Sensing the presence of a visitor, the old man gently set aside the book in his hands. A faint smile curved his lips as he rose to his feet.
“Visitors are rare indeed at the Tianshu Star Pavilion,” he said calmly.
He walked over to the tea table and gestured with one hand.
“Come, young friend. Please, have a seat.”
Ruoshui waited until the old man had taken his place, then quietly sat down across from him.
With a flick of his sleeve, the old man gestured toward the teapot resting on the table. Immediately, wisps of steam began to rise from it, hissing softly. His left hand reached into empty air, fingers closing as if grasping something invisible. A soft glow appeared, like stardust gathering together, and in the next moment, a faintly jade-colored teacup materialized in his palm.
He slowly poured the tea into the cup and slid it toward Ruoshui. Then he poured another cup for himself.
The tea was crystal clear, luminous like spring water beneath moonlight. Its fragrance was rich yet elegant, sinking straight into the soul, washing away restlessness and worldly distractions.
The old man stroked his beard and spoke leisurely.
“My surname is Sima. My given name is Qian, courtesy name Zichang. I am the Pavilion Master of the ‘Chivalry Pavilion’ within the Tianshu Star Pavilion.”
Ruoshui’s hand trembled as he lifted the teacup.
Sima Qian.
The Grand Historian himself.
No wonder this old man possessed such an extraordinary bearing.
Shock and delight surged through Ruoshui’s chest at the same time. He had always held this ancient sage in the highest esteem. The Records of the Grand Historian had once been burned by Emperor Wu of Han, and Sima Qian himself had suffered the humiliation of castration—yet he had endured, held fast to his convictions, and rewritten the work from memory.
That perseverance alone surpassed anything most modern people could imagine.
Among today’s so-called writers, how many could resist impatience, endure loneliness, face public condemnation, and still persist unwaveringly?
Ruoshui rose and bowed deeply.
“Grand Historian, you are a role model to all who come after. This junior, Jun Liuchen, has admired you for a long time. To meet you today is an honor beyond words.”
Sima Qian—admired across ages, praised endlessly by future generations—showed no airs at all.
“Little friend Liuchen, you flatter me,” he said with a gentle chuckle. “I am merely a man who wields a brush, doing what little duty he can.”
There was no false modesty in his words. They were spoken as a simple statement of fact.
True arrogance often leaks through feigned humility. But when Sima Qian spoke, there was no pretense, no self-display—only sincerity.
He gestured for Ruoshui to drink, then lifted his own cup and took a sip. Apparently satisfied with his tea, he smiled and continued.
“Although I have recorded much history, when the Tianshu Star Pavilion was first established and its various branches created, many recommended that I preside over the History Pavilion. Yet I found myself far more fond of the Chivalry Pavilion.”
Ruoshui raised his cup and took a small sip.
The moment the tea touched his tongue, an overwhelming bitterness exploded.
His mind screamed at his throat to reject it.
The bitterness clung stubbornly to his tongue, intensifying with every heartbeat. This was no ordinary astringency—it was the bitterness of all things returning to one, the desolation of heaven and earth collapsing into ash, as though he had swallowed the remains of a burned-out world.
It felt as if a blazing fire ignited inside his mouth.
“Cough—!”
He nearly spat the tea out.
His entire body shuddered violently; even his fingertips cramped. Cold sweat poured from his brow. And yet, in that instant, something surged up from deep within—whether it was stubbornness, obsession, or sheer willpower, even Ruoshui couldn’t tell.
He forcibly suppressed the raging bitterness.
Gritting his teeth, he swallowed.
The moment the tea slid down his throat, his vision blurred violently. His consciousness was yanked into an endless void.
Stars shimmered in the darkness.
Countless ancient characters glowed and drifted through the void, illusory and profound. A voice echoed faintly—aged, yet resolute.
“The Great Dao has fifty paths. Heaven claims forty-nine. One escapes. When misfortune reaches its extreme… fortune is reborn.”
[Comprehended Heavenly Dao: “Extremity Gives Birth to Renewal”]
[Divine Soul Fragment +10]
When Ruoshui opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was the mischievous glint in Sima Qian’s gaze.
“This tea is called Nirvana,” the old man said with a chuckle.
“The first sip is always the hardest. To be honest, out of ten people, not one can swallow it down. For you to endure it… that speaks volumes of your character.”
This was no ordinary tea.
It was a Heavenly Dao Tea personally created by Sima Qian, imbued with his understanding of a specific Dao.
The so-called Heavenly Dao was a universal law of the cosmos—something only cultivators who reached a certain realm could even begin to comprehend. Sima Qian’s understanding of “Extremity Gives Birth to Renewal” had long since reached perfection.
His tea could help cultivators sense the Dao, shatter bottlenecks, and achieve enlightenment.
The first sip was the most effective. Each sip afterward weakened in effect. If one spat out the first sip due to bitterness, the opportunity was lost forever.
