Volume 1: Embarking on the World of Mortals Chapter 119

Then be the teacher of emperors.

After Qi Wuhuo spoke these words, he turned and left, stepping into the mundane world. His figure gradually receded into the distance. Only that fortune-teller murmured a few words to himself, then suddenly sat back onto the wooden stump, feeling that these six words were impossibly rich, hard to finish savoring, and full of a bold clarity. He wanted to curse them as the arrogant ravings of a boy who knew not the immensity of heaven and earth, yet could not help but see the weight that youth bore upon his shoulders.

Under such immense pressure, those six words held the spirited arrogance unique to the young.

Even the grey-robed man could not suppress a sigh and said:

“This calls for a drink.”

“The passion of youth is the finest thing to drink to.”

“Decay in old age, chasing profit like flies and dogs—that is the most stomach-turning thing in the world.”

The fortune-teller shook his head and sighed: “But this is not something that can be done with mere words. There’s much to it, and it is no easy matter. We shall see how you plan to go about it.”

“Don’t let it become an empty boast.”

He reached into his sleeve and rummaged around, eventually pulling out some sun-dried sweet potato slices, steamed before drying.

He bit into one as he chewed, recalling that moment when the youth’s Primordial Qi and Primordial Essence merged as one. Even he could not help but praise again and again: “From the Innate arises all things; for all things to cultivate and reverse that process—most rely on pills and elixirs. To cultivate by walking the earth’s veins is already the superior path, let alone what that little ox-nose just did.”

“From the Boundless(Wuji) comes the Supreme(Taishang).”

“Even I have never seen such a thing. Even those disciples of the Taishang—those who have traversed the Three Talents to return to the Innate One Qi—though they may not rely on external aids, still must focus their minds, guiding it with spirit to break through. That already falls into the lesser path of [Active Method]. But this—where a single thought moved and Qi merged with Essence—has never before been seen. Tsk tsk. Rare. Rare indeed. Truly rare.”

Then he muttered to himself again: “It is said that the Grand Master Xuandu was originally a figure shaped by the Empress Nuwa herself, and can be considered half a naturally-formed Innate being. With the Supreme Lord’s enlightenment, he was born with the Three Talents already gathered. The rest of the disciples also attained the Innate One Qi by concentrating their Spirit. But later, each walked their own path.”

“Looking at it now, isn’t this little fellow perhaps the only one since ancient times who, at this stage of cultivation, can be said to rival the Supreme(Taishang)?”

“This could truly be called the genuine True Transmission of the Supreme Dao…”

“Little Daoist Calf-nose, quite something, eh!”

“If we get the chance to meet again, this old man(Laozi) ought to treat you to a drink—haha… this old man? Hmm, [Laozi]?”

He suddenly paused in confusion.

He didn’t quite understand why—someone usually so mindful of his speech—had just instinctively uttered the name [Laozi].

And then, he became aware of his own spiritual sense screaming in alarm.

“Hmm? That little brat is the orthodox transmission of the Taiqing lineage…”

“Taishang?”

“Taishang!!!”

The grey-robed fortune-teller had just clapped his hands and laughed in delight, when suddenly—as if struck by lightning—something finally dawned on him. The words stuck in his throat like a rope had choked them off. He mumbled a few incoherent sounds, his eyes turning blank. Even the sweet potato dried slices in his mouth suddenly lost their flavor.

No—more than losing their sweetness—they now scraped his throat like blades.

And then, cold sweat covered his whole body.

Wait… wha…?!

He’s of the Taishang lineage, but that doesn’t necessarily mean his master is the Supreme himself… right?

Did I say something about an old ox-nose…?

Hmm? Ah… ahahaha… was that me? Was that me? I said that? Ahahaha… no, no, that can’t be…

Thud!!!

The fortune-teller stood up, but his knees gave out, and he dropped straight to his knees, facing east.

By the afternoon, when the monk passed by carrying freshly gathered herbs, he caught sight of the fortune-teller kneeling with three sticks of incense held reverently in his hands. The monk raised an eyebrow and asked in puzzlement: “What are you doing?”

“There’s no tradition of kneeling with incense in Buddhism.”

“Kneeling? Heh, ignorant fool. Which eye of yours saw me kneeling?!”

“Baldy, open your eyes and look!”

