Descending from the mountain peak, Chen Pingan hesitated for a moment, then donned the black Daoist robe named Hundred-Eyed Glutton. He had “picked it up” from Yang Ningxing of the Great Origin Dynasty’s Bureau of Mysteries.

The gold and jade of the previous robe were too conspicuous. Earlier, he had swapped the Glutton Robe for a common green shirt out of caution, fearing that a journey along this strange, sea-bound river would attract unnecessary attention. However, after following Qi Jinglong in the sword-offering ritual on the summit, Chen Pingan reconsidered. Now that he had reached the impressive Willow Tendon Realm, wearing a high-quality robe could hasten his absorption of the world’s spiritual energy, benefiting his cultivation.

Deer Chive Prefecture was a leading prefecture within the Floating Hibiscus Kingdom, renowned for its literary atmosphere. Chen Pingan had purchased many miscellaneous books at the prefecture city’s bookstore, including a collection that had been gathering dust for years. It contained imperial edicts for encouraging agriculture issued each spring, some eloquent and others plain. As Chen Pingan carefully perused the collection, he realized that the similar scenes he had witnessed each spring in the Three Continents were actually codified customs: field plowing rituals, official processions, exhortations to farming.

The beauty of reading and traveling lay in the possibility of stumbling upon a book that, like a thread held up by ancient sages for posterity, strung together worldly affairs and human relationships like a string of luminous pearls.

Chen Pingan broadly toured the scenic spots of Deer Chive Prefecture’s city, and then stayed at a renowned old inn.

After entering Deer Chive Prefecture, he deliberately suppressed the robe’s absorption of spiritual energy, lest it attract unwanted attention from the City God Pavilion and the Confucian and Martial Temples.

In truth, every Qi refiner, especially those who had reached the Middle Five Realms, caused a ripple when traveling among mortal mountains, rivers, and dynasties, akin to a dragon coursing through a river. However, it was generally accepted that after descending from the mountains, continuing to cultivate and absorb the spiritual energy of the land was permissible, as long as it wasn’t excessive or indicative of draining the well to catch the fish. The local mountain and river deities would often turn a blind eye.

As night fell, Chen Pingan lit the lamp on the table in his inn room and once again casually flipped through the collection of agricultural edicts. After closing the book, he immersed his mind within himself.

Chen Pingan’s decision not to draw upon the prefecture city’s meager spiritual energy with the Glutton Robe didn’t mean he wouldn’t cultivate. Absorbing spiritual energy was never the entirety of cultivation. As he traveled, the key acupoints within his personal microcosm, resembling a Water Mansion and a Mountain Shrine, were accumulating spiritual energy and undergoing refinement, the fundamental aspects of cultivation. The interdependent arrangement of the two natal treasures, mountain and water, needed to cultivate an aura akin to mountain roots and water veins. In simpler terms, Chen Pingan needed to refine spiritual energy and solidify the foundations of the Water Mansion and Mountain Shrine. However, Chen Pingan’s current accumulation of spiritual energy was far from reaching the point of overflowing, so his immediate priority was to find an unclaimed geomantic treasure, though that wasn’t easy. As a fallback, he could seclude himself for a few days in a xianjia inn like Dragon Crossing in Green Oriole Country.

He could also directly refine the spirit-infused Immortal Coins and store the resulting spiritual energy in his Qi Sea.

However, since Chen Pingan hadn’t even finished refining the existing spiritual energy, this would be counterproductive. The lower the realm, the slower the absorption of spiritual energy. Immortal Coins contained extremely pure spiritual energy that dissipated too quickly. This was similar to how many precious talismans, once “opened,” would become worthless if they couldn’t be sealed. Even if the spiritual energy released from crushed Immortal Coins could be temporarily absorbed by the robe, it would clash with the concealing spells on the robe, making him even more conspicuous.

Every cultivator was essentially the Old Heaven of their own microcosm, relying on their own skill to become their own sage.

The key lay in the size of the territory and the degree of control each “Old Heaven” possessed. The path of cultivation was akin to an iron cavalry conquering new lands on the battlefield.

Ultimately, the level of cultivation and the extent of one’s Daoist arts depended on the number of mansions one had opened. There were thousands of kinds of houses in the world, with varying degrees of quality. The same was true of cave abodes. The best kind was naturally a blessed grotto-heaven.

