Volume 1: Embarking on the World of Mortals Chapter 118

After being away for several days, Qi Wuhuo finally returned to the Lianyang Temple. The young Daoist Mingxin was overjoyed at his return, but the old Daoist, upon seeing the young man, fell into a long silence of reflection. When Qi Wuhuo once again went off to sweep the grounds, the old Daoist sat in his chamber reading the Daoist scriptures. Yet, even as his eyes moved across the words, deep sighs escaped him time and again. Curious, the young Mingxin leaned closer to his master and asked: “Master, why are you sighing so much today?”

“Didn’t you say sighing makes one grow old faster?”

The old Daoist rolled up the scripture in his hand and knocked the boy lightly on the forehead, scolding with mock annoyance:

“I’ve already lived over three hundred years. I’m old beyond recognition as it is. What harm is there in growing a little older still?”

“Little Daoists shouldn’t meddle so much.”

Mingxin propped up his chin and muttered: “But I’m only ten…”

“You’ll be eleven after the New Year.”

“Hehe.”

“When I turn three hundred, Master, you’ll be six hundred.”

“By then, your white beard will be so, so long. It’ll be me—white-haired Mingxin—pushing my even whiter-haired master out to bask in the sun. We can take in a little Daoist of our own, raise two cats, and let’s raise two yellow hens too. Just like Uncle Master Qi’s—one rooster, one hen. That way we can eat eggs every day!”

“And maybe hatch some chicks too.”

“By then, Uncle Master Qi will probably be all white-haired himself, huh?”

The mind of youth always leaps in unexpected directions.

The old man merely smiled without a word, his gaze full of warmth. Mingxin shook his head and said: “Still, Master, what are you sighing about?”

The old Daoist looked off into the distance where the young Daoist stood, and after a long pause, he said softly:

“I do not know what he has been through.”

“In the past, though he lived amidst the mortal world, there was always a touch of transcendence about him; now, though that transcendence remains, there is also a trace of worldly dust upon him. Only now can it be said he is truly undergoing [cultivation within the world]. From the Dao cultivated in scrolls and scripture, he has stepped into the Dao cultivated amidst mortal affairs. His realm has advanced—but so too has the time come to face tribulations.”

“To see someone like him descend into the world of mortals always reminds me of my younger self.”

“And also of how many Dao seedlings have lost themselves within the red dust.”

“That is why I sigh.”

The little Daoist listened, only half understanding. Then he asked: “Will I have a day like that too?”

“You will.”

The young one asked again: “Then, will I be able to return to the temple like you did, Master?”

The old Daoist smiled gently. After a long pause, he still answered: “You will.”

“And Uncle Master?”

“…That, I do not know…”

The day after his return, Qi Wuhuo set out once more, sword box on his back, continuing to fulfill the karmic debts left behind by the one named Tantai Xuan. Today’s task was the final regret—to fulfill the last wish of a fallen escort warrior. That escort had once dreamed of retiring with his wife, finding a quiet village, and living out their days in peaceful obscurity. But now, that wish could never be realized.

She was a strong woman.

From childhood, she had trained in martial arts at the same school as the late escort—teacher and style alike. They had grown up together, bound both as childhood companions and sect kin.

In their youth, they had roamed the martial world side by side, driven by righteous fervor, leaving their names behind in tales of chivalry and standing up for the weak.

Marriage, for them, had been the natural outcome.

Even after her husband’s death, she remained calm and composed.

It was only after Qi Wuhuo had departed that, from within the courtyard, the sound of weeping could be heard—muffled, restrained, yet unbearably sorrowful. A grief so raw and piercing, it felt like a needle driven straight into the heart.

The young Daoist stood outside the gate for a long, long time.

As the sleeve of his robe swept past, the final line of text emerged, and with a word of “Decree”, the binding was dissolved. The escort warrior’s lingering will was thus released, allowed to remain in this place—to stay beside his wife. With that, all the promises once made in the little town beneath Helian Mountain were fulfilled. The daylight was still young. With nothing pressing at hand, Qi Wuhuo wandered aimlessly.

