Chapter 42: Ingestion and Gathering

“How was today’s lecture by Wangjizi?”

The monastery’s meals had not changed at all—flavor remained consistently steady. Master Yunhe sat at the head and asked them.

The junior sister immediately put down her chopsticks: “Master, Wangjizi spoke in great detail, but this disciple is dull and understood little. Still, I’ve memorized it all. My brother understood much more.”

“Did that old thing give you trouble?”

“This…”

The junior sister’s eyes darted, glancing at the old Daoist, then at Lin Jue, before finally answering honestly: “Master, when we first arrived, Wangjizi was stern—but later he calmed down. At noon, he even let us eat with their disciples.”

“That’s just how that old Daoist is—crude-mouthed, but cultivation is about spontaneity. His nature is what it is; if he tried to hide it, he’d never have reached his current realm.”

“Hmm…”

“How many new disciples did their monastery take this time?”

“About fifteen or sixteen.”

“Are they clever?”

“I don’t know.”

“Compared to you?”

“Definitely not as clever as my brother!”

The girl spoke without the slightest hesitation.

“Good, good.” The old Daoist stroked his beard. “When you go elsewhere, don’t bring shame to Fuxiu Monastery. Though it’s another monastery, our families have been close for generations. Don’t coddle their disciples—give us some face.”

“… ”

The girl dared not reply, instead glancing at her own brother.

She saw her brother picking up an egg, staring at it for a long while, then bending down to toss it beneath the table to the little fox.

The little thing couldn’t tell good from bad—anything given, it ate.

“Understood, Master.”

Lin Jue didn’t know whether the old man was trying to motivate his juniors or genuinely wanted to impress his old friend. Either way, he merely gave a verbal reply—he’d do as he pleased regardless.

The senior brothers in the monastery seemed much the same—each with their own personality and opinions, some obeying the Master, others ignoring him.

Yet the monastery’s atmosphere was strangely harmonious.

“By the way, junior brother and junior sister,” Second Brother Yan Xuan Yi spoke up. “How did you feel after taking the Divine Travel Pill?”

This instantly sparked their interest.

“Second Brother, it was amazing! So fun! One light step and I could cross great distances, a tiny push and I could fly—I felt like soaring through the mountains, like becoming a celestial!”

The junior sister spoke politely, yet with great excitement.

“Even freer and more effortless than I imagined.”

Lin Jue also sincerely remarked.

“Good, good. Right now the effect may still be strong, but tomorrow your legs will ache terribly.” Second Brother’s tone and expression remained calm. “So sore you can’t walk, might not even be able to squat on the latrine—if you do squat, you might not be able to stand back up.”

“Ah?”

“?”

Both stared at Second Brother.

“Normal. Since you haven’t cultivated spirit arts or learned the Method of Ingestion, the pills’ nature is strong and unbalanced—side effects are expected.” Second Brother said. “Once you cultivate spirit arts or learn the Method of Ingestion, just one of them will be enough to handle it.”

He paused.

“If you want to avoid the soreness, ask your Fifth Brother to massage and treat you.”

The junior sister turned again to look at Fifth Brother.

But Lin Jue’s attention was elsewhere—he asked: “May I ask, Second Brother, what is the Method of Ingestion?”

“As the name implies, it’s the art of ingesting substances and pills.” Second Brother said. “Pills each have their own nature—beyond cold, hot, warm, or fiery, they relate to yin-yang and the Five Phases. Some are even toxic. Ordinary people who eat them may barely absorb their effects, suffer from their harsh nature, or even die from pills too potent—or be poisoned outright.”

“So it is…”

“It’s more than that.” Second Brother said. “The Method of Ingestion isn’t just for pills—it can also ingest poisons. Once mastered, you won’t fear being poisoned when walking the world. Of course, how strong a poison you can resist depends entirely on your mastery of this art.”

“Even cultivators fear poison?”

“Of course. Many spirits and demons possess their own poisons—poison is their power. Even earthly poisons aren’t always survivable for Daoists. Even those with decent cultivation, who know wondrous arts, can die from poison if careless on the road.” Second Brother said. “Generally, Daoists who cultivate the Five Phases or Yin-Yang spirit arts resist poison better. But those who cultivate Heaven-Earth spirit arts, without other skills, aren’t much stronger than non-cultivators.”

Lin Jue pondered, beginning to understand.

Resistance to poison seemed to be a skill requiring separate practice—not something automatically granted by cultivation.

Yet why Yin-Yang and Five Phases spirit arts resisted poison better than Heaven-Earth spirit arts remained unclear.

Not understanding was fine—as long as he asked.

“Because most poisons in the world fall within yin-yang. Yin-Yang spirit arts can harmonize with them or redirect them. Five Phases spirit arts can burn them, dilute them, wash them away—or even turn the body into stone. What earthly poison can poison a stone?”

Second Brother paused again:

“Once you learn the Method of Ingestion, you can ingest anything. Worst case: you descend the mountain, find yourself in a desolate place with no food. A normal Daoist who hasn’t learned the Method of Abstaining from Grains, hasn’t reached immortality, or lacks other methods, will starve to death. But one who knows the Method of Ingestion can eat grass, flowers, trees, mud, even stones.”

