Rain battered against their bamboo hats with sharp, rhythmic splashes.
Chen Ping'an said gravely, "This hairpin is nothing special—just an ordinary piece of jade."
Aliang stared at the solemn youth as though he had just heard the greatest joke under heaven. He bared his teeth in a grin, barely suppressing his laughter.
"You don't get to decide that."
Sweat beaded on Chen Ping'an's brow, but the rain soon washed it away. He stared at the man before him and asked,
"Then what is it you truly want?"
Aliang chuckled. "Do you think you're going to die?"
In that moment, despair washed over Chen Ping'an. Master Ruan had come and gone, and yet this man still stood before him.
Aliang remained his usual smiling self, a green bamboo sword slung across his back. He gazed at the youth—short in stature, clad in thin garments, feet wrapped in sturdy straw sandals—and of course, the jade hairpin that crowned it all.
If his memory served him right, the hairpin was engraved with eight exquisite characters.
Chen Ping'an's lips had turned pale as iron. He asked in a trembling voice,
"Will you let them go?"
Aliang said nothing.
On the eve of his departure, Chen Ping'an had stayed up by lamplight, contemplating every hardship he might encounter on this journey to the Cliffside Academy. He had considered every peril, every twist in the road. After all, his known enemies included Cloud Rosy Mountain, Old Dragon City, and Zhengyang Mountain—each a haven of cultivators, each harboring deadly enmity toward him.
He feared most that his presence would burden the little girl in the red cotton jacket, threatening her dream of studying. That day, when speaking to Li Baoping of the trials he had faced in his childhood, venturing into the mountains, it hadn't been to complain or boast of his hardships. He only wished to tell her one thing:
The road to the relocated academy in Great Sui would be far longer than his youthful forays into the mountains.
If one day, he were no longer there to walk beside her, and she lost faith in herself, he hoped she would keep walking—just a little farther. Perhaps, with one step after another, she might still reach her destination.
Yet when the words reached his lips, he thought it too ominous to speak of death just as their journey had begun. So he swallowed half of what he meant to say, and simply wished for her to become the first female scholar, a lady teacher—not only for luck, but because it truly was what he hoped for her.
Aliang laughed. "Let's say, for argument's sake, the hairpin is but a scholar's trinket—it still doesn't belong to you. Or, if we take another step closer, do you truly believe Qi Jingchun would have preserved it for years if it bore no secrets? Perhaps it conceals a hidden world, a miniature paradise. Or maybe it's a fengshui treasure worthy of becoming sacred ground.
And if we take just one step back? Then it's more profound still—perhaps a symbol of a lineage, like the three sacred relics passed down through Daoist sects: the peachwood charm, the feathered robe, and the Daoist crown.
If this really is a token left by Qi Jingchun's own master—do you think it suits you, wearing it on your head?"
Chen Ping'an didn't answer directly. "Aliang, can you spare Li Baoping and Li Huai?"
Aliang smirked. "And how can you be certain that even if I agree, I won't go back on my word?"
Chen Ping'an's toes shifted slightly.
Aliang crossed his arms and chuckled, "Now now, little hero, no need to act rashly. Aren't we just reasoning things out? If reason fails, fists can follow."
Chen Ping'an said nothing, his face pale as paper.
Aliang examined him. "You really do resemble him a little."
The jest vanished from his tone. He extended a hand. "Hand over the hairpin, and I won't kill them."
Chen Ping'an's fingers trembled.
Aliang spoke slowly, "This was Qi Jingchun's master's keepsake. That makes it Qi Jingchun's as well."
Chen Ping'an lifted his hand toward the top of his head.
Aliang smiled faintly. "Break it with your own hands, and I won't kill you. I never lie."
Chen Ping'an halted, took a deep breath, and stepped back—stance firm, as if preparing for battle.
Aliang asked, "So, you think if you die, I'll still spare them? That even if you perish, you must try your best to protect the hairpin?"
Without a word, Chen Ping'an stomped twice, charging forward and throwing a punch.
In the next instant, Aliang vanished.
Chen Ping'an turned stiffly. As expected, the man with the rain-slicked hat now stood behind him—holding the hairpin.
Aliang sighed. He seemed to care little for the object, handing it back to the youth.
"Here. Take it."
Chen Ping'an stepped forward carefully and accepted the hairpin. In that moment, he felt a sudden weight on his head—Aliang had placed a hand there. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions.
The man who always wore a lazy grin sighed.
"Chen Ping'an, don't do foolish things. No object in this world is worth more than a human life. You must live on, even if life becomes unbearable. There is no greater truth."
He patted Chen Ping'an's head, then looked up into the dark sky.
"No matter how valuable this hairpin is, how meaningful it may be—Qi Jingchun entrusted it to you because he believed in you. So if you ever face a choice between life and death, always choose life.
To die in glory, to perish valiantly, to pass away with elegance—all of it means nothing, because death is still death."
He withdrew his hand.
"Qi Jingchun lost faith in this world. That was his burden. You are not him. You haven't yet truly seen this world's beauty or cruelty.
To spend a short life worrying like an immortal—that's a scholar's sorrow. I'm no scholar. And for now, neither are you."
He didn't finish the sentence that was meant to follow. He only whispered,
"Chen Ping'an, believe in my eyes. You will walk far. Perhaps, even farther than Qi Jingchun."
The boy asked softly, "Why?"
Aliang gently stroked the hilt of his bamboo sword and smiled,
"Because I'm Aliang."
Together, they descended the mountaintop in silence.
Chen Ping'an asked, "The two people on the slope?"
Aliang thought for a moment. "Corpses?"
Chen Ping'an hesitated, then let the question go and asked instead, "Why didn't you take the hairpin?"
Aliang's mouth twitched. He sighed,
"Once I got it in hand, I realized—even my worst expectations had been too generous. It wasn't just ten thousand steps backward—it was hundreds of thousands. It's truly just a worthless hairpin. So why would I want it?"
The boy couldn't speak.
Aliang shook his head. "Real scholars are always poor. You'll understand someday.
I should've guessed, given the temperament of Old Man Daodelin and Qi Jingchun himself. That they would pass down something so plain is perfectly in character."
Aliang turned and smiled. "You know, you took something I believed already belonged to me. Do you know how many miles I wasted chasing it?"
Rain streamed off his hat; confusion clouded the youth's eyes.
Aliang snorted, "I even carved a character somewhere in preparation. But in the end, I came all this way, only to be met with this ridiculous outcome. So you really ought to be grateful I chose not to kill you."
He continued to mutter to himself, "If you don't manage to carve two or three characters in that place one day, just wait—I'll come beat you myself."
Chen Ping'an said helplessly, "Aliang, can you speak in words I understand?"
"Sure." Aliang laughed heartily. "My name is Aliang—the 'liang' of kindness."
Chen Ping'an finished the next line for him,
"And I am a swordsman."
In that moment, a smile tugged at Aliang's lips. He slapped the boy on the shoulder.
"Then it's settled!"
Chen Ping'an blinked. "Hm?"
Aliang had already changed the subject.
"A thousand-mile journey must end in parting. I'll see you to the Great Li border. Then, I'll take my leave…"