Everyone bears their share of suffering—yet the people of this world are not without feeling.

It was at the foot of that very village that Qi Wuhuo first stepped upon the path of cultivation. When he saw those many souls who had suffered under Tantai Xuan’s hand, he took up brush and ink, recording their final wishes. At the time, he had thought that a person’s regrets—no matter how great—were but a few strokes upon a page. Yet later, in Shuiyun Township, when he fulfilled the last wish of that young girl, he began to understand the depth of such longing and sorrow.

He came to realize: these were not mere strokes of ink. They were the entirety of a person’s life.

They were the myriad entanglements of the mortal world—love and hatred, joy and grief, regret and longing.

In time, he encountered the teachings of the Buddha, and came to understand the doctrine of the Five Aggregates and Eight Sufferings—birth, aging, sickness, death… and the endless cycle of desires unfulfilled.

A person’s name—whether two characters, three, or, for those with compound surnames, four—

Their regrets and parting wishes, written plainly on white paper, might only fill a few lines. Perhaps no more than a dozen characters.

In grand Jinzhou, in just a few months, the dead had exceeded three million. If one were to write down merely their names, it would take tens of millions of characters. And if each person left behind even just two lines of final wishes, how many words would that be?

In ancient times, when paper did not yet exist, people stripped bamboo, dried it in the sun, and carved their words upon it. But a single joint of bamboo could hold only a few characters.

Just to inscribe all these names—would exhaust all the green bamboo in the world, yet still fall short.

Even if one gathered all the bamboo from Jing and Yue, it still would not suffice.

Such is the meaning of that ancient phrase: [Too many sins to be written down, even if all the bamboo in the world were used]

Qi Wuhuo now understood the weight those characters truly carried.

As one who walks the Dao, he ought to let go. And yet, he refuses to.

Qi Wuhuo had unknowingly walked once more to the side of the largest bridge in Zhongzhou’s prefectural city. There, he saw the tree that Mr. Ao Liu had planted. The chessboard beside it remained, though Mr. Ao Liu was no longer present. Even so, a set of chess pieces had still been placed there—not the elder’s ancient set, but a more common kind now seen everywhere.

Qi Wuhuo sat down. While lost in thought, his fingers instinctively began to toy with the pieces. He picked up a chess piece and tapped it lightly, lowering his gaze to the board, while questions continued to rise from the depths of his heart—

Is the gentleman still among the living?

The three Demon Kingdoms—which demon kingdoms are they?

And the one clad in black, wearing a crimson dragon robe—who is he…?

And at the very end, that one person he could never avoid.

The current Emperor—the Human Emperor, the Sage.

He must die. He must die!

The young Daoist’s eyes remained calm, but the thoughts in his heart were as clear as a polished mirror, without the slightest trace of hesitation.

A cultivator’s path is one of refining the spirit and purifying the nature within.

One must never deceive oneself.

To be sincere to one’s heart, and true to one’s self.

It is not about repressing all thoughts and desires.

But—killing—how is one to kill?

The Human Emperor walks the path of kingship. He is shielded by the tides of fate and destiny. Immortals of the Heavenly Realm will not act against him. This was a pact made thousands of years ago. Back in the village, Qi Wuhuo had once used his Dao Alliance waist token to exchange for basic texts regarding the fate and fortune of the Human Emperor—only then did he gain a measure of understanding. The Human Emperor embodies the strength of billions of living beings; though each may be weak, gathered as one, they form a power that stands at the peak of the world.

With his own shallow cultivation, he could not hope to kill him.

Unless—unless the tide of fate protecting him was broken.

If his strength was great, then it must be scattered and divided.

