Chapter 20: Listening to the Dao

While she waited, Zhang Qingshu introduced her to several disciples from the Upper Institute, both male and female, all under the age of twenty. Lingyu recalled from Ying Xiude’s miscellaneous books that entering the Visualization Realm before the age of fifteen was one of the hallmarks of an elite disciple at the Grand Daoist Temple, as only then was it possible to reach the fifth level of Qi Refinement by twenty. There were exceptions, of course, but they were rare. The disciples Zhang presented were all under twenty, clearly candidates for the elite, and considering her own circumstances, it seemed he was deliberately trying to bring her into a particular group.

Lingyu had no objection to this. The incident with Han Funing had left her wary and anxious; joining a group and quickly integrating into Xuan Yuan Temple could only benefit her.

Time passed swiftly, and the sermon began.

A stern-looking Daoist in his thirties walked through the crowd of disciples, took a seat on the topmost cushion, picked up the wooden mallet on the table, and gently struck the jade chime beside him.

A clear and melodious sound rang out, and the vast Yuji Hall instantly fell silent—one could hear a pin drop. Everyone closed their mouths, sitting or standing properly, their eyes fixed on the Daoist above.

“Disciples, today’s topic is the importance of thoroughly studying the Daoist scriptures.” The Daoist went straight to the point, not even bothering with introductions.

Lingyu guessed that there weren’t many disciples like her who had entered midway; this Daoist must be well known to the others. Indeed, Zhang Qingshu whispered, “That’s Master Jiang Fuheng, currently at the eighth level of Qi Refinement.”

The eighth level of Qi Refinement was a notable achievement for a Master. In Xuan Yuan Temple, aside from the Abbot, the two Supervisors, and the three Heads, there were six Masters at the ninth level: three in the Chongxu Hall, two in the Yuxu Hall, and one in the Taixu Hall. Hua Tongxu and Han Funing were among them.

Lingyu was especially curious about the Chongxu Hall, whose Masters she had only heard of but never met. It was said its members were all obsessed with cultivation, each more eccentric than the last. There was a saying in Xuan Yuan Temple: “Taixu Hall has extraordinary men, Yuxu Hall has immortals, Chongxu Hall has no men at all.”

This wasn’t meant to rank the three halls, but to sum up their characteristics: the airs of Taixu Hall, the mystery of Yuxu Hall, and the madness of Chongxu Hall.

So far, Lingyu had met Masters from two halls, but hadn’t observed much difference. Tan Tongzhen was impulsive, Hua Tongxu steady, Han Funing calculating, and this Jiang Fuheng seemed rather aloof. The rumors, it seemed, were perhaps a bit exaggerated.

“As you all know, there are two ways to become a cultivator. The first is to practice basic techniques for many years—if one is fortunate enough to generate true essence, then one can absorb spiritual energy and enter the Way. The second is to study Daoist classics intently; if the mind is pure and one enters the Visualization Realm, then one can draw in spiritual energy and become a cultivator. The former is the method of small temples and cultivation clans, who rely on inherited techniques or ancestral fortune, making it easier to train cultivators. The latter is the way of grand traditions and solitary Daoists.”

Although Jiang Fuheng’s expression was cold, his teaching was detailed: “Are you not curious? In terms of probability, the first method is more successful—cultivation techniques are more likely to produce true essence. The second method, the Visualization Realm, is intangible and elusive; some never achieve it in a lifetime. Those solitary Daoists, lacking inheritance, have no choice. But what about the three great temples? We have the very best cultivation techniques—why do we still train disciples this way?”

Jiang Fuheng paused, letting the murmurs in the hall subside before continuing, “This is exactly my topic today: the importance of studying the Daoist scriptures.”

“On the surface, cultivating techniques produces more cultivators, but in truth, those who enter the Way through scripture study go much farther. That is why the three great temples train disciples this way: we seek quality, not quantity.”

“What is cultivation?” Without waiting for a response, Jiang Fuheng continued, “Cultivation is entering a mysterious state—becoming attuned to spiritual energy, merging with heaven and earth, breathing in harmony with the mountains and rivers, gradually absorbing spiritual energy, refining the body, and transforming oneself. Entering the Way through visualization makes achieving this state easier than through cultivation techniques; over time, the accumulation grows…”

Lingyu was utterly absorbed, afraid to miss a single word. Xuan Chenzi had never taught her these things—this was just the foundational knowledge she lacked.

Two hours passed in a flash. When Jiang Fuheng finished, he struck the jade chime once more. “That concludes today’s sermon. You may go.” With that, he departed on his own.

As soon as the Master left, the hall grew lively—some discussed the sermon, some joked, others chatted.

Lingyu was still reflecting on Jiang Fuheng’s words when someone tugged at her sleeve. “Sister Cheng.”

She snapped out of her thoughts to see Zhang Qingshu smiling at her. “Come, it’s time to meet your teaching Master.”

“Ah?”

Seeing Lingyu’s dazed expression, Zhang Qingshu laughed. “Aside from the sermons every ten days, Upper Institute disciples have their own teaching Masters. Also, new disciples must go to the study hall every day. Usually, Upper Institute disciples don’t have to, but my uncle says you know nothing of cultivation and should go as well, at least to learn runes. Otherwise, how will you write your disciple journal?”