“I’m just stretching my back and loosening my joints!”

“It’s just lately I’ve been eating too much tofu and playing around a bit too merrily with the young ladies—my knees have gone soft, that’s all! This posture is simply more comfortable!”

“Do you even understand anything?!”

“You truly don’t understand a thing, you baldy!”

The fortune-teller snapped back, coldly sneering with a stiff mouth.

At the same time, he stayed kneeling in an impeccably upright posture—his back as straight as a spear shaft.

The great monk shook his head and calmly said: “Though you’ve little in the way of Buddhist cultivation, this humble monk suddenly feels you might just be able to burn out a relic pearl.”

“Your mouth is hard enough.”

“The first relic in all of history produced purely by the strength of one’s mouth.”

The fortune-teller flew into a rage—

Yet he remained kneeling, motionless in his incense-offering posture.

After offering the full three sticks of incense, the sky had already turned dark. His face, however, was full of sorrow, a bitter and mournful expression.

Bitter, oh so bitter—what to do now?

Truly, this is a great calamity.

——Among fortune-tellers, the first principle is avoidance.

The most accomplished seers are not those who wield endless marvels and a thousand divine abilities, who raise a hand and claim to calculate the fate of all beneath Heaven.

Such people often die with the grass on their grave mounds three zhang tall.

What they ought to possess is restraint.

To know what must not be divined, what must not be known—and best of all, not even allow the thought to arise.

To know when to speak is to have stepped through the door. To know when to shut one’s mouth is to have mastered the path.

Now that he knew the little Daoist’s origin, his every word and gesture toward him in the future would surely be affected. He would surely show concern, surely show courtesy. And this would absolutely run counter to the one who sent the boy out to temper himself in the mortal world. After all, all under Heaven know that the Taishang lineage is the most demanding, the most aloof—and also the most infamous for their laissez-faire approach in the Three Realms and Six Paths.

Like herding sheep…

The old ox-nose just vanished with a whoosh.

The fortune-teller’s mouth twitched. He crushed that train of thought at once.

Then, not too hard and not too light, he slapped himself across the mouth.

He thought for a bit—and slapped himself again.

After that, he cupped his hands toward the eastern sky and, face full of misery, said: “May your lordship be magnanimous, oh greatly magnanimous… This child has had a loose tongue since youth.”

“Please don’t stoop to the level of a small child… Don’t stoop to my level.”

The grey-robed man sighed, his head pounding—

His spirit was simply far too sharp.

Cultivators pursue inner perfection. The height of one’s cultivation realm does not directly correlate with combat prowess. There are True Persons who, with a single breath of sword qi, can sweep across the world unmatched—yet apart from their technique for slaying external demons, they are utterly ignorant in all else. And then there are those who, having received talismanic decrees and become Human Immortals, may have lofty realms, but specialize instead in alchemy, or cultivate clarity of the primordial spirit, walking the path of divination and fate calculation.

The most famous among such figures are “Thousand-Mile Eyes” and “Favorable-Wind Ears.”

Their realms are not low, but their combat ability is abysmal.

Should their magical treasures be seized, they’re nothing more than two fools.

Yet their methods of evading calamities and dodging tribulations are of the highest order. Among their peers—some fell in disasters, others died in battles of magical arts—only these two, who never cultivated arts of demon-subjugation or Dao-guarding, but instead focused solely on techniques for disaster evasion, rose higher and stronger over time. When they turned to look back, their contemporaries were all long gone, while they had already risen to stand before the Lingxiao Palace.

Among the divine generals of the heavens, they are not the most formidable in battle—Giant Spirit God could flatten the two of them with a single hand.

But without doubt, they are among the most renowned.

As for Mister Greyrobe himself, the sharpness of his spiritual nature is likely greater than the two of them combined.

Once he becomes aware of something, it is tantamount to continuously holding it in mind, constantly preserving thought and spirit.

Others may chant a name without consequence. But with a spirit as keen and clear as his, he would most likely be directly perceived by that personage. Even if that personage does not intervene, the moment he consciously contemplates the name or existence, he would be immediately noticed by that one’s chief disciple—the Five Manifestations Numinous Observer Great Emperor.

And if he happened to misspeak…

There’s no telling—a furnace might be hurled down directly from the Xuandu Palace of the Thirty-Six Celestial Heavens.