As these thoughts spun through Qi Wuhuo’s mind, he placed both the black and white baskets of pieces at his sides and began playing both colors in turn. The first method he considered was to use the matter of Jinzhou as a spark—revealing it to the world, igniting flames across the land. When righteousness and profit stir in people’s hearts, they move like the tide. With momentum and added methods, such an act could stir great unrest. Even if it could not succeed entirely, it could at least weaken the Human Emperor’s fortune to some extent.

When that time comes, if his cultivation and Dao attainments are sufficient, then he may draw his sword and cut him down.

Or perhaps, incite strife among the emperor’s heirs for the throne.

The young Daoist lowered his gaze. He held the black pieces in his hand.

And it was also himself who held the white piece.

Two great dragons of black and white clashed fiercely upon the board—a duel.

Step by step, tightening the noose.

Yet as he continued to play, his moves slowed. He stared at the game before him—just as he was watching the flow of thoughts within his own mind.

The piece in his hand fell onto the board—

This could not yet be called a time of chaos. Because of the importance of fate and destiny, not only the emperor, but all officials would seek to maintain a state of stability across the land, for the sake of their own power and longevity. The great clans and noble families also had members serving as officials at court. From top to bottom, all were bound together, layer by layer—like an intricate and tightly woven machine. To move against the Human Emperor was, from the outset, an immensely difficult thing.

But though it was difficult, it was not impossible. There were things gleaned from that Dream of Yellow Millet. To lay out a strategy spanning fifty years, it was not beyond reach.

Only, the young Daoist lifted his head.

He saw people coming and going, the bustling mortal world like threads of red dust. And if he were to incite rebellion himself, regardless of success or failure, it would surely plunge the world into turmoil and disaster.

And yet, without such an upheaval, it would be impossible to weaken the Human Emperor’s fortune.

But to weaken the Human Emperor’s fortune—in this age—would be to tear down the wall of fate that defended against the Demon Kingdoms. It would cause the military formations on the frontier to lose their effectiveness in an instant, and leave the soldiers guarding the borders at a grave disadvantage. The consequences of that were obvious at a glance—it could even result in a calamity far more widespread than what befell Jinzhou in those years past.

The young Daoist placed down the piece, the killing intent in his eyes dissipating like clouds parting.

Though there were hidden currents beneath, his heart still bore the clear wind and bright moon of youth.

Then he gathered the pieces once more, placing them back into their baskets.

“Wasn’t the game going quite well?”

“Why did you stop playing?”

A familiar voice sounded. Qi Wuhuo lifted his head and saw that, without realizing it, a crowd had already gathered around him. It turned out that while he had been playing a quick solo game with such brilliance, some passersby—particularly elderly folk fond of watching chess—had been drawn to stop and observe. The one who spoke, however, was someone he recognized: the fortune-teller in grey robes. At some unknown point, this grey-robed man had sat down, resting his chin in his hand as he watched the board.

When he sat down, the surrounding people instinctively began to overlook the board, the youth beneath the tree, and the man in grey. Then, as naturally as mist disperses, the onlookers began to drift away. Though the world bustled with the countless threads of red dust, beneath this tree the chessboard remained pure and serene—only the youth held the pieces, and the man watched in silence.

The latter appeared calm as wind and light as clouds, though the moment he spoke, he already regretted it.

His spiritual instinct had warned him: it was best to stay far away from this brat before him. And yet—perhaps it was the dullness of life in the mortal world of late—he’d sought something interesting, even at his own peril.

His question just now was born of nothing more than idle curiosity. The young Daoist only shook his head and quietly continued gathering the pieces.

To use the lives of the common people as pawns for the sake of one’s own goals, to plunge them into calamity—regardless of success or failure…

If I were to walk that path, I would be falling into the demonic way.

And in essence, I would be no different from that Second Prince of years past.

The first method—I will not take it.

Then—is there another way?

Still, he played the game, still he dueled himself on the board. This time, however, the arrangement of pieces was far gentler. Qi Wuhuo’s gaze lowered as his mind turned.

If external force cannot be used to break his fate—then what if I enter the imperial court?

