Enter the Tao

Wen Chaoxuan’s fingers brushed the sword hilt, his battle intent still blazing in his eyes.

“Since they insist on pursuing us,” he declared, “we shall pay the Lu Manor a visit.”

It seemed that after all their detours, they were destined to confront the Lu Clan.

Lin Langyao pondered the mysterious death of the Master of the Heavenly Craft Pavilion.

For a sect master of no small cultivation to die inexplicably within his own chambers was far too suspicious.

Lin Langyao knew in his heart that neither he nor Wen Chaoxuan could possibly have committed the murder.

Yet, the Master had left behind a letter, conveniently implicating them.

After much deliberation, Lin Langyao concluded that only the Lu Clan would benefit from such a scheme, which silenced a potential witness while simultaneously framing their enemies.

Wen Chaoxuan turned his hand, revealing a small bronze mirror.

Lin Langyao was astonished to see that the mirror had been repaired; the deep crack that had once marred its surface was now seamlessly mended.

Its clear, bright surface, like a pool of still water, reflected the scene just before the Master of the Heavenly Craft Pavilion’s death.

The old man, his hair and beard white, appeared to have witnessed something horrifying, his expression frozen in terror just before he collapsed, crushing the mirror beneath him.

“Let us go and see,” Wen Chaoxuan said, withdrawing his hand and tucking the mirror back into his sleeve.

He spoke with certainty, as if a deduction had already solidified in his mind.

“This journey will surely yield results.”

The group changed course, heading towards Jiuyuan City.

Along the way, Lin Langyao took care to explain to Qiu Yan and the others the origins of their current predicament, detailing his past grievances with the Lu Clan and his relationship with his artifact-crafting friend.

Qiu Yan mused, “If, as you say, you truly had no intention of killing the old manor lord, then I can probably guess why Lu Wenhan is so determined to target you.”

Lin Langyao sat cross-legged on the back of the雕 (Diao, a large bird/eagle), looking at him with curiosity.

“Why?” he asked.

“You may not know this,” Qiu Yan began, “but while the Three Great Clans and Five Major Sects are all renowned cultivation sects, there is an unspoken hierarchy among them based on seniority and power.”

“Once… if not for a sudden turn of events, the Cultivation World would now be led by the Lu Manor, standing above all other immortal sects.”

Lin Langyao grew even more curious.

“What turn of events?” he pressed.

At his question, even Qi Zifeng shot him a look as if he were an idiot, seemingly unable to bear it.

Qiu Yan wore an expression of helplessness, shaking his head, unsure how to explain.

It was the young medic, Zhou Shaoyang, who spoke bluntly: “Of course, it’s because the Cultivation World suddenly saw the rise of a Lord of Mischief (TL Note: A ‘Lord of Mischief’ or ‘Chaotic Demon King’ refers to someone who defies all rules and conventions, causing widespread chaos and disruption.), who showed no respect, beat up every sect, and tormented all the powerful cultivators until they were unrecognizable!”

Lin Langyao: “…………”

Lin Langyao felt Wen Chaoxuan’s unfriendly gaze land on him, causing cold sweat to trickle down his back.

Fortunately, the outline of Jiuyuan City appeared before them at that moment, drawing everyone’s attention.

In the gently awakening blue morning light, the group arrived at the largest city in the Northern Lands—a magnificent metropolis governed and protected by a super-clan of the Cultivation World.

Lin Langyao suddenly recalled something and asked his master, “Master, are we going to storm the Lu Manor directly, or should we sneak in quietly?”

“Naturally, it would be unwise to alert the enemy,” Wen Chaoxuan replied.

Lin Langyao looked a little embarrassed.

“But you know,” he began, “I did cause quite a stir there before, so I’m afraid everyone in the manor will recognize my face…”

Wen Chaoxuan was silent for a moment, then ruthlessly stated, “Then you shall not go.”

****

Inside Jiuyuan City, they found an inn to temporarily settle down.

The young medic, Zhou Shaoyang, absolutely refused to set foot inside the Lu Manor again, so he stayed behind to accompany Lin Langyao.

