At that instant, Xue Cuo experienced a strange and wonderful sensation.
He felt the cool breeze pass between his fingers, becoming the breath of a giant. He heard the rush of blood in his veins transform into a mighty yellow river, surging endlessly.
His heart beat on and on, turning into a dragon-like mountain range where, amidst drifting mists, golden lotus flowers blossomed.
His true spirit continued to rise. In the blazing sky, he saw a golden, three-legged bird crying out in fury. He saw stars glittering, and the moon casting down a gaze both gentle and sorrowful.
Amid all these awe-inspiring visions of the Dao, an obscure and ineffable rhythm surrounded him at once…… as if from the dawn of antiquity, and yet as if newly descended into the world.
Dao.
What is the Dao?
And what is my Dao?
Xue Cuo pondered. His spiritual platform cleared from chaos into lucidity. Within that mysterious, elusive rhythm, he seemed to hear countless answers. Each were proclaiming their own path.
But Xue Cuo thought, none of them were his.
He brushed aside those voices, rested his chin on his hand, ignored all else, and sank wholly into thought.
The heavens and earth were as a zither and harp, and suddenly Xue Cuo felt an impulse. He plucked at them lightly.
Was his parents’ Dao the one he wished to walk?
No. The Dao cannot be merely learned, nor inherited. Such Dao has a weak foundation; it is only the shell of imitation and does not belong to oneself.
Was the Dao of Mr. White-Brow the one he wished to follow?
Again, no. He might seem victorious, but only because too few in this world tread their own way. The rest, grasping for quick success, reckless yet timid, have let themselves be bound by the invisible net of Mr. White-Brow’s Dao, unable to form their own comprehension.
Then was the great Dao all longed to learn the one he wanted?
Still no. A Dao that everyone seeks, and yet only a handful can master…how can such a thing be called the Great Dao?
It is merely standing atop the mountain borne upon another’s back, seeking fame, glory, and self-satisfaction.
Xue Cuo felt his true spirit poised at a crossroads. In one direction lay splendid palaces, celestial music, the supreme Dao of the world ready to be grasped. No pain, no confusion, only the highest honour and envy.
In the other lay darkness without light, a boundless, uncertain road fading into the unknown.
Beneath the limitless heavens, that rhythm whispered on. The lone, small child gave a carefree sweep of his sleeve and stepped onto the road he could not yet see.
Duoh—
“A breakthrough?!”
“Who is he? Where did he come from? Wasn’t he just at the early stage of Foundation Building?”
“Early Foundation Building… mid Foundation Building! Look at his Dao realm. Two stages in one day? That’s… far too fast for a Dao realm breakthrough!”
The onlookers were astonished. They were all disciples from various sects who had entered Foundation Building Stage young, tempered since childhood, and they knew well the difficulty and peril of cultivating and comprehending the Dao. How could it be as simple as eating or drinking?
Usually, realising the Dao relied upon the natural Dao rhymes of heaven and earth: the dawn glow, drifting clouds, mountain and sea, or relics of the ancients.
Hence cultivation was almost always led by the sects; the more heavenly Dao rhyme a sect controlled, the more talents it produced.
In the mortal world, immortal legacies were near non-existent. Comprehension of the Dao was even further removed from them.
In such clamorous surroundings, most cultivators’ Dao hearts would falter; few could attain stillness. Thus, they often had to create secluded blessed lands to meditate alone. This was the first time many had witnessed a breakthrough manifesting such a panoply of Dao visions.
The white-browed youth swept his sleeve. “Students, retreat half a step.”
Even before he spoke, some had already settled themselves, studying intently the visions the boy had drawn forth.
The white-browed youth wondered inwardly: This lad’s mental composure is so good… but what is that Dao vision?
Xiaofeng’s eyes were round. Risking all for a higher Dao realm, he stepped forward, bowed deeply, and asked, “Teacher, what is that big yellow river?”
The white-browed youth frowned slightly. Was there even such a river in the cultivation world?
It appeared vast and majestic, radiating an ancient, enduring vitality, and was so imposing that one dared not gaze upon it directly…
When he had broken through, the vision he saw had been but a tiny stream of clear water where the bottom was visible.
His expression turned odd; he gave a snort and rebuked, “Fool. Is this something to be spoken of?”
