A sudden weight settled upon Chen Ping'an's shoulder, causing his breath to falter. The sword qi, once poised to depart his energy palace like an arrow loosed from a bow, now stalled abruptly—like a great serpent emerging from its lair only to be barred by a river dragon. The fierce momentum that had once seemed unstoppable was forced into temporary stillness, choosing patience over confrontation.
"Hold, hold!" A man in a bamboo hat appeared beside Chen Ping'an, draping an arm around the youth's shoulders with a mischievous smile. "We're one big loving family—bickering and killing among ourselves? What kind of decorum is that?"
Chen Ping'an looked up at the elusive figure beneath the hat, who smiled warmly and said, "Trust me, I'm Ah Liang."
With a sigh, Chen Ping'an conceded, "For now, I'll listen to you."
Ah Liang cast a lazy glance at Zhu He, barely sparing a glance at the girl Zhu Lu, and drawled, "Such precious sword qi wasted on killing a mere Zhu He—what a shame. You feel heartbroken, I feel heartbroken. Besides… forget those gloomy thoughts. Just consider this 'Eighteen Stops' technique as compensation."
Chen Ping'an was about to retract his fingers pressed together when Ah Liang released his shoulder, stepped back, shaking his head with a smile. "That pose lacks the bearing of a true master. Let me teach you a more formidable one."
"Steady yourself!" The bamboo-hatted man tapped Chen Ping'an's shoulder, then swiftly struck seven or eight precise points on the youth's chest. Simultaneously, he unleashed a divine technique surpassing even the gathering sound into a thread, stirring ripples over the boy's heart lake and whispering a continuous mental chant:
"Remember the origin of this energy within you. Recall every energy palace and its pathway. The qi flows like a dragon vein, beginning at the primordial mountain's peak—the prime energy palace that nurtures swords. This is the First Stop. Swiftly pass the three mountains and six passes, arriving at the Fuxi Acupuncture Point—the Second Stop. Then swiftly sweep through six hollows and nine palaces, reaching the Pure Yang Palace—the Third Stop... This is the final, Eighteenth Stop. These acupoints and energy palaces differ from modern teachings; they are precious insights forged through the sacrifices of countless ancient sword cultivators. Remember them well!"
"Did you get all that?" Ah Liang asked.
Sweat beaded on Chen Ping'an's forehead. "I've memorized most of it."
"Close enough. If you ever end up battered and bruised, don't fear—that's the path every sword cultivator must tread. When you're familiar with the route, try to slow the qi flow—that's the true essence of the Eighteen Stops. This is knowledge I've deduced; some have praised it, saying it elevates the sword path tremendously. Ha, I'm a bit embarrassed."
Chen Ping'an suddenly suspected this so-called Eighteen Stops was hardly better than the Mountain-Shaking Fist Manual.
Ah Liang seemed to see through his thoughts, replying earnestly, "Do I sound like a braggart? I've never been one for boasting in my life!"
Zhu He's spirit was barely pulling free from the mire, but his limbs stiffened painfully—one wrong move meant death. Such was the invisible terror inflicted by the bamboo-hatted man. When that figure, carrying a green-bladed knife and gourd at his waist, was your friend, he appeared far from formidable. Yet as an adversary, Zhu He trembled in terror, drenched in sweat, truly feeling his soul scatter.
At a distance, Zhu He's spirit faltered. Nearby, Zhu Lu only heard Chen Ping'an talking to himself.
Ah Liang's voice whispered again into Chen Ping'an's mind: "The light boat has passed countless mountains; qi flows in an instant across hundreds, thousands of miles. That's excellent. But if you can make it flow slowly—like centuries of soil accumulating on a mountain without the slightest rise, or millennia of water pooling without the faintest ripple—that's even better. In your future practice, focus on this path until the flow continues even in sleep."
Chen Ping'an hesitated, "How would I know if the Eighteen Stops are operating while I sleep?"
Ah Liang folded his arms and smiled, "When you've reached the water's end and watch the clouds rise, the answer will come naturally."
Ah Liang sank heavily onto a bench, his expression faltering slightly. Chen Ping'an pressed a hand to his forehead. Without a word, Ah Liang brushed off the candied hawthorns stuck to his rear, shifted slightly, rested his hands on the railing, and exhaled deeply.
Finally, he fixed his gaze on Zhu Lu, "You and your father must return the Hero's Gallbladder of Zhenwu Mountain along with the 'Purple Qi Scripture.' You also need to produce the stack of talismans handed down in the Li family—but these talismans can only save one of you. Zhu Lu, I'm giving you the choice: who will leave the Pillow Post alive, you or your father?"
