**(Please note: In this rewrite, I’ve focused on creating a vivid, fantastical atmosphere while adhering to the original plot points.)**

The script faltered, the ink blurring on the page as if smudged by a regretful sigh.

Just as Little Mo was about to unleash his sword, a mournful whisper echoed through the void, like the rustling of leaves in a long-forgotten forest, heavy with the scent of decay. “It truly is you.”

Little Mo waited, his hand steady on the hilt. Moments later, the voice returned, a shade fainter. “Turn back, both of you. This reunion serves no purpose.”

A cold smile touched Little Mo’s lips. Without deigning to acknowledge the presence of the ancient being he’d glimpsed only a handful of times, he advanced, his grip tightening on his blade. “The young master simply needs follow me. Within half an incense stick’s time, you shall behold their true form.”

With a flick of his wrist, Little Mo plunged his sword into the barren earth. The desolate expanse, utterly devoid of color, rippled and shifted, like a timeworn scroll slowly uncurling, revealing hues of antique gold.

Chen Ping An knew the purpose of Little Mo’s blade. It served as a temporary haven within the River of Time, a lodestone in the temporal tides. No matter the sorcery or might of the being who lurked here, Little Mo could, through sheer force of will and the threads of his own essence, locate this self-made temporal sanctuary. Each subsequent thrust of the sword would act as a lifeline, a thin cord tethering them to their target. After taking a dozen steps, Little Mo flicked out another blade. This was the first time Chen Ping An had seen Little Mo wield his power since the fateful battle beneath the Pale Moon.

The sword-light did not travel in a straight line, but danced and weaved like a silken thread upon the wind, stretching out for leagues beyond counting.

Little Mo continued his assault, each strike a casual gesture, yet each carrying a weight of arcane power greater than the last.

Such was the nature of a single, “unintentional” strike from a Sword Cultivator at the very pinnacle of Ascension.

The rules of this miniature world proved peculiar indeed. Little Mo’s blades of light coalesced and lingered, yet in Chen Ping An’s eyes, their paths vanished, seeming to fold and bend into unseen dimensions, diverging down silent, branching paths.

Little Mo’s thoughts reached Chen Ping An, a whisper in the mind’s ear: “Young master, these divergent paths are akin to the roots of a tung tree or the veins of its leaves. Fear not, for even here, the realm has limits. I have encountered stranger places in my travels.”

Chen Ping An nodded, patient as the mountains.

Once more, the voice echoed in their minds. “If we are old acquaintances, why the need for battle?”

Little Mo, sword still in hand, laughed, a sound like the cracking of ice. “I intend to test how many hundreds, nay thousands, of strikes this little realm can withstand.”

With each blade driven into the earth, the accumulated sword-qi and intent would swell, until the light could pierce this prison like a thorn through silk.

Then, and only then, would come the true Sword-Questioning.

It was widely accepted that beasts and spirits of the earth faced immense challenges in their cultivation. Awakening was difficult, and progress slow. Their sole advantage lay in longevity, especially for beings of plant life. Reaching the upper five stages of power granted them an age far exceeding most mortals. However, when it came to natural talent, Little Mo felt no shame in arrogance. Compared to his own prowess as a swordsman, these spirits were worlds apart. Even if he were to slumber for millennia, adding tens of thousands of years to their lifespan, it would avail them naught.

Treat me with respect, and I shall be even more courteous. Refuse to do so, and I shall repay you with the edge of my blade.

The old cart driver from the capital, Ghost Immortal Yu Jin, was a courteous soul.

Having long embraced the customs of the Jade World, Little Mo found that the adage “never strike a smiling face” chafed at his patience.

After one hundred strikes, Little Mo manipulated one stream of sword-light with his will, causing it to writhe and thrash upon a single path, scattering luminescence in every direction, a miniature star-river collapsing in on itself.

The voice was silent for a moment, before it finally conceded. “Chen Ping An, counsel your companion. If this sword-light damages the heart of this place, it will stain the land and water luck of the entire Tung Leaf Continent, making its restoration all the more difficult.”