Qiu Yan and Qi Zifeng, under the guise of an official visit from the Wuling Sword Sect, brought Wen Chaoxuan into the manor.

Wen Chaoxuan pondered for a moment.

“If we are discovered,” he said, “your sect will be implicated.”

“Have you considered this thoroughly?”

“Previously, we were unaware of the full situation,” Qiu Yan replied.

“Since such a complex old case involving the Lu Clan has come to light, as fellow prestigious sects, it is only right that we contribute our efforts.”

They also had their own considerations: the Lu Clan had stirred up a great deal of trouble to secure the top position in the Cultivation World.

Now, without Lin Langyao’s suppression, the rise of the Lu Manor was inevitable.

If other sects did not want to be unjustly subjugated, they would have to intervene and establish some balance.

“Furthermore, merely for Senior to have guided Zifeng back to the path of the sword, the entire Wuling Sword Sect owes you their gratitude.”

Qiu Yan’s words were truly heartfelt.

Thus, the matter was settled.

Only Lin Langyao felt a touch of melancholy.

He stepped out of their private room and stood outside the inn, gazing blankly.

The Northern Lands were perpetually covered in white snow, with only a brief thawing period during a few months in spring and summer.

Children in Jiuyuan City, their faces red from the cold, scurried through the streets in padded jackets.

As Lin Langyao watched them, he suddenly sneezed.

Clad in simple cloth robes, he shivered from the cold.

Shaking his head, which felt numb from the severe winter chill, he moved under the eaves.

Finding a clean spot, he sat cross-legged and began to meditate.

With his eyes closed, he silently recited cultivation techniques, circulating his qi, attempting to conjure a wisp of ethereal spiritual energy from his empty meridians.

In truth, Wen Chaoxuan had never permitted him to resume cultivation.

He had been regulating Lin Langyao’s meridians and nurturing his body, yet he never once mentioned when he might rebuild his immortal bones.

Even without words, Lin Langyao understood in his heart that Wen Chaoxuan’s actions were meant to remind him of what it felt like to be a mortal, to teach him not to act recklessly in the future.

How long had it been since he experienced the sensation of being a mere mortal?

Previously, Lin Langyao hadn’t cared.

If his master wanted him to learn a lesson, he would obediently endure it—hadn’t that been how he lived for so many years?

His master’s words, naturally, were always correct.

But now, he no longer wished for that.

He did not want to watch Wen Chaoxuan exert himself for his sake while he remained idly by, unable to do anything.

Lin Langyao kept his eyes closed, unsure how much time had passed, when he sensed someone approach and stand before him.

He didn’t need to open his eyes; the familiar aura alone was enough for him to recognize Wen Chaoxuan.

****

When Lin Langyao finally opened his eyes, his dantian was once again brimming with spiritual energy.

The meridians throughout his limbs and bones seemed to have revived, leaving his body feeling light and unburdened.

In his youth, Lin Langyao had taken less than a day to enter the Qi Condensation Stage.

Now, on his second ascent to the immortal path, it was naturally even quicker.

Wen Chaoxuan watched him silently, his white robes almost blending with the snow behind him.

His handsome features were as deep and dark as indelible ink, yet his thin lips were a very light, faint color, lending him an air of distant indifference.

Lin Langyao’s heart tightened as he watched, having expected Wen Chaoxuan to scold him.

But Wen Chaoxuan said nothing, merely extending a hand towards him.

Knowing he was in the wrong, Lin Langyao obediently stood and placed his wrist into Wen Chaoxuan’s warm palm.

Wen Chaoxuan pressed against his pulse, concentrating for a moment, then released him and produced a medicinal pill for nourishing spiritual meridians.

Lin Langyao didn’t require water or candied fruit; he simply placed the entire pill into his mouth.

The round, smooth pellet rested beneath his tongue, its bitter taste instantly spreading with his saliva—a bitterness so potent it could churn one’s stomach and induce nausea.

Yet, Lin Langyao’s expression remained unchanged as he slowly chewed it into fragments and swallowed it down.

The pill was bitter, but it was tolerable.

There was a year when Lin Langyao had fought on behalf of the Cultivation World against the Demon Race.

