In the daylight, Star-Plucking Platform was gilded with a layer of golden light from the morning sun, standing beneath the azure sky like a brilliant pearl floating above the sea of clouds.
Chess Ghost had changed into a brand-new black silk robe today.
Two people stood behind him—a young woman in a goose-yellow dress and an old Daoist in a deep purple robe. They were Li Ying and the current abbot of Purple Cloud Observatory, Immortal Qing Wei.
With still half an hour until the Chen hour, they had already arrived early.
Chess Ghost casually asked Qing Wei questions, talking only about trivial matters and idle chat, with a faint smile.
Qing Wei was somewhat nervous, carefully considering his words before answering.
He vaguely sensed that his master’s temper had improved year by year, no longer randomly scolding people to the point of humiliation, and rarely giving rigid commands.
This made him feel relieved and grateful, yet he couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness.
When Chess Ghost was young, he could control many things and enjoyed being in control, but now he couldn’t even control how many times he took his medicine.
He was gradually losing his initiative over his own life.
He once believed that he didn’t need understanding, only conquest, victory, and making others fear him.
Yet at the end of his tumultuous life, all he wanted was “understanding.”
A successor who could comprehend the true meaning of his Dao and methods, who would complete what he had left unfinished.
An exceptional disciple who would personally bid him farewell as he entered final meditation, who would tell him directly, “I will inherit all your will and extend your glorious life.”
“Qing Wei, after I meet ‘Romantic Master,’ you will meet your junior fellow disciple,” Chess Ghost smiled.
Immortal Qing Wei immediately bowed deeply and declared, “No matter whom Master chooses, this disciple will help him, assist him, until he grows into a true powerhouse!”
“Let us hope so.”
Before his words faded, a long laugh drifted up from the mountain path below: “It’s not too late for you to arrange your final affairs now.”
Immortal Qing Wei’s expression changed slightly: “The Calligraphy Sage has arrived.”
In the world, those who dared to speak to Chess Ghost like this could be counted on three fingers.
The Calligraphy Sage had also changed into fresh robes today, spotlessly clean, billowing in the wind, whiter than the sea of clouds beneath his feet.
Behind him followed a young cultivator in expensive attire and a middle-aged man in blue scholar’s robes. They were Ji Chen and the Academy Dean.
Halfway up the mountain on a stone platform, two groups of people had gathered magnificently. The powerhouses from Purple Cloud Observatory and Qing Cliff Academy were waiting on standby.
“The Chen hour hasn’t arrived yet; you came early,” Chess Ghost said.
“And didn’t you as well?” the Calligraphy Sage countered, sitting down on the other side of the stone table.
He was inwardly surprised—previously looking emaciated from illness, almost ready for burial, how had Chess Ghost become so radiant today as if experiencing a final burst of vitality before death?
Ji Chen stood stiffly, his palms sweating.
Even now, he didn’t understand why the Calligraphy Sage had brought him along to this meeting between two top powerhouses.
Seeing the yellow-dressed young woman opposite looking relaxed, he couldn’t help but feel envious.
“Since I have already found my successor, I won’t compete with you anymore,” Chess Ghost said straightforwardly. “If you still want to accept Wei Ping, that’s up to you.”
“Excellent!” The Calligraphy Sage couldn’t stand his smug showing off. “This old man has also found a disciple; it’s not that I must have Wei Ping.”
Chess Ghost assumed the disciple he referred to was the champion of the calligraphy and painting examination appointed last night, so he raised his eyes to look at Ji Chen.
Ji Chen met that profound, unfathomable gaze and suddenly tensed, straightening his back, not daring to relax.
He feared the elder powerhouse would question in confusion:
Isn’t this just a useless person? What is he doing here?
Yet he heard Chess Ghost say: “Not bad.”
Ji Chen felt a sudden rush of joy.
He thought, since meeting Brother Song, his luck had inexplicably improved. No one called him useless anymore—he had almost grown uncomfortable with the change!
Senior Brother Song was truly a lucky star. Next time, he would treat him to good wine.
Chess Ghost thought that although this young man wasn’t as good as the Song Qian Ji he had found, it was still a bargain for the Romantic Master.
The Calligraphy Sage also thought I’ve given you a bargain, old ghost, but since I found Song Qian Ji first, I shouldn’t quibble anymore.
Both believing they had outmaneuvered the other, they smiled at each other.
For nearly a hundred years, they had never met so peacefully, sitting across from each other and chatting like two ordinary old men.
Today was a good day for accepting disciples.
For this day, they were willing to let bygones be bygones, to forgive all the ugliness in the world, including each other.
Chess Ghost looked at the Calligraphy Sage again, finding him not so hateful, and suddenly sighed:
“You and I are now useless bodies. The world no longer needs a Calligraphy Sage, needs a Chess Ghost, needs a Zither Immortal…”
Ji Chen was shocked—what are you saying?!
The only “useless” one on this Star-Plucking Platform is me, isn’t it?!
But the Calligraphy Sage agreed: “This world needs new heroes!”
He found Chess Ghost more pleasant to look at now, and some words he had kept in his heart with no one to tell, he finally expressed: “It was we who made the world’s rules like this, yet we presumptuously seek someone to break those rules. The chosen ones seem fortunate, but they must bear a heavy burden, saving the world and themselves a hundred years later. Is this fair to them?”
