Spring Mountain Academy, like Deer Forest Academy of Mount Pi Yun, was an official academy of the Great Li Dynasty.

Mountains stretched into the distance, wind and mist vanished, the river surged, and various plants grew abundantly.

An old gentleman strolled alone within the academy, clad in a Confucian robe, slender in stature, with hands clasped behind his back. He stopped outside a classroom where a teacher was instructing students, without getting too close to the window.

This place was formerly the old site of the Great Li Cliff Academy, but because the words “Cliff Academy” were associated with the Gao family of the Great Sui Dynasty, it was renamed Spring Mountain Academy.

It remained an official academy of the Great Li Dynasty. In fact, the Great Li court had debated this issue. Some officials who had originated from Cliff Academy, present in all six ministries, unanimously agreed that it should be abandoned and not used, simply maintained well. Even the officials of the Ministry of Revenue, known for their thrift and constant criticism, concurred. Back then, both the civil and military officials of Great Li believed that the return of Cliff Academy to Great Li was only a matter of time.

However, a single sentence from the Imperial Preceptor Cui Chan changed the name, and the court no longer raised any objections.

A teaching master, temporarily free from teaching duties and responsible for patrolling the academy, noticed the old gentleman and asked with a smile, “Sir, are you visiting the academy or simply touring?”

Even with its relaxed atmosphere, the academy still had some rules.

The old scholar stroked his beard and smiled, “Life is but a journey, and all are travelers. Guests need not ask names; the sound of reading is my home.”

The young master chuckled, finding himself being engaged in literary banter.

The old scholar exclaimed in surprise, finding it strange.

Logically, portraits of him should have been rehung in all the major and minor Temples of Literature throughout the Treasure Bottle Continent, from the capital to the localities. There was no reason for the young man before him, a scholar of the academy, not to recognize him.

Ah, most likely the portrait in the Temples of Literature failed to capture even half of his appearance and spirit.

He would have to speak with that old drunkard with the title of Painting Sage about it. Even though his painting skills were already divine, there was still room for improvement.

The young master of the academy reminded him with a smile, “Old sir, feel free to wander around, just don’t disturb the lectures of the instructors, and keep your steps light. Otherwise, if the instructors have complaints, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

The old scholar nodded, praising, “Young man, you have a good temper, and your patience as a teacher should be commendable. You state the good things beforehand and offer reminders early on. You are very organized in your work. From small details, one can see the bigger picture. I believe the atmosphere at your Spring Mountain Academy must be quite good.”

The young master felt somewhat helpless. This old gentleman was rather… fond of lecturing others?

However, they were, in the end, flattering words, so they weren’t annoying. He simply seemed a bit presumptuous.

The old gentleman’s Great Li accent was not authentic, suggesting he was a scholar from a tributary state. Traveling all the way to the capital academy at his age must have been difficult. Therefore, the young master proactively mentioned several scenic spots within Spring Mountain Academy. The old scholar smiled, nodded his thanks, and slowly walked towards the window, quietly listening to a question-and-answer session between the instructor and the students inside.

The young master looked back, feeling a sense of familiarity.

The old gentleman stood in the corridor, hands clasped behind his back, listening attentively to the instructor’s teaching.

As if sensing the young master’s gaze, the old gentleman turned his head and smiled.

The young master turned away, shaking his head, still unable to recall where he had seen the old gentleman before.

The old scholar continued to listen to the instructor inside, providing explanations. Ah, very good. Today’s lesson was based on annotations of one of his own works, written by a Yang family descendant from Lingbao County many years ago. They were currently discussing the content of the “Conduct” chapter, having just mentioned a line from the book: “Why do gentlemen value jade and despise worthless stone?”

Annotations, commentaries, concise explanations, simple notes, and modern interpretations… these had been as numerous as hairs in the Vast World back then. Such was the nature of a prominent field of study.

Of course, these were later banned by the Temples of Literature. Now that he had regained his status as a secondary deity, various annotations and works had naturally resurfaced… well, that phrase was a bit awkward. Anyway, they had sprouted up like bamboo shoots after rain, teeming like carps crossing a river.

The instructor inside, seemingly reaching a point of personal understanding while teaching the students, began to close his eyes, sit upright, and loudly recite the entire “Conduct” chapter.

