He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

He slammed the empty jug down on the table, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and let out a long sigh.

Then he looked down at his own clothes, then at Ying Ji's casual attire, and finally at the gilded low table between them:

"You're living a more comfortable life than I thought."

Ying Ji ignored him and refilled his glass.

"Why are you here?"

"Just passing by."

Old Jiang picked up his wine cup and downed another glass.

Ying Ji watched him down another cup and said expressionlessly:

"Passing through Xianyang, and incidentally passing by the nine palace gates, and then incidentally passing by my ginkgo tree?"

"right."

Old Jiang finished his second cup, smacked his lips with a hint of lingering satisfaction, and said, "This wine is not bad."

"It's better than the batch you hid in the cellar."

"That batch of wine was as sour as vinegar."

Ying Ji was silent for a moment:

"That batch of wine was hidden away when the Qin Dynasty was founded, and ten jars have been opened so far."

"When I thought about it later, I realized that half of it was missing."

"Guess who stole it?"

Old Jiang remained unfazed:

"have no idea."

"It might be a rat."

"Mice don't use a drill to make a small hole in the sealing clay, steal the drink, and then seal the hole with wax."

"That's a clever mouse."

The two looked at each other.

Old Jiang grinned.

That smile appeared on that wrinkled old face, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool that hadn't rippled for years.

Ying Ji did not laugh.

He turned his gaze away from Old Jiang's face and looked down at the bronze jue in front of him.

The surface of the wine in the bottle was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting his expressionless face.

"You've taken on an apprentice."

He said.

Old Jiang was slightly surprised:

How did you know?

"When I woke up, I found that all the books in my treasury were gone."

"Guess how I knew?"

Old Jiang showed no embarrassment at being exposed, and said calmly:

"You've been dead for so long, and there hasn't been a single word from you. I thought you were really dead."

"Isn't this just keeping it safe for you?"

Old Jiang paused for a moment, holding the bronze wine cup, the wine sloshing around in the cup, almost spilling out.

He placed the bronze jue on the low table, his fingers tracing the extremely thin silver foil on the rim of the jue, without saying a word.

The ginkgo leaves rustled overhead, like countless tiny hands clapping or countless mouths whispering.

The sun had completely set, and the silhouette of the palace eaves outlined a dark border on the sky.

The palace servants had hung lanterns around the ginkgo tree at some point, and the dim yellow light shone through the gaps in the ginkgo leaves, casting dappled patterns of light on the two people.

Ying Ji did not urge him.

He picked up the bronze wine cup in front of him, took a small sip, and then put it down.

The wine sloshed around in the bottom of the goblet, then returned to its smooth state.

"To be kept in trust".

Ying Ji chewed over those four words, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger, "My treasure trove contains cultivation techniques accumulated over three thousand years."

"You just said 'I'll keep it for you,' and then you took everything."

Old Jiang coughed lightly:

"You don't need it."

"You're lying in a coffin; those things will just gather dust in a treasure vault anyway. I might as well use them."

Ying Ji did not pursue the matter further.

He knows Old Jiang too well—if he pressed on any further, the old man could come up with a hundred reasons.

Although those things were precious, they were of little use to him.

He picked up the earthenware pot, poured Old Jiang another full cup, and then poured one for himself as well.

The wine sloshed in the bronze goblet, reflecting the twilight filtering through the ginkgo leaves overhead, shattering into pieces of gold.

"So you emptied my treasury for your apprentice."

Ying Ji said.

Old Jiang picked up his wine glass and took a sip. This time, he didn't gulp it down; he took small sips, as if he were savoring tea.

"What kind of person?"

Old Jiang did not answer immediately.

He placed the wine cup on the low table, his fingers slowly circling the rim of the cup, as if recalling something, or as if hesitating whether to speak.

"I've lived for so many years and seen many geniuses."

Old Jiang spoke, his voice lower and his pace slower than before. It wasn't as if he was answering Ying Ji's question, but rather as if he was talking to himself, "There are geniuses who suddenly understand and ascend to heaven in broad daylight, and there are also those who cultivate diligently for a hundred years and accumulate knowledge and experience before achieving great things later in life."

"But I have never seen anyone who could finish reading a book in two and a half years that an ordinary person could not finish in a lifetime, and then use what they had read to forge their own path."

"What road?"

"A true god among men."

When Old Jiang said those four words, the corners of his mouth unconsciously curved into a smile, with a kind of pride that he himself was unaware of: "He named it himself."

"No one taught him, and it wasn't mentioned in any books."

He said that after martial arts reaches the level of terrestrial immortals and gods, the next step is "one's own path"—everyone is different, all the experience of predecessors is invalid, and one can only rely on one's own enlightenment.

He called this realm the true god among men.

"In all my years, I have never heard of anyone giving a realm such a... well, such a shameless name."

"But he did make it."

"Sixteen years old, a true god among men."

Ying Ji was silent for a moment:

Sixteen years old.

"Yes, sixteen years old."

Old Jiang took the ginkgo leaf off his shoulder and twirled it between his fingers. "To break through to the level of a terrestrial immortal without consuming any resources, relying solely on understanding, that understanding is truly terrifying."

"So you've got your eye on talent?"

"talent?"

Old Jiang shook his head, flicked the ginkgo leaf with his hand, and the leaf drifted down onto the low table, covering the chipped rim of the ceramic pot. "There are plenty of talented people out there."

"In all my years, I've seen more geniuses than the leaves of this ginkgo tree. Is it worth taking on disciples just for talent?"

"Why is that?"

Old Jiang remained silent for a while.

As dusk settled over the eaves of the Emperor's Palace, it stretched the shadows of the ginkgo trees long, extending beyond the steps of the sleeping quarters, across the blue-black stone of the imperial road, and all the way to the empty square outside the palace gates.

"Because he has roots."

Old Jiang said.

Ying Ji looked at Old Jiang, waiting for him to continue.

"You've seen those extraterrestrial demons."

Old Jiang turned his gaze away from the ginkgo leaves and looked at Ying Ji. "You've dealt with them before, and almost lost your life."

"You should know better than I do that those things have one thing in common—they have no roots."

"No home, no country, and no 'roots'."

"The way they look at the world is not like they're looking at their own home, but more like they're watching a game."

"Family ties, friendships, and teacher-student relationships are the least valuable things in their eyes; they can use them at any time and discard them at any time."

"One general's success is built on the bones of ten thousand soldiers; any price can be paid to achieve the goal."

"Throughout history, emperors were ruthless, but at least they still possessed humanity—the extraterrestrial demons did not."

Ying Ji nodded slightly:

"Just like you used to be."

Old Jiang's lips twitched:

"Don't interrupt, besides, haven't I already made changes?"

He paused for a moment, then continued:

"But Yunyi is different."

"I have been observing him for more than ten years."

"From the time he learned to read at the age of one, I have been watching him—watching how he reads, how he cultivates himself, and how he treats everyone around him."

He genuinely respected his father as a father and genuinely loved his mother as a mother.