Xiaofeng paled and retreated awkwardly.
Zhuo Qingyuan and Lang Cui came forward. The white-browed youth said, “Qingyuan-shizhi, Lang Cui-shizhi, you two are far too fond of play. Not even a decent placing in the first trial. Take heed that the elders will punish you when you return.”
Zhuo Qingyuan only shrugged and smiled wryly. “At worst they’ll scold us. The prizes are dull anyway.”
Lang Cui covered his mouth to cough twice, saying nothing.
He studied Xue Cuo for a moment, then suddenly flinched, eyes stinging as though burned. Tears welled and he nearly collapsed.
Startled, Zhuo Qingyuan hurried to catch him. “Xiao Cui, your eyes!”
Lang Cui’s eyes were rimmed red; a tear hung trembling on his porcelain-pale jaw. He coughed and whispered, “Fire… such pure Dao image… what is it?”
Zhuo Qingyuan whipped off his hair ribbon to blindfold him. “You know you were born unable to look upon such things, yet you’re still nosy. Seriously.”
Lang Cui fell silent. The white-browed youth murmured a few words of concern, while Zhuo Qingyuan observed, “Looks like Xue Cuo will stop at mid Foundation Building. Still, with Sword Immortal lineage, he has some skill.”
He and Lang Cui were also only at Foundation Building, but had deliberately suppressed their cultivation to gather strength for one great advance, breaking three junctures in a single strike.
So Xue Cuo’s breakthrough wasn’t that big of a shock. However, the bizarre Dao visions it produced had stirred his curiosity.
Just as he stepped forward for a closer look, a dark shadow fell before him.
“Kong Yun?”
Kong Yun stood cold and still before Xue Cuo, golden-feathered Wendao Sword in hand. “Stand back. Disturbing another’s breakthrough is the same as murdering their parents.”
Peacocks are proud by nature and fiercely protective of their feathers.
Enraged, Kong Yun had been set on flying back to the demon realm, but on the way he sensed a ripple of the Great Dao. Turning back, he saw Dao flowers blooming about Xue Cuo on the clouds, and realised he was breaking through. Unable to let it go, after long hesitation, he swallowed his pride and returned to the place of his defeat.
Zhuo Qingyuan snorted, folding his arms. “You’re just my Xue-shidi’s beaten foe. I’ll step forward if I like—what can you do?”
Though only thirteen or fourteen, he was already taller than Kong Yun, and his youth made him brash. Kong Yun, Wendao Sword in hand, did not yield. “Then don’t blame me for striking.”
Just then, another breeze swept past. A pale-faced disciple in blue and white robes, with long brows and cold eyes, alighted upon the clouds. “Teacher White-Brow, Xu Youxia of Tianyi Sect’s Shujian Pavilion pays his respects.”
The white-browed youth remembered this mortal-born, yet exceedingly talented disciple. He looked him over in surprise. “It has been years… and your realm has risen again.”
Xu Youyu gave a slight smile. “Teacher, you overpraise me.”
With a disciple of Tianyi Sect at Xue Cuo’s side, Zhuo Qingyuan naturally could not step forward. After all, even Xue Zhenzhen alone was enough to give his father a headache; best not to offend her if one could help it.
He gave a cold snort and returned to Lang Cui. Bored, his gaze drifted to Xu Youyu, and he murmured something in Lang Cui’s ear. Lang Cui started in surprise, ears twitching. “Truly? Well, that is rather good news.”
Whatever they discussed, no one else knew.
Among the students on the cloud-tops, a few gazing upon Xue Cuo’s Dao image found themselves, half-dazed, slipping into sudden enlightenment. Dao rhymes gathered about them like fire and thunder.
The others looked on with envy. But Xue Cuo’s Dao image was gone in a heartbeat. How could they hope to view it again?
Heads bowed, feet stamped; each wished they could turn back time.
The white-browed youth remarked, “At the mid-stage of the Foundation Building, he can manage a leap of two minor levels… but no further than that.”
Then, quite without warning, a full moon rose behind Xue Cuo’s head. The withered Dao flowers burst once more into bloom, swiftly joining into a single expanse.
