Chapter 53
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Qi Wuhuo walked toward the young woman. On either side, the sea of flowers was filled with rare and exquisite immortal blossoms, their fragrance invigorating the spirit, sharpening the mind, and clearing the heart. For those newly embarking on the path of cultivation, meditating here and refining their soul would yield the equivalent of a thousand days’ progress in a single day. However, Qi Wuhuo, with his already strong and pure primordial spirit, merely found the scenery exceptionally beautiful.
Everywhere he looked, the vistas were breathtakingly serene. Compared to the location of his senior brother, this place seemed far more suited for tranquil cultivation.
His Senior Sister Yumiao’s cultivation appeared to be extraordinarily advanced, likely far surpassing the level of a True Person. As Qi Wuhuo approached, the sea of flowers parted before him, forming a path leading directly to her. Pausing briefly, the young Daoist adjusted the sword box on his back, held his whisk with his hand, and walked forward step by step. Yumiao seemed to sense his presence and perhaps even guess his purpose, yet she greeted him with a warm smile, inviting him to sit.
As Qi Wuhuo walked closer, he noticed that the man beside her remained entirely unaware of his arrival.
Everything seemed to come naturally.
It is as if beyond this world lies another world, the two both overlapping and yet distinct from each other.
The profundity was indescribable, a seamless unity beyond words.
This woman, whom Qi Wuhuo regarded as possessing the most gentle and graceful demeanor he had ever seen, smiled as she brought flower tea for him. Holding the teapot, she poured tea for him, her words and actions exuding calmness and poise.
“Is this my junior brother?”
Qi Wuhuo clasped his hands in greeting. “Xuanwei greets Senior Sister.”
Yumiao said: “Xuanwei?”
She seemed somewhat surprised, but then smiled and said gently: “The Daoist heart is subtle, refined, and unified, steadfastly holding to its center.”
“It seems Teacher has high expectations for you—much higher than for us, it appears.”
She gestured for the young Daoist to sit and watched as he raised the teacup to take a sip. The tea was delicate yet slightly sweet, its flavor subtle yet somehow intense.
Yumiao smiled softly and explained: “I added some nectar from the spiritual flowers I cultivate. It helps to heal hidden injuries and ailments within the body.”
“Of course, that’s not the main point. Children always prefer something sweet, don’t they?”
The young Daoist instinctively wanted to refute her, but then he remembered his teacher’s candied hawthorn.
Somehow, this method seemed oddly familiar.
Yumiao continued softly: “You’ve come here, and Teacher is nearby, isn’t he?”
“Is Teacher well?”
Qi Wuhuo looked at the gentle woman before him and replied: “Teacher is doing very well.”
Yumiao’s gaze lowered slightly, her expression momentarily distant. She murmured to herself: “I see… That’s good.”
“That’s good.”
She lifted her eyes to look at Qi Wuhuo, as though she already knew the answer, and asked: “I haven’t asked yet—Xuanwei, what brings you here?”
The young Daoist set down his teacup and said: “I am here to invite Senior Sister to return to the mountain to cultivate.”
Yumiao replied: “To return to the sect, to travel the world, to cultivate one’s nature and life, is that it?”
Her gaze turned toward the elderly man beside her. He was already visibly aged, his vitality waning. Yumiao remained silent for a long time before she suddenly spoke:
“Little Junior Brother, you’re young. Do you understand what it means to have a Dao companion?”
The young Daoist sat upright and answered:
“I’ve never experienced it myself, but I’ve heard of the saying, ‘To envy mandarin ducks rather than immortals’.”
“I’ve heard many such stories.”
His voice paused briefly before he began recounting the stories he had seen in his dreams, narrating them slowly and with care.
True Person Yumiao listened with a smile, occasionally nodding and occasionally sighing.
When the story ended, Qi Wuhuo looked at her once more and asked: “Senior Sister, are you willing to return and continue your cultivation?”
True Person Yumiao did not answer immediately. Instead, she took out a jade plaque and gently placed it on the table. On its surface, the words [Yumiao], written in elegant cloud-like script, glimmered and shifted. She lightly pushed it toward Qi Wuhuo, making her decision clear. Then, with a faint smile, she asked: “Junior Brother, do you think Senior Sister is like the characters in the stories you told?”
