Chapter 8: Chapter Eight: How Do Fortune and Misfortune Fare?

Severed feet, stabbed abdomen, decapitated head, sliced fingers, gouged eyes…

What is called borrowing life and death to attain fetal breath.

According to Xu Zhi’s interpretation, it is a method of terrifying the spirit, forcibly inducing oneself into the mysterious state of an infant within the mother’s womb, thereby extracting fetal breath.

Though it seems like a shortcut and is highly unconventional, it remains a legitimate path to the Dao.

Yet others, lacking the One True Dharma Realm, dare not act as boldly as Chen Hang.

When they practice this orthodox method, they most often choose cliff peaks or deep pools and treacherous ponds, using the atmosphere to temper their spirit and mind.

And they must have close kin or fellow disciples nearby to guard and attend to them.

To prevent a single misstep—falling off a cliff, drowning—and ending up a colossal joke.

Though such methods are less convenient and swift than Chen Hang’s, they are also less brutal and humiliating.

At first, when he died, recalling the terror and overwhelming fear of that final moment, Chen Hang could not help but feel nauseous, vomiting bile several times; unable to bear it, he would slash his own throat again and restart.

But in the end, he grew accustomed to it.

…

“All external affairs ceased, nothing opposes the heart; then sit in stillness, inwardly observe the arising of thoughts—if a single thought arises…”

Chen Hang raised his sword and swept it lightly.

His left five fingers fell in response.

“Mm… good, this is Dingguan…”

Cold sweat poured down his body, veins bulging wildly on his forehead; his previously pale and cold face twisted into a demon’s grimace: “This step must be correct.”

Puch—

Chen Hang abruptly slashed his own throat, collapsing limply to the ground.

In an instant, his corpse dissolved, and a new body materialized in its place.

“It is Dingguan—this step is right.”

Chen Hang shook his head, dispelling the dazed sensation in his mind, and frowned:

“Then where did I go wrong? What missing detail remains uncorrected? Could it be that my interpretation of ‘body-spirit’ in the phrase ‘body-spirit is inherently complete, like a shadowed image’ is flawed? But that doesn’t seem right either.”

He coldly drew his sword across his chest and abdomen; blood gushed forth, and after enduring the agony for a moment, Chen Hang ended his life.

…

“Five viscera’s spiritual light, manifesting and releasing the body?”

Raised the sword.

…

“Inhale through the nose and hold it, count inwardly to one hundred twenty, then sever death and return not?”

Raised the sword.

…

“Without medicinal aids, guard the Three Ones?”

Raised the sword.

…

“Guard the corpse ghost child?”

Raised the sword.

…

“The spirit has no deluded thoughts; constantly awaken.”

Raised the sword.

…

Another rebirth.

Chen Hang gripped the long sword resting across his knees, frowned slightly, and instinctively moved to swing it—then froze.

“No, no—it’s like this? So this is it! So this is it!”

A flash of insight struck him; he burst into loud laughter, feeling the heavy burden in his chest dissolve entirely—the final insight blocking his attainment of fetal breath was now firmly grasped.

Simple, straightforward, like observing the lines on one’s palm.

“Fear of life and death, the spirit naturally attains—it turns out the entire essence of this method lies in these eight opening words. I forced myself too hard, forgetting the ‘self’ in ‘spirit naturally attains’; I grasped the form but missed the meaning. No wonder, no wonder.”

Falling petals, flowing water, spirit complete, fetal circle perfected.

He obsessed over every step’s critical point, every flow of qi, terrified of misstepping—this very obsession had already sunk him to a lower level, losing the Dao’s true essence of naturalness.

“Highest virtue acts without doing, seeking not through scrutiny; lower virtue acts, its use never ceasing. Knowing white, guarding black, spirit naturally comes.”

Chen Hang sighed and hurled his sword far away: “I overlooked it. Such profound meaning lies in such subtle words.”

At this moment.

The One True Dharma Realm began to tremble, countless wondrous, radiant auras blooming all around, like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows.

“Is the time here? I’ve spent ten days inside the Dharma Realm.”

A suction force suddenly arose, pulling Chen Hang away; he offered no resistance, only steadying his spirit and closing his eyes.

When he opened them again.

He had reappeared outside in his cave dwelling, every object unchanged from when he had left.

Chen Hang set down his sword and paced slowly through the cave, tall and elegant, radiating unmatched grace.

“Dreams cross dried mulberry roots beneath the sea, witnessing all the wind and waves of the Milky Way.”

He silently lowered his gaze, formed his palm into a blade, and gently tapped his neck, smiling:

“Today, I have seen heaven and earth.”

All three hundred and sixty-five of his acupoints trembled simultaneously.

In an instant, a warm, gentle, profound darkness engulfed him; that wondrous comfort made Chen Hang drowsy, as if an infant nestled in a tranquil womb…

…

…

“Yin Son of Heaven?”

Above ten thousand zhang of clouds.

Ai Jian in the azure heavenly palace first paused in thought, then sneered.

“Isn’t that a term from the dual-cultivation practice? What, is our niece now preparing to set up a harem, hiding her beauty in a golden chamber? I advise her to focus on her cultivation—remember, early brilliance doesn’t guarantee later success.”

“That’s none of your concern, little Jian. You must understand: since she is the true heir of the Red Dawn Sect, every action of hers carries profound meaning.”

