tales of the strange and extraordinary people of Shu Jian Lake, saying that it wasn’t as terrible as the rumors outside. There was fighting and killing, but it mostly wouldn’t involve them common folk. However, Shu Jian Lake was a bottomless money pit, that was for sure. He and a friend had once carried a group of wealthy young masters from the Vermillion Fluorescence Dynasty. They were very arrogant, telling them to wait in Pool Water City and that they would return in a month. But less than three days later, the group of young masters returned to the city by boat from Shu Jian Lake, completely penniless. Seven or eight young men, six hundred thousand taels of silver, gone in three days. But judging from the language of those spendthrifts, they seemed to be still interested, saying that they must come to Shu Jian Lake again to have fun after saving some money in half a year.

The man walked along the crowded streets of Pool Water City, very inconspicuous.

Earlier, there was a team of Qi Refinement cultivators guarding the city gate, but there was no need for any passage documents. As long as you paid the money, you could enter.

Pool Water City was built on the west bank of Shu Jian Lake.

Shu Jian Lake was extremely vast, with over a thousand islands of various sizes scattered like stars. Most importantly, the spiritual energy was abundant. It was difficult to establish a sect here, occupying large islands and waters. But if one or two Golden Core Earth Immortals occupied a larger island as a residence for cultivation, it was most suitable, both quiet and like a small blessed land. Especially for Qi Refinement cultivators who cultivated “water-affinity” cultivation methods, they regarded certain islands of Shu Jian Lake as a must-compete place.

The sword-bearing man chose a bustling restaurant, ordered a pot of Pool Water City’s most famous Crow’s Cry Wine. After drinking the wine and listening to some animated chatter from nearby tables, he didn’t hear anything more. The only useful thing he learned was that Shu Jian Lake seemed to be holding a centennial Island Lord Alliance soon, preparing to elect a new “Lord of the Jianghu,” a position that had been vacant for three hundred years.

The man finished his wine and meal, settled the bill with the shop assistant, left the restaurant, and asked for directions to Ape’s Cry Street, a street in Pool Water City that was open to everyone, full of immortal family shops. The street was four li long, with Qi Refinement cultivators guarding both ends. It was the same style of not looking at identity, only recognizing silver, a bit like the Old Dragon City, which had the best trade in the continent, laughing at those who don’t have and hating those who do. Whoever has money is the boss.

If you don’t believe it, look at the wine in the cup, every cup is first offered to the rich.

If that’s the case, it seems that the whole world is about the same everywhere.

The middle-aged man with a vermillion wine gourd hanging from his waist, as the old driver had said, knew that he didn’t have to worry if he could speak the elegant language of the continent in the mixed and bustling Shu Jian Lake. But on the way, he still learned some Shu Jian Lake dialect from the old driver. He didn’t learn much, but he could still ask for directions and bargain. The middle-aged man strolled around, looking around, neither causing a sensation by buying up those sky-high treasures of the store, nor only looking without buying. He picked out a few clever but not expensive spiritual artifacts, just like an ordinary out-of-town Qi Refinement cultivator, coming here just to join in the fun, not giving anyone a reason to look down on him, but also not being looked up to by the locals.

Finally, the middle-aged man stopped at a small shop selling antiques and sundries. The goods were good, but the price was not fair. The shopkeeper was an old-fashioned man who didn’t look like he was in business, so business was relatively deserted. Many people came and went, but few took out immortal money from their pockets. The man stood in front of an ancient bronze sword placed horizontally on a special sword rack, not moving for a long time. The scabbard was placed separately, one high and one low. The blade was engraved with the four small seal characters “Great Imitation Qu Huang”.

Looking at the long-shirted, sword-bearing man, who was bending over and carefully examining it, the old shopkeeper said impatiently, “What are you looking at? Can you afford it? Even an imitation sword of the ancient Qu Huang requires a lot of snow money. Go, go, go, if you really want to feast your eyes, go somewhere else.”
The middle-aged man, seemingly lacking in coin and confidence, showed no irritation. Instead, he turned to the old man with a smile and asked, “Respected Proprietor, is this ‘Forged Qu Huang’ related to the eight magnificent steeds that pulled the chariot of the Sage of Rites and the first monarch of the mortal realm during their grand tour of the land?”

The old proprietor glanced at the long sword behind the man. His expression softened slightly. “At least your eyes aren’t completely useless. Indeed, it alludes to Qu Huang of the ‘Scattered Eight Steeds.’ Later, a master swordsmith of the Central Plains devoted his life to forging eight renowned swords, each named after one of the steeds. This eccentric craftsman would only sell each sword to a buyer from the corresponding continent. As a result, he passed away without selling them all. Countless imitations have emerged since. This ‘Forged’ blade, brazenly bearing the inscription ‘Great Imitation’ before ‘Qu Huang,’ is an excellent replica and, naturally, carries a hefty price. It has graced my humble shop for over two centuries. Young man, you certainly cannot afford it.”

