Chapter 22: Ambition Cannot Reach a Thousand Li, Yet Still Refuses to Be Forgotten

Chu Tianshu slept until late afternoon, then yawned and sat down in the tavern’s main hall to eat.

Because he had eaten at the village head’s house the previous noon, the chicken and duck originally prepared for him at the tavern had been left untouched; the cold cuts had a unique flavor, and paired with a pot of hot water, they were enough to stir one’s appetite.

But he had only practiced his cultivation in the morning, so he wasn’t particularly hungry, and ate slowly, observing the street scene, his mouth, mind, and eyes each occupied with different things.

His mouth chewed slowly, his eyes stared blankly, while his mind dwelled on the dream.

“I felt more at ease moving with them in the dream—but when will I ever truly break through once and for all?”

The streets held fewer people than usual; many were still resting at home, and even those who had mustered the strength to set up stalls looked weary from insufficient sleep.

Yet when they spoke of last night’s opera, exhaustion on their faces gave way to a flicker of excitement.

Chu Tianshu snapped back to attention, his gaze drifting past the doorway, watching them gesture and chatter; recalling last night, he felt a quiet resonance.

It was like watching a martial manual with music accompaniment—easier to find delight in every movement.

Even those who didn’t fully appreciate music would suddenly recognize a phrase or two whose rhythm matched the martial manual’s essence, and couldn’t help memorizing those lines, humming them to themselves.

“Still thinking about last night’s opera?”

Master Ma sat across from him, poured himself half a bowl of hot water, his face still groggy from sleep.

He blew gently over the surface, letting the steam rise and brush his face, as if savoring the warmth, speaking slowly.

“The Song Dynasty’s ‘Dreams of the Eastern Capital’ records that from after Qixi Festival until the fifteenth day, performances of ‘Mokuren Rescues His Mother’ were staged continuously, drawing twice the usual crowds; during the Kangxi era of the Qing, it’s said the imperial court also loved such grand operas, with troupes performing for seven straight days in rotating shifts.”

“Pity we don’t have such fortune—we can’t hear seven days of masterful singing. But last night’s full performance, and getting to hear it again on the seventh day, isn’t bad.”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “If they sang every night for seven days straight, that kind of inverted schedule? I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Master Ma teased, “Old men need rest. You’re young, your cultivation is already highly refined—why so cautious?”

“Highly refined…?”

Chu Tianshu recalled yesterday’s events. “Was that Deputy Officer Zhou the one who truly achieved Dragon-Wrapped-Body?”

Master Ma hesitated. “Judging by how you two fought, he still had room to maneuver—he’s almost certainly achieved Dragon-Wrapped-Body. But he’s likely hiding ulterior motives. Stay wary.”

“I thought he was off somehow too.”

Chu Tianshu’s eyes brightened slightly. “But from his demeanor—if he’s scheming, then my simple desire to spar with him should still be tolerable.”

Master Ma blinked in surprise. “You want to spar with him?”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “Yes. I feel I’m just a hair’s breadth away from Dragon-Wrapped-Body.”

“Having him right there as a ready sparring partner—practicing with him a few more times will surely help.”

Master Ma’s expression grew subtle as he lifted the hot water and sipped. “If you don’t want to be easily swayed by him, avoid him. If you want to spar, find Old Zhong.”

Chu Tianshu chuckled. “Just by looking at Master Zhong’s frame, you can tell he doesn’t follow the Dragon-Wrapped-Body path. Different styles—sparring now wouldn’t suit me well.”

Just then, Zhong Jinqiu arrived, stepping over the threshold.

“Sparring? Fine.”

Zhong Jinqiu held a jar. “Soon, you’ll have something in common with me too.”

Master Ma stood up, his expression tinged with excitement. “Here it is.”

Zhong Jinqiu tapped the jar. “Inside.”

“Good, good.”

The main hall was empty. Master Ma stood and locked the tavern door, then whispered, “Xiao Chu, come with us.”

He picked up the pot of hot water and turned toward the courtyard.

Chu Tianshu noticed their odd behavior, puzzled, but after a moment’s thought, followed.

Master Ma entered the side storage room, filled with crates, steamers, iron pots, and clutter.

He fumbled along the wall, then lifted a thick wooden panel, revealing a cellar below.

The two old men descended the stairs. Chu Tianshu peered in and saw it was clearly a wine cellar.

A table, barrels, and along the walls, numerous earthenware jars sealed with red cloth and mud.

Down below, the air was surprisingly fresh; after removing several wooden slats from the wall, an unknown source of light illuminated the space.

“This connects directly to the wall above the storage room, leading to the roof—there are ventilation gaps and hollow channels for mirrors. Several mirrors refracting light repeatedly are enough to brighten the cellar.”

Master Ma explained, then pulled a ring on the wall; the wooden panel above sealed shut.

Zhong Jinqiu placed the jar on the table, lifted the lid, and pried it open with a pair of bamboo chopsticks.

Chu Tianshu now recognized it: preserved pork.

Large chunks of pork were fried in oil until all the fat rendered out, then packed into a jar and completely covered with hot oil.

Once cooled, the oil hardened into snowy white, preserving the meat for long periods; when eaten, a piece was scooped out—many ways to prepare it, fragrant and rich.

