The Yao family, steeped in tradition, had anticipated Chen Ping’an’s arrival. In the common room of the inn, a welcoming party awaited, Zhu Lian amongst them. Young Yao Xianzhi, ever the earnest scout, lingered awkwardly behind, a blush creeping up his neck.

Chen Ping’an, ever mindful of courtesy, offered apologies to the two weathered soldiers of the Yao clan. They brushed it aside with hearty laughter. One, with a wave of his calloused hand, declared, “Master Chen, such formality! You treat us as strangers when we are but simple men in your debt!”

Yao Xianzhi’s gaze, when it fell upon Chen Ping’an, held the awestruck admiration one reserves for a general returning victorious from a mighty campaign. It left Chen Ping’an somewhat bewildered.

The party mounted their steeds and spurred them onward, eager to rejoin the main column. Pei Qian, perched beside Chen Ping’an, chattered with youthful glee. The veteran general Yao Zhen, ever considerate, had bid the carriages and wagons to proceed at a measured pace, and soon the vanguard came into view.

Yao Zhen, invigorated by a restorative elixir gifted by his Royal Highness, found his battle-worn body much improved after his recent encounter with the assassin. Though the day’s journey was northward, he had held the horses to a gentler gait. With Yao Jinzhi’s approval, he abandoned the confines of his carriage, choosing instead the familiar comfort of the saddle. After all, a lifetime spent in the saddle, enduring grueling marches and sleeping under the stars, was not so easily forgotten. He fell into step with Chen Ping’an, the passing scenery a tapestry of greens and golds. With a generous benefactor beside him, conversing of the strange events at the buried river temple, Yao Zhen’s spirits soared, and his laughter rang out with unbridled joy.

Chen Ping’an, emboldened by their camaraderie, requested the old general’s assistance in securing a detailed map of the buried river basin. Yao Zhen readily agreed, no questions asked.

Pei Qian, in the meantime, had commandeered a spot within the carriage, nestled once more beside the taciturn Sui on her right. The swordswoman sat in silent meditation, blade across her knees, an aura of unwavering focus radiating from her.

Pei Qian had never much cared for the woman’s icy demeanor. She always seemed to regard the world as if owed a king’s ransom. *Whom does she think she is scowling at all day? At this rate, she’ll be an old crone before the next harvest!*

Before retreating into the carriage’s dim interior, Pei Qian had retrieved from Chen Ping’an her small calligraphy brush and rice paper. Now, she sat curled in a corner, unpacking her meager belongings from a worn cotton bundle. Tucked carefully within was a book, its pages dog-eared and brittle with age. Her eyes then fell on a pair of boots, seemingly new yet strangely stained with mud. She quickly thrust the package aside, sticking out her tongue in embarrassment, hoping no one had noticed her small secret.

Leaning back against the carriage wall, Pei Qian clutched the battered book in both hands. She tossed and turned for a while, unable to find a comfortable position, before finally pressing the book to her face and succumbing to sleep.

Before drifting off, the little girl remembered the man’s words, urging her to truly study and not merely memorize. *I will! Tomorrow, I will. But today, I’m just too tired.* A mischievous thought crept in, “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…” The endless tomorrows tickled her, and she almost burst into laughter.

And so, the little girl slept soundly.

Sui, on the right, cracked open her narrow, peach-blossom eyes and exhaled a silent breath. With a swift, imperceptible motion, she extinguished a wisp of aura with her palm.

Of the four souls trapped within the painting scroll, only Du Hulu Wei Xian had managed to escape its confines first. On this very day, the remaining three were now present in the vast Haoran world.

Zhu Lian had devoted himself entirely to the path of external martial arts, pushing it to its absolute limit before turning inward. Had he not, that martial arts fanatic slain by Ding Ying would never have dared to challenge nine Grandmasters at once. The most fearsome aspect of Zhu Lian during that tragic chaos was that the more grievous his wounds, the more potent his killing techniques became. Ding Ying, though surviving by sheer luck and claiming Zhu Lian’s lotus crown as a prize, never spoke of the Nanyuan Kingdom battle for the rest of his days. Perhaps there was more to the story than met the eye.

Lu Baixiang, a prodigy, possessed a remarkable aptitude for learning, excelling at every discipline he touched, including the martial arts. His path roughly mirrored that of Ding Ying. However, Lu Baixiang’s ambition, or perhaps his drive, lacked the unadulterated fervor of Ding Ying. After founding the Demon Sect, he continued his solitary wanderings across the land, only to be caught in an ambush. It was during that bloody siege that Lu Baixiang was encircled by righteous masters who suffered a dramatic loss of cultivation. In their hearts, they secretly admired him. As for the artifacts left behind, it was said two renowned beauties, both enamored with Lu Baixiang, had fought fiercely over them, seemingly willing to die for love.

