The first riddle: how could he use a stand-in when both must appear?

Mo Chen had gotten ready early that morning and, while the Scripture Pavilion was still quiet, headed to Deacon Zhou's Cave Abode. He intended to bring up his retirement and arrange for a younger member of his lineage to take his place.

Speaking of the deacon in charge of the Scripture Pavilion, he had never once set foot inside it.

The deacon's name was Zhou Ping. His cultivation had been stuck at the perfected ninth level of Qi Refining for over a decade. He had attempted to break through to the Foundation Establishment Realm more than ten times, but every attempt had failed because of his poor spiritual root aptitude and wavering Dao heart.

Failure after failure had long since worn away Zhou Ping's desire to pursue the Dao. He had abandoned all thoughts of advancing and spent his days drinking and making merry in Flowing Cloud Immortal City. Too lazy to bother with the Twin Crane Sect's affairs, he had dumped every responsibility for the Scripture Pavilion, great and small, onto Mo Chen and happily enjoyed his freedom.

In the Twin Crane Sect's outer sect, Zhou Ping was notorious as a good-for-nothing deacon. Despite his perfected Qi Refining cultivation, he had failed to reach Foundation Establishment more than a dozen times, turning himself into the laughingstock of the outer sect.

Zhou Ping had simply given up, coasting through his cushy position at the Scripture Pavilion as he ate and waited to die. Even so, he still looked down on lowly servants like Mo Chen from the bottom of his heart.

That morning, Mo Chen finished arranging the Classics on the first floor and asked a servant he knew to cover for him briefly. Then, with his back hunched and his steps unsteady, he made his way to Zhou Ping's Cave Abode.

Zhou Ping's Cave Abode lay in a secluded hollow on the western side of the outer sect. A crude Warning Array guarded the entrance. Spiritual energy was thin, weeds grew thick all around, and the place looked thoroughly run-down.

Mo Chen knocked softly on the door, his aged, raspy voice carrying through the wood. "This old man, Mo Chen, requests an audience with Deacon Zhou."

The door slowly opened, and a powerful reek of alcohol hit him in the face.

Zhou Ping reclined against a blue-stone couch in a rumpled deacon's robe, still clutching a worn wine gourd.

Zhou Ping merely glanced at Mo Chen, his tone lazy and impatient. "Old Mo, why have you come here instead of staying at the Scripture Pavilion? Don't tell me something's gone wrong there?"

Mo Chen bowed, making himself as humble as could be. The wrinkles crowded together on his face, leaving him looking every bit the decrepit old man. "Deacon, I've come today to ask a favor. These old bones of mine truly can't hold out any longer."

With that, Mo Chen raised a hand to rub his lower back and coughed softly a few times, his voice growing weaker still. "Over the past six months, my eyes have grown dim and my hands have begun to shake. I can't even hold a jade slip steady, and I keep making mistakes when arranging the Classics. If I remain at the Scripture Pavilion, I fear I'll hinder the sect's affairs and betray your trust."

At this, Zhou Ping sat upright, a hint of surprise crossing his face. "You want to leave? You're the only servant who can stick it out at the Scripture Pavilion. If you leave, who's going to take over that tedious job?"

Zhou Ping already hated dealing with such trifles. If Mo Chen left, finding another obedient servant would likely take considerable effort, and irritation immediately stirred within him.

Seeing his reaction, Mo Chen hurried a step forward and said earnestly, "Rest assured, Deacon. I've already made all the arrangements. Back in my hometown, I have a nephew from a collateral branch named Mo Xiaoyi. He's just turned twenty this year, and his cultivation is only at the second or third level of Qi Refining. All he wants is to enter the sect as a servant and earn a steady meal. He's levelheaded and would never dare stir up trouble. He'll certainly fulfill his duties faithfully and take good care of the Scripture Pavilion. He won't cause you any trouble."

Zhou Ping's eyes instantly lit up.

Someone was offering to take over of his own accord, and an honest young man at that, with cultivation lower than his own. It would spare him endless trouble. Overjoyed, he nodded repeatedly. "Excellent, excellent! You've worked under me for decades without any problems. If you're recommending him, he must be reliable. Approved!"

