That woman, emanating an ethereal grace and of enigmatic origin, gave a look of approval and smiled, “Your memory serves you well.”

Merely a voice heard within the covered bridge those many years ago, and after so long, just hearing her utter a single sentence was enough to ascertain without a doubt that she was the same person from back then, drawn here by the sound of his voice.

So, was it a matter of the young man’s sentimentality or a lingering grudge?

Chen Pingan remained expressionless, carefully scrutinizing the woman previously addressed as “Aunt Feng.”

She was a woman of tall stature, wearing shoes suitable for a spring outing, without any waist pendants to indicate her status in the mountains and rivers or the officialdom. Her round-collared brocade robe displayed the transgressive regulation of small coiled dragons.

Her face was delicately painted with peach blossom hues, adorned with flower-like dimples, and flushed with the crimson blush of wine.

Chen Pingan had once seen in a scholar’s notes that this was an ancient Shu imperial style, known as the “Spring Joy Face.”

Her hands were like soft, tender shoots, seemingly having used cicada molts and balsam flowers to crush and dye her fingernails, resulting in a captivating, scarlet allure, anciently known as “Cicada’s Wings Palms.”

A colorful knot secured her black tresses, which cascaded down her chest like a dark waterfall tumbling amidst peaks and valleys.

Upon closer inspection, Chen Pingan discovered that the knot, no larger than a copper coin, was woven from nearly a hundred slender strands of silk, each of a different color.

It was as if all the colors of the world were contained within that single colorful cord.

Most mysteriously, this Aunt Feng radiated no spiritual energy, nor did she employ any immortal techniques, yet she remained utterly untouched by earthly dust.

It was as if she did not belong to this world at all, but was rather a traveler wading through the long river of time, merely allowing others a glimpse of her form.

As for the remaining young cultivators from the Great Li Dynasty on the rooftop, Chen Pingan paid attention, but did not focus too heavily on them. A few glances from the corner of his eye were enough to understand them completely.

Those six carefully cultivated young people from the Great Li Dynasty were, as expected of battle-hardened death warriors, did not reveal even a hint of mental wavering at the instant Chen Pingan appeared. This alone showed their tenacity.

The young woman bearing the waist pendant inscribed with the character “Noon” didn’t need to perform incantations or chant spells, for she formed an array that created a miniature world, protecting the seven. Above the rooftop, a pocket mirage appeared, manifesting an immortal palace. The earth was all crimson, the craggy peaks connected, resembling colorful clouds. Within the spirit grotto, purple energy soared, with jade pavilions and bright courtyards, lined up in neat rows, and radiating precious light. Spiritual songs and celestial music filled the air, like an ancient governing office of the peaks, a dwelling place for gods and immortals.

The young girl with the “Dog” pendant, her hands shone with precious light, covered in cloud-patterned talismans, something similar to the skills of a seamstress.

Upon her slender shoulders appeared a sort of Dharma manifestation, exceedingly tiny, no more than an inch in height, in the form of a young boy, divinely unique, bearing a sword, wearing vermillion robes, and adorned with a hibiscus crown, with snow-white dragon pearls embellishing the seams of his clothing.

The young monk wearing a simple monastic robe, bearing the “Dragon” pendant, opened one eye and closed the other. In the closed eye, a vortex of lightning and thunder appeared, while beneath his feet, a calm water surface rippled, and among the scattered bright lights, lotus flowers continually emerged, swaying gracefully, blossoming and withering, falling into the water, then rising again, tall and straight, and blossoming, repeating the cycle endlessly.

Noon, a talisman array master, who had refined an entire ancient cave heaven with a flawed Great Dao. Dog, a military strategist, perhaps because of her young age and insufficiently tempered physique, had only used sewing techniques on her arms for now, yet she could, through a certain innate military supernatural power, transgress her limits and command the vengeful spirit of an ancient Sword Immortal. Dragon, blessed with a Buddhist meditative visualization power.

The remaining three, the swordsman “Rabbit,” the Confucian qi refiner “Rooster,” and the Taoist cultivator “Sheep,” were all skilled at concealing their presence and did not rush to display their abilities.