Wei Xian’s martial prowess was the rarest of all, a battlefield instinct that thrived amidst overwhelming odds. A solitary warrior, capable of shattering formations and wading through tens of thousands of foes. History held scant record of his exploits, overshadowed by tales of the founding emperor of the Nanyuan Kingdom.

Sui, by nature and aptitude, more resembled a Taoist cultivator than a martial artist driven by a singular, unwavering goal.

Although Sui had recently adopted the guise of an abbot, her true ambitions lay not in the mortal realm, but in the heavens above.

She was currently experimenting with a sword technique of perilous potential. In the spirit-starved land of lotus flowers, it would remain an unattainable dream, but in the vastness of this world, it held boundless promise.

Her current efforts were akin to a warrior’s “reclamation,” yet profoundly different. She fanned the flames between her waist and ribs, forging her own internal sword furnace, nurturing a nascent sword-energy. Imitating the true energy of a pure martial artist, it surged like a fiery dragon, surveying the four directions.

Should Sui succeed, she would not only refine her body and spirit but also forge a sliver of sword energy into a sword embryo, a rudimentary version of the sword cultivator’s natal flying sword.

As for the true essence of sword cultivation, Sui was entirely ignorant of it. The sheer audacity of her attempt revealed her raw talent.

She had gleaned snippets of conversation from the Yao family soldiers, whispers of a swordsman-like assassin in the service of their benefactor, Chen Ping’an. Tales of unmatched killing power, of elusive flying swords, had captivated her imagination.

*This is the way!* The land of lotus flowers was too small for her ambitions. *This world is vast enough. One day, I will reach the highest peak and draw my sword!*

Sui returned to her meditative posture.

In matters of cultivation, she would concede to no one. Her true rivals were not Wei Xian or the others.

Outside the carriage, the steady rhythm of hooves echoed through the land. Peasants paused to watch the procession pass, their eyes filled with curiosity, not fear.

Chen Ping’an, astride his horse, observed the faces of the common folk.

He recalled a snowy season long past, a young man in green and a girl in a pink skirt passing through the countryside. They encountered a patrol of elite Dali border scouts, well-trained and remarkably courteous. After examining their travel documents, the officer had smiled and suggested they seek shelter from the blizzard at the nearby beacon tower.

Chen Ping’an’s impressions of Emperor Dali, the vassal king Song Changjing, and his neighbor Song Jixin, had been far from favorable. Yet, that chance encounter had instilled in him a lack of prejudice towards the Dali Dynasty itself.

As dusk descended, the company halted at a large inn nestled near the city. The establishment possessed an air of refined elegance, boasting a small garden shaded by verdant bamboo groves.

That evening, Yao Zhen personally delivered to Chen Ping’an a geometric map. Chen Ping’an, engrossed in its intricate details, examined the jade slip in the privacy of his chamber. Across the table, Pei Qian stifled a yawn, a demon-repelling talisman affixed to her forehead. She had overheard tales of female ghosts haunting the bamboo forest. The wind, whistling through the stalks, sounded like mournful cries, and she was convinced the spirits were drifting just beyond the walls. When Yao Zhen knocked, Pei Qian eagerly leapt to open the door. The old general chuckled at the sight of the talisman. He inquired about the reason for it, and then said, “Have no fear, little one. Even if mischievous spirits lurk in the bamboo grove, the Yao clan, sons of war, radiate a yang energy that ghosts dare not approach.”

Pei Qian nodded, unconvinced, removed the talisman, and placed it on the table before scampering off to her own room.

Yao Zhen gestured for Chen Ping’an to sit and converse.

As they settled, Chen Ping’an expressed his gratitude. Official government maps were strictly prohibited from falling into private hands, even more so than weapons like bows and crossbows.

Yao Zhen smiled and said, “It’s nothing of great import. The local governor readily agreed. Having served as a high official, he wouldn’t fuss over such trivial matters. Don’t think you owe me such a great debt. In fact, Governor Liu was quite embarrassed when he first saw me. It turned out, a family member of his serves in the Ministry of War, and this fell into my hands. The moment he heard what I desired, his face transformed, and I knew all was well.”

Chen Ping’an smiled and asked, “So I truly need not stand on ceremony?”

