The old scholar hastily tucked the handful of melon seeds into his sleeve, striding towards the pair. Yet, he spoke not first to his prized disciple, but turned to Ning Yao, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Ning girl,” he chuckled, “you must bear with this restless fellow. Should the day arrive when you feel wronged, cast aside all thought of right and wrong, and never, ever believe it to be your own failing. Do not question if you are making too much of it. Instead, come directly to me and lodge your complaint. As Master Chen Ping An’s teacher, I will surely scold him, showing no favoritism to the lad!”

It was said that in all the heavens, only if Ning Yao and Chen Ping An were to quarrel would the elder not side with his own student.

For in the tapestry of mortal affairs, the line between good and ill often lay as thin as a single word, capable of twisting fate’s hand.

In the heat of anger, a single, regretted harsh word could wound deeply, while in quieter moments, a few consoling, albeit meaningless, words could mend a heart.

The closer the bond, the more easily one assumed their actions were justified, that all things should be understood without speaking.

Yet, it was precisely when one expected another to comprehend all that they understood nothing.

Ning Yao nodded, a smile playing on her lips. “Very well. I shall learn the art of complaining from a certain someone.”

For many believed Ning Yao’s talent with the sword was so great, she was destined for the vibrant land across the sea, a peerless champion without question. Any great feat she accomplished would come as no surprise.

She was the unyielding pillar of that Ascended City.

With time, she might even be hailed as the next Chen Qingdu, walking the path of the sword.

The old scholar, however, saw things differently.

He perceived in the young woman before him simply a junior, yearning for a chance to complain, but finding none to hear her pleas.

Ning Yao excused herself, mentioning she might withdraw into seclusion for a day or two.

In her journey of cultivation, such periods of withdrawal were rare, countable on a single hand.

Only then did the old scholar grasp Chen Ping An’s hand, patting the back of his disciple’s hand with a gentle smile, uttering a single, heartfelt sound. “Heh.”

He Shou, the stalwart protector of the Great Wall of Swords, had swiftly relayed the matter of the five sword cultivators challenging the Moon-Bearing Mountain to the Literary Temple, and Mao Xiaodong wasted no time in informing his master.

Now, Mao Xiaodong served as the Scribe of the Records in the Literary Academy, a position second only to the Academy’s High Priest, a position of great authority.

Chen Ping An made no attempt to conceal his weariness from his teacher, yet his eyes remained bright, returning a “Heh” with a smile.

Few understood that in the art of engraving, the sound “heh” echoed the silence of agreement.

Once, the old scholar had inadvertently caused a minor embarrassment, having neglected his reading of miscellaneous texts in his younger days. Lacking a broad understanding of subjects beyond the teachings of the sages, he stumbled upon a beautifully carved seal in a bookshop bearing the single character “heh.” He mistakenly believed the seal’s creator, some academy master, to be a man of great humor, only to discover, upon visiting him at his academy after his own apotheosis at the Literary Temple, that he was a stern, unsmiling traditionalist.

The old scholar drew Chen Ping An to a long bench by the doorway, retrieving another handful of melon seeds and sharing half with his disciple. As they cracked and chewed, he began, “Your teacher cannot offer much assistance, save for a visit to the Fallen Mountain. All was well by then, alas. I met with Zheng Juzhong. The selection of a site for the Fallen Mountain’s sub-sect in the Tongye Continent proceeds as planned.”

Chen Ping An was surprised, words halting on his tongue.

The old scholar smiled. “It makes me happy to be of even a little help.”

Chen Ping An nodded, saying no more.

The old scholar chuckled. “That Dongshan lad suffered a setback in his reunion with Zheng Juzhong. It angered him, but at least he showed a spark of youth. He humbly asked for my help in negotiating with his master, hoping to become the first sect leader of the Fallen Mountain’s sub-sect. That means you must explain things to Cao Qinglang.”

Earlier, during their return to Fallen Mountain from Zheng Yang Mountain, a consensus had been reached aboard the dragon-boat ferry. Whether the second branch of Fallen Mountain, complete with its ancestral hall, was a formal “sub-sect” or simply a “down-mountain” establishment lacking the Literary Temple’s recognition, Cao Qinglang would be its first leader. Mi Yu, Zhong Qiu, Cui Wei, and Sui Youbian would reside and cultivate there, while Cui Dongshan and Pei Qian would offer assistance for a few years. The former would keep a close watch on the Golden Summit Temple and the Ten Thousand Jade Sect of the Three Mountain Blessed Land, while the latter would maintain relations with the Azure Tiger Palace and the Pusan Hermitage.

