Southern Wan in the fourteenth year of Jiahe. 

As before, it was late spring. As before, it was the year of the Grand Selection. 

Xuanyin Mountain’s Grand Selection had originally been held once every ten years, in order to coordinate with those sent from the inner sect to service Jinping’s Dragon Vein. Starting in the ninth year of Jiahe, it had changed to once every five years. Some said that Heaven’s Design Pavilion was short on manpower after the fall of the Zhao family; some said that the Kaiming Cultivators were expanding too quickly, and the inner sect had a mind to restrain Prince Zhuang; still others said what other reason could there be for the increased enrollment of Xuanyin’s Grand Selection—the world was not at peace.  

Indeed, the world was no longer what it had been. 

When the new emperor had assumed the throne, a rebellion had arisen within Great Wan. How long since that had been suppressed? And in the sixth year of Jiahe, a shed skin elder had passed away, and the Zhao clan had betrayed the nation, dragging nearly half of Heaven’s Design Pavilion down with it and leading to spiritual energy being prohibited throughout the country for ten days. 

And none of the neighbors along the borders were without their worries. 

The most absurd of all was the near neighbor Western Chu. At present, Western Chu had two major local specialties: pickled foods and evil cultivators. 

First they had lit up a blood moon twice within half a year, more frequently than other places set off fireworks. Before anyone had time to be astonished about this, the East Peak’s High Elder Xuanwu and his heretical disciple had openly betrayed the Way—a shed skin betraying the Way sounded about the same as “His Majesty has rebelled”! 

The whereabouts of these two exceptional individuals were still unknown, and the “fabricated” full moon sect leader hadn’t made a peep. The only shed skin remaining to the Sanyue Mountains was Xiang Ning, left all on his own to keep down a crowd of great ascended spirits who all had their own designs; he couldn’t do it. Those surnamed Xiang and those not surnamed Xiang openly split into two camps. As the reflection of the immortal mountains in the mortal world, Dongheng City saw its political circles in a bewildering state of change. The days of the Xiang family unilaterally laying down the law had gone forever. Faced with the enormous lure of the spiritual mountains, the forces of evil ran wild throughout the country without any sense of propriety. 

Since Western Chu had become the forerunner for ascended spirit evil cultivators, it had been like a contagion. Great evil cultivators hidden in Southern Shu and Northern Li cropped up one after another. In Northern Li, the many sword cultivators of Kunlun had always engaged in suppression through force; taking swift and resolute action, they promulgated nine edicts to strictly control evil cultivators inside and outside their borders. This had reached the point of overcorrection—“expelling evil” had become a means for people to frame each other. 

The situation in Southern Shu was even more complex. In Shu and on its three islands, there were eighteen tribes in all, generally separated into two clans. The people of these two clans could be distinguished by their appearances. Apart from using Zhaoye’s official language in common, each also had their own language; slight conflicts between them were longstanding. Since an ascended spirit evil cultivator had emerged, the clash between orthodox and evil had been added to the rifts between the clans; they spent all their time in confused civil strife. 

The Land of Turmoil, which no one had looked after before, went without saying. This was an exceptional place for sheltering wrongdoing. In less than a decade, three great evil cultivators had become ascended spirits in rapid succession, and they had actually found the hidden realm Qiu Sha had left behind. They had teamed up to infiltrate the Lancang Mountain Range and conspired in vain to seize the southern mines. Had the four great immortal mountains not realized what was happening and joined hands to suppress them, these individuals might have founded their own country. 

Compared to this, the common people of Wan were quite fortunate. Southern Wan had firmly expelled its evil cultivators when the Kaiming Department had been established and adhered rigidly to strict precautions within its borders. Therefore, Xuanyin Mountain was the only place that could hold its head up now—on the surface, at least, only Great Wan hadn’t splashed dog’s blood on the moon. 

But with the circumstances as they were, no one could think only of themselves. 

The border inscriptions had been upgraded several times but still couldn’t prevent malevolent incursions. There was nothing else Xuanyin Mountain could do; they sent established foundation disciples from the inner sect to oversee each of Heaven’s Design Pavilion’s branches. At the same time, they promulgated an epoch-making edict: permission for walkers in the mortal world who fit the criteria to establish foundations. 

In this way, Heaven’s Design Pavilion’s General Commander Pang Jian at long last legitimately established a foundation. 

Still wearing the sapphire robe with a silver belt, his bandit-like unruliness considerably restrained, he was as usual escorting a new class of disciples to the Latent Cultivation Temple. 