Chen Ping An remained composed. “Better to risk some damage than be given the cold shoulder and return home without so much as a glimpse of your face. The matter rests not on what we do, but on your willingness to parley. You know as well as I that your ‘restoration’ is but a facade. The descendants of Tung Leaf will pay dearly for the debts you leave behind. As a guardian of the Celestial Way, you remain aloof, for these consequences do not affect your own practice. So long as the overall quantity of ‘one’ remains unchanged, you will have fulfilled your duty to this world, and, in three to five hundred years, the academies and cultivators, the dynasties below the mountain, and I will have repaired the land, you will have survived the calamity and attained perfection. My means are of the Human Way, repairing these deficiencies. The more we tarry, the more difficult it will become. And with your pact with the academies now severed, you seek to assume the mantle of the ancient Dragon Sea Watchmaster, becoming the ephemeral master of this continent, a goal that will make it impossible for me to find you.

The voice did not deny it. “Indeed. I soon must seclude myself and devote my attention to Great Daos, seeking the path that leads to the Fourteenth Realm.”

Evidently, Chen Ping An had struck a nerve.

Little Mo was angered by this news and felt that the moniker of “Daoist Friend” was nothing but an insult.

And so, he unleashed a flurry of dozens of strikes, beams of light that filled the golden realm with a blinding white radiance.

Chen Ping An strolled slowly behind Little Mo, then paused, tapping the ground with his foot. He looked down and smiled. “Your repute precedes you. In bygone days, you allied with Sage Li and built the Devil-Suppression Pagoda. I have studied the archives and know you to be a peaceful soul. But you cannot dictate my actions, not when it involves this Continent. I do not have to turn a blind eye or aid you and will not tolerate an overreaching and condescending person who has been cultivating for millennia. Even mud has fire in its belly and I am no mud.

Chen Ping An added with a smile, “If necessary, I shall request that Sage Li move half of Sword Qi Great Wall here.”

“I wonder whether you shall see me enter the Fourteenth Realm, or even have the opportunity to accept or decline my offer.”

“I think not.”

The voice was laced with irritation. “The academies promised me that, after the calamity, the pact would be broken, and even the Sages dwelling here would not hinder my cultivation.”

Should this youth actually take such action, finding the path to the Fourteenth Realm in seclusion would be difficult, a feat that would be blocked.

And should such a fate befall them, they would be in a battle to the death, a clash of Daos that would never end.

“Chen Ping An! Are you not a disciple of Literary Saint, a man of the academies?!”

Chen Ping An shook his head. “I cannot speak for the academies nor can they speak for me.”

“To hinder my efforts to repair the continent, is to challenge me to a Sword-Questioning.”

“I am not joking. Do not take this as such.”

The voice was now infuriated. “The Most Sage Teacher himself visited this place and wished me a smooth cultivation!”

Chen Ping An remained impassive. “In this matter, I fear I must disappoint the Sage.”

The voice was stunned into silence.

Literary Saint himself would not say such a thing! A madman who dared to disobey the Great Sage Teacher! What a waste of potential, those swordsmen always had the same terrible temper.

Little Mo smiled.

After a long silence, the voice, now strained, spoke with a hint of pleading. “I trust Sage Li, but I do not trust you.”

Little Mo narrowed his eyes. “I have consulted the calendar. Today is inauspicious for moving earth, entombment, building hearths, planting, or burial. However, it is auspicious for venturing forth, felling trees, raising beams, building houses, and forming alliances.”

Chen Ping An stepped forward and lightly touched Little Mo’s arm, motioning for him to not draw his sword. He stood side-by-side with Little Mo and said with a smile, “I understand your situation. The souls that sprouted in this broken land are important to you. You cannot favour one over the other. For you, the world is a temporary dwelling, and Great Daos exist everywhere. There is no loyalty, treason, filial piety, or evil.”

The voice continued, “To be precise, I do not trust swordsmen who act on a whim and strike without regard.”

After a pause, it added, “I would sooner trust a wandering swordsman who walked into Falcon Stronghold than a Last Hidden Official of Sword Qi Great Wall.”

Chen Ping An smiled. “If you had spoken so candidly earlier, perhaps you wouldn’t have estranged a friend of ten thousand years.”

“Chen Ping An! Your intent to kill is stronger than even ‘Little Mo’’s.”

“Then I shall temper it.”

Before Chen Ping An and Little Mo, a path materialized, resembling a staging post and with darkness on either side. The path had been connected to a realm of empty nothingness, similar to what once existed at Sword Qi Great Wall.