Before Zhu Lu could answer, Zhu He's voice rang out grimly, "I beg you, Elder Ah Liang, let Zhu Lu go. I will take my own life to atone—no need to dirty your bamboo sword."
Ah Liang merely smiled at Zhu Lu, ignoring Zhu He who had already drawn pills and yellow talismans.
"Zhu Lu, who do you wish to survive?"
The girl wept silently, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle her sobs. Her other hand clenched tightly behind her back, nails piercing her palm, blood flowing freely.
Zhu He knelt heavily in the corridor, head bowed, voice trembling, "Elder Ah Liang!"
Ah Liang turned to Chen Ping'an, "What do you think? Shall we set them both free? If you fear Zhu He's revenge, I can strip him of his martial prowess. Worried about accidents? I can break Zhu He's Changsheng Bridge—or Zhu Lu's, for that matter."
The youth ignored Zhu He and fixed his gaze on Zhu Lu, "I said you must die."
Zhu He suddenly lifted his head, roaring, "Chen Ping'an, Zhu Lu is still a child!"
The usually composed boy's face blanched inexplicably with rage. Swift as the wind, the straw-sandaled youth lunged forward, intent on shattering Zhu Lu's chest with a punch. Yet, his qi was in disarray, and the blow, instead of a fist, became an upward-angled slap that landed fiercely across Zhu Lu's cheek.
Ah Liang pressed firmly on the boy's shoulder once more, "Enough."
He smiled softly, "Some punishments are far crueler than death."
Chen Ping'an sank back onto the bench, dazed.
What happened next—how Ah Liang handled the father and daughter, how they left Pillow Post, where they went and whom they met—remained a mystery to the youth.
Suddenly, he looked up, asking, "Ah Liang, do you have any wine?"
Ah Liang laughed, "Plenty. My little gourd can hold a thousand pounds of wine. But I must warn you: when a person is heartbroken, they should never drink—it leads to ruinous drunkenness. But for joyous occasions, wine is fitting. Who knows? You might even become a Wine Immortal."
—Outside the gates of Pillow Post—
Lin Shouyi stood alone in the street. For some reason, Ah Liang had left the youth outside, telling him to wait for someone's arrival and decide whether to cross the post's threshold himself.
Though bored, Lin Shouyi stood like a solitary pine atop a mountain, back straight.
Beneath the bright red lanterns hanging at the post entrance, he took from his chest the Daoist classic, The Resounding Cloud Scripture, and began perusing its convoluted, archaic passages—dense and thorny as wild brambles in the wind and rain.
Yet, each time he grasped a subtle truth, it was like sunlight breaking through after rain, clouds parting to reveal a clear sky, filling him with secret joy—a joy his hard, lonely nature kept to himself.
The youth never entertained malicious thoughts toward the world or its people.
From afar approached a woman of unremarkable appearance. She gazed at Lin Shouyi, her eyes bright with admiration, murmuring, "Truly a promising cultivator."
Stopping seven or eight steps away, she smiled, "Greetings, Lin Shouyi. We met before by the water—you on the shore, me on the painting boat. I am the Supreme Elder of Changchun Palace in Great Li. Not to boast, but commoners call me a mountain deity, authentic and genuine. With a wave, I summon winds and rains; with a stomp, mountains quake. I specialize in the Five Thunders orthodox method, capable of subduing demons and evil spirits…"
She laughed at her own grandiloquence, waving her hand, "No, no—such words are terribly awkward. Next time, I'll have someone prepare a simpler introduction."
Lin Shouyi nodded calmly, "I believe you."
She smiled, "Though I know not what your father wrote in that sealed letter, nor Ah Liang's intentions, since he knew I was tailing you yet left you outside the post, I think it's worth trying to persuade you—to return with me to the capital, bid farewell to your parents, and then come to Changchun Palace to cultivate the Dao."
Lin Shouyi's expression remained indifferent, "My father told me to stay obediently in Hongzhu Town until a master comes for me. Otherwise, if I die out here without cause, he won't even retrieve my body. Because a dead man isn't worth the travel expenses.
That's why I'm waiting here."
The woman smiled mysteriously, "Your father is quite a character. I heard he passed his legacy to you—neither wealthy nor influential, but his deeds linger in the sword world."
Lin Shouyi said nothing.
The woman continued, "If you refuse me, I will have no choice but to report this to the Li family, and your name might not remain as innocent as it is now."
Lin Shouyi's eyes narrowed. "I'm not afraid."
She stepped forward and with a snap of her fingers, the Resounding Cloud Scripture fell from his hands, landing softly on the ground.
She smiled warmly, "Come. There are many good cultivators in Changchun Palace. I believe you will find your place there."
Lin Shouyi bent to retrieve the book, his heart pounding.
Behind the red lanterns, the shadows shifted, awaiting his decision.