Chen Ping An said, “That was my initial intention as well, but I saw that Dongshan wasn’t interested, so I stepped back.”

His initial plan was to have the immortal Cui Dongshan lead the sub-sect, avoiding any disputes over titles with the Literary Temple, and making the appointment more official.

This would also benefit Cao Qinglang, allowing him to gain experience under Cui Dongshan’s guidance for a few years, honing his understanding of human relationships, cultivating his realm, and building connections both on and off the mountain. When the time was right, Cao Qinglang could become the second sect leader. Otherwise, Chen Ping An feared he might be pushing the young man too fast. Despite Cao Qinglang’s steadiness and resilience, Chen Ping An, as his teacher, still felt a pang of concern, seeing him as too young to shoulder such a responsibility. What would become of Cao Qinglang’s studies? Would he ever travel the world with his friends, seeing the wonders of the land?

But Cui Dongshan had been unwilling, and Chen Ping An would never force his student against his will.

Now, with Cui Dongshan eager to take the reins, all obstacles seemed to vanish.

Even though he trusted Cao Qinglang not to dwell on it, Chen Ping An would still explain everything. It would only take a pot of wine and a few words.

After all, Fallen Mountain had never engaged in the courtly custom of speaking in riddles, leaving others to guess at one’s meaning. Everything was laid bare.

The old scholar glanced at the spider resting on Chen Ping An’s shoulder, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “And this fellow Daoist?”

Chen Ping An explained in a whisper before speaking aloud. “Xiao Mo, this is my teacher. You may show yourself here. There is no need for restraint.”

A snow-white spider, no larger than a copper coin, leapt forward from Chen Ping An’s shoulder. Upon landing, it transformed into a young man dressed in hemp robes, a yellow hat, and green shoes. He bowed to the old scholar. “Xiao Mo greets the Sage of Letters.”

The old scholar stood, nodding vigorously. “Joy descends from the heavens, a blessing upon the world! This is a good omen, a good omen!”

Since his teacher had risen to greet their guest, Chen Ping An had no choice but to follow suit.

This was, after all, a peak Ascension Realm sword cultivator from the “Myriad” generation.

As the old scholar gazed at Xiao Mo with a gentle smile, Xiao Mo studied the slender, diminutive scholar in return.

Both maintained a respectful, direct gaze.

In Xiao Mo’s eyes, the elder appeared far older than his true years, especially compared to most mountain cultivators.

This indicated two possibilities: either he had begun his cultivation late, or he had simply chosen not to alter his appearance upon reaching a realm where he could shed his mortal coil.

Friend Lu had spoken of his master’s identity, the Sage of Letters, the fourth seat in the Confucian Literary Temple.

He might not be a great warrior, but his knowledge must be vast.

With his gift of divination, Xiao Mo realized the Sage of Letters had merged with the land’s vital energies, specifically those of the continents of Poso, Tongye, and Fuyu.

No wonder he was worthy of being his master’s teacher.

It wasn’t about the Fourteenth Realm, but about the Sage of Letters’ deliberate choice of these three continents as the sites of his merging with the land, each bearing the scars of a devastating war.

Yet, the notion of him not being a great warrior was merely Xiao Mo’s limited perspective, referring solely to his perceived lack of killing power.

After all, Xiao Mo’s peers, among sword cultivators alone, included Chen Qingdu, the Dragon Lord, and Yuan Xiang, a close associate of the First Ancestor of the Military School.

However, one true scholar had left a profound impression on Xiao Mo, a beloved disciple of the Saintly Teacher himself, adorned with tall hat and flowing ribbons, towering in stature, and a master of the sword.

The old scholar said, “Xiao Mo, if you encounter any relentless rogues, simply invoke my name. If that fails, you may then reveal your status as a guardian of Fallen Mountain.”

For now, it was unwise to register this ancient barbarian sword cultivator with the Literary Temple or announce his arrival to the world.

The old scholar simply needed to inform the Vice-Sage and the three High Priests of the Literary Temple. It was no trouble at all. This Xiao Mo had slumbered for millennia beneath the Radiant Moon, only recently awakened, and had played no part in the ancient conflicts between the two realms. He was as pure as a newborn. The old scholar was already formulating his strategy for claiming credit for his discovery with the Literary Temple.

