Chapter 122: Golden Mountain

"Among any three people walking together, there must be one who can be my teacher; I choose to follow their virtues and correct my own faults…"

"Sir, as cultivators, we cannot casually acknowledge just anyone as our master!"

In class, Joanna earnestly raised an objection.

Chen Jianchen smiled slightly. "A master is one who imparts the Way, teaches knowledge, and dispels doubts. It doesn’t require the formal ritual of three bows and nine kowtows to become a master. This saying emphasizes a humble attitude toward learning, not that you must bow to everyone you meet. It cannot be generalized…"

…

"Therefore, when Heaven is about to entrust a great responsibility to a person, it first tests their resolve, exhausts their muscles and bones, starves their body, leaves them destitute, and disrupts their endeavors, so as to stir their heart, temper their nature, and increase their capabilities…"

"Sir, what kind of great responsibility is that? Sounds terrifying—worse than backbreaking labor… Ouch, Sir, you hit me again!"

One must admit, Joanna was remarkably intelligent, grasping many teachings after just one explanation. Yet, she was naturally mischievous, often springing whimsical ideas that left others both amused and exasperated.

…

Now, it was already mid-December. Time had flown; it had been over a month since Lu Xiyue returned to Jiangzhou. Regarding Lu Xiyue’s abduction, under Chen Jianchen’s instructions, Wang Fu quietly closed the case within the government offices.

Li Yifeng’s death, along with the bandit leader’s demise, caused an uproar once the news spread, sparking numerous rumors. For a time, Suzhou City was rife with gossip and speculation.

However, Chen Jianchen did not seek out or investigate these rumors. Instead, he devoted himself wholeheartedly to teaching Joanna in Huzhuang. After all, the year’s end was approaching; soon he would set off for Jiangzhou to continue his studies at Minghua Academy.

Huangfu Yuanwai had already decided that after Chen Jianchen left, he and his daughter would also depart Huzhuang for another place. The exact destination was undecided, though Joanna wished to move to Jiangzhou. Huangfu Yuanwai disagreed, having spent many years immersed in the secular world and having already refined his Daoist heart, now needing to retreat into secluded mountains to cultivate further and digest all he had learned.

Moreover, Joanna needed to undergo a tribulation, which required a quiet and deserted place.

Thus, in the near future, father and daughter would bid farewell to the bustling mortal realm and retreat deep into the mountains for seclusion.

The only sorrow was parting.

Chen Jianchen also felt some reluctance about the impending separation. During their time together, he and the Huangfu family had formed a profound bond.

Joanna was equally reluctant; she was no longer the carefree child she once was…

"Sir, what does the phrase 'Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire' mean?"

"It means you should not force others to do things you yourself dislike, or else it easily breeds resentment."

Joanna’s eyes widened. "That’s not right—I don’t like eating chicken, but every time I feed Xiao Ju some, she eats it happily."

Standing nearby, Xiao Ju puffed up her cheeks: "Miss, you forcefully stuff chicken into my mouth like some savage—how could I not pretend to enjoy it?"

Such words, however, were unspeakable aloud.

…

That day, snow began to fall from the sky, the cold biting. Even beneath the eaves, icicles hung in translucent strands, delicate and beautiful.

Inside the room, a stove blazed, with fist-sized pieces of charcoal glowing red, emanating warm heat. These were no ordinary coals—they were precious "Thunder Kiln Charcoal," selling for a full string of coins per pound. Burned, they emitted no smoke or odor, and produced abundant heat. But such a costly fuel was beyond the reach of ordinary families.

Gathered around the stove, after listening to Chen Jianchen’s tale, Joanna suddenly asked, "Sir, why do your stories always end with the prince and princess getting married? Shouldn’t you continue telling what happens next?"

Chen Jianchen replied calmly, "Perhaps because after marriage, the story ends."

"How can the story end? You could talk about children—firstborn, secondborn—there’s so much to tell."

Chen Jianchen broke out in a cold sweat, speechless—truly, the little fox’s mind worked quite differently from ordinary people’s.

—During this period, aside from lessons, Joanna and Song Niang kept pestering Chen Jianchen to tell stories. As a man who had traversed time himself, Chen Jianchen finally displayed his forte and became the "Story King." From ancient to modern, from Chinese classics like the Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin to Andersen’s fairy tales, he recounted all he could remember.

Joanna and the others listened with keen interest, joking that Chen Jianchen could compile these stories into books and sell them for a fortune…

In fact, Chen Jianchen had considered this path back when he lived in Jingyang Village, poor and destitute. But after inquiring, he realized it was impossible.

The Tiantong Dynasty imposed strict censorship on printed books; publishing without approval was out of the question. Many of Chen Jianchen’s stories from his previous life contained sensitive content. Take the example of Zhuge Wolong: writing history invited accusations of "using the past to mock the present," tales of fox spirits and demons were condemned as superstition and heresy, military treatises were seen as seditious and treasonous… even honest love stories could not be openly published, as they violated the moral codes set forth in Confucian classics.

