Chapter 5: Chapter Five: All Buddhas Are Equal, the One True Dharma Realm

The liquid elixir had barely entered his abdomen when a surge of essence shot back up from his belly, warming his entire body, steam rising from his skin as if boiling.

Every pore and acupoint in Chen Hang’s body seemed to open and flow freely.

Had he been able to look inward then, he would have seen countless crimson-and-white elixir threads darting through his blood and bones, weaving a net that bound the wild, dragon-like Cold Strike True Qi.

But that True Qi seemed to have gained sentience.

It surged violently, broke free of its bonds, and fled to another location.

The elixir threads, relentless, chased after it, coiling tightly around it.

In this struggle, Chen Hang’s face flushed and paled alternately; his chest trembled, and he suddenly opened his mouth, spitting out several mouthfuls of black blood.

“No wonder it’s a yang elixir… truly effective.”

Seeing this, Chen Hang was not alarmed—he rejoiced.

He took another small White Yang Pill from the porcelain bottle, dissolved it in water, swallowed it, and resumed sitting on the mat to regulate his breath.

Thus passed three days.

In the cave, Chen Hang, who had been sitting in stillness, suddenly opened his eyes.

He moved his limbs slightly, feeling as if all his chronic ailments had vanished; his previously stagnant, lifeless blood and qi had become vibrant, and with each breath, he felt calm and serene.

The Cold Strike True Qi within him was now firmly bound by the elixir threads, like a cocoon, temporarily still and motionless.

With these two vials of small White Yang Pills, suppressing the Cold Strike True Qi for half a year should be easy. After half a year, it will be time to enter the Earth Abyss. If I die, all is over; if I luckily survive, by then I should have found a True Qi cultivation method and entered the Qi Condensation realm.

In this world of Xudu Tian, the nine-rank, thirty-six-grade True Qi are clearly stratified.

Only True Qi of seventh rank and above can establish a solid Dao foundation, paving a smooth path toward Golden Core and even Primordial Spirit.

Yet.

Methods to cultivate high-rank True Qi are exceedingly rare.

Not only does the Profound Truth Sect lack such secrets, even across the vast southern region of Dongmi Province, they are as scarce as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

Such precious methods are recorded only within the great immortal and demonic sects or the ancient Daoist clans, and are passed down as open, unhidden teachings.

Yet someone like Chen Hang—with ordinary, even crude, talent—is unlikely to catch the eye of those aloof immortal sects.

Though he desires to cultivate a top-rank True Qi, if he ultimately cannot obtain one, to survive he must find any Qi Condensation method to enter the Qi Condensation realm.

Even a bottom-rank True Qi will do.

“Yet while top-grade True Qi is important, it is not absolutely necessary for achieving cultivation.”

The Dao scriptures record that True Person Yan Xi cultivated a low-grade True Qi, a low-grade Dao foundation, a low-grade Purple Mansion aura, and the lowest-grade primordial gold-mercury, yet still attained Golden Core and Primordial Spirit, eventually reaching the Return to Void realm and establishing the ‘Shunlie Biyun Yuan Gu’ paradise in the Eastern Sea—so much so that even elders from the Eight Great Daoist Sects sought to befriend him.”

Chen Hang swallowed another small White Yang Pill and mused to himself:

“These stories are of no use to dwell on. The urgent matter now is to first attain the fetal breath sensation and enter the immortal path as soon as possible, to secure even a little chance of self-preservation.”

Achieving fetal breath means escaping the mortal body.

With a single arm’s swing, one gains strength surpassing three horses.

One’s bones are washed, marrow renewed, body hardened like metal, lifespan doubled beyond that of ordinary mortals—living up to the limit of one hundred and fifty years before blood and qi begin to decay.

The fetal breath realm, in the mortal martial world, is revered as the Martial Primordial state—the ultimate pinnacle of secular martial arts.

Those who attain Primordial status are hailed as Grand Masters.

If such a person dons heavy armor, wields a sharp blade, rides several swift steeds, and is backed by a squad of elite troops,

with their terrifying strength, they are not merely capable of holding off a thousand men—they could cut through ten thousand soldiers and return unscathed, enough to sway the outcome of a battlefield.

Thus, if a Grand Master who has attained the Martial Primordial state consents to serve the court, the imperial government will not hesitate to grant him land and a marquis title—riches and purple robes await him effortlessly.

Yet this ultimate pinnacle of secular martial arts is merely the first threshold of the immortal path. Those martial artists who spend decades refining their sinews and boiling their organs to achieve Primordial status are one in ten thousand, and in old age, they are left with chronic injuries and physical exhaustion.

How can that compare to the sudden awakening of the immortal path, where everything flows naturally?

“Secular martial arts? I wonder if there are other martial paths?”

Chen Hang no longer dwelled on it. He took down from the cave wall a newly purchased longsword and gripped the Golden Cicada in his hand.

The cicada-shaped jade carving emitted a faint glow.

It was exquisitely crafted—its face, antennae, carapace, and legs rendered in minute detail, lifelike; its pair of wings gleamed golden, radiant and dazzling.

On its abdomen were engraved four fly-sized characters: “One True Dharma Realm,” nearly invisible.

Chen Hang focused his mind, and as his essence drained away, his face turned pale; instantly, the Golden Cicada pulled him into a strange space.

…

…

Dark and formless.

Above, no sun, moon, or stars; below, no grass, trees, or soil; no sense of east, west, north, or south; no way to gauge its size or boundaries.

It seemed that even through countless lifetimes, one could never reach its edge.

“Though I already knew the Golden Cicada’s function the moment I grasped it in this world, witnessing it firsthand still left me awestruck.”

This place was empty, boundless, as if he had fallen into clouds and mist.

Chen Hang sat cross-legged wherever he pleased, laid the longsword across his knees, and marveled.

This realm is called the One True Dharma Realm, and has two functions.

First, upon entering this realm, it generates a mental image identical to oneself in every detail—same realm, same possessions, all perfectly replicated.

The cultivation insights gained by the mental image within the realm are fully transferred to the true body upon exiting.

More remarkably, the death of the mental image within the realm causes no harm whatsoever to the true body—no loss of essence, no depletion of blood and qi.

Under the rule of “one day in the real world equals ten days in the realm,” this means Chen Hang gains ten times the cultivation time of ordinary people—equal to the great paradises of true immortals.

“Had entering the One True Dharma Realm not drained my essence, and had my body not been unable to withstand such depletion, why would I have waited until now?”

Chen Hang looked around with interest.

Had he not taken the small White Yang Pills to strengthen his body and bind the Cold Strike True Qi, he would never have dared to activate the One True Dharma Realm.

Before taking the pills, whenever he gripped the Golden Cicada to enter the realm, he was overwhelmed by a profound terror that warned him in his heart.

Only today, after taking the pills, did that terror recede slightly—though a lingering sense of fatigue and weakness remained.

“There are others’ mental images…”

Chen Hang gently pointed a finger, and three paces ahead, a Daoist with sharp features and a sword strapped to his back spontaneously appeared.

A golden scroll floated in midair above the Daoist’s head; Chen Hang reached out, summoned it, and it flew into his arms.

…

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