The blossoms flowered and faded; the moon, too, dimmed and waned. In the blink of an eye the dull Dao image vanished—only for a canopy of bright stars to flare into being.
“What’s that?” someone murmured in wonder.
Only the white-browed youth frowned, a flicker of disquiet in his eyes. He realised this wasn’t as simple as it seemed.
[Stars Shrouding the Moon.]
It wasn’t a good omen……
With the stars’ glitter, Xue Cuo’s cultivation surged; spiritual energy poured into the boy like water into a whirlpool.
Zhuo Qingyuan’s brows lifted in astonishment. “Another breakthrough. Late Foundation Building Stage… such talent is rare indeed. But the next stage, the Spirit Void Stage, requires the Dao to be transformed, the mind to be condensed, the true spirit to be secured. It is the first great gate on the road to immortality. Not so easily crossed—”
He broke off, for Xue Cuo’s realm rose yet again, like a tide still swelling.
Layers of Dao flowers unfurled and fell, withered and revived, and before the wide eyes of all present, Xue Cuo breezed past the late Foundation Building Stage as though slicing melons, then crashed through the first of the Three Gates—Spirit Void itself.
Behind him shimmered the phantom of a spiritual platform, with fragrant trees, golden springs, and auspicious birds wheeling in the air.
Zhuo Qingyuan was astounded. “He… he’s formed a triple-tier spirit platform…”
The first Heavenly Gate, breached in a single stroke? And with a threefold platform?
The spirit platform has twelve tiers; to start at three leaves every chance of reaching nine. Had the Sword Immortal been secretly guiding him?
The thought flickered in Zhuo Qingyuan’s mind.
Xue Cuo only felt an unclouded ease throughout his body, like clear wind and bright moonlight, a comfort so complete it made him want to stretch and sigh.
Opening his eyes with a yawn, he found himself brimming with energy.
All around, wide-eyes stared at him, but Xue Cuo noticed none of them… only the familiar back ahead. Beaming, he flung himself onto Kong Yun’s shoulders, little hands hugging them tight. “Xiao Yun! I was just about to look for you!”
Kong Yun: “What’re you doing? Keep away from me.”
He shoved… only to find he could not budge him. His eyes widened in disbelief. “You… you broke through while clinging to me?!”
Xue Cuo tapped his fingers, sensing inwardly. “Eh? Seems like it. I’ve got a spirit platform now.”
Kong Yun’s face darkened. Sword quivering in his grip, he ground his teeth, then suddenly hooked an arm about Xue Cuo’s shoulders and muttered into his ear, “Come, tell me how you broke through. I want it too.”
In disappointment and self-pity, Kong Yun had chosen… to copy homework.
Xue Cuo’s eyes shone, scattering tiny stars. “It’s not easy. You want to learn? Then, I’ll teach you.”
The white-browed youth broke in sharply. “Xue Cuo! The method may not be passed to outsiders. To have broken through three Foundation levels in a day and reached the Spirit Void Stage, you now qualify for inscription in the Dao archives. Your experience must be written into a jade slip and placed in Wendao Palace for the destined to find! How can you simply give it away?”
Xue Cuo studied him for a moment before scanning around the crowd. Then he smiled, bright as spring’s first bloom. “The Dao I have grasped knows no high or low, no before or after, no heaven or earth, no truth or illusion.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Today, I shall tell you…”
And the boy sat down cross-legged, calmly recounting his path to enlightenment.
The white-browed youth quivered with fury as he witnessed the disciples who had been squabbling for the quota now sat silent and rapt, eyes fixed on the flower-budded child upon the cloud. No one spoke of the quota again.
Wendao Palace hoarded its treasures jealously, knowledge and experience fought over tooth and nail; and here they fell from a child’s hands like blossoms freely given.
Kong Yun, listening intently, settled cross-legged at Xue Cuo’s side. After a while he closed his eyes, Dao rhyme surging into the shape of a great grey-green-feathered bird that crouched beside him.
The white-browed youth turned pale with rage, but thought of Xue Cuo’s parentage and held his hand. Not even he could weather the wrath of the Sword Immortal and the Dragon Might Swordmaster.
“Qingyuan, Lang Cui,” he grated, “this must be reported to the Elders.”
Zhuo Qingyuan, realising the gravity of the breach—one that might shake Wendao Palace’s very foundations—nodded.
