Chapter 5: A Mortal

Time slipped away, and another three months passed.

Lingtai Fangcun Mountain was deep in autumn, its forests dyed in vivid hues, the mountain wind bleak and desolate.

Su Chen’s life was simple, almost monotonous.

Every day at Yin hour, he rose, fetched water, swept the courtyard, then followed the woodcutter up the mountain.

He no longer used the woodcutter’s sharp axe, but stubbornly clung to that forgotten, heavy, dull axe.

At first, the woodcutter tried to persuade him, saying he was torturing himself—using a dull axe to chop wood was inefficient and wasted strength.

Su Chen only smiled, saying he liked the weight of this axe; it built strength.

Seeing he could not sway him, the woodcutter said no more, assuming the young man had some peculiar habit.

Only Su Chen knew what he gained from this daily, tedious repetition.

Each time he swung the old axe, he no longer sought out the wood’s grain, but felt with his heart.

He felt the power rise from his feet, pass through his waist and abdomen, and finally flow into the axe’s blade in one complete motion.

His martial internal strength had long since dissipated; now what drove him was the purest essence of his flesh.

Each time he reached exhaustion, he squeezed out the deepest potential of his body.

Then, in the stillness of night, the faint threads of newly born “Qi” would nourish his weary body, leaving him refreshed and full of energy when he woke the next day.

It was an incredibly slow, yet profoundly solid accumulation.

His skin grew dark and rough, his palms thick with calluses, indistinguishable from any ordinary woodcutter in the mountains.

But his eyes grew brighter, calmer.

That day, heavy rain fell, the mountain path slick; the woodcutter did not climb up.

Su Chen ate breakfast, then donned his straw cape and conical hat, and carried his old axe into the mountains alone.

The forest in the rain held a different charm.

All sounds were hushed, save the rustle of rain on leaves.

The fragrance of earth and the fresh scent of plants mingled in the cool air, refreshing the spirit.

Su Chen arrived at a grove he often visited; he did not rush to act, but stood silently beneath a massive ancient pine, requiring two men to encircle.

He closed his eyes, feeling the rain slide down the brim of his hat, feeling the soil beneath his feet soften from the rain’s soak, feeling the vast, quiet life force within the ancient pine.

He seemed to merge with this mountain forest, with this autumn rain.

Long moments passed; he opened his eyes and slowly raised his old axe.

No dazzling aura, no mysterious technique—only the most common chopping motion of an ordinary woodcutter.

But the instant the axe reached its highest point, about to descend, Su Chen’s entire demeanor changed abruptly.

He was no longer a man—he was the axe itself.

His will, his spirit, his Qi—all converged upon that dull, heavy blade.

The old axe, howling through the wind, struck precisely against the thick trunk of the ancient pine.

The dull blade sank into the trunk like a hot knife through oil, silent and smooth, until it reached the handle.

Then Su Chen flicked his wrist and withdrew the axe.

A straight, slender white line appeared on the pine’s trunk.

The next moment, a sudden gale surged through the forest.

The massive ancient pine split silently along that white line; its upper crown crashed down, stirring a cloud of dust.

The cut surface was as smooth as a mirror.

Su Chen gazed at his work and exhaled slowly.

That breath, in the cold air, became a long-lasting white mist.

He had succeeded.

He had concentrated all his essence, Qi, and spirit into a single axe strike, delivering a blow beyond mortal limits.

This was no longer martial art—it was the embryonic form of the Dao.

Meanwhile, deep within Xieyue Sansheng Cave.

In a simple, ancient meditation chamber, Patriarch Puti sat cross-legged on a mat, his body suffused with Daoic resonance, one with heaven and earth.

Suddenly, his closed eyelids trembled slightly, then snapped open.

In his eyes, stars flickered and perished, sun and moon cycled.

“Hmm?”

He uttered a soft murmur, his gaze piercing through layers of the cave’s barriers, toward the forest’s depths.

