Chapter 63
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Qi Wuhuo’s body was now coursing with Primordial Qi, far more abundant and majestic than he had ever perceived before.
With the rapid surge of this Qi, a profound and boundless sensation began to rise in his heart.
It was as though an awareness, long erased by the passage of time, was resurfacing.
At this moment, Qi Wuhuo became certain: he had indeed been meditating for an entire year.
And it had all happened upon that river.
As the memory surfaced, he recalled his teacher smiling at him back then, saying: “…It’s only just nightfall now. Such precious time must not be wasted. I’ve told you before, whether it’s refining essence or regulating your breath to absorb Primordial Qi, there are limits to how long one can endure—too much, and it will harm the body. But today, since [you’ve eaten something nourishing], there will be no such restriction…”
“Let’s see [how long] you can meditate.”
Back then, his teacher’s smile had been warm and filled with expectation.
It seemed he genuinely wanted to test Qi Wuhuo’s perseverance and see just how long he could meditate.
Qi Wuhuo had thought it would be no more than a couple of hours. Taking the words to heart, he focused on meditating and gradually entered a state of forgetfulness where self and surroundings melded into one.
Though it was difficult, his teacher had not called for him, so he assumed it was merely an illusion of discomfort, and the time had not been long at all.
He kept telling himself to hold on a little longer. Since Teacher had not spoken, it must not yet be time. He felt neither hunger nor fatigue. In that state of merging with his surroundings, oblivious to the passage of time, he simply focused on guiding his Qi and meditating. Perhaps even the old man himself had not anticipated that, under such circumstances, Qi Wuhuo could persist in meditation endlessly.
Later, his perception of time’s passage was once again obscured by the elder.
He merely believed he had meditated for a single day.
In reality, on that river, he had truly meditated for a full year.
The young Daoist, possessing remarkable insight, immediately grasped what was about to transpire.
Primordial Qi was like water.
When he had not realized he had meditated for an entire year, his spiritual essence and his far more potent Primordial Spirit, compared to his Primordial Qi cultivation level, acted like a dam, naturally sealing the flow of Primordial Qi within him.
But when he broke through the [Barrier of Perception] left behind by his teacher,
It was as though the dam had been breached.
The stored waters surged forth, cascading with unstoppable force.
Qi Wuhuo still vividly remembered a story he had once seen in a dream. After [Bi Gan’s] heart was removed, he had asked others whether a person could live without a heart.
The answer came: “A vegetable may live without a heart, but a person without a heart must perish.” Upon hearing this, Bi Gan died.
This was what was referred to as a [Barrier].
He had never expected to encounter a similar situation in his own cultivation.
At this moment, the vast Primordial Qi coursed rapidly through his body, yet for now, he was unable to control it smoothly.
The young Daoist felt the discomfort in his body growing more intense, as if he were on the verge of bursting apart. His own spirituality constantly warned him, urging Qi Wuhuo to act. He knew he had to immediately sit down and cultivate, or risk straying onto a perilous path. Struggling to stand, the elder also rose, observing Qi Wuhuo’s state with a look of astonishment and uncertainty. “Ah, little Daoist, you…”
“Why is your face so pale?!”
“Did the acupuncture just now deplete your Primordial Qi?!”
Forcing a reply, Qi Wuhuo said: “No, it’s nothing. I just have something to attend to…”
Even at this moment, he refrained from troubling others. Stumbling unsteadily, he made his way to a firewood shed. Once inside, he shut the door and said: “I… have some matters to take care of here… let me borrow this place for now…” Barely finishing his words, he slid the latch into place. Unable to hold on any longer, he collapsed onto the damp firewood. The Primordial Qi within him surged uncontrollably, almost as if breaking free from his command.
The young Daoist’s Qi began to spill outward,
Enveloping him like a fallen immortal who had descended into the mortal realm.
Vague and ethereal, as though shrouded in mist and shadow.
In that moment of haze and confusion, his mind seemed to return to the time when he had been meditating on that boat.
Practicing Qi circulation and meditation consumes essence and vitality. Even for an orthodox Daoist cultivator, overindulgence is prohibited, and one must not exceed daily limits.
Yet Qi Wuhuo’s Qi circulation and meditation had persisted uninterrupted for an entire year without a single day of rest.
Now, at long last, it was time to reap the rewards.
Qi Wuhuo clasped his hands into a Daoist seal, forcing himself into a cross-legged position. With his eyes lowered, he steadied his mind and began to regulate his breathing.
[Guiding Qi through the Spirit]
After waking from the fleeting dream of Golden Millet, the once-robust foundation of his Primordial Spirit began to circulate. It harnessed the Primordial Qi that had accumulated over an entire year of ceaseless meditation, now erupting within him, and started flowing through his body, slowly digesting the gains from this year-long meditation. Meanwhile, his relatively weaker Primordial Essence and Primordial Qi—when compared to the strength of his Primordial Spirit—were also rapidly improving.
“Where is he?!”
“I said, where did he go?! Where’s the person?!”
“Damn it! Put it down! I said put it down, you idiot! That meat bun isn’t for you, dumbass!”
“Mmm-mmm, mmm-mmm!” (You bought it for me!)
“If you keep eating, I swear I’ll string you up, beat you into eighteen different poses, and stuff your two mouths with straw!”