But Zhong Jinqiu dug out a wax-paper packet from the oil, dropped it into the hot water, waited until the pork fat melted away, then used chopsticks to lift it out and place it on the table.

The bamboo chopsticks in his hands became as sharp as blades; with one swift slash, five layers of wax paper split open, revealing what lay inside.

It was a piece of yellow jade, the size of a baby’s fist.

Chu Tianshu asked curiously, “What is this?”

Zhong Jinqiu replied succinctly: “Spiritual Yang Gallbladder.”

Chu Tianshu recalled a treasure described in medical texts.

A hundred-year wild bear, shedding its fur and regenerating, its coat white as snow, facing the wind and sun—its gallbladder, the convergence of all its yang energy, was called “Spiritual Yang.”

This yellow jade matched both the name and appearance described in the texts—its effects were likely the same.

Chu Tianshu was moved. “Is this the Spiritual Yang Gallbladder that lets aging cultivators prolong life, preserve their form, and die peacefully?”

As long as one hasn’t transcended mortality, whether a spirit-medium or martial cultivator, nearing the end of life, there is one grave affliction.

The elderly called it “Scattering of Qi”—a process lasting seven days to a month, marked by chaotic mental energy or fluctuating bodily size, excruciatingly painful.

It was said this happened because cultivators more easily touched the essence of life; their frequent interference with life essence during their youth, while in the Opened Meridian state, became unsustainable as they aged and lost control, triggering collapse.

Some cultivation schools even developed methods to sense one’s remaining lifespan.

Two or three months before death, sensing the end approaching, they deliberately reduced their cultivation, lowering themselves to a level where the collapse wouldn’t occur, thus avoiding the agony of Scattering.

Chu Tianshu’s grandfather had used this method—inserting a set of needles into himself in advance.

But to cut away half a lifetime’s cultivation oneself—even if it spared physical pain—left a heavy sorrow, a lingering pallor of illness.

But with a Spiritual Yang Gallbladder, swallowing it could extend life by months, and one would never suffer Scattering at death.

“That’s the one.”

Master Ma sighed. “Years ago, a village kept losing children to bears. We stopped by for lodging, outraged, tracked them into the deep mountains, and killed a black bear—only to find it was a descendant of a hundred-year bear.”

“We killed the cub, and the parent came. A brutal fight, but we finally killed it—and gained this rare treasure.”

Zhong Jinqiu said, “All these years, only the two of us have known this secret—even my wife and son… my wife never cultivated, my son was useless, couldn’t use this, so I never told him.”

As he spoke, his face held a melancholy, a flash of old anger quickly gone.

Master Ma quickly changed the subject. “Xiao Chu, you’re a divine physician, but you don’t know the other use of the Spiritual Yang Gallbladder?”

“Besides helping aging elders, for martial artists pursuing the Path of Food as Immortality, this is a supreme tonic.”

Master Ma stroked his short beard, slightly proud. “You claim to follow Dragon-Wrapped-Body, but you can’t fool me.”

“Your appetite proves you practice two martial arts—the other is the Path of Food as Immortality!”

“Young men greedy for too many paths end up chewing without swallowing. Your mastery of Food as Immortality lags far behind your Dragon-Wrapped-Body, doesn’t it?”

Though his reasoning was slightly off, his conclusion was correct.

The Gluttonous Back-Transmit method focused only on the intestines and stomach, yet still trained all four limbs; after the second refinement, the manual added special standing postures to train sinew strength, leaving internal organ cultivation far behind.

Chu Tianshu now understood, though wasn’t certain: “Are you two… planning to give me the Spiritual Yang Gallbladder?”

“Strange?”

Master Ma said, “In this world, who can guarantee they’ll live to die peacefully? If we keep this, it might just be buried someday—wasted.”

“We fought to the death to get it—how can we let it vanish into dust?”

“You’re young, spirited, courageous, full of potential—you’ve fought beside me, and you deserve this treasure.”

Zhong Jinqiu crossed his arms. “I don’t care. There’s little in this world worth my concern. If Old Ma wants to give it to you, I’ll help him.”

Master Ma laughed again. “Let me say one more truth: watching you advance in both martial and spiritual cultivation, with a good heart…”

“You remind me of the person we once wanted to be—sent by heaven to an old man like me.”

“So if you can grow stronger, grow even stronger—stronger still!”

Chu Tianshu suddenly understood what lay in Master Ma’s gaze.

It wasn’t selfless generosity, nor even an elder’s affection.

It was merely… unwillingness to be forgotten.

Most people’s lives leave only dust in the tide of history; the more chaotic the era, the more one feels nothing was ever left behind.

The old steed lies down, its spirit faded, its ambition no longer reaching a thousand li—but still, unwilling to be forgotten.

His grandfather’s eyes in his final days had held the same look—but he could never have spoken Master Ma’s words.

What could he say to a child trapped since childhood in nightmares?

If he saw Chu Tianshu now, he wouldn’t need so much care, so much gentleness—he’d just give a hard push.

Go. Take more. Walk boldly—even if you crash headlong into the turbid waves, make a bigger splash!

Chu Tianshu fell silent for a moment.

“Unwillingness to be forgotten isn’t just an old man’s privilege.”

He smiled. “Thank you—I won’t waste this gallbladder you’ve given me!”

(End of Chapter)