Chapter Forty-Two: Becoming One with Desire

Dust whirled into the air, and Ling Chongxiao’s bald head was caked in gray as he emerged from a mound of shattered wall and debris, grumbling, “What kind of bizarre martial art did you use? Even I couldn’t dodge it.”

“With the body as one’s will, there is nothing that cannot be done. I was fortunate, and managed to grasp a little of the Art of Body-Will,” Ku Hui replied with pride. The Buddhist tradition boasts five divine abilities, born from deep contemplation; each, when perfected, holds unfathomable power.

The Art of Body-Will was one such ability. Ku Hui had spent decades cultivating Buddhist teachings, and only recently had gained some insight, enough to make his old rival Ling Chongxiao suffer a minor setback.

Seeing Ku Hui’s slightly smug expression, Ling Chongxiao was displeased. “So many years, and you’ve only mastered a touch of divine power—what’s there to be happy about? I casually taught a youngster some basic skills from our sect, and in a year or two he’ll be able to beat you so badly you won’t know which way is up.”

Ku Hui smiled softly. “In this vast world, aside from reclusive immortals and true heirs of the esoteric faith, most only seek skills without grasping the true method. Though neither of us will attain immortality in this life, when it comes to martial arts, few can rival us. Besides Ye Liuyun of Sword Manor, I don’t believe any young wanderer could leave me in such a sorry state.”

At this, he couldn’t help but laugh, for Ling Chongxiao was indeed covered in dust and dirt.

Ling Chongxiao’s brows twitched with anger. He formed his fingers like a spear and struck at Ku Hui’s chest, but Ku Hui moved like a stream of light, easily evading.

Though Ku Hui moved after Ling Chongxiao, he reacted swiftly and dodged the strike in an instant. It sounded simple, but few in the martial world could achieve such feats.

Still, Ku Hui was not entirely at ease; a fine sweat appeared on his brow.

Ling Chongxiao had trained to the Daoist realm of Subduing the White Tiger. His stamina was unfathomable, and his internal energy was ceaseless. If he truly fought to the death, he could outlast anyone.

“I’m done; it’s no fun. Ye Liuyun of Sword Manor is certainly a genius, but he’s still not quite as good as that boy,” Ling Chongxiao said, somewhat disinterested. At his age, what he sought he had mostly already attained; what he hadn’t, he likely never would.

“Who is Ling benefactor referring to? Honestly, if we had met Ye Liuyun at his age, we would have had to admit defeat. Our achievements might not be what they are today,” Ku Hui mused, curious. Ling Chongxiao himself was a martial prodigy; had he possessed greater fortune and entered the immortal gates, he might have already touched the threshold of eternal life.

Without the secret methods of the immortal sects, no matter how extraordinary one’s talent, one could only deduce the path ahead; by then, old age would have already set in.

The most profound methods are found in the Three Tombs, Five Canons, Eight Cords, and Nine Hills, but cultivation is not a castle in the air; if one lacks predecessors’ experience and a solid foundation, one could spend a lifetime and never reach the threshold of the Great Way.

“His name is Shen Lian. If he truly has immortal fate, perhaps he’ll enter the immortal gates this time,” Ling Chongxiao said, standing with hands behind his back. He did not intend to tell Shen Lian about the Qingxuan Immortal Sect.

The world is vast, its living beings as countless as grains of sand in the Ganges. Though geniuses are one in ten thousand, they are as numerous as fish crossing a river.

Most never have the chance to refine their energy, their talents buried for a lifetime.

If fate is absent, they are but grass and trees that wither in a single autumn.

“Though the Dao teaches non-action, if there truly is such a promising seedling, you wouldn’t even lend a hand? You really are heartless,” Ku Hui sighed.

“I have no ties to him. Even if I tried my utmost, what difference would it make? My master treated my junior well enough. Passing on the sect’s martial arts is already more than enough. The rest of his path depends on destiny,” Ling Chongxiao’s face flashed a coldness.

“No, now that you mention it, I’m interested. I must meet this person,” Ku Hui could not contain his curiosity. Unlike Ling Chongxiao, whose sect had suffered tragedy and whose heart was broken, Ku Hui thought that if Shen Lian was truly so exceptional and lacked a master, perhaps he could take him as a disciple.

The Buddhist sect seeks this life to prepare for the next. Ku Hui believed in reincarnation; perhaps, if Shen Lian attained the Dao in the future, he might, out of sentiment, lend Ku Hui a hand in the cycle of rebirth.

Even if Ling Chongxiao was exaggerating, it would only mean a wasted trip.

Though only the name “Shen Lian” was given, Ku Hui was a favorite at court, often summoned to the palace to explain Buddhist teachings to the empress dowager and concubines. Finding an outstanding youth whose name he knew would not be difficult.

******

Thousands of miles away, Shen Lian had no idea a monk was interested in him. His spirit hovered high above, embodying the principle that heaven is impartial and treats all things as straw dogs.

He swooped down like a celestial being descending from beyond the sky.

His spirit was ethereal, yet perfectly formed.

Ye Liuyun saw the light—cool as water, moonlight piercing Shen Lian’s spirit.

The sword in his sleeve lashed out involuntarily, a white aura darting forth, twisting like a spirit serpent, its trajectory unseen.

Only with boundless internal energy can one, using martial arts akin to dragon-taming or crane-controlling, direct a sword even after it leaves the body.

That white light swept toward Shen Lian’s spirit.

If one advanced further, cultivating the body as a sword sheath and nurturing the essence of pure white metal within the lungs, one would become a sword immortal, able to strike down demons and evils from dozens of yards away.

Yet such techniques are always secret arts of the immortals, never shared. Ordinary people who try them are harmed by the metallic energy, suffering injuries to heart and lungs, leading to chronic maladies.

Sword Fourteen could not help but cry, “Young master, beware!”

Shen Lian’s spirit, able to shift size at will, transformed into wisps of blue smoke; the white light missed, touching nothing.

The blue smoke shuddered in the wind, straight as an arrow, shooting toward Ye Liuyun’s brow.

Ye Liuyun felt the world spin, his consciousness fading.

Suddenly, a faint red glow emanated from Ye Liuyun, runes flowing within. The blue smoke, Shen Lian’s spirit, was gently repelled, returning to its vessel.

Shen Lian opened his eyes, unharmed. Ye Liuyun, however, collapsed in a faint.

He had not intended to harm Ye Liuyun’s spirit, but Ye Liuyun’s martial arts were so formidable he had no choice.

Yet, as a result, both would suffer, with Ye Liuyun faring much worse—one misstep and he could be left mindless.

Shen Lian had never tried harming the consciousness of a master like Ye Liuyun, whose mind was resolute and channels open; he did not know what side effects it might bring.

This was unlike the Five Evil Spirits, whose soul power was strong but chaotic and scattered.

Ye Liuyun’s soul was far stronger than most, his will unwavering and hard to break.

He was much harder to deal with than the Five Evil Spirits.

That red glow was a wondrous method, cleverly avoiding a direct clash of spirits, though it was unclear who benefited more.

“You foolish child, with no undying spiritual light, you dare to leave your body and attack someone’s sea of consciousness, slaughtering their soul? You truly have no regard for your life.” The red glow peeled away from Ye Liuyun’s body, and a voice resounded in Shen Lian’s ears.