Dare to insult my Master?

Die well!

At that point, he would have no choice but to obediently return home—

Seek that person’s protection and hide under their roof, for even Xuandu would not dispatch punishment across that boundary.

Unless the two of them decided to go all out in a true deathmatch.

“Then what was the point of my escaping in the first place?”

“Wouldn’t that make my escape completely meaningless?”

Thus, Mister Greyrobe could scarcely refrain from digging a hole and burying himself on the spot, or letting out a long howl to the heavens.

Damn it, why did I have to become aware of this!!!

Damn it all, why!!!

So after brooding for a long time, he simply hurled himself into a wine vat and drank himself full.

He released a split soul and continuously cast divine arts upon his own spiritual nature to seal away the recognition and awareness.

Until even his primordial spirit had entirely forgotten the matter.

All in the name of one thing: [To evade misfortune].

Qi Wuhuo returned to the Lianyang Temple. When he arrived, the young Daoist boy Mingxin was in the midst of chasing a chicken, flailing and panting. The little Daoist was still young, his legs not yet long enough, while that three-yellow-feathered chicken was exceedingly alert, its footwork and evasion surprisingly nimble and cunning. The young Daoist shouted, “Don’t run! Don’t run!” while holding aloft a big broom, giving chase, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t catch it.

Mingxin stopped, leaning on the broom, panting heavily. He wiped the cold sweat trickling down his chin with the back of his sleeve.

He grit his teeth, but his strength was spent. “Don’t run, don’t run!”

“Come back!”

“Come—back!!!”

Summoning a final burst of determination, he raised the broom high and brought it down with all his might. The three-yellow chicken flapped its wings and—startlingly—took flight. In Mingxin’s stunned gaze, it soared a full three meters through the air, flapping off toward the distance. And in its eyes—could it be?—there was a trace of disdain, a hint of elegance, three parts arrogance and five parts composure. It made the young Daoist gnash his teeth in frustration.

Behind him, the elder Daoist was still stroking his beard and enjoying the spectacle.

The young Daoist turned and stomped his foot. “Master, you’re still laughing!”

“Alright, alright, no more laughing, no more laughing.”

“Then what do you expect Master to do, hmm?”

Just as Mingxin was watching the chicken about to escape, suddenly a stream of water twisted like a rope, binding the bird midair. Mist shimmered in the sunlight like a veil, beautiful and ethereal. The chicken could only retract its wings and land docilely on the ground. The young Daoist Mingxin spread his arms and ran over, his footsteps thudding on the earth. With a little hop, he scooped the chicken up into his arms. Though it still struggled, he clung to it tightly, beaming with joy.

The mist dispersed like a dream, like a bubble vanishing into illusion. And then, a young Daoist carrying a sword case on his back stepped in from outside.

The little Daoist, Mingxin, greeted him cheerfully.

“Uncle Master Qi!”

“What was that just now?!”

“That was amazing! Was it some kind of spell or trick?!”

The young Daoist smiled and replied: “It’s nothing worth mentioning.”

After cultivating the Innate Qi, his Primordial Qi was no longer like the ordinary qi of the human body—it could extend beyond the physical form. The Primordial Spirit guided the qi, and with the proper method, gathered moisture from the air to enact the earlier technique. The young Daoist swept his robe, and the gathered water vapor returned to the nearby river, raising only a few ripples. There wasn’t the slightest trace of worldly fire or smoke. And he, without pause, walked calmly into the monastery.

Little Mingxin was all joy, hugging the three-yellow-feathered chicken as he walked along.

The old Daoist, however, showed a subtle shift in his expression. At first, he thought he’d mistaken something. He rose to his feet by instinct, and after checking several times, he still couldn’t believe his senses. He stared at the young Daoist before him, drew in a quiet breath, and cautiously asked:

“Fellow Daoist, you’ve broken through?”

Qi Wuhuo nodded.

The old Daoist sighed. “Fellow Daoist, you are sixteen this year?”

The young one replied: “In a few days, once the New Year passes, I’ll be sixteen.”

“Sixteen…”

The old Daoist murmured for a while, then let out a long sigh. “Such talent!”

“Such comprehension!”

“Even if you started cultivating at the age of six, it hasn’t been ten years since you entered the Dao, has it?”

Qi Wuhuo thought for a moment and said: “No, not yet ten years.”