Aunt Feng glanced around and said with a radiant smile, “I’m only here to reminisce with a half-compatriot. You don’t need to be so tense. Put away your scare tactics.”

The six remained unmoved, clearly not taking orders from her. Aunt Feng was not annoyed. After all, she was just an unofficial transmitter of teachings. Moreover, she was lazy. For all these years of teaching Taoist and mystical arts, she typified working without much effort. If it weren’t for the urging of a certain someone in the past and the occasional check of her results, she might have simply tossed out a few books and called it done. Whether they learned or not was up to their own enlightenment and destiny, what did it have to do with her? Just like now, the six children weren’t listening, and Aunt Feng would just let them set up their formations. Anyway, it wasn’t her expending energy and wasting spiritual qi. She continued to look at Chen Pingan, and asked with a smile, “You don’t blame me for advising you to stop back then, do you?”

Chen Pingan clasped his hands in his sleeves, facing Aunt Feng and the six others in a show of sincerity, and smiled gently, “How would I dare blame a senior?”

Aunt Feng smiled. Ah, tonight’s reunion, looking so amiable, addressing her as a senior respectfully, but listening to his tone, his words held a hidden meaning. This Sword Immortal was quite temperamental.

Chen Pingan inquired in his mind, “Is the Senior very familiar with Mr. Qi?”

Aunt Feng found this interesting and did not give an answer, but instead asked with a smile, “Since you have become the closed-door disciple of the Old Scholar, then Qi Jingchun is your elder brother. Why do you still call him Mr. Qi?”

Chen Pingan clasped his hands in his sleeves, interlacing his fingers, his body slightly hunched, and said with a smile, “I want to. I’ll call him whatever I like. Even if the Senior controls the heavens and the earth, she can’t control this.”

Aunt Feng clicked her tongue. “You’ve finally grown up, and your temper has grown with you. I remember you were very agreeable when you were little.”

Chen Pingan smiled and said, “I won’t hide it from the Senior. I’m actually very agreeable now too.”

Aunt Feng raised a hand, gently twisting the colorful knot with two fingers, smiling without speaking.

Chen Pingan followed suit and remained silent.

For a moment, the atmosphere became a bit cold.

Back on the covered bridge, five people had spoken, and Old Man Yang from the apothecary was the last one, and also the only one whose identity Chen Pingan could confirm at the time.

This Aunt Feng was the first to speak when Chen Pingan was taking his steps, her gentle murmur naturally alluring, advising the young man to kneel and he would have great fortune.

Among her words back then, apart from the all-too-familiar Old Man Yang, compared to the tone of the other four, hers was the least arrogant. It was like…a woman in spring seclusion in the mountains, idly lifting the flower curtain, seeing the flowers in the courtyard swaying in the wind, and dispersing her laziness, she perked up a little and casually said, ‘Don’t be in a hurry to leave the branch yet.’
The second voice that spoke was quite impolite, addressing Chen Ping’an as a mere mortal and demanding he kneel immediately.

The third person’s tone was indifferent, as if stating an obvious truth. The fourth voice was ancient and weathered, ending with a warning to Chen Ping’an that refusing a gift from the heavens would only bring misfortune upon himself.

However, the minds of immortal gods are unfathomable, their thoughts profound, and their plans often span centuries. Therefore, harsh words do not necessarily indicate malice, and gentle whispers do not always signify goodwill.

A villain, filled with sinister energy, can hide murderous intent behind a smile. A virtuous person, radiating peace, carries that harmony even in dreams and slumber.

In short, including Old Man Yang, none of them wished him to continue forward. Perhaps none of them believed that a mud-legged commoner from Mud Bottle Alley, whose bridge to longevity was severed, was qualified, capable, or blessed enough to bear that karmic burden of the Great Dao.

Except for Qi Jingchun.

Chen Ping’an suddenly turned to look at the female formation master.

She immediately retracted a vital innate ability, not daring to look further into his state of mind.

Just now, she could only vaguely see a water well in the landscape of his heart.

