Those who had gone to work in the factories earliest of all had been craftsmen, each and every one possessing some unique skill. Wei Chengxiang had mixed with these people since she was little and had been imperceptibly influenced by what she heard and saw. In the usage of axe, chisel, adze, and saw, in woodworking and carving seals, she knew a bit of everything. Adding in that she was literate, if she hadn’t met with unexpected disaster back then, perhaps she would have been a skilled worker with considerable prospects.

The only unfortunate thing was that, had she been a mortal, she wouldn’t have lived to see the day when a woman could enter the Kaiming Department or a factory college without raising eyebrows. She would probably have spent her whole life as a “man,” hiding and covering up, shutting out anyone who came to her with proposals of marriage, finally ending up as an old bachelor who was always running off to Rat Alley, getting smeared with stinking gossip.

That way, she wouldn’t have met Xi Shiyong.

Jinping City was vast. Living under the same sky, all walks of life were cut off from each other. Even if by chance there had been an opportunity to brush past each other, probably it would only have been like their encounter in the southern mines—in fact, Wei Chengxiang had forgotten about that long ago. It was later, casually chatting with Xi Ping, that she had recalled that such a thing seemed to have taken place. Looking at Xi Ping, as if looking at foreign scenery, she might have said admiringly that he was a handsome young lord, like taking a hurried glance at Cui Ji’s restrained and elegant front yard or the expensive fine clothes behind a glazed window; she would have exclaimed, then turned away and forgotten.

In fact, that…wouldn’t have been a bad thing.

Now she couldn’t become a skilled worker, but she still liked to do a bit of woodwork in her free time, put little things together. She always had some books of lost ancient He arts about her person, and she had a period of infatuation with embroidery.

At New Year during that period, her friends and family all received embroidered works that she had made. Even the Xuanyin Mountain’s General Zhi, who had once done her the favor of giving his advice, received one.

The workmanship was rather fine, and there were categorically no bumps and hollows from loose threads. The style was…very “He.”

The young mistress put the lady’s purse that there was really no way to carry under a crystal cover to keep as a bizarre ornament and tactfully said in “praise,” “Rather a lot of ancient Southern He style about it.”

Pang Jian, in the position of an uncle, didn’t feel comfortable making any appraisal, either. All he could say was, “The screen is very lively, the sacred beast likes it there.”

Her other Wan friends for the most part stopped themselves from saying anything like these two did. Only the Turmoilers and Zhi Xiu lavished her with praise.

The Turmoilers went without saying. Anyway, even if Wei-laoban had tried an original approach and embroidered a pair of kissing houseflies, they would still have praised her blindly.

As for Zhi Xiu, he had only two requirements for what he wore: that it be neat and tidy, and that it didn’t constitute a breach of etiquette at important social occasions—for the rest, it didn’t matter.

Knowing that someone was thinking of him, he greatly appreciated the sentiment, and after losing his essence, he in fact wasn’t as resistant to cold as before, so he gladly accepted the young lady’s respectful gift of gloves.

These gloves—per Xi Ping’s description, taking a single glance at them would pollute your consciousness.

Perhaps A-Xiang had thought that there wasn’t enough room on as small a piece of cloth as a glove for her to display her skills. She had covered them with embroidery, not leaving a single stitch blank. The design she had embroidered was “peaches and plums accompanied by the spring breeze,” representing a teacher’s earnest instruction of his pupils. Not taking into account the fact that these two species didn’t bear fruit in spring, she embroidered them in peach pink and plum purple, full of the joy of a rich harvest. As for the colors of spring, she proudly asserted that in order to convey gradation, she had used eighteen different kinds of green thread; it had been very hard labor.

Xi Ping thought that even if she had found a white banner and used black thread to embroider the Wan characters “Peaches and Plums with the Spring Breeze” and turn it into a mourning banner, she still wouldn’t have attained such a horrifying outcome.

