In the tranquil courtyard of the Yang Family Apothecary, nestled behind the bustling storefront, stood Su Dian, a woman of formidable strength known by the endearing nickname “Rouge.” She stood as a solitary sentinel, guarding the apothecary’s empty backyard, undisturbed by the silence.

Her fellow disciple, Shi Lingshan, had returned to his family home in Peach Leaf Lane.

Su Dian felt no loneliness, nor did she succumb to melancholy. From her earliest days, she had grown accustomed to solitude, finding unease in crowded spaces.

The apothecary was laid out with the shop in the front and the work area in the rear. Within the courtyard, medicinal brews were concocted, and herbs were laid out to dry. The main house served as the dwelling of old man Yang, their master.

The east wing remained shuttered, its door only opened when Li Huai, a distant kin, returned to their village and wandered this way. Only the west wing had been prepared long ago for Su Dian.

In a corner of the courtyard stood a storeroom filled with sundry relics, aged jars, and forgotten trinkets. The key had been entrusted to Su Dian, with instructions from her master to inform Li Huai upon his next visit that the contents of the room, the accumulation of years past, were his to claim, sell, or gift as he saw fit.

Beneath the southern eaves, facing the main house to the north, lay a long bench. Su Dian never sat upon it and forbade her fellow disciple from doing so without permission.

She was as much a guardian of the old apothecary as she was a keeper of her master’s ancient customs.

Though consumed by martial pursuits, Su Dian found herself this night in a rare state of stillness, seated upon a chair, lost in reverie as her feet warmed near a crackling brazier, contemplating memories long past.

Startled from her thoughts, Su Dian lowered her gaze, reaching out to touch the edge of her trousers, warmed by the fire’s embrace.

The apothecary’s front door stood ajar, and a figure entered, passing through the shop and drawing aside the curtain that separated the shop from the backyard. A young man called out, “Senior Sister!”

From within the west wing, Su Dian replied, recognizing the voice of her fellow disciple, Shi Lingshan, paying a visit.

Shi Lingshan entered the room, fetched a long bench, and sat beside the brazier. Su Dian smiled, “You seek a late supper at the apothecary? Aren’t you afraid of ill omens?”

Shi Lingshan warmed his hands, feigning ignorance, “Is there such a custom?”

While his family home teemed with warmth and laughter, four generations dwelling under one roof, the ancestral home in Peach Leaf Lane never wanted for comfort. Still, Shi Lingshan worried that his senior sister languished alone in the apothecary’s stillness.

He knew that since the passing of her uncle, who had been her sole companion, she had no kin in the town, nor even a distant relative to offer her a word of comfort.

Shi Lingshan produced a package of pastries from his sleeve, a gift from the Sui Press, “A gift from Master Shi, from Dragon-Riding Lane.”

Su Dian hesitated but accepted the oil-paper parcel. “Did you truly seek a late supper?”

On this eve of the Great Year, the seeking of a late supper held different meanings for those who lived on Fortune and Peach Leaf Lanes compared to those who dwelt beyond. Seldom did they mingle on such a night.

In bygone days, the town was divided, Fortune and Peach Leaf Lanes home to four great families and ten noble clans. The four great houses—Lu, Li, Zhao, and Song—were led by the Lu clan. Before its fall, the Lu Dynasty had been the sovereign state of the Great Li Song clan, and the dynasty’s founder shared ties with the Lu clan of Fortune Lane. The ten noble clans, including Yuan, Cao, and Xie, could trace their lineage back to illustrious figures who had distinguished themselves after leaving the Grotto-Heaven of Lizhu. Among them were Cao Hang and Yuan Xie, considered pillars of the Great Li, whose names became the most honored of the Great Li dynasty. There was also Cao Xi, the Sword Immortal of the Southern Seas, and Xie Shi, the Celestial Lord of the Northern Continent.

Even within Mud Bottle Lane dwelled the Hidden Official Chen Pingan, Song Jixin, the Great Li prince, and Gu Can, a direct disciple of Zheng Juzhong.

There stood the Pavilion of Tranquil Seas in the Southern Seas, the ancestral home of the Sword Immortal Cao Xi.

