Chapter 22: Overcoming One Challenge After Another

What followed was a silence without words. The two of them could hardly be called acquainted, so naturally there was little to say, and the bearded giant put away his wine.

The rain had already stopped. Specks of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the bamboo leaves, carrying with them the fresh scent of grass and wood.

The invisible barrier between them vanished. Shen Lian felt the chill, rain-washed air after the storm, as clear and cool as his own heart upon the Way.

Two bamboo leaves drifted down and landed on the table. Shen Lian studied the veins upon them. They were utterly irregular, yet every line stood distinct. Suddenly he smiled and said, “Senior Brother, do you think there are two identical bamboo leaves in this world?”

“Of course not,” the bearded man replied casually.

“Then are there two completely identical talismanic patterns in this world?” Shen Lian asked again.

The bearded man did not answer, but Shen Lian already knew.

He rose to his feet, drew his wooden sword, and walked to an open patch of ground. The power of his soul flowed of its own accord through his body and poured into the wooden blade. It was as though he had grown another eye and beheld the still, exquisite beauty of the vital essence between heaven and earth. He thrust out the sword at random, and the surrounding essence at once gathered upon it. There was no dazzling display, no thunderous force, and yet a soft shower of light fell to the ground. The newly sprouted bamboo shoots there began to rise section by section, pushing out tender green tips.

That casual thrust had, in truth, perfectly matched the intent and trajectory of the talisman the bearded man had just traced in empty air to stir the vital essence and shape the wooden stool beneath him. Only the bearded man’s method had been subtler and more refined, like spring wind and gentle rain nourishing all things without a sound. In essence, both had condensed a kind of vital essence brimming with life.

There were no two identical bamboo leaves in the world, and no two completely identical talismanic patterns either. Yet when one saw a bamboo leaf, one knew it for a bamboo leaf.

Even if two leaves differed in shape, one still knew they were leaves of the same kind.

A talismanic pattern was not a thing, but a mode of expression.

It made the vital essence of heaven and earth understand what one wished to convey.

The Cloud Sigils and Thunder Script recorded in the Elementary Explanation of Talismans were impossible to memorize in any rigid sense, not because they were too complicated in themselves, but because the author, Master Eastern Spirit, had long since left a hidden message for later generations: grasp the spirit, forget the form.

Even at the beginning, when the text spoke of the true script of the Heavenly Book, calling it the outward manifestation of the Dao’s resonance, and said that dragon script and phoenix seal could make gods and Buddhas understand their meaning, it was not really praising their power. It was revealing the true nature of talismans: they were a kind of expression.

The wooden sword was the brush; the power of mind and soul was the ink. Once one sensed the divine intent within a talismanic pattern, one could truly enter the gate.

As for the truly formidable arts of talismans and Dao seals, they were nothing more than combinations built from these most basic patterns.

It was like ordinary words: in the hands of a master, when set forth with patient grace, they became an immortal masterpiece.

Zhang Ruoxu had not made him study the talismanic arts so that he might become some great grandmaster of talismans, but so that he might understand the mode of expression within them, the special technique by which one communicates with heaven and earth.

Of course, this method of cultivation suited only the Shen Lian of the present, for his soul was far stronger than that of cultivators in the same realm. His sensitivity to the vital essence of heaven and earth, and to all forms of energy, was far keener.

Had the bearded man not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that such a monster existed in the world, one who could enter the path so quickly.

Ordinary people, even if they understood the principle, still needed long, painstaking effort merely to perceive the divine intent of talismanic patterns and establish communion with the vital essence of heaven and earth, slowly drawing closer to it over time.

But Shen Lian had bypassed all of that grinding labor, like an ordinary child who, having only just learned to recognize words, could already begin to compose poetry.

This was no longer genius. It was monstrous.

That Shen Lian could do something so far beyond common sense was both unexpected and, at the same time, perfectly reasonable.

Without a supreme and marvelous method for tempering the spirit, his soul could never have grown so strong as it was today. Nor could he have cultivated the Sword Energy Born of Being and Non-Being, or by chance refined the sandalwood sword into a magical instrument, a perfect spiritual medium for drawing talismans.

All of it had begun with the True Exposition of the Supreme Clarity Numinous Treasure’s Natural Locking of the Heart and Settling of the Spirit.

Others did not understand this, but Shen Lian understood it deeply. At the same time, he grew more and more curious about his father by blood.

With such an awakening, he longed to return at once to the Pavilion of Great Mystery and look through every talisman recorded in that true explanation of the talismanic path one more time.

