My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

The crowd did not disperse after the grand ceremony ended.

The offerings were removed, the ashes in the incense burner were cleaned, and the statue of the Ginseng God was carried back to the temple and placed back in its original position.

But the excitement was just beginning in the open space in the center of the village.

The clan elders had already made arrangements; there would be entertainment after the grand ceremony. This was an old custom of Caishen Village, held once a year and not to be omitted.

Stalls were set up one after another, offering ring toss, archery, darts, riddles, pitch-pot, and shuttlecock kicking.

The children, like a flock of sparrows, flew from one stall to another, their laughter so shrill it could pierce the sky.

The adults weren't idle either. Some gathered to play chess, some sat around a tea stall drinking tea and chatting, and some kicked shuttlecocks in the open space, sweating profusely and turning as red as Guan Yu.

Lu Yang stood in front of a darts stall, holding three darts in his hand, squinting as he aimed at the target in front of him.

The target was made of wood, with several circles drawn on it, and the red center was only the size of a palm.

He aimed for a while, then flicked his wrist and threw the dart—"thud!"—it landed on the outermost edge of the target, almost missing the mark.

Several children watching the commotion burst into laughter.

Lu Yang blushed, picked up the second one, and aimed more carefully this time, raising his hand, lowering it, raising it again, and lowering it again.

A child nearby, growing impatient, urged him, "Hurry up and throw it!"

Lu Yang gritted his teeth, threw it, and "thud," it landed right next to the target, still quite a distance from the bullseye.

The children laughed again.

Miao Gui stood to the side, holding three darts in his hand. He watched as Lü Yang threw two darts and missed, his lips twitched, but he didn't say anything.

He raised his hand, didn't even look, and casually flicked it, "smack," it stuck next to the red heart.

The children exclaimed "Wow!"

Lu Yang stared wide-eyed at the target, then at Miao Gui, his face filled with disbelief.

Miao Gui flicked another one, "smack," hitting the bullseye.

The children clapped their hands.

Lü Yang's face turned even redder.

Unconvinced, he secretly channeled his Qi and threw the last dart in his hand. "Thud!" This time it hit the bullseye, but it pierced through the target.

The children all gasped in shock.

Lu Yang glanced at Miao Gui with a smug look, his expression clearly saying, "You're no good."

Miao Gui shrugged; he didn't want to talk to the cheater.

Shen Zhaoyue stood to the side, watching the two people throw darts, and her lips twitched slightly.

She didn't want to play; what's so fun about such a childish game?

But after standing there for a while, her hands started to itch.

She picked up a dart from the shelf next to her, didn't aim, and just tossed it around.

The dart flew out with a "whoosh" and "smack," hitting the bullseye.

The children exclaimed "Wow!" even louder than before.

Lü Yang's mouth was open, unable to close.

Miao Gui was also stunned for a moment, glanced at Shen Zhaoyue, whose face was expressionless. She took another dart, threw it casually, and hit the bullseye again.

Even if you flick it again, it's still a red heart.

The three darts all landed on the bullseye, clustered together like three nails side by side.

The children gathered around, looking up at her with eyes full of admiration.

Lu Yang opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

He glanced at Miao Gui, and Miao Gui looked back at him. They both saw something in each other's eyes—comparison is the thief of joy.

Miao Gui put down the darts and went to play ring toss.

Lü Yang followed behind and also tried the ring toss game.

Shen Zhaoyue stood there, watching their backs, her lips twitched slightly, and then she turned and went to the archery stall next door.

After wandering around for a while, Lü Yang came across a small stall selling poetry.

The stall was set up by an old scholar from the village, and he would come out every year for the grand festival.

A broken table, covered with a blue cloth, on which are placed writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone.

A wooden sign stood nearby that read "Poetry Gathering".

The old scholar sat behind the table, wearing reading glasses, holding an old book of poems, and reciting them with a swaying head.

Seeing Lü Yang approach, she put down her book, adjusted her glasses, and looked at him with a smile.

"Young master, would you like to sing a poem?"

Lü Yang was, after all, from an official family; he had studied and learned poetry.

Although I've been playing around all these years and have almost forgotten all about poetry, the little bit of literary pride in my heart resurfaced when someone asked me about it.

He stood in front of the table, picked up his pen, dipped it in ink, thought for a moment, and wrote a poem.

The content is about autumn mountains, with phrases like "high mountains and long rivers" and "clouds rolling and unfolding".

Not great, but not bad either, just average.

After reading it, the old scholar nodded, stroked his beard, and said, "Not bad, not bad, you have a solid foundation."

Lu Yang put down his pen, straightened his chest, and turned around to see Ye Qingfeng standing not far away, holding a teacup and looking in their direction.

Lü Yang quickly waved his hand: "Immortal Master, why don't you sing one too!"

Ye Qingfeng glanced at him, smiled, and walked over.

He placed the teacup on the table and picked up his pen.

Without hesitation or thought, the pen tip landed on the paper, and lines of text flowed out.

Lu Yang stood to the side, peeked out, read one sentence, paused for a moment, read another sentence, and opened his mouth.

The old scholar also came over to take a look, and as he looked, his hands began to tremble.

Several onlookers gathered around, and one of them whispered something.

As soon as the wind and thunder rise from the earth, there will be a pile of fine bones.

A monk is still a fool, but a demon is a disaster for a ghost.

The golden monkey rose to a great height, and Yuyu clarified Wan Liai.

Cheers to Sun Dasheng today, only because the demon mist is coming back again.

After reading this sentence, the person was stunned.

I recognize each word in these sentences, but when put together, their power is otherworldly.

The old scholar took off his glasses, wiped them with his sleeve, put them back on, and looked at them again.

His hands were still trembling, and his voice was trembling too: "This poem...this poem...is so powerful."

Lu Yang stood to the side, his mouth agape, unable to close it for a long time.

He glanced at Ye Qingfeng, who had already put down his pen, picked up his teacup, and was slowly sipping his tea as if nothing had happened.

Miao Gui also came over. He couldn't understand the poem, but seeing the old scholar's expression, he knew that what the immortal master wrote must be extraordinary.

He tugged at Lü Yang's sleeve and asked in a low voice, "What did you write?"

Lu Yang didn't answer, but just shook his head, as if he was sighing over something.

After finishing his tea, Ye Qingfeng put the teacup back on the table.

Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he looked up at the sword at Lü Yang's waist.

Ye Qingfeng reached out and drew the sword from Lü Yang's waist.

The sword was a deep blue, gleaming coldly in the sunlight, and the hilt still retained warmth.

Ye Qingfeng gripped his sword and gently tapped it.

The sword trembled slightly, emitting a clear ringing sound. Then, a faint golden light flowed from the hilt to the tip, like water, slowly spreading across the entire sword.

The light was faint, but it was still clearly visible in the sunlight.

Where the golden light flowed, the blue light on the sword became even brighter, as if a sun was hidden inside.