Beyond her ties to the apothecary, the only person in her hometown whom Su Dian could truly claim to know was Hu Feng, several years her senior. Hu Feng’s family had once run a mortuary shop, and he had often assisted his grandfather, taking on odd jobs as a bricklayer, carpenter, or knife sharpener, going door to door. But Hu Feng had left the village, and even had he stayed, Su Dian would have found little to discuss with him.

Shi Lingshan grinned. “Guess who I saw in Dragon-Riding Lane earlier?”

Su Dian chewed her pastry in silence, unfazed. No matter whom he had seen, it could hardly be cause for astonishment.

Years ago, a gaunt and unkempt girl often wandered past Dragon-Riding Lane, walking slowly, her nose twitching, drawn by the aroma of pastries, her stomach rumbling with hunger.

The delicious pastries and colorful fabrics in the shops, once the most unattainable of luxuries for a famished child, now held little allure, though she now had coin to spare.

Shi Lingshan said, “I caught a glimpse of her from afar. It seemed to be Wang Zhu of Dragon-Riding Lane.”

Once a townsman nearby, she was now a figure of great renown and vast distance.

Su Dian simply hummed in acknowledgement. They were not of the same path, and she cared little for the prosperity of her former neighbors.

Old Dragon Province, the new Department of State, was known as a land of hidden dragons and crouching tigers, where extraordinary individuals gathered. But to Su Dian, it paled in comparison to what it once was.

The first wave of outsiders, who had purchased mountaintops in the western mountains for their immortal abodes, were now reaping untold riches, provided they had not unwisely sold off their holdings.

Then came the influx of keen-eyed cultivators who bought ancestral homes in the town at inflated prices, or acquired artifacts from the Dragon Beard River, from serpent bile stones to bronze mirrors and ancient coins, suddenly rendered invaluable. The only things that seemed to lose their worth were the hard-earned silver and treasured ornaments hoarded for generations.

Many cultivators now lived in seclusion within the town, treating the dilapidated houses as havens for their practice.

Their household registrations and mountaintop genealogies were covertly managed by the Imperial Kiln Administration of Dragon Spring County, while the Huaihuang County government remained blissfully unaware of their identities. As long as they caused no trouble, it was a peaceful place with little crime, leading to administrative excellence and high praise from the provincial capital, for even petty theft was unheard of.

The spiritual energy of the heavens and earth, the fortune of the mountains and rivers, and potent artifacts—those sharp-eyed cultivators had profited handsomely, each finding their due reward.

One tale spoke of a confrontation with an ancient god beyond the heavens, resulting in golden rain that fell upon Jewel Bottle Continent. Though the majority of the celestial boon was claimed by the Mountain Lord of the Northern Peak, Wei Shan, the blessings trickled down, enriching the fortune of the Northern Peak’s dominion, and allowing cultivators in Huaihuang County and the western mountains to break through their existing bottlenecks.

Shi Lingshan asked, “Senior Sister, how many are we in our lineage?”

Their lineage was simply organized. There was the boxing master, Yang, and then his students Su Dian and Shi Lingshan. There were also two elder brothers: Li Er, who had gone to the Northern Continent with his family, and Zheng Dafeng, who had gone to the Five-Colored Sky. But whether there were other siblings remained a mystery. Old man Yang did not like to discuss it, and Shi Lingshan had been scolded for asking about it. Yang had said if Shi wanted to be a bootlicker to his elder brothers, he could go, but the family wasn’t starving Shi enough that he needed to go beg elsewhere for scraps.

After that, Shi Lingshan had never dared ask again.

Su Dian considered the question. “I don’t know exactly how many there are, nor how many remain. But besides our two elder brothers, there are others.”

Shi Lingshan’s face lit up with curiosity.

Su Dian shook her head. “I know the names of two senior brothers and sisters, but Master forbade me from revealing their identities. Don’t ask any further.”

The two disciples differed in temperament. What Master did not forbid was permissible to Shi Lingshan.

But to Su Dian, what Master did not explicitly allow was forbidden.

Su Dian suddenly announced, “I intend to follow Master’s instructions. After the Great Year, once Li Huai returns, I’ll inform him of the things that need to be done, and I’ll set out on a journey.”

