Approaching the small town, the soldier-cultivator from Zhenwu Mountain released his grip on Ma Kuxuan's shoulder. The boy staggered slightly, dizzy from the swift journey, and shook his head. "Do you know what's happened? Could it be my father or uncle—did someone take a fancy to our family treasures? One refuses to hand them over, the other demands them forcefully, and it ends up like Liu Xianyang's situation, causing a terrible mess?"
The sword-bearing man walked briskly with Ma Kuxuan, shaking his head. "The mountain-moving ape of Zhengyang Mountain attacked so brazenly, breaking the rules without hesitation—the sword scripture itself is precious, but that's only part of it. The real reason lies in the old grudge between Zhengyang Mountain and the Wind-Thunder Garden. If Chen Songfeng of the Wind-Thunder Garden hadn't arrived in town so soon after, that mountain-moving ape would never have dared to act so violently. In this town, even cultivators who intervene wouldn't dare act too brazenly—after all, Master Qi, who presides here, ultimately..."
The man suddenly stopped mid-sentence, looking toward a rooftop in the distance. A wild cat, black as ink, crouched there. Upon spotting Ma Kuxuan, it immediately let out a piercing cry. When the boy noticed it, the cat darted away, racing toward Apricot Blossom Lane.
Ma Kuxuan's face went deathly pale in an instant. He broke into a mad sprint, chasing after the cat on the rooftops.
The man understood the connection and sighed, following the boy at an unhurried pace without ever letting the distance between them grow.
Ma Kuxuan ran all the way back to that familiar alley. When he saw the courtyard gate standing wide open, the boy who feared nothing actually stopped outside, unable to bring himself to cross the threshold.
He knew that the gate was almost never left open for long. His grandmother always lectured him: Apricot Blossom Lane was full of penniless wretches, and poverty made people petty and jealous. Their family already attracted enough envy, so the gate must always be kept tightly shut, lest thieves take notice.
Ma Kuxuan entered the courtyard with reddened eyes. The main house door was also open.
He saw a familiar, frail figure collapsed on the ground.
The black cat crouched on the threshold, letting out eerie, spine-chilling cries.
"Don't go any closer!" The sword-bearing man pressed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Things have come to this—steady your mind!"
Ma Kuxuan fought back tears, breathing deeply to slow his steps. He called out softly, "Grandmother?"
The soldier-cultivator arrived first at the old woman's side, pressing two fingers to her nose. There was no breath.
The black cat fled into the house in terror, vanishing in a flash.
The sword-bearing man considered for a moment, then looked up at Ma Kuxuan standing outside the gate. His voice was grave: "Stop! Your yang energy is extraordinarily strong. One step closer, and even if your grandmother's lingering soul remains in the house, you'll scatter it to nothingness!"
The boy's dark face contorted with effort as he forced himself to make not a sound.
The man steeled himself, gripping the tiger-tally at his waist. His voice was low and resolute: "Master Qi, this matter cannot be taken lightly. You have your rules, and I have my reasons. I hope you will not interfere in what follows."
After speaking, the man's aura transformed completely. His robes billowed, his hair swayed, and he murmured a string of obscure incantations before concluding with five words: "Zhenwu Mountain requests!"
Ma Kuxuan turned to look, dazed.
A golden-armored deity, over ten feet tall, descended from the heavens. The figure struck both fists against its chest with a sound like thunder and spoke: "Descendant of Zhenwu—what is your command?"
"This place is sealed against most arts, and I am not skilled in matters of soul-binding. I need you to patrol this house. If you find the old woman's wandering soul, gather it—but be careful not to harm its essence."
The golden-armored deity was silent for a moment, then nodded: "Understood!"
The golden light faded, and the divine figure vanished.
---
At the Kiln Administration Office, Chen Songfeng—son of the Chen family of Longwei Commandery—was hunched over documents in a spacious room. A vermilion-lacquered wooden chest sat at his feet, its interior stacked with yellowed ancient texts. Chen Dui, the young woman also of the Chen family, had pulled a volume from the chest and stood by the window, turning pages leisurely.
The elderly steward sat in a chair, drinking tea. Liu Baqiao of the Wind-Thunder Garden sat across from him, exchanging pleasantries. The sprightly old steward chuckled: "It worked out quite fortuitously—Li Hong from the Li residence came personally to our office and requested the household records of several Chen family branches in our town, asking only for the last three or four hundred years. The Prince agreed, so I had Li Hong's people take away those seventy or eighty volumes from the top of the chest. The ones left beneath are older—exactly the antique records you're looking for. As it happens, if the office hadn't required sunning the books every summer and autumn, they'd have been eaten by worms long ago."
Standing by the window without looking up, Chen Dui asked lightly: "I hear that people surnamed Chen in this town have all become servants and maids for the four great clans and ten noble families of Fulu Street and Taoye Lane. Some Chens have even become household-born retainers—not only bowing and kneeling generation after generation, but looking down their noses at ordinary townsfolk when they see them?"