Just like Yu Yangzi in that foreign nation? Step by step, leveraging the foresight gleaned from that fifty-year Yellow Millet Dream, maneuvering through the court, wielding strategy and intrigue.

The Human Emperor may be backed by fate, but to govern the realm, he still requires order, and the aid of civil and military officials. In that sense, he too is bound—

This is the [Bound Dragon Chapter].

Yet Qi Wuhuo did not finish the game. He swept the pieces back into their container.

The fortune-teller had been watching with relish, seemingly able to glimpse the youth’s resolve and judgment, and even divine a shadow of what might occur in the next fifty years. But now that Qi Wuhuo had stopped, he was left with a sense of loss and couldn’t help asking: “This game could still be played—why not go on?”

The young Daoist’s reply was calm and concise:

“I cannot slay the great dragon.”

Six words, spoken as gently as drifting wind and passing clouds, yet they carried a killing intent of their own.

The fortune-teller’s brow lifted, and that hidden edge stirred his senses—his eyebrows even twitched.

Then he clapped his hands and sighed:

“Dear me… those six words—if the Slaughter Sword Dao were still around, they’d probably come drag you off immediately. Ah, wait—there’s no Slaughter Sword Dao anymore. That lineage originated from an Innate existence, a great blood-colored river… but it was severed when some great being tested their sword upon it. Hah—using sword Dao to break sword Dao… how domineering.”

“So, what will you do next?”

Unwilling to plunge the world into chaos.

Unwilling to let that Human Emperor live.

These two could not coexist.

Even the fortune-teller grew curious—what choice would this youth before him make?

Qi Wuhuo pondered for a long while, then directly picked up a piece from the board, and, without hesitation, replaced one of the most crucial black stones with a white one.

The fortune-teller’s brow twitched slightly. It was a simple gesture, yet when this young Daoist performed it, there was an unspeakable sense of calm majesty. Beneath the sunlight, the brown pupils of the fortune-teller’s eyes shimmered faintly with gold, and in that moment, he saw not just the youth sitting upright before him, but a figure akin to a peerless elder unmatched in the mortal realm.

It was the Taishang Xuanwei.

It was the Old Master Wuhuo.

To the question—“What will you do?”

The reply—

The Sovereign is without Virtue.

Change him.

As for what followed—should the change stabilize the qi fortune of the human realm, it would still become a Great Wall to shield the common folk.

Then, as for the emperor who was thus [changed], his end was already clear.

Peace in the realm, and the slaying of thieves and foes—I shall see to both.

The fortune-teller’s brow throbbed violently.

This was no fleeting Dream of Yellow Millet from a youth’s slumber—this was the convergence of countless threads of fate in the mortal world.

This was the throne of kingship over humanity.

This was the position of the Human Emperor.

To contend for the seat that governs the fortune of billions upon billions of lives, without exception, such attempts meet a fate steeped in carnage.

Even with his temperament, he could not bear to see the youth destroy his own innate foundation.

Unable to hold back, he offered a word of warning:

“You are one who has left the secular world—yet now you seek to step back into it. The Daoist path speaks of the [Eight Tribulations], the Buddhist of the [Eight Sufferings]. These are all things that disturb the mortal heart, and all cultivators fear them, shun them, dare not approach.”

“They fear being ensnared in these Eight Tribulations and Eight Sufferings, never to find liberation.”

“Even Bodhisattvas fear karmic entanglements, yet you, brat, want to stain yourself with all this?”

His voice paused. The fortune-teller, though one who dwelled outside the bounds of the mortal world, felt uneasy this time—the matters at hand were far too weighty, even enough to make his scalp prickle. He couldn’t help but try to persuade him: “Little ox-nose, listen to some advice—those who heed counsel will never go hungry. Hear me out: although you’re a bit stubborn, you have a Dao Heart and great comprehension. You are one who will achieve much.”

“In the years to come, if your Dao bears fruit and you ascend the heavens, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to address you as a True Lord.”