The beautiful woman dismissed the remark with disdain.

She merely flicked her fingers, and the handsome men behind her obediently leaned forward like cats, letting her stroke their faces.

“Still, I think I’ve guessed her reason for seeking Yin Son of Heaven.”

The woman said: “Among the Red Dawn Sect’s techniques, there is one that requires Yin Son of Heaven’s destiny as a catalyst. Perhaps this is precisely why she seeks Yin Son of Heaven.”

“Technique? What technique requires—”

Ai Jian murmured, then suddenly paled.

He had once been a disciple of the Jade Heaven Sect and came from the Ai clan of Shangyu; the realization struck him swiftly.

“How could it be… Could the Red Dawn Sect be naming my niece as their Dao Heir?” he said hoarsely: “Are they going to teach her that ancient Dao art?”

The beautiful woman smiled without answering.

In this great age where the Immortal Dao manifests visibly.

There are no rigid norms of gender or hierarchy—everything is judged by cultivation.

Men may take concubines and wives, gather countless maidservants; women may likewise keep three thousand male companions.

But if two cultivate together as life-and-soul partners, if one refuses, then it is another matter.

“Even so, I am not skilled in physiognomy and cannot discern. At best, I can gather people for you in this region.”

Ai Jian spread his hands: “You must have a way to identify Yin Son of Heaven, correct?”

“Naturally,” the woman nodded.

“But Yin Son of Heaven has another key trait: all Yin Son of Heaven are invariably of peerless beauty, exquisitely endowed. Using this criterion, we can find them faster.”

Before Ai Jian could speak.

Yuanji Shangren, who had sat silently for a long time, suddenly brightened.

Since the banquet began, he had schemed relentlessly to connect with the woman’s Ai clan.

But this woman was utterly disdainful; from the moment she entered, she had not once looked properly at the three Elders of the Xuanzhen Sect who accompanied them.

Yan Feichen and Gu Jun were unsure.

Yuanji Shangren, however, was frantic as an ant on a hot pan—he repeatedly tried to join the conversation, yet feared offending them, and each time he hesitated and shrank back.

“Lianshi! Lianshi! As for beauty, my sect has one right now! Far away? No—right before your eyes!”

Yan Feichen’s eyes darkened at the words, as if he understood, and glared furiously at Yuanji Shangren.

“His name is Chen Hang. He is on our Xuanzhen Sect’s Luoxia Peak, formerly serving as Yuezheng of the Le Shanfang.”

Ignoring Yan Feichen’s murderous gaze, Yuanji Shangren, having finally found his opening, bowed obsequiously to the woman and smiled:

“This youth is truly a celestial being descended from heaven! If he is not Yin Son of Heaven, then no one else deserves the title.”

“Oh?”

The woman murmured: “Le Shanfang? A musician?”

She glanced at the silent musicians below the steps, her expression one of revulsion.

"Like this kind of mortal musician?"

The musicians who had once served in Yue Shanfang, already terrified after hearing so many secrets today, now trembled in fear at these words, convinced they were about to die, and burst into loud sobs.

"No, no," Master Yuanji, drenched in sweat, exclaimed: "Chen Hang is different—he is young, extraordinarily beautiful, exceedingly..."

"Xiao Jian?"

The beautiful woman had grown too weary to respond, her gaze fixed on Ai Jian atop the Xuanhe Jade Platform.

"Indeed, Master, you have not spoken falsely. The Chen Hang you mentioned is truly a celestial exile—rarely does such a figure appear in the Southern Region over five hundred years; he is truly Heaven’s singular masterpiece."

Ai Jian gave a slight nod, a faint, enigmatic smile appearing on his face:

"If I must name another whose beauty rivals his, based on all I have seen in my life, only Jun Yao—who nearly slew you—and the former Yu Shu True Person of Dou Shu Sect. These three, upon sight, make one forget the mortal world!"

The beautiful woman let out a cold snort.

Before she could rebuke him, Ai Jian tapped his finger and traced Chen Hang’s likeness with true qi.

"..."

The beautiful woman stared, frozen for a long while.

Long moments passed before her throat moved slightly—she was utterly transfixed.

"Well, Lianshi? Is he not to your liking?" Master Yuanji smiled, raising his wine cup.

"Good! Good! Good!"

The beautiful woman ignored him, her eyes fixed on Ai Jian in excitement:

"Quick! Now! Take me to him right now!"

Good fortune!

This is truly Heaven aiding me!

"Auntie, you’re in quite a hurry."

Ignoring Master Yuanji’s embarrassment, Ai Jian smiled and activated his talisman; the Azure Heavenly Palace descended toward a mountain peak below the clouds.

"Crying like this—utterly undignified."

Some musicians below still wept; Ai Jian frowned, waved his hand, and erased all their memories of today, then tossed the unconscious musicians onto the mountain summit.

"Auntie, he—"

Ai Jian pointed toward a cave dwelling, about to speak, then fell silent.

A mysterious, subtle, elusive qi was slowly rising—faint, yet unmistakable to the senses of the several Dongxuan Lianshi present.

"How strange—it was said Chen Hang had no interest in the Dao and possessed no Dao heart."

Ai Jian smiled faintly and tapped his fingers in rhythm:

"Unexpectedly, he has just achieved Tai Xi today."