Volume Six: The Sovereign God's Return to the Shattered Continent Chapter Thirteen: The Jade Purity Scroll

“Big brother, shall we go inside and find a guesthouse to rest?” Su Mengling stepped down from the carriage and saw Zhuo Hua standing alone, gazing into the distance lost in thought, so she approached him and asked.

“Hm, let’s find a larger tavern and treat everyone to a good meal first,” Zhuo Hua replied with a smile to Su Mengling.

Su Mengling brightened at first, then snorted and turned to look at Yu Changsheng, who was also stepping down from the carriage. “Some people only know how to freeload food and drink, and now they want to freeload books too. Truly shameless.”

Yu Changsheng shook his head unconcernedly, still clutching the borrowed copy of *Miscellaneous Talks on Strange Things* from Zhuo Hua. He retorted, “Isn’t this because we’re getting closer to the Cloud Summit Heavenly Palace? I have to prepare well for the entrance exam. Only by doing well can I obtain the Water-Repelling Mist Cloud Mechanism Beast that Master Yuan promised me! How can someone so diligent in study be called shameless by you?”

Su Mengling rolled her eyes sarcastically. “With your meager skills, trying to get into the Cloud Sky Academy is nothing but a pipe dream. Besides, what will you do with that Mechanism Beast once you get it? Just flaunt it around to show off, no doubt!”

“Showing off a bit is inevitable, after all, I’m going to marry the eldest lady of the Su family. The occasion should be grand,” Yu Changsheng said with a sly grin.

“You scoundrel!” Su Mengling, exasperated and frustrated, snatched the coachman’s whip to lash at Yu Changsheng, but he was already prepared and flipped swiftly, dodging beneath the carriage.

Su Mengling circled the carriage several times but couldn’t catch him.

Yu Changsheng, emboldened, taunted, “Mengling, why don’t you come under the carriage too? It’s quite cool down here!”

Hearing this, Su Mengling’s anger surged, but she was at a loss for how to get him out. She gritted her teeth and hatched a plan.

Suddenly, she threw the whip heavily onto the ground and burst into loud, sorrowful sobs, “Father! You’re gone and this rogue scoundrel bullies me every day. Poor Ling’er is so miserable!”

The more she cried, the more sorrowful and louder her sobs became.

Under the carriage, Yu Changsheng was bewildered. He could only hear her voice but not see her face, and he grew increasingly anxious. Hastily, he crawled out from beneath the carriage, stammering, “Sister Mengling, please don’t cry! It’s all my fault. I only wanted to tease you; I didn’t expect you to take it seriously.”

“Of course it’s your fault, you shameless scoundrel!” Su Mengling was already waiting in front of the carriage, ready to grab him by the ear as soon as he emerged. She seized his ear and twisted it hard.

“Ouch! Cunning little vixen! Master Yuan, save me!” Yu Changsheng grimaced and pleaded for help from Zhuo Hua.

Zhuo Hua seemed accustomed to this scene and didn’t rush over to mediate, knowing they were just playing around and each knew their limits.

After a moment, Zhuo Hua spoke, “Had enough? Aren’t you hungry yet?”

Reluctantly, the young lady released the now-red ear of the young man.

They returned to the same tavern, to that same table on the second floor facing the street.

The three sat down in turn and summoned a waiter to take their orders.

The waiter hurried up the stairs; Zhuo Hua momentarily thought it might be Qin Ying, Su Xin, or Zhuo Yun—the three who had caused a ruckus in Xunyang City not long ago, setting free the white dog and silver fox. It all seemed like yesterday.

“General Xiao Sui, your brothers have come to see you.” With that, Zhuo Hua poured some wine onto the floor in a circle.

“Big brother, what’s wrong?” Su Mengling asked.

“Nothing, just thinking of an old friend,” he replied.

At that moment, a clear, melodious voice echoed leisurely from a dim corner: “Mist accompanies mountain foothills, clouds accompany the wind; deep valleys bathed in mist and rain dye the flowers red. Watching fish by the water, few boats drift by; it’s rare to see an old friend east of the Osmanthus Hall.”

“What a fine poem!” Zhuo Hua clapped his hands and turned toward the source of the voice. In the shadowy corner where the sunlight did not reach, a figure dressed in white robes stood. Judging by the voice, it was probably a woman in her thirties, but her form was vague and indistinct.

“May I ask your honorable name? I have loved poetry and verse since childhood and am delighted to meet a kindred spirit today.” Zhuo Hua bowed respectfully toward the shadow.

“I am the humble nun Wangyue, formerly residing at the Jade Pure Retreat in the Xuanhuang Void Capital Path before ordination, daughter of the Xuanhuang Jade Clan.” The voice fluctuated between near and far, though she was only a few steps away, it sounded as if from a thousand miles.

Her voice was originally soft and gentle, very pleasant to hear, but upon hearing it, Zhuo Hua’s expression changed drastically. Cold sweat poured from his neck down to his back, and one hand supporting the table trembled uncontrollably.

“May I inquire, is your name Qing Shu?” he asked hesitantly.

“Indeed!” At that moment, the Daoist nun stepped out from the corner’s shadow into the bright open space.

She wore a jade hairpin, a wide pale white Daoist robe, and instead of holding the usual dust whisk that Daoist priests or nuns typically carry, she gripped a three-foot-long Rainbow Sword. She stood proudly and heroically before them.