“They must take up the responsibility!” Chess Ghost remembered Song Qian Ji from last night, slashing his sword toward heaven while standing on the crest of a wave, and smiled with spirited pride: “My successor can do it! I wonder about yours?”
How could the Calligraphy Sage admit inferiority?
“My successor is naturally like I was in my youth, a remarkable romantic figure. No, he is even more ‘romantic’ than I am. Some people have four parts of feeling in their hearts yet pretend to have ten, while he has twelve parts yet only shows four.
“He has a very profound love for this world, so much that it overflows, which is why he can succeed!”
Ji Chen felt a chill down his spine.
Could it be that a great calamity would befall this world in a hundred years?
Are you looking for someone to save the world from disaster?
Would someone like me, with modest cultivation, be struck by lightning for glimpsing the will of heaven?
Maybe I should go down first; this place is too high and rather cold.
But Chess Ghost and the Calligraphy Sage conversed with increasing delight as if they were long-lost friends.
Many years ago, when they were young, they had drunk together, saved people together, risked their lives together, and even gone to battlefields together.
But they weren’t friends. For most of their lives, they had sabotaged each other, each wishing the other would die.
Later, as their cultivation grew and their status rose, they each shouldered the responsibilities of their sects, where every move they made affected countless lives.
So they didn’t dare even fight, and couldn’t even be enemies anymore.
The Calligraphy Sage instructed the Dean behind him: “In the future when Purple Cloud Observatory disciples come to the academy, be sure to treat them well. Formations and talismans are inseparable; more exchanges with formation masters will lead to a broader understanding.”
Chess Ghost said to Immortal Qing Wei: “The same goes for academy disciples. Next year, organize a Dharma assembly and invite them to Purple Cloud Observatory for a discussion of the Dao!”
Ji Chen was filled with admiration—the friendship between these great figures was so simple and magnanimous!
Higher than the sky, deeper than the sea!
When would he and Brother Song be able to achieve such a relationship?
Chess Ghost extended his hand. His five fingers were bony yet powerful, with thin calluses from years of handling chess pieces.
The Calligraphy Sage extended his hand, his palm slender and white, also calloused from holding a brush.
They were about to shake hands in reconciliation.
However, because Chess Ghost raised his arm, the stone table beneath his sleeve was exposed.
The stone table had four lines of carved characters that the Calligraphy Sage hadn’t noticed.
Then Ji Chen exclaimed softly in surprise: “Oh?”
He glanced over instinctively.
Suddenly, his expression changed.
“What is this?” the Calligraphy Sage asked, astonished.
“This is a doggerel poem written by my future disciple. It’s not much to look at,” Chess Ghost said modestly, but his expression was extremely proud, his eyebrows nearly reaching the sky.
“I wish to add spring breeze to my wine for intoxication…” the Calligraphy Sage recited.
The first line had a free-spirited brush stroke, carrying a hint of careless drunkenness.
The second line’s strokes grew heavier, like a dragon lurking in the deep, a precious sword concealing its edge.
By the third line, “Among the world’s heroes, who could be my match,” the writing style suddenly changed, like a forest of swords and spears, with overwhelming domineering momentum.
The Calligraphy Sage’s tone grew colder as he recited.
Reading until “Seeking immortality is not as good as,” he stopped abruptly, his face already ashen.
Who else but Song Qian Ji could write this?
Ji Chen’s eyes followed along—such familiar handwriting.
“You did this deliberately?” the Calligraphy Sage looked up, staring coldly at Chess Ghost.
Chess Ghost’s expression also changed. He seemed to have realized a possibility: “He has already accepted my chess manual. Don’t compete with me this time; I can let you have Wei Ping.”
“This poem’s brush strokes reveal drunkenness. You must have taken advantage of his inebriation to force the chess manual on him. You’re using trickery!” The Calligraphy Sage flicked his sleeve and suddenly stood up.
“Ha, I am a ghost after all; of course, my schemes are ghost schemes!” Chess Ghost laughed in extreme anger. “Would you prefer a beauty scheme? That would frighten you to death!”
The Calligraphy Sage felt immense hatred, wishing the other would die immediately.
So with an expressionless face, he cursed: “Dead ghost.”
Ji Chen wanted to laugh but affected by the pressure of Sage’s aura, his face turned pale, and he trembled.
The friendship between these great figures was more fragile than paper! Thinner than clouds!
No need to tear it—a breeze would scatter it.
He and Brother Song must never be like this!
Chess Ghost also stood up.
The two stood eye to eye, in confrontation.
The sea of clouds surged, and the mountain wind suddenly grew cold.
Immortal Qing Wei’s hand tightened around his whisk, while the Qing Cliff Dean gripped an iron pen within his sleeve.
Halfway up the mountain, a group of elders and honored guests sensed the change in atmosphere at the summit and immediately ceased their casual conversation.
Tensions were high.
Immortal Xu Yun was covered in cold sweat, almost scrambling on all fours toward the summit, standing outside the pavilion and bowing: “Please, both Sages, show mercy and reconsider!”
If they started fighting at Hua Wei Sect, how many Star-Plucking Platforms would be enough to destroy? With mountains collapsing and earth splitting, could the sect’s grand formation even protect against it?
“Let him choose for himself!” Chess Ghost suddenly shouted. “We’ll each rely on our abilities!”
“Good, let him choose!” The Calligraphy Sage flicked his sleeve and turned to descend the mountain.