A few days later, there was another heavy snowfall on Flying Jade Peak. It was outrageously cold. So Zhi Xiu asked for those frightening “peaches and plums,” put on the “riotously colorful eighteen shades of green,” and, all snug, went to practice swordsmanship.

Though Zhaoting was willing to be crushed to dust for his sake, it still couldn’t take mistreatment like this. The divine sword refused to be drawn. Zhi Xiu, uncomprehending, pulled harder and nearly got smacked on the chin by Zhaoting’s sheath as it popped up.

“It is indeed easy for your hands to slip while wearing gloves.” Zhi Xiu took off the gloves. He didn’t understand Zhaoting’s fit of temper, so, with a show of earnestness, he elevated this matter to the summit of human life and narrated it to his little disciple Xi Yue next to him. “In the way of the sword, regardless of whether one has a Way of the Heart, one must temper one’s muscles, bones, and skin. A person might take a detour, but he cannot take a shortcut. Do not be like your older brother.”

Xi Yue obediently received this lesson and nodded.

Mentioning Xi Ping, Zhi Xiu frowned and asked, “Right, where is he? Yesterday he was still chasing after the blue luan on the mountain. Did he get ‘busy’ as soon as I mentioned the sword?”

Xi Yue’s throat had been modified by Lin Chi. He could speak slowly. He just wasn’t used to speaking. But in front of shizun, he couldn’t very well flail around gesturing wildly, so he laboriously said, “He’s gone to see Wei-laoban.”

Hearing this, Zhi Xiu’s brow unfurrowed—chasing after a young lady was much better than chasing after a chicken. It sounded more like serious business. “What for?”

Some strange anguish appeared on Xi Yue’s face. He answered, “Maybe he’s gone to offer a humble apology.”

Xi Ping had obtained an exquisite embroidered purse. When he had opened it, he’d taken only one look. Then this scoundrel had given his most sincere reaction.

He had said: “Hahahaha, what the hell is this!”

Wei Chengxiang hadn’t spoken to him for several days.

Wei Chengxiang was just recording something on paper when she heard a creak. Then a familiar aroma surged up.

She raised her head and saw that the study’s little window had been pushed open a crack from the outside, and a hand was reaching inside, furtively stuffing in an oilpaper bag. The oilpaper bag had the stamp of the Phoenix’s Perch Pavilion on it. The stewed duck’s head inside was steaming, fogging the glazed window.

This was the new capital of Southern He, tens of thousands of li away from Jinping. Only one person could bring a stewed duck’s head fresh from the pot in Jinping to her desk.

Wei Chengxiang was expressionless. “Go away.”

“You won’t eat it?” said the person outside. “Fine, then I’ll throw it away.”

Wei Chengxiang said, “…Slow down!”

Wasting food immediately jabbed Wei-laoban in her sore spot.

Though she had a big house in Southern He’s new capital comparable to what Princess Anyang’s manor had been and no longer needed to carry scales and scrape off bits of green ore, she was still as stingy as ever. Perhaps even mountains of gold and silver couldn’t make up for the handful of copper coins she had been short in her youth.

When she opened the window, she saw Xi Ping’s brightly smiling face. This wretch had a face that, as long as he didn’t talk or move, could make a person forgive him even when he had committed the most heinous of crimes.

Wei Chengxiang pulled a long face and took the oilpaper bag. Half her anger had already dissipated. Seeing his smile, she simply wanted to sigh.

The duck’s head was hot and numbing, with a strong aroma. As there had been more and more Cloud Soaring Flood Dragons over the years, Jinping had gradually accepted the heavy flavors from the north and south. It was only that there still weren’t many locals who ate spicy food, and the audience for hot and numbing foods was small. The shops didn’t make them every day—Wei Chengxiang, meanwhile, had been young when she had left Great Wan, and her tastes had been influenced by those of other nations.