The two made to leave in a flurry of sleeves. Lang Cui, however, remained, blindfolded beneath his headband, listening quietly to Xue Cuo’s voice.
From sunrise to sunset, those who found enlightenment rose and departed to savour it in solitude, each bowing deeply before leaving. “Thank you, shixiong, for passing on the Dao.”
One who transmits the Dao is a teacher, but they could not call Xue Cuo ‘shifu’. This “shixiong” was spoken with gratitude from the heart.
At last, as the evening glow filled the sky, Xue Cuo fell silent.
Xu Youyu, who had stood beside him throughout, now crouched down and offered him a cup of tea. “Little shixiong, congratulations on your breakthrough.”
Xue Cuo’s eyes lit up. “Shidi-gege.”
Xu Youyu’s lips twitched in a smile; his gaze lingered on Xue Cuo. At last, he broke decorum, reached out and ruffled the flower-bud hair.
Soft indeed. Shixiong is… indeed as adorable as he had imagined.
He did not speak of having guarded Xue Cuo throughout. “Little shixiong, remember to meditate and steady your realm. Sect affairs keep me busy; I can’t stay long. I should be going.”
Xue Cuo clutched the teacup, reluctant to part. “Shidi-gege, can’t we have a meal together?”
With his handsome, gentle face, Xu Youyu’s smile was like a breeze through the heart. “Fate gathers and scatters; people come and go. Such is the Dao, no need for sadness. Still, little shixiong, for the huge thing that you’ve done today, your disposition hasn’t changed.”
Xue Cuo tugged at his sleeve. “Then shidi-gege can come have a meal with me and praise me properly.”
Xu Youyu laughed despite himself. “Little shixiong… ah, I should get going.”
The boy said nothing, only looked up at him with eyes clear and wet. Xu Youyu’s resolve crumbled. His mother’s away, the Sword Immortal’s taken Gu-shidi to see the golden lotus… little shixiong must be lonely.
He thought a moment, then nodded. “Shixiong, remember to wake that peacock. He’s slept too long, it’ll unsettle his Dao realm.”
Overjoyed, Xue Cuo turned and gave the fat bird a shove. “Kong Yun?”
The great bird lay motionless. He was already awake, but feeling a little embarrassed. He had been waiting for Xue Cuo to call him so that he could ‘wake up slowly’.
Then he felt small hands stroke his feathers…… and then his fluffy cheek.
Kong Yun’s heart gave a sudden lurch. He thought to himself: Though I am of noble birth, this human fellow has scarcely seen the world. Letting him admire my beauty would do no harm!
Xue Cuo sighed. “Your face really is so fat, so big.”
The peacock’s eyes flew open. He flapped his wings, his voice cracking with fury. “You’re the fat one!”
They started scrapping atop the cloud.
Xue Cuo’s realm broke through, his spiritual power surging; he pressed the portly Foundation Building Stage demon down into the cloud and thrashed him soundly. Unable to match him, Kong Yun raised a claw in surrender, and the pair ended in mutual satisfaction.
Xu Youyu summoned his own white cloud, and Xue Cuo scrambled up first.
Xu-shidi’s white cloud was large and soft, with tiny fish formed from cloud-vapour darting in and out of the mist.
Xue Cuo gave a delighted cry, reaching out to trail a finger as the little fish swam circles around his fingertips.
Kong Yun followed with studied elegance, lifting his robes to step onto the cloud and, in passing, gave Xue Cuo a look of lofty disdain.
He and Xu Youyu sat properly on the cloud’s crest, watching Xue Cuo’s carefree frolicking. Xu Youyu murmured, “Our xiao shixiong is only pretending to be happy.”
Kong Yun had been about to contradict him, but, on reflection, thought: Fairly speaking, were my own kin to treat me thus, I would hardly take it lying down.
He whispered to Xu Youyu, “You don’t think he’ll cry later, do you?”
Xu Youyu was silent a moment. “…The golden lotus blooms but once in a thousand years. It is a rarest treasure indeed. With Sword Immortal’s choice as it is, our young shixiong will likely be sore at heart.”
The two sat together on the cloud.
The moon hung alone in the night sky, no other star in sight.