The old steward felt awkward. This woman casually mentioned the "four great clans and ten noble families" and "noble households," yet the true heir of the thousand-year-old Chen clan of Longwei Commandery sat right there like a servant, silently poring over records. And this woman, who also bore the surname Chen, accepted this arrangement with complete composure—anyone with sense could imagine how ancient and distinguished her real background must be.
Though the old steward kept no Chen servants himself, he had always maintained good relations with the prominent families who ran the town. He didn't want to provoke a formidable dragon passing through his territory by handling this matter poorly.
After carefully choosing his words, the old man set down his crackle-glazed teacup and spoke slowly: "Miss Chen, there's really nothing to be done about it. According to an old predecessor at our office, this town originally had two Chen branches with different ancestors. One branch moved away long ago, leaving no direct descendants—only a faint memory that they once left behind tomb caretakers. The family responsible for sweeping their graves and burning incense has been lost to history. As for the other Chen branch—they were once among the leading families, quite high in rank. But the world is unpredictable, and after several upheavals inside and out, they gradually declined. Especially in recent centuries, as you said, each generation has been weaker than the last. There are no independent Chen families left now... Wait, I recall there's one last branch—the only Chen in town who hasn't attached themselves to the four great clans. That boy's father was a master porcelain craftsman who received commendations from two previous kiln overseers, which is why I remember. But he died young. How the boy fares now, I can't say. However, from what I've seen and heard, the town has generally treated Chen descendants fairly. Especially the Song and Zhao clans—even their chief stewards are surnamed Chen. On paper it's master and servant, but in practice they're practically family."
Having poured out all these old stories in one breath, the steward picked up his teacup and took a sip.
Chen Dui nodded with a smile: "Steward Xue is a sensible man. No wonder the office runs so smoothly."
The old steward beamed: "Miss Chen flatters me. People like us simply know our own limitations, so we can only give our utmost. It's the life of a laborer—nothing more."
Chen Dui smiled and let it pass, shifting her gaze to Chen Songfeng, who sat stiffly in his chair. Her voice turned cool: "If this isn't working, turn the chest upside down and start reading from the very bottom volumes. Didn't you hear what Steward Xue just said? For a thousand years, this town's records only concern that other Chen branch. If I remember correctly, that branch and your Longwei Commandery Chens share the same ancient ancestor. What's the point of flipping through family registers one by one, finding nothing but servants and maids? Is that amusing?"
Chen Songfeng's forehead glistened with fine sweat, his lips slightly pale. He didn't dare utter a single word of rebuttal, immediately rising from his chair to rummage through the chest.
The old steward straightened his back at once, all hint of idle relaxation gone.
Liu Baqiao couldn't stand it any longer. Chen Songfeng might be soft-spoken, but he was still the future head of the Chen family of Longwei Commandery. Regardless of Chen Dui's background or whether they shared the same clan, basic respect should be shown. Liu Baqiao spoke sternly: "Chen Dui, unless I'm blind, I can see Chen Songfeng is helping you. Even if you won't acknowledge it, there's no need to speak so harshly!"
Chen Songfeng hurriedly looked up and signaled Liu Baqiao with his eyes. Liu Baqiao glared back: "Even an emperor has a few poor relatives—what, is someone an exception? Fine, let's say someone is exceptional—does that give them the right to look down on others?"
Direct and blunt. That was Liu Baqiao of the Wind-Thunder Garden, true to his nature.
Chen Songfeng's face was a mask of bitter resignation.
The old steward lowered his head to drink tea, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.
Chen Dui paused, then smiled: "Fair point."
Now it was Liu Baqiao's turn to feel uneasy.
Chen Dui placed the volume on the table and headed outside for fresh air. Steward Xue naturally offered to escort her, but she politely declined.
Chen Dui stepped out of the office's side hall and stood in the corridor, gazing into the distance.
Before the main hall lay a sizable plaza. A memorial archway faced the gate, bearing a large character in ancient script—the word for mountain, composed of hill above and prison below. This was not uncommon. Every mortal dynasty and kingdom, by law, designated five mountains as the Five Peaks—east, south, west, north, and center. Their gates invariably bore two characters penned by the founding emperor, and the calligraphy was always rendered in the archaic style.
Later scholars and cultivators offered hundreds of explanations for this, but the true reason had likely been buried in the dust of history long ago.
Chen Dui noticed two figures, one large and one small, sitting on the white stone steps of the archway, whispering to each other.
She hesitated, then walked slowly toward them. To avoid any suspicion of eavesdropping, she deliberately cleared her throat as she climbed the steps behind them. But the pair—one speaking enthusiastically, the other listening intently—seemed completely oblivious to her presence. Chen Dui didn't mind. She sat down at the far end of the steps, and though her posture was casual and relaxed, it still conveyed an air of natural elegance.
