Xu Youyu covered his face in the clouds, sighed helplessly, and floated over the stairway to the mountain gate. There, seated in meditation at the entrance, was the white-browed youth who had earlier announced the rules.
“Gu-shibo*, Tianyi Sect Sword Immortal’s son, Xue Cuo, has landed on the Path of Gazing Immortality. Don’t you think ……”
(*TN: address for teacher’s/ master’s shixiong. “Bo” is translated as “uncle” and can also be used to address males of an older generation who are older than one’s father.)
The white-browed youth didn’t even open his eyes. “Sword Immortal? Then he needn’t walk the stone steps. He’s allowed direct entry.”
Xu Youyu’s face lit up. But the elder to lift his gaze and coolly interrupt: “Shame the quota’s been used up. The Sword Immortal already brought a young boy to Wendao Palace today. I received him myself.”
“Used up?” Xu Youyu blinked, then glanced down the stairway. “But Xue Cuo is the Sword Immortal’s son.”
“That’s none of my concern,” the white-browed youth said curtly. “Even if he is the Sword Immortal, he may not bend the rules of the Three Mountains and Five Seas. One person means one place. Off you go.”
With a casual wave of his sleeve, Xu Youyu was swept away like a scrap of paper, tumbling ten zhang* through the air.
(*TN: one Zhang is around 3.33 metres or 3.65 yards.)
Over the mountain gate, the clouds were busy with activity. Amidst drifting immortal mist, a particularly large and ornate multicoloured cloud pushed its way to the centre and stood proudly above the rest.
“Oi oi, you’re squashing me! Who d’you think you are?”
“Which sect are you even from?”
“Right, right! Some wild barbarian from the mountains, how bossy!”
Perched on the cloud was a party of hulking beast-headed men with muscular human bodies. They paid no mind to the jeering. Among them were a glaring white-browed tiger, a ring-eyed cloud leopard, a dark-eyed iron-eating beast, and a gaggle of small creatures.
The tiger, all thick fur and roped sinew, wore a refined sky-blue robe and exuded silent authority. He idly twirled two soot-black iron lumps in his paws.
The leopard stroked his chin and said, “Da-ge, Kong Yun’s got spirit. He might just make it into the second tier.”
The tiger gave a low hum and watched the boy’s progress.
Kong Yun straightened his back, strode ahead with purpose, and even flicked his sleeves with affected grace. Then, he turned to snort disdainfully at Xue Cuo. It was well known that though demons cultivated easily, breakthroughs came hard. Kong Yun may have only just entered the Foundation Building Stage, but he’d been stalled there over a hundred years. His true spirit was formidable. Among his peers, he feared none.
Xue Cuo’s eyes glinted with defiance as he sprang up again—only to be slammed flat by the mountain-like pressure. The rest pressed onwards. He alone was left behind.
“So heavy…”
Pinned, Xue Cuo couldn’t move. Then inspiration struck. From his storage ring he pulled white paper and a jade brush and began folding little men, until he had twelve in total. Then, with painstaking care, he drew eyebrows, eyes and noses on each one.
This was something he’d pieced together from Ren Shu-gege’s Twelve Zodiac Spirit Sword Array. He’d borrowed a sliver of Xianghuo Divine power, but lacked the god’s Daoist resonance. In Xue Cuo’s reckoning, the true Twelve Zodiac Deities no longer lingered between heaven and earth. They no longer partook in mortal incense and had already become part of the Dao itself.
But if people still recited their names, if their traces remained in the Dao, then that power could be borrowed.
He focused intently, recalling the myths of the Twelve Zodiac Spirits. First he drew a rabbit figure. After painting its face and inscribing his name, he added long ears. The gold-sand ink bled into the aged brushstrokes. With a single dot from the jade tip, the blank-faced talisman rabbit stirred. A shimmer of ancient, indistinct Daoist aura rose from the page.
The little jade rabbit came to life, ears twitching, feet nimble. It bounced away nimbly… but, having inherited Xue Cuo’s fate, collapsed under the same pressure after just a few steps.
Xue Cuo grabbed it. “Don’t run off! I still haven’t drawn your fringe!”
The rabbit figure wriggled in protest. Xue Cuo frowned. “Weird…”
He scratched his head. Having drawn the rabbit, he again recalled the characteristics of the Twelve Zodiac Spirits. He then drew a pig-nosed Xue Cuo. Ox-horned Xue Cuo. Dragon-tailed Xue Cuo…
As a standard issue, each of the twelve had a bun on their head and a fringe. They looked at one another. Then they all turned and surrounded the ugliest of their number—the first one he’d drawn with clumsy strokes—and began hopping circles around it in silent mockery.
The self-conscious rabbit developed a black stress line across its brow. Then it snapped. With righteous fury, it socked one “good brother” square in the paper jaw.
The scene grew increasingly bizarre.
