At the edge of the desolate wilderness, a flying sword hovered dutifully in the air, like a well-bred young lady from a good family who, upon meeting an elder who enforced the household rules, could only lower her demure eyes and stand obediently with hands clasped.
Beside the sword stood a travel-worn Confucian scholar of middle years, his temples frosted more white than before. If Zhao You and Song Jixin, those two promising students, had been present, they would have noticed that in barely ten days, this schoolmaster's white hair had multiplied considerably.
The tip of the flying sword pointed toward the silent mountain-moving ape of Zhengyang Mountain, whose entire body radiated a simmering fury that seemed ready to erupt into lethal combat at the slightest provocation.
The ape finally could not contain himself and asked in a low voice: "Why was that Zhenwu Mountain man allowed to pass, yet I am not? Master Qi, aren't you being rather snobbish?"
Such a direct confrontation was exceedingly impolite, but the ape felt nothing out of place in it. Zhenwu Mountain might be the military school's holy land on Eastern Baoping Continent, but it had always been a loose confederation—the sense of sect identity was weak. Cultivators and martial artists of great power merely registered their names there. Zhenwu Mountain's rules were famously broad and hollow, lacking real binding force, let alone any cohesion.
The weary-faced Qi Jingchun first addressed the flying sword: "Go. Your master is safe now."
The flying sword leaped with joy, as if granted a pardon. It spun in the air and shot away in a flash.
The mountain-moving ape thought he had figured out the reason, and his anger only deepened: "That girl was your pick all along, was she? If Master Qi had been coveting the Liu sword scripture, you could have told me openly! As long as it didn't fall into the Wind-Thunder Garden's hands, I would not have minded if your unacknowledged disciple took it. But instead you had to be so sneaky about it—what, wanting to be a whore while also erecting a chastity monument? You'd quietly take the benefits yourself, but let my Zhengyang Mountain bear the infamy?!"
If his earlier accusations had been born of anger and loose tongue, this round of abuse was nothing short of a declaration of open enmity.
Qi Jingchun's expression remained unchanged. He spoke slowly: "I, Qi Jingchun, as the Confucian scholar responsible for overseeing the feng shui and fortune of this place for a full sixty-year cycle, owe you an explanation. First, I have no connection whatsoever to that girl. I simply noticed her exceptional talent. The four characters inscribed on the 'Soaring Spirit Piercing the Dipper and Ox' plaque contain a portion of the sword-path's fortune of the Baoping Continent. When the girl stood beneath it, the four characters naturally resonated with her. Unfortunately, the material of her sword at the time could not support the fortune of all four characters, so I conveniently removed two of them and placed them in her blade. My relationship with this girl ends there. She is not the unacknowledged disciple you imagine."
Qi Jingchun laughed self-deprecatingly: "If I truly had the shamelessness to steal while on guard duty—as a master of my standing, pulling things to my bosom—would an outsider ever detect a thing? A mere sword scripture that kills in dreams. Did you really think I, Qi Jingchun, needed to scheme for nearly an entire cycle just to seize it?"
The mountain-moving ape, as a top-tier figure of Zhengyang Mountain, had witnessed countless long-conspiracies and Machiavellian schemes, and had endured the cunning manipulations of many sanctimonious immortals. He was not about to take the scholar's words at face value. Though his tone softened somewhat from before, he still sneered: "Oh? Then I was judging a gentleman with a petty heart?"
Qi Jingchun glanced at the ape: "The reason I came here to block you, while letting the Zhenwu Mountain man pass, is quite simple. Many people joke that Zhenwu Mountain has 'two truths'—true gentlemen and true scoundrels. So whatever that soldier-cultivator told me, I can believe. But you are different. You gravely wounded Liu Xianyang, destroying his path of cultivation, yet deliberately left him alive to prevent me from expelling you prematurely. People like you..."
He paused and added with a faint smile: "Oh, I almost forgot—you aren't human."
The mountain-moving ape narrowed his eyes, fists clenched so tight his joints cracked.
