Chen Ping’an, savoring the nearly decade-forgotten taste of candied hawthorns, carried the locust branch back towards Mud Bottle Alley. He passed a dilapidated house, even more broken than his own ancestral home. Chen Ping’an felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he should borrow some silver from Master Ruan to repair the dwelling. Although he had lived in Mud Bottle Alley since childhood, Chen Ping’an had never seen anyone residing in that house. During his rooftop chase and fight with the Mountain Ape, he had deliberately lured it there, causing the roof to collapse under the ape’s weight. Chen Ping’an felt obliged to take responsibility for this mess, otherwise, the house would surely suffer further damage from sun, rain, and wind. While the house might have endured for another two or three decades in its original state, he feared it wouldn’t last even five years now. The house’s supporting beams would rot quickly, a state remarkably similar to Chen Ping’an’s own body, which had been forcibly “guided” by Cai Jinjian – both were in a state of being exposed on all sides. This realization fueled his sympathy and determination to repair the abandoned house, making it sturdy and solid, if not particularly grand or impressive.

Chen Ping’an had considered exchanging one of his gold essence copper coins for real silver or copper coins, perhaps with Old Yang at the Yang family shop, or Master Ruan at the blacksmith’s. However, he had a strong intuition that gold essence copper coins were truly rare and invaluable, each one used was one lost forever. Silver and copper coins, on the other hand, could be earned anywhere, requiring only effort. So, Chen Ping’an decided to first ask Master Ruan for a loan. If that failed, he would resort to using a gold essence copper coin to solve the problem. It would certainly pain him to do so, but since these pressing issues were now clear and unavoidable, he couldn’t simply ignore them. Chen Ping’an was afraid of being indebted to others.

Returning to his courtyard, Chen Ping’an leaned the locust branch, gifted by the little girl, against the wall. The priceless sword-sharpening stone remained in the basket, though naturally not left out in the open. Chen Ping’an had already moved it inside. If time wasn’t so pressing, he would have dug a pit a zhang deep in the courtyard to bury the inconspicuous yet valuable stone. The Guillotine Platform – just the name itself sounded even more precious than the three bags of gold essence copper coins.

Chen Ping’an heard the sound of chickens clucking from the neighboring courtyard. When Song Jixin and Zhigui left town, they hadn’t been able to take care of the cage of hens and chicks, and they were likely hungry. Chen Ping’an went inside, grabbed the key ring, and took a handful of rice from his own home before heading to the neighboring yard. He unlocked the chicken coop and squatted down, slowly releasing the rice through his fingers. After feeding the chickens, Chen Ping’an opened the kitchen door to see if there was any remaining grain to prevent it from spoiling. Upon entering the kitchen, he was astonished. A large vat was filled with rice – just opening the lid was enough to make him feel full. The cupboards were stocked with pots, bowls, and utensils. Along the wall hung rows of cured ham and dried fish. Everything was clean, tidy, and well-organized, with a place for everything.

Suddenly, Chen Ping’an’s attention was drawn to a pile of firewood near the stove. He walked closer and squatted down, and, sure enough, there it was – the wooden figure he had seen Zhigui hacking at with a kitchen knife. She clearly didn’t know how to chop wood, as her efforts had been largely ineffective. Chen Ping’an, on the other hand, could have smashed the life-sized figure to pieces in a few swift strikes. Now, Chen Ping’an, squatting and looking down, noticed something odd about the wooden figure. It was covered in red dots, scattered across its body in a seemingly random pattern. Some areas were densely packed, while others had dots spaced far apart, like specks of cinnabar. Chen Ping’an picked up a wooden arm and examined it closely. Each red dot was accompanied by minuscule black characters. The red dots were already the size of rice grains, and the strokes of the characters were even finer. Only someone with Chen Ping’an’s eyesight could discern them; most people would have seen only red and black spots.

