Chapter 39: Wood Element Spiritual Resonance

“Those who speak well of Heaven must ground their words in humanity; those who speak well of humanity must root their words in Heaven.”

In the Banship Hall of Fuxiu Temple, an old Daoist in his robes sat at the head, while two newly accepted disciples sat below, listening to his teaching.

The old Daoist’s voice was serene.

Yet within that serenity lay a faint weakness, unlike his state before returning to the temple, while still on the road.

“Thus Heaven has four seasons, sun and moon advancing in turn, cold and heat alternating, its motion ever turning. In harmony it becomes rain, in anger it becomes wind, dispersing as dew, in chaos as mist, condensing as frost and snow, standing firm as insects—this is Heaven’s constant pattern. Humans have four limbs and five viscera, waking and sleeping, breathing in and out, essence and Qi flowing, circulating as Ying and Wei, manifesting as complexion, expressing as voice—this too is humanity’s constant pattern.”

“This means: those skilled in speaking of Heaven’s Dao must relate it to humanity; those skilled in speaking of human affairs must base them on Heaven’s Dao. In cultivation, this means the cultivator perceives Heaven and Earth through their own changes and thoughts, yet must constantly adjust themselves by aligning with Heaven’s patterns—Heaven and humanity respond to each other, fundamentally interconnected.”

“Cough… cough…”

It was largely about the correspondence between humans and Heaven and Earth.

It was the Dao that Yunhe Daoist taught them.

It was one of the preparatory lessons of cultivation.

The old Daoist spoke slowly, the sun gradually climbing higher.

Clearly, the old Daoist was weary.

“That’s enough for today.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Is there anything you didn’t understand?”

“We mostly understand—it just needs time to sink in.”

“Good.”

The old Daoist nodded repeatedly, then added:

“By the way, I am old, and lately I am more often drowsy than awake. Just recently, during the Grand Rite, Xianyuan Temple took in a dozen new disciples—they have special instructors to teach reading and writing. Our ancestral masters were close friends, and their successors remained close. Qingyao, you cannot read—go to Xianyuan Temple and study with their disciples. Be diligent.”

“Understood, Master.”

The young disciple nodded solemnly.

“Lin Jue, you can read, but know this: learning scholarship is easy; learning the Dao is hard. When the abbot of Xianyuan Temple teaches, I’ve told you to attend. Don’t be shy. The Dao is different in every mouth. If you wish to go far, listening only to me is too narrow. Wang Ji has some insights here too.” Yunhe Daoist chuckled, “If they teach spells, don’t be too proud—listen to whatever you can.”

“Understood.”

Lin Jue likewise agreed.

…

On Fuxiu Peak.

In the mountain woods, the sounds of pruning dead branches and chatter were common; up close, one could hear the temple’s lute and flute music; from afar, only the flute remained, occasionally drifting through—the fourth senior brother’s idle melody, played while mingling with birds and beasts.

“Brother Tree, your lower branches get no sunlight, draining nutrients—let me prune them for firewood.”

“Brother, why do you talk to trees when chopping wood?”

“Just for my own amusement…”

As Lin Jue spoke, he swung his blade.

Chopping wood had been Lin Jue’s chore, but the young disciple refused to let him do it alone—she always followed, carrying the chopped wood away, sorting and tying it by dryness and thickness.

After chopping, they returned together—one carrying the yoke, the other the bamboo basket.

The little fox cub trailed behind them.

This had been their routine for days.

Besides chopping wood, they also fetched water.

Along the path from temple to spring, countless drops had spilled—still, one ahead, one behind, each carrying half a bucket. The young disciple followed him wherever he went; even when she could no longer lift it, she gritted her teeth and waited until he stopped to rest before pausing herself—walking together, resting together. The little fox still darted back and forth, running countless errands.

Each morning they chanted scriptures and cultivated Qi in the temple; each evening they went to the mountain behind to inhale and exhale—quiet, unhurried. At such times, the young disciple either listened to her Master’s teachings or did other chores.

