Chapter 122 – What Makes One an Immortal, What Qualifies as the Dao

Qi Wuhuo’s temperament was calm and tranquil. He did not perceive anything amiss or unusual. In that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, he opened his eyes and saw that an old man was sitting right before him. The surrounding light was dim and gentle, like the setting sun in the afternoon—warm, peaceful—inviting one to unconsciously relax, and to drift into drowsiness. On the table, there still seemed to be that lamp—woven of gauze, its light coming from the insects within.

In that moment of daze, it felt as if he had returned to his home at the foot of Helian Mountain, to that small courtyard.

Plum blossoms in the yard. Passersby beyond the window. Distant verdant mountains.

The old man sat before him, and the young Daoist had only just finished his meditation and breath cultivation. The afternoon drowsiness had come upon him, and he had rested his head lightly upon the wooden table, drifting off. The elder waved his hand, picked up a sheet of white paper, and gazed upon the characters written there. After a long while, he spoke gently:

“Wuhuo, you have experienced much, haven’t you?”

The young Daoist gave a quiet “Mm” in response.

The old man’s gaze was gentle, and he said: “During the time that your teacher was not by your side, how have you been?”

“Have you found things you liked? And what have you seen?”

The young Daoist replied: “Your disciple has seen many things along the road.”

The old man stroked his beard and smiled warmly: “Oh? Do tell.”

The young Daoist began slowly recounting his experiences—what he had seen and heard. He had witnessed the mortal world, known much sorrow and hardship. It was as if he had returned to those idle days living beneath the mountain. The old man, just as before, listened quietly and kindly to the youth’s stories. Then he stroked his beard and said: “I see. The time may not have been long, but the experiences have been plentiful.”

“Then, Wuhuo—having cultivated to this point—have you gained anything?”

The old man asked with a smile:

“Do you understand that to cling to the myriad affairs of the world, to keep them close to your heart, will scatter your spirit and distract your mind, and bring no benefit to walking the Way of Immortality?”

The young Daoist replied: “I do understand. But, Teacher, this disciple believes I have not strayed from the path.”

“To know nothing of the human world—”

“How then can one speak of becoming an immortal?”

“What I cultivate is the Way of Man.”

The old man said nothing more. He simply gazed gently at his young disciple, eyes filled with both praise and a hint of sorrow. In the end, he said not a word—only reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, just as he used to in the days at the foot of the mountain, when the youth would fall asleep peacefully. The old man quietly gathered the sheets of white paper and then, holding a scroll of the Daoist Canon, sat beneath the lamplight and read in silence. Thus, time passed in calm stillness.

“Uncle Master Qi? Uncle Master Qi, wake up…”

“Feeling sleepy?”

When the little Daoist Mingxin pushed open the door, he saw the young Daoist sleeping with his head on the desk.

The sheets of paper on the desk had all been neatly stacked.

So he tiptoed over cautiously. Seeing that the writing on those pages was all in cloud seal script, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it and gave up, lowering his head and whispering softly: “Uncle Master Qi~”

“The food is ready, do you want to eat?”

“Do you want to eat? Do you—”

Before he could finish speaking, he got a light tap on the head. The elder Daoist placed a hand on his disciple’s head, shook his own, and lowered his voice, saying, “Quiet down…” Then he looked at the sleeping young Daoist and sighed, murmuring: “Judging by his state, he must’ve gone through something. His spirit seems quite worn.”

When they looked at the sleeping youth, his eyes were closed, and his brow was serene and handsome.

Gone was the air of ease he usually carried during idle conversations—now he looked just like a child.

He was a child.

The old Daoist thought to himself, at this age, they ought to be wandering the land with a sword on their backs, chasing after the spring blossoms and singing orioles, cultivating together with their senior brothers and sisters. What could have happened to bring things to this point? The young Daoist Mingxin widened his eyes, reached out, and poked the boy’s cheek. Then he quickly pulled back his hand and whispered:

“Uncle Master doesn’t seem much older than me!”

“Shh, lower your voice.”

“Let your Uncle Master sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The elder Daoist tucked the little disciple under his arm.

