Chapter 56: Calming the Poisonous Dragon through Meditation

The thirteen-story pagoda was indeed towering, but to Shen Lian, it was of no consequence. In just a few breaths, he had ascended it, carrying young Ruoxi with him—and he had truly walked up. His breathing and Ruoxi’s merged; the two of them, one large and one small, had, in a sense, become one.

The top of the pagoda was a small space, with windows open on all sides. As Shen Lian appeared, he was met by a cold, piercing gaze. The Empress, draped in dragon robes and crowned with the imperial diadem, stood facing the north, the vast, infinite mountains and rivers stretching out behind her. Xiangji Temple sat atop a high mountain, and they were now at the pinnacle of its highest tower; the blue sky and white clouds were so close they seemed within reach.

"Shen Lian. So, you are Shen Lian." The Empress’s voice seemed to descend from the highest peak of the mythical Mount Buzhou. It was chilling, commanding immediate awe.

Shen Lian remained unfazed. He did not dodge her gaze, meeting it head-on. His eyes were like the ocean, capable of containing all things, even dissolving the icy frost of the Empress’s stare.

"Does Your Majesty suspect I am not Shen Lian, or were you hoping to see a different one?" He held Ruoxi’s hand. A light breeze stirred, brushing the hair by his ears, giving him the air of an immortal. Ruoxi, meanwhile, pursed her lips, curiously observing this female emperor—the legendary, fearsome female emperor.

"I ask you: are you the Shen Lian of the Shen family in Qingzhou City, or are you the Shen Lian of the overseas immortal sects, seeker of truth and the Dao?" The Empress was relentless, radiating an immense pressure. Such a bearing—one that forced the world and all living things to bow—was something Shen Lian had never seen in anyone else. Some people’s power did not stem from potent magic or exquisite supernatural arts; it was simply because of who they were, born to stand above the masses.

Ruoxi felt a tremor of fear. She was sensitive and could feel that the woman before her was like a tiger—no, something far more ferocious. She did not understand that this was the aura of a monarch, the presence of a hegemon. A sovereign’s every word and action could be as stern as thunder and lightning, possessing a weight of ten thousand jun, or as gentle as a spring breeze, turning into rain and dew to nourish the common people.

Yet, Shen Lian remained entirely unaffected. He said calmly, "And which one does Your Majesty hope I am?"

The Empress’s crushing pressure remained fixed upon him. "In Qingzhou City, the entire Shen family has defied me and deserves to be beheaded. If you are an immortal from the world beyond, I shall naturally show you the respect due, build you a temple, and grant you a place in the Daoist registry."

The implication was clear: either Shen Lian would lose his life, or he would lose his freedom. If he chose the former, both life and freedom would vanish; if the latter, at least his life would be spared. But Shen Lian had no need to choose.

He replied with composure, "The Shen Lian of whom Your Majesty speaks is me. There are not two Shen Lians in this world; there is only 'I'." His expression was serene, his gaze drifting past the Empress to the drifting white clouds.

Suddenly, Ruoxi added, "You are very fierce, Your Majesty."

The Empress turned her gaze to Ruoxi and chuckled softly. "Little girl, you truly do not fear death, daring to speak to me like that."

Ruoxi looked up. "Can you avoid death, Your Majesty? Can you let me live forever?"

The Empress was momentarily stunned, then sighed. "I cannot avoid death, nor can I grant you eternal life."

Ruoxi said, "If we are both to die, then why should I fear death?"

The Empress remarked, "To be able to say such things—you are more worthy of the surname Zhao than anyone in the Imperial City. Why is it that a little girl can grasp this, yet they cannot?" She did not desire sycophants; her grand ambitions were beyond the understanding of those petty, grasping men.

Since the Empress knew of Shen Lian’s origins, she naturally knew Ruoxi’s as well, yet she seemed indifferent to the girl’s identity. To her, this was trivial; she had once executed a minister and still dared to employ that very minister's granddaughter as her personal attendant.

Shen Lian observed, "Children do not fear death because they do not yet know how many things in life are worth lingering over. Even if everyone must die, who does not wish to live a little longer and do more of what they desire? This is, after all, human nature."

"A fine 'human nature,' but I am an extraordinary person with extraordinary goals to achieve; I cannot accept those four words from you." The Empress’s gaze fell heavily upon Shen Lian once more.

Shen Lian’s eyes grew increasingly clear, as if he had lit a blue lamp within each pupil. A single flame, like a bean, its wick burning incessantly. Even if the Empress’s gaze were as cold as wind and snow, it could not extinguish this light.

In mythology, amidst the chaos of the primordial universe, there exist three such lamps, their eternal flames illuminating the past, the future, and all of time and space. There is a lamp at the Grand Supreme Elder’s Eight Views Palace, a lamp at the Primordial Heavenly Lord’s Jade Void Palace, and a lamp at the Ancient Buddha Dipamkara’s Vulture Peak. The lamps are both physical objects and voids.

Those who achieve true greatness inevitably light such a lamp, not only to illuminate themselves but to guide the path for others. It is because of this intent that the practitioners of the world never cease. When Shen Lian explained his understanding of the Dao to his fellow disciples at Qingxuan, he did so without secrets or bias, and in doing so, he had obscurely aligned himself with this principle. His lamp could not compare to those three, but it was already enough to cast a glimmer of light into the long night of the path of cultivation.

The Empress’s ice-cold gaze melted away along with the lamp’s glow. The wind from outside blew in, ruffling her hair. She was of great age, yet her skin remained as pristine as snow, as if she were still a maiden.

She sighed softly and said in a low voice, "‘Standing in the forest of ice and snow, distinct from the peaches and plums that mingle with the dust.’ Shen Lian, I know you are skilled at writing poetry. Could you leave a poem here today?"

She had not come to cause trouble, but merely to see this man. Her true enemies had yet to reveal their cards and were ready to fight her to the death at any moment. The struggle for the Great Dao was a war of no retreat. Shen Lian had not yet reached that point with her.

Shen Lian replied, "That is easily done."

He possessed no true poetic talent, yet as the saying goes, "Great poems are born of heaven, caught by a fortunate hand." He could not write one, but he could borrow one.

*Unknown is the Xiangji Temple,*
*A few miles into the cloudy peaks.*
*Ancient trees shade the pathless way,*
*Deep in the mountains, where does the bell ring?*
*The spring’s voice chokes on jagged stones,*
*The sun’s color cools against the green pines.*
*At dusk, by the winding, empty pool,*
*I sit in meditation to subdue the dragon.*

Shen Lian finished the poem "Passing Xiangji Temple" in an instant, using the strength of his fingers to carve it into the stone wall of the pagoda. The brushwork was elegant, the imagery profound and distant.

The Empress could find no fault, and Shen Lian had already taken Ruoxi and departed the tower with ease. She remained on the tower, not to admire the poem, but because what must come will come.

She waited.