The young Daoist had already stood, but hearing her question, he hesitated. Memories of what he had witnessed with Yuyang resurfaced, churning in his mind. He paused, then clasped his hands and said:
“Senior Sister, do you not know that excessive attachment is like sinking into a mire?”
Yumiao replied simply: “I know.”
The Daoist, still young, was taken aback by her direct response. He fell quiet for a moment before asking:
“Then why, if you know this, do you not leave?”
Yumiao answered: “Because I am unwilling.”
Qi Wuhuo repeated the words, tasting them carefully. “Unwilling?”
She nodded gently. “Yes.”
Then, in a calm and serene tone, she continued: “This is already the fifth cycle of reincarnation.”
“The Great Dao is an arduous path. Not everyone is destined for immortality. Even attaining the lowest form of longevity among the Earth Deities or ascending through accumulated external merits and blessings, requires fate and opportunity. At the beginning, as you might have guessed, I only thought about righteousness and loyalty. Life after life, never parting—that was the only way to honor the trust we placed in each other during life and death back then.”
“The first lifetime was like this, and the second was the same. Until the third life.”
“I found his reincarnation early. I watched as he was born, wailing loudly in pain. I saw him grow up, forgetting everything from before, and once again experience the cycle of birth, aging, sickness, and death, the separations and suffering of the mortal world. I watched him walk the path I guided him toward, only to see his body age, decay, and crumble. I listened to his loud coughing as he passed away, and I found myself lost in thought. What was I doing?”
“If I truly care for him, then why should I, because of my own attachment, subject him to such suffering?”
“When I realized that it was my obsession and madness that caused him to endure the endless pain of reincarnation again and again, I was so distraught that even my Primordial Spirit could not find peace. How, then, could I continue cultivating?”
She gazed softly at Qi Wuhuo and spoke in a quiet voice:
“I know that I am trapped in the mire of attachment, bound by the threads and net of emotion.”
“I know my cultivation will not advance.”
“Yet, even knowing this, I will not change my choice.”
“I will still fulfill the promise I made back then—not out of obsession or selfishness this time.”
Her voice softened, filled with warmth, as she said: “But to free him from the very obsession I once imposed upon him.”
“When I have guided him onto the proper path of cultivation, only then will I return to the path myself. If it cannot be done in one lifetime, I will try in three. If three lifetimes are not enough, I will persist into the future. Even if I myself fall into the cycle of reincarnation, I will not hesitate as long as it is for him.”
“The Dao and karmic ties—I have already understood them.”
“Entering this tribulation—I have already come to terms with it.”
“But, Little Junior Brother, to see through something does not mean one must break through it. It is not that I cannot—it is that I will not.”
“Within and beyond the Dao, though I may not have fully grasped it, I have never been apart from it, not for an instant.”
To see through yet refuse to let go, to remain bound rather than seek freedom…
Qi Wuhuo reflected that his senior sister was fundamentally different from his senior brother.
One was lost in blind obsession.
The other had clarity but chose not to act on it.
Comparing the two, the impact on his heart becomes more intense.
After a moment of silence, he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty:
“Even if it means being expelled from the school, you would still choose this path?”
True Person Yumiao replied calmly: “To abandon my own choice just to remain in Master’s sect—that would mean losing my Dao.”
“That would be the true betrayal of my Teacher’s grace.”
Her response, so different from Yuyang’s choice, deepened Qi Wuhuo’s understanding even as it left him more confused.
True Person Yumiao turned her gaze back to the elderly man beside her, no longer speaking.
In her eyes, Qi Wuhuo saw something he could not easily describe—a vastness and compassion that transcended words.
It was not the absence of feeling, nor a cold detachment, but rather a magnanimity that had outgrown the entanglements of obsession. It felt serene, boundless, and profoundly tender.
The young Daoist stood there in thought for a long time.
At last, he bowed slightly to his senior sister, picked up the jade slip from the table, and turned to leave.