“Not even ten years… not even ten years.”

The old Daoist held a scroll of Daoist scripture in his hand, shaking his head in wonder. For a long time, he didn’t know what to say, and finally murmured: “To tread the full path of the Three Talents within ten years, and now to have reached the stage of Innate Qi—you can now truly be called a [Daozhang](Master Daoist), a Master of the Dao, not just a mere Daoist acolyte… Ai, truly the younger generation is to be feared. The younger generation is to be feared indeed.”

Then, he looked toward his own disciple, who was still joyfully walking back and forth, hugging his chicken.

The old Daoist lightly tapped the little Daoist’s head with the scripture in his hand and said, “Look at your Uncle Master. You’re almost eleven now, and you’ve yet to even complete the Three Talents, let alone reach the level of Innate Qi where one can go out and establish a Daoist temple of their own. Look at yourself—then look at your Uncle Master Qi!”

Mingxin covered his head, and as he loosened his hold, the three-yellow-feathered chicken flapped its wings and slipped away once more.

He looked at the fleeing chicken with a wronged expression, then turned back and asked: “But Master, when you were Uncle Master Qi’s age, had you reached Innate Qi?”

That question struck the old Daoist dumb.

Mingxin blinked innocently. “If even you couldn’t do it, then why must I be expected to?”

The old Daoist didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Lifting the scroll again, he made as if to strike. “You cheeky little ox-nose! You really have a way with words.”

“Is your rear-end itching for a lesson?”

Little Mingxin was shocked, quickly covered his forehead, and dashed off with quick little steps. The old Daoist, still with a youthful heart, gave chase, laughing and playing along. Between laughter and scolding, he turned back to the young Daoist and said with a smile: “To have cultivated Innate Qi—this is a momentous occasion, no matter which lineage you belong to. Shouldn’t you send a letter to your teacher to inform him?”

Qi Wuhuo shook his head. “No need.”

Carrying the sword case on his back, he stepped forward and pushed open the main hall of the Daoist temple.

This was also the only part of Lianyang Temple that could be called grand in any sense. Upon seeing the statues of the Three Pure Ones, he paused for a moment, then reached for three incense sticks from the side of the altar. With just a subtle tremor of his fingers, Primordial Qi surged forth and ignited the incense. In the stage of Three Talents Complete, any spellcasting required a ritual altar, incantations, and hand-seals. But now, with Primordial Qi flowing freely, such procedures were no longer necessary.

All Daoist temples venerate the Three Pure Ones.

Some honor Yuanshi as the central deity,

Others place Taishang in the center.

At Lianyang Monastery, the primary veneration is offered to Taishang Laojun.

By now, the old Daoist had caught up. One arm held the little Daoist, the other carried the runaway chicken. Mingxin had a few feathers stuck in his hair. He asked curiously, “But it’s not morning or evening right now. Why is Uncle Qi offering incense to the Three Pure Ones?” The old Daoist pondered, then praised, “It’s a sign of his carefree spirit. All Daoists under heaven are disciples of the Dao Ancestors.”

“That’s why, upon his breakthrough, he didn’t send word to his teacher…”

“He only offered incense to the Three Pure Ones.”

“Ohhh… I see! But will the Three Pure Ones know?”

The old Daoist paused for a moment, then smiled and said: “If the heart is sincere, the spirits will respond.”

The young Daoist bowed slightly and placed the three sticks of incense into the burner. In his heart, he whispered:

“Teacher…”

“Your disciple has broken through.”

“And—your disciple now understands what must be done.”

The three sticks of incense wafted upward. Qi Wuhuo turned and walked away. From behind, the old Daoist called to him cheerfully: “A fellow Daoist’s breakthrough deserves a small celebration, don’t you think?”

The little Daoist added quickly, “That means we get to eat tasty food!” Which earned him another gentle tap on the forehead.

The old Daoist shook his head with a helpless smile: “What a little glutton.”

Behind them, the three incense sticks burned with gentle trails of smoke,

As though containing some hidden resonance, faintly rising—

Straight into the heavens, beyond the clouds, toward the thirty-sixth layer of the heavenly realm.

Just then—

In the Heavenly Realm, within the Xuandu Palace of the Purple Mansion…

The Grandmaster Xuandu was refining a pill.
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