The old scholar leaned on the windowsill, lowered his voice, and asked a young Confucian scholar with a smile, “Do you all understand the instructor’s explanation of the ‘Conduct’ chapter?”

The young Confucian scholar had long noticed the old gentleman eavesdropping on the lecture. Moreover, this academy student was evidently bold. Taking advantage of the instructor’s swaying head, he grinned and said, “What’s not to understand? The content of the ‘Conduct’ chapter is quite simple. It’s the annotations by those erudite scholars that delve deeper and farther.”

The young man saw the old gentleman’s face light up with agreement, nodding.

Then, the old gentleman asked, “In your opinion, what is the biggest problem with the Sage of Literature’s writings?”

The young Confucian scholar was stunned, then chuckled, “Old sir, such a question is blasphemous! You dare to ask, but as a student of the academy, I dare not answer.”

The predecessor of Spring Mountain Academy was Cliff Academy, one of the seventy-two academies of the Vast World. The former Mountain Master, Master Qi, was even a direct disciple of the Sage of Literature. As a student of Spring Mountain Academy, saying such things would be tantamount to heresy and betraying his master and ancestors.

The old gentleman smiled and said, “What is there to fear? Some dare to say the Six Classics are annotated by me, what are you afraid of? I heard that your Headmaster encourages you to be wary of pride and prejudice in your conduct, to avoid narrow-mindedness in your reading, and to refrain from stale language in your writing. He insists that you express your own unique opinions, uncovering what predecessors have not. I think that is very good. How come, when it comes to you, you don’t even dare to have your own views? Do you think that all the knowledge in the world has been spoken by the Sages of the Temples of Literature, and we only need to memorize, and are not allowed to have our own opinions?”
The current Academy Head, Wu Linzhuan, had been a diligent scholar since childhood, devouring every book he encountered. He was meticulous in his studies and had served as an academic officer in several prefectures of the Great Li Dynasty. Although his official rank wasn’t low, he wasn’t considered a true member of the officialdom. In his later years, after resigning from his post, he presided over several government-run academies. It was said that during the period when the teachings of the Literary Sage were prohibited, he painstakingly collected a vast number of book editions and personally proofread and published them. Moreover, it was this very man who first proposed that the Great Li Dynasty’s imperial examination system should incorporate economics, military affairs, and the art of calculation.

The young scholar hesitated, thinking, “Alright, this old gentleman must be a frustrated scholar who failed the imperial exams and achieved nothing in his academic pursuits. Otherwise, why would he utter such ‘grand pronouncements’?” However, these words resonated with the young scholar, and he plucked up his courage, whispering, “I believe the Literary Sage’s scholarship is indeed profound, but he dwells too much on rituals and too little on benevolence and righteousness, which is somewhat inappropriate.”

The old gentleman continued to ask, “Then, what do you think should be done? Have you considered any remedies?”

The young scholar looked shy, “I’ve been secretly pondering some things in my spare time, but of course, they’re bound to be crude and biased. However, the two instructors who teach the Literary Sage’s works at our academy – well, this instructor here is one of them – often walk around the academy reciting the Literary Sage’s works repeatedly. They even shed tears involuntarily, so deeply do they revere the Literary Sage. I wouldn’t dare bring out my nonsensical article.”

The instructor who had just finished reciting the *Fa Xing* chapter noticed the “absent-minded” student mumbling to himself by the window. The instructor suddenly slapped the desk with a ruler and called out in a soft voice, “Zhou Jiagu!”

The young scholar was dumbfounded. Not only had he been caught red-handed by the instructor, but the old gentleman by the window had vanished without a trace, proving to be utterly unreliable.

Zhou Jiagu stood up trembling.

Then, Zhou Jiagu discovered that the Academy Head, followed by a large group of the academy’s old instructors, had arrived outside the window.

And then, the old gentleman who had just shrunk down and squatted against the wall outside the window, rose sheepishly.

The old gentleman, not one to be easily embarrassed, chuckled and explained to Zhou Jiagu, “I just got a little tired from standing for so long.”

Zhou Jiagu noticed that the teaching instructor’s face was flushed crimson, and he mistakenly thought that the instructor was upset about being disturbed during the lesson. The young man immediately braced himself and explained, “Mr. Fan, this is my distant uncle. He’s here today to visit me at the academy. My uncle doesn’t quite understand the academy’s rules, and it’s my fault.”