The pair spoke in the refined common tongue of Eastern Baoping Continent. Chen Dui understood it—otherwise she wouldn't have come to this town—but her command was stiff, which was why she had been so quiet traveling with Chen Songfeng and Liu Baqiao. The main reason, of course, was that she felt she had nothing in common with either of them and simply didn't want to speak.
Liu Baqiao appeared carefree on the surface, but beneath was a single-minded devotion to the sword. Seemingly interesting yet ultimately tedious. Chen Songfeng was bent on restoring his family's honor—seemingly simple yet deeply calculating. Both of these so-called prodigies of Eastern Baoping Continent were cut from different cloth than she. When the Way diverges, even companions part ways—that was all.
The youth glanced at the woman, who looked about ten years older than himself, and formed an unremarkable impression.
Chen Dui sat quietly, showing no intention of speaking.
But earlier, in a fleeting glance, she had noticed the little girl holding a luminous green gourd. With her sharp, discerning eye, Chen Dui knew instantly it was no ordinary object.
The richly dressed youth and the porcelain-doll-like girl were none other than Song Jixin of Mud Vase Lane and Taozi of Zhengyang Mountain.
Song Jixin had visited the Li residence with Song Changjing to offer condolences, and the moment he saw the little girl, he took a liking to her—he had always been drawn to delicate, beautiful things, while coarse, rustic objects held no appeal. Taozi likewise took to Song Jixin, and the two inexplicably became friends. Despite the age gap, they conversed easily. Song Jixin didn't even feel he was merely being polite, and ultimately he asked his uncle Song Changjing to force the Li family to release the girl, bringing Taozi to the Kiln Administration Office to play. He paid no heed to the Li family's devastated expressions, taking the girl by the hand and leading her out the gate. At the same time, he sent word to Zhigui, the maidservant in his small residence, instructing her to find the green gourd from a chest and present it to Taozi as a gift.
The little girl was very affectionate with Song Jixin, asking coyly: "Brother Banchai, you were talking about the twelve types of archways—the Academy Archways. Before I came here, I heard Grandfather mention in conversation that your Dali's Cliff Academy is doing terribly now. Do you know what's written on their archway?"
Because the last two characters of Song Jixin's name meant "moving firewood," Taozi had nicknamed him "Brother Banchai." Song Jixin didn't mind at all. He had lost interest in whether the outsider woman stayed or left, and looked down at the girl with a smile: "I don't know. I've never left this town in my life, and I haven't read many books. After chatting with you this long, I'm pretty much emptied out."
The little girl sighed: "I wonder how Grandfather Ape is faring with his search out there?"
Song Jixin smiled and looked down, smoothing the hem of his brocade robe. In that moment, his gaze was complicated.
From a distance, Chen Dui suddenly asked softly: "Little girl, does your gourd ever make sounds on its own at certain times?"
The little girl turned, lifting the gourd high above her head with both hands, eyes crinkling with pride: "Brother Banchai gave it to me!"
An irrelevant answer.
Chen Dui could only smile and let it go.
Song Jixin remarked casually: "It hums whenever there's a thunderstorm."
Chen Dui nodded: "As I thought—a sword-nurturing gourd."
Song Jixin looked puzzled.
The little girl from Zhengyang Mountain eagerly chimed in: "I know, I know! Our family has three sword-nurturing gourds. Grandfather has one—dull gray, terribly ugly. Grandfather Liu from Taibai Peak has the cutest one, tiny, about palm-sized—swish swish swish, dozens of little flying swords shoot out. Sister Su's is medium-sized, purple-gold in color, but she hardly ever lets anyone see it. I begged so many times just to touch it, and she hid it away right after!"
Chen Dui explained: "Little one, don't complain about your Sister Su. The purple-gold sword-nurturing gourd is exceedingly rare among all sword-nurturing gourds—ranked among the top three in all of Eastern Baoping Continent, I'd estimate. And though the purple-gold gourd is exceptional for nurturing swords, its flaw is that it's far too fragile—easily cracked by any sharp blade."
Taozi clutched her green gourd again: "What about mine?"
Chen Dui smiled: "It's quite precious as well."
The little girl tugged at Song Jixin's sleeve, asking timidly: "Brother Banchai, are you going to take it back?"
Song Jixin ruffled her hair, his eyes full of doting warmth, and laughed: "Forget this little gourd—even if I had more, I'd give them all to you."
Chen Dui recalled an amusing tale: "Legend has it that in ancient times, the Tower of Heavenly Treasures held an auction, and the final item was a sword-nurturing gourd vine that had never appeared before—bearing six small gourds. They say the Dao Ancestor himself planted the seedling in our world before achieving immortality. After countless thousands of years, it finally bore that cluster of gourds—different sizes, different colors, truly wondrous."
Song Jixin sighed with genuine admiration: "The world is vast, full of marvels beyond imagining."