Chapter Thirteen: The Disciple of the Way

By the time Liang Yan returned to the dormitory, night had already fallen. Sun and Li were both back as well. Sun Qianli, true to form, had the door tightly shut and was snoring away inside, while Li Dali was practicing his breathing techniques in the courtyard. When he saw Liang Yan return, he promptly rose and greeted him warmly: “Brother Liang, you’re finally back! I was just thinking, if you stayed away any longer, I’d have to go looking for you myself.”

“Oh?” Liang Yan asked curiously, “What brings you to me, Brother Li?”

Li Dali replied, “You’re still new to the sect, Brother Liang, so you probably don’t know that tomorrow is the grand sermon for us menial disciples, do you?”

Liang Yan frowned. “A grand sermon?”

“That’s right. Although we menial disciples aren’t allowed access to the Transmission Pavilion or to study the sect’s core techniques, every half a year the sect assigns one of the top outer sect disciples to instruct us and answer our questions. For us, the grand sermon is a tremendous opportunity. I was worried you’d miss it if you weren’t aware, so I came especially to tell you.”

A warmth spread through Liang Yan’s chest, and he said gratefully, “Thank you, Brother Li.”

Li Dali waved his hand. “No need for such courtesy. We menial disciples are at the very bottom in the sect, and there are only three of us in the Formation Division. We must look out for one another. If you ever run into difficulties, just come to me—if I can help, I certainly will.”

Liang Yan thought to himself, “Though Li Dali’s cultivation isn’t high, he is honest and warm-hearted—someone worth befriending.” He smiled and said, “Your generosity is admirable, Brother Li. I’ll be counting on you in the future.”

The two exchanged a smile. Then Li Dali said, “Actually, Brother Liang, your luck is rather poor to have been assigned to the Formation Division. I only ended up in this backwater because I had no other choice.”

Liang Yan replied, “It doesn’t matter to me. I like peace and quiet—this place isn’t so bad.”

Li Dali shook his head. “You may not know this, but in our sect, the allocation of resources goes like this: inner disciples receive eight spirit stones and three Spirit Gathering Pills each month; outer disciples get three spirit stones and one pill; we menial disciples are given one spirit stone a month and one Spirit Gathering Pill every six months.”

“Oh, is that so? Then why haven’t I ever received any…” Liang Yan trailed off, realization dawning. “Could it be… Wang Yuan?”

Li Dali glanced at him and nodded. “So you understand. We menial disciples have no standing in the sect. Even if we complained to the Law Pavilion, no one would care. And Wang Yuan has a sister with outstanding talent—she’s now an outer disciple and works at the Law Pavilion. There’s no way we can compete with them.”

Liang Yan nodded thoughtfully. He still had the spirit stones given to him by the old monk, and after taking what he’d seized from Chen Chong and his cronies, he had more than three hundred in total. He wasn’t lacking in spirit stones for now, but with so much wealth, he needed to be careful not to let it show.

Seeing Liang Yan fall silent, Li Dali assumed he was troubled and tried to comfort him. “Don’t be so downcast, Brother Liang. The path of immortality is fraught with difficulty—defying the heavens is no easy feat. But working in the sect is still far better than life among common folk, who often go hungry or live in constant fear of war. Though our cultivation is low, we can live here amid abundant spiritual energy, enjoy a long life free from illness or pain—something most mortals can only dream of.”

Liang Yan smiled. “You have a healthy perspective, Brother Li.” He harbored great ambitions and bore the enmity of his father’s murder—he never intended to spend his days idly here, so he didn’t wish to debate this further with Li Dali. After exchanging a few more words, he retired to his room for the night.

The next morning, Liang Yan stepped into the courtyard to find Sun and Li already waiting. Sun Qianli glanced at him impatiently. “We’re all here. Can we go now?”

Li Dali grinned. “Let’s go. The three of us will go together.”

Sun and Li led the way, with Liang Yan following close behind. They walked for the better part of the morning, and as noon approached, they arrived at the foot of a verdant peak. At its base stood a stone stele inscribed with three characters: “Mysterious Principle Peak.” The mountain was low, and they soon reached the summit, where a vast white jade plaza unfolded before their eyes.

The square was dozens of yards on each side, with four jade-carved statues at the corners: a young man holding a brush, a woman playing a zither, a middle-aged man with a scroll, and an old man pondering over a chessboard. Hundreds of meditation cushions were arranged in the center, most already occupied.

Liang Yan glanced around. Most present were at the second level of Qi Refining, a few at the third, and almost none at the first. While everyone wore gray robes of similar cut, there were subtle differences: some bore a cauldron emblem at the chest—these were disciples of the Alchemy Division; others had a talisman—the Talisman Division. Liang Yan and his companions had an octagonal formation plate on their robes, marking them as Formation Division.

He counted silently: there were over eighty menial alchemy disciples, about thirty talisman disciples, more than fifty in each of the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting divisions, but only the three of them in the Formation Division.

Liang Yan smiled wryly, and followed Li Dali and Sun Qianli to an empty spot. Next to them sat a female zither disciple, who frowned in evident displeasure at their arrival, then scooted her cushion away by several inches.

Whispers rose around them. A round-faced girl muttered, “See those two? They’re the most useless in our Star Pavilion—three years in the sect and still stuck at the first level.”

A sharp-featured girl chimed in, “Exactly! Even though we menial disciples are at the bottom, Star Pavilion is the top sect in the state—our menial disciples are still a cut above outside cultivators. But those two are talentless and lazy, a disgrace to us all.”

