Chapter 100
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Now then, Old Yellow Ox gathered numerous prepared spiritual materials, stepped upon auspicious clouds, and went straight to the Thunder Palace to seek out the Three-Five Fire Spirit Great General. He borrowed the general’s Tribulation Hound and intended to use the power of thunder and fire—both of the utmost yang and unyielding nature—to refine the remnants of those former great demons, turning them into the purest and most harmless spiritual essence.
Speaking of which, Old Yellow Ox himself had once been a great demon of the lower realms, unruly and defiant of authority. In the past, he had clashed with many of the divine generals of the Thunder Division. However, had he provoked all thirty-six Thunder Generals into action, he would have perished, body and soul. It must be known that the Thunder Division was hailed as the strongest battle division in the celestial heavens, and those thirty-six Thunder Generals were its mightiest warriors. While their number was fixed at thirty-six, the individuals bearing the titles would change.
All gods within the Thunder Division had the right to challenge for a position among them.
The strong rose, and the weak withdrew.
Thus, the combat prowess of the thirty-six Thunder Generals was always assured.
They were the fiercest among the strongest battle divisions of the heavens.
They did not oversee rainfall or thunder.
They did not drive out evil spirits with lightning.
It is only responsible for heavenly punishment and tribulations—what is known as Heaven’s Fivefold Thunder Punishment.
Though Old Yellow Ox had never personally crossed paths with those thirty-six Thunder Generals, he was well acquainted with many of the other thunder gods beneath them.
Back in the day, they had brawled more times than one could count.
Later, after obtaining a fateful opportunity and joining the Battle Division, Old Ox was exceedingly generous. He emptied his entire wealth and hosted a grand banquet lasting a full thirty days. Rare delicacies and spiritual fruits flowed like water, fine wines stacked high. He even brought out treasured artifacts and personally traveled to the Guanghan Palace of the Taiyin True Lord to invite thirty celestial maidens to dance and perform music.
Those who cultivated the Dao of Thunder were straightforward and righteous in temperament, quick to form enmities yet just as quick to reconcile.
And they all knew—Old Yellow Ox had once stormed into the Buddhist kingdom of Medicine Master Glazed Light Tathāgata, kicking over temples and stupas as he rampaged through.
One after another, they could only watch in astonishment.
They were just short of saying, “Now that’s a damn fine ox!”
Then, upon learning that he had even kicked that old monk stumbling and devoured every lotus in the temple’s pond—
Their respect deepened.
With fine wine, exquisite food, and beautiful maidens, Old Yellow Ox was willing to spend generously, his laughter bold and uninhibited. In no time, he had bonded with them, arms slung over shoulders, calling each other “Brother” and “Ox Brother” as they drank merrily for an entire month. And in the mortal realm, at the height of summer, the sky remained overcast for a full month, dispelling the sweltering heat completely.
There was only one problem.
For the entire month, the sky rumbled with thunder, yet not a drop of rain fell.
The deafening peals of thunder roared incessantly, almost as if someone were stroking their beard and laughing heartily.
Eventually, this matter was discovered by the True Lords of the Thunder Division, who flew into a furious rage.
They hastened this drunken, swaying group of proper Thunder Division gods to quickly send down the rain. And so, while still seated at the banquet, someone stumbled, knocking over a large jar of fine wine. At that moment, the rain poured down in torrents, drenching the mortal realm in drunken splendor.
“Alas, what a waste of fine wine!”
“Hah! But what a truly fine rain!”
That day, the great downpour broke the summer’s oppressive heat.
As Old Yellow Ox reminisced with the Thunder Division generals about past events, they all burst into hearty laughter.
One of the divine generals, still chuckling, said: “But you—why do you always insist on writing things in reverse? Sending down the rain should’ve been the first order, yet because you wrote it backwards, people misremembered, delayed the matter, and ended up angering the Rain-Bringing and Cloud-Summoning Officials, the Mighty Sword and Spirit-Wielding Officers, and the Fire-Bell Wielding Envoy. Even the [Thunder Duke, Azure Emperor, Thunder Sovereign] personally descended upon the Thunder Palace, and we all suffered quite a beating for it!”
Old Yellow Ox scratched his head and laughed. “Haha, isn’t that just my habit?”
“When I was a demon king in the lower realms, secrecy was of utmost importance when sending messages. So, I got used to writing things in reverse…”
He suddenly paused mid-sentence, then slapped his forehead and cried out: “Damn! This is bad!”
“I wrote it in reverse again!”