The old scholar stroked his beard and smiled.

He was truly benevolent.

An elderly scholar should refrain from making shocking statements and outlandish remarks, lest the young ones fail to remember him.

And one shouldn’t readily label the younger generation with accusations of moral decay and declining customs. That’s all nonsense. In truth, one has merely transformed from a little rascal into an old one.

Even the most disillusioned elder must always harbor hope for the youth.

The future of the world will improve, becoming ever better.

Then, Zhou Jiagu noticed that Mr. Fan was incredibly excited and stumbled out of the classroom.

Finally, standing under the eaves of the corridor, Mr. Fan straightened his clothes with a solemn expression and bowed respectfully to the old gentleman.

Furthermore, all the old instructors, including the Academy Head of Spring Mountain Academy, acted in unison, bowing and remaining in that position.

It seemed that unless the Literary Sage spoke, they would remain bowing indefinitely.

The old scholar waved his hand and smiled, “Don’t all stand there like wooden puppets. I haven’t had cold pork head in years and am not accustomed to it.”

All the academy instructors slowly rose.

The Academy Head of Spring Mountain Academy, Wu Linzhuan, quickly stepped forward and softly asked, “Literary Sage, would you care to have tea elsewhere?”

The old scholar shook his head, walked to Mr. Fan’s side, and smiled, “Mr. Fan, how about we make a deal? For the second half of the lesson, would you allow me to lecture the students on the *Fa Xing* chapter?”

Mr. Fan bowed again, his lips trembling, unable to speak.

The old scholar entered the classroom. Dozens of academy students inside had already stood up and bowed.

Especially Zhou Jiagu, who had been chatting with the Literary Sage for quite some time, was completely bewildered.

The old scholar raised his hand slightly, “No need for formalities. Scholarship is of utmost importance. Please, be seated.”

All the academy instructors, including Mr. Fan, simply stood by the window outside, listening to the teachings of the sage, with no one vying for a seat with the students inside.

The old scholar smiled, “Before explaining the *Fa Xing* chapter, I will first explain to Zhou Jiagu why it emphasizes rituals and neglects benevolence and righteousness. But before that, I would like to hear Zhou Jiagu’s insights on how to remedy this.”

The old scholar looked at the young scholar and teased, “Zhou Jiagu, don’t be afraid to speak your mind. Even if you’re wrong, I won’t mind. Who dares to mind? Isn’t that the case?”

Zhou Jiagu stammered, “Literary Sage… I’m a little… nervous, and I can’t… speak.”

The old scholar smiled and asked, “Then, shall I begin the lesson? When you’re no longer nervous, you can let me know?”

Zhou Jiagu wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded vigorously.

Outside the window, Mr. Fan chuckled inwardly, “That little rascal, so bold as to discuss scholarship with the Literary Sage himself? Truly a student of mine!”

He would have to ask Zhou Jiagu for a detailed account of what transpired later.

On this day, nearly a thousand instructors and students of Spring Mountain Academy thronged outside the classroom, a dense crowd of humanity.

The Confucian Literary Sage, after his divine position in the Literary Temple was restored, delivered his first sermon, imparted knowledge, and resolved doubts in the mortal realm, right here in the Great Li Dynasty’s Spring Mountain Academy in Baoping Continent.

After Chen Ping’an swaggered away, the three people in the alley, the formation master Han Zhoujin, the Taoist registrar Ge Ling from the capital, and the Yin-Yang master Sui Lin, exchanged glances, all feeling somewhat deflated. Even with such meticulous planning, they were unable to detain him. For this battle, which they initially thought would be incredibly dangerous, the eleven of them had deduced dozens of possibilities in the inn, and these three were responsible for setting up the formation, laying an ambush, and inviting the prey into the trap.

Setting up a formation requires utmost precision, especially when it involves the circulation of a minor world. For example, choosing a wider street outside the alley, which was also Chen Ping’an’s inevitable path, would mean that the formation would have more contact with the heavens and earth, making it not only more difficult to maintain but also creating more flaws. And sword cultivators, above all else, excel at breaking all spells with a single strike.

The female ghost Gai Yan and Lu Hui stood side-by-side on a wall, she complaining, “Not fun, not fun at all. It ended before it even began.”