At the edge of his awareness, Xue Cuo sensed a gaze. The paper men froze, subdued by the presence. One by one, they straightened and quieted down.
As the spell took shape, the pressure on Xue Cuo began to shift. Each paper effigy bore part of the weight. Twelve brothers. Twelve burdens shared. His share became only one thirteenth.
Still… that much was already overwhelming. White talisman aura wasn’t enough to withstand the pressure of the path. There was still some persuasion to be done.
Brush in mouth, Xue Cuo scratched his head again. “Hmm… something’s off. Maybe if I… ah, another dot here… add another stroke here… oh no, why’d I write the Daoist title of the Goddess of the Great Loch?! Lemme wipe that…….”
He rubbed and redrew, scribbling out a draft. When he was sure, he stilled his mind, merged will with ink, and wrote a proper talisman in a single sweep of brush.
Breathing out, he packed up his things. Then pressed his fingers together. “Rise.”
The talisman combusted without wind. Suddenly, the crushing weight lifted. His twelve effigies straightened up, then turned to him with their paper brows furrowed. Tiny fists rose in synchronised outrage, pointing directly at their creator.
“What are you looking at?” Xue Cuo snapped.
Wait. Should paper men have consciousness? Something had gone wrong again.
The bull-headed Xue Cuo muttered to the others, then turned back, puffing furiously like an angry doodle in the corner of a comic strip.
“Uh-oh,” said Xue Cuo. “Why can’t I move? There seems to be a problem.”
He tried to follow, but couldn’t lift himself. The paper men pranced about freely, but he remained rooted.
Then, he had an idea. He tapped his forehead. “I’m such an idiot.”
He pushed himself up, hopped onto the backs of the twelve effigies, and pressed his fingers together again. “Move.”
The twelve paper figures looked up. Dark clouds gathered. The sky seemed to tremble. A mountain of pressure descended again. The bull-headed paper man grunted and reached out to poke the meatball perched on his back.
Xue Cuo scratched his bottom. “Eh, that tickles.”
And so, twelve paper figures, began to climb step by step. With the pressure divided and the energy-concentrating talisman easing their load, the paper men proved surprisingly strong.
Xue Cuo blushed: It was working well. But, that’s odd. Why’s my backside so itchy?
Kong Yun was slowing down. Beads of sweat the size of beans rolled from his brow. His face was blank, not relaxing in the least, and every step he took left a deep footprint behind. He had overtaken the disciples on the Path of Gazing Immortality and entered the Path of Asking Immortality. However, that path had no visible end. There was no destination in sight.
A fellow monster collapsed beside him in exhaustion, panting. “Kong Yun, I can’t go on. You keep climbing.”
Kong Yun grabbed him by the arm and growled, “You’d rather lie here and become a stepladder?”
Veins bulged along the monster’s temples. “No. I’m not resigned to that.”
Kong Yun snorted and let go. “Then follow me… until not even your little finger can move.”
The monster clenched his fists and scrambled after Kong Yun, his form anything but graceful.
Such was the lot of monsters. Three calamities, eight tribulations, and all manner of man-made misfortunes. Only by clawing his way to the third tier could he hope to receive a decent cultivation method. Otherwise, he would never break through his current state.
At that moment, a pale and pudgy little child drifted slowly upwards, legs crossed, one step at a time. The sight was deeply uncanny.
The monster: !
Kong Yun’s eyes widened. “You?!”
He squinted down at the scene. Beneath Xue Cuo were twelve mouthy, disgruntled paper men trudging under heavy pressure. Yet Xue Cuo himself was gliding along smoothly, inching past Kong Yun with serene determination.
Xue Cuo glanced back, then raised one hand forward and the other behind, wiggling his fingers in time with the movement. He mimicked Kong Yun’s uphill crawl in a singsong voice: “Turtle turtle~climb climb climb~”
Kong Yun exploded. “Bastard!”
The feathers at his temples flared in rage. Holding his breath, he gathered his strength, then lunged forward to give chase.
Xue Cuo brought his fingers together. Run faster!
Up on the cloud platform, the observing cultivators were stunned. “What’s that boy using? A spiritual treasure?”
One peered closer, then shook his head. “No, no. If it were a treasure, the elders would’ve seized it already. Besides, this is just the initiation trial for Foundation Building Stage disciples. None of them should be able to bear this kind of spiritual pressure, let alone activate a heavy treasure beneath it. That child’s relying on some sort of secret technique.”
A female cultivator corrected him: “No. It’s talismans.”
Gasps all around, followed by a collective sigh of pity. “Talismans? What a waste. Whose useless parents let their child go down the talisman path?”
“Indeed, fellow Daoists. When it comes to power, sword cultivation remains supreme. If your disciples fail to enter Wendao Palace, our One Sword Tower would gladly adopt your heartbroken little seedlings.”