With old arms and legs, he still had to tiptoe carefully as they crept out. When the weathered wooden door creaked open with a groan, the elder and the youth both widened their eyes and held their breath, cautiously pulling the door open, then slowly stepping outside. Only after gently closing the door behind them did they finally exhale in relief, as though they had accomplished something grand. They exchanged a glance and both broke into quiet laughter.

And so the young Daoist was left alone there, sleeping peacefully through the night.

Qi Wuhuo woke up to a light, ticklish sensation.

Still dazed and half-asleep, he slowly opened his eyes. The sunlight was momentarily a bit harsh, and the young Daoist squinted slightly. A little peacock was gently pecking at his cheek. Qi Wuhuo pulled the small bird away, and it opened its beak—seeing the youth awake, it chirped with delight and nuzzled against his face affectionately. Then, its spirit essence transmitted a loud message—

“Ah Qi, Ah Qi, hungry!”

“Hungry!”

The young Daoist was helpless.

The little peacock’s appetite seemed to be growing ever larger.

Only now did he begin to understand what it meant to be like a parent. After soothing the little bird, Qi Wuhuo stretched lazily. Though he had slept the whole night slumped over, he felt no discomfort in his blood or qi. At this moment, his essence and qi had already fused into a single innate breath—Innate One Qi. The young Daoist’s physique had begun to differ from that of ordinary people. As long as his Primordial Qi did not scatter, and even if all the blood drained from his body, he would not die right away.

He had already reversed the Three and returned to the Two.

When he stepped outside, the sun was bright and the breeze gentle against his face. His spirit returned to calm. The little Daoist Mingxin was there, practicing breath cultivation with a serious expression, while the elder Daoist was holding a volume of Daoist scripture, reading it with deep enjoyment. Only when Qi Wuhuo came out did the old man lower the scripture, nodding and smiling faintly.

At the level of Innate Qi, there was no longer any need to regulate and guide the inner breath.

For ordinary people, the components of their being were the Primordial Spirit, Primordial Qi, and Primordial Essence.

But a cultivator at this level was now composed of the Primordial Spirit and Innate Qi—a fundamental transformation and elevation of the very nature of life.

Whereas the full lifespan of an ordinary person would not exceed a hundred and twenty years, for Qi Wuhuo, living to over three hundred would be an easy matter.

His cultivation no longer involved merely sitting and adjusting his breath, but the circulation of his own innate Qi.

To guide it with the spirit—this was known as [Fire Timing (火候 Huo Hou)].

The sun represents nature and the Primordial Spirit—in the Daoist tradition, it is symbolized as [Fire (火)].

As for timing, it signifies watching and waiting.

The term “Fire Timing” originated from Daoist practice, but once it spread into the mundane world, it came to refer to whether a task would succeed or not. However, within the Daoist path, its true meaning lay in the crucial juncture and timing wherein the Primordial Spirit commands the transformations and flow of the Innate Qi.

This was the [Fire Timing] of cultivation, categorized into [advancement and retreat], [ascension and descent], [slowness and urgency].

There was the Fire Timing of gentle cultivation, the Fire Timing of martial refinement, the Fire Timing of application, the Fire Timing of cessation and stillness, the Fire Timing of advancing Yang, the Fire Timing of retreating Yin, the Fire Timing of returning the elixir, and the Fire Timing of achieving the Great Elixir. Beyond these, there were also methods of increase and decrease, of nurturing warmth, of transformation—so many, so intricate. One could well see that cultivation was a craft of utmost delicacy.

Without true transmission, even with the fortune to step into the realm of Innate Qi, one could go no further, for they would not know how to temper and refine themselves.

Even those who had entered this path and received true transmission—if they were to take but one misstep—might forever lose the chance to ascend to higher realms.

It was precisely because of this that those who passed through such complex thresholds could be honored with the title of [True Person].

Such attainment was not within reach of the common person.

Every cultivation scripture that gave rise to Innate Qi carried its own unique properties precisely due to its distinct patterns of rise and fall, advance and retreat, gradual and sudden changes—some Qi being soft and lingering like an almost intangible presence; others fierce and unyielding, with a momentum that refused to back down even a single step. Qi Wuhuo, for now, had only encountered one such method—the [Hunyuan Sword Canon] given to him by his Senior Sister Yumiao. Within it was a practice method for [Refining Qi].