She thought: Xi Shiyong would never get wrong what the people around him liked to eat and what they avoided, would never mishear the hidden thought another person revealed between the lines. He was just a purebred scoundrel.

Wei Chengxiang opened the paper bag, took out a duck’s head, and bit fiercely into it as if it were Xi Ping’s head. “What? Say whatever you have to say.”

“Let’s talk business, Wei-laoban.” Xi Ping, smiling radiantly, leaned against a reincarnation wood tree and said, “Sell me the pattern for the gloves you embroidered for my shizun.”

“You can ask General Zhi for them yourself.”

“What would I want with those lousy gloves?” Xi Ping waved a hand. “As long as the fire in the Unbound Furnace is burning, I won’t freeze to death. How about the Jiuwei buy that pattern from you and use it for the embroidery pattern on a set of formal robes for next spring?”

The Luwu had been short on money in the early years, so they had started many businesses in the various nations. First, this was to arrange identities for themselves, and second, it was to subsidize some of their expenses. The Jiuwei was one of the Luwu’s most lucrative businesses. It sold Wan-style fashionable clothes and jewelry. Leaving aside for the moment the quality of the products, as the originators and promoters of the toilet bulletins, the Luwu had been the first to grasp the authority to judge what was beautiful and what was ugly. Now they could turn a small investment into a huge profit based on their reputation.

“The Jiuwei are highbrow, how could bumpkins like me be worthy?” Wei Chengxiang rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think they’re ugly? Who are you going to sell them to?”

“I’m not planning to sell them. We’ll make a model and put it on display, tell a story about ‘a gift of gratitude from an immortal in the East Sea,’ set the price at five hundred, and if someone with more money than sense wants to buy it, we’ll say it’s sold out. Who says that clothing has to look good?” Xi Ping waved a hand. “Everyone looks at it—wow, that’s ugly! It will certainly make tongues wag, and those toilet bulletins that fill their pages with idle gossip will follow along at once, and the Jiuwei will save on publicity expenses next year—we’ll give you ten percent, buy your execrable design.”

“Get the hell out,” said Wei Chengxiang.

Xi Ping said, “Ten thousand.”

Wei Chengxiang stopped in the middle of smacking his hand with the window.

Xi Ping smiled. “In—Wan—gold.”

Wei Chengxiang immediately wiped her hands clean, straightened her clothes, and opened the door. Her expression also cleared, and her tone became polite. “Senior Tai Sui, please come in and have a seat.”

Xi Ping sauntered in, complacently asked her to pour him tea, ate half a saucer of “rebirth berries”—after Southern He had been plowed by the wildfire vine, this strange mutated berry had grown there. It was sweet, with unusual perfume. It only bore fruit in the twelfth month of the year, and it was just in season now. You couldn’t get it this fresh anywhere else.

When he had tyrannized enough, he explained his strategy for how to “use ten thousand gold to buy a season of scolding and turn it into an opportunity to sell other things.” Hearing it, Wei Chengxiang stared, wondering whether the rich people who scrabbled over the Jiuwei’s products like ducks were idiots.

But when she had heard it out, she still didn’t especially understand. “You…”

Can just take it if you want it. Anyway, I already gave it to you guys.

Xi Ping raised a hand to interrupt her. “The Luwu aren’t my private property, I have to keep accounts. I can’t just throw money at a foreign fleet, you understand. Let the Jiuwei test the waters this season, and if it works, I can find another reason to work with you later.”

Wei Chengxiang was dumbfounded.

In fact, she was short on money currently.

This was a long story—Shu’s Miah and Xiuyi clans had made a definitive break. The Miah, having come to a dead end, had asked the South Sea Hidden Realm for help. Li Manlong had come to a prompt decision then. While upgraded immortal tools had yet to become popular everywhere, he had taken the initiative and used upgraded beast-controlling immortal tools to help the Miah hold on to Southern Shu’s Three Islands.

