Chapter 10: The Heart Is No Longer Here

“Lin Jue, out cutting grass so early?”

As Lin Jue descended the mountain with a basket full of grass, he met the village elder known for telling stories.

He promptly stopped and replied:

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you used to go to the academy in the morning and cut grass in the afternoon?” The elder, who had been strolling at dawn to admire the crops, paused to look at him, his expression grave. “I just heard from the tutor that you haven’t been to the academy these past few days. Remember, the village lets you cut grass and feed the oxen not to burden you, but to keep you occupied without hindering your studies—you mustn’t neglect your education.”

“Shu Taiyeye is right,” Lin Jue answered honestly. “That night at the Heng Village ancestral hall, I inhaled the demon’s smoke, and ever since, my head has felt dull and foggy. Even now, the thought of studying leaves me utterly drained, so I’ve taken a temporary break.”

“Then you must rest well.”

“I know.” Lin Jue paused. “There’s a fair at Luo Xian Temple in town these three days—why don’t you go?”

“How far can I walk? And it’s just a fair—I saw plenty of those when I was young. When you reach my age, you’ll find nothing worth seeing.” The elder paused. “Did you go?”

“I went to buy medicine for my uncle.”

“What’s worth seeing?”

“I saw a magician who cut off his hand and reattached it—truly miraculous.”

“Some of those tricks do have their wonders.”

“Have you heard of Qi Yun Mountain?”

“How could I not know Qi Yun Mountain? I’m not some man who’s never left the village.”

“May I ask, where is Qi Yun Mountain? What kind of place is it? People at the fair said there’s a Daoist gathering there.”

“Qi Yun Mountain is a famed Daoist immortal mountain, said to have extremely efficacious temples, and the Daoist priests who dwell there are all Celestial Masters.” The elder frowned in thought. “As for its location—I recall it’s in the opposite direction from Hexian County, roughly four or five hundred li away. Hmm, it’s not terribly far—if you can leave this village, walking slowly, you’d get there in seven or eight days. But if you can’t leave this village, you’ll never reach it, and may never even hear of it.”

“And the Daoist gathering?”

“What Daoist gathering?”

“The one at Qi Yun Mountain.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Where did you hear that?”

“From the magicians at the fair.”

“You boy, remember: among the Three Teachings, Confucianism reigns supreme. The highest virtue in heaven and earth is still scholarship. Studying is your foremost duty—don’t let your mind wander to such places. Study hard. When you ascend to the Son of Heaven’s court, you’ll be honored guest wherever you go—be it a famed mountain temple or an immortal cave.”

“Thank you for your teaching.”

The elder leaned on his cane and walked away.

Lin Jue also carried his grass and left.

“Qi Yun Mountain…”

It did seem a well-known place.

Beneath its fame, truth or falsehood remained uncertain—whether it lived up to its reputation, too. But since traveling magicians went there to join the festivities, it must possess some real power.

Yet such renowned places, whether genuine or not, surely draw crowds. If I went there openly to seek learning, I’d likely face great difficulty.

And the grand Daoist gathering, which lured magicians to travel thousands of li just to attend, must draw no shortage of extraordinary individuals.

But unfortunately, first, my uncle still lies ill. According to the customs of this world, as his nephew, I cannot lightly travel far—my aunt would never allow it. Second, I don’t even know when the gathering occurs, let alone how much money I’d need for a round trip of at least half a month.

I’ll probably miss this opportunity.

Yet such grand assemblies surely recur—there must be a cycle, a pattern.

Lin Jue returned home and began brewing medicine for his uncle.

He moved the small brazier outside, placed wood and kindling inside, and patiently lit it.

Lin Jue focused intently, watching thick smoke rise from the furnace. He blew gently—the smoke dispersed, revealing the fierce glow within, then a few sparks. Soon the smoke returned, obscuring the fire once more, yet a faint ember still glowed through, as if energy were being nurtured within, eager to be released.

“Huh…”

The stored fire erupted violently, blazing fiercely.

Lin Jue watched closely, even extending his hand over the flame to feel its heat.

In the early spring morning, wearing so little, he was cold—yet tending the fire felt like a kind of pleasure.