Almost sixty percent of the disciples no longer belonged to noble families. They all came from families of ordinary government officials. Having gone through layer upon layer of selection, their natural endowments were considerably better than before, but they didn’t have a very firm grasp of the rules—Pang Jian extended a hand, and a roll of coarse paper flew out from one disciple’s luggage. The vague words “So-and-so Bulletin” were printed on it. He meant to deliver a brief rebuke but saw that the disciple smuggling the newspaper was already scared ashen-faced, so he swallowed his words… Fair enough. Not everyone could be as audacious as that little brat Xi Shiyong. 

Pang Jian nodded to the cultivator who had come to receive them, then turned and sank into the ground. 

That newspaper was also called a “toilet bulletin,” because it had been printed on toilet paper to begin with. 

This was a long story. 

Several years ago, Western Chu’s Xiang clan had obviously lost power, and the hyenas had begun to drool and grind their teeth in the direction of the Sanyue Mountains. Someone had come along to fish in these troubled waters, printing some complete nonsense on toilet paper, giving people something to amuse themselves with when they went to the latrine. These were called “Embellished Toilet Papers”; they treated the masters of Sanyue’s inner sect like opera characters, having them play out whole scenarios. They frequently featured appalling headlines like “Xuanwu Contracts Lovesickness, Peeps on the Sect Leader in His Bath”; the contents were extremely vulgar. 

These were shameful secrets about immortals. All at once, no one wanted to read out of date stories about eloping courtesans or cuckolded princes anymore. Everyone knew perfectly well that it was all nonsense, yet they still listened to it with keen pleasure. For a time, whenever a public letter writer went to the latrine, he would be followed by a crowd of illiterates with a craving. The winding stream parties¹ of the learned were admittedly refined, but the common people passing paper around while squatting in the latrine had an appeal all its own. 

The Embellished Toilet Papers continued in Chu despite being banned, because while each fresh “ban” made a lot of noise, there was a lot of wind and not much rain; the bans weren’t properly implemented—these things only toyed with the Xiang family, and there were too many people waiting to watch the Xiang clan’s drama. 

After that, other ill-intentioned people had started printing them as well, further muddying the waters.

Embellished Toilet Papers had turned into toilet bulletins and become an industry in Western Chu—in Southern Wan, no matter how fiercely the great families fought, they would still present a dignified face to the outside world; it was only in an absurd place like Chu where a malignant tumor like this could develop. 

Sanyue had suffered at the hands of the Xiang clan for a long time. At the highest level, it was the monopolization of the immortal mountains, and at the lowest it was corruption in the imperial examinations; mid- and low-level cultivators readily fell in with humble students in wishing to force the Xiang clan to cede their position, allowing people to be promoted on merit. But once the matter grew too large, they could no longer control it. 

At first, several groups continued the vulgar style of Embellished Toilet Papers, attacking and defaming each other, fabricating disgusting gossip. Bit by bit, as circulation spread like a plague and more and more people entered the fray, the contents began to vary. Some people publicly called into question why the Sanyue Spiritual Mountains should belong entirely to the Xiang family, some people revealed the fact that local thugs everywhere were keeping cultivators and imprinting them with spiritual image brands, and unexpectedly there were even a couple of articles explaining the history of the cultivation sects and the basics of cultivation in plain and easily understood terms, and these contained practically no errors; while they were quickly destroyed, once these things came out, there would immediately be scholars making copies and disseminating them, and word of mouth couldn’t be stopped. 

This all seemed like Sanyue reaping what it had sown in its internal strife. But who had started the Embellished Toilet Papers? Apart from those wicked Luwu, Pang Jian couldn’t think who else it could be. 

Zhou Ying wasn’t in this for the fun of it. Each and every one of his dirty tricks for adding fuel to the fire was intended to deal a fatal blow. In a few short years, the Sanyue Immortal Mountains, which had held themselves above the masses for thousands of years, had been pulled down into the common dust by the flying spit of the people, altogether losing face. 

By the time Sanyue realized what was happening, it was too late. The toilet bulletins were in vogue throughout the country; they had become a distinctive type of print culture, and they were starting to spread abroad. Northern Li responded the fastest. In the early years, they had declared that those privately printing toilet bulletins would be found guilty of “conspiring against the state”; if they were caught, their whole families would be executed. 

