Chapter 38: Clear Skies After Swift Snow

“The other sects don’t have such a strict rule—only ours does…”

“I heard it was a tradition set by the Sect Leader when he first established our order, though no one really knows why.”

Song Yan listened quietly; these were words Lin Qing had once told him when he’d first joined.

“In our Deep Abyss Sect, we cultivate the Ten Arts of Self-Discipline.”

“The ‘Ten Arts’ are so named, but in truth, they’re more than just ten skills. The number ten stands for the sum of the most common arts, and also serves as a collective term for all the so-called ‘unorthodox paths’ of this world.”

From afar, the Path of Enlightenment Gorge was already visible.

The Ten Arts of Deep Abyss Sect were: music, chess, calligraphy, painting, archery, mathematics, floriculture, wine, cuisine, and tea.

In the cultivation world, there were others as well—sculpting, herbal lore, smithing, even farming, poetry, and meditation.

“Meditation?”

A new disciple voiced his confusion.

“It’s basically… daydreaming.”

“…?”

“These skills don’t offer much practical benefit for cultivation; they’re more about refining one’s mind and cultivating an elegant temperament. So you should keep a sense of proportion—after all, neither of us is some peerless genius with unmatched talent. There’s no need to think too far ahead. Just focus on completing the tasks the sect assigns.”

“Yes, senior brother, I understand.”

Upon reaching the Path of Enlightenment Gorge, Song Yan parted ways with the others.

Before he went to Solitude Valley, he’d always felt this was a waste of time. Each time, he would pick whichever self-discipline hall was closest just to fulfill his duties.

But after discovering from the Five-Star Pulse-Seizing Technique that playing chess and practicing calligraphy or painting could help strengthen one’s spiritual awareness, he began choosing to play chess with others.

In truth, Song Yan had known a bit of Go even before joining Deep Abyss Sect.

Back in Shiliang Town, he’d learned to read and write as a child; the old tutor, Master He, played chess, as did his grandfather, and sometimes Master He would come to visit and play against him.

Song Yan had picked up some basics through observation.

However...

Today he was mentally exhausted and had no intention of playing chess—it took too long.

The Chess Hall was called the Hall of Heavenly Game. Among the disciples, there was a saying—

“Step into the Hall of Heavenly Game, and you’ll end up playing chess all day.”

Chess was an easy thing to get lost in, a distraction from cultivation.

Painting was too difficult for Song Yan—he would only create strange, distorted images, which would only disrupt his state of mind.

Better to write a little, for the sake of self-cultivation.

The Calligraphy Hall was next to the Painting Hall.

All ten self-discipline halls were built along both banks of the Path of Enlightenment Gorge.

It was said that when the Sect Leader of Deep Abyss first came here, he roamed freely along the banks of the Spirit Spring Marsh. Upon reaching the gorge, he attained a sudden realization and broke through his cultivation bottleneck; thus, he named the place the Path of Enlightenment Gorge.

With abundant spiritual energy, many disciples and elders now came to both banks to cultivate and seek enlightenment.

The Calligraphy Hall stood on the north bank.

Before entering, Song Yan vaguely heard someone lecturing in the Painting Hall across the way...

“…There are cultivators nowadays who believe these arts of self-discipline are a waste of time and distract from real cultivation.”

Many of the elders in the sect were elderly, their cultivation stuck at a standstill, yet they enjoyed these arts and often taught in the various halls.

“In my opinion, those who fail to reach the Great Dao do so purely because they lack talent or luck. To blame their shortcomings on these arts is laughable.”

“They don’t realize…”

“How many mighty ancestors in the cultivation world have embedded their understanding of the Dao within these arts—within chess manuals and paintings…”

Song Yan lingered outside the courtyard, listening with interest for a while.

According to this elder, the arts of self-discipline were mostly pursued by those of profound cultivation who, having reached a bottleneck for centuries or millennia, found new insight in them.

The paintings and chess manuals crafted by such mighty sages, filled with the time and spirit that could have been spent on cultivation, naturally brimmed with Daoist resonance and unexpected effects.

At first, it sounded reasonable.

