After leaving the mountains, Chen Ping'an headed first for the blacksmith's forge. As he crossed the stone arch bridge, the boy pressed his palms together, lowered his head, and hurried across with an expression of deep solemnity and sincerity, muttering under his breath: "Old immortal, please —let's talk this through civilly. No hitting. If you have any requests, you can visit me in my dreams tonight. Best not during the day —I'm honestly quite afraid."
Fortunately, by the time he reached the other side of the bridge, Chen Ping'an was unharmed. His face brightened, and he skipped happily toward Master Ruan and Ruan Xiu.
The boy knew no sorrow.
Ruan Qiong received Chen Ping'an under the eaves as usual, one bamboo chair for each of them. Ruan Xiu stood behind her father, her face barely concealing her delight.
Ruan Qiong studied the dust-covered boy, who carefully set down his basket before reaching gently beneath the heap of herbs to produce the cloth bundle containing both topographical maps. He handed them over with an apologetic expression: "When I was climbing Lamp-Lighting Mountain, a massive waterfall blocked the trail. I hid my basket near the deep pool at the waterfall's base and built a small wooden frame to shield it from the wind and rain. I didn't expect that shortly after reaching the top, a heavy rainstorm hit. The rain was torrential. By the time I rushed back down, the frame had collapsed, and the basket and cloth bundle were soaked through. Fortunately, the two maps were wrapped in oiled paper and stayed mostly dry. After the sun came out, I checked —the edges were slightly damp, but once they dried, there were visible marks..."
Ruan Qiong opened the cloth bundle and oiled paper. The two maps were nearly flawless —the minor damage was negligible. Moreover, these were copies; the kiln-bureau and county office had no intention of reclaiming them. But Ruan Qiong had no intention of using that fact to comfort the boy. He glanced at the nervous Chen Ping'an standing before him and asked: "In the middle of a downpour, you climbed up and down the Dragon Cascade Waterfall on Lamp-Lighting Mountain? Were you looking to die?"
Chen Ping'an smiled but said nothing.
Ruan Qiong waved his hand, signaling the boy to sit back down and stop blocking his view.
Chen Ping'an settled into the small green bamboo chair. Once he had returned the maps, the weight on his shoulders finally lifted. If he hadn't feared damaging the precious maps, this entire trip into and out of the mountains could have been shortened by three or four days. Moreover, after spending so long with them as his constant companions, the sentimental boy had grown quietly attached to the two maps. Whenever the weather was clear and he stood atop a peak gazing into the distance, Chen Ping'an liked to spread the maps open, look up at the landscape, then look down at the parchment.
For more than half a month, Chen Ping'an had never felt so thoroughly alive.
Ruan Qiong gently tossed both maps back to Chen Ping'an. "The chairs are decent. Make two more when you get a chance. Consider the maps your payment —they're yours."
Though Ruan Qiong still didn't much care for the boy from Mud Vase Lane, he was not so petty as to dismiss him entirely.
He could easily imagine the scene: a downpour raging, a thin, anxious boy scrambling down a waterfall, desperate to check that the maps were safe.
In Ruan Qiong's eyes, this was not heroism. It was stubbornness bordering on foolishness.
In truth, compared to this downtrodden boy, Ruan Qiong far preferred Song Jixin —the young prince of Great Li who understood the art of reading the times even at his age —or the carefree Liu Xianyang, who seemed unburdened by the world. Even Ma Kuxuan, with his sharp edges and fierce pride, had many admirable qualities. Even Zhao Yao, who had grown up at Qi Jingchun's side, was not as rigid and unadaptable as Chen Ping'an.
His decision to give away the maps —finding a pretext to do so —was actually rooted in a firm resolution to draw a line between himself and the boy. The blacksmith's forge could take him on as an apprentice swordsmith, but it would never become the cradle of a founding disciple. In the decades ahead, Ruan Qiong would honor his commitment to protect the mountains the boy purchased —but the boy should harbor no illusions about any deeper connection with his daughter.
Ultimately, Ruan Qiong did not look down on Chen Ping'an because of his humble origins. It was a matter of incompatible paths.
The disciple who would one day inherit Ruan Qiong's legacy needed to be a kindred spirit —someone who could stand alongside him as both teacher and friend, working in concert to build a sect that would endure for a thousand years. Temperamental compatibility was everything.