“The letter I sent to Little Wuhuo—I wrote that in reverse too! What do I do now?”
He had originally planned to get up and leave immediately, but seeing that the thunderfire had already been ignited and the spiritual materials were undergoing refinement, he had no choice but to stay and oversee the process. He couldn’t afford to step away. After much thought, he sighed and slumped back into his seat. “I really can’t leave now. Forget it, forget it. The foundation here is the most important thing.”
“I’ll just have to explain everything to Wuhuo tomorrow…”
Qi Wuhuo ended the [Round Light Manifestation Technique] and rose from the Xuantan altar. Old Yellow Ox’s cultivation was far superior to his own, so much so that he had simply sent over all the necessary energies in one breath. The auras of various divine beasts and demon fiends had been sealed tightly within numerous jade bottles.
These jade bottles were anything but ordinary.
Their materials were exquisitely pure, and all impure spiritual resonance and mixed energies had been thoroughly extracted.
Thus, they could directly contain these auras without tainting their purity.
A one-time restrictive seal was placed on the bottle’s mouth.
This was to prevent the spiritual essence from escaping.
Though these energies had already undergone refinement, significantly tempering their spirituality and wild nature, their origins were extraordinary. If not properly sealed, they could easily leak out and dissipate into the heavens and earth.
Each bottle was carefully labeled with white paper, meticulously distinguishing their respective origins and owners, so that the young Daoist would not be left guessing whose aura each bottle contained. Yet, being a latecomer to the Dao and not one who had grown up in the celestial realm, these names, in the end, were nothing more than inked words on paper to him.
The young Daoist simply arranged them in order.
He lined them up according to their intended order of use.
“Hm? Uncle Niu already arranged them?”
“He did mention that I should gradually adapt from weak to strong…”
Qi Wuhuo looked at the list given by Old Yellow Ox but was unaware of his peculiar habits. He picked up the first bottle, peering inside to see a vast, azure energy within—deep and expansive, resembling the boundless sky. Then, glancing at the label, he read the name inscribed upon it—
[Nine-Headed Lion Primordial Lord’s Sacred Spirit]
“Is this the weakest one?”
“Uncle Niu said it’s the most feeble, barely difficult at all—just something to practice with.”
Qi Wuhuo held up the jade bottle and then turned his gaze toward the peacock egg resting on a soft cushion beside him.
His fingers gently stroked the eggshell, sensing the slumbering spirit within. After some thought, he placed the jade bottle back down, deciding to wait until the peacock’s spirit awakened before attempting anything. Then, he sat cross-legged on his bedding, breathing in rhythm as he meditated. When the time was right, he lay down on his bed and drifted into a deep sleep.
The next morning, he rose early to sweep the Daoist temple’s courtyard.
There were evergreen trees in this place, yet winter’s bitter wind was relentless. Every night, many leaves were stripped from the branches, rustling as they fell.
Just then, the young Daoist Mingxin came running in briskly. “Uncle Master Qi! Uncle Master Qi! I bought the things you asked for!”
Qi Wuhuo placed the broom to one side. The broom was made from the rough, sturdy stalks of autumn broomweed. Yet in spring, this very plant—known as di fu zi—was a rare, crisp wild vegetable that could be used to stop diarrhea and treat poisonous sores. Qi Wuhuo was particularly fond of its taste after blanching, and as a broom, it was quite useful. Meanwhile, the young Daoist had already placed a sizable cloth bag onto the ground.
Though Mingxin was still young, he was already cultivating his vital energy.
His strength was light yet robust, no weaker than a grown man’s. Carrying such a large sack, he was only slightly out of breath. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he scooped a ladle of water from the vat and drank it in a single gulp, instantly feeling refreshed as his fatigue dissipated. Watching as Qi Wuhuo opened the bag to reveal a pungent scent of realgar, he couldn’t help but ask curiously—
“But, Uncle Master Qi, what do you need so much realgar for?”
“If it’s for repelling venomous creatures, just a small piece would suffice.”
The young Daoist replied gently: “A small piece won’t be enough.”
Lifting his gaze toward the city, he could already deduce that it was due to the Water God’s insufficient rainfall that the miasma of illness had not been suppressed. This had led to disease spreading unchecked throughout the city. After some thought, he could only resort to dispersing medicinal substances such as realgar, known for expelling malignant energies, into the water and scattering it throughout the city. This would temporarily restrain the illness, hoping that when the Awakening of Insects arrived, the seasonal rains and thunder would naturally dispel the plague.
