Promise

Having spent several years on Mount Pengshan, the Dream Ancestor of Mount Pengshan, moved by his unwavering dedication, imparted to him the art of divination and fate calculation, capable of discerning heavenly secrets.

When Wen Chaoxuan opened his eyes before the Dream Ancestor, his gaze reflected the revolving black and white of the Yin and Yang, and millennia of time seemed to transform in his eyes in an instant, from flourishing growth to vast changes.

“What have you seen?” the Dream Ancestor asked him.

“I have seen calamity,” Wen Chaoxuan replied, gathering his belongings and preparing to take his leave, “and countless cycles of reincarnation, all inevitably leading to the same destiny.”

“You are a fanatic.”

“No seeker of the Dao is not infatuated.”

“If you truly find this so-called one who can avert the calamity, what will you do?”

Wen Chaoxuan shouldered his sword and mused for a moment.

“I will take him as my disciple, care for him, raise him, and impart all my knowledge to him… until the day destiny arrives.”

“However, I must warn you,” the Dream Ancestor said, “do not be overly fixated.

Forcibly changing fate is inherently an act against the heavens; the might of the Heavenly Dao will not stand idly by.

Merely perceiving heavenly secrets does not grant one the freedom to act recklessly.

Within this lies myriad profound mysteries that you must unravel on your own.

Life is like a dream; who can truly discern what is real and what is false?

Our 缘 (TL Note: A Buddhist concept referring to the predestined affinity or connection between people.) ends here; perhaps we shall not meet again, and the immortal path of Mount Pengshan will vanish.

May your journey be long and far—I wish you a good beginning and a good end.”

Just as Wen Chaoxuan was about to bid farewell to the Dream Ancestor of Mount Pengshan, he suddenly heard the sound of a whale stirring the vast sea beside his ear.

When he opened his eyes again, it was as if he had awoken from a profound dream, finding himself lying on an unknown mountain peak with a sword beside him and a compass gifted by the Dream Ancestor.

****

Wen Chaoxuan, with only his sword and himself, journeyed into the mortal realm guided by the indications of heavenly secrets.

It was a time of chaos and separation in the human world, making the search for a person exceedingly difficult.

Wherever he went, nine out of ten houses were empty, and corpses lay strewn everywhere.

Wen Chaoxuan turned over a child lying by a bed, discovering that the child had been dead for quite some time.

He stood in silent contemplation for a moment, then gently lifted the child and placed them beside the bodies of their parents, before turning and leaving the thatched hut.

Outside, the scene was one of massacre.

Mounted soldiers chased and cut down fleeing villagers.

Without even looking, Wen Chaoxuan raised his hand, sending a sword flying.

Wherever the sword light passed, blood splattered.

Facing the wailing and prostrations of the villagers, Wen Chaoxuan remained oblivious, his head unbowed, as he slowly walked along the village path, his long sword still dripping blood.

His white robes vanished into the smoke and dust raised by the beacon fires.

Roadside skeletons, jackals scavenging on rotting corpses, and one silent, desolate village after another—these images formed Wen Chaoxuan’s later memories of that period.

Having walked for so long amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, he gradually began to entertain an absurd thought: it seemed as if, in the vast expanse of heaven and earth, he was the only one left alive.

‘Could I truly find them?’ Wen Chaoxuan pondered in the dark of night.

‘What if that person has already perished?

In such an era of catastrophe, even adults lacked the ability to survive, let alone a frail child.

What if that person truly died?’

At this thought, Wen Chaoxuan felt a touch of bewilderment, as if he had lost his way.

‘Perhaps I should return to the mountains, distance myself from all this, and descend only after the Divine Land has recovered its vitality to seek that person’s reincarnation.’

This seemed like a feasible solution, and the more Wen Chaoxuan considered it, the more he felt inclined to do so.

Yet, another question lingered: how long would it take for a human soul to reincarnate?

Ten years, twenty years, or an even longer period?

And how could he ensure that the soul would reincarnate as a human, and not as some flower, bird, insect, or beast?

The world was vast and boundless; by then, it would be another arduous search, traversing mountains and seas, from the highest heavens to the deepest springs.

Boundless thoughts proliferated in the silent night until dawn broke, and Wen Chaoxuan, once again, took up his sword and resumed his journey.

He entered a village, searching house by house, as he had done countless times before, seeking any glimmer of life.

This village, being far from the capital, had not suffered as much plunder, and thus still had some villagers moving about.

Wen Chaoxuan’s white robes made him exceptionally conspicuous among the ragged commoners.

Some villagers directly hailed him as an immortal descended from the heavens, insisting on setting up an altar and offering rice to entertain him.

Wen Chaoxuan, having long practiced Bigu (TL Note: A Taoist practice of abstaining from grains and other foods, often interpreted as subsisting on qi or spiritual energy.), had no desire for such offerings.

He intended to leave directly but suddenly paused when his gaze fell upon his compass.

Wen Chaoxuan followed the villager back to their home.

As the villager went inside to prepare a meal, he stood in the empty front yard, his brows furrowed, holding the compass and pacing to adjust his direction.

The needle, which had been fluctuating erratically throughout his journey, finally settled on a position, guiding Wen Chaoxuan towards the back of the house.

‘Am I finally going to find them?’

Wen Chaoxuan’s heart pounded rapidly; his once still heart, like an ancient well, was now rippled with anticipation by a few stones cast into it.

