Chapter Eighty-Seven: A Few Words in the Cave of Serenity

Year 446 of Ming, the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month.

As he stepped out from the Nine Heavens Celestial Court, wind and snow lashed his face.

In winter, the sun sets early; by the hour of Rooster, dusk had already fallen. Cheng Xinzhang rubbed his face, washing away fatigue. Today was his last day of duty at the Celestial Court for the year, so there had been much to handle.

But tomorrow, his holiday would begin! And not just any break—fifty days off in a row!

The Celestial Court never convenes in the first month of the year, a long-standing tradition.

He looked back at the grand and imposing Nine Heavens Celestial Court, smiled. From spring to winter, nine months of service, he had gained so much. If nothing else, he’d walked the halls dozens of times. He didn’t know everyone, many rooms he had never entered, but he knew the tower’s structure intimately, so much so that he’d constructed three distinct Thunder Palaces in his mind.

He bid farewell to Jianxian and returned to Mingzhi Mountain.

Just as he descended to the verdant woods, silence prevailed. Suddenly, a blur of floral shadow streaked across the snowy ground, leaping into his arms.

“Meow~”

The three-colored cat, now plump, nuzzled her head against Cheng Xinzhang’s neck.

He stroked her, soft and warm, laughing, “Third Sister has come to greet me again—such a good girl!”

Third Sister sprawled in her master’s embrace, waving her paws in the air. He watched her closely and understood her meaning.

“You mean, when Brother hides, you can’t find him?”

Third Sister nodded, her large eyes still veiled by a blue-white membrane.

But he knew Third Sister wasn’t completely blind; it was as though a sheer veil obscured her vision—she could still make out vague outlines.

Cats, of course, loved hide-and-seek. When Brother indulged her, they played often. Normally, Third Sister was small, nimble, and with a mottled coat—plus Brother always went easy on her—so she won most of the time. But now, with winter’s blanket of white, even with Brother’s leniency, she struggled to find him.

Cheng Xinzhang was kind-hearted and hated to see Third Sister upset. He pointed out a direction; poor Brother’s tail almost wagged to the sky, but Third Sister still couldn’t see.

With a swift motion, Third Sister leapt from his arms and dashed toward a snowdrift.

“Woof woof!”

Soon enough, Brother barked, signaling he’d been found.

“Meow~”

Third Sister cried out triumphantly.

Cat and dog both gathered, pressing close to their master as they entered the Carefree Cave.

Cheng Xinzhang took a seat at the cave’s entrance, which appeared empty.

But he formed a few seals with his fingers, and a gentle breeze swept through—table and cushions appeared as if from nowhere. He had concealed them with an illusion.

Behind the table, atop the cushion, sat a young man, cross-legged, palms facing upward, face relaxed, still breathing. If one looked closely, spiritual energy flowed around his mouth and nose—he was still absorbing qi. His appearance was identical to Cheng Xinzhang, who had just entered the cave!

Brother and Third Sister were unfazed by this uncanny sight, long accustomed to another “master” appearing. At first, they’d been frightened, but gradually they grew used to it.

And the clever cat and dog had discovered that when the two masters were together, the seated one was best—warm, fragrant, and always ready to scratch their backs.

When the two masters separated, the seated one remained warm and fragrant but wouldn’t play, only sitting motionless. The departing master would play for a while, but was cold, smelled of bamboo, and always ran outside, never staying home.

Now, with both masters reunited, Third Sister immediately leapt into the seated master’s arms, Brother snuggled close, both casting expectant glances at the standing master.

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Then, as the standing Cheng Xinzhang’s body shimmered with light, a humanoid spiritual glow “walked out” of him, as if shedding a coat upon entering home—revealing that the spiritual glow was the true master, and the standing “Cheng Xinzhang” was merely a shell.

The spiritual glow stepped forward, its lower half merging with the seated Cheng Xinzhang. Then it sat, mimicking the seated posture, and as the light faded, the spiritual glow vanished, and the seated Cheng Xinzhang opened his eyes.

He reached out to pet the cat and dog, who immediately squinted with pleasure.

Meanwhile, he began an internal inspection, to see what progress his inner spirits had made during the absence of Shuangling and Youjing.

The New Year Daoist was not in the palace of the heart, but sitting atop the current of vital blood, ferrying it into meridians opened by thunder essence. With thunder essence dissolving malignant energy faster than ever, the inner spirits were busier by the day.

His lower body remained immobile, but the true malignant energy in his head, neck, arms, right abdomen, and left chest had already been dissolved. Three Thunder Chariots, beginning and ending at the nose, gall bladder, and brow, coursed through the heart palace, crackling with lightning and blood—an electric, fiery spectacle.

