Chapter 13: A Discussion of Dao and Destiny

He pointed to the simple array, intentionally made visible to Qíngyǔ, nestled amidst the mountains.

“For screening?”

“Precisely. It’s designed to identify those who possess exceptional spiritual roots or an extraordinary will.”

Qíngyǔ nodded, acknowledging that using an array to screen disciples was indeed far more appropriate than the haphazard approach she had taken in her previous life.

In her past, she had either accepted disciples simply because they caught her eye during her travels or out of pity when subduing a demonic entity, rarely giving their aptitude much careful consideration.

“It doesn’t seem like this was only recently established, does it?”

“No, indeed. As I mentioned, this humble Daoist hails from Zìmíng Shān. Our sect has always relied on this very array for accepting disciples.”

“May I ask, what is this Zìmíng Shān?”

“Ah, this humble Daoist seems to have forgotten to inform you, Young Lady.”

It turned out that within the Great Qian Sacred Dynasty, there were a total of three mountains and two halls that were recognized sects, and Zìmíng Shān was counted among these three mountains.

“These three mountains are Zìmíng, Lǐngnán, and Huāqī, while the two halls are Autumn Grass Hall and Washing Sword Hall.”

Zì Bùxiàn, still observing the two individuals ascending the mountain, lifted his teacup and took a sip.

“Are those two halls then connected to the imperial court?”

Qíngyǔ inquired, following the thread of the conversation.

“Not anymore. Those two halls were originally affiliated with the previous dynasty. In that era, before the Immortal Dao had receded into obscurity, influential mortals could still interact with cultivators like us.”

“What caused that? Was it due to the change in dynasties?”

“Trivial mortal affairs naturally do not affect those of us in cultivation,”

Zì Bùxiàn remarked, casting a rather surprised glance at Qíngyǔ when she mentioned the dynastic change.

“The true reason the Immortal Dao vanished was that the war in the heavens concluded, the Heavenly Court was established, and thus, regulation descended upon us.”

“The heavens?”

Qíngyǔ gazed thoughtfully towards the boundless sky, then slowly shook her head.

“Indeed, the heavens,” the old Daoist sighed, conjuring an intricately carved gourd to pour himself a cup of wine. “Would you care for some, Young Lady?”

“Thank you for your kind offer, Esteemed Sir, but I shall refrain from drinking wine casually.”

Observing Qíngyǔ’s refusal, Zì Bùxiàn offered no further comment, simply pouring and drinking his wine alone.

It was rather peculiar; though he was merely conversing with the young mortal girl before him, he felt as if he were discussing the Dao with an old cultivation friend.

“This is no secret matter. The turmoil in the heavens was truly fierce at the time, so much so that order was temporarily lost everywhere, and no one was left to deal with rogue cultivators or demonic entities.”

“So, these Immortal Dao sects are now essentially all beneath the heavens?”

Qíngyǔ gestured towards the sky, then towards the ground.

“Nominally, that is the case. After all, the various sects were never truly united. Once someone claims a rightful position without many obligations, that authority naturally falls to them.”

“Are the various sects still largely independent then?”

“Aside from being unable to easily interfere with mortals and having set limits on disciple recruitment, there’s no real difference from before.”

Qíngyǔ knew that the intricate details were far from as simple as Zì Bùxiàn made them sound, yet she had no desire to delve deeper.

Considering that Autumn Grass Hall and Washing Sword Hall were previously affiliated with the former dynasty, could there truly have been no conflict whatsoever with the three mountains?

Did those in the heavens merely seek a title, and with that title alone, could they firmly restrict all sects beneath the sky, compelling them to operate and recruit within prescribed limits?

“Those heavenly beings certainly put much thought into it then.”

Qíngyǔ drained her teacup entirely; it was indeed excellent tea, and she could discern a concentrated, yet unscattered, spiritual energy within it.

“Hehe, I’m pleased today. Regardless of the outcome of the disciple recruitment, you, Young Lady, have truly allowed this humble Daoist to voice some of the frustrations bottled in his heart.”

Zì Bùxiàn, well aware of the playful mockery in Qíngyǔ’s words, then meticulously and somewhat stingily retrieved two tea leaves from his storage pouch.

“Come, try this ‘Pure Rain’ tea.”

As if responding to its name, after boiling water was poured, a hazy, rain-like mist seemed to hover above the cup, scattering fleeting droplets upon the table before vanishing.

The amber-hued tea, laced with wisps of white steam, rested in a blue-and-white porcelain cup; its mere fragrance was enough to uplift one’s spirit.

