Chapter 21

After reading the letter, Liu Xiaolou sighed: “This guy, I really don’t want to deal with him.”

Dai Shenggao chuckled: “From my view, he’s asking you to take on a job—whether you go or not is up to you. Wei Hongqing said if you’re willing, you must arrive by the first of next month; he’ll wait until then, but not a moment longer.”

He calculated the days: only six remained until the first of next month. His spirit stones were nearly depleted, so time was ample—but whether he could break through the Tianquan Point remained uncertain.

“Thank you, Elder, for personally delivering this letter. I don’t know how to repay you,” Liu Xiaolou bowed deeply.

Dai Shenggao waved his hand: “I delivered this letter only as a favor. Actually, I have a request.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said: “The Three Mysteries Scripture your family preserves... could I borrow it to read?”

Seeing Liu Xiaolou’s surprise, Dai Shenggao hurried on: “When your Master was still alive, he once promised to exchange insights on this—on the Dao methods recorded in the Three Mysteries Scripture. But back then, my mind was distracted, and I lost the chance. After he passed, I’ve often thought of it, always filled with regret. At midnight, in dreams, I still see his demeanor... this...”

Seeing the old man’s face flush, stammering awkwardly, Liu Xiaolou instantly understood: “Elder, wait a moment—I’ll fetch it.”

Dai Shenggao had been his Master’s close friend for years, visiting often each year, drinking with him until drunkenness, or descending the mountain with him, facing life and death countless times. Their sect’s little arts meant nothing to such a man—he had no reason to hide them.

He turned and entered the house, pried up a floor tile beneath the bed, pulled out a yellowed leather-bound book from a pile of scrolls, its cover inscribed with three characters: “Yin Yang Jing.”

The Three Mysteries Sect’s legacy consisted of three scriptures: “Xuan Zhen Jing,” “Mi Li Jing,” and “Yin Yang Jing.”

“Xuan Zhen Jing” was Liu Xiaolou’s current cultivation method; “Mi Li Jing” contained the formulas and usage of Mi Li Incense; as for “Yin Yang Jing,” no further explanation was needed.

He handed the “Yin Yang Jing” to Dai Shenggao. Seeing the old man still flushed and embarrassed, Liu Xiaolou eased his discomfort: “Elder, yin-yang cultivation is the Dao. My Master often said: to live in this world, one must harmonize externally with heaven and earth, internally with yin and yang—that is the true root of attainment. A woman without a husband is a lonely woman; a man without a wife is a lonely man...”

Dai Shenggao coughed twice, interrupting: “Yes, yes, yes—your Master’s words are indeed correct. Uh, I won’t take it away. I’ll read it right here. Just look, that’s all.”

Liu Xiaolou smiled, said nothing, and did not disturb Dai Shenggao’s reading. He sat aside, continuing to absorb spirit stones and convert them into true qi, striving to open the point.

He cultivated for hours without knowing. When he opened his eyes, night had fallen. Suddenly, he heard Dai Shenggao murmuring beside him: “Pearl cast in darkness? Pearl cast in darkness? This... how to interpret?”

Liu Xiaolou answered immediately: “Elder, ‘pearl’ here doesn’t mean a real pearl—it’s an imagined one. Visualize a golden pearl glowing in your abdomen, connected to the Dao root beneath your navel, entering and exiting. When it enters the root, it vanishes—that’s ‘pearl cast in darkness.’”

Dai Shenggao slapped his forehead: “So that’s it! So that’s it!” He sat cross-legged, pondering the meaning, and unconsciously began shifting back and forth on the balcony. The balcony, built of bamboo and wood, creaked loudly under his movements, yet he felt nothing.

Liu Xiaolou found it amusing but said nothing. He rose, descended the balcony, and went to the hearth to light a fire and cook.