The man didn’t try to put on a show of wealth he didn’t possess. He turned away from the ancient sword and began to examine other rare and curious objects. Finally, he stopped before a painting of a court lady hanging on the wall. The lady was depicted in profile, seated, covering her face, and weeping. If one listened closely, a faint, sorrowful sound, like weeping and lamentation, seemed to emanate from the painting.

The old proprietor exclaimed, “Well, I never! I’ve actually encountered someone who appreciates fine things. The two items you lingered over the longest are indeed the best in my shop. Not bad, young man. Little money in your pocket, but a keen eye. What, were you once wealthy and noble in your hometown, only to suffer a decline and now wander the martial world alone? Carrying a sword worth next to nothing, hanging a broken wine gourd, fancying yourself a wandering hero, eh?”

The man continued to gaze at the mystical painting. He had heard that many calligraphies and paintings from fallen dynasties of the past, through a quirk of fate, could harbor the bitterness of a nation’s demise. The figures within some paintings could even become imbued with spirit, weeping and grieving alone within their painted world.

The man turned his head and chuckled. “A wandering hero cares little for riches.”

The old man scoffed. “Such nonsense is only uttered by greenhorns who haven’t spent more than a couple of years in the martial world. Judging by your age, your time wandering has been wasted, or perhaps you merely strolled beside a pond and mistook it for the real thing.”

The man remained unperturbed. He pointed to the hanging portrait and asked, “How much for this painting of a court lady?”

The old man waved his hand dismissively. “Young man, don’t embarrass yourself.”

The man smiled. “If I can afford it, how about the proprietor throws in a trifle or two, some inexpensive little bauble, as a lucky charm?”

Having guarded his family’s shop for years, the old man, feeling a surge of amusement, suddenly found himself with renewed vigor. He pointed to a curio cabinet near the entrance and raised an eyebrow. “Alright, see that? As long as you can produce Immortal Coins, you can choose any three items from that cabinet. If I so much as frown, I’ll take your surname!”

The man nodded with a smile.

The old proprietor hesitated for a moment, then said, “I won’t delve into the origins of this painting of a court lady. In any case, you seem to recognize its worth. Three Lesser Heat Coins. If you can produce them, it’s yours. If not, scram.”

The man turned to look at the hanging painting, then back at the old proprietor, asking if the price was firm and non-negotiable. The old proprietor nodded with a cold smile. The man turned again, gazing at the painting for several moments, then glanced at the empty shop and the doorway. Only then did he walk to the counter, flip his wrist, and slap three Immortal Coins onto the table. He covered them with his palm and pushed them towards the old proprietor. The old proprietor also glanced at the shop entrance. As the man lifted his hand, the old man swiftly followed suit, covering the coins with his hand, gathering them to himself. He raised his hand, confirming that they were indeed three genuine Lesser Heat Coins. He clutched them in his palm, tucked them into his sleeve, and looked up, laughing. “This time, my eyes deceived me. You’re quite something, young man. You have the ability to fool even someone like me, who has trained to have discerning eyes.”

The man smiled wryly. “Then I shall go and select three items that please my eye.”

The old proprietor laughed heartily and came out from behind the counter. “Go ahead. In business, one must have integrity. I’ll help you pack this painting of a court lady into a box. Rest assured, the brocade box alone is worth two Snowflake Coins. I wouldn’t dare to disrespect such a valuable painting.”

The man’s gaze swept over the curio cabinet near the entrance. The old proprietor carefully took down the painting and, while placing it in a treasured brocade box, constantly watched the man out of the corner of his eye.

*Damn it*, he thought. *If I had known this fellow was so flush with cash and so generous, why did I offer that lucky draw? And three items at once! Now I’m starting to feel the pain.*

When the man chose two items, the old proprietor felt slightly relieved. The loss wasn’t too great. But when the fellow finally selected an ink jade seal that was not yet engraved with the name of a famous craftsman, the old proprietor’s eyelids twitched. He quickly said, “Young man, what’s your surname?”

The man had been somewhat hesitant, but upon hearing the old proprietor’s question, he decisively grabbed the seal and turned his head, smiling. “Chen.”

The old proprietor pleaded. “Then how about I take your surname, Chen, in the future? Put that seal back, will you?”

The man shook his head with a smile. “In business, one must uphold one’s integrity.”

The old proprietor said in a huff, “I think you should forget about being some damned wandering hero and become a businessman. I bet that in a few years, you’d be rolling in wealth.”

The old man spoke those words, but in truth, he had still earned a tidy sum and was in high spirits. He extraordinarily poured a cup of tea for the guest surnamed Chen.

The man did not immediately intend to leave. One was hoping to sell that Forged Qu Huang after all, and the other wanted to hear some deeper secrets of the Bookcase Lake from the old proprietor’s mouth. And so they sipped tea and chatted idly.

The man learned many inside stories that the old coachman had never heard.

Bookcase Lake was a haven for wilderness cultivators. Clever people could thrive there, while fools would suffer a particularly miserable fate. Here, cultivators were not distinguished by good or evil, but solely by the height of their cultivation and the depth of their schemes.