A male disciple added, “That boy with them is unfamiliar. Is he the new menial disciple from the Formation Division?”

“Hmph, birds of a feather flock together. If he’s with those two wastes, he must be one as well.”

“Ha ha ha, Brother Liu is absolutely right!”

So they ridiculed the three from the Formation Division, as if their own status as zither disciples rendered them innately superior. Though their voices weren’t loud, they made no effort to hide their words. Li Dali and Sun Qianli wore furious expressions, but Liang Yan merely smiled and seemed unperturbed, sitting cross-legged in quiet meditation.

As the murmurs continued, a waft of sandalwood suddenly drifted through the air, clearing all agitation from their hearts. A scholar in a pale robe, scholar’s cap on his head and a black sword at his waist, ascended the path, holding an incense burner from which a red sandalwood stick burned.

“He’s here! That’s Zhuo Bufan, one of the top three outer disciples—he’s already at the peak of the seventh level of Qi Refining. He’s the one giving the sermon today,” someone whispered.

“He really is extraordinary. I hear his uncle is an Inner Pavilion elder—his future is limitless.”

Several female disciples gazed at him dreamily. “Zhuo Bufan… truly exceptional, just as his name promises.”

Zhuo Bufan surveyed the crowd, his expression unchanged. With a leap, he seated himself atop the platform, set down the incense burner, and addressed them: “Brothers and sisters, I, Zhuo Bufan, though lacking in ability, have been assigned to instruct you today. During this sermon, if you have any questions, feel free to ask—I will answer as best I can.”

He gestured to the incense burner beside him. “This is Tranquil Spirit Incense, which aids in meditation. Opportunities are rare—treasure this moment.”

“What? Tranquil Spirit Incense!” a voice exclaimed.

A ripple of excitement swept the crowd. Tranquil Spirit Incense was a precious and expensive treasure, famed for calming the mind and aiding cultivation, especially helpful in breaking through bottlenecks and nourishing the soul. Even outer disciples rarely obtained a stick—yet Zhuo Bufan was willing to share it at the sermon.

All the disciples looked at him with fervent admiration. An older alchemy disciple cleared his throat and said, “Brother Zhuo’s cultivation and character are both beyond compare—we are all in awe. Everyone, let’s quiet down and listen to Brother Zhuo’s teachings.”

The crowd instantly fell silent. Zhuo Bufan nodded in approval to the alchemy disciple, then began: “The cultivator’s path defies the heavens—fraught with peril, achievable only by those of great resolve. Cultivation consists of refining essence into qi, transforming qi into spirit, and returning spirit to the void; essence merges with qi, qi with spirit, spirit hidden in emptiness. All things in the world, their root is in nurturing qi and spirit, progressing step by step…”

A gentle breeze stirred, sandalwood smoke curled in the air. On Mysterious Principle Peak, Zhuo Bufan’s voice resonated through the plaza. Three hundred menial disciples listened in rapt silence—time slipped by unnoticed.

“…Therefore, to cultivate qi, one must cultivate the heart. Without a stable mind, the path is perilous. If, at a breakthrough, the inner demon strikes, the consequences are dire: at best, your cultivation regresses and you never advance; at worst, you descend into madness and are lost forever.” By now, dusk had fallen, and the crowd awoke as if from a dream, each feeling they had gained immeasurably.

Even Liang Yan felt enlightened. Though the old monk had taught him before, it was mostly rote memorization of formulae and diligent practice, with little emphasis on foundational knowledge. Zhuo Bufan’s explanations now cleared up many questions he’d had about cultivation.

Someone then asked, “If inner demons are so dangerous, can one not use talismans or other arts to calm the soul and ward them off?”

The question came from a chess division disciple. Zhuo Bufan shook his head. “For us cultivators, what matters most is our own cultivation. The higher your realm, the longer your life, the greater your powers. You’re only at the second level of Qi Refining—your first task is to raise your cultivation, not to pursue these side paths.” The chess disciple nodded sheepishly and sat down.

An alchemy disciple, tall and lean, rose and bowed. “Brother Zhuo, since reaching the peak of the third level of Qi Refining, my progress has stalled. I practice the Taihe Fire Dissociation Art—what could be the problem? Please advise.”

Zhuo Bufan smiled warmly. “You’re not alone, Brother Tang. As I said, the cultivator’s path is a rebellion against heaven, fraught with resistance. There are three major hurdles in the Qi Refining stage: breaking through from the peak of the third to the fourth level; from the peak of the seventh to the eighth; and, finally, from the peak of the ninth to the foundation-building stage.”

“The first two hurdles are similar in difficulty. Those with decent aptitude will break through with diligence; for others, pills may be necessary. But the last hurdle is said to be as hard as ascending the heavens. Only after foundation building does one truly become an immortal cultivator; until then, we are but a notch above top martial artists among mortals.”

“Now I see…” Many disciples at the third level wore looks of sudden comprehension.

Then a beautiful zither disciple asked shyly, “Brother Zhuo, your mastery of zither and sword is famed throughout the sect. Would you honor us with a demonstration today?” She looked down, her cheeks flushed, looking even lovelier.

Her words triggered a chorus of similar requests from the other female disciples, all eager to witness Zhuo Bufan’s legendary skills. Zhuo Bufan frowned slightly, then relaxed and sighed. “Very well, I shall give you a demonstration.”