Yao Zhen pointed a finger at Chen Ping’an. “You, I confess, I don’t fully understand. Two encounters with death, where survival was paramount. Yet, you carry on as if nothing occurred! You dislike formalities and rules. How very untamed you are, lacking all proper pride!”

Chen Ping’an was speechless.

Yao Zhen lowered his voice and said, “My grandson, Yao Xianzhi, is timid and unable to voice his request directly. He begs me to ask if you might offer him some guidance in his martial arts. What do you say?”

Chen Ping’an considered for a moment. “A polite exchange, I can manage. However, if Yao Xianzhi seeks true improvement, I suggest he seek out Wei Xian. I would be happy to put in a word for him.”

Yao Zhen said seriously, “That lad only desires a polite exchange, nothing more.”

Chen Ping’an sighed. “In that case, I will spar with him tomorrow.”

Yao Zhen stroked his beard and chuckled. “How kind you are! But no, I will convince him to approach Wei Xian instead.”

Chen Ping’an nodded. “I will speak with Wei Xian presently. Knowing this will allow me to examine the map in peace. After all, knowledge from experts such as us is priceless.”

Yao Zhen slapped the table and laughed. “Yes, you scoundrel! You are as shameless as I was in my youth! No wonder we get along so well!”

Chen Ping’an smiled wryly and shook his head.

Yao Zhen departed, his steps buoyant.

Chen Ping’an unfurled the geometric map and retrieved the square water seal from his pocket dimension. With a sigh of relief, he stamped the map twice.

He stored the seal and map away.

He then began to decipher the dense, minuscule script etched onto the jade slip, a palm-sized artifact bearing over five thousand words on both sides. The main text contained an Immortal Artifact Refining Art, while the reverse held the Water Goddess’s annotations and personal experiences.

While ostensibly a simple mantra for refining objects, it delved into the profound principles of the Five Elements Dao, with its clean, elegant verses and lofty ideals. The Water Goddess, drawing from a rain-prayer inscription, used the element of water as a starting point to explain the meridians, the kidneys (which govern water in the five internal organs), the ears (the five senses), the tail fingers (the five digits), saliva (the bodily fluid), feathers (the five sounds), fear (the five ambitions), wells (the five sacrifices), and the northern Xuanwu (the main spirit).

The meridians were clearly defined, and the methods for refining the Qifu Qiao acupoints were described in meticulous detail on the reverse side of the jade slip. She had held nothing back. Even the possibility of using this immortal Taoist craft to refine golden bodies and incense was clearly conveyed to Chen Ping’an.

Chen Ping’an was awestruck. He realized that the “A drop of golden bottle of water from heaven” inscribed on the talisman held a profound meaning: after mastering the mantra, one could essentially melt their golden elixir into water essence, nourishing the internal organs. “The flying line in the sky is like a loom” alluded to the “post road” of the human body’s meridians. “Turn into four cool days and sweep away the world’s heat” referred to the Taoist Qingming Tianxia. The four floors of the White Jade Capital could help monks subdue their inner demons with four forms of Taoism. This was no mere side-door technique, but an authentic Taoist method. This was the smooth path that all Nascent Soul Earth Immortals dreamed of traversing! Success was not guaranteed, but it was as if the earthly immortal at the “mountain’s peak” had four overpasses connecting them to the heavens, with four additional opportunities to avoid straying from the path. They could even return the same way, and, moreover, this practice would benefit the body, soul, and spirit. Who would not envy such an advantage?

No wonder the Water Goddess had stated bluntly that this technique could “refine all things.” Even in immortal caves with established sects, this magic technique would likely be the exclusive treasure of the sect leader.

Chen Ping’an closed his eyes and silently recited the five thousand words, resolving to never take out the jade slip lightly.

Holding the jade slip, Chen Ping’an felt a cool, comforting sensation wash over him, and his wounds healed at an accelerated pace.

Opening his eyes, Chen Ping’an noticed that it was odd, but he could not identify the type of jade the slip was made from. He decided he would inquire with Wei Bo when he arrived at Mount Luopo.

In the second half of the night, a surge of water vapor filled the inn, shrouding it in a white mist. Yin Miaofeng and Shao Yuanran, disrupted from their slumber, emerged from their rooms and hastened towards the garden.

Chen Ping’an, too, abandoned his sword furnace and standing stake, opened his window, and leaped outside.

Alarmed, the monks accompanying the army gave the warning. The Yao family soldiers donned their armor and grasped their weapons, preparing for battle.

Zhu Lian’s room remained shrouded in darkness, but the hunched-back old man was pacing around the table, his steps silent and precise.

