Chapter 37: The Kind-hearted Taoist Who Loves to Help Others

Inhaling like a tiger’s roar, exhaling like a dragon’s song.

The rhythm of his breath was peculiar, each cycle split into nineteen parts, the air drawn in intermittent, broken, seemingly continuous yet on the verge of ceasing, flowing deep into his lungs.

The breath that filled him was at times cold as frost, like the freshest morning air in winter, sweeping away all the filth and bustle of the small city, leaving only the purest essence.

Other times, it was as hot as a blazing sun, cleansing the world of its impurities, leaving behind only the most pristine, vital energy.

This alternation of hot and cold gradually fused into a single thread, water and fire mingling, merging into unity, becoming the Primordial Whole.

As his breath circulated, the once thunderous sound of his inhalation and exhalation faded to near nothingness; his chest no longer rose and fell, for his breathing had become internal.

The breath from his mouth and nose was so faint as to be imperceptible, as thin as silk.

His legs were crossed in the lotus position, body naturally relaxed, settling into meditation. The thirty-two vertebrae of his spine stacked upright like beads on a string.

His shoulders were open but without forced posture, hands resting naturally on his knees, head neither bowed nor tilted, chin slightly tucked, eyes half closed, tongue pressed against the palate.

That fine thread of breath, passing over the bridge formed by his tongue and palate, circulated within his body.

Sleepiness began to overtake Chenyang, and he lay down, curling his limbs into the posture of an unborn child, letting the inner breath move as it would, surrendering to nature.

Sweet dew-like saliva filled his mouth, which he swallowed again and again, nourishing his body.

His foundation-building progressed smoothly; the spiritual banner, sensing its master’s state, flew from his sleeve and stood nearby, its surface fluttering, casting forth a plume of rainbow mist.

The essence of foundation building was to adjust one’s state to be most suitable for the path, for the body is easy to refine, but the Daoist heart is hard to form.

For Zhong Shenxiu to have awakened the Daoist heart and achieved the Daoist body in less than a year was a remarkable feat, even among the so-called geniuses of Mount Shu who had reincarnated multiple times.

Chenyang had long since turned from demon to Dao, comprehending that the named Dao is not the eternal Dao; that Buddha is of the Dao, and so too is the demon.

With the aid of the Qiankun Bone-Altering Elixir, he achieved the Primordial Immortal Body in eighty-one days, bypassing the stage of spiritual induction and beginning to cultivate Qi.

The arts of Mount Shu did not boast as many ornate divisions of realms as the rest of the cultivation world.

Before attaining the Nascent Soul, there were only three steps for entry: Foundation Building, Spiritual Induction, and Qi Cultivation.

With so many masters, only those who achieved the Nascent Soul, transcending the limits of lifespan and attaining the path of the free immortal, were considered truly accomplished and had left the ranks of the novices.

In truth, if one wished, Qi Cultivation itself could be further divided into several minor realms, but there was little meaning in doing so.

For the perfected arts of Mount Shu, there were no insurmountable barriers before the Nascent Soul; as long as one’s talent sufficed and the Daoist heart remained steadfast, achieving the Nascent Soul was only a matter of time.

In recent years, Chenyang had studied the greatest Daoist and demonic texts, recompiling the Primordial Canon. Now, as he cultivated Qi anew, the phenomenon was different from before.

With a single breath, the mysterious astral energy from the ninth heaven poured down like mercury, flooding into his mouth and transforming into an endless stream of vital essence.

With a twist of his hands, divine thunder burst forth, opening the earth’s veins, and the baleful energy of the land surged up like a fountain.

He blended the celestial astral with the earth’s baleful aura—heaven and earth united, yang and yin mingled, pure and impure became one, Dao and demon in harmony.

This was the Primordial True Qi, unique to Chenyang, derived from his years of contemplation.

He set aside all distractions, even the matter of his designated disciple Zhong Shenxiu.

Forgetting both himself and the world, Chenyang cultivated and forged swords in this secluded place.

To him, all things were illusory; only the self was real.

Where an immortal achieved the Dao, wonders would arise.

Chenyang drew down the celestial astral, opened the earth's baleful veins, united heaven and earth, harmonized yin and yang, and with himself as the anchor, in just over a year, this once barren and desolate region began to sprout with verdant life.

A few years more, and the place was filled with spiritual roots and treasures, brimming with grace.

The ancient tree standing alone, already possessing a measure of destiny, had, over these years, sheltered Chenyang from the elements and absorbed the Daoist aura he exuded, becoming ever more extraordinary.

One day, after completing his cultivation, Chenyang tended the furnace, refining his sword embryo while simultaneously delving into Daoist and demonic scriptures, striving to push the Primordial Canon to new heights.

A furrow appeared between his brows; two uninvited guests had entered his domain.

This place, deep in the mountains and once barren, was far from any settlement. Not even cultivators typically passed through, much less ordinary folk.

The two interlopers: the elder, a sturdy boy of no more than fourteen or fifteen, dressed in rags; the younger, a girl of three or four, carried on his back in a bamboo basket, gnawing on a piece of yellow essence root that had sprouted from the fusion of heaven and earth during Chenyang’s cultivation.

The girl was too young to matter, but the boy, though robust, was an ordinary mortal, with not a trace of spiritual power—only a naturally strong constitution.

Chenyang’s retreat lay deep among the mountains; judging by the boy’s path, it was at least eight hundred miles from the nearest edge.

Eight hundred miles of wilderness meant little to Chenyang, who could traverse the land as easily as flying.

But for a mortal boy to carry a young child across such terrain, braving countless beasts and dangers, yet arriving safely before him—it was almost absurd.

“So that’s it—fated one, child of destiny, is it? Well, I, a humble Daoist, will not play along with such schemes.”

With a flicker of thought, the truth was clear.

By rights, Sima Yan, so young and capable of reaching the Purple Palace realm and earning the favor of Sima Changfeng, that old fox, should not have been so foolish as to plot against Chenyang and Yang Xuan, the foremost talent in Baohua Continent at the time.

After all, what was she, truly?

Yet she had acted so self-destructively, so recklessly, courting utter ruin.

At the time, Chenyang could not understand it, and could only ascribe it to her being a fool.

Later, after subduing Yang Xuan, he extracted even the most embarrassing childhood secrets from his disciple—including the mysteries of ascension and the suppression facing cultivators attempting to reach divine transformation. Only then did he realize what was happening.

Heaven and earth were striving to save themselves. But while he had taken some spiritual materials from this world and gained a measure of power, if the world thought that was enough to entice him to shoulder the burden of salvation—

Heh. How wishful.

And now, another child of destiny, another fated one, was delivered so brazenly to his doorstep. It was simply shameless.

With a cold laugh in his heart, Chenyang pointed at the spirit banner. The struggling boy suddenly felt his body lighten, and in a whirl of rainbow mist, he and the girl were carried a mile away in a heartbeat, the wind howling past his ears, the mountains rushing by.

“I truly am a Daoist who delights in helping others,” Chenyang chuckled, sending the two children out of the mountains and paying them no further heed.