In the heart of the Great Li empire, nestled within the bustling Red Candle Town, the echoes of the New Year still lingered. A vital nexus of commerce, the town boasted numerous guildhalls representing the diverse provinces and prefectures of the realm. Old faces smiled beneath fresh spring couplets, a symphony of merriment for all.

Within a modest bookshop, its young proprietor, Li Jin, reclined upon a rattan chair, idly dozing. The affairs of his watery domain were entrusted to competent subordinates, emulating the laissez-faire style of the illustrious Mountain Lord Chen of Fallen Peak.

A traveler, weary from his journey, crossed the threshold, offering a jovial greeting, “Proprietor Li, may your doors open to good fortune, your business flourish, and your prosperity blaze like a red-hot flame!”

Li Jin recognized Chen Ping An, and, knowing him well, dispensed with formalities. Without rising to greet him, he merely returned the gesture with a casual bow, “Business has indeed been fair.”

Chen Ping An, pleased by Li Jin’s lack of ceremony, entered the bookshop. His gaze swept across the laden shelves, settling on a particular collection. “This set of Twenty-Seven Histories and Biographies of a Hundred Generals,” he inquired, “it seems to be missing a volume?”

In the world of collectors, completeness was as prized as quality, significantly influencing value. The absence of the second volume seemed an uncharacteristic oversight for a shrewd merchant like Li Jin, a misstep that surely cut into his potential profits.

“A dear old friend took a fancy to it,” Li Jin explained, never one to be ambiguous, “I made an exception and offered it gratis.”

After all, this young Hidden Official and the ascending Fallen Peak held a unique place in Li Jin’s life, a “bestowal of enlightenment.” Zhu Lian had gifted him two paintings, which Chen Ping An had then embellished with gilding and seals, an act akin to a carp leaping over the dragon gate, an immense stroke of fortune. This favor, the Water God of the Verdant Stream was destined to repay over time, a gentle flow rather than a sudden surge.

Chen Ping An pondered for a moment, recalling the contents of the first and third volumes, understanding dawning in his eyes.

The guest who could sway Li Jin to break his own rules was likely Zhang Ping, the City God of Chu Prefecture. Once a humble earth deity of the Mound Head Shrine, his ascent within the Great Li’s hierarchy of mountain and water spirits was meteoric, a deviation from all norms. Few would believe that the current City God of Chu Prefecture lacked profound, obscured roots. While Wei Bo never explicitly revealed Zhang Ping’s origins, his subtle expressions during casual conversations spoke volumes. Fallen Peak and Zhang Ping’s City God Temple were close neighbors in the tapestry of hills and streams, naturally capturing Chen Ping An’s attention. He had delved into ancient Shu lore, particularly the history of the bygone God Water Kingdom. Furthermore, the incense spirit of the Prefectural City God Temple had forged a connection with Fallen Peak. Little Rice constantly spoke of the spirit, who, rain or shine, had punctually reported for duty, faithfully holding the position of Right Protector of Riding Dragon Lane. Thus, Chen Ping An had long heard tales of this scarlet-robed child, yet they had never met. During this homecoming, Chen Ping An intended to spend time with this young being, who yearned to become the Chief Protector of Riding Dragon Lane.

Li Jin smiled knowingly, “I beg Lord Chen to see through this, but not reveal it aloud.”

Chen Ping An nodded, then hesitated. He spoke in a hushed tone, “Please convey a message to City God Zhang: if the opportunity arises, I shall endeavor to obtain a copy of a military treatise annotated by a certain individual. I can offer no guarantee, only a promise to strive for it. Should I fail, I implore City God Zhang not to be overly disappointed. Let us set a period of a century, perhaps.”