She refused to believe it; she couldn’t even touch the hem of Master Chen’s robe?
Within the alley, Han Zhoujin offered a bitter smile as he walked out with Ge Ling, saying, “Dealing with a Hidden Official is truly difficult.”

Since no fight had broken out, Ge Ling idly tapped the alley wall. “A real headache, indeed.”

The Dali intelligence network held scant records of the elusive Fei Ran, only knowing him to be the leader of the Hundred Swords Immortals of Mount Tuoyue. However, the records on Jianxian Shouchen, the most meticulous student of Zhou Mi of the Wenhai, were extremely detailed. The earliest record was of Shouchen’s sword duel with Zhang Lu. Afterwards, the recorded deeds of Shouchen filled many volumes. At the end of that top-secret document, there were two annotations written personally by the National Preceptor: *Top-tier assassin, potential to ascend to the Ascension Realm.*

Sui Lin put away six rare Golden Locking Sword Talismans, as well as several talismans specifically for tracking the flow of Chen Pingan’s aura.

Chen Pingan had hit the nail on the head when he said that they, the Earthly Branch Eleven, were truly wealthy.

Just like this encounter, even before a fight broke out, they had already spent a considerable sum of Gu Yu coins.

They each possessed at least one Demi-Immortal artifact, and whenever they needed funds, the Ministry of Rites and the Ministry of Justice had jointly established a private treasury for them. Whatever they requested, be it money or items, the Dali court would provide. Two Vice Ministers, one from each of the Ministries of Rites and Justice, personally oversaw this matter. The person in charge from the Ministry of Justice was none other than Zhao Yao.

Han Zhoujin was somewhat frustrated, having lost two rounds, even if it was to Chen Pingan. He couldn’t help but feel stifled. “Where exactly was the flaw? It’s as if he knew from the start that it was a trap. Does he cast a divination every time he steps out of the door, every few steps he takes, every time he encounters someone on the road?”

In the distance, Yu Yu said through sound transmission, “It could be the title ‘Mister Chen’. Or it could be a kind of intuition honed through battlefield experience. Just as punches are ‘fed’ to build strength, intuition can also be nurtured. We still haven’t experienced enough bloodshed.”

Gai Yan, nicknamed “The Painter”, felt somewhat ashamed, as she was the one who had disguised herself as the young Zhao Duanming.

Yuan Huajing said, “Everyone, withdraw.”

Chen Pingan returned to the inn and, before stepping over the threshold, took out a paper bag from his sleeve.

Seeing Chen Pingan, the old man put down the book he was reading, *Jialing Bamboo Carvings*, and smiled, “You’re a busy one. Where did you go to find more loopholes to profit from ill-gotten gains?”

Chen Pingan laughed, “Come now, I almost got jumped by a bunch of petty thieves.”

The old man, of course, didn’t believe him and joked, “We have kidnappers in the capital these days? Even if there were, wouldn’t they know to target someone with money?”

Chen Pingan placed the bag on the counter. “I bought too much on the way back. If you don’t mind, Old Shopkeeper, you can have it to enjoy with some wine.”

The old man nodded and smiled. It was a bag of twisted dough sticks, not worth much money, but it was the thought that counted.

Chen Pingan glanced at the book. “Old Shopkeeper, you not only like porcelain, but also this? Aside from a few bamboo fans, I have a pair of armrests at home, engraved with ‘Magpies Joyfully on Plum Blossoms’ and ‘Three Thousand Peaches Bearing Fruit’, signed ‘Manxian’. I’m not bragging, but even if it’s an imitation, it’s still worth some money.”

“There’s no way it could actually be Manxian’s bamboo carving… never mind, you’re good at weaving stories. I bet you won’t have any trouble finding a buyer who believes it’s the real thing.”

The old man realized that this kid was one of them, a fellow enthusiast. While verbally teasing him, he pushed the book over, proudly saying, “Porcelain and bamboo carvings are nothing. Even Black Tiger knows a little about them.”

Chen Pingan leaned on the counter and shook his head. “Rubbings of stone tablets is a field you can’t master just by reading a few books. The knowledge involved is too deep, the threshold too high. You have to see the real thing, and you have to see a lot of it, to even begin to enter. There’s no shortcut or trick. Just grab those genuine artifacts and do one thing: look. Or rather, two things: look more. Or even three: look until you throw up.”