After composing himself, Chen Pingan first arrived at the Water Mansion’s gate. With a thought, he could naturally pass through the wall unimpeded, like the rules of heaven and earth held no constraint, for “I am the rule, and the rule is me.”

However, Chen Pingan still paused outside the gate for a moment. Soon, two green-clad pageboys opened the gate and bowed to the master, their faces beaming with joy.

Chen Pingan’s Water Mansion, anchored by the suspended Water Character Seal and the Water Vein Mural, served as two cornerstones, one large and one small. The green-clad pageboys, who finally had tasks to perform, were now clearly in good spirits, extremely busy, and no longer idle every day. In the past, whenever they saw Chen Pingan’s mind traversing the microcosm and their own cave abode, they would squat in a neat row, looking up at Chen Pingan with resentful eyes, never speaking.

They were diligent little people, never lazy, but they had unfortunately ended up with a master who was extremely indifferent to cultivation. It was like asking a skilled housewife to cook without rice. How could they not be heartbroken?

Now, the scene was completely different. The Water Mansion was bustling with activity everywhere. The little fellows ran around tirelessly, filled with joy and working hard, happily.

Reaching out to scoop water from a “small pond” resembling a narrow well, Chen Pingan had gained a lot after the Azure Reed Lake incident. In addition to several strands of remarkably pure water vein energy, he had also obtained a vial of Water Elixir from the Azure Reed Lake Lord. The green-clad boys in the Water Mansion were divided into two groups. One group used their natal divine power to continuously send strands of faint green water vein energy into the slowly rotating Water Character Seal.

The other group, holding slender writing brushes conjured from who knows where, “dipped ink” in the pond and then rushed toward the mural, carefully depicting and adding color and splendor to the wall’s water vein painting. On the enormous mural, they had already painted tiny water deities and slightly larger ancestral temples. Chen Pingan recognized them as the water deity temples, both large and small, that he had personally visited, including the Emerald Tour Palace of the Buried River Water Goddess in Willow Leaf Continent, though now it should be respectfully referred to as the Emerald Tour Palace.

However, the eyes of each water deity were not yet painted, and the water deity temples lacked the lively scene of incense smoke curling upwards. For the time being, they were still lifeless objects, not as lively as the surging river on the mural.
Standing by the small pond, Chen Ping’an lowered his head, gazing intently at the miniature Flood Dragon, once carried by the green-clad children into the Azure Billow Lake’s water veins. It swam leisurely, having been spared from being “slain” and refined into water essence. Moreover, there was another remarkable occurrence. The bottle of pills gifted by the Lake Lord, Yin Hou, had been alchemized, by means unknown to him, into a single, wondrous bead resembling a verdant “Dragon Pearl.” No matter how the tiny Flood Dragon moved within the pond, the bead remained suspended before its mouth, like a dragon holding a pearl, roaming freely, summoning clouds and rain.

Chen Ping’an planned to revisit the mountain shrine. A few of the green-robed children smiled at him, raising their small fists, as if urging him to continue his efforts.

Chen Ping’an felt somewhat helpless. Water essence, the more refined and jade-like, the more fundamental it was to the Great Dao of the world’s water deities. It was not something easily found, nor could it be bought with mere immortal coins. Imagine if someone offered a hundred Millet Rain Coins to purchase the foundation stone of a mountain shrine. Even if Chen Ping’an knew it was a profitable deal, would he truly be willing to sell? It was merely a transaction on paper. Cultivation of the Great Dao should never be calculated in such a manner.

Leaving the water mansion, Chen Ping’an began his wandering “mountain visits.” Standing at the foot of a mountain, seemingly blessed with fortune, he looked up at the summit where five-colored clouds swirled. The mountain’s body, like thick mist, was tinged with gray-black, still giving off an ethereal and uncertain feeling. The mountain’s presence was far inferior to the earlier water mansion.

Fortunately, at the foot of the mountain, there were some shimmering white stone formations. However, compared to the entire towering mountain, this small patch of glittering white territory was pitifully small, yet it was the result of Chen Ping’an’s arduous cultivation since leaving the Green Oriole Kingdom’s docks.

The eldest Sword Immortal of the Great Wall of Swords, Chen Qingdu, with his discerning eye, had prophesied that if Chen Ping’an’s Natal Porcelain remained unbroken, he would possess the potential of an Earth Immortal.