Perhaps he would suggest inviting a few High Priests to attend the upcoming sub-sect opening ceremony as a show of support, and then slyly ask, “Shouldn’t we send at least one Senior Priest along? What do you all think?”

Xiao Mo nodded, then bowed. “Xiao Mo dare not associate with the Sage of Letters as an equal. My lord warned me to adopt the customs of this land, to follow the rules, and to respect the proper order of things.”

“Furthermore, I am not yet a guardian of Fallen Mountain, merely a sworn protector by his side.”

“Finally, it is Xiao Mo’s honor to meet the Sage of Letters, a man of vast learning yet approachable and kind.”

The old scholar suppressed a smile, glancing at his disciple beside him.

Where had he found such a polite, proper, and old-fashioned treasure? He could have mistaken him for a virtuous scholar from some academy.

Chen Ping An understood the unspoken message. He smiled at Xiao Mo. “What my teacher says holds more weight than what I say, Xiao Mo. That is also a custom of this land, a matter of precedence. Since my teacher deems you a guardian, then from this moment forth, you are a recognized guardian of Fallen Mountain. If my teacher offers you friendship, you must accept it graciously.”

The old scholar stroked his beard, his heart warmed, like a pot of mulled wine simmering in the winter chill, with a splash of eggs and a dash of ginger, shared around a crackling fire.

Of course, the most heartwarming thing was the word “shared”. One could sit alone, but it took at least three or two people to truly share.

Xiao Mo hesitated.

During his conversations with Friend Lu at the Great Wall of Swords, he had learned that his lord had three unwavering habits. First, he had always revered his teachers, earning him the affection of his elders. Second, he enjoyed playing the role of a benevolent benefactor, making friends wherever he went.

Lastly, he was fond of keeping records, as Friend Lu insisted. If he didn’t believe it, all he had to do was meet his lord’s first disciple in the capital of Great Li to see for himself.

There were two long benches by the doorway. The old scholar gestured invitingly. “Xiao Mo, let us sit and chat.”

Chen Ping An suggested, “Teacher, perhaps we should find a place for a drink?”

The old scholar inquired, “Are you able to drink?”

Chen Ping An smiled. “My realm rises with the wine.”

The old scholar nodded. “Then let us go to the ‘Human Cloud’ Restaurant. It is nearby.”

Had Xiao Mo not been present, the old scholar would have taken his prized disciple straight to the Fire God’s Temple to join Senior Feng. There was a flower trellis, and the place was nice and shady.

As for mooching, the old scholar could swear on his life that he and his disciple were not that kind of people. Anyone who dared say otherwise could step forward, and the old scholar would return every drop of wine to their faces.

As they walked down the alley, Liu Jia, an old cultivator, was sharing wine with his disciple, Zhao Duanming, in his small mountain and water dojo.

Spotting the three figures approaching, Liu Jia immediately deactivated the dojo’s barrier, bowing respectfully to the Sage of Letters, with whom the old cultivator had grown quite familiar.

Chen Ping An introduced, “This is Xiao Mo, with the ‘Mo’ of unfamiliarity. He is a guardian of Fallen Mountain.”

Liu Jia nodded stoically, waving them through. He had the intention of preventing anyone from passing, if necessary, but they were the Sage of Letters with his party, after all.

The old cultivator hesitated, then couldn’t resist whispering, “Lord Chen?”

Chen Ping An stopped, asking, “Is there something?”

The old cultivator seemed reluctant to speak, but finally mustered the courage. “There won’t be any more outsiders passing through here recently, will there?”

He needed a break.

Chen Ping An smiled. “How can I guarantee such a thing? I don’t control the legs of others. But I will be leaving the capital soon.”

Liu Jia breathed a sigh of relief.

The old cultivator glanced at the young man in the yellow hat and green shoes.

Xiao Mo smiled and nodded.

Chen Ping An whispered, “After I leave, remember to tidy up Master Cui’s residence.”

It was a reminder to the old cultivator that he could “collect books” after Chen Ping An departed from Great Li’s capital.

Chen Ping An did not claim to have mastered the art of lightning, but he was making good progress.

Just consider the Lightning Formation he had witnessed at the Old Dragon City battlefield ruins and had practiced time and again at Moon-Bearing Mountain, steadily improving his skill.