Shi Lingshan asked, “Where do you plan to go, Senior Sister? How far will you travel? To the ancient battlefields of another continent?”

Neither of them had yet ventured beyond the shores of the Jewel Bottle Continent.

The younger generation of the town seemed drawn to distant lands.

Su Dian corrected her junior brother’s misunderstanding. “I intend to train alone this time. I won’t be taking you with me.”

Shi Lingshan’s disappointment was palpable, but he did not protest, knowing her stubbornness. Once her mind was set, there was no changing it.

Su Dian offered a rare smile. “When we meet again, I’ll treat you to wine.”

Shi Lingshan grinned foolishly, pleased by the promise.

To be treated to a wedding feast would be even better.

But the young man failed to notice the sorrow in his senior sister’s eyes, her face flushed by the firelight.

One was an optimist, the other a pessimist.

To the former, every journey was a prelude to reunion.

To the latter, every meeting was a mere preparation for farewell.

Once she had attained the Traveler Realm within the Great Vastness, Su Dian intended to seek out a senior brother named Xie Xinen.

He was far away, in the Azure Sky.

According to their master, this Senior Brother Xie was prospering, though he had changed his name and was no longer known as Xie Xinen.

From their master’s tone, Su Dian suspected that Senior Brother Xie had amassed a substantial fortune in that realm.

Their master rarely showed affection when speaking of his disciples, even when mentioning the martial prowess of their elder brother Li Er, who had reached the apex of his art.

Their master had entrusted Su Dian with a message for Xie Xinen.

He was to guide Su Dian in the arts of fist and sword upon their meeting and help her establish a sect once she had reached the Mountain Peak Realm. After that, they would part ways, never revealing their shared lineage to the world.

As for how Su Dian would reach the Azure Sky and find Xie Xinen, their master had already made the arrangements.

Shi Lingshan inquired, “Senior Sister, who exactly is Li Huai?”

It was said that the young Hidden Official had bestowed upon him the nickname “Bully of the Nest.”

And indeed, within this town, Li Huai stood alone as the “Bully of the Nest.”

Su Dian shook her head. “According to the mountain elders, Li Huai is of no special origin. He’s just an ordinary mortal.”

Yet their master treated Li Huai as if he were his own grandson.

Such affection could not be envied.

Shi Lingshan lingered for half an hour before bidding farewell. Su Dian saw him to the apothecary’s door, and as her fellow disciple’s form disappeared around the corner, she closed the door, returning to the courtyard, staring at the long bench beneath the eaves.

Elder Brother Zheng Dafeng had once said that this wooden bench had stood here for countless years, older than anyone alive.

The last time she had seen their master, he had sat upon the steps before the main house, a pipe in his hand, blowing smoke rings into the air.

He had spoken words that Su Dian could not decipher.

Tapping the steps with his pipe, he had raised it, pointing toward the long bench, saying that the bench was “us.”

Seeing Su Dian’s confusion, the old man had said that should the opportunity arise to meet in the Azure Sky, she could ask that person, and he would surely know the answer.

A wooden bench and “us,” what could they have in common?

Su Dian was at a loss.

A woman of youthful appearance, with jade-like temples and a lithe figure, swam through the Dragon Beard River like a fish.

She was patrolling her domain as the local river goddess, accompanied by several childlike attendants, male and female, who, despite their pale complexions, resembled ordinary children with their attire, expressions, and childlike voices.

As they frolicked with the river goddess, the water sprites seemed to struggle against the current, their limbs flailing as if drowning, much like children on land learning to swim. But they quickly regained their composure, exchanging playful grimaces, as if it were all a game.

As it was the eve of the Great Year, the river goddess presented each of her attendants with a red envelope, filled with ancient, rusted copper coins found within the river’s depths.

It could not be helped that their river goddess was known for her frugality, or rather, her stinginess.

Malanhua, the Dragon Beard River deity, invested by the Great Li dynasty, halted at the falls where the Dragon Beard River met the Iron Talisman River. Passing the smithy on the Dragon Beard’s bank, she peered at it from the water, taking advantage of the fact that no one was around.

It had seen three owners. The first was Smith Ruan, a smithy who was actually the last known military strategist in the Grotto-Heaven of Lizhu, of the Wind and Snow Temple.