The old man laughed and scolded, “Easy for you to say. Have you even seen that many?”

“To be honest, I’ve seen quite a few.”

“You’re just some wandering martial artist. You think you’re a celestial from the mountains, bragging without a draft?”

“Bragging that needs a draft doesn’t reach the pinnacle.”

Chen Pingan was relaxed, chatting casually with the old man, leaning against the counter, flipping through the book. He lightly tapped the floor with the tip of his foot, memorizing the images of famous masterpieces, rubbings, and sayings like “Great Art is Untouched.”

Harmony with others, even strangers, is akin to being kin.

An official of the Ministry of Revenue, an old woman at the Fire God Temple, an old cultivator Liu Jia, a young Zhao Duanming, an innkeeper.

The Empress Dowager of Dali, stopping, conversing face to face.

The key was not who the other party was, but who you were. Then, it was about being aware of both who you are and who the other party is.

Returning the book, Chen Pingan found Ning Yao reading in the room, but she had changed books.

Chen Pingan gently closed the door. Ning Yao ignored him, although the previous book, from beginning to end, had not revealed the true identity of the one reading the Spring and Autumn annals under the lamplight, the green-robed, handsome-bearded figure. The book was short, but Ning Yao felt that this character was the most vividly portrayed, a true powerhouse.

Chen Pingan poured himself a bowl of tea and took a light sip.

Without looking up, Ning Yao said, “The last words you spoke at the alley’s exit were not your usual style.”

Chen Pingan leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head, and laughed, “Daoist Sun taught me. On the path of cultivation, while those young geniuses you meet are still young, their cultivation not yet high enough, you have to hurry and beat them up a few times, instill a psychological shadow, so that when you travel the world later, you’ll have prestige.”

Under Heaven. Each person with their unique style.

Zheng Juzhong of White Emperor City and Wu Shuangjiang of Sui Chu Palace are of one kind.

The Great Celestial Master of the Dragon-Tiger Mountain of talismans and mysteries is another.

Daoist Sun of the Great Xuan Du Temple and Real Person Fire Dragon of the Crouching Peak are yet another.

Ning Yao suddenly smiled slightly. “Where do you get so many strange sayings? Do you never run out?”

Chen Pingan suppressed a laugh. “I heard them on the road, read them in books. My knowledge, it’s all accumulated bit by bit.”

Ning Yao asked, “Nothing from innate understanding?”

Chen Pingan rubbed his chin and said solemnly, “A gift from the Ancestral Master?”

Ning Yao casually said, “Those cultivators are quite stifled dealing with you. They have so many contingency plans, but they can’t put them to use.”

Chen Pingan nodded. “But to be honest, when I reach the Immortal Realm someday, just speaking of this Treasure Bottle Continent, those Dali death squads, once they complete the Earthly Branch Twelve, will be a major potential hidden danger to me.”

After all, Bai Yujing’s swordplay follows rules, and the one thing Chen Pingan fears least in this life is rules.
Therefore, Chen Ping’an proactively visited the Immortal Inn. Of course, besides probing, getting a general understanding of the eleven individuals’ backgrounds and cultivation paths, he genuinely hoped that this group could grow faster. In the future, on Treasure Bottle洲’s mountains, it was very likely that everyone would have a place at the mountain’s summit.

Chen Ping’an’s thoughts and actions seemed contradictory. Since they were all a hidden danger not to be underestimated, he was still willing to help them grow.

Chen Ping’an randomly picked up a book on the table, flipping through a few pages. In martial arts, experts always announced their moves, afraid their opponents wouldn’t know their trump cards.

See, that’s how Cao Ci was at the Literary Temple back then. The next time they met, he had to advise him as a friend.

Besides, you Cao Ci created a few punches, less than thirty moves? I can do the same.

Ning Yao suddenly said, “What’s wrong? You seem a little uneasy. Is there a problem with the Fire God Temple, or is there an issue with the Ministry of Revenue?”

Chen Ping’an was taken aback, then put down the book. “Something is indeed not right. It has nothing to do with the Fire God Temple or the Ministry of Revenue, which is why it’s strange. There’s no reason for it.”

Ning Yao didn’t ask further.