Liu Jia’s face flushed, then he asked, “Lord Chen, have you already gathered enough material for a book on lightning? Did you happen to meet a noble figure from the Heavenly Master’s Residence on your travels? How can that be?”

According to their earlier agreement, Lord Chen would have to visit the Heavenly Master’s Residence on Mount Dragon-Tiger during his travels through the central lands, meet his friend there, and borrow books to compile a proper manual on lightning. Then, the book would be accidentally left behind in the Human Cloud Restaurant, where Liu Jia would casually find it, flip through a few pages, and pass on the teachings to his disciple, who had been struck by lightning a few times. Liu Jia had even prepared his explanation: that he had been drunk one night and dreamt of ancient Lightning Ministries, where a god had imparted the secrets of lightning to him.

The more Liu Jia thought about it, the more suspicious he became. With his straightforward nature, he blurted out, “Chen Ping An, don’t tell me you’ve had second thoughts and find the matter too difficult. You couldn’t borrow a lightning manual from Mount Dragon-Tiger, and now you’re just throwing a few mountain lightning incantations together to fool me! I won’t allow it. I know nothing about lightning, and I’d rather not teach Duanming anything than lead him astray!”

Chen Ping An explained, “Don’t worry. This lightning manual that I’ve written will be of high quality. It won’t lead anyone astray. Zhao Duanming only needs to cultivate according to its instructions, and he won’t go wrong. If there are any flaws, feel free to block my door and curse me out!”

Liu Jia laughed, “You’re joking with me, Chen Ping An! How long has it been? You’ve already figured out a profound art of lightning? Let’s just forget about it. You don’t need to feel embarrassed. Besides, I could never bring myself to curse anyone out.”

Did he think he was the noble from the Heavenly Master’s Residence, or the Grand Heavenly Master from Mount Dragon-Tiger?

For a moment, Chen Ping An was taken aback. It had only been a single trip to the barbarian lands, thanks to the Sage of Rites, and Lu Chen’s mountain runes. In terms of time, it wasn’t long, but as he reflected, it felt like another lifetime. Two versions of himself, one traversing half the barbarian lands, the other traveling the length of the Jewel Bottle Continent. He had met so many people and experienced so many things.

Xiao Mo suddenly spoke. “My lord is highly skilled in the art of lightning.”

Liu Jia was stunned, since he had been communicating with Chen Ping An telepathically due to his disciple’s presence.

Chen Ping An smiled. “There’s no rush. I’ll visit Mount Dragon-Tiger in the central lands, and then I’ll divide the book into two volumes. You can choose which one you want.”

Liu Jia nodded. “Lord Chen is always so steady and reliable.”

The matter was settled.

As they approached the residence’s doorway, Xiao Mo whispered, “Lord, isn’t that cultivator a bit rude?”

Chen Ping An smiled. “Teachers and masters are all the same. They worry too much. There’s no reasoning with them.”

The old scholar stroked his beard and smiled. “Indeed.”

At the mouth of the alley, the boy suddenly said, “Master, Master Chen seems like a different person.”

Liu Jia turned to look at the azure-robed sword immortal, but he shook his head. He didn’t think so.

They reached the book tower and sat down at the stone table in the courtyard. Chen Ping An took out three jugs of wine and three flower goblets.

Xiao Mo rose to take the jugs and cups. After they sat down, he suddenly recalled something. “That female sword immortal named Lu Zhi has a very strong killing intent. Her eyes… they’re unsettling.”

Chen Ping An said, “Lu Zhi isn’t targeting you. That’s just her personality. She and I are both outsiders, but she’s always considered the Great Wall of Swords to be her home. When she reaches the Ascension Realm, she’ll be one of the deadliest, and her killing intent will be even stronger.”

If Lu Zhi could completely refine her natal flying sword, the Northern Dipper, and carefully refine the eight swords in her sword box, she, who was skilled in offense but weak in defense, would become well-rounded.

Like talisman for Xuan, Grand Heavenly Master of Mount Dragon-Tiger, Fire Dragon True Man.

Lu Zhi might even surpass Qi Tingji in her achievements with the sword.

Not that she would “definitely,” but even the possibility was remarkable.

Xiao Mo said frankly, “Besides being a sword cultivator, I can also be considered a formation master in the language of this land. The only other thing I’m good at is weaving robes. That’s all.”