Chen Ping’an attempted to reassemble the broken limbs. Before long, the wooden figure was restored to its original form. Fortunately, no major pieces were missing. Unfortunately, many of the areas where the pieces connected had lost their red dots and black characters due to Zhigui’s hacking and scraping with the kitchen knife. He estimated that about seventy to eighty percent of the original red dots and black characters remained relatively intact.

Chen Ping’an stood up and opened the window, allowing more light into the kitchen. He then squatted down again and meticulously examined the figure, not wanting to miss any detail. This process took nearly an hour. Although Chen Ping’an didn’t recognize most of the black characters, he did his best to memorize their strokes and structure.

Deep down, Chen Ping’an had always harbored a desire to learn to read and write.

When he worked as a kiln worker, Chen Ping’an often climbed to the top of the mountain and gazed out at the town. Besides trying to locate Mud Bottle Alley, his second goal was to find the location of the schoolhouse. In his youth, a dark and thin boy would often go to the schoolhouse and squat against the wall, beneath the sound of chanting and recitation. Although he couldn’t understand what was being said, the boy felt inexplicably calm and at peace. His heart was quiet, and the injustices he had suffered throughout the day seemed to melt away as he listened.

However, reading and writing was even more of a luxury than candied hawthorns for an orphan from Mud Bottle Alley back then, so it was best to just look from afar.

Now, Chen Ping’an closed his eyes and tried to construct a complete image of the wooden figure in his mind, relying on his memory.

If there were areas where his memory was unclear, Chen Ping’an didn’t rush to open his eyes and check. Instead, he skipped those parts and continued. As a result, there were about forty or fifty uncertain red dots and black characters on the wooden figure.

After identifying and memorizing the missing details, Chen Ping’an took a deep breath. He wanted to go through the process again, but as soon as he closed his eyes, his head started to throb and he felt dizzy. Chen Ping’an wisely decided not to push himself. Some endeavors couldn’t be forced; otherwise, one would only become more confused. Chen Ping’an had learned this lesson during his time as a porcelain apprentice. It wasn’t because he was particularly gifted, but rather because Yao Laotou constantly scolded him. He eventually gleaned some insights from the constant berating.

Chen Ping’an rearranged the wooden figure, piling the pieces in the corner of the kitchen. He left the kitchen, closed the yard gate, and pondered for a moment. He decided to head to the east gate of the town one more time to look for the gatekeeper. Once he became a formal apprentice at the blacksmith’s, he would likely live there, making it difficult to deliver letters. Therefore, Chen Ping’an wanted to say goodbye to the unmarried man, but he hadn’t been able to find him the last time he looked.

Chen Ping’an jogged to the east gate of the town. The mud-brick house was still closed and locked. He sighed and sat down on the tree stump where the gatekeeper, Zheng Dafeng, often sat. The town wasn’t like the mountains, where there were rules about mountain deities’ seats. Chen Ping’an sat there, lost in thought, enjoying a rare moment of leisure.

After an unknown amount of time, the sound of cart wheels reached him from the road within the town. Chen Ping’an turned to look and saw a bullock cart in the lead, followed by two carriages with passenger compartments. Seated in the bullock cart were a group of children, including two familiar faces: Li Baoping in her red cotton-padded jacket, and Shi Chunjia with her two rosy cheeks. In addition, there were likely the three school children Shi Chunjia had mentioned: Li Huai, Lin Shouyi, and Dong Shuijing.

The five children in the bullock cart were chattering and laughing boisterously.

The driver was a middle-aged man with an unfamiliar face. The old man who swept the schoolhouse sat behind the driver.