She watched Chen Ping’an take out the red paper from his sleeve, pour some ten-thousand-year-old loess crumbs onto the paper, and then began to knead the soil, tasting a bit of it.

Ning Yao said, “You could really be a Feng Shui geomancer.”

Running a consignment shop, surveying qi and land, acting as a traveling doctor, fortune teller, writing letters for others, opening a restaurant…

Chen Ping’an wiped his mouth and smiled. “It’s always good to have more skills.”

Ning Yao asked, “That young ghost cultivator from Green Gorge Island, the one surnamed Zeng?”

Chen Ping’an said, “I won’t directly tell Zeng Ye anything. I’ll just mention that he can travel to Great Li’s capital to gain experience in the martial world. After that, it depends on his own opportunities and destiny.”

Ning Yao said for no apparent reason, “I have a good impression of that Ma Duyi; she has a big heart. Is she still living in that fox skin talisman?”

Chen Ping’an quickly glanced at Ning Yao.

Thankfully, it wasn’t sarcasm.

Chen Ping’an immediately nodded. “Yes, she has always liked that talismanic skin, after all everyone loves beauty.”

Ning Yao asked in confusion, “Have you ever thought about letting them simply leave Book Brief Lake and settle down on Fallen Mountain?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head. “Everyone has their own destiny.”

Walking the human world is difficult, more difficult than mountains, more treacherous than water.

Mountain and water hazards destroy carriages and boats, but compared to the human heart, they are an open road.

Therefore, that journey, the Su girl, the taciturn young man Zeng Ye, the cheerful and outspoken Ma Duyi, and more of those who traveled together back then, were all actually Chen Ping’an’s protectors.

Chen Ping’an shook his sleeves. Back in Sword Qi Great Wall, when he had nothing to do, he refined the words from that travelogue, refining many characters. From his green shirt sleeves, twenty-four characters emerged, just enough to make up the eleven names of that group of Earthly Branch cultivators.

Song Xu, Han Zhoujin, Ge Ling, Yu Yu, Lu Hui, Hou Jue. Yuan Huajing, Sui Lin, Gai Yan, Gou Cun. Bitter Hand.

Two sword cultivators, a formation master, a Confucian scholar, a Daoist, a monk, a military strategist, a Yin-Yang master, and a ghost cultivator.

Young Gou Cun’s trump card was still unknown.

That young cavalry soldier was named Bitter Hand. Besides that one time he acted during the Spirit’s Night Parade, he hadn’t made a move during the two battles in the capital.

While looking at these names, Chen Ping’an also diverted his attention to immerse his divine sense in his small world, carefully examining his soul and various Qi reservoirs. There was nothing amiss, and there were no subtle traces of tampering on his robes.

The small Daoist temple he had passed earlier, the Daoist Administration’s headquarters in the capital, had a couplet hanging that read: “Pine and cypress, golden courtyard, nourish true blessed land; Always cherish ten thousand ages, cultivate the Dao in spiritual ruins.”

At the Fire God Temple, Aunt Feng treated him with Hundred Flower Brew. Because Chen Ping’an saw through the mysteries of the red paper seal and inquired about the tribute, Aunt Feng casually mentioned two forces: the Ghost City of Fengdu, Fangzhu Mountain, and the Azure Ruler, who governed the blessed lands and all the earthly immortals’ registers, removing death records and adding life names.

Especially the latter. Because Chen Ping’an mentioned the Nine Capital Mountain of the White Frost Continent, judging from Aunt Feng’s tone, Fangzhu Mountain had likely become a thing of the past. Otherwise, the founder of Nine Capital Mountain wouldn’t have obtained some broken mountain peaks, inheriting a portion of Daoist charm and immortal veins.

The immortal mansion ruins refined by the formation master Han Zhoujin, and Yu Yu’s sword immortal retainer, were obviously ancient, exuding an ancient aura. Could they be some kind of hint from Aunt Feng? Perhaps those few jars of Hundred Flower Brew were just a trigger to leak secrets?

Mountainous arts and supernatural powers are endless, impossible to guard against. Just consider the natal flying swords of the world’s sword cultivators; how many kinds of incredible abilities do they have? Countless.

Chen Ping’an suddenly said, “That old coachman earlier had a terrible temper, very arrogant. His first words upon meeting me were to tell me to spit it out if I had something to say.”

