Chapter 30

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Record of Ascension to Immortality…?

Qi Wuhuo stared at the words on the yellowed paper. The handwriting was sharp and forceful. Even though the script was somewhat faded, it still revealed the youthful vigor and boundless ambition of its writer. As he continued to read, he realized that it was simply a cultivation journal. It recorded every crucial step of the writer’s cultivation process, and beside each step, detailed reflections were written, offering insights that were highly beneficial to Qi Wuhuo.

In addition to these cultivation notes, the journal also included personal entries about the writer’s life.

‘July 13th, clear skies, my Qi cultivation has borne fruit. At thirteen, my Primordial Qi has reached great success—I am truly a genius!’

‘Neither my father nor my grandfather can compare to me!’

‘With my sword in hand, I gaze down upon the mortal world. Ha! Who can match my elegance and grace?!’

‘Ha! In the future, I shall record my journey to immortality, as a legacy for future generations. My disciples shall take pride in this.’

‘I shall name it… Record of Ascension to Immortality!’

The tone of these lines was confident and free-spirited, filled with youthful pride, which made Qi Wuhuo smile despite himself.

However, as he thought about Tantai Xuan’s behavior, his brow furrowed slightly.

Could it be that this scroll was seized after he killed some young cultivator?

Was this the journal of the original owner of that [Mingzhen Dao Alliance] waist token?

When he turned to the second page, the journal began detailing a few basic spells. It was still written in the same youthful hand: ‘When a cultivator’s Primordial Qi has not yet merged with their Primordial Essence, their Primordial Qi cannot be projected outside the body, making it impossible to cast spells directly. However, even at this stage, with the proper setup of a ritual altar, one can still manifest powers similar to divine abilities.’

‘Therefore, one could also be called a [Daoist], to signify that they are no longer an ordinary person.’

Then, there was an additional note: ‘Yesterday, the old man beat me up. When he’s old, I’ll feed him the worst medicine, ha! And no sugar allowed!’

The rest of the sentence had been scribbled out, as if the writer had been forced to stop, likely while being smacked by his elders. The paper bore the faint impression of a young face being pressed against it.

An added note followed——

‘After getting hit,  I’ll allow one piece of candy.’

Qi Wuhuo couldn’t help but smile.

On this page, the recorded ritual-based abilities included [Stop-Bleeding Incantation], [Evil-Repeling Technique], and [Concealment Technique].

It went on to explain in detail how to circulate Primordial Qi, how to step through the stars in the Tiangang pattern, and how to perform these spells in the realm of cultivation of Primordial Essence.

After reading it, Qi Wuhuo gained some insights.

Further down, it described the young writer being forced by his elders to do chores.

Finally, he jumped up in anger.

‘Grinding tofu, grinding tofu, grind your uncle’s [scribbled out] tofu!’

‘I’m a swordsman, a swordsman, not a tofu grinder!’

‘That old man is infuriating! Talking about “entering the world before transcending it!” What a joke, what a joke!’

‘Who enters the world by grinding tofu every day?!’

‘The smell of tofu is so strong, sob, sob, sob…’

‘My flowing white robes, my graceful sword immortal aura, my image! Am I really destined to wear these clothes, carry a sword, and grind tofu?!’

‘No, no, I’m a genius! I must create a divine ability for grinding tofu!’

‘It’s decided!’

‘I am a genius!’

Qi Wuhuo could almost envision a peer of his age, carrying a sword, squatting in frustration, grinding tofu while gritting his teeth. His freshly bought white robes, meant for a heroic young swordsman, reeked of tofu. On the verge of tears with fury, he resolved to invent a spell just for grinding tofu.

Qi Wuhuo flipped to the next page and froze, seeing each character written clearly——

[Tofu-Pushing Incantation]

The name was simple and unembellished, and the accompanying chant was so casually and naturally written that it drew a laugh. It was evident that the incantation was something the mischievous youth had created for fun.

The incantation read: One, two, three, four, five Ancestors, five spirits of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. The disciple recites the chant in his heart.

Boil the beans, burn the bean stalks, and the beans weep in the pot. Though born of the same root, why such haste to fry one another? If it’s not clear, it’s not clear; if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.

Turn the slurry into a basin of water. A thousand spirits, ten thousand spirits, may the spell work immediately!

“It actually exists?”

Not only did it exist, but there was also a [Pig-Slaying Incantation]—the reason being that forcing a majestic sword immortal to have to hold down a pig and kill it.

After being rammed in the stomach by a wild boar, the pain was unbearable, and they rolled around on the ground in agony. It was truly humiliating.

So, he created a spell!

Of course, it wasn’t this sword immortal who had been knocked over by the boar!

There was also a [Wine-and-Meat Cooking Incantation]—the reason being that his cooking was so bad it made him sick.

Then, there was a [Retreat and Prank Incantation]—a spell specifically designed for young people who had been childhood sweethearts to cause trouble when they are preparing to enter the bridal chamber.

A [Bone-Melting Needle-Swallowing Method]—invented by a northern cultivator who, after eating fish for the first time, got a bone stuck in his throat. Drinking vinegar didn’t help, so he created this spell!

As Qi Wuhuo continued reading, it was as though he could see the youth laughing, cursing, wild and untamed. Full of the vigor of youth, he trained, lived, and practiced swordsmanship. At thirteen, he had mastered Qi cultivation, at seventeen, he developed sword intent, and by twenty-one, he had cultivated Innate Qi, boasting that he was unmatched in the world. The journal meticulously recorded all his inheritances, techniques, and divine abilities.

Qi Wuhuo slowly read on, gaining a deeper understanding, and carefully memorized the methods for these divine techniques.