When the figure in a green robe standing on the overhanging eaves cast his gaze upon her, a pair of majestic golden eyes, even purer than the golden essence copper coins, seemed to appear at the mouth of the well in her heartscape. They even turned the tables, scrutinizing her, the intruder’s, inner world.

She knew very well that Chen Ping’an was reminding her not to look where she shouldn’t.

Her ability to faintly glimpse the inner world of others was innate. Cultivation was merely a natural consequence.

Just as whether or not someone can cultivate depends on whether the heavens are willing to grant them this immortal meal.

Besides sword cultivators, the paths of talismans and aura observation are also difficult to learn, relying heavily on the innate aptitude and foundation of the Qi refiner. Whether one succeeds or fails depends on whether the founding master is willing to grant them the means to survive.

The aptitude verification conducted by the Qin Tian Jian’s Qi refiners examines precisely these innate foundations.

In the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven, after every child is born, a drop of essence blood is dripped into the firing of their natal porcelain, serving as a method of verification to judge the future potential of their Great Dao attainment with minimal error.

The Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven has existed for three thousand years, while the Great Li Empire has only been established for a few centuries. It was originally a vassal of the Lu Dynasty. So who transferred the ownership of the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven to the Song family of Great Li? And who taught them this crucial art that helped Great Li rise rapidly in the northern part of the continent? These historical mysteries, big and small, have not left any written records. Senior Brother Cui Chan and his student Cui Dongshan seem to be abiding by some kind of agreement, not mentioning a single word about any old history related to the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven.

His hometown, a small town, a small grotto-heaven, only a few thousand people in a thousand-mile radius.

Cui Dongshan once joked that the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven was unique in the world for having shallow waters with many turtles, a small temple with strong demonic winds. But as soon as he finished speaking, Cui Dongshan immediately clasped his hands together, raised them high above his head, shook them vigorously, and chanted to himself.

The female formation master with the “Wu” character token said to a colleague telepathically, “We can roughly confirm that Chen Ping’an has no malice or murderous intent towards us. But I can’t guarantee that this is necessarily the truth.”

The sword cultivator “Mao” and the little girl from a military family asked, “What are our chances of winning?”

The little girl said, “Like chopping melons and vegetables.”

Then she added a word, “Being.”

In fact, this seemingly innocent girl is the brains of the group.

The other five are not in the Great Li capital, belonging to another faction.

The sword cultivator then asked the young Taoist, “What was the result of your divination?”

The Taoist chuckled bitterly, “Like hitting a wall. Fortunately, this Sword Immortal didn’t hold it against me, otherwise I would have to vomit all the wine I drank, enough to fill a pot, without a doubt.”

The sword cultivator pondered for a moment and said, “Then let’s withdraw the formation.”

He was clearly the leader of the group, not yet of age, and not the highest in cultivation, but the true pillar of support.

When the sword cultivator made this decision, the female formation master, the military girl, and the little monk all unhesitatingly withdrew their respective divine abilities and spells.

Chen Ping’an took the opportunity to glance at the young sword cultivator, whose eyebrows and eyes bore some resemblance to someone. Unsurprisingly, his surname was Song, the imperial surname.

The sword cultivator was the only one sitting on the roof ridge. After meeting Chen Ping’an’s eyes, he remained expressionless, as if he didn’t know the Mountain Lord of Fallen Mountain at all.

Chen Ping’an took a step forward, leaving the highest point of the overhanging eaves, and landed on the roof ridge, looking at the woman known as Aunt Feng at eye level. He continued to ask telepathically, “Before coming to the Great Li capital, senior, did you reside in the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven for a long time to comprehend the Heavenly Dao?”

Aunt Feng shook her head and smiled, “I shouldn’t and didn’t dare to stay for too long. You were young back then, and hadn’t yet ascended the mountain, so you might not be clear. Qi Jingchun’s temper was only good to you. He was much stricter with us, these illegitimate remnants, convicts, and troublemakers. So I stayed on the True Martial Mountain more often. Occasionally, I would visit. Before Qi Jingchun took over the Grotto-Heaven, the previous sages were relatively lenient. I would either take people out of the Li Zhu Grotto-Heaven, like Cao Hang and Yuan Xie, or occasionally bring outsiders into the Grotto-Heaven, like Gu Can’s father. But don’t worry, I have nothing to do with Ma Kuxuan from Apricot Blossom Lane. No fondness, no aversion, just so-so. Of course, this is just my view. Others may see things differently.”