The men in the small Earth God Temple continued their quarrel, hurling insults that seemed to come from the most absurd and vulgar corners of their imagination, their words spilling out like a torrent. Suddenly, a sharp crack resounded. The crowd, previously fighting over a meat bun, froze in unison. Their bodies remained still, but their eyes darted about, meeting each other’s gaze with confusion and suspicion .”Did you hear something?”
“Sounded like it.”
“Hiss… Could it be that this place is about to collapse?”
They scanned the surroundings, alarmed by the sharp noise. Their eyes turned toward the altar, and what they saw made their blood run cold. The statue representing the local Earth Deity had begun to crack. Fine dust crumbled and slid off its surface with increasing intensity. At first, it was only small particles, but soon chunks of stone began to break away. Finally, with a thunderous boom, the entire statue shattered.
Boom!!!!!!
The idol collapsed into rubble.
The beggars and vagrants leapt back in terror, shouting as they stumbled away. When the dust settled, they saw that the altar atop the temple platform was now utterly empty, reduced to ruins. Only three faint trails of incense smoke lingered, drifting slowly upward. The wind could not disperse them, and their ascent seemed to carry an ancient, otherworldly aura, as though they stretched toward a time immemorial.
The man stared blankly at the collapsed statue, an absurd thought surfacing in his mind for no apparent reason.
It didn’t seem like it had crumbled from years of neglect or disrepair.
Instead, it felt as if…
As if the Earth Deity couldn’t bear this offering.
As if it couldn’t endure these three sticks of incense.
Deep within the earth’s veins, in the abode of Earth Deities, a gathering of deities took place. The table was set with cups of tea, yet the atmosphere was unlike the usual serene and philosophical discussions. Today, many Mountain Gods were dressed in solemn attire, their expressions heavy with complexity. After a long silence, a tall man hurried into the hall. His voice carried urgency as he announced: “A great gale suddenly arose at Juyun Peak for no apparent reason!”
“My residence was blown three hundred miles away!”
“I had to spend all my time retrieving it before I could rush back here.”
He offered this as the reason for his late arrival. However, when he saw the grave expressions on the faces of the gathered deities, his tone shifted as he asked: “Brother Zhou, is it true that he can’t hold on anymore?”
The complex looks of the Earth Spirits confirmed the severity of the situation, and the Mountain God of Juyun Peak fell silent.
He frowned slightly and turned his gaze toward the elder seated at the center. This elder wore a majestic blue satin robe embroidered with landscapes, adorned with patterns of a hundred bats and a hundred butterflies. His feet were clad in fine silk boots, and a jade belt encircled his waist. His demeanor radiated authority. The Mountain God of Juyun Peak stepped forward, performed a respectful salute, and asked: “Lord Lingmiao, is there truly no solution?”
This individual is the foremost among the many mountains and rivers of Zhongzhou. Granted an official title by the Earth Spirit lineage, he is revered as the Great Compassionate and Merciful One of Zhongzhou, known as the Gatherer of Mystical Clouds, Lord Lingmiao.
At over two thousand years old, he possessed vast knowledge and profound cultivation.
Yet even Lord Lingmiao could only sigh in response: “What solution could there possibly be?”
“Ordinary Land and Mountain Gods typically have a lifespan of only three to five hundred years, referred to as ‘minor freedom.’ When they pass on, they leave behind an imprinted seal, and others naturally inherit their position through karmic connections. By obtaining this seal, the successor continues to fulfill the duties of the Earth Spirit. However, if an Earth Spirit is unwilling to perish like this, they must either diligently cultivate or follow the path of incense offerings, gathering the power of incense and prayers.”
“Cultivation is arduous, but incense power comes swiftly.”
“He chose the shortcut.”
“Taking shortcuts isn’t inherently wrong.”
“But he had a pliant nature back then and was overly responsive to prayers, making himself highly manifest. Over time, the incense he gathered grew increasingly impure.”
“To seek is to crave—fame, fortune, and all manner of desires.”
“The more manifest he was, the more such supplicants he attracted, people driven by various worldly cravings. This sort of incense is inherently chaotic. In the end, no one truly worshipped him with sincerity. Look at him now, corroded by the poison of incense offerings. His cultivation was insufficient, and his natural lifespan has reached its end. What else can he do but succumb…”
Lord Lingmiao sighed deeply.
“In the end, reliance on incense cultivates swift but unstable power. It was never the proper path.”
“Now that he seeks to shift to diligent cultivation, relying on the Earth Veins to temper himself, it’s already too late.”
“I fear today marks the end of his days.”
They felt a collective pang of sorrow. Though lamenting was futile, they grieved for one of their own—a companion who had worked alongside them for centuries. It was only proper that they should see him off on his final journey. From the inner chambers came faint sounds of movement. Exchanging glances, they filed inside. They found the Earth God lying on his bed, his vitality all but extinguished, the very picture of an oil lamp guttering out. His lifespan had nearly run its course.
Outside, the sound of cracking stone rang out. The statue before the old Land God’s residence shattered, scattering into pieces.
The gathered deities’ expressions darkened.
“He’s close to falling…”
Suddenly, from beyond the heavens, three columns of incense drifted in, their smoke pristine and pure.
They arrived slowly, yet with unwavering purpose.