Chen Ping'an, of course, had no idea how far Ruan Qiong's thoughts had wandered. The boy simply clutched the maps to his chest and asked: "Will the superintendent at the bureau have any objections?"
Ruan Qiong sneered: "For at least the next sixty years, I am the de facto emperor of Longquan County. My rules come first."
Ruan Xiu muttered: "Father, nobody strokes their own ego quite like you."
Ruan Qiong ignored his daughter's jab. He addressed Chen Ping'an in a serious tone: "Now to business. Which five peaks did you choose in the end?"
Chen Ping'an instinctively straightened his posture. "Around Divine Beauty Mountain, I selected three: Precious Talisman Mountain, Color-Cloud Peak, and Immortal Herb Mountain."
Ruan Qiong nodded. "Not bad judgment. Precious Talisman Mountain is one of the largest among the sixty-plus peaks, and it's no empty shell. If it weren't for themountain-protecting grand formation I'll need to establish in the future, I would have chosen it over Crossbow Ridge. In this thousand-li territory, unless a mountain spirit resides there or hidden treasures lie beneath, the larger the territory one controls, the more spiritual energy one possesses —a clear advantage."
"Immortal Herb Mountain is the only peak with genuine potential to produce plant spirits —wood nymphs and the like. The only drawback is its size. Even if one did emerge, its quality and potential would be limited. A small pond cannot nurture a great dragon. As for Color-Cloud Peak —it's rather ordinary. Beyond its height and scenic beauty, it offers little benefit for cultivation. Unless you can somehow acquire cloud-root stones from Cloud Mist Mountain and place them at key mountain veins, it won't amount to much."
"Didn't you visit the lake on Yellow Lake Mountain?"
Ruan Qiong's final question caught Chen Ping'an off guard. "I did."
"Continue —what are the other two peaks?"
Ruan Qiong had made his point and let the matter rest. He had already offered more than enough guidance.
The truth was that Yellow Lake Mountain's small lake held the same kind of potential as Immortal Herb Mountain's spiritual flora —but different in nature. Where Immortal Herb Mountain might one day produce a plant spirit, Yellow Lake Mountain harbored a python as thick as a well mouth —the undisputed overlord of the region. In a contest of "who controls the water" with a certain smallloach, the python had unfortunately lost, forfeiting a great opportunity for advancement that lay right at its doorstep.
But the beauty of the Great Dao lay in the fact that no path was ever truly cut off. Now that the Lizhu small chiliocosm had shattered and descended, the five small creatures who had accumulated genuine fortune and destiny over three thousand years were: the golden carp snatched away by the Dragon King basket and carried to Great Sui; the fire dragon that had become the bracelet on Ruan Xiu's wrist; the loach in the company ofLord of the Severed River Liu Zhimao; the wooden dragon that Zhao Yao had brought to life by dotting its eyes; and theearthy-yellow four-legged lizard that hadstubbornly followed Wang Zhu. These five diminutive beings —creatures that might seem trivial —were the true legacy of the Lizhu small chiliocosm, a treasure trove of living fortune and spiritual potential. Artifacts like the sword-gourd and the demon-revealing mirror were nothing to scoff at, of course. But compared to five living vessels of blessed destiny, they paled.
As for the great python of Yellow Lake Mountain, it had actually gained from its loss. Within the thousand-li territory, no rival remained to challenge its dominance. It had become a veritable overlord. Once the mountain and river spirits were officially installed, if the python showed sufficient wisdom and submitted to one of them —obtaining an official protective decree from the Great Li government —it might very well embark upon the true path of cultivation.
Chen Ping'an said: "I intend to buy Pearl Mountain and Fallen Spirit Mountain."
Ruan Qiong blinked in surprise. "Pearl Mountain, I understand —one spring-welcome coin for a quaint little hill, a matter of personal sentiment. But Fallen Spirit Mountain —how did you set your sights on that one? Logically, it's located on the southwestern border of Longquan County. Given your route, you couldn't possibly have visited it. It was a sealed mountain of Great Li in the old days. Did you choose it based solely on the name?"
Chen Ping'an felt somewhat sheepish and was reluctant to explain the real reason.