Chen Ping An looked back. White fog obscured the path behind them.

Little Mo frowned. Chen Ping An smiled. “We’re already here. We should stay here for a while.”

Chen Ping An produced a golden talisman, *White Steed Flashing Past Gap,* from the book, *Veritable Records of the Elixir*, given to him by Li Xi Sheng. This particular talisman was a more recent entry.

The talisman hovered to the side of his shoulder.

At the same time, a sundial materialized within the space of his heart, measuring time. Sure enough, time flowed differently within this realm.

Glancing at the rate the talisman was burning, Chen Ping An made a quick calculation. For every year that passed here, only a day would pass in Tung Leaf Continent.

Chen Ping An reminded him, “Regardless of your hospitality, in Tung Leaf time, I must meet you in ten hours and discuss a deal.”

Two donkeys appeared, presumably for them to ride. Chen Ping An smiled. He had no fear of tricks. He mounted one of the donkeys.

In his blue robes, with a sword at his back and a gourd at his waist, Chen Ping An nudged the donkey forwards.

Little Mo shook his wrist. His sword turned into motes of light and flowed into his sleeves. He wore a yellow hat and shoes and clutched a walking stick. He sat atop the donkey.

The space was only black and white. Little Mo looked around, comparing it to an ink wash painting that had been sloppily done.

Little Mo asked, “What about the other sword-lights, young master?”

Chen Ping An grumbled, “What is given, cannot be taken back.”

Little Mo nodded in regret. He should have unleashed more sword-lights.

The painting showed dusk. They soon arrived at a small, lone hill. They stopped at the summit and looked. The paths led to small huts and the like, staging posts. The area was populated by a long train, numbering several thousand, and even included a king’s chariot. Based on the hurried expressions of the officials and ministers, they were fleeing the capital. Chen Ping An plucked out his sword gourd, drank some wine, and his eyes showed a painting of a palace exodus. Only one figure was in colour, the middle-aged man who had a long bamboo tube at his waist. His fingers had calluses, and he strode away from the road, munching on a cake.

Chen Ping An found it interesting that, while the space was originally an ink wash painting, around that man, the perspective changed to a careful fine painting. Every plant and fish seemed to be alive. In the end, it had become an ethereal green landscape, no different to human truth.

Chen Ping An smiled. “We should follow that little heaven.”

In the dusk, the man found a broken hut by a river. It had low eaves and housed a grandmother and her daughter-in-law who had no one else. They sat, weaving baskets.

The grandmother served the man some food, and to show propriety, he slept under the eaves, unable to sleep. Under the moonlight, he produced a manual on chess.

Chen Ping An espied on the chess manual. It had a famous name, even though its repute did not extend to cultivators. The players in the manual had played five matches and it was famous for having “a sick man read five matches.”

Chen Ping An checked the white steed talisman. Its speed had not changed.

Even from above, they saw that there was only that one scene. Perhaps that sage was reminding them that after the first trial, another one would appear, until they had finally met. Was he trying to buy time and seek help from the academies?

Little Mo asked, “Should I check?”

Chen Ping An shook his head. “Let us wait and see what happens.”

Little Mo asked, “Is he a chess official in waiting?”

Chen Ping An nodded. “His chess skills are not weak.”

The man did not seem to be replicating the manual. It seemed that he was playing against himself. His chess skills, if they could be described as such, were not that strong.

In the world, Chen Ping An was very familiar with opening moves and techniques. He could memorise them all. Furthermore, the four in the painting world were all elites except for Wei Hai Liang. Zhu Lian, Lu Bai Xiang, and Sui You Bian were all experts in the Jade World. Furthermore, there was Zheng Da Feng and Mountain Lord Wei Bo.

Currently, Chen Ping An could play well for the first thirty to fifty moves, then he would be exposed.

When he was at the Summer Estate, the Hidden Official liked to call himself a chess noob.

In the house, the grandmother and daughter-in-law were playing chess. There was no board or pieces and their skill was limited.

After all of this, they came to a conclusion in the morning, having only moved forty pieces. The man took out pieces and paper from his tube and set them out on the ground. While listening to the play in the house, he would place his pieces on the board. After the grandmother had won, the man plucked up the courage to knock on the door. After a while, the grandmother and daughter-in-law came out, and the man humbly requested to be taught. The grandmother started cooking and the daughter-in-law, who had not remarried, taught him a bit, before saying that he was invincible.

