Old Jianghu Days

Zhou Mili pricked up her ears. After waiting a while and hearing nothing more, she did not even dare turn her head. She sighed and looked pitifully at Chen Lingjun. "Jing Qing," she whispered, "I'm dreaming. I must've dozed off at the mountain gate and slept myself silly..."

Chen Ping'an had stopped speaking because, following the mountain-and-water rules recorded in the True Records of Pill Books, he had taken out a stick of Landscape Incense the moment he reached Luopo Mountain, to pay his respects and "send off the sage," Mr. Three Mountains and Nine Hou. When he silently lit it, wisps of green smoke rose, but did not disperse into the world. They gathered into blue-green mist that held together and became a miniature mountain, like a mountain mirage conjured from Luopo Mountain itself. Yet within that tiny, mirage-like Luopo Mountain, there was only one figure in a green robe: Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an had crossed nearly half a continent of mountains and rivers, borrowing, in effect, the divine ability of an Ascension Realm Great Cultivator to reach Luopo Mountain so quickly. He could stay for the time it took one stick of incense to burn, then return to the ferryboat and continue north toward home. His real body was here, but a Three Mountains Talisman of profound and mysterious workings had dragged him across that distance.

Chen Lingjun, still in the guise of a green-robed young boy, gaped at the master standing behind the black-clothed little girl. Whether Little Millet was dreaming or he was dreaming was hard to say. He slapped himself hard. Too hard: the crack rang out like thunder, spun him around, lifted his backside off the stone stool, and nearly sent him stumbling to the ground. Chen Ping'an stepped forward, caught his shoulder, then