“Pei! Get lost. What rotten luck.”
“Exactly. Exactly.”
The female cultivator crossed her arms, looking regretful. “There’s scarcely a single Xianghuo Divine Dao god left in the world. Yes, the great ways of cultivation are vast, but talismancy has fallen to the lowest tier. That boy’s talent isn’t bad, but alas, he was born in the wrong era. Had he lived thirty thousand years ago, he might have accomplished something.”
All nodded solemnly. “Indeed.”
Back at the mountain gate, the white-browed youth awaiting the new disciples opened his eyes. His spiritual sense spread across the entire stairway, and naturally, he saw the leisurely Xue Cuo.
He gave a small hum, a glimmer flashing in his gaze. No one else could see it, but he noticed the pale-white talisman hovering above Xue Cuo’s head.
He traced the spiritual thread from Xue Cuo’s talisman to the paper effigies, but found nothing amiss.
“Some talent. Such a pity he’s on the wrong path,”
He shut his eyes again. This wasn’t technically cheating, so he allowed it to pass.
Kong Yun continued to struggle after Xue Cuo but never quite closed the distance. And the further he climbed, the heavier the pressure grew. His face paled. Still, he’d pushed ahead of most, and was now poised to overtake the lead disciple on the Path of Asking Immortality—just shy of breaking into the second tier, the Path of Ascending Immortality.
The boy ahead of him was around fourteen or fifteen years old, struggling, but not as miserably as those who had started at the very bottom.
He gritted his teeth with resentment. If only his parents had been immortal elders, then he could have started on the gentlest path, the Path of Ascending Immortality. His aptitude wasn’t worse than anyone’s, yet because his family lacked power, he was forced to climb, step by step, fighting for a place.
Rustle, rustle—
He heard a strange sound and turned.
A chubby white child, still seated cross-legged, was gliding past him effortlessly.
The boy’s face turned livid. That place he had fought tooth and nail for had been taken, just like that. “Immortal! Someone’s cheating!”
The stairway was quiet. No responded.
The immortals’ answer was silence.
His face drained of colour, filled with bitterness and disbelief. Meanwhile, Xue Cuo scratched his head and kept climbing.
One persons surpassing him, he could grudgingly tolerate. But looking back, there was another child ascending. And a monster to boot! He didn’t have the strength left to climb any further!
The boy sneered. “A beast is also fit to walk ahead of me?”
Sweat poured from Kong Yun’s brow. He raised an eyebrow at the insult, sneered, and looked up with disdain. “You’re fit to block my path? Ugly freak.”
The boy’s expression twisted. He’d been born with a facial defect and hated being mocked for his appearance. He looked around. There was no one else nearby. Just him and this beast, neck-and-neck for the last second-tier spot. Kong Yun might be able to overtake him, but he could still drag Kong Yun to death.
He smiled coldly. “Barbarian. Watch your mouth.”
Kong Yun didn’t blink. “Piss off.”
But the boy refused to budge. No matter where Kong Yun tried to go, he blocked the way. If he could hold out until the end. Even without climbing to the top, he might still be ranked ahead.
Kong Yun’s fury was barely contained. But if he raised a hand now, he’d be disqualified instantly.
“Filthy human scum!”
The boy laughed aloud. “Little beast, your granddad—”
Just then, a child’s voice cut in behind him. “Ah, my paper men broke.”
He turned to see that pale, pudgy child sitting comfortably over ten metres above them on the steps, chin in hands, watching them with mild curiosity.
The disciple flared up. “What are you staring at?!”
Xue Cuo tilted his head. “The Daoist texts say: to cultivate the Dao is to cultivate the mind; to cultivate the Dao is to cultivate one’s nature. Body, spirit, and intention—none may be lacking. This Daoist-gege, if you obstruct another’s cultivation out of selfishness, you’ll suffer karmic retribution.”
The disciple burst into laughter. “Retribution? Where’s that supposed to come from?”
Xue Cuo said nothing. He simply beamed, spread his hands wide, and hummed twice: “Hey, I wouldn’t know about that.”
Kong Yun suddenly narrowed his eyes and stepped forward in a stride.
The disciple reflexively tried to block him, but his feet wouldn’t move, rooted to the spot. He looked down.
Eleven… maybe twelve limp paper figures lay collapsed across his shoes, as though their spirits had slipped free. Small as they were, each bore a weight like a thousand catties, pinning him in place.
Kong Yun ignored him entirely and stepped forward, one foot after the other, until he reached Xue Cuo’s side. He lifted his leg again. But he had run dry. There was truly no strength left. After attempting to take another step, he simply sat down.
After a brief silence, Kong Yun muttered, “You human… aren’t half bad.”
Xue Cuo chirped in unison, “Turtle turtle~ climb climb~”
Kong Yun: “I’m going to kill you!”