The Guardian of the Year’s End Palace in the Azure Vault Heavens, once the young proprietor of the Stork Inn in Upside Down Mountain, was a figure well known to Chen Ping An. Had Wu Shuangjiang not inadvertently revealed a celestial secret at the Night-Voyaging Vessel, Chen Ping An would never have suspected that Bai Luo of the Year’s End Palace had once been that God of Slaughter, revered in the Martial Temple, but relegated to the second hall due to his “excessive bloodshed and flawed merit,” ultimately ranked only as a fourth-tier General.

Li Jin’s composure momentarily shattered, revealing astonishment. “Is that even possible?”

In Zhang Ping’s own words, he was not even worthy of holding this person’s reins.

Li Jin tentatively probed, “Perhaps you could add me to that list?”

Chen Ping An nodded with a smile, “I can offer no assurance, mind you.”

Li Jin waved a dismissive hand, “Take any book that catches your fancy. I’ve already made an exception; there’s no point in being selective now.”

Chen Ping An chuckled, “No haste. I’ll send Li Huai over to peruse your collection. Remember, anything he desires is his to take. No turning back on your word.”

Li Jin was rendered speechless. The rambunctious little scamp was hardly a bibliophile, yet his luck was uncanny. Li Jin had learned this lesson before.

Chen Ping An cautioned, “Should I procure that military treatise for you, do not, I implore you, simply place it on the shelves, awaiting a lucrative buyer. Such an act would be most inappropriate.”

Li Jin grinned, “Not only would Lord Chen disapprove, but if Zhang Ping were to learn of it, he would dismantle my bookshop, seize the tome, and sever all ties.”

Chen Ping An raised a finger, gesturing. “My memory is keen. Consider every book in your shop as sealed. Cease any thought of secretly moving them overnight, especially by employing decoys, feigning purchases, and surreptitiously delivering them to your watery abode. Such trickery is unseemly.”

Li Jin, reclining in his rattan chair, waved a hand towards the doorway. “Farewell, farewell. I shall not see you out.”

Chen Ping An remained rooted in place, teasing, “Oh? Now you’re dismissing me?”

Li Jin merely closed his eyes, seeking repose.

Chen Ping An surveyed the scene, admitting to himself that he had, on occasion, contemplated becoming a simple bookshop proprietor, earning his bread by selling tomes.

Regaining his focus, Chen Ping An said with a smile, “Do visit Fallen Peak when you find the time.”

Li Jin nodded, “If I am ever at leisure.”

Chen Ping An retorted, “At leisure? Li Jin, when are you ever occupied? You carry yourself with a certain importance. Truly, you are a man of leisure.”

Li Jin opened his eyes. “I fear that familiarity breeds a lack of respect. Like yourself, Lord Chen, or Zhu Lian, or that former Zheng Dafeng, or now that bargaining Immortal Constable Daoist, and the Riding Dragon Lane’s Zhou Juchen, forever pleading for credit; all helping themselves to my books to take up the mountain.”

Chen Ping An said, “Let outsiders misunderstand. You know Fallen Peak well. I am merely a hands-off mountain lord. I cannot control their whims.”

Li Jin chuckled, “I am well aware.”

Leaving the bustling Red Candle Town, towards Chess Mound Mountain, Chen Ping An sought out the mountain god, Song Yuzhang, at his shrine, sharing a cup of spirits with him. Their conversation dwelt on bygone days. The mountain god, often mocked by his peers as “Song Goldenhead,” seemed surprised, for Chen Ping An had inquired about the old faces and events of various kilns, matters from Song Yuzhang’s time as supervisor. As a former kiln apprentice, Chen Ping An spoke with genuine understanding. The shared drink flowed freely, unhurried by forced cheer or pressured toasts. A tranquility that led more easily to inebriation. Watching the blue-robed figure sway from the shrine’s hall, Song Yuzhang mused upon the vicissitudes of fate. Had someone foreseen thirty years prior that the boy named Chen Ping An from Mud Bottle Lane would rise to such prominence, Song Yuzhang would have dismissed it as a fanciful jest, unworthy of a second thought.

