The native spirit beasts of Qidun Mountain—the mountain turtles born and raised amidst its peaks—knew the hidden trails intimately. With their formidable strength and agility far surpassing that of donkeys or mules, they bore the travelers swiftly to the southern borders of the mountain. From there, a mere twenty miles down a post road would lead them into Red Candle Town. Although the northern route had been rendered impassable by the sudden descent of Lizhu Cave Heaven, Chen Ping'an and his companions opted for caution, choosing paths less likely to alarm woodcutters, hunters, or traveling merchants with the presence of three colossal turtles.
They paused to rest atop a modest summit. Li Huai, neck craned in anticipation, awaited the arrival of the young local land deity with unconcealed disdain, yet could not help his excitement—A'Liang had mentioned the treasure trove within Hengbao Pavilion, where each visitor would receive a share. Li Huai was already imagining flaunting his spoils before his elder sister, Li Liu, hoping to stir her envy.
The land deity of Qidun Mountain soon arrived as promised—not with the divine art of shrinking distances, but striding up the mountain with long, elegant steps. His white robes billowed like drifting clouds, his wide sleeves floating like twin wisps of mist. Even Zhu Lu, the ever-pragmatic maidservant, had to admit: by appearance alone, the young deity truly embodied the refined beauty praised in ancient texts.
Trailing behind him were A'Liang's white donkey and the horses of the Li family. Whatever enchantments he had employed, both beasts showed no trace of fatigue. The aged god Wei Bo, cradling a slender crimson wooden box in his arms, offered a bow to the man in the straw hat, who nodded in return. In that moment, the aloof deity and the playful swordsman seemed cut from the same cloth—fellow travelers on the great Way.
Wei Bo handed the box—crafted from a deep-red, fragrant wood—to A'Liang. Li Huai rushed over to touch it, only to find it warm and smooth like the finest silk from Dragon Rider Alley's renowned cloth shop. He recalled sneaking a touch of such luxury once, only to be scolded and thrown out by the shopkeeper.
"Brother A'Liang," Li Huai looked up with hopeful eyes, "after we divide the treasures, could I have the box?"
A'Liang snorted. "And who are you to ask?"
"I'm your brother-in-law, aren't I?" Li Huai said earnestly. "You married my sister."
A'Liang slapped him upside the head. "That makes you a brother-in-law, not the husband!"
"I don't want to be the brother-in-law," the boy protested. "I want to be the husband! Brother-in-laws are the worst!"
A'Liang turned to Wei Bo. "Is the box worth anything?"
Wei Bo gave a sheepish smile. "Not really. It's made of Jiao-yellow somberwood, buried for years until its hue deepened to red and its scent grew rich. Not especially valuable—just rare."
Seeing the boy's eager expression, A'Liang relented. "Well then, since it's not worth much, you can have it."
Li Huai rushed to seize it, only to be smacked again.
"Planning to hoard it all?" A'Liang looked around, then crouched down and threw open the long wooden case named "Jiao Yellow." "Chen Ping'an, Little Baoping, Lin Shouyi, Zhu He, Zhu Lu—come here! We're dividing the loot right here and now! First come, first served! Only rule: one item per person, no take-backs!"
Chen Ping'an glanced at the young land deity, who, sensing his gaze, asked gently, "Aren't you going to try your luck?"
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Let them pick first."
He had other matters to discuss with the deity—regarding the black serpent's residence at Fallen Mountain and Wei Bo's intention to travel to Longquan County. A'Liang had explained that a god could not simply leave the domain granted by the imperial registry without consequence—much like how vassal kings were forbidden from meeting each other. Violations could result in punishment from the imperial court: reduction of offerings, demotion in divine rank, even exile from the mortal worship cycle. Some were dragged from their shrines, their statues beaten by guards or flogged by officials. It was a fate chronicled in many a nation's history.
Wei Bo planned to personally escort the black serpent and even construct a bamboo lodge atop the mountain using brave-stalk bamboo. Chen Ping'an was naturally grateful, though concerned about the potential repercussions.
He had long struggled to grasp the nuances of divine incense, geomancy, and dynastic fortune. A'Liang, with his meandering tales and oblique metaphors, offered little clarity. It wasn't until Li Baoping offered a simple analogy—that incense and fate were like the waters of Longxu Stream outside their town, limited and fiercely contested by farmers—that Chen Ping'an finally understood.
Li Baoping ran up, flustered. "Little Uncle, why aren't you picking something? Even Lin Shouyi sprinted over, and Li Huai practically dove headfirst into the treasure chest!"
"I'm fine," he said. "I'll pick last."
"I'll pick for you!" she shouted, already charging toward A'Liang.
She shoved Li Huai's head aside with one hand and pushed Lin Shouyi's shoulder with the other.
"Hey!" Li Huai protested. "You're bullying me!"
"I'm choosing something for my Little Uncle!" she retorted righteously.
Li Huai sighed, eyes on the coveted wooden box. "Fine, go ahead."
Lin Shouyi, unfazed, pointed to an ancient scroll tied with golden thread. "I want that Daoist text—The Book of Clear Echoes Above the Clouds. I'll leave the rest for you."
Li Huai craned his neck. "You don't want that sword? It's gorgeous. If it were me, I'd take that."
Lin Shouyi forced himself to look away from the slender blade occupying the largest space in the treasure trove. "I'm not suited for martial arts," he murmured. "And I don't like practicing swordsmanship."
Seeing Lin Shouyi unmoved, Li Huai turned to persuade Li Baoping. "That sword—clearly a peerless treasure. It could probably cut through the iron chains at Ironwell! Your Little Uncle doesn't have a proper weapon—wouldn't this be perfect for him? Even just to hack a path through the woods, it beats a firewood hatchet!"
The sword lay quietly in its white scabbard, its curve breathtaking, like a noble lady veiled within her boudoir.
A'Liang grinned and drew it. A flash of brilliance—the blade like a lingering arc of silver lightning.
Though unmarked by script, the steel bore natural patterns resembling Daoist talismans etched by celestial hands. A'Liang raised his brows, flicked it lightly—no dull hum, but a clear, resonant chime.
He tilted his head, listening. "Not bad. This should be the lesser blade, Auspicious Talisman."
A'Liang sheathed it...