Kong Yun, only just realising the enormity of the favour Xue Cuo had shown him, felt a pang. Though he had not broken through the first heavenly gate, he had vaulted into the late Foundation Building Stage. After a moment’s thought, he reluctantly plucked one of his own wing-feathers and held it out. “For you.”
Xue Cuo made a pleased noise and accepted the exquisite plume. Kong Yun smiled; his face was strikingly fine, gender indiscernible, but his nature was like blazing fire—love and hate drawn in the sharpest of lines.
Xue Cuo grinned. “Xiao Yun, I’ve no leg hair to give you in return. Pull a hair from my head instead.”
Kong Yun: “I’ll pull your stupid head!”
Xue Cuo: …
Xu Youyu took the pair to Diquan Mountain, where they found a small river. Producing spirit-fruit tea, the two kept Xue Cuo company over a meal.
When the tea was drunk and bellies full, Xue Cuo wanted to fish, while Kong Yun preferred to cultivate.
Xu Youyu crouched down. “Little shixiong, this time I truly must go. Sect affairs are many, and I cannot linger.”
Xue Cuo made a faint sound, but had to take his leave of Xu Youyu and Kong Yun. Xu Youyu mounted his cloud and was away; Xue Cuo wandered alone, hands clasped behind his back, towards his cave-dwelling. After a few steps, he suddenly heard Kong Yun call out to him. “Xue Cuo.”
He turned. Kong Yun had set aside his sword, his expression knotted. “You… don’t be too downhearted…”
Xue Cuo only looked at him in silence, and Kong Yun felt a chill run down his spine, as though he’d just touched on a sore wound.
Uneasy, he stepped forward, laid a hand on Xue Cuo’s shoulder, and sighed in wordless sympathy.
Xue Cuo: “You’re stepping on my foot.”
Kong Yun, after a long pause: “You can get lost.”
—
Foshan, Luoyue Spring
An ancient ruin of the Xianghuo Divine Dao, battered by the winds of tens of thousands of years, now stood in ruin and decay.
Jun Wuwei unsealed layer after layer, and Gu Ruhui followed Sword Immortal downwards. From afar, a faint lotus fragrance drifted on the air.
At the heart of the ruins loomed a vast niche, its stonework weathered and cracked beyond counting. Ancient motifs and cryptic runes sprawled across the walls, whispering of some deep, ungraspable history and myth.
Gu Ruhui peered at the throne with curiosity. The statue was largely destroyed, only the carved hem of a robe remaining.
“Shifu, whose shrine is this? It seems terribly dilapidated,” he asked.
Jun Wuwei, hands clasped behind his back, paused. “If memory serves, this Xianghuo Divine Dao deity perished over thirty thousand years ago. Her Daoist title was ‘The Naturally Wondrous, Merciful and Stern, Dao-Responding Goddess of the Great Loch.’”
Gu Ruhui laid a hand upon the throne. The stone was cold, thick with dust. He shook his head. “I have never heard of her.”
In the mortal realm there were temples too, housing gods said to possess boundless powers—fang-grinding, blood-drinking, slaughtering without restraint—turning all lands under their rule into ghost realms, the exile grounds of imperial dynasties.
Yet such legends spanned but a few centuries.
This shrine, however, had stood for more than thirty millennia.
A sigh rose in Gu Ruhui’s heart: mortals lived as ants. Confined all their days to their furrowed fields, never destined to attain the Dao.
The gulf between mortal and immortal was a chasm without bridge.
Jun Wuwei walked at an unhurried pace, as though this treacherous divine ruin were no more than a leisurely banquet hall.
“Ten thousand years ago, perhaps longer… a golden spring welled up here, its waters blooming with lotuses. None knew its true name.”
“It was vaguely presumed that it had ties to the gods of the old days.”
“Because of its great significance, the major sects keep it in turn. This year, Wendao Palace holds it. And I chose you… for one without extraordinary gifts, there is no chance of beholding it.”
Gu Ruhui’s brows rose. “So important? What magical effect does it have?”
The sword immortal’s smile was faint. “The golden lotus holds a unique Dao-image. Though most Xianghuo gods are wicked and overbearing, their heritage is ancient. They have seen the world reshaped. There is much to be learned from their Dao.”