Spring’s tender touch painted the landscape with warmth and soft light, a tapestry of budding life. The very air shimmered with the unique, herbaceous scents of the mountain, invigorating the soul.

Chen Ping An, disinclined to dispel the lingering fumes of spirits, passed Chess Mound Mountain. With a sudden impulse, he tapped his toes, soaring like a bird. Weaving through the mountain trees, he perched upon the bough of a verdant pine. Blue robe blending with the tree, his sleeves cascaded down, arms crossed, back resting against the trunk. It was there, by sheer chance, that he glimpsed the incense spirit, the one who punctually reported to Fallen Peak each month.

Along a scarcely-trodden mountain path, a diminutive, scarlet-robed child rode a water-tub-thick white-patterned snake. The snake, yet to achieve full anthropomorphic transformation, bore scales like forged iron. The child, seeming to hold reins, rode forth on his serpentine mount.

The young spirit, cross-legged upon the snake’s back, muttered incessantly, “You may lack achievements, but you possess diligence. Sticking with me will not disappoint you. Have no fear. When I ascend to greater heights, I shall not forget you. I need only discuss this with Chieftain Pei and Vice-Chieftain Zhou, granting you permission to accompany me up the mountain. Given enough opportunities, we shall surely encounter the elusive Mountain Lord Chen. And should Lord Chen speak a word of guidance, what is the difficulty in shedding your mortal coil and assuming a divine form? That is what is meant by: a single sentence of true scripture outweighs ten thousand false volumes. Ha! That is what it is to strike fortune! Do you not believe me? Look at Grand Immortal Hongxia and Immortal Master Yunzi, as they are now. Can they be considered to have achieved immortality? Surely! And as for our kind Ancestor Lingjun, let us not even mention him. Do not be deceived by his youthful face, for he is ancient. He is a veteran of Fallen Peak, a founding meritocrat, whose portrait would hang within a hall of heroes, had this been a mountain kingdom. You know nothing of Fallen Peak. I meet with Ancestor Lingjun frequently. He is a kindly soul, one who undoubtedly must have heard of me from the estimable Mountain Lord Chen. Do you understand the significance? It is called Favor From On High….”

Chen Ping An felt a headache brewing. No wonder this child was in tune with Fallen Peak, as the old adage said, “birds of a feather flock together”.

The scarlet-robed spirit droned on, now discussing the alleged romance between the Mountain Lord Chen and Liu Chongrun of the Armor Fish Back. He reasoned that Liu had moved from Faraway Book Island to Fallen Peak for good reason: was this not Golden House Hiding Beauty? The pity of the matter was that he himself served a stingy master, making it difficult to even view illusionary dreams. The mountain and water gazettes of the City God Temple were regularly distributed by the imperial court, but he received none from the immortal mansions, which was why he had not seen Chen Shan’s true face. Alas! Liu Chongrun was indeed good-looking, slim where he ought to be, plump where he ought to be…

Unable to bear the prattle, Chen Ping An drifted down, coughing softly.

The spirit hastily patted his steed’s scales, issuing sounds of “Hush,” as if reining in a horse. He called out, “Who goes there?!”

Chen Ping An stifled a laugh, replying, “Just passing through.”

The spirit pondered for a moment, then asked, “Are you a mountain ascetic or a wanderer of the world?”

Chen Ping An smiled, “A wanderer.”

Understanding dawned upon the spirit. He was likely drawn to Fallen Peak’s reputation. He cautioned, “Young man, do not be overly ambitious, hoping to ascend Fallen Peak and apprentice under Lord Chen. Take my advice; they are not receiving guests at the moment. You will be turned away at the gate. If you disbelieve me, I will not mock your fruitless journey. Nevertheless, as a fellow traveler, you are welcome. At the gate, I can say a word to Immortal Constable Daoist, and at least they will give you a bowl of tea. Then your journey will not be entirely without merit. When you return home, you can brag to your village without exaggeration.”

