Chapter 124: With Mr. Long's Word, It Shall Be So

Twenty-six rowers, moving in perfect unison to the beat of the drums, propelled their boats forward with a display that was as disciplined as it was spectacular. On both banks, the spectators erupted in thunderous cheers as the vessels surged across the river.

Caught up in the excitement, the young men and women aboard the pleasure boat felt their spirits soar, and they could not help but join in the cheering.

Among the eleven boats, the Red Dragon, White Tiger, and Yellow Dragon, as expected, soon took the lead. While the other dragon boats pursued them closely, unwilling to fall too far behind, their efforts were in vain. The gap that had opened in the initial moments only widened as time passed, showing no signs of closing.

Soon, the Red Dragon, Yellow Dragon, and White Tiger pulled away from the pack. The White Tiger held the lead, with the Red Dragon in second and the Yellow Dragon in third. The margins were narrow, however, with constant jostling for position making it impossible to tell who held the definitive advantage. Until the final moment, the outcome remained uncertain.

As the dragon boats raced ahead, the pleasure boat maintained its pace; otherwise, watching the racers vanish into the distance would have held little appeal. The group on board, having lost interest in their banter, kept their eyes glued to the three competing vessels. The stakes of their wager were not insignificant, and for them, it was more than just a matter of silver—it was a matter of pride.

"Look, the finish line is almost here," Wang Hong whispered, breathless and desperate to know the winner. He had bet on the Yellow Dragon and, seeing it still in third place, gritted his teeth in frustration. He turned to Liu Ping, asking in a low voice, "Brother Liu, can you help me out? Can you make the Yellow Dragon come in first?"

"I'm not a deity. Do you really think I'm omnipotent?" Liu Ping shot him a disdainful look. Wang Hong hung his head and turned his gaze back to the river.

Just before the dragon boats reached the finish line, the crowd on both banks fell into a sudden, eerie silence.

The results were soon clear: the White Tiger boat finished first, the Red Dragon second, and the Yellow Dragon third.

The White Tiger had won! Its supporters erupted in frantic joy, filled with a sense of triumph. It was a strange emotion—they gained no material benefit, yet they were immensely satisfied. It was simple, really: they had pinned their hopes and wishes on the White Tiger, and now that those had been realized, they felt a profound sense of fulfillment.

The dragon boat race did not end with the finish. The vessels continued to glide along the river, and the small, palm-sized dragon boats stowed in their hulls were "birthed"—tossed by the crew to the crowds on the banks as a token of thanks for their support, naturally sparking a frantic scramble.

"I didn't expect the White Tiger to win after all," said County Magistrate Jiang Hu with a chuckle, showing no sign of displeasure. In the dragon boat race, there was no distinction of status; the boats represented only themselves. A win was a win, and a loss was a loss, unchanged by external factors—a tradition forged over thousands of years. The others nodded in agreement, expressing their surprise.

Qian Wu nodded as well but said little. At that moment, his peripheral vision caught sight of a nearby pleasure boat. His pupils contracted, and his heart surged with ecstasy. *Good heavens, who do I see?*

Long Aotian! Mr. Long Aotian! This truly was a case of finding exactly what one was looking for without even trying!

Back on the other pleasure boat, the race had concluded, leaving some jubilant and others resigned.

"Haha, I won!" Hua Wu opened her small fan to hide a satisfied smile, clutching her betting slips. "You dullards, none of you followed my lead. Regretting it now?"

"So you won, what's there to gloat about?" Wang Hong retorted.

Hua Wu glanced at him coolly. "I won, why shouldn't I gloat?"

Jiang Zhongyuan remained silent. Though he was annoyed that Hua Wu had won, it was still better than Wang Hong winning. Seeing her bright, radiant smile, he felt his loss was somewhat justified. Taking advantage of her good mood, he said, "Wu'er... I have news. My father has a protégé who works as an editor at the Zhang County Publishing House and is well-acquainted with Mr. Long Aotian. He is currently with my father."

The group fell silent, all showing immediate interest. Hua Wu asked eagerly, "Is that true? Can we go meet him? We could ask about Mr. Long Aotian's situation and when the third volume of *The Investiture of the Gods* will be released!"

Lu Wei chimed in, "I'd like to know that, too." Even Wang Hong added, "I want to see him as well."