He had taken only a few steps when a sudden gust of wind blew from behind him. Something was thrown toward him—a scroll. Though not yet at the level of Innate Qi, Qi Wuhuo was agile and quick. He raised his hand, catching the scroll in midair. The moment it landed in his palm, the scroll unraveled and disintegrated into particles of light, which surged into his brow. Within his mind, four radiant characters, written in resplendent cloud-like script, appeared:
<The Hunyuan Sword Canon>
[TL_Note: Hunyuan = time immemorial / origin of the universe]
In the hierarchy of cultivation texts, there were five major categories: [Mysterious Methods] [Profound Chapters] [Jade Formulas] [Daoist Canons] [True Scriptures].
The Primordial Sword Canon belonged to the second-highest tier, just below the True Scriptures.
The woman smiled and said: “Teacher always described me as one with ‘sword intent carved into my very bones, a true cultivator’.”
“This is the culmination of my life’s swordsmanship.”
She looked up at the young Daoist before her, poised, spirited, and free from worldly entanglements. For a fleeting moment, she seemed to see herself from years ago—carrying a sword, unburdened by emotions or karma. Back then, the world seemed vast, and she had believed that with a single sword strike, she could cut through anything. But later, she learned that the world was not so simple.
Even the sharpest sword could not sever the threads of emotion.
For both herself and the young man before her, the ultimate test was to [see] oneself.
With a gentle smile, she spoke, as though conversing with the younger version of herself:
“When I was young, I was full of vigor and ambition. I took this grand name, intending to aim my sword straight toward the Dao fruit of the Primordial True Immortal. In the end, I trapped myself here. Perhaps I wasn’t as remarkable as I once believed. But this text will suffice to guide you into the way of the sword. I truly hope, Little Junior Brother, that one day your sword can point toward the ultimate realm of the Primordial Dao.”
“Since this is the first time meeting you, Senior Sister must give you a meeting gift.”
“After all, the next time we meet, I won’t recognize you.”
“Ah, no, I should say that I won’t remember you.”
“If, one day, you still remember your Senior Sister and return here, don’t disturb me. Just pluck a flower by the roadside. That will be enough.”
Yumiao smiled, her gaze warm and serene, her expression imbued with a calmness that bore a faint resemblance to their teacher’s boundless composure:
“They’re flowers I planted myself—they should still be good.”
Qi Wuhuo bowed deeply, offering a formal salute. Without saying more, he turned and walked away.
As the mysterious world dissolved, the vibrant sea of flowers and bamboo groves returned to their ordinary, tranquil state. The old man beside Yumiao never noticed the presence of the young Daoist. All he sensed was a subtle change in his wife—something heavy that had lingered in her heart seemed to have unraveled. Her demeanor was serene, though tinged with sadness. He asked gently: “What’s wrong?”
She replied: “Nothing.”
Her voice paused briefly, and then she smiled. “It’s just that I seemed to catch a glimpse of my younger self.”
The man murmured: “Really? Your younger self…”
He sighed, then said warmly: “Then why didn’t you follow that version of yourself and leave?”
Yumiao answered: “People grow up. The karma they weave is real, the experiences they endure are real. Naturally, there is no going back.”
“Nor do I wish to go back.”
“If it were so easy to turn back, wouldn’t that mean all the struggles I’ve endured, all the reflections, gains, and losses along the way, were false?”
She smiled softly, but within her words remained the resolute determination of the sword immortal she once was—the same resolve that had earned her the elder’s regard.
“Even if it’s false, I’ll walk this path I’ve chosen to its end.”
“And if it truly turns out to be a dead end, I’ll sigh, laugh, and say, ‘Ah, so that’s all it was.’ And in the end, it won’t matter.”
“The flowers are in full bloom today. Shall we go take a look?”
She pushed her husband’s wheelchair toward the sea of flowers, fully aware that her path now diverged completely from that of the young Daoist she had just met. Yet she felt no regret.
Step by step, she walked farther away, the distance between her and the boy growing ever greater.
“The highest path transcends emotions; the lowest path falls short of understanding them.
Yet where emotions are most deeply concentrated,
is precisely in people like us.”
