Chapter Six: On the Grand Scheme of the World—To Master Kung Fu Demands True Effort

The priest did not go so far as to destroy the clay figure entirely, and his final handling of it offered some solace to Xu Wenshan’s conscience. He inscribed several talismans upon the true form of the clay idol, explaining to Xu Wenshan that these were talismans of clarity and righteous intent, able to suppress evil thoughts; for at least ten years, this creature would not assume a form to harm others.

Later, rumors spread through the valley that the clay statue of the Lady of the Land had disappeared from the Earth God Temple at Luzhe. Xu Wenshan understood then that this monster was the very clay idol from that temple. The priest instructed Xu Changshui to donate funds for the renovation of the temple and had the household servants return the clay idol to its proper place.

The ceremony for sending off the spirit was carried out with great pomp. Though it cost Xu Changshui a considerable sum, his reputation in Luhe Valley soared because of it. Coincidentally, the year brought a bountiful harvest; the granaries of the valley were filled to the brim. People said the virtuous Xu Changshui had been blessed by the Lady of the Land, who visited the Xu household by night, declaring that Xu Changshui’s lifelong deeds of kindness had earned heavenly favor, hence the gift of a prosperous year. Riding this wave, Xu Changshui acquired more land, recouped the expenses of the temple restoration, and gained both fame and property.

Thus, Xu Changshui often sighed, “This Priest Zhang truly is a benefactor to my family!”

The priest’s surname was Zhang, commonly known as Zhang Sanfeng. Yet this Sanfeng was not from Wudang, but a priest of Zhenyuan Temple on Xiufeng of Wuji Mountain, who had descended from the mountain in pursuit of merit and to bring honor to his temple.

Xu Wenshan’s worldview was thoroughly upended. Clay idols transforming into humans, stone statues weeping—he had witnessed these with his own eyes and experienced them firsthand. From then on, he dared not deny the existence of monsters.

It was no wonder that everyone around Xu Wenshan, whether wise or simple, believed in such things. If roadside clay idols could become spirits, then the world was surely full of monsters; the villagers’ faith was rooted in real encounters, not mere trickery.

After this incident, Xu Wenshan felt all the more keenly that he needed to become stronger.

This time it was the temple lady; next time, it might be a haunting ghost, or a painted skin demon, or a blood corpse. Time and again, unless he possessed power, he would be tormented by such creatures.

In this world overrun by monsters, only by becoming strong enough could one grasp their own fate.

After much thought, Xu Wenshan pinned his hopes of becoming stronger on the Sanfeng priest.

While Xu Changshui was busy preparing the send-off ceremony, Xu Wenshan sought out the priest alone.

The priest was treated as an honored guest, served daily with fine food and drink, though he never changed his ragged clothes. He lived in the west wing, and when he unpacked his belongings, he filled the room with items. The priest explained that this was a minor Daoist technique, as light as a feather, merely a simple trick.

If even such tricks were so marvelous, Xu Wenshan’s resolve to pursue the Dao grew stronger.

“Master,” Xu Wenshan stood respectfully before the priest.

“What troubles you, young benefactor?” the priest replied with gentle warmth.

“May I ask, Master, how vast is the world?”

Xu Wenshan was solemn; the priest chuckled softly.

“The world’s vastness is beyond our mortal reckoning. I only know that three thousand li east lies the Endless Sea; two thousand li west, the Boundless Mountains; three thousand li north, the Wastelands; and three thousand li south, the Rainforest. What lies beyond the sea, or past the mountains, what is found across the wastelands or beyond the rainforest—we know nothing of these.”

Xu Wenshan was secretly astonished—measuring distances in thousands of li, far larger than Earth. If the priest spoke true, this could not be Earth.

He asked again, “Master, how many nations are there in the world?”

The priest smiled, “There are sixteen nations: five allied in the east, three united in the west, one dominant in the north, and seven contending in the south. Alliances and rivalries abound, but these concern mostly the authorities and seldom affect ordinary folk; many live and die without ever knowing their own nation. Luhe Valley lies at the border between Chen and Cai, two of the southern seven kingdoms.”

Xu Wenshan now gained a rough understanding of the world’s political landscape and asked,

“Master, people say that at the peak of cultivation, one can summon wind and rain, ascend to the heavens in broad daylight, cross the stars, and shatter the void—is this true?”