Then it had been Ruan Qiong’s student, Xu Xiaoqiao, a swordswoman who was missing a thumb on her right hand. And finally, it had been Liu Xianyang and an addled woman named Yu Qianyue.

The Sword Sect of the Dragon Spring, with the help of Mountain Lord Wei Shan, had relocated several mountaintops, including their ancestral home, Mount Divine Grace, moving them northward and severing ties with the Grotto-Heaven of Lizhu.

Whenever she swam past the stone arch bridge from which the Sword Hanging Old Gentleman had taken down the old sword, Malanhua felt an inexplicable sense of dread.

Swiftly passing beneath the bridge, she arrived at a deep pool, its banks lined with green cliffs, and halted, floating in the water.

Some of the children who had been unable to stop bumped gently into each other, chattering in complaint before bursting into laughter again.

An old woman from Apricot Blossom Lane, Granny Ma, had died because of a woman immortal seeking retribution from her, and Master Yang had gathered her soul to make her a river crone. With her new position, her youthful complexion returned, and she grew younger every day. The river, which had once been only a brook, had expanded with the growing of the Iron Talisman River, and she had ascended from a river crone to a river goddess. But after almost 30 years, the river shrine that she called home was still without a statue, and even an incense burner.

Was there any river goddess as destitute as she?

But Malanhua dared not voice her dissatisfaction. As the years passed, her days seemed to stretch on forever. She had her acquaintances in the land god world ask about her whereabouts. They told her there were a few people left in the provincial city who had known Malanhua as a maiden. As the number of elders dwindled, Malanhua’s respect for Old Man Yang grew, for once those people had passed, that was when her new life would begin.

She had been a matchmaker, a shaman, and a midwife.

And now, she was a river spirit…

Malanhua sighed. She emerged from the water and sat upon a green cliff, taking out a jade comb to take care of her hair.

The children jumped out of the water and frolicked on the cliff. Malanhua would usually never let them out of the water because the sunlight would destroy them.

They were not able to traverse the border either, as the interaction between the ghost and the human would lead to annihilation.

Malanhua looked at the innocent children and sighed, mustering a kind smile.

The “lifespans” of these children were short, and they were stuck in a state of “growing backward.”

Malanhua looked at the distant peaks of Azure Cloud Mountain.

Of the three original mountain shrines of the Great Li Empire, the Azure Cloud Mountain was the most prominent.

In the south was the dilapidated mountain, which had once been home to the Golden Head Mountain God, whose shrine was small and abandoned. And in the north was the Cool Wind Mountain Shrine, in a location that was perfect for pilgrims.

A land god that Malanhua knew, and that was not a good man, told lewd jokes.

That land god’s superior was the Mountain God of Cool Wind Mountain, whom Malanhua recognized. He had run a mortuary in their town.

Before, when she had been a river crone, the man would come by the river. But after a while, he had distanced himself from her.

The goddess was irritated. All she had asked him to do was to look for her grandson.

Her superior in the river was Yang Hua, a handmaid of the empress. Yang was a cold woman, so Malanhua did not dare go close.

According to Master Yang’s promise, once 30 years had passed, and the elders of the village who had known her youth had passed, she could build a shrine and receive incense, and finally refine her golden body.

But Malanhua was worried about her shrine. How would she accumulate incense? Surely she could not control the waters.

Malanhua combed her hair and sighed.

These pitted stone cliffs had once been a place where the children of the town had come to swim and fish.

Once one became a mountain or water deity, their field of vision would be different from a mortal’s.

In the west was Mount Pearl, which was actually home to a hidden pearl.

And the Dragon Beard River was a dragon’s beard. That was why so many valuable snake bile stones were found in its waters. The other dragon beard was the main street of the town, where the Crabfang, Iron Lock Well, and Ancient Locust Tree were located.

The people who lived near that location would become imperial.

For a long time, Malanhua had been afraid of that little girl from the Mud Bottle Lane, who might come to settle old debts.

Before, when Malanhua had seen the servant of the bastard of the Old Supervisor picking water at the Iron Lock Well, she had said some nasty things. The orphan’s family might be poor, but that small girl’s life was full of extravagance.