In the secular sense, both Golden Core cultivators and Nascent Soul cultivators were Earth Immortals.

However, in the eyes of the eldest Sword Immortal, there might be little difference between the two.

Therefore, Chen Ping’an would neither be presumptuous nor belittle himself.

Chen Ping’an was keenly aware that if the same water mansion and mountain shrine were given to a true genius like Qi Jinglong, who carried the fortune of an entire continent, the grandeur would be even greater.

But geniuses were few, and the ordinary were many. If Chen Ping’an lacked even this level of composure, then his martial path would have been undermined at the Great Wall of Swords, and his cultivation would be repeatedly shattered, leaving his heart in pieces, no better than a broken Bridge of Longevity. A Qi Refiner’s innate aptitude, such as Chen Ping’an’s Earth Immortal potential, was a natural “iron rice bowl,” but aptitude still mattered. Aptitude came in countless forms, and finding a cultivation method most suited to oneself was the best fortune.

Competing with others, whether in strength or reason, would always lead to shortcomings and losses. Perfection was unattainable in a single lifetime.

But competing with oneself yielded long-term benefits. Accumulating little by little, it became one’s own foundation.

Each time a mistake was made, as long as one could acknowledge and correct it, those past wrong paths, when looked back upon, would be like the beds of murmuring streams and roaring rivers. Even if the scars on the path of the heart were difficult to erase, with the riverbed ever-present, there was no need to fear floods. This was the cultivation of the heart, ensuring that no matter the trials and tribulations faced, as long as one did not die, the Dao heart would not collapse. To view oneself through the lens of the heart, even if the mirror had hairline cracks, one should not truly believe that their face was completely disfigured.

Chen Ping’an once feared becoming one of the mountain people, just as he feared that he and Gu Can would become the people they once despised the most. For example, the person who nearly beat Liu Xianyang to death in Mud Bottle Lane, the drunkard who kicked Gu Can in the stomach, and later, Fu Nanhua, the Moving Mountain Ape, and still later, Liu Zhimao, Jiang Shangzhen.

Chen Ping’an even feared that the Old Master’s doctrines from the Guandao Temple, after being repeatedly used to weigh the affairs of the world and the hearts of men, would one day quietly overshadow the Sage Master’s doctrines of order, without him even realizing it.

But in fact, as one walked step by step, grounded in reality, the principles of the world, whether from the Three Teachings or the Hundred Schools, were never frightening. What was frightening was being unclear yet self-assured that one already “knew.”

When one truly opened their eyes, they would see the light.

This sentence was something Chen Ping’an thought of after closing his eyes and sleeping soundly on the mountaintop, and then reopening them. Not only did he think of this sentence, but he also carefully inscribed it on a bamboo slip.

Chen Ping’an had recorded countless poems and phrases on bamboo slips, but his own insights, recorded with such solemnity, were few and far between.

Chen Ping’an left the five-colored “mountain shrine” and went to a fortress.

Sword Qi was like a rainbow, like iron cavalry knocking at the gate, like a tidal wave, fierce and menacing, yet unable to breach the impregnable city.

This was the final obstacle of the Eighteen Stoppings of Sword Qi.

Chen Ping’an stood on the mountain peak on the side facing the iron cavalry and the fortress, sitting cross-legged, propping his cheek, and remaining silent for a long time.

He then went to two “sword tombs,” the places of refinement for the first and fifteenth of the month.

The two flying swords, appearing tiny and delicate in the eyes of others, were in Chen Ping’an’s two Qi repositories, towering like mountains, suspended upside down. On the two vast and flat mountain platforms, the tips of the swords touched the stone platforms formed by the Manifested Dragon-Slaying Platforms, sparks flying everywhere. The entire Qi repository was filled with a magnificent scene of sparks raining down. Even though Chen Ping’an had already witnessed this scene, each time he saw it, his mind was still shaken.

One could imagine that if these two flying swords left the small world of his Qi repository and returned to the vast world, and if they were still like this, how would his opponents feel?

Chen Ping’an’s mind left the sword-grinding place, he withdrew his thoughts, and exited the small world.

There was also a place of cultivation, like a thatched hut built beside the heart lake, but whether he saw it or not made no difference.

Because it was all himself.

Even without using his divine sense to look inward, Chen Ping’an knew everything clearly.

