Qingwei Palace, Pure Yang Hall.
According to ancient legends, Ancestor Master Chunyang once secluded himself in meditation at Zhenwu Mountain, and it was here, in this palace and temple, that he contemplated the Dao for ten years, before finally transforming into a rainbow and ascending away.
This hall, unlike the typical Ming and Qing Daoist temple structure, is of Song and Yuan style—the ancient wooden doors are scarred and mottled with cracks, and with the slightest push, dust scatters onto the ground.
"Ordinary Tribulation?"
Zhang Fan followed behind Taoist Pojie, hearing the whole story, and couldn't help but reveal a peculiar expression.
"Taoist, since this is a big deal, why not just close the mountain gate? Wouldn't that save a lot of trouble?" Zhang Fan blurted out his concern.
With matters of dharma lineage inheritance at stake, yet the mountain gate is wide open and so many tourists come and go every day—how could nothing go wrong?
"Do you know how much Zhenwu Mountain contributes to the local GDP each year?" Taoist Pojie didn't even turn his head, delivering a soul-searching question.
"Uh..." Zhang Fan was stunned for a moment.
"Annual tourism revenue is five billion. Can you just close the gate because you say so?"
"Uh..." Zhang Fan was at a loss for words.
"If you agree, would the government agree?"
"Uh..."
Zhang Fan pursed his lips and couldn't help saying, "Daoists also talk about economic benefits, huh."
"Daoists are worldly, not dead—doesn't everything cost money?" Taoist Pojie finally glanced back and said, "Not to mention, even installing wifi on the mountain costs money..."
"..."
"Besides, as the Ancestral Master said, cultivation is everywhere in the mortal world—a calm mind is cultivation; eating, wearing, living, traveling are all cultivation; even a 498 yuan foot massage is cultivation..."
"Has nothing to do with money."
"Taoist, where do you get a 498 yuan foot massage?" Zhang Fan couldn't help asking.
"You sure know how to focus on the key point." Taoist Pojie shot him a fierce glare, then turned on his flashlight and led Zhang Fan upstairs to the second floor.
The second floor of the Pure Yang Hall was empty, surrounded by stone steles and calligraphic paintings—ancient and unpolished, one could not tell how long the legacy had persisted.
"What's this..."
"For eight hundred autumns after attaining the Dao, the sword has not taken a human head. Before the Jade Emperor sends a Celestial Talisman, black gold is still trafficked in the mortal realm."
Zhang Fan walked up to a stele, gazing at the strange and bizarre script above. When he looked at the signature, there was only one name:
Lv Yan.
"What's enshrined here are the Pure Yang Stele rubbings of the Ancestral Master..." Taoist Pojie bowed reverently.
"Did Ancestor Master Chunyang really cultivate here?" Zhang Fan couldn't help his curiosity.
"Then...the wooden sword on the cliff at Nanxuan Palace—isn't that a prop?"
"Blasphemy..." Taoist Pojie shuddered, almost dropping his flashlight. He glared fiercely and hastily bowed, "Ancestral Master, forgive...Ancestral Master, forgive..."
"That is the Pure Yang Magic Sword—don't speak carelessly."
"I was just asking offhand..."
Zhang Fan pursed his lips, secretly cursing Li Yishan in his heart, and turned to study the calligraphic stele on the wall.
"These characters are so strange, like flickering flames."
Zhang Fan couldn't help saying, each character's end stroke swept upward, as if flames were leaping up.
"You've got some spiritual roots after all..."
Taoist Pojie's eyes lit up and he said, "Ancestor Master Chunyang studied the Dao of Alchemy in his youth under Fire Dragon Daoist, thereby comprehending the mysteries of True Flame..."
"What's more, Daoist True Flame is not weaker than Thunder Skills, and just as difficult to cultivate..."
"So of course the Pure Yang Stele's script carries a profound aura, concealing the mysteries of True Flame as well." Taoist Pojie declared solemnly.
"Daoist True Flame? What's that?" Zhang Fan asked sincerely.
"Daoist cultivation centers on the four essentials: Planting, Gathering, Nurturing, Refining..."
"Herb gathering is to refine and nourish the Primordial Spirit..."