Lin Jue first thought she was trying to impress, then thought she was drawn to him, then thought she wanted to share his burdens.

He also thought she didn’t want him to seem diligent while appearing lazy to the Master and senior brothers.

Perhaps all were true—but none fully so.

Only after days passed did Lin Jue slowly begin to see, to understand—

This young disciple… seemed to genuinely enjoy working?

Even when she saw the eldest brother digging soil outside the temple, or the third brother moving his wine jars, she’d rush over to help—pretending to assist, even if she couldn’t.

It was rather interesting.

A few days later—

Lin Jue was summoned to the second senior brother’s alchemy chamber.

The second senior brother’s alchemy chamber, inherited from past generations, was a small pavilion behind the temple’s slope. Upon entering, a wave of heat washed over him.

The pavilion stood as tall as two stories, but had only one level. In the center stood an alchemy furnace; on the floor, the Yin-Yang fish pattern was carved. Shelves behind held countless vials and jars. The second senior brother sat cross-legged; behind him rested a zither stand and an ancient zither—he played when waiting for elixirs to finish, or when bored. The lute music often heard in the temple came from here.

“Little brother has come?”

“Brother.”

“I’ve extracted the Five Elements’ Spiritual Resonance—divided into Earth and Wood, sealed in vials.” The second senior brother lifted two bottles. He had first dissolved the Earth and Wood essences in spiritual water, then purified the liquid to solidify the elusive Five Elements’ Spiritual Resonance into elixirs. “Pity—we don’t cultivate the Five Elements’ Spiritual Methods. Otherwise, ingesting this Resonance could aid cultivation. Now, it only deepens our understanding of the Five Elements.”

“Just swallow it?”

Lin Jue took the two porcelain vials.

Though called Five Elements, only Earth and Wood were present.

“Just swallow it—but don’t store it long. Though Holy Spring water can hold Spiritual Resonance, the Resonance itself is ethereal and constantly dissipates.” The second senior brother said, “Moreover, Spiritual Resonance cannot be absorbed by humans—it remains inside you, letting you feel as if immersed in a realm rich with Spiritual Resonance, but you must immediately perceive it.”

“Understood.”

Lin Jue’s expression turned serious. He decided to ingest it and perceive it at once, then pulled two peach gum pieces from his robe: “Brother, do you know what these are for?”

“What are these?”

“Peach gum.”

“They carry considerable Spiritual Resonance—quite extraordinary?” The second senior brother said, “These can be used in alchemy, combined with Wood Spiritual Resonance—but I lack a matching elixir formula, so it’d be wasteful. Still, they’re edible as-is—just eat them.”

“Eat them directly? Won’t that be more wasteful?”

“If you speak of efficacy, yes—it’s weaker. But don’t say it that way.” The second senior brother spoke calmly. “It’s naturally meant to be eaten. Turning it into an elixir is just another kind of waste.”

“...”

Lin Jue felt something was off—yet also felt he was right.

“Understood.”

Lin Jue retrieved the peach gum, took the two small vials, and returned to his room.

The little fox followed him.

“Squeak~”

Lin Jue shut the door, then bent to pick it up.

“Fourth senior brother says you might be a fox spirit’s descendant—are you?”

“Mmm…”

A soft muffled sound came from its mouth.

“Whether you are or not, days have passed and Fourth Senior Brother hasn’t found your parents—you’ll have to stay with me. When they come for you, you can go back.”

“Mmm…”

Over the days, it had grown familiar with Lin Jue—now it sat quietly in his hand, tail curled to shield its vital spots, only turning its head curiously, no other reaction.

Lin Jue smiled: “Don’t worry too much—this place is just as strange to me.”

The little fox continued its muffled sounds, offering no reply.

Lin Jue said no more.

Fourth senior brother played his flute somewhere outside—the melody floated, faint and distant, drifting into the room.

These Daoists were far too idle.

Lin Jue cleared his thoughts, sat cross-legged beside his bed, back supported, and took out the two small vials.