Chen Ping’an believed what she said, not just out of intuition, but also because he had enough context and clues to support that feeling.

To use a bureaucratic analogy, Ma Kuxuan, the darling of heaven, was like the descendant of a wealthy clan with a glorious past, wielding great influence in the local bureaucracy, holding sway like a regional warlord. But he definitely couldn’t mobilize a minister in the capital.

Aunt Feng smiled and asked, “Chen Ping’an, you already know my identity?”

Chen Ping’an didn’t hide it, and nodded, “If I only heard the title ‘Aunt Feng’, I wouldn’t be so sure. But after I saw the knotted rope with my own eyes, there was no room for doubt.”

Being so old, she naturally deserved to be called senior.

She smiled charmingly, “Good memory, and your eyesight is not bad either. No wonder you are so polite to me.”

Chen Ping’an smiled slightly, “I implore you to answer my previous question.”

She asked, “Is it important whether I am familiar with Qi Jingchun?”

Chen Ping’an nodded, “For me, it’s actually okay. For you, senior, it might be very important.”
She gently patted her chest, a look of resentment on her face, feigning horror. “Threatening and intimidating me? A young whippersnapper of forty, trying to scare a senior who’s only a few years older, what’s a person to do?”

Chen Ping’an and this Aunt Feng’s unspoken words were beyond the comprehension of the other six, whose realms were not high enough. They could only watch from the sidelines like spectators, trying to discern the truth through subtle changes in expressions and glances.

Chen Ping’an chuckled, “That’s where Senior is mistaken.”

How could it be considered a threat? It was simply stating a matter of fact.

This Aunt Feng before him was a deity of the wind, or rather, one of them.

That was why she seemed so aloof and untouched by the world, so pristine. The reason was simple: the flow of all winds in the world had to obey her command.

As for the twenty-four seasonal winds that heralded the blooming of flowers, they were naturally within her jurisdiction.

It was only after Chen Ping’an took office as the Hidden Official and entered the Bixia Palace that he saw a few annotated entries about “Aunt Feng,” roughly explaining the roots of her Great Dao.

Aunt Feng smiled, her eyes crinkling. “A Jade Pure Realm swordsman with an Ascension Realm dao companion certainly speaks with confidence.”

Chen Ping’an nodded and smiled. “When the wind passes through the mortal realm, and no banners are raised, it’s a pity that the green trees still stand. Indeed, Senior’s actions are more resolute.”

This Aunt Feng’s active appearance here was most likely to stand up for the Song Clan of Great Li, a kind of intangible provocation.

Chen Ping’an didn’t think his arrival was unexpected for her.

If the appearance of Vice Minister Dong Hu of the Ministry of Rites was a gesture of goodwill, then Aunt Feng’s presence was indeed a very assertive style of action.

It was like telling him that he, Chen Ping’an, didn’t understand the depth of the Song Clan of Great Li and this capital city and shouldn’t even think about running rampant here.

Although this Aunt Feng failed to take advantage of the situation ten thousand years ago to ascend to one of the twelve high-ranking divine positions, the Bixia Palace held an ancient military text called *Tai Gong’s Yin Fu* that recorded an old event in a long-lost “chronicle of marvels” format. Legend had it that seven high-ranking deities with significant authority each led their troops to help the human race fight against the heavens. Most of them fell in the great battle, and only a few survivors led their troops to reside within the ancestral court of the military strategists of the Great World, like celestial officials in the immortal ranks, each in charge of a portion of the Great Dao’s operation.

However, the so-called high-ranking deities in the book didn’t explicitly state their identities, let alone whether they belonged to the earliest twelve high-ranking positions.

