Chapter Twenty-Four: Azure Mystery (9000 Votes)

The inn bustled with people coming and going, nestled deep in the heart of the mortal world. Old Master Shen agreed to let Shen Lian start his journey at the inn precisely because it was a place where the vulgar and the refined mingled, a crucible for worldly wisdom.

It was midnight.

The bright moon hung in the sky.

A parasol tree stood tall.

No phoenix perched upon its branches, but the moonlight did.

In the heavens, a waning moon drifted; yet on the thick, sturdy branch of the parasol tree, there seemed a perfect full moon.

But it was not the moon—it was a man’s head.

His scalp was smooth and radiant, filled with silvery moonlight, making it resemble a full moon.

Beside him was another figure—a youth.

A gentle breeze caressed them; the youth’s slender frame swayed lightly, yet his legs were firmly rooted to the branch, as if he had taken root and could not be moved.

Their shadows danced in the wind, as graceful as bamboo swaying.

At last, Shen Lian exhaled a breath, white vapor curling and dispersing like lingering mist, long and dense.

Only after Shen Lian let out this breath did Ling Chongxiao speak:

“This internal art was discovered by our sect’s founder in his quest for immortality. It is called the Divine Vitality Sutra, one of the most exquisite martial skills in all the rivers and lakes. What you are practicing is precisely this method.”

Shen Lian had already received the oral formula from the man in the green robe and had been practicing accordingly.

The “Vitality” in the Divine Vitality Sutra did not refer to the feet, but to the sufficiency of spirit and qi.

“Let him be cruel and wicked; as long as I have one true breath unbroken, I shall suffice.”

The instructions for this internal art were simple to understand, yet extremely difficult to master. The very first step required the practitioner to be free of stray thoughts, so as to sense the sliver of innate true qi with which one is born.

Simple in words, but how many in the world can truly enter a meditative state, free of all distractions?

Even monks of great attainment, after years of cultivation, cannot always enter samadhi at will.

For Shen Lian, however, this posed no difficulty.

He cultivated according to the method, adjusted his breathing rhythm, emptied his mind of thoughts and images, and let himself be at one with the clear breeze and the bright moon.

Even though Ling Chongxiao had already recognized Shen Lian’s exceptional talent, he could not help but inwardly admit that this youth was a prodigy.

Shen Lian, however, knew himself not to be a natural genius; his ease in entering this state was thanks to the Supreme Clarity Spirit Treasure’s Natural Mind-Locking and Spirit-Calming True Explanation.

He entered meditation, practiced as instructed, and sensed that wisp of true qi. Controlling it, guiding it along his meridians to nourish his body, was as easy to him as moving his own arm.

His constitution was not particularly strong, his meridians sluggish, but thanks to his fine control over the true qi, he managed—on his very first attempt—to clear nearly half the acupoints of the Lesser Yin Heart Meridian.

Ling Chongxiao knew nothing of Shen Lian’s progress. He merely observed the youth’s long, steady exhalation, and was certain that Shen Lian was a rare martial arts genius.

Hearing Ling Chongxiao’s words, Shen Lian grew curious. “What is the name of your sect?” he asked.

Ling Chongxiao replied calmly, “Since you ask, there is no harm in telling you. Our sect’s founder was once a scholar, but after failing the imperial examinations, he was left desolate. In time, he sought solace in the pursuit of the Way, searching for immortality. Immortal Dao is always found beyond the world, and is not easily seen by ordinary men. One year, the founder heard rumors of immortal beings appearing overseas. He set sail, but was caught in a violent storm.

“By great fortune, he survived, clinging to a piece of driftwood, tossed about by the waves, and finally washed ashore on a beach. The beach belonged to a vast island, with a great mountain shrouded in mist at its center.

“The founder, seeing the mountain’s majestic form, rested a day by the shore, then set out towards it. At the foot of the mountain, he found a sheer cliff, upon which were carved two characters: ‘Azure Mystery.’

“The cliff was smooth as a mirror, and it was impossible to tell how those words had been etched there. Each character stretched dozens of feet long, five or six feet wide—naturally formed, with no sign of human chiseling.

“The founder thought to himself: if this was not the work of immortals, how could such a marvel exist?

“He entered the mountain, but it was vast and filled with dense forests. He soon lost his way, surviving on wild fruits and, by luck, avoiding venomous beasts.”

“Did he then meet an immortal who gifted him a secret manual?” Shen Lian asked with a smile, familiar with such tales from old novels.

“It was not so simple,” Ling Chongxiao said. “Wandering in the woods, the founder heard a distant flute, and thought at last he might find another soul. He had been lost for so long that even the cliff he’d seen upon entering was nowhere to be found. He dared not hope too much—meeting an immortal, he wished only to escape the forest.

“That night, the moon was bright, but the woods were cold. Though the founder had practiced some minor martial skills, he was not yet immune to the elements. Drawn by the flute, he followed its sound.

“The tune was strange—not one he had ever heard—mellow and slow, with an ethereal touch. He followed the sound for who knows how long. Though he had walked at least two or three miles, the flute remained at the same distance, never nearer nor farther. It seemed that as he walked, the source itself moved as well.”

In time, he caught the subtle scent of plum blossoms. Before long, the trees around him gave way to groves of plum, their fragrance drifting on the air.

Ahead lay a winding path of blue stone, twisting through the woods.

The flute’s song grew clearer, as if teasing the breeze, alive with the spirit of nature.

The founder stepped onto the path. Moonlight spilled over the stones, scattering silver like a channel of clear water. The subtle fragrance soothed his fatigue.

Before a cup of tea’s time had passed, he came upon a particularly massive, ancient plum tree blocking the way. None could say how old it was; its branches were bare, save for a few scattered blossoms like sparse stars.

Drawing closer, the founder saw that on the trunk was inscribed a poem.

“What poem?” asked Shen Lian, no less intrigued. This tale was far more captivating than any conventional tale of immortals.

The flute’s eerie melody, the shadowy plum grove, the poem carved into the tree—it was a story full of strange wonder.

Ling Chongxiao’s eyes reflected the deep moonlight, and he recited in a tranquil tone:

“Child of the Earth’s Deep, named Wang the Mad,
He came with sun and moon, departed with the tides.
Companion to clouds and water, neighbor to void and air,
True spirit abides within, unlike the hearts of men.”

“Companion to clouds and water, neighbor to void and air,” Shen Lian repeated, surprised—not by the ethereal beauty of the verse, but because he had seen it before.

He recalled, one idle year, reading through the collected poems of Master Chongyang and coming across these very lines, which had left a deep impression.

Yet, of late, he had found no record of Wang Chongyang or the Complete Reality sect in any book, and could not help but feel puzzled.