Chen Ping’an immediately noticed the difference in attire among the five children. Apart from the little girl in the red cotton-padded jacket from the Li family, one of the Four Great Clans of Fortune Street, the remaining four children were dressed very differently. Shi Chunjia’s ancestors had lived in Riding Dragon Lane for generations, running the shop called “Lucky Money.” They were well-off but not exceedingly wealthy, so the little girl was dressed comfortably and warmly. However, the boy beside Shi Chunjia, with a cold and aloof demeanor, was wearing a brand new and expensive black fox fur coat. His face was pale, and his eyes were indifferent. Li Huai’s father, Li Er, was a well-known good-for-nothing in town. Li Huai also had an older sister named Li Liu, but his parents and sister had all left to find work, leaving Li Huai to stay with his uncle’s family. Now, he too was leaving home to follow the old man surnamed Ma to that Cliff Academy. The last boy wore thin spring clothes, with two patched outer garments. He emanated an air of poverty and hardship, clearly a child raised in a poor alley.

Li Baoping, Shi Chunjia, Li Huai, Lin Shouyi, Dong Shuijing.

The five school children from the town were riding in the bullock cart, exposed to the elements, heading to the Cliff Academy, a sacred place in the hearts of countless scholars in Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent, one of the seventy-two Confucian Academies. The five children, at this moment, couldn’t possibly know that countless aristocratic families across the dynasties of the continent, even if they racked their brains and exhausted their connections, would still want to send their children there, to study the Confucian sages’ way of self-cultivation, governing the country, and bringing peace to the world with the esteemed teachers.

They also couldn’t know how rare and precious it was to be able to call Qi Jingchun “teacher.” Instead, these children would only think that Teacher Qi had too many rules, often wore a stern face, and wasn’t approachable at all. When Teacher Qi occasionally smiled, the children wouldn’t even know what they had done right to make the teacher so happy.

Li Baoping, with her sharp eyes, spotted Chen Ping’an sitting on the tree stump. With lightning speed, she jumped out of the bullock cart, stumbled slightly, and quickly ran to Chen Ping’an. She stopped abruptly, as if unsure what to say. Finally, she puffed out her chest and declared, “I’m going to a very, very far place!” Her little face was full of pride.

The old man with the tall hat said in a deep voice, “Li Baoping!”

Although slightly displeased, the old man still told the driver to stop the bullock cart. The little girl pouted, but still turned and ran back to the bullock cart. She suddenly heard the guy behind her call her name. When she turned around, she saw him raise his fist and shake it lightly, as if telling her to work hard.

Li Baoping also waved her fist at him, indicating that she would work hard.

Chen Ping’an smiled knowingly, thinking that the little girl in the red cotton-padded jacket would likely focus her efforts on playing. Her footsteps would be left everywhere in the Cliff Academy.

Chen Ping’an looked up and saw the old man who swept the schoolhouse, whom he had met a few times. The man nodded at him, and Chen Ping’an instinctively smiled in return.

At the same time, someone in the carriage behind lowered the curtain.

Although it was just a fleeting glance, Chen Ping’an recognized the face of the person. It was the scholar who had gone to the blacksmith’s looking for Master Ruan.

Chen Ping’an watched as the bullock cart and carriages slowly left the town.

If Chen Ping’an could wield a sword and soar into the sky like Ning Yao, overlooking this newly-rooted thousand-mile landscape, he would surely be shocked by various extraordinary phenomena.

Countless kinds of birds and beasts were gathered along the border where the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven met the Great Li Dynasty, refusing to move. And further beyond, countless others of their kind were rushing towards this place, as if drawing upon something.

They dared neither take a step forward across that invisible border, nor retreat a step backward.

An old crone stood at the end of a stream within the border, her upper body exposed above the water. Her raven-black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, spreading around her body like a black lotus.

The old crone, whose face had once been mottled like the bark of a dead tree, now looked like a woman of less than forty years.

And the Cloud-Veiling Mountain seemed to be pushed up from the earth, slowly rising at a rate visible to the naked eye.

The Grotto-Heaven had shattered, becoming a Blessed Land.

The common people of the town, who were born and raised in the former Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven, whether rich or poor, virtuous or wicked, would all be granted a next life.