Beyond the warmth, by staring so intently at the flame, he followed the teachings of the book, carefully sensing the spirit of the fire—watching it flicker and sway, rise and fall, feeling its ethereal rhythm.

Suddenly, he bent forward and opened his mouth.

“Inhale…”

Just like the old man had done yesterday.

Naturally, nothing happened.

He merely inhaled hot air.

“Hah…”

Lin Jue chuckled, turned, and fetched the pot.

White smoke rose gradually; the medicine’s fragrance drifted through the house.

Day after day was much the same—

He rose just as dawn broke, carried his basket to the mountain stream, sat in meditation during the transition of night and day, then returned to cut grass. He always met one or two villagers, always exchanged a few words.

After breakfast, he brewed medicine for his uncle, contemplating the spirit of fire. When the medicine was ready, his cousin would return to feed his uncle. Lin Jue would then help his aunt light the stove to cook lunch—this was even better for sensing the spirit of fire. In the afternoon he did chores; at dusk he returned to meditate.

At first, this life—rising before sunrise, sleeping with the dark, always occupied from dawn to dusk—felt unnatural to Lin Jue. But after adapting, he found it surprisingly fulfilling.

Yet gradually, things changed.

A few days later, during meditation, Lin Jue could clearly sense the process of inhaling the Five Qi of Heaven and Earth. Though mist should not rise at this season, each breath now carried a faint wisp of white.

When brewing medicine, inhaling once in a while could even draw the flame upward—nearly scorching him.

Another half-month passed.

While meditating in the mountain stream valley, Lin Jue could now clearly sense the spirit of all things around him.

Now, when alone brewing medicine, after lighting the fire, a deep breath allowed him to draw the flame into his nose and mouth, transforming it into fire-Qi, storing it in his dantian, where it lingered for several breaths.

When he exhaled, a cloud of bright flame burst forth.

Though he had expected it, the first time he succeeded, Lin Jue was profoundly shaken—

A cloud of flame spewed from his own mouth. The sensation of mastering a magical art, of possessing something extraordinary, filled him with an exquisite wonder—ethereal, illusory, dreamlike.

This feeling was undeniably irresistible.

…

Unaware, two months passed.

The season shifted from early spring to early summer.

Though the physician’s medicine was expensive, its effect was real—his uncle’s condition visibly improved; he could now get out of bed, and in recent days had stubbornly returned to light farm work.

But for the Lin family, this merely eased the immediate crisis.

Lin Jue was a scholar, and scholarship consumed much. Even before his uncle fell ill, the household barely managed. Now, even if his uncle fully recovered, they would merely return to their former state.

Worse, the local customs of filial piety and fraternal duty constrained not only the young but also the elders: as long as Lin Jue remained in the village, his uncle and aunt were obligated to support him—neither could let him abandon his studies nor burden him with labor, or the villagers of Shu Village would gossip and condemn them.

Of course, familial affection also imposed strong constraints.

This was precisely what Lin Jue had been pondering lately.

Life continued as before.

“Splashing…”

The small stream rushed endlessly. The boy let the green ox graze beside him while he caught several small fish, skewered them on bamboo sticks, and gathered a pile of firewood.

Facing the wood, Lin Jue did not reach for a fire-striker. Instead, he glanced around, then lowered his head and exhaled.

“Huuuu…”

A continuous stream of flame shot forth.

Soon, the wood ignited.

Lin Jue placed the fish over the fire, his gaze fixed on the flame, growing distant.

The green ox beside him stared, puzzled, glancing at him several times.

Following the ancient book’s teachings, his progress, though not extreme, had been swift.

Now, though Lin Jue had not yet reached the point of generating fire-Qi within himself, a single breath could draw in vast amounts of fire-Qi, storing it in his body for a full day and night without dissipating. In terms of distance and frequency of flame expulsion, he surpassed the old man from before.

Lin Jue suspected the old man was one of those worldly practitioners described in the book—lacking innate spiritual talent, forced to rely on years of arduous breath cultivation, achieving only limited mastery.

He himself, by contrast, clearly possessed the talent to cultivate spiritual arts—and likely a good one.