“So what now? You’d cast aside the Dao, plunge into the mundane world, and willingly enter a tribulation?!”

The young Daoist replied calmly: “Not long ago, I told a friend who practices Buddhism: Only after passing through all appearances can one reach the formless. One should not begin cultivation in a formless place, but walk through the myriad forms first. I believe—whether cultivating Buddha or Dao—ultimately, we all cultivate ourselves. The principle should be the same.”

“Can I only preach to others, yet not stand by my own view? Speak but never act?”

The youth’s gaze was tranquil: “If I never encounter the Eight Tribulations, how will I prove that the path I walk is the right one?”

“If what I cultivate is truly the Dao, then the Eight Tribulations shall not obstruct me.”

“If I fall within them, then it means my heart for seeking the Dao was not steadfast to begin with.”

The fortune-teller opened his mouth, then couldn’t help but let out a furious curse, followed by a harsh rebuke:

“You—! You would willingly draw upon the Eight Tribulations?! You’re confused!”

Qi Wuhuo answered: “Not confused.”

The youth stood up, having made his choice. His heart was clear once more. Draped in his Daoist robe, a sword case upon his back, he stood calmly within the dust of the mortal world. In that moment, it seemed he suddenly comprehended something, and said: “The highest level forgets emotion; the lowliest cannot even reach emotion—but where emotion lingers, it rests in people like us.”

“How can emotions only refer to the love between man and woman?”

“I believe I understand Senior Sister’s Dao now.”

“Yet, it also seems different.”

In the stillness of his heart, he thought: “Teacher, if [Emotion] is one of the Eight Tribulations of the Daoist path, then your disciple’s tribulation has indeed arrived.”

“Disciple could avoid it.”

“But Disciple will not.”

The fortune-teller looked into the youth’s tranquil eyes. It was as if, naturally, his Primordial Qi and Primordial Essence had fused into one, transforming into a subtle and eternal stream of Qi—this was the Mother of Elixirs, the Origin, the Innate One Qi. He was not obsessed, and did not choose the method of the mountain god’s body left behind by his good friend, the Tiger Mountain God.

He beheld the Way of the Lingbao, perceived the Dharma of the Medicine Buddha, ferried all beings through the red dust, and bore the weight of karma.

And in the end, with a body meant to transcend the world, he wielded a sword that entered the world—shunning not the Eight Tribulations, and thereby accomplished it naturally.

As though it had always been so.

Never truly separate.

“Hm? The Innate One Qi? Why is there no disturbance at all…”

“This fusion, it seems as if it were always meant to be, flawless as heaven’s own weave?”

The fortune-teller sensed something. His pupils shrank violently.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

Only a single phrase echoed in his heart:

He who acts from the Wují is the Taishang.

[TL_Note: Wuji – A Daoist metaphysical concept—the state before polarity (Taiji), pure potential, beyond yin and yang. The Limitless, the Infinite, the Primordial Void]

He stared fixedly at the young Daoist, an endless storm rising in his chest.

“Since the dawning of Heaven and Earth, the second one.”

“Truly, genuinely…”

“The True Teachings of the Taiqing(Great Clarity)…”

He murmured, watching the young Daoist with the sword case on his back walking into the mortal world, growing ever more distant. Waves surged in his heart, and at last, he could not help but call out, a voice like thunder:

“The mighty tide of the world—all hinges upon the Human Emperor!”

“And you, a mere Daoist—what can you possibly do?!”

The young Daoist paused for a moment.

And then spoke, for the first time in his life, bold words of great ambition:

“Then I shall be the Teacher of the Emperor.”
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Orluros’s Vault of Secrets: If sorry guys, the chapters are getting longer and longer and I don’t have as much time as before to translate, so I will have to change the schedule to 2 chapters per week, so sorry T-T If you liked the chapter feel free to donate 🙂 and if you find any errors in the translation please mention them in the comments here or in discord