Sui, sitting cross-legged on her bed, opened and closed her eyes.

Wei Xian lay motionless on his bed, fists clenched upon his abdomen.

Lu Baixiang paused by the window.

On the edge of the bamboo forest, Yin Miaofeng and Shao Yuanran breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the uninvited guest.

Taoist Baozhen smiled, clasped his fists, and offered his congratulations. “The Water Goddess’s golden body has come to pass!”

Standing before them was a short figure clad in resplendent imperial garments: the buried river water god who had journeyed from Biyou Mansion.

From this moment forward, even the Golden Pin Temple Master would no longer look down upon this water god whose cultivation had taken such a leap. Within the waters of the buried river, especially in Biyou Mansion and near the Water God Temple, this diminutive woman now possessed the strength of a Nascent Soul Earth Immortal.

The Water Goddess smiled. “Last time, my Biyou Mansion failed in its hospitality and was exceedingly rude. This time, I have come not only on personal business but also to invite Yin Zhenren to visit our mansion in the near future. I will offer Yin Zhenren, and Xiao Shao, my sincerest apologies.”

Taoist Baozhen was utterly flattered.

First, her cultivation was far beyond its past self. Even here, one could consider her half a Nascent Soul boss. Second, Biyou Mansion had formed a connection with the quasi-saint Zhong Kui. Daquan Liu’s family was inconsequential and they would have to ignore the court and pinch their nose and admit it. Third, the elites of Daquan knew of this river-burying god’s terrible temper. Her willingness to offer such words was surprising. Yin Miaofeng was merely a consecrated worshiper in service to the Longmen Realm Liu family. How could he not be surprised?

Even Shao Yuanran, usually so arrogant, offered a genuine smile.

Chen Ping’an approached his masters, greeted them, and then turned his attention to the Water God Empress.

Yin Miaofeng and Shao Yuanran, sensing the moment, departed discreetly. The Yao family soldiers and the monks in the army could stand down, the danger averted. Yin Miaofeng subtly confirmed the buried river water god’s identity to the soldiers.

Yao Zhen smiled and clasped his fists toward the Water Goddess.

Many tales of the burying river water god circulated along the border, and they resonated with the old general’s own temperament.

The Water God Empress returned the gesture, uttering a blunt, unvarnished invitation that elicited laughter. “When you return home and to the border, General, you must visit my Biyou Mansion for a drink! Prepare yourself for a proper drinking!”

Yao Xianzhi and Yao Lingzhi almost rolled their eyes in unison.

Yao Jinzhi, stood proudly, with grace by Yao Zhen’s side.

Finally, the Water Goddess flicked her wrist, producing a jar of wine, which she tossed to Chen Ping’an. “Be careful with that jade slip. It’s a rare treasure. Had it been less so, I would have long since given those great words to the Tao to be smashed to pieces.”

Her next words were not whispered, but spoken for all to hear. “After much thought, I almost repaid your kindness with my body! Fortunate for me, I held back.” Carefree, she laughed. “I drank half this jar of splash wine on my way here, hoping to muster the courage. But even as I stepped into the inn, I was too timid to utter those shameless words. Chen Ping’an, is it not a pity that you have lost a flower-like beauty? Haha! I shall drown my sorrows in the remaining wine!”

And with that, the Water Goddess departed in haste.

Chen Ping’an stood there, wine jar in hand, uncertain whether to drink or not.

Yao Zhen wore a look of pure amusement.

Yao Xianzhi, after a moment of stunned silence, gave Chen Ping’an a double thumbs-up.

Pei Qian stared from a distance, speechless.

Chen Ping’an, wearing a stony expression, returned to his room.

Before they parted ways, Chen Ping’an said sternly, “Should you ever meet a girl named Ning in the future, you are forbidden from mentioning anything that happened tonight!”

Pei Qian blinked. “What if, just hypothetically, I accidentally let it slip?”

Chen Ping’an said in a grim voice, “After I’ve beaten you half to death, I’ll beat you the other half. Is that clear?!”

Pei Qian immediately declared, “Crystal clear! I’ve read the book, and now I am strong. I will never say a word, even if you beat me to death!”

They retreated to their respective rooms.

Chen Ping’an wiped sweat from his brow.

Finally, a smile touched his lips.

Abandoning his sword furnace practice, he lay down at the table, took out his small whetstone, and began to etch beautiful words like “innocence” and the endearing “Ning Yao.”

*Miss Ning, I am well.*

*I have journeyed far and encountered many people and things.*

*Some people miss you, not in the proper manner, but they miss you dearly.*