Chen Ping An bowed, cupping his hands in gratitude, “I am much obliged.”

The spirit nodded, pleased with the young man’s manners. He was no fool.

A wanderer will never starve.

Thus, they became companions by chance, traversing the hills towards Fallen Peak.

The spirit possessed a stout heart and did not fear a cutthroat encounter. Who would dare to act so within Chu Prefecture?

He did, however, cast occasional glances at the blue-robed traveler. He seemed to fly over the mountain, his blue-robed companion treading as if the land were smooth. The man held the air of a master. Perhaps he would not find it difficult to open a school in the smaller lands south of the Great Li.

The spirit could not resist asking, “Judging by your accent, you are not a foreigner? Where are you from, near the Great Crossing, perhaps, heading north?”

In the Great Li, “foreigners” referred to the lands south of Precious Bottle Continent, a vast domain. Years earlier, it had meant people from other continents.

Chen Ping An smiled, “We met by chance. Let us not dwell on origins.”

The spirit grinned, thinking, “Oh? Young, but wise.”

The incense spirit chuckled, “Red Candle Town is a well-known den of temptation. Heroes often fall before beauty. I wager you are nearly penniless now?”

Chen Ping An shook his head, “I wander alone, not given to such pursuits.”

The spirit rolled his eyes, “Why the pretense? Save it for someone who doesn’t know better. Don’t be dishonest.”

He had intended to offer hospitality at the City God Temple and awe the wanderer by revealing his identity, provided he proved likeable and was given tea at the gate. The sole concern was Zhang Ping, who, being poverty-stricken, might not welcome a guest. The spirit remembered his failed attempts to find Zhang Ping an honest bride at Mound Head. Past events were full of bitter tears, so better not to dwell on them.

Reaching a clearing, the spirit patted his snake’s back, indicating a moment to rest and admire the view.

Chen Ping An squatted, plucking a licorice root nearby, brushing off the dirt, and chewing it. He gazed into the distance, where the wind swept across a strand of white sand, lush with greenery, where birds circled overhead.

As a child, his hometown seemed vast, but as an adult, Precious Bottle Continent seemed small.

Though the years varied, and different views presented themselves, emotions remained.

The spirit grew curious and questioned, “You are not an immortal. Why are you unafraid upon encountering a nearly-ascended snake? Furthermore, my presence could be said to be unearthly by any mountain lore, why are you not surprised? Are you a registered practitioner of a high-ranking immortal house, pretending to be a wanderer, searching the mountains?”

Chen Ping An smiled, “I have traveled much. I may not be an expert, but I have walked many dark paths, my courage is strong. I am not surprised.”

The spirit folded his arms, watching the man squatting there and chewing on the root. He inquired, “A hard upbringing?”

Chen Ping An shook his head with a smile, “Not so, small household, ancestors were kind and virtuous, so generations are sure to be fed.”

The spirit nodded, with a twinge of sentiment, “I am the one who had a difficult life, but I only have myself to blame. For years, I ate half a meal and starved for three. I am lucky I learned to fend for myself, or I would think my family was cursed by a poor ghost that wouldn’t leave.”

Chen Ping An chuckled, “According to the books, if a poor ghost enters your house, it can ward off disaster. If one day you can part ways with them peacefully, who knows what fortune awaits you?”

The spirit said, “Oh, so you have read a few proper books, too? If failing the imperial exams meant reading books for enjoyment, I think you have read your fill!”

Chen Ping An nodded, “It is always good to read. As the old saying goes, ancestors read for this life, and this life reads for the next.”

The spirit suddenly said, “You seem to be a sentimental person.”

Chen Ping An looked up in surprise. “You can tell?”

The spirit pointed at his eyes. “I know people.”

Chen Ping An laughed, “I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name is Chen Ping An.”