That battle had been exceedingly grim, perhaps the most severe injury he had sustained since embarking on the path of cultivation.

He had gravely wounded the Demon Lord, but he himself was critically injured and barely managed to escape the demonic territories.

At that time, no one knew where he was, nor would anyone come looking for him.

The only person in the world who would have overturned heaven and earth to save him had long since perished, transforming into a simple mound of earth on a towering peak, accompanied by lonely breezes.

He could only lie alone beneath an unknown cliff, quenching his thirst with rainwater and raw-chewing the inner cores of demonic beasts, struggling to survive with a mix of defiance and helplessness.

From that day forward, he would never fear hardship again.

Master and disciple stood silently facing each other under the eaves for a while.

Outside, the snow had lessened, revealing the rare warmth of a winter sun after the clouds had dispersed.

After consuming the pill, a comforting warmth spread through Lin Langyao’s entire body.

He suddenly remembered a question that still puzzled him.

“Master,” he asked, “where exactly do all these tonics of yours come from?”

“Traded for them,” Wen Chaoxuan replied, delivering a startling answer as if it were a trivial matter.

“In the past, I killed many demons and monsters.

Their inner cores were useless to me, so I exchanged them for medicine.”

Upon hearing him, Lin Langyao’s throat, having just swallowed the medicine, suddenly felt constricted.

He wished he could immediately force his fingers down his throat and vomit out those pills.

Demon Cores!

One had to understand that Wen Chaoxuan did not act lightly.

When he did strike, he slew only the most formidable and intractable great demons and monsters in the Cultivation World.

Any single inner core extracted from them could be worth the entire accumulated wealth of an ordinary small sect.

While high-grade medicinal pills, no matter how expensive, could be refined again, the inner cores of great demons cultivated for hundreds of years, once gone, were gone forever.

And Wen Chaoxuan had simply! Taken them! To trade for medicine!

Lin Langyao truly wanted to find that black-hearted medic or alchemist who had made the trade and beat them senseless until they coughed up the demon cores.

Unaware of the turmoil in Lin Langyao’s mind, Wen Chaoxuan saw him standing stiffly, his fists clenched tightly, his expression shifting erratically.

Assuming he was simply being stubborn again, Wen Chaoxuan raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you not coming inside yet?”

Lin Langyao’s emotions twisted and turned, finally managing a meek, “Oh…”

Qi Zifeng had planned to tease Lin Langyao a few times upon his return.

He knew Lin Langyao had slipped out silently because he didn’t want to be left behind.

However, Sword Venerable Wen had his own considerations: on one hand, Lin Langyao was easily recognizable and indeed unsuitable for going to the Lu Manor; on the other, he likely worried that Lin Langyao, currently without any cultivation, would be in too much danger if he went.

Qi Zifeng sat at the table, drinking tea.

The moment he saw Lin Langyao enter behind Wen Chaoxuan, he wanted to open his mouth and gloat.

But before he could speak, he felt something was off.

Lin Langyao looked strange, but what exactly was it…?

The young man’s gaze fell upon Lin Langyao’s right hand, which held his sword.

Lin Langyao noticed his gaze and also lowered his head to look.

Lin Langyao’s Azure Cloud Sword, due to his previous loss of cultivation, had been no different from ordinary iron, despite being a magnificent divine weapon.

Even when held, it remained dull and cold, offering no response.

But now, it was still the same sword, yet it emanated a faint azure brilliance, displaying the imposing aura of an immortal sword that commanded respect without needing to be drawn.

Qiu Yan exclaimed, “You’ve entered the path of cultivation?”

“Indeed,” Lin Langyao replied, stretching.

He then climbed onto the sleeping platform and resumed his cross-legged meditation.

“Congratulations.”

The young medic didn’t know what had happened, but he figured being polite couldn’t hurt, so he also offered a “Congratulations.”

Among everyone in the room, only Qi Zifeng was utterly stunned, looking as if he’d been struck by lightning, completely unaware that tea was spilling all over him.

Qiu Yan tapped him on the head, jolting him back to his senses.

“Now you know there’s always someone better out there, don’t you?” Qiu Yan prompted him.

“Why aren’t you cultivating more diligently?”