At that point, she looked outside at the tree.

Chen Ping An pretended to not see it, and the daughter-in-law went to work. The man looked at the hut in regret before turning back.

In an instant, the two were travelling along the river of time, back to the hill.

Little Mo said with a smile, “Do we need to win at chess to be able to progress?”

Chen Ping An nodded. “That should be it. You keep an eye on the chess official, and I shall go to the staging post.

Little Mo followed the man while Chen Ping An went to the foot of the hill, where he came across an official. He approached and chatted with the man, talking about purchasing books. The old man rejected, saying that he had prized them. Chen Ping An waved and knocked the chests to the ground. With another wave, the contents of each book except for the cover was blank.

The vehicles seemed to stop. Chen Ping An shook his head. “This realm is too lacking. It only has skin and bones without flesh and blood. What spirit could there be?”

Chen Ping An had no further interest, so he returned the books to their chests.

He arrived back at the hut as the sky began to lighten. Before the woman could look at him, he pulled Little Mo along, laughing, “not necessarily so.”

He approached the man under the eaves and said with clasped hands, “Could I borrow those pieces and paper?”

He set out a formation that had been used by Cui Chan and Zheng Ju Zhong and invited the man to play with him.

The woman looked at him, speechless. The grandmother said, “Has chess evolved this much?”

Chen Ping An cupped his hands. “The Way of Chess is just like the World.”

The grandmother smiled and the woman glanced at the scholar with a jade pin.

The space disappeared. Each of them received one chess manual.

Little Mo turned his head. “That Daoist Fellow even took the donkeys with him.”

Chen Ping An patted Little Mo’s shoulder, saying, “It is not for nothing that you’re a member of Falling Phoenix Mountain.”

They walked ahead, as a wide road opened before them.

A mounted person brushed past them and disappeared.

Chen Ping An observed that the man was destined to be a high official.

Chen Ping An and Little Mo entered the inn and saw the man asleep, resting on a piece of blue porcelain. Next to him sat an old daoist, who smiled.

Chen Ping An clasped his hand. “May I ask what lies on this road, immortal?”

The old daoist replied, “Han Dan.”

Chen Ping An asked, “Are you sure it does not lead to Inverse Mountain, where they sell Yellow Millet Wine?”

The old daoist considered Chen Ping An. “You have ruined the moment, young man.”

Chen Ping An glanced at the bundle. The old daoist chuckled. “It contains only my discontent and complaints. I will not open it for you, lest it stain you.”

The old daoist looked at the sleeping man, then at the road. “I seek nothing except the meaning of the Book of Tai Ji. I am alone.”

Chen Ping An smiled, got up, stepped back and clasped his hands. “I am Chen Ping An and I greet the ancestor.”

The ancestor waved them down. “How are Liang Shuang of the Middle Continent, Fire Dragon Fellow of the Julo Continent, and Sun of the Great Profound Temple in the Azure Heavens?”

Chen Ping An shook his head.

The old daoist lamented. “The spirit unites the Great Void. The Dao passes beyond the Heavens and the Earth. The Qi contains the mysteries of the Five Elements. The sun and moon are within a square inch.”

Chen Ping An sat down. “Wine surges like the Great River. Men climb Yellow Crane Tower. The principles illuminate the universe. Each has their own path to greatness.”

The old daoist chuckled. “Pour out the pain. Resolve the sorrow.”

Chen Ping An asked, “Does the ancestor have connections to the Yellow Millet kingdom of Jewel Bottle Continent?”

The old daoist nodded. “I am from there. However, I have been travelling since my youth. I spent much more time in the Azure Heavens.”

The old daoist smiled. “If I had gotten involved in the Sword-Questioning, that Chen might not have escaped.”

Chen Ping An did not comment.

Chen Ping An asked, “Have you encountered an old tree spirit?”

The old daoist thought for a moment, then nodded. “I did point out some things to him.”

Chen Ping An had visited the shop on Jade Duck Isle. The companion, Li Huai, had selected a bonsai, a rock with the words “Mountain Immortal” written on it. At the root, there was an old willow tree, which housed a three-inch tree spirit in the Ocean Gazing realm.