Great Wan had also prohibited them, but after going through internal upheaval and having the Kaiming Cultivators gain power, they certainly wouldn’t dare to imitate the north in enacting such severe penalties against the common people. Anyway, the Grand Canal, the Xia River, and the Cloud Soaring Flood Dragons that covered the whole country had too great a reach; there was no way to control them all—hadn’t that ignorant junior even brought the thing into the Latent Cultivation Temple? 

Pang Jian was very weary. When he glanced at the headline, which said “Torrential Rain Breaches Dike, Lin Clan’s Water-repellent Inscriptions Banish Floodwaters, Instantly Destroy 10,000 Mu of Fertile Land,” he became even wearier. 

The rotten waste paper of the toilet bulletin turned to ashes in his hand. Pang Jian turned and went to Elder Su’s Chengjing Hall.  

The Latent Cultivation Temple’s Su Zhun was a former general commander of Heaven’s Design Pavilion, Pang Jian’s guide. Nowadays, while Pang Jian’s cultivation was higher than his, he still called him “shixiong” very deferentially. 

“Heaven’s Design Pavilion has given you quite a bit of trouble these last couple of years, shixiong,” Pang Jian said to Su Zhun, taking a seat and declining tea. “Before, the Latent Cultivation Temple would have one year of activity and nine years of rest, but now it doesn’t stop.” 

The Xuanyin Mountains kept a very strict watch on established foundations temporarily residing in the mortal world. They had to keep independent accounts of their allotted spiritual stones; to recover from wounds or to go into short-term seclusion to seek enlightenment, they had to go to the Latent Cultivation Temple; and they had to go through a fixed annual inspection every year—to examine whether their Way of the Heart was intact, whether they had touched any spiritual energy they shouldn’t have touched, and so on. 

The calm valley deep in the mountains had instantly turned into the inner sect’s distribution center, people coming and going throughout all four seasons every year without cease. If the temple’s guardian treasure Luo Qingshi wasn’t spending all day being enraged by new idiots, he was watching the idiots he had taught before being brought back to the oven to be cooked again. In no time, his temper had risen another length; it would soon be standing shoulder to shoulder with the Qiankun Tower. 

But Su Zhun laughed. “A little activity is nice. When a person gets old, doesn’t he want to have some people around?” 

His hair had turned whiter, his elderliness increasingly obvious. The end of his lifespan as a half-immortal was approaching. 

Pang Jian couldn’t resist asking, “Shixiong, why won’t you establish a foundation?” 

Su Zhun shook his head and said, laughing, “I’m old! Even if I established a foundation now, I wouldn’t get very far. I’d only be wasting spiritual stones. Anyway, in my life, I’ve had my merits and demerits, and I’ve been obedient and rebellious. I have nothing to cling to and no unfinished business. The journey has been worthwhile. I don’t have an immortal’s Way of the Heart.” 

Pang Jian stopped himself on the point of speaking. 

Su Zhun said, smiling, “What? Human affairs change like the tide. Can’t you see which way the wind is blowing, which way the water is flowing?” 

“That’s not it, it’s just…such a mess that it makes me weary.” Pang Jian pinched the center of his brow. “I thought before that if you had the good fortune to become a cultivator and live a century or two longer than others for no reason, and gained some privileges, you ought to restrain yourself and keep watch over your heart. Rules are rules, and walkers in the mortal world could only be half-immortals. All these years, I haven’t dared to take a step out of line. No matter what I encountered, I held out and didn’t touch that established foundation pill… But now it’s all right. Once the outer sects were allowed to have established foundations, there was no more boundary between us and the immortal mountains. Whenever a half-immortal with slightly higher natural endowments completes their spiritual bones, people will immediately provide them with a Way of the Heart and resources from the shadows to rope them in. Unless they already have their own Way of the Heart, refusing would make it seem like they didn’t know what was good for them—look, shixiong, now that the wind has turned in this direction, hasn’t my holding fast before become a joke?” 

Su Zhun listened to this patiently, then, pinching his beard, said unhurriedly, “That depends on what you’ve been holding to.” 

Pang Jian froze briefly. He thought this over for a long moment, then said seriously, “Yes, thank you for your instruction, shixiong. I…” 

Just then, a ring on Pang Jian’s hand heated slightly—this was Heaven’s Design Pavilion’s newly-equipped communication device, faster than the previous edition, with an inscription chip inside it that could be replaced periodically. They were all supplied by Moon Plated Peak; they sent letters faster and with greater secrecy. 

Pang Jian reached out to touch it. He quickly glanced at the letter. His expression was a little surprised. 

Su Zhun said, “Where is the problem now? Go on and deal with it, then.” 