"Medicine-refining requires True Flame. To put it simply..." Pojie thought for a moment and continued.
"Thermal energy is the source of life. When a person dies, the last breath is the final Yang Qi in the body; after death, the body cools down—that's the dispersal of Yang Qi..."
"Daoist cultivation seeks to burn away all turbid Yin, perfecting Pure Yang. Before that, Yang Qi is distributed within the Three Treasures of Essence, Qi, and Spirit—ordinary people can't see or touch it..."
"Only the Primordial Spirit can perceive and wield it..."
"The Primordial Spirit is the True Seed we plant, which is then used to command the Yang Qi within the Three Treasures—kindling it is the True Flame."
"This is the core secret of cultivating the Inner Core. That's why Daoist Scriptures say: 'The Saint transmits medicine but not flame; the secret of the fire-time is seldom known...'"
"Everyone's cultivation realm and bodily conditions differ, and so does the Yang Qi they can muster. Naturally, the fire-time of True Flame differs—it cannot be taught..."
"Thus, within the Daoist Sect, Fire Technique is just as difficult to cultivate as Thunder Skill," Pojie explained simply.
"So many subtleties."
Zhang Fan sighed—truly the path of cultivation was vast as a sea; even this single True Flame involved so much theory.
No wonder people say online—life skill must be taught by a teacher, you can't just shut yourself in and chaotically and blindly cultivate.
Although many Daoist classics and even cultivation methods can be found online, within the Daoist Sect, there are many secret and coded phrases—without a master's guidance, you could be off by a hair and miss by a thousand miles.
Practice it wrong, and at best, you'll have various bodily problems—like infertility or sterility; at worst, you could go mad or become an idiot.
"Ancestor Master Chunyang is a grandmaster of Alchemy Dao, skilled in Fire Technique..." Pojie continued.
Daoist Fire Technique, like Thunder Skill, encompasses a myriad of methods, with degrees of high and low skill.
It is said, in Fire Technique, some of the truly powerful can even use human emotions and desires as fuel.
"When someone is angry, people say that person 'caught fire'... For emotional agitation is also a kind of fire; Chinese medicine calls it Phase Fire, but Daoists see it as Void Fire, for it is formless..."
"But this Void Fire can affect one's actions—if it is merged into the True Flame, person, fire, and thought—when Samadhi becomes one, it produces one of the most mysterious Daoist fires..."
"Samadhi True Flame!" Pojie lowered his voice.
"Samadhi True Flame!?" Zhang Fan's eyes lit up—he'd seen it often in novels and TV dramas.
"How is it cultivated?"
"Cultivated?" Taoist Pojie smiled, "Samadhi True Flame is a Daoist Divine Technique..."
"Divine Technique, Divine Technique—able to connect with spirits; it's not something that can be cultivated, but something innate, heaven-given, impossible to learn by practice."
Taoist Pojie shook his head. As for Daoist Divine Techniques—there's no method of cultivation. Their origins are extraordinary and mysterious, seen by the world as heaven-sent, grasped only by certain special people in unique moments of fate.
For instance, Chu Chaoran at the age of thirty comprehended his own Daoist Divine Technique.
"Just stay here...before the Jade Scroll Transmission Dharma Assembly ends, don't go out." Taoist Pojie instructed.
"Don't worry, I'm not a troublemaker."
Zhang Fan nodded earnestly. After watching Pojie leave, he began to admire the Pure Yang Stele on the walls—one character after another flickering in his mind like tongues of flame. Tired from watching, he sat down and entered meditation...
At this moment, Zhang Fan was thoroughly enjoying that post-meditation tranquility: no distractions, mind like empty space.
Especially in meditation, he felt as if he was floating in the air, able to watch his every move from above.
But this time was different—after entering meditation, he "saw" himself sitting cross-legged in the Pure Yang Hall, as if shrouded in a halo of firelight.
"Is this just a stray thought? Stared at the stele too long? Sigh, still not skilled enough in cultivation." Zhang Fan let out a long sigh, the notion arose, and he snapped out of meditation.
At that moment, nine hundred meters away, atop the cliff at Nanxuan Palace—
The Pure Yang Magic Sword, which had stood upright for over six centuries, lightly trembled at this very moment, resonating with a sword song like a dragon.