In the old days, the town women would argue for a myriad of reasons, and no one would be able to escape the barbs of their tongues. It didn’t matter if you were rich or poor, they’d find something to bring up, and soon enough, a fight would break out.

Granny Ma, the widow from the Mud Bottle Lane, and the wine seller, Huang Erniang, were all experts at such arguments.

The smithy, Ruan, the fortune teller, Lu Chen, and the drunk Cao Du were all veterans of this way of life.

Indeed, everyone who had interacted with the young generation of the town would feel that way.

During the Literary Temple discussions, someone had bestowed nicknames to the Sovereign of the Barrens, Fei Ran, and Zhou Mi’s closed disciple. One was the “Saint Reclining on the Moon,” and the other was the “Ever-Losing Saint.”

Malanhua rubbed her cheeks.

She had once been slapped by that sharp-tongued woman.

She took out several mountain gazettes. They had news of her grandson. She was intimately familiar with their contents. Over the years, she had learned a lot of words.

The gazettes were distributed from the provincial city’s City God Temple. The City God, Zhang Ping, would have underworld runners deliver the gazettes to the mountain and water deities.

In the past, she had received very few of those papers, and now that she was a goddess, the number had greatly increased.

It was good enough for her.

Live for the better. The woman had forgotten who had once said that.

We struggle to live, and lying to ourselves is what gives us hope.

—

Lu Yan took Xiao Mo and Qing Tong to another location, letting the two scholars discuss “family matters.”

The Sage asked, “Chen Pingan, how did you think to ‘eat’ the books?”

Chen Pingan paused before realizing that he was talking about the refinement of words.

Chen Pingan said, “I had nothing to do, so when Li Zhen on the city walls gave me a travelogue, it came in handy.”

The Sage smiled. “How fortuitous.”

Chen Pingan looked at the sky.

The Sage had meant more than that.

If Chen Pingan hadn’t refined the words in the travelogue and seized the opportunity, Chen Pingan wouldn’t have guessed what Cui Chan was planning, even if he’d remained on the walls for 10,000 years.

Only a madman could talk to another madman.

The Sage was reminded of the ancient swordsmen.

The swordsman Guanzhao had not been as talkative as Li Zhen. He almost never said anything to anyone, and he hid in corners during the secret meetings, standing beside Chen Qingdu, remaining silent all the while.

But once Guanzhao struck, his strike was decisive. He might not always win, but he would never be defeated.

It could be said that Guanzhao had lived for others, training the sword for the sake of the whole. He had been the swordsman who had shouldered the most burden.

In contrast, the swordsman Longjun had simply liked to cross swords with others. He did not care about winning or losing, and during war, he cared nothing for life. He had been freer than Guanzhao.

Chen Qingdu, Guanzhao, and Longjun had been the founders of the Great Wall of Swords.

Soon after, the three swordsmen had left for war.

They had stopped the Sovereign of the Barrens Fei Ran from reaching the 15th realm, but at a great cost. Chen Qingdu’s sword, Floating Duckweed, had been shattered, forcing him to harmonize with the Great Wall of Swords.

According to the Daoist ancestor, if Chen Qingdu had been given 2,000 years to practice his sword, he would have reached the 15th realm of swordsmanship.

But the ancient gods had suppressed all swordsmen who had shown any aptitude for that level.

The only sword to break that limitation was the sword of the Dao itself.

The Sage had taken his student, the Rites, to try to persuade Chen Qingdu, but he had failed.

Chen Qingdu had said, “We swordsmen do not have to do what is right.”

“You scholars, remember to uphold your promises.”

Longjun had been discontent with the idea of becoming a sword slave, and his journey had not been intended to take him back to the Great Wall of Swords alive.

He had wanted to end his life with a bang, showing the world that he was a real swordsman.

After his death, he no longer owed anything to the Great Wall of Swords or to Chen Qingdu.

Longjun’s sword had been called the Great Mound Immortal Tomb. Over the years, swordsmen had died without a place to be buried, but Longjun had been fortunate to have a place to lay to rest.

And Guanzhao had possessed an even more unusual sword.

For 3,000 years, the one who had been targeted the most had been Guanzhao, who had possessed the sword The Long River of Light.