Chen Ping An asked, “And the shop?”

The old daoist laughed. “I am old friends with the owner of the shop.”

The man woke up and saw the world around him, the old daoist, and the innkeeper still trying to cook millet. However, there was also a youth and an acolyte.

The man spoke, “I finally know the reasons behind life, love, and death.”

As he was about to leave, Chen Ping An waved his sleeves. Cloudes arose. Before them appeared an old locust tree.

The man thought he was still dreaming. A carriage drove out of the tree. Purple-robed officials bowed before the man, saying that the emperor admired him. The man was tempted, but still dubious. A curtain was raised to show a beautiful woman.

The man fell.

The old daoist laughed. “Wonderful.”

At the same time, Chen Ping An and Little Mo had been moved to another painting and heard the sage say that a sword manual could be found in Yellow Millet Kingdom.

Chen Ping An and Little Mo had arrived in an area wracked by drought. It had not rained for three months.

Chen Ping An wanted to use a water spell, but would be thrown back. He had to walk through the land. Along the way, there were many bones. He gave the starving children food, but it fell straight to the ground.

Chen Ping An sat there for a long time.

Little Mo consoled him. “It is all fake, young master.”

Chen Ping An nodded.

They arrived at a city that had been overrun by bandits.

Within a house where everyone had died, the son looked at his father.

Chen Ping An approached the son. “Fear not, for you have already walked through hell.”

They walked out of the city and arrived at a river where an official was praying for rain while the city was burning the Dragon King.

Chen Ping An cupped some sand and listened to the official, before approaching and rewriting it.

The official hesitated, before reciting it.

Soon, rain fell.

Little Mo said, “I almost could not stop myself from drawing my sword. I hate those that intentionally disgust you, young master.”

Chen Ping An caught a raindrop. “It has nothing to do with your Daoist friend.”

Little Mo said, “To be honest, if this had occurred ten thousand years ago, I would not have felt anything. Now that I am with you, I find that my heart has softened.”

Chen Ping An said, “Becoming a daoist is not necessarily good. Your cultivation rate will slow.”

Chen Ping An and Little Mo arrived in a place inundated by water.

Chen Ping An had transformed into the local official. He started begging from the rich. As for how to deal with the water, Chen Ping An knew the ways, from Zhu Lian’s methods and books. He took Little Mo and went to analyse the riverbed, and he discovered that all they needed was a fishmouth dam.

He went to the rich, and saw the way of the world. One of them who had said that people should only focus on the Great Pillars, gave only fifty silvers. Another had lost a pig, and Chen Ping An exploited it to force him to give more.

The greatest family was one whose daughter was a prodigy.

Chen Ping An visited the daughter and was forced to agree. The old man gave three thousand silvers to the local coffers.

Little Mo, in his role, was forced to learn the ways of the world.

In the end, only three remained in colour, the returning old man, the poor scholar, and the Mao Cai. The poor scholar was the one who passed, while the Mao Cai would not die unless two stalks of lampgrass were lit.

Little Mo shook his head.

They were on a battlefield, with two armies facing each other. One side raised a flag that showed benevolence and righteousness. The other side was stronger. The benevolent lord said that his army might lack materiel but it had an abundance of benevolence and righteousness.

Chen Ping An came to him and was asked if he was wrong.

Chen Ping An did not reply.

The man asked how history would perceive him.

Chen Ping An still did not reply.

The man dissolved.

Chen Ping An and Little Mo met many other strange things.

They sailed in a boat, before coming across a beautiful tower. Those who appeared during the moonlight dropped coins into the water.

Chen Ping An and Little Mo came across an elegant young master, who caused his servant to kneel and act as a mount, before jumping into a pond.

Chen Ping An made Little Mo pass on a letter.

They came across an old monk who had said that the woman was a tiger that could eat people.

Chen Ping An held back his laughter.

They walked into a ruined monastery where the monk started burning statues for heat.

Chen Ping An said that the monk could do so, but he could not.

Little Mo said something, which caused the monk to smile.

After the rain, they encountered an old woman riding a horse.

The old woman invited Chen Ping An and Little Mo to stay at her home, which was small. However, they prepared a feast for Chen Ping An, of fish and rice.