Qi Wuhuo retrieved a large wooden bucket, broke the solid realgar into pieces, ground it into fine powder, and dissolved it into the water.
His fingers moved slightly.
The [Cloud and Rain Chess Manual], which he had obtained from Old Mister Ao Liu, surfaced in his mind.
At that moment, the water inside the bucket seemed to transform into a water serpent, coiling and swirling within the wooden bucket, evenly mixing the realgar powder into the water. Witnessing this, the young Daoist Mingxin’s eyes lit up with excitement. He tugged at Qi Wuhuo’s sleeve and exclaimed: “Uncle Master Qi! Uncle Master Qi! What kind of trick is this? It’s amazing!”
“Can you teach me?!”
Before Qi Wuhuo could respond, a Daoist scripture in the elder Daoist’s hand landed directly on Mingxin’s head. “Ah—!” The young Daoist yelped, rubbing his head, looking at his master with grievance.
The old Daoist shot him a glare. “Your primordial spirit is insufficient, your primordial qi still unstable, and your foundation is yet unsteady. Do you think you can perform such feats already? Are you not aiming too high without first mastering the basics?!”
Young Daoist Mingxin’s face fell, full of regret.
Qi Wuhuo merely smiled gently, choosing not to comment further. After all, this was Old Mister Ao Liu’s technique—it could not be taught without permission.
The Daoist temple stood on slightly higher ground within Zhongzhou City. From this vantage point, one could take in most of the cityscape at a glance. However, at this moment, Qi Wuhuo could not help but feel a tinge of regret—his cultivation was not yet sufficient. If he had already reached the realm of Innate One Qi, he could have shaped the realgar-infused water into dragons and serpents, sending them soaring into the clouds. Then, with but a single day’s effort, he could have blanketed the city in rain.
But now, that was impossible.
His cultivation was insufficient—such feats were beyond him.
He still had to carry the bucket and scatter the water by hand.
Upon hearing that this task meant escaping his usual studies, the young Daoist Mingxin eagerly volunteered. Having already nurtured his vital energy, he possessed ample strength.
The water bucket was quite large—large enough for a person to sit inside. The old Daoist once mentioned that when Mingxin was a child, he had been bathed in this very bucket while being held in his arms. Now, as a grown youth, Mingxin carried the bucket with ease, while Qi Wuhuo used his control over primordial qi to guide the water flow, ensuring minimal wastage as it was dispersed. By the time they had emptied the bucket, they had reached the end of the street—where yesterday’s porridge stall still remained.
A great monk had also set up a shelter, treating the sick.
Qi Wuhuo was slightly surprised but soon recognized the monk—it was an acquaintance. This was the very same monk who had once chased the fortune teller so relentlessly that the man had fled in a single breath all the way into a pleasure house in Pingkang Alley. The great monk recognized Qi Wuhuo as well and offered a gentle smile, nodding to indicate that the young Daoist should wait a moment. He then finished tending to a patient, taking out medicine and handing it over while patiently instructing on its proper usage and necessary precautions. Only after settling the patient did he rise and approach.
Pressing his palms together, his voice warm and steady, he greeted: “This humble monk greets the young Daoist. We meet again.”
Qi Wuhuo returned the gesture in the Daoist manner and asked: “Master, what brings you here?”
The great monk replied: “With the plague rampant in recent days, this humble monk had no choice but to let that fellow off for now and come here to tend to the sick.”
He was a monk who exuded a gentle and peaceful aura. Listening to the coughing sounds all around, he lowered his gaze and sighed softly, pressing his hands together:
“Compassion, compassion.”
“All beings suffer.”
“That fortune teller can wait—I can afford to let him go for now. But these people’s illness cannot be delayed.”
“At worst, I will simply let him escape for now and chase him down later.”
“Ah, young friend, would you like something to eat? I have dried soybeans here—they taste quite good.”
The young Daoist accepted the soybeans and handed them to Mingxin, then asked: “All beings suffer?”
The great monk nodded. “Indeed… Has the young Daoist ever heard of the most fundamental teachings of Buddhism?”
Qi Wuhuo replied: “I have not. I would appreciate Master’s guidance.”
As he brewed a pot of coarse tea, the monk explained: “The most fundamental concept in Buddhism is known as the Four Noble Truths.”