But on reflection, what did that have to do with ordinary disciples like them, whose Foundation Establishment seemed forever out of reach?

Could those so-called masterpieces left by ancestor-immortals ever fall into their hands so easily?

Shaking his head, Song Yan turned toward the Calligraphy Hall.

It was more common for the self-discipline halls to be quiet, without elders lecturing—like the Calligraphy Hall before him.

Unlike the crisp sounds of chess pieces in the Chess Hall, here the disciples came in silence, calmly completed their assigned tasks, then left without a word.

At the center of several rooms in the courtyard, a disciple sat practicing calligraphy, with unfinished talisman papers by his side.

This was the hall’s steward for the month.

The steward’s role was to oversee and select that month’s calligraphy content—a leisurely job, with extra spirit stones as pay.

Song Yan had once envied such positions, but they required a certain level of skill in the corresponding art, which he, being mediocre at everything, did not possess.

He found a spot at random and sat down. In front of him was a finely made copybook, along with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone for tracing.

“A Letter on Fine Snow and Clear Skies.”

“The senior brother who chose this was quite timely.”

It was the sixteenth day of the winter month, and snow was falling.

Outside, snowy mountains; inside, a warm stove and inkstone—Song Yan picked up his brush, feeling a touch of the scholarly atmosphere.

“A Letter on Fine Snow and Clear Skies” consisted of only twenty-eight characters.

It was originally written by a famed calligrapher of the ancient Jin kingdom in the mortal world, later acquired by a great cultivator.

Legend had it that, trapped at a bottleneck for centuries, this cultivator was inspired one snowy day while copying the calligraphy, suddenly comprehended the Dao, and broke through.

It happened just as the snow stopped and the sky cleared, sunlight pouring in.

Since then, this short copybook of twenty-eight characters had grown ever more famous among cultivators, who called it the “Twenty-Eight Pearls.”

“Ah…”

After about half an hour, Song Yan gently put down his brush and exhaled softly.

Outside, the snow had stopped at some point, and from the gorge, the view of Spirit Spring Marsh’s snowy banks was unobstructed.

His mind was tranquil, his heart at peace.

“These arts of self-discipline truly have some effect.”

His goal achieved, and the sect’s required coursework completed, it was enough for today.

Song Yan rose and left the Calligraphy Hall, heading back toward the outer disciples’ peak.

“Hey, senior brother, that guy just now… doesn’t he look familiar?”

Watching him leave, two disciples whispered quietly.

“Strange, I thought so too. I thought it was just my imagination.”

“Ah…”

One suddenly remembered, as if awakening from a dream: “Wasn’t that the outer disciple named Song Yesheng?”

The other’s face lit with realization: “So it was him.”

The day the Xuan Yuan Sect came to demand justice, all the disciples on the Initiation Platform had remembered the awe-inspiring Sword Qi Waterfall unleashed by their own Sect Leader, and along with it, the outer disciple at the center of the storm.

“I heard he’d reached the fifth level of Qi Refinement, but was dragged into sect affairs. Amid the conflict, his cultivation dropped back down to the first level.”

“After such a rise and fall, even the strongest mind would be shaken.”

“Indeed, how pitiful—what a disaster out of nowhere…”

“He’ll probably never reach Foundation Establishment now.”

Suddenly, both disciples felt a chill at their backs, as a calm, upright voice sounded behind them: “Gossiping behind a fellow disciple’s back shows neither respect nor camaraderie, and you’re disturbing the others in their cultivation…”

The steward of the Calligraphy Hall, a youth of seventeen or eighteen, stood there with a stern expression.

“Today’s coursework is void!”

“Senior Brother Sun! Please—”

Ignoring their protests, the steward went to Song Yan’s former seat and collected the sheets of calligraphy he’d left behind.

“Hm…”

“Restless at first, gradually settling in the middle, the final page serene and composed…”

At last, the stern look softened.

“The arts of self-discipline—this is their true effect.”

…

Song Yan heard none of this.

He walked straight back toward his cave dwelling.

“Speaking of which…”

“Didn’t that young lady from the Xie family give me a clay figurine with a copybook inside…?”

He seemed to recall Xie Xing mentioning it once.