Chapter 30: Drunk, Listening to the Mountain

"Lord of the Mountain, what do these mean?"

"May I ask, Lord of the Mountain, what is the true meaning behind this?"

"Lord of the Mountain, I think I understand a little—I grasp some of the subtleties of yin and yang, but how should we cultivate them?"

The first two questions, the Lord of the Mountain didn’t even want to answer, especially since one of the spirits was foolish enough to think "Lord" was part of his name—but the last question put him in a bind.

"The scriptures say exactly this, and everything after is the same. How exactly to practice? You must contemplate it yourself."

"Everything after is the same?"

"Precisely."

"Then how can this help us cultivate the Way of yin and yang?"

"I am still contemplating it myself."

"If even the Lord of the Mountain, so wise, hasn’t grasped it, could you have been tricked by those Daoists from Qiyun Mountain?"

"How dare you!"

The Lord of the Mountain was angry!

The deer spirit shuddered and sat back down.

By now, the fire on the mountain was nearly extinguished, its glow dimmed—but Lin Jue, even the girl, and all the spirits were utterly focused on the Lord of the Mountain reciting the Yin-Yang Scripture and the spirits around them. Only the old Daoist paid no attention to the scripture, nor disturbed them; quietly, he stepped forward and added another log to the fire.

"Huh..."

The old Daoist blew gently, and the flames surged higher.

The sky had darkened, the horizon deepening into night—but the fire atop the mountain blazed brightly, illuminating a wide area.

When the old Daoist returned to his seat, he found nearly every spirit on the mountaintop staring at him.

Lin Jue followed their gaze and looked at the old Daoist too.

Indeed—

Wasn’t this Yin-Yang Scripture obtained from the Qiyun Mountain temple? If we wanted to judge its truth or explain its meaning, wouldn’t it be best to ask a Daoist with real cultivation?

Isn’t there one right here?

"Guest, what are your thoughts on the Yin-Yang Scripture I just recited?" asked the Lord of the Mountain.

"Master! Is this book real or fake?"

"Was the Lord of the Mountain tricked?"

"Why can’t we understand it?"

"What does that mean?"

As soon as the Lord of the Mountain spoke, the spirits could no longer contain their itching curiosity and anxiety—they blurted out their questions at once.

"My fellow cultivators, don’t rush—the Lord of the Mountain hasn’t been deceived... though one might say he has been, at least this Yin-Yang Scripture is genuine, and it truly contains the Way of yin and yang—the Way suited to most spirits in this world."

After sitting down, the old Daoist neatly adjusted the hem of his robe, as if he were merely strolling through mountains and chatting idly with friends:

"But this Yin-Yang Scripture is neither rare nor precious. Many Daoist temples below the mountain hold copies. Qiyun Mountain certainly has one too. Whether the Lord of the Mountain was deceived depends on how many treasures he gave away for it."

At these words, the Lord of the Mountain froze.

With his boar’s head, he had looked wise when calm—but now, with this expression, he appeared plainly foolish.

Even Lin Jue understood—

The Yin-Yang Scripture was real.

But the trap was real too.

"As for why none of you understand this Yin-Yang Scripture," the old Daoist said, then suddenly turned his head and smiled at Lin Jue beside him, "I am old, and wine overpowers me—I’ve grown slightly drunk. Fortunately, there’s a scholar from below the mountain seated here. Perhaps he can explain it to you."

"Shhh..."

All eyes turned again to Lin Jue.

Lin Jue himself was stunned.

He had never read the Yin-Yang Scripture. He didn’t even know any of the world’s common cultivation methods—only the simplest Qi-nourishing technique. How could he possibly interpret this?

Yet the old Daoist still smiled, nodding gently.

"..."

With the thought that the old Daoist had no reason to trick him for no cause, and the chance to finally see what the Yin-Yang Scripture actually said, Lin Jue asked the Lord of the Mountain to let him read it.

The Lord of the Mountain agreed.

Amid the wind and crackling fire, a new sound arose—the turning of pages.

The spirits held their breath, not daring to make a sound, afraid that Lin Jue’s turning might delay their own cultivation.

"Shhh..."

Lin Jue continued flipping through the pages, reading by the firelight.

He felt no strange sensation.

Of course—the ancient text gave no response.

But as he turned the pages, he understood.

This truly was a "Scripture."

Perhaps even the work of a sage.

Yet just as students in the mortal world read the writings of sages—either they need a teacher to guide them, or they must study with commentaries—otherwise, they can barely grasp the surface meaning. Most merely memorize the words by rote, storing them in their minds, waiting for some future experience to echo a passage and suddenly awaken its deepest truth and method.