Liu Ping was left speechless. The real author was sitting right here, yet they were looking to go out of their way to consult an editor. Beside him, Liu Yue struggled to suppress a laugh.

Jiang Zhongyuan, basking in the expectant gazes of his companions—especially Wang Hong's—felt an immense sense of pride. He smiled faintly. "Of course... that can be arranged."

"What is the editor's name?" Hua Wu asked.

"Qian Wu."

"What's he like? Is he difficult to get along with?"

"Haha, Qian Wu is quite amiable..." Jiang Zhongyuan said smugly, casting a side glance at Liu Ping. "If someone hadn't known their place earlier and kept making jokes, I would have brought him over to settle the truth, haha."

The group nodded. If he had brought that gentleman over earlier, it would have been a slap in the face. After all, Liu Ping was a protégé of the Prefect and a top scholar; causing such a rift for no reason wouldn't have been worth it. Jiang Zhongyuan had held this trump card all along but refrained from using it—his sense of restraint was, for his character, truly rare.

Liu Ping’s expression was peculiar. If he had insisted, would *he* have been the one slapped in the face? That was possible, provided Qian Wu was a fraud.

Just then, the County Magistrate's boat drew near. Jiang Zhongyuan froze, then said with satisfaction, "Look, my father's boat is coming over. What a coincidence! Wait, do you see? Editor Qian Wu is at the bow, and he seems to be looking at us."

"Oh, I see him! Haha, he really does seem to be looking at us," Hua Shang said, his eyes lighting up.

Hua Wu smiled. "This editor has such an air about him. Truly worthy of being Mr. Long Aotian's editor! Wait, what is this? Why is he bowing to us? Isn't that a bit too respectful?"

The young men and women on the boat exchanged confused glances. Only Wang Hong suddenly remembered something. He turned his head sharply, a thought spreading through his mind that he couldn't suppress: *Could Liu Ping really be Long Aotian?* Long Aotian was in Zhang County, and so was Liu Ping. Earlier, he had even admitted it. These two facts were enough to make him believe. He had thought they were joking, but now, the situation had shifted.

The two boats bumped gently and were tied together by the boatmen. Qian Wu hurried over, and the group stared, stunned and unsure of what to say.

Qian Wu bowed respectfully to Liu Ping. "Greetings, Mr. Long."

Liu Ping returned the gesture casually. "No need for formalities."

Everyone was shocked. Hua Shang stared at Liu Ping as if he had seen a ghost, unable to speak for a long time. Wang Hong, though he had suspected it, was still deeply shaken. The youth he had been bickering with was the master who wrote *The Investiture of the Gods*?

Jiang Zhongyuan struggled to process what he was seeing and hearing. *Qian Wu is bowing to Liu Ping and calling him Mr. Long? Does that mean Liu Ping is Mr. Long? And the only one worth such respect is Long Aotian? Liu Ping is Long Aotian? How is that possible?!* He suddenly recalled Liu Ping’s nonchalant comment earlier—*Because you never asked*—and how they had all laughed at him, thinking he was joking, even scolding him for it. Now, he felt incredibly ashamed; his face turned from pale to flushed.

Hua Wu’s mouth hung open in an "O" shape, staring at Liu Ping in disbelief. *Could he really be Long Aotian? The very Long Aotian I admire most? How could he be so young?* She blurted out, "Mr. Qian... are you saying Mr. Long is... Long Aotian?"

*Mr. Long* didn't necessarily mean *Long Aotian*. The group held onto this sliver of hope, holding their breath for the answer.

Qian Wu nodded. "Yes. Didn't you know?"

They really didn't know! And it really was him! It was too unbelievable!

As the group sat in a daze, Qian Wu, who cared only about the third volume—the reason for his visit—turned to Liu Ping and asked in a low voice, "Mr. Long, have you made any progress on the third volume?"

At these words, the stunned group snapped to attention, their eyes fixed on Liu Ping.

Liu Ping offered a wry smile. "Are you here to rush my manuscript?"

Qian Wu laughed apologetically. "I wouldn't dare. But it's been nearly three months, and with no new book released, the readers are in an uproar..."

Liu Ping thought of the ghost Emperor and Yingning’s constant prodding and sighed. He wasn't just one person; he carried their expectations. Being a novelist was truly no easy task. He replied seriously, "I will hand it to you as soon as possible. Within a month at the latest."

Qian Wu was overjoyed. "With Mr. Long's word, that is enough!"