Zhou Ping laughed heartily, set down his wine gourd, and looked Mo Chen up and down. A barely concealed sense of superiority gradually crept into his gaze.

I may have no hope of reaching Foundation Establishment, but I'm still at the perfected ninth level of Qi Refining. In the Twin Crane Sect's outer sect, I'm someone of a little standing.

As for this Mo Chen, his life's nearly over, and he's only at the fourth level of Qi Refining. After slogging away his entire life, he's still just a doddering old servant who can't even brush the hem of an outer sect disciple's robe. The difference between us is like clouds above and mud below.

Zhou Ping's smugness grew stronger, and even the corners of his mouth curled into a contemptuous smile.

His voice dripped with undisguised mockery. "Old Mo, you've lived an honest enough life, but there's nothing to be done about poor aptitude. A lifetime of cultivation, and you've only reached the fourth level of Qi Refining. You can't even cross the threshold to become an outer sect disciple. Well, at your age, you ought to go home and retire, enjoy a few peaceful years. The great path of immortal cultivation was never something mediocrities like you could aspire to."

Mo Chen lowered his head, his face full of trepidation, and bowed again and again. "You're right, Deacon. My aptitude is dull, and I dare not aspire to the immortal path. I only wish to live out my days in peace. Thank you for granting my request. I'm endlessly grateful."

Mo Chen knew the deacon wanted to find some sense of importance at his expense, so he humbled himself even further. He pretended Zhou Ping's words had truly struck a sore spot, not daring to offer the slightest rebuttal and remaining as meek as a sheep throughout.

Seeing Mo Chen so abject, Zhou Ping felt even more superior. He waved a hand, his face full of impatience. "Enough. Leave. Bring that nephew of yours tomorrow. I'll go through the formalities and let him start work. That Scripture Pavilion job is dreadfully dull. Only honest folk like you would be willing to do it."

"Yes. I'll do as you command." Mo Chen bowed deeply once more.

"Now get lost. Don't get in the way of my drinking."

Mo Chen repeatedly murmured his assent, then slowly withdrew from the Cave Abode. His steps remained unsteady, as though he truly were an old man with one foot in the grave, every step a struggle.

Only after he was completely beyond the range of Zhou Ping's divine sense did Mo Chen slowly straighten his hunched back.

Zhou Ping had been trapped at the perfected ninth level of Qi Refining for over a decade. After more than a dozen failed attempts at Foundation Establishment, his Dao heart had long since shattered. He drowned his sorrows in drink all day, believing that his higher cultivation gave him the right to sneer down at Mo Chen.

Yet how could he know that his so-called cultivation bottleneck had never been a problem for Mo Chen?

Mo Chen had the patience to outlast time itself. Zhou Ping mocked him for spending his entire life achieving nothing, unaware that he himself was the true frog at the bottom of a well, unable to see the vast world of one who would live forever.

Mo Chen looked toward the Scripture Pavilion. Amid the swirling spiritual mist, countless Classics slumbered quietly, waiting for him to study them and grind his way to perfection, little by little.

He had won this round as well.

But tomorrow he had to bring a nonexistent nephew to report to Zhou Ping. What was he supposed to do?

"Do I really have to spend spirit stones to temporarily hire a twenty-year-old mortal from the outer sect's lower district and bring him along tomorrow?"

Yet the moment the idea arose, Mo Chen rejected it himself.

He absolutely could not do that. Finding someone outside to act as a temporary stand-in was too risky. Neither an old man nor a child would do.

An old man would fail to remember his lines even after memorizing them all night. If he found a young cultivator who decided to turn on him and clung to the secret of his hired stand-in as leverage, the long-term cost would be far too great.

"And time is tight. I need him tomorrow. This really is a thorny problem!"

Mo Chen stroked his false beard, turning the matter over in his mind.

This time, he had gotten the short end of the stick. He had taken too much for granted, actually trying to apply his past experience at Wenyuan Pavilion to an immortal cultivation sect.

When circumstances changed and the environment changed, his strategies needed to change with them. Living in a comfort zone all the time would only gradually dull his nose for danger.

Mo Chen chuckled softly—not because he was comforting himself with "no one is a sage; who can be without fault?" but because he had already thought of a solution.