The spirit raised a hand, waving it, and burst out laughing, “I know the name from the record books! There are many people by that name in this area!”

Chen Ping An smiled, nodding. “Good.”

Once, his name in the County of Locust Yellow had been meaningless.

Afterward, as the child rode his snake, Chen Ping An kept pace alongside the young spirit, chatting as they walked, until they reached the gates of Fallen Peak.

The spirit leapt off the snake’s back, promising the confidante of the Chess Mound Mountain Earth God, “As always, I will record it as a deed of merit.”

The snake lowered its head to the ground, bidding farewell to the spirit, the second in command of the Prefectural City God Temple. It turned, slithering into the mountains.

The spirit rubbed his hands together, grinning, “If it ascends, she might even become a captivating woman.

Chen Ping An teased, “You and Immortal Constable Daoist are cut from the same cloth.”

The spirit instantly changed expression, “How do you know the gatekeeper of Fallen Peak is Immortal Constable Daoist?! I have not mentioned it!”

He began to wonder if he brought a troublemaker to Fallen Peak, as was his custom.

Chen Ping An smiled, “Don’t be nervous. We’re all family here.”

From the gate, the Constable quickly rolled up a book, tucking it into his sleeve. He then walked forward and bowed, “Greetings, Mountain Lord Chen.”

Chen Ping An said, “Thank you for your work.”

The spirit stood in place, frowning.

The Constable sneered, “Now that you met Lord Chen, you do not value this one?”

The spirit asked, “Constable, which Mountain Lord Chen?”

The Constable looked at Chen Ping An, who smiled, “I told him my name, but he does not believe me. Yet we have had a nice talk.”

The Constable was too lazy to pay attention to the spirit, and said, “Lord Chen, I must tell you something. Just so you know, I do not like tattling.”

Chen Ping An nodded. “Speak freely.”

The Constable glanced at the mountain road before adding, “There was a guest a while ago, a little girl, named Xie Gou, do you know of this matter?”

Chen Ping An nodded, “I know. She came to see Xiao Mo. I met her in Riding Dragon Lane, and she has a… striking personality.”

The Constable sighed, “Xiao Mo is so kind. How could she have a friend like that?”

The Constable sat down on the bamboo chairs by the gate, then rushed out, eager to please, darting forward, then wiping down a chair, then bowing, “Lord Chen, please sit!”

Chen Ping An thanked the spirit, sitting down on a bamboo chair, “What did Xie do?”

The Constable was starting to regret bringing this up. In case Xie Gou was family, or a student of Xiao Mo.

It was that Mink-Hatted Girl had been bullying the warm, helpless one. He could not abide it.

Chen Ping An patted the chair, “I already know this. What did Immortal Constable Daoist have to say?”

The Constable nodded, “Do not let Xiao Mo think that I am gossiping.”

Now the Constable worshipped the slippers Xiao Mo had made in her house. They were very expensive, so he was too afraid to wear them. Every now and then, he would wear them and pace around the room, acting like a real daoist. He even asked Xiao Mo for another pair.

Chen Ping An leaned back, stretching, and listening to the Constable speak of Xie Gou, who had surely acted with Bai Jing’s help.

Chen Ping An said, “Why do I not see Miss Cen training?”

The Constable said, “She went home.”

It was now that the spirit started his task, wiping the legs of Chen Ping An’s chair, an act of loyalty.

Chen Ping An was at a loss for words. All the wonders of Fallen Peak must have to do with the teacher. Pei Qian was just following in their footsteps.

The Wind Vane Ferry would probably reach Ox Horn Crossing in a day.

Hongxia and Yunzi, who had been poached by Cui Dongshan, would soon be making their way to the Northern Emerald Continent, and take root at Immortal Capital Mountain, where they would take part in the Great Crossing project.

Chen Lingjun and Guo Zhujiu had attended the Grand Opening Ceremony of the Yellow Millet Sect, and would soon be passing by the capital of Dream Millet Country.