Thus, Guanzhao’s cultivation had been fraught with peril.

The Sage collected his thoughts and asked, “What is its source?”

Chen Pingan said, “Li told Xiao the tree something, and although I only heard it in passing, I’ve remembered it ever since.”

Li Xisheng from Fortune Lane had once come to Mud Bottle Lane to see Chen Pingan.

That had been Chen Pingan’s first trip home.

Li Xisheng had told Chen Lingjun that all words possessed power. Words formed phrases, and phrases sentences, and the Great Dao was to be found within.

Chen Lingjun hadn’t listened, but Chen Pingan had never forgotten it, even though the words had not been engraved in the bamboo scrolls.

Xiao had also asked the scholar what it meant when she forgot the words in books.

Li Xisheng had said that it meant the saints had borrowed them.

Xiao had not believed that theory, but Li Xisheng had not minded being “taught a lesson.”

After that, Cao Jun, a swordsman from the Southern Seas, had picked a fight with Chen Pingan.

He had met Li Xisheng, who hadn’t given way.

The former had been a sixth realm, while the latter had been something between eight and nine. Despite using all his sword techniques, he had been unable to defeat the cultivator.

Chen Pingan had only seen the outlines of the fight at that time, but now that his world had expanded, he knew that fight had been extraordinary.

A non-swordsman had been able to defeat a swordsman with a higher level.

Li Xisheng’s performance had told Chen Pingan a lesson:

Since a swordsman could shatter all techniques, he should instead master 10,001 of them.

Two fights had approximated Li Xisheng’s performance.

One had been near the thatched cottage on the Great Wall of Swords, and the other on the battlefield.

Cao Ci’s fists.

Fei Ran’s swordsmanship.

Like Li Xisheng, they could predict the future, and there had been an aura coming off of them.

They had not needed formations, divine powers, or flying swords to create their own little worlds.

And outside of fighting, two other people had given Chen Pingan that feeling.

Cui, who had been teaching him fists, and Cui Dongshan, who had been seated before the chessboard.

Cultivators said that the human body was a microcosm of the world.

But those people had given the feeling that they themselves were the Great Dao.

The Sage was reminded of when Chen Lingjun had told the Daoist ancestor that his name had been too big, and that he should change it. The Sage smiled. “Your friend Qing has some Dao in him.”

Chen Pingan said, “It’s as if I brought a little deity home.”

But the face of the young mountain lord was gentle.

Even if Chen Pingan was a hands-off manager, he still learned the news of the mountain whenever he went home.

Chen Lingjun and Mi Li also contributed behind the scenes, with one being a diligent mountain patrol, and the other liking to wander around. They were both unable to keep a secret.

The Sage said, “When Chen Lingjun went to the Big Gulch in the Northern Continent, and he thought he had made a mistake, it was as if he wanted to come home and get scolded. He wasn’t thinking of hiding anything. He was thinking of being punished so he could set his mind at rest. It’s human nature to hide one’s mistakes, no matter how small.”

Chen Pingan was confused as to why the Sage was talking about Chen Lingjun.

The Sage asked, “Chen Lingjun seems to care a lot about his reputation, but he seems to not care at all about it with you. Do you know why?”

Chen Pingan thought. “Because I traversed the Scroll Lake?”

Everyone in the Fallen Mountain, whether a cultivator or a martial artist, seemed to try to avoid talking about that Scroll Lake.

The more flawless someone was, the more pressure they exerted on others.

Chen Pingan was meticulous and had sought to be without error since he had been a child in the Mud Bottle Lane.

Someone who was always drinking, but who never got drunk, was a dangerous person.

The fact that Chen Pingan had so many regrets had turned Chen Pingan into someone who rarely got drunk, but who could still get drunk.

The Sage said, “There is another reason. Cui Chan knew that the situation was urgent, and so he couldn’t use a slow method. He wanted to create a bottomless pit in your heart, and then force you to fill that hole. Whether with conscience, or guilt, or a philosophy, everything would have a place to go.”

The Sage spoke in circumspect terms. Cui Chan had not found the deficiencies and then filled the hole. Rather, he had used brute strength to carve an empty lake in Chen Pingan’s heart, leaving Chen Pingan to do the work. Hard? Deal with it.