“The Four Noble Truths are suffering (dukkha), the cause of suffering (samudaya), the cessation of suffering (nirodha), and the path to cessation (magga). Among these, the most foundational truth is the Truth of Suffering—that all existence is suffering. Though the world has its moments of beauty and prosperity, such joy is fleeting. Youth and strength flourish, yet in the blink of an eye, one ages. Spring is bright and refreshing, but summer’s scorching heat follows swiftly. Flowers bloom in radiant splendor, only to wither and fall in an instant. This is the way of the world…”
The young Daoist pondered over this and murmured: “The Truth of Suffering?”
Following the monk’s gaze, he took in the scene before him.
Then, he gently shook his head and said: “I do not see it that way.”
“Though flowers fall, they once bloomed gloriously; though youth fades, is growing older truly suffering?”
“Master says the falling of flowers is suffering, but is it not merely a reluctance to part with the beauty of their bloom? To say that aging is suffering—is it not simply the desire to remain forever young?”
“This so-called [Truth of Suffering], this belief that all beings suffer. Is it not, in the end, merely because one is too deeply attached to them?”
The young Daoist sighed and said:
“The one who proposed this Truth of Suffering must have been a very gentle person, mustn’t they? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so gentle.”
“To love all beings in their most beautiful moments…”
“And yet, to hold onto the greatest desire—to wish for all beings to remain forever healthy and young, to wish for flowers to bloom without ever withering.”
“Such a wish. Such an attachment.”
The monk was momentarily stunned, as if he had encountered something beyond comprehension. Unconsciously, he looked at the young Daoist before him.
After a long silence, he finally said: “Young friend, you are truly gifted.”
“Among the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, the second is precisely the Truth of the Cause of Suffering—and it speaks of the very thing you just described. It says that all suffering arises from desire.”
“Beyond this, there are still two more truths—the Truth of the Cessation of Suffering and the Truth of the Path.”
“The [Truth of Cessation] states that only by cutting off the root cause of worldly suffering can one attain the ideal state.”
The young Daoist reflected on this, and naturally remarked: “That is rather extreme… To sever everything completely, leaving no retreat.”
“If that were the case, wouldn’t one then need to continue cultivating oneself further—to step back from such an extreme state, and return to a more natural stance?”
The monk fell into a deeper silence. After a long time, he let out a heavy sigh and said:
“Daoist… Such great insight.”
“The final truth is called the [Truth of the Path], which speaks of walking the highest path and reaching the ultimate realm.”
“It requires long and dedicated cultivation.”
The young Daoist took the tea the monk handed him, pondered for a long while, then said:
“I see now. [Suffering], [Cause], [Cessation], and [Path]—these are not separate, but the steps of a person’s journey.”
“When I look at these Four Noble Truths, I feel as though I am seeing him.”
“I see him loving all beings, then feeling sorrow upon realizing that all things are fleeting. Then, upon perceiving that everything’s end is inevitable, he begins to feel that the world is full of suffering, caught in hesitation and sorrow. Thus, he chooses to sever his own desires. Even so, he continues to love all beings—but he no longer suffers.”
“Yet in the end, he realizes that this path is extreme, and so he walks back.”
“This was his cultivation—a complete journey of [tempering the heart]. It was his Dharma. It was his Dao.”
“It was also his sorrow, and his attachment.”
“I see now.”
The great monk remained silent. He lifted his cup of tea—his hands trembled.
The monk’s hand trembled, unable to lift the tea.
After a long sigh, he fell silent, setting the teacup down. He stood up, half of his sleeves soaked, and with his hands pressed together, he said:
“True Person, such a heart for the Dao!”
“It is said that the Buddha briefly appeared beneath the Bodhi tree before disappearing, not entering the world but instead revealing the fundamental teachings of Buddhism. Among them is this truth: All things are contained within the Four Noble Truths. Thus, it is said that the Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva has a mount named [Diting]—[Listening to the Four Truths]. It is said to hear all the suffering, desire, and truths of the world.”
He was about to continue when, suddenly, he paused.
In fact, almost everyone raised their heads.
The entire city seemed to come alive. Everyone looked toward the west. It wasn’t even noon yet, but suddenly, great swathes of red light, like blood, surged in the western sky. The light was like crimson clouds. Within the city of Zhongzhou, the bell at the Buddhist temple rang, swaying without wind, ringing out eighteen times. The great monk stood frozen for a long time. His hands trembled, and suddenly—
His prayer beads scattered, falling to the ground.
In the blood-red light, the character for Buddha, engraved on the beads, looked as though it were drenched in crimson.
The great monk remained silent for a long time, murmuring:
“There is a Buddha.”
“Has it attained Nirvana…?”
