Chapter Six: In the Mountains, Days and Nights Are Indistinguishable

There is neither sun nor moon in the mountains. The world has already changed. Ten years have passed like flowing water, and people seem to have forgotten that there was once a temple atop the wild mountains. The winding path through the forest has long since been swallowed by overgrown weeds and untamed woods, and the Temple of Pristine Truth has faded from the memories of men.

On this day, Liaochan awoke from meditation. Opening the door, he looked out and forced a bitter smile. So this is what they mean by, "In cultivation, there are no years; a thousand may pass unnoticed in the mortal realm." He had no idea how long this seclusion had lasted. Ever since he mastered the art of fasting, time had lost all meaning for him. Looking around, he saw the temple overrun by thick weeds and coated in layers of dust—clearly, it had been a long while. Entering the great hall, he gave a wave of his sleeve and cast a Dust-Repelling Charm. Instantly, the hall was restored to its former brightness. As for the weeds in the courtyard, those would have to be pulled by hand. There was a charm to banish dust, but none for weeds, and he couldn’t very well set the place ablaze with a Fire Talisman just to clear them out.

He tried pulling a few handfuls but soon lost patience. Best to find someone from the village below to help. Better yet, he should take on a few disciples—to tend the temple, and to pass on the teachings of the Dao.

“Master, your disciple comes to see you. I have not failed your expectations; I have succeeded in cultivating Qi and am now a true practitioner. I swear not to let you down. I will bring prosperity to our temple and see that the ancestral teachings are passed on.” With these words, Liaochan bid farewell to his master, looking back at every step as he descended the mountain to begin his journey of tempering in the world.

Cultivation is both the training of Qi and the refinement of the mind. Without a cultivated heart, progress in technique alone is futile, and could even lead to madness—decades of hard practice lost in a waking dream.

Liaochan had reached the peak of Foundation Establishment and was on the verge of forming his Golden Core, when an unshakable restlessness overcame him. He knew the time was not ripe, and that to force enlightenment would be in vain. There was nothing for it but to emerge from meditation and seek understanding through experience in the world of men.

The old path was now impassable, so Liaochan was compelled to summon the Six Ding and Six Jia spirits, who moved mountains and split stones, forging a new road where none had been. With a flick of his sleeve and a silent incantation, the spirits toiled, rocks turned, earth shifted, and a mountain road appeared in an instant. Pleased with his handiwork, Liaochan strode down the path, unaware that the commotion had frightened the villagers below. The sudden appearance of a road where none had been was not something mere mortals could comprehend. Rumors abounded: some claimed an immortal had come down from the mountain to enlighten the world; others said the Mountain God, pitying the hardship of woodcutters, had opened a road for the benefit of all. Whichever story people believed depended on who told it.

As for Liaochan, he disguised himself as a young Daoist and, seeing that the village below was utterly unfamiliar, realized he had no idea what year it was. At the village entrance, he stopped an elderly man to ask directions.

“Excuse me, elder, could you tell me what year it is?”

The old man turned, giving him a look reserved for halfwits. “It’s the fifth year of Hongxiao. How do you not even know what year it is?”

“The fifth year of Hongxiao?” Liaochan’s heart skipped a beat. Even someone ignorant of history must have seen enough dramas to know: Hongxiao wasn’t that the reign before Zhengde? That would mean over eighty years had gone by in a blink.

Muttering to himself, Liaochan took a Qi-Nourishing Pill he had refined on the mountain from his sleeve. The old man’s health seemed poor, and since Liaochan had no further need for such things, he pressed it into the elder’s hand. Rounding the corner of the village, he muttered an Invisibility Charm, mounted his sword, and flew toward the county seat.

The old man was left gaping. Was this person mad, handing out medicine to strangers? Regaining his senses, he hurried after the youth, only to see him disappear into thin air. Stunned, he finally realized he’d met an immortal. Dropping to his knees, he cried, “The immortal has bestowed upon me an elixir! The immortal has given me a divine pill!” Shaking with excitement, he stumbled home. His family, seeing his strange demeanor, rushed to inquire. The old man replied dazedly, “Today I met an immortal. He asked me what year it was and gave me a divine pill.”

“An immortal asked you what year it was and gave you a pill?” his wife scoffed, looking at him in disbelief—much as he had looked at Liaochan. The sons joined in, teasing, “Father, you met an immortal? What did he look like?”

Frustrated that no one believed him, the old man produced the pill from his sleeve. It was clear and lustrous, unmistakably extraordinary. Only then did the family begin to half-believe him. “This is a divine pill?” The youngest son held it up to the sunlight but saw nothing special. Annoyed, the old man snatched it back. “This is a divine pill! If I eat it, don’t regret it later.” Storming into his room, he left the family exchanging uneasy glances. “Could it really be a divine pill?”

That very night, in a fit of pique, the old man swallowed the pill. He felt nothing unusual and began to suspect he’d been fooled. But the next morning, the family was shocked to find him rejuvenated overnight—his hair black once more, as if thirty years had melted away.

“Father, you really did meet an immortal! That was a true elixir!” The family was dumbfounded and on the verge of tears—why hadn’t they believed him?

So it was that the tale of Old Liu of Wild Mountain Village meeting an immortal and receiving a golden elixir spread far and wide. Combined with the miraculous appearance of the mountain road, it was clear to all that an immortal had manifested atop Wild Mountain. The road led straight to the Temple of Radiant Light, and some elders recalled that, fifty years ago, a young Daoist had gone into mourning for his master there and sealed the mountain. Decades had passed, and all assumed the boy was gone, but now it seemed he had achieved immortality. The villagers were beside themselves with excitement—an immortal in their midst! Such a lofty name!

That very night, after the local magistrate heard the story, he dispatched an urgent report to the emperor: “An immortal has appeared in our lands!”