Chapter 77: The Yang Spirit

Liaochen could not wait for the aftermath in Guiyang City. He hurried back to the Xuanguang branch temple on the small, desolate mountain. After hastily casting a protective formation around the perimeter and giving instructions to Yunlingzi, he entered a state of meditation, guarding his spirit and settling his soul.

Liaochen was neither gathering *qi* nor practicing techniques. He had returned in such a rush simply because he felt his spirit wavering, as if it were on the verge of leaving his body. Terrified, he cast aside all other matters, retreated into the mountains, and sat in meditation to suppress the agitation of his soul.

Master Lu once said, "The heavens and earth view human life as a bubble; the Great Dao views heaven and earth as a bubble. Why? For those who seek the Way, nothing is more important than returning to the root and restoring one's destiny—returning to one's original nature. This is to recover one's true face. A single spirit, shining alone, can rival the sun and moon, standing parallel to heaven and earth. Even if the sky collapses and the earth crumbles, my life remains independent and unchanging, circulating eternally without exhaustion."

Liaochen focused his mind, yet he felt he could no longer achieve the effortless mental clarity of the past. He had lost control over his own thoughts. Once all distractions were cast aside, he slipped into an indescribable state—half-dream, half-waking, neither asleep nor fully conscious.

In a haze, Liaochen’s spirit emerged through his "Heavenly Gate." After circling the small, quiet room of the Xuanguang Temple, he stood face-to-face, staring at his own physical body. It was a profound and mysterious sensation.

Who was the true self? Who was he? Was the spirit the reality, or was the flesh the self?

Liaochen felt a call from afar. From all directions, countless voices intertwined, so numerous that he could not discern their origin or their cause. Suppressing the urge to travel instantly, his spirit stood in the quiet room, staring blankly at the light outside.

The sunlight had not yet faded. Liaochen felt a mix of hesitation and fear. He sensed that he might not fear the sunlight, yet his reason warned him that his Yang spirit was not yet complete; beneath the True Fire of the sun, all would turn to smoke and clouds.

Forward, backward. Forward again, then backward. Impulse and fear drove him back and forth within the small room. To advance risked the total annihilation of his spirit, turning a century of cultivation into a dream. To retreat meant the possibility of a flaw in his Daoist heart, a missed opportunity, and the closing of the gate to immortality. The reverse was equally true.

"The path of the Great Dao requires progress without retreat. The way of the immortal is arduous; one must have no worries and no fear!" Liaochen suppressed his inner dread once more. He stood half a foot from the window, carefully pulled the bolt, and with a wave of his left hand, his peach-wood sword rose from the ground. A flash of sword light shattered the window frame, and the sunlight from outside poured in immediately.

Trembling, Liaochen extended a finger into the sunlight, awaiting the test of the sun's True Fire.

A moment later, Liaochen’s mouth hung open in shock.

There was no rising smoke, no searing by the solar fire. Feeling only a slight prickle, he saw faint points of golden light appearing on his finger under the sun. Suppressing his inner turmoil, he thrust his entire palm into the sunlight.

Three thousand paths fulfilled, eight hundred merits achieved. The primordial spirit is refined; the Yang spirit emerges from seclusion.

Liaochen stood beneath the sun, his body dappled with golden light, a three-colored halo flickering behind his head. That was his halo of merit. Once achieved, it wards off ten thousand calamities; the three thousand Great Daos are contained within it. It is the favor of Heaven and the reward of merit. But by the time one attains that, one would likely have long been ranked among the immortals, or else have perished and been reincarnated.

Liaochen laughed three times and stepped out to roam the spirit realm. He did not notice, however, that in the Xuanguang Temple, a big-headed doll was jumping up and down frantically on the altar.

Yunlingzi could not manifest during the day, but that did not stop her from noticing the departure of her master’s Yang spirit. Never daring to touch the light of heaven herself, she was filled with envy, jealousy, and hatred toward her master. She jumped on the altar until, with a "plop," the big-headed doll fell off. And then... the big-headed doll finally went quiet.

Liaochen was well aware of his disciple's tantrum, but without stimulation, one eventually grows complacent. Since Yunlingzi had surpassed Yunhua in her cultivation, she had begun to slack off. Today’s event would surely stir her diligence, preventing her from wandering aimlessly on the path to immortality.

"A guest from three thousand miles away, a body of cloud and water for seven hundred years. With the journey complete, Penglai becomes a guesthouse; with the Dao achieved, tiles and rubble turn to gold. In the guest’s flask, wine is always kept; in the alchemical furnace, a different spring resides. Why fear that accumulating merit and seeking a master is rare? Heaven and Earth have never shown favoritism."

Liaochen’s spirit descended the mountain, covering a dozen miles in a single thought.

At the Longkou courier station, Wang Shouren sat daily by the entrance, drinking tea and reading. Suddenly, he heard faint singing in the distance, which swiftly approached. Before he could even drop his teacup, Wang Shouren rushed out the door.

"Clatter!" Wang Shouren’s beloved teapot shattered on the ground. He stood there, stunned, not daring to blink. Only after Liaochen had vanished and the singing faded did he slowly return to his senses.

"Was that just now... Immortal Liaochen?" Wang Shouren felt someone behind him and asked softly without turning his head.

Receiving no answer for a long time, he turned in surprise to find the station guards and laborers all kneeling on the ground.

"Ah! Only today do I realize that immortals truly exist!" It took a long time for Wang Shouren to utter this, feeling a sense of profound loss. He prepared to return to his tea, feeling quite defeated, only to find his teapot was gone. Looking down, he let out a wail of grief, squatting to pick up the shards of his teapot, his heart weeping while he bitterly recorded this debt against Liaochen.

The singing was ethereal, the shadow following the sound. Liaochen wandered on, singing, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Within the hundred-thousand-mountain range, there were countless Miao villages. As Liaochen wandered, the Miao people knelt in succession. In the span of a few years, Taoism had taken root and flourished among these mountains—a decree of Heaven that could not be reversed.

Liaochen arrived in Fox-Cry Valley, standing silently before the lonely little grave mound. In the valley, the foxes chirped; the silver-white figure seemed to still be darting through the woods. Liaochen gently added a few handfuls of yellow soil to the grave of the spiritual white fox and bade it farewell once more.

Liaochen reached the banks of the Yangtze River and offered a few bouquets of fresh flowers to the sisters who lay in eternal rest. He startled several passing travelers, who were so terrified they stood frozen, unable to move until Liaochen drifted away. Still suspecting they had seen a "ghost" in broad daylight, they rushed up the hill, only to find the fragrant flowers on the tombstone. They immediately knelt and sincerely kowtowed to the sisters.

Treading upon the river water, Liaochen arrived before his own Mountain God Temple. The incense within still burned, though it was much thinner now that the "answered prayers" had ceased.

With a thought, Liaochen’s spirit flew into the temple, merging with the clay statue on the altar, watching the incense rise and the devotees bow in piety.

"Boom!" Suddenly, a bolt of golden light exploded in Liaochen’s mind. Before he could react, a tremendous force instantly pulled him into another world.

This was a sea of void. No stars, no moon, no sun, no light. Time seemed to have stopped; space seemed to have frozen.

Liaochen’s spirit stood upon this sea of void, filled with doubt and fear.

"Is anyone there?"

"Where is this?"

"I am merely a passerby; if I have caused any disturbance, I beg your forgiveness. May I request the fellow Daoist to reveal themselves?"

Liaochen did not know how long he had drifted in this sea of void. There was no time, no sound, no mountains or earth, no worldly things.

"At the very least, there should be light," Liaochen barely managed to squeeze out the words.