She appeared to be in her thirties, her face flawless and fair, slightly round with faint signs of weathering, yet her charm remained undiminished.

Zhuo Hua immediately knelt, banging his head on the floor repeatedly, saying over and over, “Unfilial junior pays respects to the revered ancestor. Unfilial junior pays respects to the revered ancestor.”

Qing Shu did not move to help him but simply let him continue bowing. The young man and woman behind Zhuo Hua wanted to assist him but were silenced by her sharp gaze.

Only when the floor was stained with spots of blood did Qing Shu say, “Rise.”

Zhuo Hua ceased bowing but still kept his head lowered, not daring to stand.

“I said, rise!” Qing Shu raised her voice and called again.

Only then did Zhuo Hua stagger to his feet, nearly falling. Yu Changsheng and Su Mengling hurried forward to support him.

Zhuo Hua gestured for them to step back. They exchanged glances, nodded, and led the waiter downstairs.

“Do you acknowledge your guilt?” Qing Shu sat by the railing, picked up a cup of wine, and drank it down.

“Yes, guilty! Zhuo Hua acknowledges his guilt,” he replied respectfully, barely daring to breathe.

“What mistake have you made?”

“Neglecting state affairs, neglecting the nation, disregarding the heavy responsibility of revitalizing Xuanhuang,” Zhuo Hua said, sweat dripping from his face, pooling on the floor beneath his feet.

Qing Shu said nothing, silently staring out at the bustling street beyond the window.

“After I left the Jade Pure Retreat that year, I went to the Imperial Capital and found the most luxurious tavern near Vermilion Bird Street to drink. I sat in a street-facing seat, watching the busy traffic and crowds. The scene remains vivid, as if it were just last night.”

Zhuo Hua felt a pang of melancholy; Qing Shu’s words stirred memories of those glorious days. He softly recited:

“Wheels rumble, horses neigh, travelers bear bows at their waists.
Parents, wives, and children see off their loved ones,
Dust obscures the Xianyang Bridge.
Grabbing clothes, stomping feet, blocking the road in tears,
Their cries reach up to the dry clouds above.”

Qing Shu smiled faintly, “Master Du’s *War Chariot* is truly a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship.”

Zhuo Hua was surprised. After all, Qing Shu’s era was far removed from his own, and it seemed unlikely she would know about Master Du, a poet renowned far beyond their time.

But then he recalled that the Seven Saints and Seven Sages of Xuanhuang were originally just stone statues in the sacred hall, yet now stood alive before him. If the ancestor knew Master Du from the future, even an exiled immortal wouldn’t find it strange.

Seeing Zhuo Hua lost in thought, Qing Shu asked, “What are you thinking?”

Snapping back to attention, Zhuo Hua answered respectfully, “Reporting to the ancestor, I was just pondering how you could know about events of the future.”

“Have you figured it out?” Qing Shu smiled warmly.

“I am slow-witted. I humbly await your teaching,” Zhuo Hua bowed his head, calm and sincere.

“Why did you kneel and bow without discerning truth from falsehood?” Qing Shu didn’t answer his question directly.

Zhuo Hua replied steadily, “The sacred image of the ancestor is etched in my heart day and night; I dare not forget it for a moment.”

“But many look alike. What makes you certain it is truly me?”

“By the Qinghe Sword in your hand. I recognize this sword.”

Qing Shu raised the sword she held. Its silver scabbard was covered with dragon scale patterns, the scales protruding sharply with a razor edge. The top of the scabbard was wrapped with giant python skin. The hilt was exquisitely carved, shaped like the Cloud Sky Tablet with clear edges, engraved with a yin-yang fish pattern. Red and blue gems were set on each side, sparkling brilliantly. Two ancient seal script characters gleamed: Qinghe.

With a clink, the sword slid from its sheath, a flash of cold light gleaming. The surrounding air rapidly chilled; the steam rising from the food and wine on the table vanished instantly. Qing Shu waved the Qinghe Sword twice in the air, sparks of lightning crackling from the blade’s tip.

She tossed the sword back into its scabbard; it spun twice in the air and settled securely inside.

“The ancestor’s bearing remains as ever—worthy of being the Valkyrie of Xuanhuang.”

Qing Shu shook her head and gave a wry smile. “Now I will answer your question. The Seven Saints and Seven Sages of Xuanhuang were usually great national generals who sacrificed their lives for the country before entering the sacred hall, but I am an exception.”

“Oh?” Zhuo Hua was astonished. Since childhood, elders had told him that the Seven Saints and Seven Sages were heroes who died in battle, but he had never imagined...

“I returned from a campaign that year, victorious over the Dark Li Tribe. My achievements earned the reverence of all, and I was honored as the ‘Valkyrie.’ Yet inside, I felt an immense emptiness. The Dark Li Tribe had retreated and remained inactive for centuries, and there were no battles in Xuanhuang territory. My will was gradually worn away, and finally, I decided to leave.”

Qing Shu’s face was tinged with nostalgia.

“Where did you go, ancestor?”

“To the Dark Li Void, the Dark Sacred Hall.”

“What? Alone? How far did you go?” Zhuo Hua stared wide-eyed at her gentle face.