“When the blossom opens, you take that instant. Should you comprehend it, the road ahead will be unhindered. Breaking through three gates would be easy.”
Gu Ruhui felt his heart stir, but reined it in, merely nodding. The two set foot upon a rainbow bridge—then Jun Wuwei halted.
A woman in plain robe and thornwood hair pin stood at the far end, a massive red sword slung across her back.
Gu Ruhui lowered his gaze and bowed. “Shimu.”
Xue Zhenzhen turned her head slightly. Her movements were unhurried, touched with cold hauteur. Her attire was plain, yet she was beautiful beyond easy description.
She did not look at Gu Ruhui, but stepped forward slowly. “I’ve come to see the flowers.”
“You never look at flowers,” Jun Wuwei replied.
With a careless glance over her shoulder, she set her hand on the Dragon Might Sword’s hilt. “I prefer a broken bridge and withered lotus.”
Jun Wuwei and Xue Zhenzhen locked eyes.
In the next moment, both vanished beneath the bridge. Sword-song and dragon-roar split the air, and sword-light blazed like lightning against the night.
Xue Zhenzhen stood suspended in the void, robes billowing, Dragon Might met the bamboo sword in a clash that whipped up a fearsome gale. “The Heart-Bodhisattva Golden Lotus blooms once in a thousand years. And the first person you think of is Gu Ruhui?”
Jun Wuwei’s face was calm, his bamboo sword thrumming, unyielding. “Swordmaster—the Dao is the great Way; to the capable, it belongs. The Heart-Bodhisattva is no common thing. I would grant a fair chance to one able to seek the Dao!”
“Fair?” Xue Zhenzhen’s laugh was sharp.
Her sword fell again and again. “When Tianyi Sect took the Golden Pool, you spoke not of fairness; when you chose Gu Ruhui, you spoke not of fairness. This world is vast. How can you know that choosing Gu Ruhui is fair?”
Sword Immortal staggered half a step under the force of her tempestuous strikes. “Xue Cuo has yet to show a trace of sword qi. Does that not speak for itself?”
Her hair streamed like a banner. “Rubbish! You chose Gu Ruhui because he is your disciple.”
“And Xue Cuo is my only son!”
Sword Immortal, long aloof atop the heights, felt for the first time that her sword had struck through to his Dao. At last, he grew serious.
The two fought until heaven and earth seemed to change colour, and the ruins all but collapsed. Xue Zhenzhen suddenly swept out a sword strike, shattering the rainbow bridge.
Sword Immortal blanched. “That’s an ancient divine relic! Xue Zhenzhen!”
Expressionless, Xue Zhenzhen slowly drew back the Dragon Might Sword. Jun Wuwei, thinking she had calmed down, sighed softly. “Swordmaster.”
Before the words had left his lips, a sword came cleaving straight at him.
Jun Wuwei sprang back. The strike coiled like a frenzied dragon, tearing apart the layers of seals around the ancient temple, crashing down into the lotus pond, levelling ancient trees and vines as if they were rotted straw, and splashing a few golden lotus leaves in its wake.
Sword Immortal froze for an instant. “You’re mad! You’ve destroyed the Golden Lotus Pond! How will you answer to the fellow Daoists of the Three Mountains and Five Seas?”
Xue Zhenzhen gazed at the wreckage below and, at length, stayed her hand. Sword on her back, she hovered in mid-air and said coldly, “Answer to them? Hah.”
At some point, a fine rain began to fall.
Gu Ruhui stood silently at the bridgehead, held out his hand…only to realise that it was not rain but spiritual energy drifting down.
The red qi was threaded with the roar of dragons, as if some vast serpent of the skies was swimming through the clouds.
Was Shimu still angry?
He remained on the rainbow bridge, looking up into the night sky, ignoring the scarlet rain that whirled around him, as though watching some beautiful fireworks display.
No one knew how long it was before Jun Wuwei descended alone. There was a trace of melancholy in his eyes; the pristine hem of his robe was speckled with damp, leaving him a little dishevelled. He sighed and said to Gu Ruhui, “Let’s go.”
Gu Ruhui asked nothing, simply followed his shifu over the bridge, down a narrow path, until a faint and distant fragrance of lotus greeted them.