Actually, Chen Ping’an really wanted to spar with him.

Ning Yao nodded, then continued reading her book, casually saying, “Don’t indulge bad habits. Why didn’t you just kill him?”

Chen Ping’an was stunned, then sighed. “If we really fought, I probably couldn’t kill him for now, right?”

Ning Yao said something nonsensical, “Guan Yiran understands you quite well; no wonder you became friends.”

Chen Ping’an nodded. “Back at Book Brief Lake, Guan Yiran helped a lot, without any airs of a noble family.”

What he was thinking, however, was that he had gifted inkstones and wine, but Guan Yiran was repaying his friendship like this. Wasn’t that a sin? Wait for that Iris River wine party later.

Actually, Ning Yao didn’t like to talk about Book Brief Lake, because it was the most difficult emotional hurdle for Chen Ping’an to overcome.

She couldn’t bear to say much. Even if she brought it up, it was only about women like Ma Duyi. Actually, some past events had never truly passed. Truly passed events were of two types: those that were completely forgotten and those that could be casually mentioned.

Chen Ping’an rested his arms on the table, smiling. “You know, I grew up eating everyone’s food. Besides being grateful and remembering people’s kindness, I can’t help but observe people’s expressions. Otherwise, it’s easy for those kind people to be troubled by their relatives in their own lives.”

Ning Yao put down her book, softly asking, “For example?”
Chen Ping’an pondered for a moment and chuckled, “For instance, there was this old granny in the alley who would often give me things, secretly, behind her family’s back. Once, I happened to pass by her house, and she pulled me aside to chat. Her daughter-in-law was around and started saying nasty things, aimed at both the granny and me. She’d say, ‘What kind of strange thing is this? Nothing’s been stolen, so has the house-ware become a demon, growing legs and running to other people’s houses?'”

Ning Yao asked, “And what did you do then?”

Chen Ping’an thought about it, shaking his head, “There wasn’t anything I could do.”

After a moment of silence, Chen Ping’an picked up his water bowl, “It’s just that whenever I thought of the old granny, the way she clutched her right sleeve with her left hand, standing at the doorway with her back to her family, her own descendants, yet forcing a smile at an outsider like me, as if she was afraid of making me unhappy. Actually, after parting ways with the old granny, walking alone on the road, my heart would ache. What hurt even more was not knowing how the granny interacted with her family that day.”

So later, drinking and settling things with Liu Zhimao, who should have been a mortal enemy, on Qingxia Island in Shujian Lake, did that even count as anything significant? Not at all.

Ning Yao leaned on the table, asking, “When you were little, did you actively help with all the weddings and funerals in the neighborhood?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head, “How could I? Some of the insults were too awful to bear; I wouldn’t bother paying them any attention.”

Then, Chen Ping’an smiled, “Of course, my ability to argue back then really wasn’t great; I couldn’t win even if I tried. But there were ways to avoid feeling stifled, like stealing water in the dead of night, tearing down the small dams that diverted water into other people’s fields, you know?”

Seeing Chen Ping’an gesturing with his hands, Ning Yao shook her head, “I haven’t seen it firsthand, but I can imagine it.”

Chen Ping’an’s eyes sparkled, a rare hint of boyish triumph in his expression, “Back then, I could find a spot to hide near the rice paddies and stay there all night. Others didn’t have that kind of patience, so no one could compete with me.”

In Ning Yao’s memory, Chen Ping’an had shown various expressions, looks, and moods, but rarely did he reveal this kind of buoyant, self-satisfied air.

A little boy, tanned dark by the sun, unafraid of walking at night and certainly not scared of ghosts or anything of the sort, would often lie alone on the ridges between rice paddies, legs crossed, chewing on a blade of grass, occasionally swatting away mosquitoes, just gazing at the bright moon or the dazzling starry sky.

A solitary child, lying on the ground, looking up at the heavens.

Now, chin resting on his arm, the man smiled, his eyes narrowed.

Ning Yao picked up her book again.

Chen Ping’an laughed, “I’ll go read too.”

A particle of mindful essence, surveying the small world within his body, finally arrived at the edge of his inner lake. Chen Ping’an swiftly flipped through the secret records of the Summer Palace, finding no entry for Fangzhu Mountain. Still unwilling to give up, Chen Ping’an continued to stir his thoughts, searching the Records of Immortality, the Records of Longevity… He gleaned some fragmented insights, but could not piece together a coherent thread.