Even unopened, he could faintly sense their Spiritual Resonance—one heavy and steady, so dense it felt weighty in his hand; the other brimming with vitality, each breath filling him with clarity.

He uncorked them.

Inside floated ethereal mist and light.

It looked wondrous, dreamlike.

But Lin Jue dared not stare long. After brief hesitation, he took only the Wood Spiritual Resonance vial, returned the other to his robe—he’d give it to the young disciple later—

She’d carried half his bucket of Holy Spring water all day; he didn’t need the Earth Spiritual Resonance yet—why not share half?

No more delay—he tilted his head and swallowed it.

Instantly, his mind rang like a gong.

Everything in the room, even the room itself, seemed to recede. Lin Jue suddenly felt he was not inside the room, but deep within a dense forest, surrounded by thick Spiritual Resonance—profoundly mysterious, yet elusive, demanding focused perception.

Lin Jue closed his eyes, silent, merging with it.

This was the Spiritual Resonance nurtured by the mountains and woods.

Beside him, the little fox curled in the room’s corner, its mat its nest. It lifted its head, dark round eyes fixed on Lin Jue, watching curiously.

Sometimes it tilted its head, as if pondering.

…

Outside, rain had begun to fall.

Not unusual.

Legend said Yishan had only one clear day every three or four days—the rest were fog or rain, often both together.

Just like today.

The exposed granite on the mountain was instantly soaked by rain; the downpour stirred mountain mist, obscuring the temple below, leaving only a tiny sliver visible, and hiding the strange peaks, bizarre rocks, and ancient pines within.

The wind blew the mist away, revealing distinct particles within it. It was summer, and every ancient pine on the mountain bloomed with pine flowers—orange-red, grain-like, easily saturated by rain and mist.

Yet most of these ancient pines took root in cracks between rocks, deprived of soil; it was precisely this nourishment from rain and mist that allowed them to survive.

Thus the ancient pines greedily absorbed moisture, transmitting it downward through their leaves, driving their roots deeper, even splitting the mountain stones. Wild grasses on the mountain drank deeply too. Bellflowers grew even more delicate when wet, and some buds, stirred by the drifting mist and rain, unfurled their petals.

With this spiritual resonance, with this rain and drifting mist, Lin Jue felt as if he could sense it all.

After an unknown length of time, he opened his eyes.

Two pieces of peach gum appeared in his hand.

Perhaps Second Brother was right—peach gum itself is edible; turning it into the same old pills swallowed whole, even if their efficacy increased, was in some sense a waste. Perhaps this too was a state of mind, another perspective.

Lin Jue ought to choose a time to boil it into silver ear and peach gum soup, but not now.

He suddenly felt—he needed it.

So he swallowed it whole in one gulp.

Again, spiritual resonance bloomed within him—like an old tree flowering, like peach branches bearing fruit, like spring sprouting new buds. No great effect, merely allowing him to inexplicably experience the process.

Sometimes, in a moment of daze, he felt as if he had become a tree himself.

Finally, he opened his eyes again.

The little fox had left the meditation cushion and now lay before him, tilting its head, staring straight at him.

Lin Jue met its gaze, sitting motionless.

He seemed still immersed in his previous insight, or perhaps merely lost in thought.

“Dong...”

A bell rang.

Lin Jue rose and walked out.

The little fox immediately followed him.

But as he reached out to open the door, he stopped. After a moment’s thought, he took one small step forward until his forehead and nose pressed against the door panel.

“...”

Lin Jue took a deep breath, stilled his mind, cast aside distractions, harmonized with it, and silently recited, “He who harmonizes becomes one with things,” then stepped forward again.

“...”

No sound. No collision.

There seemed to be resistance, yet not solid.

It felt as if he had taken a step through a curtain of wind and rain.

When Lin Jue turned to look back, he was already outside—the wooden door stood firmly shut, and faintly, he began to hear the little fox, unable to see him, first puzzled, “Hm?” then frantically whimpering.

The Wood Passage technique had succeeded.

He had truly passed through the door.

Lin Jue stood at the threshold, savoring the feeling.

This sensation was truly captivating.