The truth was, while he had been deliberating over which mountain to buy, a bird had flown overhead and defecated directly on the map. After hastily wiping it clean, he noticed that the droppings had landed precisely on the characters for "Fallen Spirit Mountain." He had made his decision on the spot, refusing to second-guess himself. The name was inauspicious, perhaps —but Old Yao had once said that spirits resided in all mountains and rivers. So Chen Ping'an chose to interpret it as a sign from the mountain god himself.
Ruan Qiong thought it over. "Choosing Fallen Spirit Mountain —it's not out of the question. Then it's settled: Fallen Spirit Mountain, Precious Talisman Mountain, Immortal Herb Mountain, Color-Cloud Peak, and Pearl Mountain. Five peaks, with a three-hundred-year term. During that time, even if you were to excavate an entire peak and cart it away, no one could stop you. Everything produced on those mountains —herbs, spirit plants, wild game, even any hidden treasures you might stumble upon —all of it belongs to the name inscribed in the Great Li Mountain and River Registry."
Chen Ping'an nodded. "Understood."
Ruan Qiong continued patiently: "A few things to keep in mind. First —before you die, you must inform the Great Li court through the Longquan county office. You will need to designate one or more individuals to inherit your five peaks. The Great Li Ministry of Revenue also maintains a secret file where you can designate a beneficiary for each of your five mountains —a safeguard in case you die suddenly without time to leave a will. Second —within the three-hundred-year term, you cannot sell a peak at will. Any transaction requires the approval of at least three official parties through the Great Li government. And I strongly advise against selling, because no matter how high the price, you will always find that you sold too cheap."
Ruan Qiong was a military saint presiding over a vast territory, yet he sat discussing these matters with a boy from a squalid alley —on equal terms. It seemed absurd on its face, but it was entirely natural. The thousand-year enterprise of founding a sect, and his daughter's path to enlightenment —these were matters that demanded Ruan Qiong's most painstaking attention. He wanted nothing more than to break every detail down to its finest grain and lay it all before the boy.
Ruan Qiong asked: "Chen Ping'an, any questions?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head with a smile: "None."
Ruan Qiong nodded. "Then let's leave it there. I suspect you have some coins left over. I'll keep an eye out for shop transactions in town —you can pick up a few storefronts. But don't overextend yourself. Things in town will get complicated as various factions arrive. One or two well-established old shops should suffice."
Chen Ping'an's face flushed slightly with gratitude. "Thank you, Master Ruan."
Ruan Qiong smiled self-deprecatingly: "The gentleman thinks of virtue; the petty man thinks of land."
Chen Ping'an looked puzzled —he didn't understand the meaning.
Ruan Qiong waved his hand, shooing the boy away. "Go about your business —don't mind my philosophical musings. You're still young. You haven't reached the age where one talks about breadth of mind or spiritual depth."
Chen Ping'an stood, shouldered his basket, and was about to leave when Ruan Qiong added an offhand remark: "After Teacher Qi left, it's perfectly fine to miss him now and then —human nature, after all. But don't lose yourself in it, and don't try to dig too deeply into the mysteries. Once you've bought your five peaks and one or two shops, just sit back and collect your income. Marry, have children, expand your lineage —that would be honoring your ancestors. Both I, Ruan Qiong, and the Great Li court will watch over you and your holdings. Just as your name implies —safe and sound, Chen Ping'an. Nothing matters more than that. Who knows? Perhaps one day, when the time is right, you may even walk the path of cultivation. It's not impossible."
Chen Ping'an departed in silence.
After the boy left the shop, Ruan Xiu sat back in her bamboo chair. "Father, what did that last sentence mean?"
Ruan Qiong replied evenly: "It means that the petty man, whose spiritual vision falls short of the gentleman's, thinks only of securing a comfortable place to call his own."
Ruan Xiu frowned. "What's wrong with that? Valuing one's home and being reluctant to leave —there's nothing objectionable in that, no matter where you go. Who said this? I think it's unreasonable."
Ruan Qiong's expression darkened. He said quietly: "So the Confucian sage also said: 'Where my heart finds peace, there is my home.'"
Ruan Xiu huffed indignantly: "Scholars are insufferable —they've claimed all the wisdom in the world for themselves!"