Hence, attempting to profit from writing was futile; one could only disseminate work through handwritten copies like Zhuge Wolong did. But what gain did that bring the author?

Only hollow fame.

And even that fame was deliberately belittled by others.

Zhuge Wolong lived a life of hardship and exile for a reason. His writings were incompatible with the current mainstream, relying on strange expressions and explicit depictions of love and desire to attract readers. No wonder he mastered the rigid Eight-legged essay style yet failed imperial examinations—he failed to discern the examiners’ intent, his themes divergent; despite intricate prose, it was a withering flower.

"Thousands of strokes, ink scarce but tears abundant."

What sorrow and helplessness that must have been!

The strict publishing regime was a "literary lock," with the ever-present threat of a "literary inquisition." Chen Jianchen knew well that such measures were normal under the dynasty’s rule. Indeed, history recorded many brutal literary inquisitions, countless books burned, and many lives lost.

No matter how grand the historical chronicles, they were always written in fresh blood.

Days spent teaching and storytelling, nights devoted to solitary reading and writing—this was Chen Jianchen’s daily routine: simple, pure, and fulfilling. Such carefree days were precious; people often only find leisure when their hair turns white, but even then, their hearts remain restless.

As the day of parting drew near, Huangfu Yuanwai presented Chen Jianchen with a precious gift: a vest woven from golden silkworm threads.

The vest was soft as water; a gentle squeeze compressed it into a pellet the size of a marble, releasing it restored it to a perfectly shaped garment. Light as air, it felt weightless on the body, with seams so fine it seemed like heavenly cloth, seamless and flawless.

"This garment is made from the silk of century-old golden silkworms, using nine million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand golden threads. Though not a magical artifact, it is incredibly durable—impervious to fire and water, and resistant to blades and spears."

Huangfu Yuanwai explained.

Along with the blood sandalwood bookmark he had given previously, these were two priceless treasures for Chen Jianchen—items almost impossible to obtain in the secular world.

"Sir Yuanwai…"

A strange wave of emotion stirred in Chen Jianchen’s heart, leaving him deeply moved.

Huangfu Yuanwai chuckled, "Liuxian, compared to all you have done for our family, these gifts are nothing. I had planned to give you a fortune, but wealth in gold and silver carries hostile energy; obtaining it brings no blessing. Better to disperse it all and accumulate merit instead. Thus, I could only present this golden silkworm vest."

Chen Jianchen replied, "Sir Yuanwai speaks too humbly. Such a gift is worth far more than any fortune."

Huangfu Yuanwai’s expression grew solemn. "Liuxian, forgive my frankness. I once observed the heavens at night and divined a portent. In a few years, there will be a lunar eclipse devoured by a celestial dog, and ill stars will govern. When the heavens change, the earth changes; with the earth, humanity changes. The world will be perilous, with wars and chaos…"

Chen Jianchen furrowed his brow. Huangfu Yuanwai’s words echoed the Taoist priest Qingyun’s warning: "When a nation is about to perish, monsters will arise," suggesting a mysterious convergence.

Huangfu Yuanwai continued, "Liuxian, you possess righteous energy—a rare anomaly among Confucians. I have wandered the world for many years and seen civilization crumble, hearing no true sages. Though I do not fully understand how you cultivated your righteousness or its power, with it you need not fear evil spirits corrupting your soul. However, your physical body has vulnerabilities. I specially gave you this golden silkworm garment to protect you, to possibly prevent certain bloody calamities."

Hearing this, Chen Jianchen bowed deeply, cupping his hands in gratitude. "Thank you, Sir Yuanwai, for this precious gift."

Huangfu Yuanwai helped him up and sighed, "Since ancient times, humans are humans, demons are demons. Liuxian, you are open-minded and enlightened, treating us not as outsiders—it is truly rare. As we part now, I hope that one day we shall meet again."

Chen Jianchen smiled. "There will certainly be such a day."

Huangfu Yuanwai then asked, "In these last days, is there anywhere in Suzhou you wish to visit? The Ten Scenic Spots of Suzhou are all picturesque—missing them would be a pity."

Chen Jianchen nodded. "Yes, I intend to visit one—it’s also one of the Ten Scenic Spots."

"Oh? Where? Surely not the Suzhou River…"

The old fox winked at him meaningfully.

Chen Jianchen chuckled. "The spring water flows on the Suzhou River, a world between heaven and earth. But that’s not where I’m going—I plan to visit Jinshan Temple."

Jinshan Temple?

Those three words seemed to carry a spell; upon hearing them, Huangfu Yuanwai’s face suddenly paled.