This process is long, uncertain.

"I understand."

"What do you understand?"

All the spirits stared at him intently.

Lin Jue met their gazes—he knew they had never read a book, lacked all culture—but their thirst for learning, their hunger for the Dao, was no less than his own, and in many cases greater. Their pure hearts could move even sages to lower their thresholds. Though he was shallow and unlearned, how could he hoard this knowledge selfishly?

"Do you know what a 'Scripture' means?"

"People often say only the works of sages are called 'Scriptures,' but that’s not necessarily true."

"Scripture means constancy. Scripture means path."

Lin Jue paused. Hearing no objections, yet sensing countless puzzled, seeking eyes—he felt no pride, only a quiet shame. He poured out everything he knew to these spirits born of heaven and earth:

"We often use a word: 'constant.'"

"'Scripture' means 'constant'—the enduring principles, the most fundamental, universal truths of the world."

"'Scripture' also means 'path'—the road most, if not all, beings must walk."

"These fundamental truths often come from sages, hence the saying that only sages’ writings are 'Scriptures.' But if you are not a sage, yet you articulate your own unique Dao, write it down, and the world accepts it widely—it too can be called a 'Scripture.'"

"Yet because it is so vast, so broad, it is only a direction, an essence—not a specific method."

"This Yin-Yang Scripture is remarkable—it speaks of the essence of yin and yang energy and the Way. But it is also inadequate—it gives no specific methods for cultivating or practicing yin and yang. Why? Because the Dao has many paths. Each person will have their own way of using yin and yang energy, their own way of walking the Way."

"Therefore, there must be some 'commentaries'—later geniuses who wrote different interpretations based on this Scripture, each offering distinct methods. I suspect these commentaries are the actual cultivation techniques."

As he spoke, Lin Jue glanced at the old Daoist beside him.

The old Daoist smiled, nodding vigorously.

The spirits remained silent. Though this wasn’t a specific cultivation method or profound truth, they listened, spellbound—like the spirits in folktales who slipped into human academies to eavesdrop on lessons.

He went on to explain the meaning of the Scripture.

Word by word.

He could no longer recall how late they talked, how many words were spoken.

After passing the initial fear of these strange-looking spirits, Lin Jue treated them with calmness. He found their minds simpler, more transparent than humans’. Not for deep friendship, but for brief companionship—they were pleasant. So they chatted through the night.

Some said they could use this Scripture to correct past cultivation errors, find the right direction, and forge their own Way of yin and yang.

Others said they should seek out yin-yang cultivation techniques.

Some suggested they pool their wisdom, study the Scripture together—it might be more useful.

Others said they should go to Qiyun Mountain and settle accounts with the Daoists.

It was also because they were drunk.

Grateful and delighted, the Lord of the Mountain offered Lin Jue another cup of "Thousand-Day Wine," infused with the essence of sun and moon. But Lin Jue, warned by the old Daoist, refused to drink it again—he feared he’d never wake. He also heard the second cup’s effect was weaker, so he put it away.

He thought: later, when he absorbed the sun-moon essence from this cup, or if he met other spirits or demons who gifted him something, he wouldn’t accept empty-handed—he’d give them this cup of wine in return.

Or when he reached Qiyun Mountain or Yishan, if he needed to offer a gift, he’d present this fine wine to a master.

As for tonight’s gains—they were already immense.

This Yin-Yang Scripture was not useless to the spirits, nor to Lin Jue. Though he hadn’t begun cultivation like the Lord of the Mountain and the spirits, with his talent and his Qi-nourishing technique, even if he never found a cultivation method, given time, he might eventually stumble upon a simple yin-yang technique and walk the Way of yin and yang.

Their conversation grew increasingly scattered—he listened to the spirits recount their pasts, heard the mountain ghost whisper love poems.

Without realizing it, he fell asleep.

He awoke the next morning to bright daylight.

The sky was clear, the sun rose over the mountains. A few pine trees stood still atop Langtou Mountain. The grass remained as fine as silk, trampled into chaos. In the center lay a pile of ash. Ahead still stood the large granite stone—but the spirits of all kinds and the Lord of the Mountain had vanished without a trace.

Only the old Daoist and the girl remained.

Lin Jue rose and looked around—

Had it not been for the lingering traces, he’d have thought last night’s events were unreal—just a strange dream from too many tales.

A hollow feeling rose in his chest.

He feared it had all been a dream.