Chapter Twenty-One: Bald, Yet Stronger

The Garuda Temple ahead was quiet and deep, seemingly empty of people. There was neither chanting nor the sound of wooden fish.

The man in the blue robe led Shen Lian straight through the temple gates and into the main hall.

Inside, on either side, stood eighteen statues: Beautiful Sound, Brahma Sound, Heavenly Drum, Marvelous Praise, Praise of Beauty, Marvelous Transformation, Thunderous Voice, Lion’s Roar, Sublime Praise, Brahma Resonance, Human Voice, Disciple of the Buddha, Praise of Virtue, Wide Gaze, Mystic Eye, Absolute Hearing, Absolute Sight, All-Seeing—these were the eighteen Garudas.

Garuda originally meant “purity”—to forever rid oneself of the three poisons, to keep the six senses pure, body and mind tranquil, inside and out cleansed; this is called the cultivation of Garuda.

Though passed down from Buddhism, it also aligns with Daoist principles.

Within the hall stood another man, holding a wooden fish. Its silver-gray body, fish mouth, scales, and even every line were remarkably lifelike, seemingly crafted by nature itself.

This man looked both thirty and twenty, fair-faced and beardless. What caught the eye most was his pair of elegant, arching brows, as if about to take flight, radiating extraordinary spirit.

Yet none of these features were what drew the most attention. Any who glanced at him would be compelled to look at his head, which was utterly devoid of hair.

Not even the bluish skin common on monks’ scalps was visible—his head was smooth and ivory-white, as though no hair had ever grown there.

Shen Lian noticed this and thought, with such a clean head and no monk’s scars, he hardly seemed a monk at all.

He also realized that this must be Ling Chongxiao, the person mentioned by the man in the blue robe—a truly remarkable character.

Upon seeing Ling Chongxiao, the blue-robed man was at first stunned, then burst out laughing. “Ling Chongxiao, oh Ling Chongxiao, how did you turn into a bald donkey?”

Ling Chongxiao was entirely unconcerned. “I’ve gone bald, but I’ve grown stronger.”

The blue-robed man flung Shen Lian, who landed steadily beneath one of the Garuda statues in the far corner of the hall.

Leaning against the statue, Shen Lian, though unable to move, could see the entire hall.

The blue-robed man ceased his laughter and sneered, “You’ve merely opened the mysterious gate, reached the Daoist realm of ‘Subduing the White Tiger.’ What’s there to be proud of?”

Hair is but the tip of one’s vitality. After subduing the White Tiger, a Daoist may shed their hair, seal their pores, greatly prolonging youth and life—living to one hundred and fifty years, still vigorous as a young man, is nothing unusual.

Men at this stage are said to ‘Subdue the White Tiger’; women are called to ‘Slay the Red Dragon.’

Having reached this realm, one does not possess boundless supernatural powers, but has undergone a fundamental transformation, laying the foundation of the Dao. Thus, it is also called ‘Establishing the Foundation.’

Though it is merely the foundation, in all the diverse arts and schools, reaching this stage is rare—perhaps one in a million, unless one is fated for immortality.

Ling Chongxiao and the blue-robed man’s sect was, after all, a martial school, rooted in Daoism but not a sect of immortals. For Ling Chongxiao to attain this realm was like a villager’s child becoming a city leader, a carp leaping over the dragon gate.

“How could I be proud? Have you forgotten when Master gave me the ‘Taiwei’—he said ‘Taiwei’ is to be kept close as a warning, and carved in the shape of a fish because ‘a fish never closes its eyes, day or night; so must a cultivator never forget, day or night, to pursue the Dao.’”

Shen Lian was inwardly impressed. Fish are ever wakeful, never sleeping, and now carved into wood to serve as a constant reminder that a cultivator must not be lazy or sluggish, but diligent day and night until success, never relaxing.

As the saying goes, “The human heart is ever in danger, the Daoist heart ever subtle”—only through constant vigilance can one avoid falling into ruin.

“When the old ghost was alive, I wouldn’t listen to him—let alone now that I’ve killed him,” the blue-robed man sneered, his betrayal of master and sect apparently nothing to him, showing not a trace of remorse.

“You think grasping the essence of Daoism gives you license to do as you please, to kill for freedom, but true ‘freedom and ease’ is not in doing what you want, but in not wanting to do anything,” Ling Chongxiao replied, gently admonishing him.

“You still think yourself above me, always acting the elder.”

Ling Chongxiao frowned and sighed. “Our master’s ashes are here. When you die, I won’t scatter your bones—I’ll let you keep him company, so you can go to the underworld and admit your fault.”

To him, the blue-robed man’s death seemed inevitable.

The blue-robed man spoke in a low voice, “Ling Chongxiao, if I die by your hand, would you dare teach my skills to him?”

He openly admitted Ling Chongxiao was his superior, and seemed intent on entrusting Shen Lian.

“To teach a worthy student is the greatest joy,” Ling Chongxiao’s brows drooped, serene and detached.

“Shen Lian, if I lose, and you one day excel, could you defeat Ling Chongxiao for me? If you agree, blink three times.” The blue-robed man continued.

Shen Lian didn’t blink even once.

Ling Chongxiao glanced at Shen Lian, unconcerned. “It seems even this young friend has no liking for you.”

“You underestimate him. He doesn’t like me, true, but what he really wants is to win over you himself,” the blue-robed man said loudly, like thunder.

Shen Lian thought, This man is utterly wicked, yet a true man.

Ling Chongxiao was right—that was exactly what Shen Lian felt, though it did not mean he would favor the blue-robed man.

He was simply Shen Lian, not the continuation of anyone else.

Yet, for the blue-robed man to discern his thoughts showed that, for all his evil, his heart was frank and forthright.

As Shen Lian pondered these things, a thunderous sound erupted in the hall.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, sweeping across the earth.

The roaring downpour seemed to want to drown out this fratricidal duel.

The two men were from the same sect, trained in similar arts.

Ling Chongxiao appeared gentle in temperament, but his actions were like lightning—forceful and surging, so powerful that the stone slabs of the hall began to crack, revealing the fierce strength and ruthless execution of his blows.

What mattered most was that every move Ling Chongxiao made was skillful yet seemed simple, each strike powerful and flowing, with no diminishing force.

His palm technique was like waves crashing against the shore—each one stronger than the last.

This was the effect of ‘Subduing the White Tiger’: locked vitality, bottomless strength, giving Ling Chongxiao such momentum.

The blue-robed man was different. He, too, had been of a bold and forceful school, but after traveling to the harsh deserts, he had grasped some profound principles of heaven and earth.

No martial art, for all its power, could rival nature’s disasters in the desert.

When a sandstorm comes, cattle, sheep, horses, even tens of thousands of soldiers are powerless to resist.

Only by becoming like the wind, blending in with dust and light, can one avoid harm.

The blue-robed man's sleeves fluttered, cold as if commanding the wind. No matter how fierce Ling Chongxiao’s attacks, he would touch and move away instantly.

He was like a blue butterfly dancing with the wind.

Yet, despite their contrasting styles—one rigid, one gentle—both embodied the true essence of Daoism, their actions free and natural, transcending the rigid patterns of martial arts.

ps: Thanks to the sponsor who always tricks his teammates