There were sections on swordsmanship, miscellaneous arts, exorcising ghosts and banishing evil spirits, medical skills, fortune-telling, and talismans.

He had just finished noting down a technique that used one’s own Primordial Qi to heal another’s body.

A small technique to achieve the effect of [Supporting righteousness and expelling evil]. As he turned the page again, he was slightly taken aback.

‘Year eighteen, today Zong Wei is getting married.’

‘The one she loves in her heart is me, I know this.’

‘But my heart was only for the Dao, with no other desires. I watched her marry someone else from the mountaintop in the rain, then turned and left.’

‘I wandered the world, seeking masters and the Dao, cultivating both nature and life.’

‘Year thirty-one, July—’

‘While passing a secluded temple, I encountered rampant demons. I slew them with my sword, and among them was a tree demon with significant cultivation.’

‘I pursued it for a hundred li, slaying one hundred and thirty-one ghosts, bearing dozens of wounds, and saving thirteen people.’

‘At sunrise, I drank wine beneath the purple clouds of dawn, drunk and exhilarated!’

‘Year thirty-six, August—’

‘The road was hard, and I encountered a great drought. I summoned water to relieve the people.’

‘Bought a jug of wine and left without a word.’

‘Year forty-one, June—’

‘I encountered an evil cultivator who practiced by killing innocents. Enraged, I pursued and slayed him with my sword, though I was gravely wounded and lost thirteen years of my lifespan.’

‘He said that one day, I too would fall onto this dark path.’

‘Ha! What a joke, what a joke! We cultivators must be like swords, standing tall with a clear conscience. If that day ever comes, I would rather end my life by my own sword!’

‘How dare he try to shake my Dao heart!’

‘Demonic fiends must be eradicated by all!’

‘Year fifty—’

‘My breakthrough… failed. Ha, no matter. I’ll set aside cultivation for today and drink wine instead!’

‘Year fifty-one—’

‘Another failed breakthrough… forget it, forget it.’

‘Year fifty-three—’

‘Yet another failure.’

‘Year sixty—Returned home.’

‘Zong Wei is dead. I watched as her body was carried away before my eyes.’

‘My heart ached sharply, filled with sorrow and confusion, and once again, I climbed the mountain.’

‘It was here that I watched her marry, and here I saw her depart from this world. I witnessed her entire life.’

‘That night, I drank alone and became drunk. In my dreams, it seemed as though I saw myself and her from our younger days. My heart was filled with melancholy. Upon waking, I was lost in thought. Should I have followed my true feelings and taken her with me… A lifetime of cultivation, and I have achieved nothing here.’

‘Did I make the wrong choice?’

As Qi Wuhuo continued flipping through the pages, he saw that the once proud and spirited young swordsman had gone through too much, seeing his friends die one by one, while no matter how hard he cultivated, he always fell short, always just one step away. The sixtieth year, the seventieth year, the eightieth year—it was always the same. Finally, upon reaching the account of his hundredth year of cultivation, Qi Wuhuo saw that the handwriting had become chaotic and deranged.

‘Failed again! Failed again! Failed again!’

‘Could it be that the battles of my youth damaged my foundation?! If only I had known, if only I had known…’

‘If I had known earlier, I wouldn’t have saved those people!’

‘I should’ve let them die, die, die!’

‘Year one hundred and ten.’

‘Failure, failure, failure, failure!!’

‘Year one hundred and seventeen.’

‘I attempted to refine the Blood Demon Pill. I only borrowed a little human blood; it won’t affect their lifespan, it won’t.’

‘It worked, it worked… hahahaha, it worked, it really worked!’

‘I feel like some of my foundation has returned. My Primordial Qi, my Primordial Qi is boiling, it’s boiling!’

‘There’s a chance, there’s still a chance! I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!’

Qi Wuhuo stared at the page, his breath slightly catching. He now knew exactly who this book had belonged to.

Taking a deep breath, he quickly flipped through the following pages. The handwriting, as sharp as a blade, chronicled the steady descent of a once proud youth into madness. First, it was using human blood to refine pills, then it was stealing the lifespans of others, and finally, taking their very fates. His personality changed—he became increasingly unhinged, paranoid, and desperate. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to extend his life. Eventually, Qi Wuhuo reached the final page, where the last entry was written:

‘Spring of the one hundred and thirty-first year.’

‘Zong Wei’s grandson has also passed away.’

‘My hometown truly holds no meaning for me anymore. I feel like a drifting weed, or a worm gnawing at the world’s fabric. The things of this world seem to have no connection to me anymore. My family is gone, my friends have all perished. A sudden wave of melancholy overtakes me.’

‘I drank wine and got drunk. While walking alone at night, I saw a river flowing by, and my lips were parched, so I thought I would drink some water to moisten my throat.’

‘The moonlight is bright tonight. I lowered my head and suddenly froze.’

“In the water beneath the moonlight, the reflection seemed like me, and yet not like me… It was the image of a young man, with sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes, glaring at me angrily. It looked like how I appeared in my youth, as if ready to draw his sword and kill me. I froze, overwhelmed by the killing intent, and fell to the ground. I don’t know why, but I was enraged.”

“I called upon my sword box, slashing the water into shattered pieces, panting heavily. Yet, I still seemed to see my younger self standing within the mist, watching me. He seemed distant, and yet so close.”

“His eyes were too bright—I hated them.”

“He said, [Demonic fiends must be eradicated!]'”

“I returned home, but ever since that day, the sword I used in my youth has, for some unknown reason, often let out a mournful wail in the night.”

“It is an ominous sword.”

“I suppose I’m going to die soon…”

“I wanted to smash it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I bound it with countless red strings, binding both it and ‘myself’.”

“I desire, immortality.”

PS:

Those incantations also come from folk lineages.