“It isn’t anything major,” Pang Jian said after a moment’s silence. “Dowager Imperial Consort Xi has died.” 

Su Zhun didn’t realize who “Dowager Imperial Consort Xi” was. “Who?” 

“Birth mother of Prince Zhuang of the Kaiming Department,” Pang Jian said. “Zhou Ying has natural spiritual bones. He was born without the need to spend a century refining his bones. As long as he opened his spiritual eyes and acquired a Way of the Heart, he could establish a foundation any time. Since establishing a foundation became open to the outer sects, I hear that all of Xuanyin Mountain has had their eyes on him. Up to now, he’s always put it off, saying his mother was still living, his bonds to the mortal world yet unbroken. Now he has no more excuse.” 

“He’s put off establishing a foundation?” Su Zhun said curiously. 

“That demonic star doesn’t want to be constrained by a Way of the Heart. Before, if the Luwu went out of bounds, there would be people in the immortal mountains to oppose them, but in recent years the storm of evil cultivators has become increasingly intense. The borders are unsafe. There’s nothing to be done. So the inner sect has been wanting to bring him into some peak and pin him down with a Way of the Heart.” Pang Jian sighed. “Once the mourning period has passed, if he is still unwilling to accept a Way of the Heart and establish a foundation, I’m afraid he won’t be able to justify it… I suppose that’s just as well.” 

In Prince Zhuang Manor in Jinping, there was an endless stream of visitors coming to offer their condolences. “Prince Zhuang” received them cautiously and without imagination, not putting a step out of place—none of the mortals or outer sect cultivators present could tell that this was only an unfeeling paperman. 

A cool breeze blew through the manor draped in mourning, making its way right into the rear courtyard. 

The rear courtyard was extremely peaceful. White paper lanterns hung from the ends of the simple pavilion. Only in the south study was there a light burning.

A pot of snow wine was steaming on a small stove. The sweet, cloying scent floated throughout the room.

This was his first time tasting this thing. It was said that drinking a single cup could make all your worries vanish. Xi Ziyi had spent the better part of her life steeping in snow wine. Even when she died there had been a tranquil smile on her face.

He very much wanted to know what kind of paradise there was to be found in snow wine.

But while it had a heavy aroma, it was dull to the taste. After drinking two cups, he had tasted nothing. Some images like floating lights flashed before his eyes, but he didn’t bother to look closely—these things were even more false than worldly affairs; they couldn’t fool him.

The only benefit was that when he drank it, his senses became a little hazy. Perhaps if he had another cup, he would know the clarity of the deaf and blind.

Bai Ling was plastered in a corner. He wanted to counsel him to stop, but he didn’t dare. As Zhou Ying raised the third cup, he suddenly glimpsed a miniature reincarnation wood tree at the corner of the desk move on its own. The half-demon relaxed.

“Busybodies,” said Zhou Ying without looking up, “both of you.”

A bone hand reached out of the miniature tree. At a close look, there were many cracks in the joints, and they were all misplaced. But in just a flash, the skeletal hand repaired itself and was quickly enveloped in muscle and flesh. By the time it reached Zhou Ying, it was already good as new. It deftly relieved him of the white jade wine cup.

Zhou Ying was dazed. For an instant, the miniature landscape became the real person…still faintly looking as he had at seventeen or eighteen when he had been picking fights with a fat cat, each clawing the other in provocation.

After his momentary blankness, he saw the white jade wine cup disappear briefly; when it was handed back, more than half of the snow wine still remained in it.

Bubbles were floating on the surface of the snow wine that could make a person live in a dream; they formed a line of writing: “No taste, add a scoop of sugar.”

All the illusions in front of Zhou Ying’s eyes instantly vanished. He came back to himself, rubbed his temples, and extinguished the stove warming the snow wine with a snap of his fingers. “Get lost, go put in your order somewhere else.”

The hand put the white jade cup down. The fingers tapped lightly on the rim of the cup. In time to the tapping, the snow wine in the cup turned into a roly-poly puppy that began to gambol around on the desk, obnoxiously leaving a trail of sopping wet footprints.

Pulling a long face, Zhou Ying said, “Aren’t you in seclusion in the Land of Turmoil? What have you come out for now? Other ascended spirits often go into seclusion for a century. What’s going on with you? You’re always stepping out for fresh air. Have you got carbuncles or something?”

“San-ge, I’ve heard something,” the puppy made of snow wine said in a human voice, wagging its tail. “Can you guess what it is?”