That was the only way for Chen Pingan’s Dao heart to carry his divinity, which meant his line between good and evil had been too small and too compatible with divinity. The closer one became to divinity, the more involuntary that trend became. Like what the Sage had said about brushing a circle in the air, Chen Pingan had not been able to say the number of possibilities that could be achieved, and the Sage had feared that there would have only been one result. Zhou Mi, who had ascended and seized the ancient heavenly court, had lost to Chen Pingan, who had remained on earth, because the latter’s divinity had become too pure.

Was the Old Man Yang at the apothecary not gambling? That was why Qing Tong, the one who controlled the godliness, had been waiting for 10,000 years.

That was why Cui Chan had struck. One day, Chen Pingan would truly become the One, uniting all the striving in the Lizhu realm, and the pure godliness would pour into his heart from above. It would save effort, and it would also benefit his cultivation.

The Sage asked, “Have you thought about why Cui Dongshan is afraid of Li Baoping? Why did he never fight back, or shout back, at the little girl in the red padded jacket?”

Chen Pingan was stunned once more. He had never thought deeply about that problem either.

His face fell.

When he had traveled to the Great Wall of Swords for the second time and had met the Sword Immortal Left and Sword Immortal Right again, they had refused to recognize Chen as their little brother, and he had refused to recognize them as his elder brothers.

But Chen Pingan had been most conflicted about Cui Chan, who had betrayed his master.

“Li Baoping and the Jewel Bottle Continent are closely related. Who do you think was responsible for swapping the peach for the plum?”

The Sage said, “The head of the Jade Capital, Kou Ming, is very ambitious. He wants to unite the three great religions. Zhou Li is the Daoist, Li Xisheng is the Confucian, and Cui Chan has already made sure that Li Xisheng knows the truth, but still will protect his sister, Li Baoping. What about the White Jade Capital, or the Azure Heaven? Do you think that if the battles on the Jewel Bottle went poorly, and Li Huai was harmed in any way, that Li Xisheng wouldn’t break through and return to the 14th realm in a single day? And then choose to face Zhou Mi? Then what would the junior brother, Yu Du, and Lu Chen, choose to do? Or would the Daoist ancestor break the rules for his top student?”

“It’s uncertain.”

The Sage said, “But Cui Chan only needs that ‘uncertainty.'”

“That’s why Qi Jingchun told you that the ‘the honorable can be deceived with integrity.’ He was telling that to both his little brother and his big brother, asking the latter to not go too far, and to act with humanity. Too bad Cui Chan didn’t listen. But someone who doesn’t leave a path of retreat can’t be asked to do anything else.”

The Sage placed his hands behind his back and looked at the sky.

There was the former Jia Sheng of the Great Vastness, the former Zhou Mi of the Barrens, and the current lord of the heavenly court.

He had the strength to force the ancestors of the three great religions to unite against him.

Chen Pingan was silent for a long time. “Can’t it be calculated? Not even the Daoist ancestor?”

The Sage shook his head. “It really can’t be calculated. Some things are so complicated that even the Daoist ancestor can’t figure them out. If the Great Dao was just calculating a few hundred or a few thousand paths, it would be easy, and any cultivator above the fifth realm would be able to do it. It’s difficult because the human heart moves, and the heavenly heart moves too. For example, with someone like Feng Yuanxiao of the Five Colored World, the Daoist ancestor can calculate her existence, but if the Daoist ancestor is narrow-minded, then the Daoist ancestor will be going against the Great Dao of the Five Colored Sky.

“After all, he is not the Old Military Ancestor.”

“But if the few of us can each Dao-ify a world, then we can act without error in our territories.”

“I don’t think there’s any meaning to that. The Daoist ancestor thinks that stopping will straighten the world. The Buddhist ancestor thinks that it is up to all beings to reach Buddhahood. As for the rest of us, as the first Daoists on Earth, we think that the Dao is in the world.”

Chen Pingan suddenly saw an image flash before his eyes, and his Dao heart shook.

When he looked again, it was gone.

He had seen a legendary… Qilin, flash past.

The Sage smiled. “Three cups to connect to the Great Dao, a bucket to unite with nature. Why are you standing there? Get another jug of wine.”