It was a golden pond. The lotus leaves rose in layers, glowing like sunset clouds, wreathed in a faint Xianghuo Daoist aura—ancient, obscure, unfathomable.
The golden lotuses were on the cusp of blooming, swaying gently in the breeze.
Jun Wuwei set out a small sandalwood table, placed a celadon tea pot and two cups upon it.
A light wind stirred, the fragrance of lotus drifting into every breath. It was not oppressive, but easing the spirit.
They sat in silence, waiting for the appointed moment.
Jun Wuwei extended his hand, sending qi surging like a boundless sea into the lotus pond, ripping through leaves and roots, severing layer upon layer, all to force the golden lotus into full bloom.
The golden pond shimmered; the Dao radiated ancient and awe-inspiring majesty.
At last, one golden lotus slowly unfurled, translucent petals revealing an infinite Dao rhythm.
Gu Ruhui’s face changed; waves crashed in his heart. This was the breath of the Great Dao. Something countless cultivators might labour for a lifetime and never touch.
He had heard tell that certain ancient immortal clans had survived for a thousand years by relying on such relic realms, where merely dwelling within could raise one’s Dao realm by a level or two, though even that took the slow accumulation of ages.
Yet here, a single glimpse might smooth one’s path forevermore… enough to make even the immortals in the heavens lower their gaze.
A surge of joy seized him; his heart thundered, palms damp. The delicate fragrance of lotus filled his lungs, and his mind felt utterly clear, as if he might merge into the Great Dao itself.
It was a bliss beyond words. He was just about to enter meditation when the golden lotus in the pond began to shrink, shedding petals, withdrawing its stem, the layered leaves folding away beneath the water, leaving nothing but an empty pool.
Jun Wuwei stared. “This…”
…
Wendao Palace, Diquan Mountain.
Xue Cuo lay snoring on a stone bed. A little white cloud had puffed itself up and was sprawled on his belly, serving as a tiny quilt.
Half-dreaming, Xue Cuo seemed to find himself in a soft sedan chair.
He climbed aboard; it swayed and jolted, lulling him further into drowsiness. Through the haze, the blue curtain of the sedan faded to white.
Mist thickened, and through it rolled endless golden ripples. A sweet scent of lotus drifted towards him.
[Xue Cuo.]
The voice came now near, now far, airy and ethereal, as if descending from the Ninth Heaven, passing through the eardrum to lodge deep within the soul.
Xue Cuo jerked awake and widened his eyes. Sure enough, in the mist stood a figure holding a golden lotus. The face was blurred, yet somehow contained the features of all living things.
He pinched himself, then clapped his hands over his eyes, turning away: “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, time to wake up, wake up!”
Divine Being: [……]
The voice drew a faint breath, tinged with helplessness. [Turn around. I’ll grant you a strand of karma.]
Xue Cuo nearly wept. “Your Ladyship Goddess, I’m barely in the Foundation Building Stage. If I take on your karma, I’ll die! I’m not looking!”
A breeze stirred. Though his eyes were shut, his whole body felt weightless, as if a palm rested lightly on his crown. [Come.]
Xue Cuo sidestepped sharply, just missing the touch, and exhaled in relief.
Divine Being: [……]
Who knows what other deities thought, but this one’s patience had run out.
Xue Cuo, still refusing to open his eyes, tried to crawl away. All of a sudden, his limbs to lifted off the ground as someone had caught him by the scruff of the neck.
Smack, smack, smack—
He yelped, unsure whether to shield his eyes or his backside, and ended up sobbing quietly instead.
The voice was calm, without resentment or joy. [Come.]
Xue Cuo sniffled, lowering his gaze meekly. [Oh.]
The divine being flicked a finger.
With a splash, Xue Cuo plunged into the lotus pond. The golden waters stretched for miles, gleaming and glorious; layer upon layer of leaves, countless golden blooms bursting from their buds, opening in unison to fill the world.
In his spiritual sea, a matching golden pond appeared, its water radiant, its charm endless.
The voice was slow and airy. [You gave me stolen life; I return to you a golden pool. One sip, one bite; one cause, one repayment…]
Xue Cuo muttered, “Goddess, I’ve soaked enough.”
[Soak another hour,] the voice replied.