Ruan Qiong replied earnestly: "Xiuxiu, this still isn't a valid excuse for not reading."
The girl with the ponytail made a show of surprise, then quickly stood: "Father, I suddenly feel I have a great deal of strength —I think I'll go forge some swords!"
---
Chen Ping'an hurried to the Yang family shop and handed the bulk of his herb-filled basket to a shop assistant. After weighing the contents, the boy received two taels of silver. In truth, many of the rare herbs he sold were half-donated —the young assistant couldn't recognize their true value, but they were actually herbs that Old Man Yang held in high regard. These were the genuinely valuable specimens.
But gathering herbs had always been a secondary pursuit for Chen Ping'an —he had never set out to make money from it. In fact, since he had learned to enter the mountains for charcoal-burning, he had sold herbs to the Yang family shop dozens of times. Aside from selling to the honest Li Er, every single transaction had been at a loss.
Old Man Yang never accepted Chen Ping'an's herbs for free. If the boy tried to give them away, Old Man Yang would throw him into the street. But if he sold them to the shop assistant or the resident physician —no matter how absurd the price —the eccentric old man would turn a blind eye.
This time, Chen Ping'an did not encounter Old Man Yang.
After leaving the shop, he discovered the streets buzzing with chatter. Everyone was talking about a commotion at the twelve-legged crab-gate memorial archway. The story went like this: the old superintendent —Master Song, the one who had funded the covered bridge before his retirement —had returned to town in spectacular fashion, this time bearing the title of Ministry of Rites right-assistant director. He had brought a delegation of officials and was apparently taken by the calligraphy on the four plaques hanging from the crab-gate —after all, they were all scholars. It was understandable. But for reasons no one could quite explain, once word reached the superintendent's compound, someone had raced into the mountains to summon young Official Wu, who was out inspecting the logging operations. The young magistrate had then led his entire staff back to town even more urgently, intercepting Master Song's party.
With nothing better to do, Chen Ping'an followed the crowd toward the memorial archway and stood at the edge of the gathering.
Eight ladders had been erected beneath the four plaques —one ladder on each side of each plaque. But at the moment, only the "Yielding to None When Duty Calls" plaque was occupied. On one side stood an elderly scholar; on the other, a much younger man. The elder was looking down, apparently berating someone below in the crisp, formal court dialect of Great Li.
Someone clapped Chen Ping'an on the shoulder and said with a grin: "Chen Ping'an, what a coincidence —here you are, watching the excitement too?"
Chen Ping'an turned to see the talkative youth with the cinnabar mole between his brows. Fearing another torrent of words, he said: "Just passing through. I can't really follow what they're saying anyway. I should head home."
The fair-featured youth smiled: "Don't be like that —you may not understand, but I can explain! This is truly fascinating. If you miss it, you'll regret it forever. Your local magistrate, Official Wu, is locked in a standoff with the Ministry of Rites officials. The man standing on the ladder is the Right Assistant Director of the Rites —a genuinely important figure in Great Li. On one side, the former superintendent Song apparently promised to deliver the plaques to the Ministry and used that to secure his promotion to right-assistant director. Now he's returned to collect his prize. On the other side is young Official Wu, who considers every treasure in this town his personal turf. The idea of losing any of the few remaining historical artifacts? Unacceptable. And even if he were willing to swallow his pride, he can't —because the four surnames and ten clans are watching with bated breath, eager to see if he'll back down. If he shows weakness now, he'll never regain authority over those old foxes. And the already troubled site selection for the Wenchang and Martial temples will fall apart entirely."
Chen Ping'an listened carefully to the youth's animated narration, then asked: "Who exactly are you? How do you know so much?"
The youth pointed a finger at himself and grinned: "Me? I'm certainly no official of Great Li. My name is Cui Chan —the character 'chan' is rare and troublesome to write, so don't bother with it."
Chen Ping'an looked into the youth's eyes.
The youth met his gaze with perfect composure, then laughed: "I'm older than you, so you can call me Uncle Cui."
Chen Ping'an smiled.
The youth smiled back, gently rubbing his cheeks with both hands. "It's fine —I also have a nickname that rolls off the tongue more easily. They call me the Embroidered Tiger."