Opening his eyes, Chen Ping’an lightly exhaled a breath of stale air, then closed his eyes again, slowly refining the spiritual energy of the water mansion and mountain shrine using the method of breathing.

Soon it was dawn. Chen Ping’an stopped refining spiritual energy, practiced his walking stance for an hour, paid his bill, and left the inn.

There were no Immortal Inns in Deer Leek County, nor were there any large immortal sects in Lotus Hibiscus Kingdom. Although it was not a vassal state of the Great Source Dynasty, the emperors and generals of Lotus Hibiscus Kingdom, and the entire court, admired the Great Source.
The dynasty’s reverence for its literary and moral lineage bordered on fanatical worship. Leaving aside the discussion of national strength, this obsession mirrored the early literary circles of the Great Li Dynasty. Almost all scholars of the Lesser Mulberry Kingdom fixed their gazes upon the moral essays and poetic masterpieces of the Lu Clan Dynasty and the Great Sui Empire. No matter how accomplished a local scholar might be, without the endorsement of these two literary powerhouses, their works were deemed crude and their scholarship inferior. A young, unrestrained scholar of the Lu Clan once proclaimed that even the poems he wrote with his toes would surpass the best efforts of the Great Li barbarians.

Later, it was said that this frustrated scholar, who spent his days buying wine in the Lu Clan Dynasty’s capital, met the iron hooves and blades of Song Changjing’s cavalry from the Great Li. The specifics remained shrouded in mystery, but he eventually transformed into a civil official garrisoned under the Great Li. Subsequently, he joined the Hanlin Academy in the Great Li capital, tasked with compiling the history of the fallen Lu Clan Dynasty. He personally penned biographies of loyal ministers and treacherous officials, placing himself as the concluding entry in the latter. It was then rumored that he had hanged himself.

Some claimed that the Grand Tutor Cui, disgusted by the man, secretly poisoned him after he completed the two biographies and staged the hanging. Others said that this scholar, who never held office in the Lu Clan Dynasty, would prepare a pot of fine wine whenever he wrote a biography of a loyal minister, penning the text late at night, drinking and shouting with fervor. When writing about treacherous officials, he would always do so during the day, exposing these rebels to the clear light of day. Afterward, he would vomit blood into an empty cup, eventually gathering it into a jar of regretful wine. Thus, his end was neither hanging nor poisoning, but a death from melancholy.

The Flourishing Lotus Kingdom’s neighboring country boasted an Immortal Ferry, with a dedicated sea lane leading directly to the Dragon Palace Small Grotto-Heaven. The ferry route traversed the most picturesque landscapes along the Great Estuary, with frequent stops for passengers to enjoy the scenery and explore hidden wonders. In essence, this was a scenic tour, with the trade of Immortal treasures taking a secondary role. Without the connection to the Cloud Canopy Palace of the Ascendancy Bureau and Yang Ningxing, Chen Pingan would have made it a point to visit this renowned and lucrative Grotto-Heaven.

The Dragon Palace Grotto-Heaven was jointly held by three entities: the Yang Clan of the Great Origin Dynasty’s Ascendancy Bureau, and the Drifting Petal Sword Lake of the sword immortal Li Cai.

Logically, the Drifting Petal Sword Lake was his most important talisman for visiting the Dragon Palace Grotto-Heaven, guaranteeing him many benefits.

However, the currency of favor and goodwill was best conserved. Like the leftover rice and New Year’s dishes back in his hometown, it was best to have some extra.

Casual acquaintances demanded the proper exchange of courtesies, but only if one could repay them immediately.

Chen Pingan didn’t believe he could currently repay the favors he would incur from Zhu Quan of the Hemp Robe Sect or Li Cai of the Drifting Petal Sword Lake.

Qi Jinglong, however, was an exception.

Why stand on ceremony with him?

That would be an insult to the terrestrial dragon’s discerning eye for friendship.

Chen Pingan left Deer Chive County City without incident, carrying the Sword Immortal on his back, and wielding his green bamboo staff, traversing mountains and waters, slowly making his way to the neighboring kingdom.

He ultimately missed the opportunity to encounter the local scholar who called himself Lu Dun.

Life often unfolds like this: meetings, partings, and then, never again.

Without those encounters that, even in the face of change, leave a story in the heart.

Chen Pingan walked the path of cultivation.

As did everyone else.