At the edge of his inner lake, Chen Ping’an spent a great deal of mental energy and spiritual essence to painstakingly construct a library, to store all his books, categorized and organized for easy searching. Flicking through the memories contained within his books was like fishing: the empty library was the rod, his mental essence the fishing line, and a key word, phrase, or sentence was the hook. He would cast his line into the library, and pulling it back would yield a certain book, or several books, like “fish in a pond.”

No one had taught Chen Ping’an this method; he had learned it from Wen Hai’s meticulousness and his disciple Pei Qian, integrating their approaches into this skill.

After leaving the Night Ferry, Chen Ping’an busied himself with another task, carefully gathering and refining a drop of time’s river and a seed of the sword path, and also a bamboo ruler. He suspended each of these in the air, using them to measure time, weight, and length, respectively. This was something else he had learned from the Sage of Rites: to create his own standards of measurement within his personal world. This way, even if trapped within someone else’s personal world, he wouldn’t lose his bearings.

Unfortunately, after merging with half of the Sword Qi Great Wall, Chen Ping’an had completely lost his yin and yang souls. Otherwise, his cultivation would have progressed even faster.

Chen Ping’an stood at the water’s edge, the imagery of the rising and falling sun and moon, and the turning of the Milky Way above his head. The person on the shore looked down at the person in the water.

Chen Ping’an retracted his gaze. Just as he turned, he immediately turned back to look at his reflection in the inner lake, frowning, remembering that young cultivator who seemed to lack presence, Ku Shou.

Ku Shou? (A Difficult Opponent?)

This was a term from Go.

For example, his first disciple Pei Qian was Bai Shou of the Taiwei Sword Sect’s Ku Shou. Of course, Guo Zhujiu was a bit like Pei Qian’s Ku Shou; they were a classic case of one thing subduing another.

Then, Chen Ping’an of Mud Bottle Lane was Ma Kuxuan of Apricot Blossom Lane’s Ku Shou.

And Cao Ci was undoubtedly Chen Ping’an’s greatest Ku Shou on the path of martial arts, while the sword cultivator Liu Cai was his Ku Shou on the path of the sword.

Chen Ping’an hesitated for a moment, then turned back to the water’s edge, sat cross-legged, and began to meditate, forming hand seals, but he quickly opened his eyes.

A small bald head riding a fire dragon came patrolling, perched high on the dragon’s head, and said, “If you wish to know about your past life, this life’s suffering is the answer.”

Chen Ping’an said helplessly, “I understand the principle.”

The small bald head asked, “Remember the second vow?”

Chen Ping’an nodded. Bhaisajyaguru (Medicine Buddha) had twelve great vows, the second of which was the Vow to Illuminate All Beings with Bodily Light.

“I vow that in my next life, when I attain enlightenment, my body will be like lapis lazuli, clear and pure within and without, flawless, radiating boundless light, possessing immeasurable merit, serene and stable, adorned with radiant nets surpassing the sun and moon; may all beings in the dark realms be illuminated, enabled to go wherever they please, and to accomplish all undertakings.”

“A thousand-year-old dark room is instantly illuminated by a single lamp.”

The small bald head crossed his arms, huffing and puffing, “‘Praying to the Bodhisattva is effective,’ these were your own words when you were little, but what do you think now that you’re grown up? Looking back, were your mountain herb gathering and medicine brewing effective or not? Doesn’t that count as sincerity bringing about results?”

Chen Ping’an gently hummed in agreement.

The small bald head rode away on the dragon, grumbling. Chen Ping’an endured it all, remaining silent for a long time. When he stood up, he looked at his reflection in the water, muttering to himself, “Greatest Ku Shou is oneself?”

Then, Chen Ping’an’s face turned ashen, “Are those bastards courting death?!”
Chen Ping’an’s consciousness swiftly retreated from the Mustard Seed World, barely giving him time to exchange words with Ning Yao. He immediately executed a Spatial Shrinking Step, heading straight for that immortal inn, shattering the surrounding mountain and river enchantments with a forceful punch.

One slip-up, and these fellows might just attract another “Chen Ping’an.”

Pure, like a deity incarnate.