On the firewood pile lay a five-colored pheasant, its neck broken—likely just caught by Da Bai E. Its innards had been removed. He plucked its feathers, rubbed on sauce, skewered it with a branch, and set it beside the hearth to roast.

When the pot boiled, he chopped bamboo fungus, wild greens, and wild gourds, and simmered them.

Over half an hour, the meal was ready: one pot of soup, one plump chicken.

Da Bai E, scenting the aroma, dashed out from the woods, startling Dai Shenggao, who was still moving unconsciously. Dai Shenggao awoke as from a dream and laughed: “My belly is empty as a drum—this method is truly remarkable.”

The two men and the goose sat together to eat. Dai Shenggao spoke of strange tales from the cultivation world, or asked about difficult passages in the “Yin Yang Jing.” The meal was lively.

Thus passed three days. Dai Shenggao laid down the scripture, sighed, and said: “The Dao within holds infinite profundity. Don’t read too much—otherwise, you’ll sink into it and never escape.”

Liu Xiaolou asked: “Aren’t you going to read more?”

Dai Shenggao replied: “Three days’ study is enough. Besides, this Dao cannot be mastered by merely burying oneself in texts—it must be... uh... tested...”

Liu Xiaolou advised: “When my Master was alive, he often trained at the first alley in Wuchao Town. He once said: the woman named Qing at the alley’s entrance, though she never studied this scripture, had intuitively grasped its essence. Her interactions with others were perfectly harmonious, profoundly mysterious.”

Dai Shenggao beamed: “That’s perfect! Uh, Xiaolou, I’ll descend the mountain now. No more troubling you.”

After Dai Shenggao left, Liu Xiaolou reached the critical moment of his cultivation. As the last spirit stone was consumed, the Tianquan Point finally cracked open. True qi surged in, accumulating in the Tianquan Yuan Pool.

The second point—finally broken!

He counted the days: three remained until Wei Hongqing’s agreed date of the first of November. He should set out.

He had pondered these days: should he go? After much thought, he decided he must. Not for the old ginseng, nor merely for the possible “deal”—the key was that it was Wei Hongqing’s invitation. After all, he was Liu Xiaolou’s only true friend. Without him, no one else would even bother with him...

Da Bai E stood before the gate, neck raised, watching Liu Xiaolou depart, quacking loudly.

Liu Xiaolou stroked the goose’s head feathers: “Guard the home. If you find something good outside, don’t bring it back blindly—know who to bring it to, understand?”

Early winter approached; the Wuchao River’s water level had dropped sharply. Rowing the bamboo raft down the mountain was arduous in many places. By the time the moon rose above the trees, he reached the downstream stretch and floated southward. In one night, he traveled one hundred and fifty li, landing at the river bend where the Wuchao turned south.

Here, still seventy or eighty li from Tianmen Market, he must cross Mount Wuling. Rumor said its terrain was treacherous, cliffs sheer—nothing like the gentle slopes of Wulong Mountain. It teemed with venomous insects, ferocious beasts, and bandits.

But the mountain stretched north-south for miles; detouring would add nearly two hundred li—too much trouble. Liu Xiaolou’s cultivation had surged recently; he felt confident he could handle it. After a brief rest at the mountain’s base, ignoring the unbroken night, he felt a surge of boldness and began climbing under cover of darkness.

It was his first time entering Mount Wuling. After scaling a small hill, he faced a deep ravine. Over twenty zhang deep, the water shimmered under moonlight, appearing shallow. Neither end could be seen—if he detoured, he’d have no idea how far.

The opposite ridge was only about ten zhang away. The nearest tree, an ancient pine slanting over the ridge toward him, stretched less than ten zhang. Yet even that distance was impassable for a Qi Refining third-layer cultivator like him—he could only sigh and stare.

Even if my Master were still alive, could he cross? I wonder—after Foundation Establishment, could I leap across?

He looked around: no tree grew as tall as ten zhang. Building a bridge was impractical.

The easiest way was straight up and down.