After this, Southern Shu split in two. As repayment for the alliance, the South Sea Hidden Realm and the surrounding area of sea was given to the He, to serve as a temporary location for the new nation of He until the Land of Turmoil was repaired.

The spiritual mountains had returned their spiritual energy, but they couldn’t heal the wounds to the earth of Southern He. There were a thousand things to be done. And this place rich in skilled craftsmen had been left behind by the era of the Cloud Soaring Flood Dragon. The early period after founding the nation was extremely difficult, until the South Sea Hidden Realm made by the past sage with his life had once again protected the people in their utmost need—nearby, they discovered a large “dragon’s breath resin” mine.

Dragon’s breath resin was a combustible fuel, also called “oil water” or “black gold.” In recent years, as people gradually cast off the first generation Gold Imitation Technique altogether, it had seen more and more use. Relying on the resources of the black gold mine, New He had trekked over the most difficult part of the road, and from then on, the people of He had developed a complex about going out to sea.

There were unpeopled places out there, beyond the spiritual mountains. Cultivators who had grown up at the feet of the spiritual mountains had instinctively rejected it, and mortals, even with access to steamships, had always operated in the coastal waters at most, not penetrating the depths of the ocean.

Apart from dragon’s breath resin, was there something else in the depths of the sea?

Resources that could take mortals up to the sky and down into the earth, unheard of ancient relics, never before seen rare monsters…

Once, through reincarnation wood, Wei Chengxiang and Zhou Ying had looked at the boundary of the South Sea Hidden Realm, one inside and one outside. One had seen a limitless voyage, and one had seen a boundless canopy. Starting then, a long-cherished wish had begun to put down roots and sprout in her heart: she wanted to be like Kuafu seeking the sun in legend, be the first person to seek the horizon.

But this needed not only technology, it also needed financial resources, and the ability to rally fellow travelers in great number.

Wei Chengxiang blurted out, “How did you know I was preparing a fleet?”

“I belong to the lineage of the Dignitary of Fate. I just reckoned on my fingers… Hey, hey, hey, why are you beating up your bankroller?” Xi Ping crossed one leg over the other. A rebirth berry bulged his cheek out. “Wow, these are delicious. There are only pickled ones in the north. Pickling things is a waste. Pack up some baskets for me, I’ll take them back to the Xuanyin Mountains. You said it yourself. You were blowing so much hot air to my brother back in the South Sea Hidden Realm that all the sable sheep in there rose into the sky, right?”

Wei Chengxiang was silent for a while, then put a hand to her forehead and smiled bitterly. Suddenly, she said, “Hey, do you know what it means when a woman gives you an embroidered purse?”

When she spoke these words, the clock on the desk and the wind outside by coincidence quieted for an instant. In the air there was only the mouthwatering aroma of the rebirth berries.

The water in the pot boiled then and turned off with a click. The sound of the boiling water sank in pitch. Xi Ping put down his tea bowl.

“I know,” said Xi Ping. Without any unease, he removed the lid from the bowl and waited to be served like a young master. “I thought that you didn’t know.”

Wei Chengxiang: “…”

Why was this jerk’s angle of approach to being incorrigible always so mysterious?

“After all,” said Xi Ping, “to judge from your work, it seemed like you were trying to send me to my grave.”

Wei Chengxiang took a deep breath and reached out to pick up the pot. In order to avoid having his face scalded by boiling water, Xi Ping greased his steps, making himself scarce before Wei-laoban could murder her bankroller.

On leaving Wei Chengxiang’s house, you crossed a street and came to Sages’ Square.

Southern He’s new capital was a city with no history, with spotless buildings and perfectly dovetailed paving tiles. In the spacious square, each and every statue was lifelike. This was the look of a place that had yet to be toyed with by the elements.