His youth was also an advantage.

Yet he still did not know what spiritual arts truly were.

He also noticed the book’s limitations—

So far, whether breath control, Fire-Repelling Art, or Qi-Nourishing Method, the book explained everything thoroughly. But it was still an inanimate object.

If Lin Jue fully understood its content, it was fine. But whenever he encountered something unclear, or had related questions needing answers, it could not respond.

Thus, sometimes he had to ask others about the location of an acupoint or the meaning of a term, sometimes he had to experiment cautiously, fearing he might misstep and suffer a spiritual backlash—always extremely careful.

Had it not been for this, his progress would have been even faster.

“Huh…”

Lin Jue suddenly realized: if he left now, even performing magic tricks on the street, he wouldn’t starve.

If he mastered the craft—knew where the fairs were held, how to stir the crowd’s emotions—he might even earn considerable money.

The thought made his heart sink.

The desire to leave this small village, to see the vast world beyond, grew stronger.

He began to smell the fragrance.

When he finished eating the skewered fish, the green ox had also finished grazing. Lin Jue let it play in the stream a while, then led it home.

At the dinner table, he heard his cousin ask: “Have you seen Shu Datou lately?”

“I saw him a few days ago.”

“He left today; you probably won’t see him for a long time.”

“Where did he go?”

“He went to a neighboring county to study.”

“Why go to a neighboring county to study?”

“He said our village lacks literary talent—we haven’t had many pass the imperial exams over the years. A few days ago, a senior official from the neighboring county retired and returned home, taking on students, so he went there to become his disciple.”

“Leaving to study… ”

Shu Datou was a youth of the Shu clan in the village, from a relatively wealthy family. He was about the same age as Lin Jue and his cousin, and since they lived in the same village, they often played together as children, though their contact gradually diminished as they grew older. His cousin’s tone when speaking of him was strange—likely the sighing of a young man.

Lin Jue suddenly realized this gave him a perfect reason to make his uncle and aunt more receptive.

“I want to leave to study too.”

“You too? Why? Where?”

Lin Jue put down his chopsticks and explained seriously:

“First, our family is poor. My cousin hasn’t married yet, and my uncle has only just recovered from a long illness. Supporting me in my studies is no longer sustainable.”

“Second, perhaps our village truly lacks literary talent—few have passed the exams in recent years, and not even a handful have passed the preliminary district examination. Unlike the Shu clan, we have no connections in the county. If we stay, I’ll never succeed. It’s better to leave.”

“Lastly, after much thought, I believe what that man said in the Wang family ancestral hall that night wasn’t a lie. My soul was unsettled after I nearly drowned—it makes sense. If I don’t leave, I’ll never find a way to stabilize it.”

Where there is studying away from home, there is also traveling study.

Throughout history, many famous figures have undertaken traveling study. Some already had deep learning and sought out renowned masters to broaden their knowledge; some used the guise of traveling study to wander mountains and rivers and make friends; others simply traveled widely, hoping to be taught or gain connections to help them pass the exams and enter officialdom.

Lin Jue had long lost his desire to study the classics; his heart was fixed on the Immortal Dao, eternal life, and discovering the world’s wondrous uniqueness. Staying in this village was both torment for himself and a burden to his uncle and aunt.

Moreover, there was what that man had said that night:

His soul was unstable—he must find a way to anchor it.

This was indeed a fine reason.

And fortunately, a fellow villager had already paved the way.

But the clan customs and rituals here, especially in this place, were extremely strict. Carrying out such a plan was not simple.

He would at least need to clearly explain to the elder Shu clan members and familiar neighbors that he was leaving voluntarily for traveling study; otherwise, once he left, his uncle and aunt might face gossip.

He also needed to obtain a travel permit.

Once Lin Jue made up his mind, he acted decisively.

Over the next few days, he first laid out the pros and cons, using Shu Datou’s example from the village and citing ancient precedents of traveling study to convince his uncle, aunt, and cousin. Then he visited every household, thanking and bidding farewell to neighbors, carefully explaining his intentions and reasons—while avoiding mention of family hardship.

He also returned every book he had borrowed.