If it had been a mortal enemy from the Wind-Thunder Garden, or a cultivator who despised Zhengyang Mountain, hurling insults at him—a mountain-guarding ape—with the "not human" taunt, the thousand-year-old ape would not have cared in the slightest. But when this middle-aged Confucian scholar said it in that calm, mild tone, the mountain-moving ape felt an inexplicable, overwhelming humiliation.
Qi Jingchun seemed entirely oblivious to the ape's mounting fury and continued: "Stopping you is for Zhengyang Mountain's own good. Just now that girl was on the verge of summoning her life-bound treasure. You are from Zhengyang Mountain—you have dealt with sword energy and sword intent for a thousand years. Did you not feel that pressure?"
"That little girl was merely struggling in her death throes. Some petty magic tricks—Master Qi, you really shame yourself using them to frighten people?"
The old ape laughed loudly, feigning sudden enlightenment: "People used to say that your master, Master Qi, lost his virtue in his later years—his divine image was repeatedly demoted, eventually expelled from the Confucian temple, and smashed to pieces. I didn't believe it at the time. After all, the fourth sage of the Confucian temple—surely even in the unlikely event of meeting the legendary Dao Ancestor or the Buddha, he would have been a scholar worthy of a few words. But looking at it now, this Confucian lineage from your master to you has lasted only two generations, and it is about to be severed! 'The virtuous legacy of a gentleman lasts five generations before being cut'—who said that? Why is your particular branch so inept? Could it be that your master really was, as certain academies rumored, not a Confucian sage who carried on the tradition, but simply the greatest swindler in a thousand years?"
Though Qi Jingchun's brows furrowed slightly, he listened to every word the mountain-moving ape said without interruption, offering no response from beginning to end.
The old ape laughed recklessly, stamped one foot forward, and pointed a finger at the scholar who was being beaten like a dog that had fallen in the water. With a savage grin, he snarled: "Qi Jingchun, doesn't your Confucian school value propriety above all? I am standing within these rules—what can you do to me?!"
Qi Jingchun turned to look back toward the small town and let out a soft sigh. He then turned to face the mountain-moving ape again and asked: "Are you finished?"
The mountain-moving ape stared for a moment, looking the middle-aged scholar up and down. He withdrew his finger and bared his teeth: "No fun. Even a clay Buddha has a temper. I never thought a scholar would be even more patient—insulted without retaliating. I wonder if you'd take a beating without fighting back?"
Qi Jingchun smiled gently: "You're welcome to try."
The mountain-moving ape seemed tempted, but in the end held back from striking.
The ape asked: "Qi Jingchun, will you insist on blocking my way into the town?"
Qi Jingchun answered: "The consequences would be too severe—more than one Zhengyang Mountain could bear."
The mountain-moving ape pressed: "Truly?"
Qi Jingchun did not resort to mystification, nor did he yield in a moment of temper. He nodded with patience: "Truly."
The ape rubbed his chin, then cast one last glance at the distance behind Qi Jingchun. With a cold snort, he said: "Those two brats are lucky. Tell them this: they'd better never cross my path again!"
The mountain-moving ape turned and strode away. With his back to Qi Jingchun, the old ape suddenly raised one arm high and gave a thumbs-up.
Then the thumb slowly rotated, pointing downward.
Qi Jingchun lifted his gaze to the overcast sky. Rain was about to fall.
Suddenly, a voice reached his ear from the direction of the town—it was the Zhenwu Mountain soldier-cultivator's request, hoping he might grant leniency and allow the summoning of one of the deities enshrined at Zhenwu Mountain. Qi Jingchun nodded softly: "Granted."
The moment Qi Jingchun spoke that word, if anyone had happened to look up, they would have seen a point of light—tiny as a grain of rice—appear at the zenith of the sky. Then an impossibly fine golden thread descended from above, falling in an instant into the town.
"Master Qi?"
A young voice called from behind.
Qi Jingchun turned to see a boy and a girl running toward him at a quick pace.
Seeing the dark-green-clad outsider girl, he felt a pang of wistfulness. Back then, Zhao You—the promising young scholar—had fallen in love with her at first sight. Qi Jingchun had offered a single piece of advice, describing the girl as a sword without a sheath, one who would most easily wound the hearts of others. Young Zhao You, not yet understanding the true nature of love, had failed to grasp the depth of those words and remained trapped in his feelings. Qi Jingchun could not reveal the full truth—he could not say that the girl possessed a heart set on the Dao, and was therefore the most heartless of all.