So, the young Daoist quietly took up a book and sat down beneath the tree.

The little Daoist Mingxin, meanwhile, was inwardly filled with bitterness.

In this Daoist temple, there were only three Daoists.

And he alone still had to practice breath cultivation!

What was the point of cultivating Qi like this!

Might as well ‘rebel’!

Go eat some candied hawthorn instead!

But before he could act, the old Daoist rolled up his Daoist scripture and gently tapped him on the head. “Focus your spirit.”

So the little Daoist could only reply obediently: “Okay…”

As for Qi Wuhuo, while appearing to read a Daoist classic, he was in truth perusing the Hunyuan Sword Canon his Senior Sister had given him. It was a Sword Immortal Path founded on the supreme teachings of the Taishang Xuanmen—a path of Qi cultivation that was incredibly sharp and forceful, leaving no room for retreat. Old Mister Ao Liu’s manuscript, that Cloud and Rain Chess Manual, also touched on the realm of Innate Qi, though his path leaned toward a style that was free and easy, fluid and composed. And the cultivation notes left by his good friend, the Mountain God, recorded yet another self-explored path.

As for the operation of Primordial Spirit and Innate Qi, though often crude and broad in manner, there were occasional strokes of brilliance.

Tantai Xuan’s [Record of Ascension to Immortality] also reached only to the level of Innate Qi in the end.

It contained many methods and insights from the carefree itinerant cultivators of the mortal world.

He was skilled in subtle and localized manipulations of Innate Qi.

The young Daoist leafed through the texts, appearing deep in thought. Of course, beyond the extension of lifespan brought about by the transformation of life essence at the level of Innate Qi, there was another fundamental change: one could finally cast techniques across space. Before this stage, no matter how vast and surging one’s Primordial Qi was, it could not extend beyond the body. This was a difference in level. Thus, Qi Wuhuo slightly raised a finger, subtly forming a hand seal.

The old Daoist noticed a faint breeze in the void.

He smiled knowingly.

As expected—once a cultivator stepped into this realm, it was impossible to resist the urge to try it out.

He had been the same back then. But to guide Innate Qi with one’s Primordial Spirit—to use the [Two] to guide the [Three]—was not so simple.

It had taken him several days just to levitate an object for the first time.

And to draw upon spells? That had taken him three months—this, even with a solid foundation. Cultivation was by no means so easy…

Suddenly, the sound of the wind rose subtly.

The old Daoist looked up in surprise.

A fallen leaf lifted into the air, caught in the wind’s current. The breeze shifted—at first brushing the face like spring sunlight, but then expanding. The old Daoist felt his beard and sleeves stir, as though immersed in water, his breath turning faintly sluggish.

Then, without warning, his Daoist robe flared open.

Little Daoist Mingxin, startled by the sound, opened his eyes in confusion.

He looked around.

And saw the young Daoist sitting beneath the old tree, his eyes downcast, quietly flipping through a Daoist classic. As he turned a page, the Innate Qi he had guided began to transform—the surroundings erupted with fierce gales, as though the very Primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth had turned into a swirling tide, coiling and roaring, surging into the sky.

Yet the space around the young Daoist remained utterly still and undisturbed. Qi Wuhuo lowered his gaze, murmuring to himself: “So that’s how it is…”

“Old Mister Ao Liu’s Water Control Chapter, his method of raising clouds and mist—is also merely a manipulation of Innate Qi.”

“Even the most intricate techniques can begin from the simplest act of guiding the wind.”

“So that’s it. I think I’ve begun to understand.”

The old Daoist suddenly sensed something was amiss.

This had clearly started as a standard act of guiding wind through the swift circulation of Innate Qi, the kind of basic application any rogue cultivator who’d stepped into this realm could perform—like how the motion of a hand naturally stirred the air. The principle was simply that Innate Qi’s rapid movement induced wind. Yet in the blink of an eye, something had shifted. An immense momentum had emerged.

The young Daoist pressed his hand seal downward.

“Wind—rise.”