Being proficient in just one of those skills would be enough to make one a sought-after guardian or guest elder on any mountain.

The old scholar interjected with a “Hmm,” finding the phrasing familiar. Then, he realized it was his own secret for getting drinks.

Xiao Mo raised a hand, revealing a collection of green bamboo tubes of varying heights and thicknesses, some small and charming, numbering fifty or sixty. Some contained lengths of “fabric” rolled up within, while others held completed robes, shrunken and stored within the bamboo.

Xiao Mo said, “According to the rules of this land, one must bring gifts when visiting a sect. Please distribute these for me, my lord. I am only a protector, and I cannot act too conspicuously, lest I leave clues for others to find. These robes were woven long ago, before I fell into slumber beneath the Radiant Moon, when I was bored. They are of low quality. By the standards of this land, they wouldn’t even qualify as semi-divine treasures.”

Before Xiao Mo fell into slumber, he left behind six cave veins in the barbarian lands. According to his lord’s calculations, only one sect-level cave in the southern barbarian lands resembled an ancient vein of ten thousand years. The others had either vanished over time or been transformed. For example, some of the weaving techniques in the Golden Emerald City clearly originated with Xiao Mo, but it did not mean the Golden Emerald City was his lineage. It was likely that one of his caves had been absorbed. In the barbarian lands, that meant there was no connection at all between Xiao Mo and the lineages.

The old scholar took a sip of wine, making a slurping sound, and said nothing.

Chen Ping An sighed. “Did Lu Chen teach you that? That you need a token to get through the door when visiting a sect?”

Xiao Mo smiled. “My lord is divinely prescient.”

Between the direct disciples and guardians of Fallen Mountain, they would have more than enough robes.

As for the uniforms woven by the female cultivators of the Colorful Bird Abode, they were not suitable for the cultivators of Fallen Mountain to wear.

But that did not mean Chen Ping An could accept such a heavy gift. He refused. “Xiao Mo, when you fulfill your promise and are free to leave Fallen Mountain, if you still want to give it to me, I won’t stop you. Until then, we won’t talk about it.”

Xiao Mo turned to the old scholar.

The old scholar smiled. “Xiao Mo, listen to your lord. This land has its rules, but each mountain also has its own customs, and they are not so rigid.”

Xiao Mo turned his hand over and put away the bamboo tubes of robes.

The second Hall of Ancestors meeting at Serenity Peak was the opening ceremony for the establishment of Fallen Mountain.

There were forty-three members of the Hall of Ancestors and thirty-six guests.

After the ceremony, Chen Ping An took the opportunity to add a group of guest elders to Fallen Mountain.

Shao Yunyan and Madame Rouge from the Dragon Elephant Sword Sect of the southern Poso Continent.

The old True Man Huan Yun, who served as a guardian of Cloud Citadel. Xie Songhua, a female sword immortal from Snowy Continent. Liu Zhiqing, a nascent soul sword cultivator from the Golden Crow Palace.

Li Fuchu, the second seat of the True Mirror Sect. Wei Jin, a Great Sword Immortal of the Wind and Snow Temple. Yuan Lingdian of the Pointing Mystery Peak.

And Chen Li, a sword cultivator with the nickname “Little Hermit” from Floating Duckweed Sword Lake.

In the Literary Temple, Fallen Mountain had taken in a new guardian, the old sword cultivator Yu Yue, who was currently at Fallen Mountain. It was up to the elder’s ability and the children’s fate to bring in one or two sword immortal buds.

At the Great Wall of Swords, they had added Cao Jun.

It was said on the mountain:

The number and realm of guardians reflected the depth of a celestial sect’s foundation.

And guest elders demonstrated how wide the road to the Hall of Ancestors was.

The old scholar began to discuss more serious matters. “Ping An, have you considered something? Why is it that妖族修士, especially those, like Xiao Mo, who have lived for ten thousand or several thousand years, reaching the Ascension Realm early on, haven’t even a single of one, beyond the one who took on the name Lu Fayan, actually made it into the Fourteenth Realm?”

At this point, the old scholar raised his glass. “Brother Xiao Mo, I’m speaking objectively. Please don’t mind my directness. I’ll punish myself with a drink…”

Xiao Mo quickly held up his glass with both hands, leaning forward with a sincere and earnest expression. “Sage of Letters, you speak plainly, and bright people say bright things. You obviously consider Xiao Mo to be one of your own. Whether it’s a cup or a bowl, there’s only drinking straight in the world, and there are no crooked words at the table. Without further ado, I’ll down this. Sage of Letters, feel free to drink at your own pace.”