If the central ancestral court of the military strategists was the main gate of a large mansion, then ancestral courts of the military strategists in other continents, like True Martial Mountain and Wind and Snow Temple, were side gates and back doors. These ancient deities could enter and exit through them as well.

Furthermore, an ancient anthology similar to accounts of deities and marvels detailed the greatest catastrophe in the history of Hundred Flowers Blessed Land. The disaster was this “Aunt Feng’s” arrival at the blessed land. She was resentfully called a “Feng Family Maidservant” by the Flower Goddess of the blessed land. She visited the blessed land, and wherever she went, violent winds raged and howled through every crevice, causing a hundred flowers to wither. Therefore, the end of that ancient book also included a powerful declaration vowing to fight Aunt Feng to the death for the sake of all the flowers in the world.

Back then, during lulls in battle at the Bixia Palace, Chen Ping’an would have a pot of wine and a plate of peanuts, using these long-sealed old histories as snacks to go with the wine.

Like in the *Classic of Mountains and Seas* and its supplements, as well as in the countless writings of scholars, there was no record of Aunt Feng.

Apart from the Merit Forest of the Confucian Temple in the Central Continent, nowhere else in the Great World, no matter how well-stocked the library, even in mountain sects and thousand-year-old aristocratic families of human dynasties, could one find a book with explicit written records. Later generations who wanted to know could only rely on oral transmission from their ancestors, and they had to ensure that they weren’t overheard by the Confucian academies, or else even the head of a sect or the head of a family would have to go to the Merit Forest to play chess and drink wine.

And among the female wind deity’s supporters were many emperors and monarchs throughout history with great talent and strategy, such as a city lord of the Night Navigation Ship, the pavilion chief of Si River who once slew a white serpent.

Aunt Feng suddenly realized, “I almost forgot that you served as the last Hidden Official of the Sword Qi Great Wall.”

In fact, for the few decades before the fragmentation and fall of the Carp Leaping Spring Grotto-heaven, for ancient beings of her age, unless it was a critical moment or a key juncture, they weren’t willing to pay much attention. They might just glance over things, ensuring they had a general understanding of the spiritual beings of each moment, and then at most make their own bets, perhaps out of interest, perhaps to compete with others’ judgment, or to contend with someone.

Chen Ping’an smiled. The attempt to draw her out had failed. Both sides seemed to be talking in circles. Maybe it was because they hadn’t started drinking yet. Perhaps he could invite Senior Aunt Feng to the inn for a drink and a chat.

Aunt Feng remembered something and seemed a little surprised at Chen Ping’an’s patience. “Don’t you want to ask what the identities of the other old immortals who spoke that day were, and what they sought?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head and smiled. “If Senior is willing to say, Junior will naturally be very grateful. If Senior doesn’t want to say, Junior naturally won’t force the issue.”

She put two fingers together and tapped her cheek lightly, smiling with narrowed eyes, seemingly hesitant about whether to reveal the secrets of the heavens.

Ma Kuxuan of Apricot Blossom Lane, Song Jixin of Mud Bottle Lane, Zhao Yao of Fortune and Prosperity Street, Xie Ling of Peach Leaf Lane… these were just the youngest generation of the Carp Leaping Spring Grotto-heaven. Above them, there were indeed various bets being made. Some were purely out of boredom, simply lending a hand to those they found pleasing to the eye and supportive. Others had ulterior motives, laying伏筆for a thousand miles. For example, one of the old guys was the current patriarch of the Dragon-Rearing lineage. His family ancestors had been credited with raising dragons. Back then, this person concealed his identity, traveled all the way from the Central Divine Continent to Treasure Bottle Continent, blocking heavenly secrets, and hid among the Qi Refiners who were slaying dragons.

Aunt Feng suddenly suppressed her laughter and said out of the blue, “Carrying a beloved girl, no journey feels tiring. You were quite bold back then, how come now that your realm is higher, you’ve become timid instead? I’m starting to worry for you.”

Chen Ping’an’s expression changed slightly.

Seeing the blue-robed swordsman in this moment, Aunt Feng finally felt a bit of familiarity. He finally looked a bit like the awkward youth from back then.