He quickly rounded to the back of the house, scanning the area, but then grew perplexed.

The farmhouse structure was simple: the front yard had vegetables and piled firewood, while the back yard contained an open-door latrine and a pigsty for rearing pigs.

The pigsty’s interior was unclear, but faint sounds could be heard from within; besides that, there was nothing else.

He walked around several times, confirming the compass pointed here.

Just as he was bewildered, the villager emerged from the house to find him.

Wen Chaoxuan asked the villager, “What is in there?”

The villager looked at the pigsty, somewhat puzzled by his question.

“Of course, it’s pigs in there.

The village’s pigs were all slaughtered some time ago, so we just brought a piglet back to raise… Oh, what am I telling you all this for, Immortal?

This place is filthy; let’s go inside, shall we?”

With that, the villager enthusiastically invited him indoors.

Wen Chaoxuan walked a few steps with him, then abruptly turned, striking the pigsty with a swift sword stroke.

Dust billowed, and the low house made of packed earth instantly split open under the powerful sword qi.

That was the first time Wen Chaoxuan saw Lin Langyao.

A child, about two or three years old, frail and no bigger than a bundle, knelt in the dim, filthy pigsty.

His clothes were tattered, barely covering his body.

A thick hemp rope, like one used to lead an animal, was looped around his neck.

He gazed outwards with a pair of clear, black-and-white eyes, blinking in confusion.

Wen Chaoxuan: “…”

The villager shrieked and lunged forward.

“My piglet!”

In that instant, Wen Chaoxuan seemed to understand something.

He spun around and entered the house.

In the kitchen, the villager’s wife was busy at the stove when a sudden gust of wind knocked her over.

She cried out in pain as she fell to the ground.

Wen Chaoxuan rushed to the stove; several bowls filled with whitish earth were on the counter, and in the iron pot, boiling water steamed, but upon lifting the lid, it revealed large stones being cooked.

The villager rushed into the house, embracing his fallen wife.

The two disheveled, sallow, and emaciated middle-aged people faced Wen Chaoxuan, wailing and prostrating themselves, begging for his forgiveness.

Due to years of continuous warfare, the common people had long suffered immensely.

Able-bodied men were conscripted into the army, fields were destroyed by hooves, and there was no income, no food.

Even those who miraculously survived the blades and spears did not necessarily fare well; hunger was another great blade at their throats.

To survive, people would do anything.

White earth served as rice, stone-water as meat broth, and even a small child could be a piglet.

As Wen Chaoxuan walked out of that house, he could still hear the prolonged, incessant wailing.

In the backyard, the child in the pigsty fumbled with the hemp rope, seemingly trying to break free.

However, he couldn’t find the right method; his repeated tugs only tightened the rope, almost strangling him.

He stuck out his tongue, rolled his eyes, and looked at Wen Chaoxuan outside.

“…”

Wen Chaoxuan couldn’t bear to watch any longer.

He stepped forward and severed the rope with a single sword stroke.

The child, finally freed, let out a sigh of relief.

He shakily tried to stand and leave the pigsty, but being too weak from prolonged hunger, he stumbled after only two steps, falling flat on the ground with a soft thud.

Wen Chaoxuan’s foot shifted slightly, intending to go and pick him up, but the child had already propped himself up and was crawling.

He was like a resilient little puppy, and even though his legs were trembling, he used both hands and feet, half-walking and half-falling, to reach Wen Chaoxuan.

As if recognizing his master, he looked at Wen Chaoxuan’s legs, then sat down on Wen Chaoxuan’s feet, grabbing onto the pristine white robes with his dirty little paws, and clinging to his leg.

“You…”

This was the one who could avert the calamity, the one he had sought across the vast lands for so long.

Wen Chaoxuan had intended to ask his name, to ask if he was willing to follow him to cultivate the Dao and ascend to immortality, but as he lowered his head, he found that the child had already fallen asleep clutching his leg.

The child was very thin and small, likely due to prolonged starvation.

His hair was dry and messy, his small face pointed, and he slept sweetly with his mouth slightly agape.

Wen Chaoxuan suddenly recalled that first glimpse of him: the narrow, cramped pigsty was dimly lit, fine dust danced in the air, yet only that pair of eyes, clear black and white, shone like the faint glimmer of a bright star, having traversed a long night to reach him.

Wen Chaoxuan reached out and picked up the child.

The tiny, frail bundle nestled in his arms, his head resting on Wen Chaoxuan’s chest, breathing softly, like an unknown, vexing wind disturbing the tranquil heart-lake of the cultivator.

Wen Chaoxuan felt a slight annoyance.

He pinched the child’s nose between his fingers.

Unable to breathe, the child opened his mouth wide, and drool streamed down Wen Chaoxuan’s robes.

Wen Chaoxuan: “…”

The white-robed cultivator stood still for a moment, then sighed helplessly, pulled out a piece of cloth, wrapped the child in it, and flew away.

In the child’s memory, he only recalled one day being held in a warm embrace, traversing a long period of darkness and cold, truly beginning his life.

But Wen Chaoxuan would forever remember that everything started on this day, and he would fulfill the promise he had made before the Dream Ancestor for this child:

“I will take him as my disciple, care for him, raise him, and impart all my knowledge to him… until the day destiny arrives.”