Xiao Mo tilted his head back, and the glass was empty.

Chen Ping An was helpless.

Where did he learn these social customs and table manners?

Was it really necessary to remind Xiao Mo to adapt to the customs of the land?

The old scholar refilled his glass. “For Brother Xiao Mo’s understanding, I must drink another one.”

Chen Ping An reminded him, “Teacher, this is our own wine. Drink slowly.”

He was reminding his teacher that since it was their own wine, even if he punished himself with a jug, it wouldn’t be taking advantage of anyone.

Only when drinking someone else’s wine did the amount, speed, and manner of drinking become a matter of etiquette.

But the real reason was that neither the teacher nor Chen Ping An himself could drink too much or too quickly at the moment.

The old scholar tugged at his beard, looking disappointed.

Chen Ping An suddenly whispered, “Senior Feng seems to have a hundred jars of hundred-flower brew.”

The old scholar slapped his thigh. “Before leaving the Jewel Bottle Continent, I must say goodbye to Senior Feng!”

Chen Ping An nodded. “I’ll accompany you.”

The old scholar continued, “Although merging with the Dao is extremely difficult, that is true. And it is also true that many, like Xiao Mo, need to heal their injuries by sleeping. But the ancient thrones, did they lack talent in cultivation?”

Chen Ping An nodded. The Moon-Bearing Mountain Grand Ancestor’s first disciple, the cultivation talent of the original murderer was truly exceptional.

The natural advantage of妖族真身 tenacity also brought a後天 advantage. However, there existed a threshold between them: whether one could cultivate or not.

It was far more difficult for妖族 to begin cultivation than for the human race, but once they successfully transformed,妖族 cultivators would have far longer lifespans than humans at the same level.

It was as if it were some kind of compensation from the Dao.

Xiao Mo put down his glass and said softly, “It’s Bai Ze.”

The old scholar sighed and nodded. “That’s right. It’s because of Brother Bai Ze’s existence.”

Bai Ze possessed the true names of all妖族 cultivators. That was Bai Ze’s natal power. They didn’t need to be told. As soon as they successfully transformed and had a true name, it would be “recorded” by Bai Ze.

The old scholar glanced at Xiao Mo.

Xiao Mo smiled. “We can’t beat him, and we can’t steal it. We’ve long accepted our fate. Not just me, but all of my peers who chose to sleep and heal their injuries.”

In fact, Xiao Mo had fought Bai Ze, not once, but twice.

Once because he didn’t think Bai Ze looked like someone who could fight.

And once because he learned that Bai Ze was preparing to help that little master create a cauldron on the peak of the land, to engrave countless妖族真名 upon it.

That was why Xiao Mo had made his trip to the Radiant Moon.

The old scholar revealed the truth. “In fact, Bai Ze is also in a difficult position. He can’t just return the true names to whomever he wants.”

That was probably the only thing in Bai Ze’s cultivation that could be called a lack of freedom.

That meant that the land and the central Literary Temple were in a similar predicament.

If Bai Ze were to die, then the barbarian lands’ Ascension Realm大妖 would be as if they had lost a gate. Bai Ze’s existence was like an insurmountable barrier for all Ascension Realm大妖. Only those who gained some kind of recognition from the Dao could ascend to the Fourteenth Realm. Once Bai Ze was gone, it would be as if they had lost some kind of Dao restriction.

If Bai Ze did not die, and the two lands continued their mutual attacks, the more慘烈 the barbarian妖族 suffered, the closer Bai Ze would get to the Fifteenth Realm. Bai Ze’s combat power would become an unprecedented and unsurpassed Fourteenth Realm.

In short, Bai Ze at that time, due to the size of killing intent, could be seen as a Chen Qingdu unbound by the Great Wall of Swords.

The old scholar turned to look at Xiao Mo. “Xiao Mo, this land is not like your home, and the world today is not like it was ten thousand years ago. Getting used to the customs of this land might take some getting used to at first, but I believe you’ll become more familiar and relaxed with it.”

Xiao Mo nodded. “I haven’t seen much in this land yet, so I can’t be sure that the world after ten thousand years is much better than the world before ten thousand years, but I am willing to trust my lord and the Sage of Letters.”