The priest answered, “In a thousand years, how many have truly become immortals? In today’s world, the one at the pinnacle of cultivation can, at most, raise mountains from the sea or traverse life and death.”

Xu Wenshan was dumbfounded—raising mountains from the sea, crossing the boundary of life and death, was that not extraordinary? Yet the priest described it as ‘at most.’

However, the cultivation spoken of by the priest was different from Xu Wenshan’s notions of immortal practice; in this world, one cultivated either Buddhist or Daoist arts, and though one might attain fruition, it was far from the practices found in tales of immortals.

Excited, Xu Wenshan asked, “Master, can I cultivate?”

To his surprise, the priest’s answer was unequivocal: “You cannot.”

“Your vital essence is already depleted; you cannot withstand the pain of Daoist methods that reform the muscles and bones. If you force yourself, at best you will be crippled, at worst, dead.”

Although Xu Wenshan had prepared himself for disappointment, he could not hide it from his face.

“Truly cannot?”

“Truly cannot.”

“Really cannot?”

“Really cannot.”

“Is there any way, Master?” Xu Wenshan’s tone was tinged with pleading.

The priest shook his head, “There is no way. Cultivation is not something open to all. The Dao offers three thousand paths; countless seek it, but how many glimpse its threshold? You lack the innate talent for the Dao. I see you were born with ‘Yin bones,’ but... never mind.”

“Yin bones by birth?” Xu Wenshan asked. “What does that mean?”

The priest shook his head, refusing to answer no matter how Xu Wenshan pressed. At last, he smiled, “Do not despair; there are other ways to become stronger.”

Xu Wenshan’s heart stirred. “What other ways do I have?”

The priest said, “Though you cannot cultivate Daoist arts, if you persist in practicing mortal martial arts, you will be able to protect yourself.”

Xu Wenshan gave a bitter laugh, “But even for martial arts, I have nowhere to turn.”

The priest flicked his whisk, “The poor study literature, the rich learn martial arts. With your family’s wealth, what martial skills can you not acquire?”

Xu Wenshan’s eyes brightened. After thanking the priest, he immediately ordered his servants to seek out martial experts and manuals from far and wide. As for the matter of ‘Yin bones,’ mentioned by the priest, he disregarded and soon forgot it.

A month passed in a flash. After a month, the servants sent out returned only with disappointment.

The servants had indeed tried their best, but limited by judgment and experience, they brought back only common manuals found on market stalls—titles like ‘Black Tiger Fist,’ ‘Mountain-Cleaving Staff,’ ‘Divine Hand Formula.’ The names sounded impressive, but upon inspection, they were either impractical routines or nonsensical ramblings. Xu Wenshan studied them, and found them all a waste of time.

To put it plainly, practicing these martial arts would do less for actual strength than daily exercise routines; at least those could improve health, while these dubious techniques might even damage one’s bones.

As for the ‘masters’ brought back, the results were even more absurd. One servant brought home a beggar, claiming he could kill a tiger bare-handed.

At first, Xu Wenshan was delighted and kept the beggar at home, but after a few days, things seemed off. Whenever asked to demonstrate, the beggar made excuses; when he finally did, it was nothing more than meaningless gestures. Xu Wenshan wondered if the beggar’s skills were so advanced as to appear crude, but in the end, he boldly had a house guard spar with him. Three punches and two kicks were enough to send the beggar sprawling; Xu Wenshan realized he had been duped and promptly drove the beggar out.

Repeated failures left Xu Wenshan discouraged. Was there truly no way for him to become stronger?

Each time Xu Wenshan pursued strength, the priest’s brows would knit ever so slightly.

Unnoticed, the priest had been living in the Xu household for three months. One day, Xu Changshui suddenly discovered the priest was gone.

Priest Sanfeng departed without a word, leaving Xu Wenshan only a letter and a book.

The book was ‘The Book of Prophecy,’ its contents describing mountain spirits, earth demons, monsters, ghosts, specters, evil arts, strange techniques, secret methods, and even peculiar plants and enchanted herbs. The letter stated that by reading this book, one could recognize most monsters in the world and guard against harmful arts; remembering its contents would enable one to defend against all such threats and live peacefully into old age.

After reading the letter and the book, Xu Wenshan felt a deep gratitude toward Priest Sanfeng, lamenting that he had not properly bid him farewell and fearing he would never again have the chance to meet such an extraordinary man.