Lingyu now understood that the disciple journal was something every Upper Institute disciple kept, recording their cultivation insights and experiences. If anything happened, as with Xuan Chenzi, clues could be found in the journal, preserving much of their knowledge. However, the journals weren’t written in ordinary script but in runes—a special script unique to the cultivation world, said to be inherited from ancient times. Many classics were written in this script. Mastering runes was an essential part of a cultivator’s education, and in a place like Xuan Yuan Temple, one of the three great temples, rune study began even before formally entering the Way.

“Brother Qingshu, when do I go to the study hall? And where is it?”

“No rush—on sermon days, classes are suspended. On those days, just listen to the sermon and meet your teaching Master afterwards. The rest of the time, you can attend classes. Given your aptitude, half a year or so should be enough.” As he spoke, Zhang Qingshu led Lingyu out of the main hall and around to the right wing.

At the side door of the wing stood two female disciples. Zhang Qingshu bowed to them politely, smiling. “Greetings, senior sisters. This is the new disciple, surname Cheng, Dao name Lingyu. She’s here to meet her teaching Master for the first time—may I trouble you to assist her?”

One of the women smiled at the sight of Zhang Qingshu. “Oh, isn’t this little Brother Zhang? Always so polite. It’s no trouble—it’s our duty.”

The other glanced at Lingyu, surprised and doubtful. “Little Brother Zhang, are you sure? This child is so young!”

“Of course I’m sure.” Zhang Qingshu nodded at Lingyu. “Sister Cheng, show them your disciple token. They should have your name on their list.”

Lingyu nodded, handed over her disciple token, and said, “Thank you for your help, senior sisters. I’m young and inexperienced—please look after me in the future.”

Everyone enjoys flattery—women especially so. Seeing her so well-mannered, the senior disciple’s expression softened. She checked the token against her scroll, then nodded. “That’s right. Sister Cheng, please go in.”

With everything settled, Zhang Qingshu saluted. “Senior sisters, I’ll take my leave. I’ll treat you to tea another day!”

“Little Brother Zhang, you said it—don’t go back on your word!” The two women laughed and joked with him as he left.

Watching this, Lingyu thought to herself that Brother Zhang Qingshu, though young, was already adept at handling people—something she ought to learn. She was clever in her own way, but before the age of nine, she’d grown up in the Cheng household, a place where people devoured each other without a trace. Afterwards, she’d spent half a year on the streets, then followed her master in the remote countryside; she’d never seen this kind of camaraderie among fellow disciples.

While she pondered, the more cheerful of the two women called out, “Sister Cheng, please follow me.”

Lingyu hurried after her. “Yes, Senior Sister.”

Yuji Hall, unlike Xuanming Hall, was grand in its main chamber but small in its side wings—a few steps and they were inside.

The room was spacious and sparse; at the far end was an image of a True Lord, with an incense burner and offering table, and beside it a high-backed chair. Seated in the chair was a Daoist nun in lotus crown and robe, appearing no older than her early twenties, with a dignified and ethereal beauty.

Around the nun, a dozen or so female disciples were gathered, asking questions in an orderly fashion.

“Aunt Master Liu,” the senior sister saluted, “this is Sister Cheng Lingyu, her first time attending the sermon.”

At her words, both the nun and the other disciples turned to look at Lingyu.

Lingyu quickly bowed deeply. “Greetings, Master. Greetings, senior sisters.” Han Funing had told her she could use “Aunt Master” here, but no one else had mentioned it. Not knowing if the title was taboo, she erred on the side of caution.

The nun nodded lightly. “Understood. Wait a moment.” She turned back to answer her disciples’ questions.

Lingyu waited quietly at the end, her gaze lowered, her mind calm.

She waited nearly half an hour. After the nun had answered everyone’s questions and sent them off, only the two remained in the hall, silent and still.

The nun let out a soft sigh, sipped some tea, then looked up. “Cheng Lingyu?”

Lingyu stepped forward. “Disciple present.”

“My name is Liu Weiyi. Barring any surprises, I’ll be your teaching Master for the next year.”

Weiyi—wasn’t that a Chongxu Hall name? The thought flashed through Lingyu’s mind, but her face remained composed. “Thank you, Master Weiyi.”

Liu Weiyi waved her hand. “You’re a Tongxuan disciple, so just call me Aunt Master.”

This put Lingyu at ease. It seemed people from Chongxu Hall weren’t so unapproachable after all—why did people say Chongxu Hall was inhuman?

“Thank you, Aunt Master Liu.”

Liu Weiyi nodded. “I’ve read your file. Senior Brother Zheng was wise—teaching you from the ground up is far easier than picking up halfway.”

Lingyu’s inner thoughts were less charitable—Chongxu Hall people really didn’t care for tact. What did she mean, “Senior Brother Zheng was wise”? Was it wisdom to foresee his own death? Someone with a thinner skin would take offense.

Just then, Liu Weiyi said, “Come here. Let me see what you’re suited to cultivate.”

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Today's update is done—I’ll sleep now. The plot seems slow, and I’m anxious about it, but seeing so much support, maybe I should be more diligent…