Spiritual Terrace Square Inch Mountain

"What!!?"

"What did you say this mountain is called?"

An Yang opened his eyes wide in disbelief.

Opposite him was an old woodcutter, looking around forty or fifty years old. His skin was tanned dark, and his face was covered with crisscrossing gullies like they were carved by a knife and axe. Years of toil had made his eyes somewhat turbid, but they lacked the filth of worldly mortals, appearing peaceful instead.

Facing An Yang's repeated questioning, the old woodcutter looked somewhat apprehensive, but still repeated for him, "Square Inch Mountain, it's called Square Inch Mountain."

"Is the full name of this mountain Spiritual Terrace Square Inch Mountain?" An Yang continued to press.

"This..." The woodcutter hesitated. He had chopped wood on this mountain for a lifetime, and only vaguely knew the mountain was called Square Inch Mountain. As for whether there was a Spiritual Terrace or not, he was truly clueless.

"Alright, thank you, old man." An Yang fished out a piece of shattered silver weighing one qian and handed it to the woodcutter.

"I couldn't possibly, I couldn't possibly." The woodcutter waved his hands repeatedly. "I just casually answered a few questions. The young master not minding that little old me knows so little has already made me very ashamed. To accept the young master's money on top of that is something I really feel terrible about, truly terrible..."

"Then many thanks." An Yang did not stand on ceremony with him either, taking back the shattered silver before walking toward the head of the village.

This place truly resembled a peach blossom land isolated from the rest of the world. To say the least, in this era of chaos under heaven, such simple and honest people could absolutely not be found outside even if one searched with a