The wild wind rampaged. The old Daoist abruptly stood, his beard and hair streaming backward. His eyes widened. Within the perception of his Primordial Spirit, the young Daoist still sat quietly in place—yet countless gales, invisible to the naked eye, were converging around him. They eventually formed the shape of a dragon, complete with whiskers and mane, head raised, tail trailing low. It let out a silent roar, long and deep, coiling through the entire Daoist temple, its form composed and unhurried—rising and falling with the undulations of the youth’s Primordial Spirit.

The old Daoist murmured: “Divine ability?!”

Suddenly, with a whoosh, Little Daoist Mingxin failed to notice his small wooden sword get caught by the wind. It was swept up into the air. “Aah—my sword!” he cried out, springing to his feet and reaching out instinctively—only to be held back by the old Daoist. “Let it fall back down,” the elder said calmly.

But then came a gentle voice: “I’ll get it.”

Mingxin looked over—and saw that the young Daoist had vanished. Just as he froze in surprise, he saw a figure rise directly into the sky. With a single outstretched hand, the figure caught the wooden sword midair. The wind swirled around him, coiling along his form. Yet the youth did not plummet back down from that height. Instead, he descended like a drifting feather, slow and light.

In one hand, he held a Daoist scripture; in the other, the small sword.

His blue Daoist robe fluttered wildly in the wind, his black hair lifting gently. His entire bearing was serene—like someone walking out from within the wind itself. He landed softly on the ground, the scripture still resting behind his back. With a turn of his left wrist, he presented the sword before Mingxin.

The little Daoist’s eyes widened in awe. “Uncle Master Qi—you can fly now?!”

The young Daoist shook his head. “I merely guided Primordial Qi with Innate Qi, drew in a current of wind to lift myself. That doesn’t really count as flying.”　

The old Daoist couldn’t help but interject: “A single gust wouldn’t be enough.”

Qi Wuhuo thought for a moment and replied: “I discovered that when Primordial Qi causes wind to spiral, the force becomes stronger. And if several spiraling winds rotate at once, the repulsion between them can lift me up. But there are limits to how high or fast I can go. Still, if one can control the flow of Primordial Qi precisely, then something like what just happened is possible.”

The elder Daoist managed a strained tone: “You… you were taught this kind of method?”

“You’ve progressed quite quickly.”

The young Daoist shook his head and said simply: “My teacher didn’t teach me this. I figured it out myself.”

The little Daoist widened his eyes and tugged at the sleeve of the young Daoist. “Then can you teach me?”

The young Daoist replied gently: “Of course.”

“I’ll teach you once I’ve refined it a bit.”

Little Daoist Mingxin beamed. “Then I want to give it a nice name!”

Qi Wuhuo patted his head. Mingxin turned toward his teacher and said: “But Uncle Master Qi just now was talking about something like Primordial Qi manipulation. It sounded so complicated. Teacher, can you explain it to me? That way, I might be able to learn faster in the future.”

The old Daoist fell silent, coughed lightly, and said with a straight face: “You little rascal.”

“Your cultivation is still too shallow.”

“Even if I explained, it’d be wasted.”

“Hmph. Once you reach my level, you’ll naturally understand it. It’ll come to you, naturally.”

“Huh? Really?”

Little Mingxin looked doubtful.

The old Daoist flushed slightly and snapped: “Why aren’t you cultivating already?”

“Would your teacher ever lie to you?!”

Qi Wuhuo was still slowly contemplating the differences and profundities of Innate One Qi and its wondrous uses.

Yet, in a realm infinitely distant and ethereal—someone was playing chess.

A Daoist in formal robes, with a stern and dignified bearing, placed a piece on the board and asked calmly: “Dao-brother, that wisp of divine will you just sent to the mortal realm—what was it for?”

Across from him, the elderly Daoist smiled gently. “Merely a moment’s distraction.”

The middle-aged Daoist with the solemn visage placed another piece. “Even if you won’t say, I already know.”

He set his gaze upon the elder, continuing: “I’ve heard that Dao-brother recently took on a disciple?”

“One named Xuanwei, is that right?”

“I confess, I’m a little curious.”