The old scholar was very pleased. For Xiao Mo to be so reasonable, it would be a pity if he didn’t go to Fallen Mountain.

Chen Ping An slowly drank his wine.

In the capital, besides that personal feud, he also needed to invite Guan Yiran for a drink.

And to visit the bookstore with Xun Qu, Cao Qinglang’s fellow scholar from the imperial examinations, a young official from the Court of State Ceremonial.

He might also visit Su Gaoshan’s residence in the capital, not necessarily to meet anyone, say anything, or do anything.

Then, he would say goodbye to his teacher and take Ning Yao, Pei Qian, and Cao Qinglang south to return to Fallen Mountain. He had to visit Yang’s shop.

Mi Li said that Zhang Shanfeng had gone to find Xu Yuanxia, since he wasn’t on the mountain, and said he would wait for him there.

So, before going to the Tongye Continent, Chen Ping An would go to Xianyou County in Qingyuan and have a drink.

Back at Fallen Mountain, the old sword cultivator Yu Yue was still waiting for him, because Yu Yue could pick out sword embryos and take them as disciples. According to Mi Li, he was making progress.

Chen Ping An wouldn’t feel disappointed if the nine sword embryos only left a few behind to cultivate at Fallen Mountain. He would let fate decide.

After that, it would be time to select a site and establish the sect in the Tongye Continent. The group could take the ferry “Wind Kite” from the Xuanmi Dynasty on a long journey across the continent, and also test out a relatively safe trade route for the ferry.

Once they reached the Tongye Continent, Chen Ping An would need to go to the Daquan Dynasty to meet General Yao.

After the sub-sect was settled, he originally intended to ask Liu Jinglong to travel through the central lands with him. Now that he had fallen in realm, it would definitely be delayed for some time. Chen Ping An would also focus on refining his natal item and cultivating as a修士, aiming to return to the Jade Purity Realm and then find Liu Jinglong at the Taihui Sword Sect.

There were countless big and small matters.

But none of them were too difficult.

Back at Fallen Mountain’s gate, after the old scholar and Zheng Juzhong left, the big white goose, the blue-robed child, and the black-robed girl looked at each other.

Chen Lingjun wasn’t stupid. Seeing how polite the old scholar was to that man, he immediately knew that he had screwed up again.

Chen Lingjun drooped his head, looking sick and dispirited. “Why did that man leave behind such a strange, nonsensical remark before leaving, saying that his master had condescended?”

Mi Li grinned. “That’s Mr. Zheng being polite to Jingqing.”

Alas, Jingqing’s little head wasn’t too bright.

He always wanted to recommend Jingqing to some martial arts sect, but it had to be an extremely hidden and exclusive branch of the Bamboo Tower.

He had mentioned it twice before, but Warm Tree never agreed, and Pei Qian’s attitude was ambiguous, so he had to keep putting it off.

Chen Lingjun whispered to Cui Dongshan, “Who is that man? You must know his identity. Tell me?”

He didn’t want to scare Mi Li.

Cui Dongshan was absent-minded. He waved his hand. “You don’t need to know. Just know that his surname is Zheng.”

The old scholar was still very powerful.

Only he could change Bai Ze’s mind, and then Zheng Juzhong’s mind.

He would give him face.

But Cui Dongshan was unhappy.

Chen Lingjun raised a sleeve and wiped the table, aggrieved. “What’s the use of knowing his surname is Zheng? It’s definitely not Zheng Juzhong.”

Cui Dongshan rolled his eyes.

Chen Lingjun was too lazy to think about it. He smiled and asked, “Brother Cui, what are you thinking about?”

Cui Dongshan said, “I’m thinking about the name of the sub-sect.”

Chen Lingjun lightly slapped the table. “That’s ridiculous. Lord is best at naming things. What are you doing? Do you think you’re the sect leader of the sub-sect?”

Cui Dongshan nodded seriously. “I am.”

Chen Lingjun laughed. “Mi Li, do you think that’s a funny joke?”

Mi Li scratched her face and didn’t say anything.

Cui Dongshan’s mood suddenly improved. The lord had traveled to the barbarian lands and accomplished so many things.

He had become different, very different.

Although he had fallen in realm, it didn’t matter. He had only lost realm, but his heart had soared.

Cui Dongshan could imagine the situation even without seeing Lord in the capital.

The previous lord:

You can try it.

The current lord:

Talk to me nicely.