Li Huai and Tender Daoist would probably stay here before going to the Cliffs Academy of Great Sui. Chen Ping An was ready to talk with Tender Daoist about the Great Crossing matters of the Plane of Paulownia Leaf.

The message has already been sent to Rouge Cheeks, who would be visiting Mount Jiuyi. She had the registration of the Dragon Elephant Sword Sect, and no one could stop her.

Chen Ping An then went to the Chess Mound Shrine, and found out that a new supervisor, a scholar named Jian Feng, had taken the place of Cao Gengxin. Both Song Yuzhang and Dong Shuijing had a favorable impression of him.

Wu Yuan had remained a minor official for many years, but had returned to politics, and was now the governor of Chu Prefecture. In addition to being the son-in-law of the Yuan Family, he was also a student of Cui Zhan.

Jing Kuan, the former head of the Ministry of Revenue, was now the governor of Precious Stream County.

Xun Qu, a clerk of the Court of State Ceremonial, and Cao Qinglang were fellow graduates. He had transferred to the Ministry of War.

Yuan Bai was still a member of the Bamboo Mountain Sword Sect.

Chen Ping An asked, “Constable, how goes the cultivation?”

The Constable was embarrassed. The worst thing to say was that this could not be rushed.

In truth, he would eat a tub of Tofu if it would help. In truth, there was no end to cultivation. He much preferred his post as the gatekeeper. As such, he had few problems. He was content reading books.

Xiao Mo suddenly appeared, after spending some time keeping an eye on Bai Jing.

Upon seeing her lord, she held her tongue.

Chen Ping An said, “The reason I split off a soul, that is because…”

Xiao Mo understood, “Do not say it, Lord.”

He was making swords.

The arena was likely outside.

Chen Ping An suddenly laughed, “We need one more person, Chief Servant Wu Shuangjiang.”

The White-Haired Boy looked forward to it, “Hidden Official Old Forefather?”

Chen Ping An nodded, “Then let’s add another one, Last Servant, known as Natural, using the name Konghou.”

A sect had to have some good couples.

Xie Gou said, “Since this is a ‘what if’ scenario, then why bother with this nonsense.”

Chen Ping An smiled. “It is the best choice in the hearts of many people. If the Constable was here, he would disagree.”

Xie Gou rolled her eyes.

Even the proud Bai Jing admitted defeat.

In this hypothetical scenario, there was a place for all.

There was the sect lord, Chen Ping An, and his partner, Ning Yao.

In the Hall of Ancestors were Cui Dongshan, Jiang Shangzhen, Xiao Mo, Mi Yu, Zhu Lian, Sui Youbian, Zhong Qiu, Cui Wei, Riding Dragon Lane Konghou, and Town Demon Tower Qing Tong…

And the young ones: Pei Qian, Cao Qinglang, Chai Wu, Bai Xuan, and Sun Chunwang…

Chen Ping An bent down, smiling, and said to the spirit, “I will consider the position of Grand Protector, and talk to Pei Qian. Personally, I would vote for you.”

The spirit’s eyes widened. “How could I, how could I…”

He was like Chief Zhou in the Ancestral Hall of Green Sky, with the same talent and words.

Chen Ping An asked, “Shall we go up together?”

The spirit shook his head, “I must go to Constable’s office. I am just a little thing. I will be going to the gate. I apologize for that.”

Chen Ping An and Xiao Mo started walking up the mountain.

The Constable chuckled, “Where did you learn that? Teach me!”

The spirit placed his hands on his hips, glaring up. He tried to stop the Constable.

Chen Ping An asked, “Did Bai Jing get used to Riding Dragon Lane?”

Xiao Mo nodded, “She is well-behaved, but she is always fighting with Konghou. She gets along well with Zhou Juchen though.”

Chen Ping An said, “This time, making swords also has to do with traveling, except this time, it is two thousand years.”