Whenever he encountered a junior he felt affinity with, Sima Qian would treat them with this tea.
It served two purposes: testing one’s character, and—quite frankly—he had little else suitable to offer guests.
As the bitterness gradually faded, Ruoshui felt a clear spring surge up from his dantian, washing through his limbs and meridians. His entire body felt refreshed, his mind startlingly clear. A flicker of insight passed through his thoughts.
Only then did he fully realize how extraordinary this tea was. Such marrow-cleansing effects were likely rare even across the entire cultivation world.
To receive such a gift upon first meeting—
Even though this was “just a game,” and its ultimate effects were still unclear—or perhaps this tea was merely part of a dungeon’s scripted rewards—Ruoshui still felt genuine gratitude.
He knew full well that Sima Qian was nothing more than a string of data within a game instance. He knew that NPCs couldn’t truly comprehend gratitude.
And yet, he still felt thankful.
That realization made him smile wryly.
I really am getting too immersed, he thought. I’m starting to blur the line between reality and illusion.
Sima Qian noticed everything but chose not to comment. The knowing glint in his eyes vanished as he smoothly changed the subject.
“Speaking of the Way of Chivalry,” he said, warming to the topic, “later generations have produced some fine works as well. Recently, I read the novels of an author named Jin Yong. Truly captivating. The waves of the Yangtze River push the previous ones aside—the new generation surpasses the old.”
“He wrote a novel called The Deer and the Cauldron. Witty, humorous. A true scoundrel, yet possessing a heroic core. Beloved by many beauties, befriending an emperor—it is a masterpiece.”
He paused, lost in thought.
If only his relationship with Emperor Wu of Han had been like that of Wei Xiaobao and Emperor Kangxi—how wonderful that would have been.
Though even Kangxi and Wei Xiaobao later clashed, Kangxi never forgot that little “Gui Zi.”
As for Sima Qian himself—
Emperor Wu had admired him at first. Later, he despised him. Sparing his life had been nothing more than a method of humiliation.
A shadow flickered briefly through Sima Qian’s eyes, then disappeared.
With a soft sigh, he brushed away the heaviness.
“However, many imitators miss the essence. They give their protagonists numerous women, indulging in hollow fantasies of personal gratification. Such stories may feel fresh at first, but they are poison—numbing the reader’s mind.”
Ruoshui nodded vigorously.
“These are called ‘stallion novels,’” he said. “This junior dislikes them as well. The protagonists wear the skin of chivalry while committing filth, yet are praised as free-spirited. Truly inferior works.”
Sima Qian laughed.
“‘Stallion’ is an apt metaphor. In the future, we should have Xiao Dianzhi mark such books clearly during cataloging—right in the title—to warn readers.”
……
That night, Ruoshui and Sima Qian talked late into the hours, both gaining much from the exchange.
At dawn, Sima Qian waved his sleeve, invoking a spell that sent Ruoshui back to Chen Kunsheng’s residence.
System notifications chimed in his mind:
[Achievement Unlocked: Entered the Chivalry Pavilion of the Tianshu Star Pavilion]
[Secret of Apricot Blossom Village Discovered: 3/3]
[Main Quest Completed]
As daylight brightened, Ruoshui knew his time was limited. He exchanged some in-game currency for silver and gently placed it on the table.
Little Tangerine lay sprawled atop the desk, tail wrapped around a scroll, fluffy paws covering his face, sleeping soundly.
Clearly, he had stayed up all night reading manuscripts.
After Ruoshui left, Little Tangerine’s ears twitched. He stretched lazily, rolled over, and sat upright. Sniffing the lingering scent in the air, he narrowed his eyes.
“He went to see that old historian,” he muttered.
Arching his back, a deep-blue magic array flared beneath his feet. His figure vanished into thin air.
High within the Chivalry Pavilion, Little Tangerine faced the old man.
“Hey, Old Historian,” he said bluntly. “You saw something, didn’t you? Just who is he? Why can he freely come and go from our domain?”
Sima Qian stroked his beard and smiled.
“One who can traverse time and space,” he said softly. “A man favored by the Heavenly Dao.”
“With that pathetic amount of spiritual power?”
“Heh,” Sima Qian chuckled. “Someone is helping him.”
“Who?”
“Not yet time to say.”
Little Tangerine sniffed the teacups and snorted.
“You’re generous. You gave him Nirvana just like that. I begged you for ages before you gave me even one cup. And you know perfectly well—Nirvana can help突破任何境界. The first drink is the most effective. He’s barely at Foundation Establishment. What a waste.”
“Not so,” Sima Qian replied calmly.
“He has already comprehended the Dao. He is destined for the Great Vehicle Realm. His cultivation is sealed for reasons unknown. Nirvana will help him break the seal—slowly, steadily.”
Little Tangerine stared at him.
“Why help him at all?”
Sima Qian sighed, gazing into the distance.
“After endless ages,” he said, “even I grow bored.”
Little Tangerine: “……”