This heartlessness was not a pejorative. It was the highest praise imaginable.
The affections of the world—romantic love between man and woman—were but one form among many.
In the mundane world below the mountains, perhaps such love could move hearts to the core, could drive infatuated men and women to pledge their lives to each other. But on the mountains, in the path of cultivation, things were far more complex.
When Qi Jingchun saw the straw-sandaled boy, his smile was much more natural. He teased warmly: "Quite a few fights these past few days—enough to shake heaven and earth and make ghosts weep."
Chen Ping'an felt somewhat embarrassed.
Qi Jingchun came straight to the point: "Two things to tell you. First, the mountain-moving ape of Zhengyang Mountain has withdrawn and will soon leave the town."
Chen Ping'an did not hesitate: "Will the old ape leave through the town's east gate?"
Qi Jingchun held up a hand and pressed it gently downward twice: "Let me finish first. Liu Xianyang has survived."
The boy's body tensed. He asked cautiously: "Master Qi, does that mean Liu Xianyang won't die?"
Qi Jingchun nodded: "Someone stepped in to help. Liu Xianyang's life is out of danger—there is no doubt about that. But the bad news is that his body suffered severe damage. He may not be as mobile as before."
Chen Ping'an broke into a wide grin.
For days, the boy's mind and spirit had been stretched like a bowstring at full draw, without a moment's respite. Upon hearing that Liu Xianyang had pulled through, the sudden relief caused him to lean backward and collapse into complete unconsciousness.
Ning Yao caught the boy at once.
Qi Jingchun explained: "Chen Ping'an previously had his mental gate forced open by Cai Jinjian of Cloud-Gathering Mountain, which shattered his mental defenses. His vital energy and spirit have been steadily leaking ever since. When Liu Xianyang's crisis struck, he had no choice but to push himself to the limit—what you might call breaking a cracked pot. He originally had half a year left to live. Now, I'd estimate, he has at most ten days."
This meant that from Mud Vase Lane, to the town rooftops, to the mountain stream, and finally to this desolate wilderness—every time the boy ran, he was burning through his lifespan at a catastrophic rate. He knew this full well.
Ning Yao asked: "Master Qi, just tell me—how do I save Chen Ping'an!"
Qi Jingchun sighed inwardly.
This was the wonder of the Dao-heart.
The girl was not without feeling for Chen Ping'an—otherwise she would not have fought alongside him to this point.
An ordinary person, upon hearing such terrible news, would inevitably go through stages of panic, grief, and sympathy—varying only in speed, duration, and depth.
Ning Yao skipped all of it entirely.
She leaped straight to the outcome she most desired: how do I save him?
In cultivation of power, progress was visible, step by steady step—one simply needed to move upward, with the only difference being how large each stride was. But cultivation of the heart was ethereal—paths stretched in every direction, every road seeming to lead to the great Dao, yet every road also appearing to be a dead end. No one could offer guidance. But for one who possessed a Dao-heart, it was called ascending to the sky in a single bound.
That was why the girl could look the straw-sandaled boy squarely in the eye, openly and without reservation, and ask him directly if he liked her.
Qi Jingchun thought of that young Daoist with the lotus crown atop his head, and his mood grew heavier.
Ning Yao crouched down and gently lifted Chen Ping'an onto her back. She asked: "Master Qi, speak—though beforehand I should mention, I think the old shopkeeper at the Yang family shop is not very skilled at saving lives and healing wounds. But Chen Ping'an knows an elder at another shop who is quite formidable."
Qi Jingchun looked at the girl, whose face was all seriousness, and asked a curious question: "In this world, what act goes most against the natural order—swimming against the current?"
Ning Yao answered without hesitation, raising her voice: "One person, one sword, slaying every last demon!"
Qi Jingchun didn't know whether to laugh or cry, a touch exasperated: "It's cultivation."
Ning Yao thought carefully: "Actually, it's the same thing."