Chen Ping An produced a pipe.

Chen Ping An asked the old woman what time of year it was.

The old woman said that it was after the Ghost Festival.

Chen Ping An said his goodbyes and left. The old woman asked him to tell her husband, a lame back, to send some money home.

Chen Ping An left and told the lameback to buy some things and an extra pipe.

Little Mo asked, “Does this Daoist friend of yours know what my name is?”

Chen Ping An shook his head. “It goes even deeper than that.”

They were at a temple. The contract had different ink. The woman’s oath was set in stone, while the man’s oath was shaky.

Little Mo looked at the statues of the gods. One looked like Chen Ping An and the other looked like him.

Little Mo laughed. Had this Daoist fellow only learnt these tricks?

Chen Ping An picked up the oath and sighed. He located the lovers.

Someone had hired a pugilist to kill the heartless man.

They became travellers.

There was a haunted house.

The shopkeeper had cheated his way into owning it.

Chen Ping An and Little Mo went to visit.

Little Mo asked how they were supposed to fix it.

Chen Ping An smiled. “Respect the ghosts and leave them alone.”

A woman walked out and said that she would bring them to paradise.

Little Mo asked, “What do you want?”

Chen Ping An smiled. “We should treat this like a field trip.”

They came across a beautiful garden.

They arrived at a great hall, where they were announced.

A woman sat atop.

The woman asked them to compose some verse.

Chen Ping An allowed Little Mo to do so.

Little Mo gave dozens of poems.

Chen Ping An was ashamed.

They were transported to a market. An old man was selling flowers. There was a poem on his fan.

Chen Ping An patted Little Mo on the shoulder.

Little Mo was confused.

Chen Ping An smiled. “Is it not too late?”

Little Mo looked at the poem and shook his head. “This woman writes like me.”

Chen Ping An said, “Little Mo! Haven’t you read all of those novels?

They were about to start their wedding night when they exchanged tokens.

Little Mo asked, “Is it a chain of plots?”

Chen Ping An shook his head. “It is a grand strategy.”

Chen Ping An became a monarch who turned a woman into a champion.

Chen Ping An just watched the resulting tragedies and did nothing, before finally asking what the crippled man had been thinking.

Chen Ping An knelt and asked the lord what he had been thinking.

Chen Ping An stood. “Open the door.”

Little Mo sighed, and the Tong Daoist opened the door.

They saw a daoist in a cave. He had a golden book, and a staff.

As they appeared, time rewound. The man was in his youth, travelling overseas. The people were simple and loved learning, so he taught them.

Chen Ping An visited him and received a paper with a word.

Spring. Book. Chan. Mountain. Sword. Water. Plain.

That image had lasted for three months.

Finally, Chen Ping An saw his last image of another person’s life.

There was a shop. Every day, a woman would visit to buy a biscuit. The shopkeeper was not suspicious, but then he saw paper money. He knew that she was a ghost. On the third day, the woman came again and the shopkeeper had water. He threw the money into the bowl, and saw it float. He ran to the neighbours and they chased the woman. They found the skeleton of the woman and a baby in the coffin. The woman’s spirit caressed the baby. After that, the baby would be watched over, until he eventually grew. However, he always cried, as he could not remember his parents.

Chen Ping An remained there, doing nothing.

Little Mo stayed by his side.

Ten hours passed.

Little Mo said, “If we say the truth, we can break this place. We should leave.”

Chen Ping An did not speak.

Little Mo finally said nothing.

The truth might be too cruel. Perhaps the woman had not died, but the baby had died first. Or both the baby and woman had perished in childbirth.

Just like the man who had never returned. Perhaps he had already died. Who knew.

Little Mo looked up. They were standing before a great tung tree, like one grown in the water.

Chen Ping An was looking down, to see the great tree rising.

A tung tree. Dry and yellow leaves.

Little Mo glanced around.

Suddenly, Chen Ping An had transformed into someone wearing a red robe. His face was a blur, his body composed of lines.

It caused them to resonate with an ethereal and incomprehensible sound, louder than gold and steel.

Little Mo stepped back.

The realm changed, as a light floated above the water, resembling the stars scattered across the mountains.

A tung tree, fallen leaves across the ground. It had been the same as the other scenes, where the lives had passed like people.