“Burp…”

Third Brother belched, chuckling: “You can eat our cooking too.”

“What right do you have to laugh at others?”

“At least my cooking has the skill of a peasant woman from below the mountain.”

“But you rarely cook. Master is old—starved by you, he nearly couldn’t stand during meditation. How can you say that?”

Third Brother looked slightly ashamed, avoiding the Master’s gaze, yet stubbornly shook his head: “It’s not my fault—it’s Wang Youjun’s.”

Lin Jue sat quietly, thinking.

Fuxiu Monastery’s seven core arts—none were grand, world-reversing techniques—but each had its own use.

What should he learn first?

If he learned one or two, then later found another more appealing, would the senior brothers be willing to teach him?

He’d been thinking for days.

But upon reflection, there seemed little to agonize over.

Even if the senior brothers refused, they weren’t strangers like wandering mystics below the mountain—they were always around. Ancient texts would teach him. And the brothers got along well—there was always a chance to persuade them.

So he stopped overthinking.

Tonight’s return walk, strolling through the mountains, feet on pine needles, wind brushing fallen petals—it was simply exquisite.

“Second Brother, I’d like to learn alchemy from you first.”

“Agreed. But you can’t yet learn Fire Phase arts. I’ll first give you the formula and the general process—what ingredients to use, what to watch for. By the way, you’ve learned the Nourishing Qi method—you have the Five Qi already. With your Fifth Brother’s help, you can start learning the Method of Ingestion and the Method of Gathering. Both require long-term practice—technique, yes, but mostly hard work.”

“What is the Method of Gathering?”

“Lower: gather spiritual things of the world. Middle: gather the spirit’s rhythm of heaven and earth, the essence of sun and moon. Upper…” Second Brother paused calmly, “Eight taels of evening glow, half a shape of cloud mist.”

“Evening glow… cloud mist…”

Lin Jue suddenly realized—even with this ancient book, he’d likely never master many arts. Most would remain at the level of understanding or basic control.

As Fourth Brother said: quality over quantity.

“Understood.”

“Start tomorrow.”

“Yes!”

Lin Jue made his decision—and held firm.

…

That night, in his room.

A single oil lamp sat on the wooden table, illuminating the chamber.

In the corner stood a cushion; the little fox lay atop it, silent, eyes tracking Lin Jue’s every move.

From next door came Third Brother’s drunken recitation of poetry…

Lin Jue ignored it, sitting by the table, candlelight casting glow as he opened the ancient book.

Indeed, a new page had appeared:

Xingyu Pill, also called Divine Travel Pill.

Among the world’s rare beasts, many kinds exist—one called xingxing. Eating its flesh enhances footspeed. This pill is made primarily from xingxing hair or bone-meat and swallow feathers; ingesting it allows travel a thousand li in a day.

A master alchemist once added two taels of cloud glow to this pill, crafting an extraordinary variant. Ingesting it lets one tread the air, leap across cliffs. Of the two hundred Divine Travel arts and dozens of teleportation methods, few rival it.

Lin Jue finally understood why Second Brother said external alchemy could rival spirit arts.

Where there was a Divine Travel art, there was a Divine Travel pill.

No wonder so many legendary cultivators relied on alchemy to become immortals—and why so many kings and generals chasing immortality chose alchemy to achieve their ends.

Lin Jue reached out and touched the page.

A voice instantly echoed in his mind.

“Xingyu Pill: inferior practitioners use xingxing hair; middling use xingxing bones; superior use xingxing leg bones…”

It detailed the pill’s formula, its spiritual properties, qi compatibility, its legendary inventor, and the precautions and side effects of ingestion.

But the actual alchemical process was not described in detail. Lin Jue guessed: this was a spirit art text, and external alchemy was a separate path entirely. The author’s own skill in pill-making was not as profound as in spirit arts. Or perhaps the common alchemical methods were recorded elsewhere, leaving this section simplified.

Still, Lin Jue listened several times, absorbed and digested for a long while, before closing the book.

The lamp wick was nearly burned out. In the dim glow, he saw the little fox still lying on the cushion, watching him—quiet, obedient, yet tilting its head, eyes bright and alive, as if it could speak.

“Sleep.”

Lin Jue spoke, then blew out the lamp.

…

When he woke in the morning, his legs were indeed aching terribly; he walked as if floating, afraid to put any weight on them, but when he arrived at the Moving Mountain Hall and saw his junior sister even worse off—almost leaning against the wall to walk—he felt considerably better.

After finishing the sutra recitation, he went to the Alchemy Chamber.

The second senior brother remained calm, seated beside the qin table, idly plucking the strings, producing sounds that were leisurely and spontaneous—seemingly not forming a melody, yet each note was profoundly soothing.

Seeing him arrive, the second senior brother said nothing, merely rose, set the qin table aside, and walked calmly to one side. He opened the incense burner, smoothed the ash, took a cloud-pattern mold, pressed the ash into a cloud design, lit it, and instantly a faint herbal fragrance drifted naturally through the alchemy chamber. Only then did he sit down again and begin to explain to Lin Jue the ways of alchemy, ingestion, and herb gathering.

His voice was as leisurely as a qin’s melody, as tranquil as incense smoke.