Qi Jingchun pointed to the place where the pair had stood earlier, then indicated another spot: "The sword forge can nourish the physical body, and the Qianqiu can strengthen the divine soul. But for Chen Ping'an, it will at best maintain a rough balance between expenditure and intake—and with some luck, perhaps a small surplus. So when he wakes, tell him: from now on, even if he trains his fists for nothing else but to stay alive, he must put in the hardest effort."
Ning Yao breathed a small sigh of relief. In truth, she was not much better off than Chen Ping'an—she had merely started from a far stronger foundation, which was why she had not collapsed. "Master Qi, should I take Chen Ping'an back to Mud Vase Lane to recover? Or should we go see Liu Xianyang first?"
Qi Jingchun smiled: "Both are fine now."
Ning Yao considered: "This fellow on my back would certainly want to see Liu Xianyang the moment he opens his eyes. So I'll head to Master Ruan's place."
Qi Jingchun nodded: "I'll walk with you for a while."
The two walked side by side.
A spring breeze brushed their faces. The scholar walked with his hands clasped behind his back. The girl carried the boy.
As Ning Yao walked, she suddenly asked: "Master Qi, as the master of this small grotto-heaven, did you ever—having the advantage of proximity—take in a few students with exceptional talent?"
Qi Jingchun shook his head with a smile: "No. I took in only a single page boy who doesn't really count as a disciple. In the past, it was to avoid suspicion. Looking back now, I did miss out on several fine prospects."
Ning Yao asked again: "Master Qi, being here—do you know everything that happens?"
Qi Jingchun smiled: "Anything I wish to know, I can know. But not everything is necessarily the truth. After all, a slight deviation can lead to a thousand miles of error."
There was one thing Qi Jingchun did not say: from the moment he left the town, he had lost the divine ability of his "mind-mirror illuminating heaven and earth."
For someone had taken away the zhengui—the jade tablet. It was a token left by one of the Confucian sages in the town, and also one of the key nodes of the great formation.
Ning Yao hesitated, but could not help asking: "Master Qi, what realm are you at now? Have you reached the Upper Five Realms? And also—Master, presiding over this world as you do, are you truly invincible? Of course, if you feel it's inconvenient to answer, don't—I'm just asking casually."
Qi Jingchun, as expected, did not answer.
The girl rolled her eyes and fell silent.
Qi Jingchun unconsciously slowed his pace and turned to look back.
The boy blinked.
The middle-aged man blinked too.
Qi Jingchun smiled knowingly and, without drawing attention, subtly quickened his steps.
A gentleman aids the fulfillment of beauty.
After walking a considerable distance together, Qi Jingchun stopped and said with a smile: "I'll leave you here."
Standing in place, the white-templed Confucian scholar watched the figures grow smaller and smaller, saying nothing.
He took a single step.
Qi Jingchun appeared instantly near the Dragon-Slaying Pedestal.
Every Confucian sage possessed a life-bound character that occupied the foremost place of honor.
In this world, whoever you might be, the moment you wrote, spoke, or uttered that character, it added a trace of cultivation to that Confucian sage—accumulated drop by drop, wearing away stone through the power of water.
Qi Jingchun was the exception.
He had not one character, but two.
And their meaning was profoundly deep, their realm impossibly vast.
Jing. A still mind captures meaning.
Chun. All the world welcomes spring.
That was why he had been banished to this small world, completely cut off from the greater world beyond.
Though Qi Jingchun was merely the head of one academy among the Confucian school's three great academies and seventy-two academies, he truly could not be measured by ordinary standards.
This Confucian scholar, who had endured the mountain-moving ape's provocations and insults without the slightest reaction, closed his eyes and contemplated the third stroke of the character Jing. Then, raising two fingers held together, he traced a gentle downward stroke through the air.
The indestructible Dragon-Slaying Pedestal was split cleanly in two.
Qi Jingchun waved his sleeve. One of the two massive stone slabs landed in Master Ruan's blacksmith shop. The other appeared inside a small house in Mud Vase Lane.
Having completed all of this, Qi Jingchun sank into thought—like a master of Go facing a prolonged analysis. He stood in the fine curtain of rain, which gradually intensified into a downpour with lightning and thunder, yet he did not return to his senses.
The man who had always been called "Teacher" by the townsfolk was thinking of his own teacher.