Oh, he was even blushing with embarrassment.

How strange, wasn’t it said that the Hidden Official Chen of the Sword Qi Great Wall could hold the city with his thick skin alone for another ten thousand years?

Chen Ping’an stopped deliberately slouching, took a deep breath, cupped his fist in salute, and smiled brightly. “Thank you, Senior, for your protection and guidance.”
Aunt Feng nodded, understanding everything with a single point. Indeed, she was an astute and meticulous individual, and despite leaving her hometown at a young age, she had maintained her precocious intelligence. Qi Jingchun had excellent judgment.

Within the Bountiful Treasure Grotto-Heaven, some scenes and chronicles of time, after Qi Jingchun made that decision, were no longer for just anyone to behold.

Just as she had said, Qi Jingchun’s temper wasn’t exactly mild.

After Qi Jingchun took the boy to walk the corridor bridge, he established a rule for everyone: mind your eyes and do not look at the Mud Bottle Lane boy again.

One old fellow broke the rule and was dealt with by Qi Jingchun to the point where he almost wanted to voluntarily dissolve his immortal form and reincarnate.

Only she was the exception.

It wasn’t because she was optimistic about Chen Pingan or making a gamble, but because of the old anecdote of “branding the Dragon Girl’s forehead with mugwort,” as she had often sheltered true dragons throughout the world.

Aunt Feng nodded, ceasing her mental communication, and said softly, “I have a place to stay near the Fire God Temple in the capital.”

Chen Pingan clasped his fist in salute and said, “After resolving my personal affairs, I will certainly visit you, senior.”

She reminded him, “Remember to give me a heads-up before you come. Someone has wanted to see you for a long time. It’s not easy for him to go out; he has to report to the Ministry of Rites.”

Chen Pingan had a few people in mind, such as Manager Yang of the apothecary in his hometown, and General Su Gaoshan, who was enshrined in the Emperor’s Temple.

However, he wouldn’t flaunt these small smarts in front of a senior, as they would meet sooner or later anyway.

Aunt Feng, in a rare display of human tenderness, sighed, “To have come this far in just a few decades is truly remarkable. Alright, I’ll be going now; I won’t delay your important matters.”

Chen Pingan straightened his lapels.

Dressed in a green robe, he bowed in respect.

His hometown was once filled with spring breezes.

There was a year when spring came exceptionally late and summer arrived exceptionally slowly in the vast world.

Aunt Feng accepted it calmly.

What did it matter if she received a bow of gratitude from his junior brother, for helping Qi Jingchun with such a great favor, and didn’t even get a single snowflake coin?

Before leaving, Aunt Feng reminded this young man, who had never disappointed Qi Jingchun, with a mental message: “Be careful of others besides me. Oh, right, one of them is in the capital.”

Chen Pingan straightened up and smiled, “Junior has always been careful, so they must be careful as well.”

Aunt Feng nodded, darting away like a hare or a falcon, neither fast nor slow, without the slightest hint of lightning speed.

Chen Pingan was filled with emotion, realizing that this senior was also an expert at suppressing her realm and concealing her strength.

The final scene on the rooftop, Chen Pingan’s bow to Aunt Feng, greatly surprised these young geniuses.

They had thought that this sect leader of the Fallen Mountain, who had caused such a commotion at Positive Sun Mountain, would stir up trouble upon arriving in the Great Li capital.

But seeing Aunt Feng, he was so respectful, constantly addressing her as a junior in his words, and even performing such a grand salute in the end?

In fact, among the instructors, this woman had spent the most time with the eleven, but she hadn’t taught them any profound Taoist arts. She had only taught them a few escape techniques.

The little girl widened her eyes, rolling them around, and quickly stretched her neck, waving and calling out with a grin, “Aunt Feng, Aunt Feng, I’ll treat you to good wine later! The Immortal Family brew from the Evergreen Palace is terribly expensive!”

The little monk pressed his palms together and nodded towards Aunt Feng’s departing figure, “This humble monk does not lie; Aunt Feng is truly beautiful tonight.”