Just now, he had sensed a peculiar Daoic resonance, fleeting and gone.

This Daoic resonance did not belong to any disciple within the cave, nor to the monkey head now learning etiquette and sweeping courtyards in the back mountain.

The monkey’s aura was lively, yet brimming with unruly wildness.

But this Daoic resonance was utterly different.

Within it lay a tenacious will: “from nothing to something, forging one’s own path.”

“Interesting.”

A hint of interest appeared on Patriarch Puti’s face.

He pinched his fingers to calculate fate—but the heavenly patterns were chaotic, revealing nothing.

This only deepened his curiosity.

Lingtai Fangcun Mountain was his Dao domain; every blade of grass, every tree, lay under his control—when had such an inscrutable variable appeared?

He recalled the mortal youth he had turned away.

At the time, he had said the youth was “unconnected”—first, because the youth’s fate was obscured by a mysterious force, making his origins unreadable;

second, because the Great Journey’s tribulation was destined by heaven—the monkey was the destined one, and this youth, an unplanned variable, would only invite unnecessary trouble if he intervened.

Thus, “unconnected” was both refusal and protection.

But he had not expected the youth to stay, and with his mortal body, to carve open the path of cultivation right here in the wilds.

“With a mortal’s axe, he cleaves a tree of the Great Dao… Such character, such insight—my heart stirs.”

Patriarch Puti murmured to himself.

He rose, his figure flickered, and vanished from the meditation chamber.

In the forest, Su Chen was lost in the joy of his breakthrough when suddenly his heart stirred—a warning.

He spun around and saw, not far behind, an old farmer wearing a straw cape and conical hat.

The farmer leaned on a bamboo staff, ordinary in appearance—but Su Chen’s scalp instantly prickled.

For with his current perception, he had not sensed this man’s approach at all!

“Young man, such strength—you felled such a thick tree so easily,” the farmer’s voice was hoarse and aged.

Su Chen’s heart tightened with caution, but his face remained calm; he bowed slightly. “Old man, you flatter me—it’s just my daily trade.”

The farmer stepped forward, glanced at the mirror-smooth cut, then at Su Chen’s dull axe; his cloudy eyes flashed a glint of insight.

“Heh, with such a dull axe, you carved such a cut—truly remarkable.”

Su Chen’s heart leapt.

“Young man, your axe technique appears to chop wood, but in truth, it severs worldly ties and polishes the Dao heart.”

"Yet, without guidance, your fumbling is reckless—you gather your essence and Qi, but you do not know how to circulate them; your spirit is sharp, but you do not know how to restrain it."

The farmer’s words struck Su Chen like heavy hammers.

Each sentence pierced the core of his current cultivation state.

Su Chen knew—he had met a true master.

He drew a deep breath, dropped his axe, and bowed deeply to the farmer.

“Disciple Su Chen, blind to greatness—I beg you, Master, to guide me!”

The farmer chuckled, extended his withered hand, and lifted him up.

“Very well, very well. Since you’ve carved your own path, if I refuse to aid you, wouldn’t I seem petty?”

As he spoke, the farmer’s straw cape, conical hat, and aged face dissolved like ripples on water.

In their place stood a Daoist priest in flowing robes, ethereal and noble, his face lean, his eyes deep as the entire starry sky.

It was none other than the master of Xieyue Sansheng Cave—Patriarch Puti!

Su Chen stared, his expression shattered, speechless.

Patriarch Puti watched his stunned face and smiled, stroking his beard. “So you’ve guessed my identity?”

Su Chen snapped back, fell to his knees, his voice trembling.

“Su Chen, bows before the Patriarch!”

This time, Patriarch Puti did not refuse.

He accepted the bow calmly and said, “I once said you were unconnected to me. Yet now I see—the word ‘connection’ is not fixed by heaven; it can be claimed by one’s own will.”

“You cleaved the path to immortality with a mortal’s axe—your Dao heart is unshakable. From today, you are my registered disciple.”

“Come with me.”