He smiled faintly at the bearded man and said, “My thanks.”

Then he turned at once and, with the lightest touch of his toes, vanished into the distance.

The bearded man muttered to himself, “This is downright uncanny.”

He had seen many geniuses, even among the generations of Green Mysterium, and among all the elders and masters skilled in talisman-making, never had he seen any record of someone entering the path this quickly.

And it was not mere imitation, either. Shen Lian had already formed an understanding of his own.

After entering the Pavilion of Great Mystery once more, Shen Lian spent the next half year buried in cultivation. He did not even attend the elders’ discourse, held once every two months.

He shut himself inside his Dao courtyard and set spiritual wards against disturbance. The essence of the outer world flowed slowly into his quiet chamber. At first it was a vague, misty mass with no discernible color. Later, as Shen Lian used the wooden sword as a spiritual guide and traced different arcs through the air, the mist formed from vital essence gradually separated into colors, eight in all, corresponding respectively to the eight powers of heaven, earth, mountain, marsh, water, fire, wind, and thunder.

These eight energies merged and intermingled. In the outer world, one would wax as another waned, then the stronger would weaken and the weaker would grow, cycling without end. They came from Shen Lian and returned to him, departed and came again.

The acupoints of the human body were endlessly intricate. Even the Profound Ultimate Art could not encompass them all. Day after day, Shen Lian merely filled one perceivable acupoint after another with vital essence, without deliberately trying to seize and open the aperture of life and death.

What he did was monotonous beyond measure, but cultivation had always been a profoundly monotonous thing.

The various kinds of vital essence between heaven and earth seemed to possess different temperaments of their own: some lofty and remote, some steady and weighty, some lively and nimble, some tenacious and enduring...

Talismanic patterns were the medium through which Shen Lian conversed with the vital essence of heaven and earth, and his soul seemed extraordinarily intimate with these energies.

He could tangibly feel himself growing stronger day by day, and yet this growth could not be accurately described by the nine realms of cultivation.

The only thing unchanged was the primordial deity of his visualization, the one holding the wish-granting scepter. It seemed hardly altered at all, still deep and unfathomable.

Indeed, the higher his cultivation grew, the more impossible that deity seemed to fathom, just like the pursuit of truth itself: the more one knows, the less one truly understands.

Shen Lian greatly enjoyed such days. Others might have found this kind of secluded ascetic practice lonely, but he felt nothing of the sort.

Human company was, in truth, optional. If cultivation had not forbidden complete isolation and blind self-enclosure, Shen Lian might well have gone on practicing like this forever.

Until one day, Shen Lian felt that every part of his body, every limb and bone, was filled with inner energy, like rivers surging ceaselessly, with not a single point of obstruction.

What cultivators called opening the channels in truth required only that the eight principal meridians be opened, among which the Conception and Governing vessels were the most important of all.

As one’s cultivation gradually deepened later on, the remaining minor channels would also slowly be broken through. After reaching the Returned Elixir stage, one would have nearly all the meridians open, and every gesture, every movement, would carry profound magical power.

Shen Lian had been tempered by the River of Gloom, causing his spirit and vitality to return to solidity and fullness. Yet he had not rushed to break through the aperture of life and death. Instead, he had mastered the talismanic path and drawn the vital essence of heaven and earth into his body, endlessly scouring his meridians for half a year without pause. At last, with deep reserves accumulated, the mysterious pass within him opened of itself, understood without understanding, and he could not help but let out a long cry to the heavens.

At last it feels as though I’ve made it through the hardest stretch. Of course the story of the Dao Lord was never going to be something so trite as endless sect competitions, one after another, dragged out forever. I’ve always believed this is a very special tale of immortals and chivalry. I won’t claim it’s extraordinarily good, but at the very least I hope it feels worth your time. There are certain things that, even if I’m not especially skilled at them, I still can’t simply brush aside. This is a long work running to millions of characters; if it were high excitement all the way through, I doubt anyone could manage that. If you’ve followed me from my previous Daoist novel, then I trust you must have some confidence in me by now. After all, I’m a man who keeps improving. What, you want to hit me for being shameless?

After all that nonsense, obviously I’m asking for votes and tips. During the public release period there’s no income, so if I don’t ask for some support, where am I supposed to find the motivation to keep writing?

And finally, thanks to Little N and Wandering Through One Lifetime for their rewards. Also, feel free to follow my public account, Central Plains Five Hundred, and come bother me there. If you’re a girl, I’ll definitely reply.