The most striking sage’s statue was of a slender, graceful woman in antiquated Chu dress. She was smiling thoughtfully, appraising everyone who came before her, as if she were curious about everyone—when this statue of Hui Xiangjun had come to the new capital, Master Lin, who never went out, had actually left the mountains. The Cloud Soaring Flood Dragon hadn’t spread to Southern He yet at the time, so he had had to take it to the Wan-He border, then transfer to car and boat.

This whole arduous journey, undertaken just to take one look at her.

By coincidence, it was just when he walked up in front of the statue that his eight-hundred-year-old Way of the Heart dissolved. The body and heart of the immortal whose emotions were more colorless than paper returned to the mundane world, and all his persistent shackles disappeared, so that he could sob his heart out in the square full of people coming and going, coming back to life vivid and bloody before the statue of his old friend.

Next to Hui Xiangjun was the statue of an ugly Turmoiler, only half her height, his figure stooped, rendered an even more unbearable sight by comparison with the beauty beside him. This was New He’s other sage: Li Manlong, who had long ago passed away and departed.

Li Manlong held the hand of a girl with her hair in two buns; this was one of the founders of New He, whose full name was Li Wenwu. She had been over sixty when she had passed away. It had been her own wish for the appearance of the statue to be taken from her childhood. She had a more romantic nickname—she was called “Hope.”

Further on, there were more people, those who looked like Turmoilers and those who looked like ordinary people. To a greater or lesser extent, Xi Ping had had dealings with them all and seen them all die.

He passed slowly among his old friends and saw a few long lines. These were people waiting to receive porridge. Xi Ping calculated on his fingers and suddenly realized that it was the eighth day of the twelfth month.

The Laba Festival was a particularity of Great Wan, which had four distinct seasons; it was for celebrating a rich harvest at the end of the year, during the slack season for farming. Southern He was warm year-round and had no winter break; naturally it didn’t celebrate this festival.

This was a tradition that originated from long ago, when the new capital had first been founded—naturally A-Xiang had brought it here.

Back then, she would spend the day cooking rich, fragrant, sweet porridge for a city full of He people who couldn’t eat their fill; anyone could have a bowl. Later, there were no more people in the city who couldn’t eat their fill, and people had preserved this outmoded practice. Each year on Laba, the merchants would open their stands and hand out porridge while they advertised next year’s goods, wish their regular customers an early happy new year.

“Young fellow, come over here.” A salesman hawking in the street passed by and stuffed a flyer into his hand. “Our Fire God Porridge is chilled porridge, with stewed lotus seeds and rebirth berries in it!”

In authentic Southern He language, Xi Ping said bitterly, “You’re all crazy. It’s a waste of the products of nature!”

Oh, yes, Southern He’s Laba wasn’t called Laba; it was called the “Fire God Festival”; this was a pretext that the glib-tongued Wei-laoban had made up back then.

By the road, an adult leading a child picked the child up and said, humoring, “For a Fire God Festival, there needs to be a Fire God. Do you know the Fire God’s name?”

The bald child crisply responded: “Chunying!”

Xi Ping turned his head to look their way and just happened to see an empty space in the long line of sages’ statues—this was Wei-laoban’s spot. The He people had insisted on making her a statue, and Wei Chengxiang felt ashamed and insisted that they shouldn’t. The two sides had spent years going back and forth, and finally they had only left a place; there was no one there yet.

There was no rush. After all, she hadn’t yet completed her journey.

“You haven’t even set out yet, and you want to fasten yourself to a tree sharing a lifespan with the Law Breaker. You’ll be scared to die.” Xi Ping shook his head at that empty statue space. “If you’re scared to die, how will you come and go freely under the high sky and over the vast sea? Stupid girl.”

Having said this, he turned and went back—two incense sticks had passed, A-Xiang ought to have packed up the rebirth berries for him. He wanted to take them back to the Xuanyin Mountains while they were fresh, then come back and pick a place whose porridge didn’t have all kinds of random things stewed into it.

There would be favorable weather in the coming year, all wishes fulfilled.