Trade flourished, shops abounded, and the strange and unusual were everywhere.

Those who had run out of options elsewhere, or those who had fallen on hard times, could often find a place to live here. Of course, if one wanted to live comfortably and happily, then one must not entertain such hopes. But as long as one had a pig’s head and found the right temple, survival was not difficult. What happened afterwards depended on one’s ability. Attaching oneself to a large mountain, helping out with money and labor, was also a way out. In the history of Bookcase Lake, there was no shortage of ambitious figures who had endured humiliation for many years and ultimately risen to become local overlords.

Outside the shop, time flowed on gently.

Inside the shop, the old man’s spirits were high, and he was very talkative.
Once upon a time, a Nascent Soul cultivator from a prominent lineage and a Golden Core sword cultivator joined forces, believing they could dominate the entire Bottleneck Continent. Arrogantly, they threw a grand banquet on a large island in Shujian Lake, sending out invitations to all local earth immortals and Dragon Gate realm cultivators, proclaiming their intent to end the leaderless chaos of Shujian Lake and become the sovereign of the pugilistic world.

At the banquet, over thirty island lords of Shujian Lake didn’t voice a single objection. Some applauded and echoed their sentiments, others desperately flattered them, claiming Shujian Lake had long needed a respected figure to maintain order. Some island lords remained silent. However, even before the banquet ended, some secretly remained on the island, offering their pledges of allegiance, devising plans, and detailing the strengths and weaknesses of various factions in Shujian Lake.

But what followed brought immense satisfaction to all cultivators of Shujian Lake, even centuries later, regardless of their age.

That very night, over four hundred cultivators from different islands swarmed the island.

Using nearly nine hundred magical artifacts, combined with over two hundred trained assassins from their respective islands, they brutally crushed the two arrogant Nascent Soul cultivator and Golden Core sword cultivator.

The most resolute in their murderous intent were precisely those “opportunistic island lords who had pledged their allegiance first.”

The man listened intently and casually inquired about the River Interception True Monarch, Liu Zhimao.

The old shopkeeper grew more animated.

He claimed that the River Interception True Monarch was now quite formidable.

A few years ago, a little devil came along and became the River Interception True Monarch’s closed-door disciple. A perfect example of surpassing one’s master, this disciple could control a terrifying Flood Dragon. On his own territory, he went on a killing spree, razing the residence of a major guest elder, along with dozens of scantily clad women and over a hundred others, all devoured by that “big mudskipper” in a horrifying spectacle.

Afterward, for reasons unknown, he even murdered his senior brother from the same sect, resulting in another bloody slaughter. The Flood Dragon’s ferocity and brutality were fully displayed. Often, it didn’t kill simply to end a life, but purely for the pleasure of the kill, leaving a trail of dismembered limbs wherever it went.

Since then, the master and disciple, unstoppable, have seized several islands nearby that were deeply rooted in other factions’ power.

Those who submit prosper, those who resist perish. Many young and beautiful maidens were allegedly kidnapped by the little devil, who hadn’t even reached adulthood yet. They were rumored to have been transformed into new scantily clad women under the tutelage of the little devil’s second senior sister.

Since then, Shujian Lake has known no peace. Fortunately, it was a battle of immortals, and the collateral damage didn’t affect remote places like Poolside Town.

The little devil surnamed Gu was assassinated by enemies several times afterward, but he never died. Instead, he grew increasingly tyrannical and arrogant, earning a notorious reputation. A large circle of opportunistic cultivators surrounded him, crowning him with the flattering title of “Crown Prince of the Lake.” This spring, the little devil even visited Poolside Town, his entourage and grandeur not inferior to that of a prince of a mortal dynasty.

The old shopkeeper chatted animatedly, while the man remained silent.

At dusk, the old man saw the man out of the shop, saying he was welcome to return anytime, even without buying anything.

The middle-aged man nodded. As he stood up, he had already tucked three small objects into his sleeves, and he walked away with the brocade box under his arm.

The old man was puzzled. Why did this man seem so… dejected when he left? Strange. He was clearly a wealthy pugilistic figure. Why would he be like this?

The old man didn’t dwell on it, shaking his head as he returned to the shop.

Today’s transaction was truly a once-in-three-years opportunity. He would show those black-hearted old turtles in the neighboring shops who was the real businessman.

As for whether the man would return to buy the large imitation Qu Huang blade, and why he started to force a smile that soon disappeared, leaving only silence, the old shopkeeper didn’t pay much attention.

The battles of immortals in Shujian Lake, the little devil Gu, the life-and-death feuds – these were all just other people’s stories. We hear them, we tell them, and that’s that.

After leaving the shop, the customer walked slowly.

Life isn’t a story in a book. Joy, anger, sorrow, and separation are all on the pages, but turning a page is easy, while mending a broken heart is difficult.

Who said that again? Cui Dongshan? Lu Tai? Zhu Lian?

He couldn’t remember.

The middle-aged man stopped after walking a few dozen steps and sat down on a step between two shops.

Like a stray dog.