“A superb tea.”

Qíngyǔ, naturally not one to withhold praise, lifted the cup and drank down every drop of the ‘cloud and rain’ within.

In that instant, her comprehension of the “Word Refinement Art” seemed to advance several folds.

Upon hearing Qíngyǔ’s praise, Zì Bùxiàn took a large gulp of his wine, a smile spreading across his face.

“For this humble Daoist’s ‘Pure Rain’ to receive such praise from you, Young Lady, its purpose is truly fulfilled.”

Shaking her head, Qíngyǔ reached into her sleeve, conjuring forth paper and brush, and then, to the old Daoist’s astonished expression, she gathered the ink.

“It’s rare to find such a kindred spirit; I shall also bestow upon you, old fellow, two characters.”

With that, Qíngyǔ closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, a solitude spanning eons seemed to swirl within their depths.

“My family is impoverished, and white Xuan paper (TL Note: Xuan paper is a high-quality paper traditionally used for Chinese painting and calligraphy) is truly scarce, so I can only offer the two characters ‘Purity’ as a gift. Please forgive my meager offering.”

Having spoken, Qíngyǔ then dipped her brush into the ink of the water-ink world, elegantly inscribing the two characters “清白” (Purity) onto the paper.

This time, she seemed to witness a young man, originally brimming with fervent passion to transform a decadent era, yet through countless partings across vast stretches of time, those he wished to save were gone, those he wished to hate were also gone, leaving him ultimately with only himself and a flask of aged sorrowful solitude.

And so, this solitude transmuted into the rich ink at her brush tip.

Only when the characters were complete did Zì Bùxiàn realize his own lapse in composure.

“You… Daoist friend…”

Qíngyǔ waved her hand, signaling for him to return to his seat.

“Let us maintain our previous forms of address. As for ‘Daoist friend,’ consider it as though I never wrote those characters today.”

“So, it was you all along.”

The old Daoist let out a wry chuckle, settled back into his original position, and resumed drinking his wine.

He had wondered how the two characters ‘Distant Mountains’ could possibly originate from this Northern Ridge.

He had wondered why those two mortals from yesterday seemed to subtly defer to the young woman before him.

He had wondered how a Sacred Cultivation Physique could emerge in such a desolate and harsh land.

He had wondered why that demonic entity had refused to utter a single word about last night, even until its demise.

“Daoist friend… Young Lady, you truly kept me in the dark quite thoroughly.”

“Esteemed Sir, you exaggerate. I never concealed anything from the very beginning.”

Zì Bùxiàn took the two characters “Purity,” and before his eyes, a vision seemed to resurface: his life’s bitterness vanishing, only to be cultivated into a few ounces of clear tea.

“My two tea leaves hardly compare to the value of these two characters…”

“The Dao I cultivate speaks only of destiny. Our karma has led us here, and thus, these two characters are naturally bestowed.”

“Then, the Young Lady’s daughter?”

Zì Bùxiàn mused that if this were the case, then this Sacred Cultivation Physique likely had little to do with him.

To his surprise, Qíngyǔ shook her head and extended a delicate hand towards him.

He knew precisely what she meant, and, with a pained expression, he hastily retrieved more of the “Pure Rain” tea, brewed it with boiling water, and offered it to the person before him.

Qíngyǔ took a sip of the tea, savored it thoughtfully, and then spoke: “As I said last night, it all depends on Little Girl’s wishes.”

Zì Bùxiàn seemed incredulous: “Young Lady, won’t you teach her yourself?”

“My Dao is too bitter, far too bitter,”

Qíngyǔ confessed, dropping her pretense. She gazed from a distance at the Little Girl playing in the water on the mountainside, her eyes revealing an undisguised tenderness.

“I do not wish for her to endure the same bitterness as I have.”

“But this old Daoist would not dare to say…”

Qíngyǔ raised a hand, stopping the words he was about to utter.

“Everything rests upon destiny and karma.”

Zì Bùxiàn had only been surprised moments before, but after Qíngyǔ uttered those words, his expression transformed entirely into one of profound admiration and reverence.

“So, there truly are immortals like you in this world.”

“I can hardly be considered an immortal.”

The old Daoist chuckled, simply assuming Qíngyǔ was jesting.

Yet, only Qíngyǔ herself knew that she could not refine this minor world, and in a true battle, she might even be unable to defeat the rogue cultivator she encountered yesterday.

She simply cultivated a Dao different from that of this world.