In Great Xuan Du Temple, a stream ran through the Peach Forest, its water clear and shallow, transparent to the bottom.
A tall old Daoist Master and a young fatty each sat on a small stool, trouser legs rolled up, bare feet soaking in the stream. One drank wine, while the other cradled a huge handful of freshly picked lotus seeds in his lap.
Fatty Yan asked, "Old Sun, why did you lend your sword to Bai Ye back then? Even A Liang said that we sword cultivators, leaning against the heavens for ten thousand miles, must have a long sword. Who does what you did, giving away such an immortal sword instead? And now look what happened. I heard that quite a few Immortal Lords over at White Jade Capital have no respect for you, Old Sun. They say your relationship with our Xuan Du Temple is like a withered tree propping up an old tree. Listen to that—how infuriating! When Dong Huafu mentioned it to me, I was so angry smoke nearly poured from my seven orifices. I almost went with him to White Jade Capital. No matter what, I wanted to help you win back some face, Old Sun. But there was nothing to be done. My realm is too low now. I was afraid I'd fail to challenge them with my sword and instead disgrace Xuan Du Temple."
As the leading figure of the world's Daoist Sword Immortal Lineage, the old Abbot's swordsmanship stood as high as his Daoist magic. Otherwise, he could not have sat securely in that chair labeled "fifth under heaven."
Daoist Master Sun sneered. "If you have something to say, say it. What I hate most in this life is beating around the bush."
Yan Zhuo cautiously said, "Then I'll really say