The sword cultivator stretched out his finger, pressing it against his brow. He had no eyes to see or ears to hear, having such like-minded colleagues.

However, anyone who wasn’t a fool should understand one thing, no matter how belatedly, that everyone had absolutely underestimated Aunt Feng’s realm and status.

Chen Pingan was about to leave; he had nothing to talk about with these cultivation geniuses. They would simply walk their own single-plank bridges and broad avenues.

Unless the Great Li Song Clan had lost their minds, they wouldn’t let this group of young geniuses with promising futures come looking for trouble with him.

Unexpectedly, the sword cultivator clasped his fist and said, “A native of the capital, sword cultivator Song Xu, greets Mountain Lord Chen.”

Chen Pingan had to stop, smiling and nodding, “A golden core sword cultivator under the age of twenty, the younger generation is to be feared.”

Song Xu looked awkward.

Since Song Xu, the leader, had announced his name, the other five followed suit, knowing it was a rare opportunity to chat with the renowned Hidden Official, even a few words would be a gain.

The Confucian Qi cultivator called out “Mr. Chen,” claiming to be a scholar from the Old Mountain Cliff Academy of the Great Li. He hadn’t gone to the Great Sui for further studies and had served as a military cultivator for several years.

The young formation master, a woman named Han Zhoujin, said she was from Clear Pool Blessed Land under the jurisdiction of the Divine Edict Sect.

The little strategist girl, surnamed Yu, said that this Heavenly Records Pavilion was unexpectedly her family’s territory.

The Taoist had a government position, serving in the capital’s Taoist Registry, and was named Ge Ling from Jurong in the southeastern region of Treasure Bottle Continent.

The little monk wearing a plain gauze Zen robe claimed to be a novice monk from the Sutra Translation Bureau.

The little girl seemed to be in a lively mood, adding with a grin, “Grandmaster Chen, I heard that you fought Cao Ci in the Merit Forest, it was earth-shattering! You beat up Cao Ci, who I heard was very handsome and punched very elegantly, to the point where his face was swollen. Wouldn’t you say that you were glorious in defeat?”

Chen Pingan had never met such an unchatty little girl, scolding two people with one sentence? Did she think she was Gu Jianlong?

Besides, the pre-gambling chatter of these guys was also quite impolite. If he remembered correctly, it was this seemingly carefree little girl who had threatened to meet him, saying that it was an opportunity not to be missed! Listening to Ge Ling’s words, it seemed that she had sparred with Pei Qian in the deputy capital, and as a result, she had been complaining about a liver ache every day for a whole month. When Han Zhoujin said something fair, saying “Our Hidden Official is not bad looking,” the little girl started to argue back, saying “Han-jiejie, what kind of eyes do you have? He’s just average.”

So Chen Pingan smiled, “In the pugilistic world, misfortune comes from the mouth, and too much talk leads to mistakes.”

This was because their relationship wasn’t close. Otherwise, if it were his founding disciple, he would often squat outside the shop in Riding Dragon Lane, hold down the mouth of a dog’s head lying on the ground, and teach the left protector of Riding Dragon Lane a lesson, telling it not to bark indiscriminately when visiting from door to door and to be careful when speaking. I know many pugilistic friends who slaughter pigs and dogs and run butcher shops, one knife down, and you’ll be lying on the chopping board, ah, are you going to speak or not? Not even a fart, you’re not convinced, are you?
As for why Chen Ping’an was so intimately acquainted with the conversation unfolding here, it was naturally thanks to the mystical powers of his flying sword, Well-in-the-Moon.

This natal flying sword could transform into a great many swords, the quantity thereof dependent on the height of Chen Ping’an’s cultivation realm.

After Chen Ping’an entered the capital city, he offered up several Well-in-the-Moon swords, transformed and subtly soaring through the air.

Han Zhoujin cast a sidelong glance towards the moonlight filtering through the branches of an ancient cypress not far away, his words laced with hidden barbs as he jested, “Surely, Mister Chen, being a Sword Immortal of the Upper Five Realms, such actions are unbecoming, wouldn’t you say?”