He examined his nose acupoint, which thundered with lightning—the first to be opened after breaking through malignant energy, in midsummer. Therefore, the Thunder Palace placed here was built in bright azure, thirty-three stories tall, shaped like a tower. At its pinnacle stood a deity, the inner spirit of this thunder acupoint: garbed as a Northern Song military general, in brocade and battle armor, beside a massive drum, wielding drumsticks.

Over the Azure Palace’s gate, four characters in thunder script read: “Summer Palace of Water Thunder.”

The deity beat the drum, thunder resounding, and summer’s water thunder essence poured forth, mending the body ravaged by malignant energy.

Next, he examined the brow—the acupoint of lightning, opened in early autumn. The Thunder Palace here was bright yellow, thirty-four stories tall. Its deity resembled the Summer Palace’s, also in Northern Song military attire, cradling a precious mirror.

Above the Yellow Palace’s gate, thunder script spelled: “Autumn Palace of Divine Thunder.”

The deity shook the mirror, rays of electricity streaming forth, autumn’s divine thunder flooding the palace, eroding malignant energy.

Finally, he looked to the gall bladder acupoint, recently opened amid heavy snow. The Thunder Palace here was silver-white, thirty-five stories tall. On its top floor sat a deity, tall and imposing, with the bearing of a scholar—sword brows, tiger eyes with golden irises, long beard to the chest. Dressed in Song-era official robes: purple garments, jade belt, golden fish, black cap, ceremonial sword at the waist.

Above the Silver Palace’s gate, thunder script read: “Chief Director of Thunder.”

Under the deity’s watchful gaze, thunder essence raced like chariots—swift yet orderly.

Satisfied, his mind withdrew from the inner realm, eyes returning to the outer world.

Before him, stacks of thick books towered to half his height.

Some were borrowed from the Fangtang library, some purchased at the Eastern Heaven Daoist market, some lent by fellow disciples at the Celestial Court, and some collected from the mundane world by the External Affairs Institute.

His purpose in reading so much was singular: to write a biographical record—a compendium of three lives.

At the center of the table stood a crane-shaped lamp, the very one He Jiyuan gifted him upon entering the sect.

By its light, the thick manuscript rested quietly in the middle, its cover inscribed in stately Ming script: “Chronicle of Thunder’s Demon-Banishing Might.”

Beside the title, several lines of small annotations explained the main five characters: “A record of the Chief Director of Thunder’s divine might banishing demons, as the True Lord of Thunder reincarnates as the Northern Song’s civil and military minister Zhang Shuye, accompanied by the Divine Thunder Autumn Marshal reincarnated as Zhang Bofen, and the Water Thunder Summer Marshal reincarnated as Zhang Zhongxiong, slaying monsters, quelling chaos, and waging war.”

This was a storybook, illustrated with fine portraits whose costumes matched those of his inner spirits. He knew the Ming nation adored such tales—storytellers in every street recounted them, featuring immortals incarnate performing extraordinary feats.

After all, even the Ming Emperor claimed to be the reincarnation of the Supreme Martial Lord.

Cheng Xinzhang knew these were fanciful; a true reincarnation would be swiftly taken to the mountain, not left to toil in the mundane world.

But the path of cultivation seeks truth by borrowing from falsehood—just like the New Year Daoist.

Moreover, the three figures weren’t entirely fabricated from Miao folklore, as was the New Year Daoist; from Song to Ming, the legend had persisted. He merely compiled and embellished it, adding thunder troops and generals wielding thunder magic to sweep away demon cities and ghost nations.

His three inner spirits were fully visualized; the book, too, was nearing its end. He turned to the latest page, took up his brush, and wrote:

“…Thus Zhang Shuye and his two sons, leading thirty-six thunder generals and a hundred thousand thunder soldiers, finally purged the ghost kingdom of the netherworld, returning in triumph. The Song Emperor bestowed upon Zhang Shuye the rank of Grand Minister, elevated him to Duke of Yan… The realm enjoyed peace, weapons were stored, horses grazed in the southern hills. The Duke of Yan, content, let his soul ascend to the high heavens, transforming back into the Chief Director of Thunder, the mighty demon-banishing True Lord, then paid homage to the Thunder God of Nine Heavens. The Divine Thunder Autumn Marshal and Water Thunder Summer Marshal completed their merit…”

“The end.”

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He closed the book, set down his brush, and smiled with satisfaction.

When he first conceived the inner spirit of the Thunder Palace, he naturally thought of the Thunder Ancestor, but quickly abandoned the idea; the Thunder Ancestor’s rank was too lofty, beyond his ability to visualize, let alone comprehend its divine intent. There was no legend of the Thunder Ancestor incarnating in the mortal realm, leaving him at a loss.

Later, by chance—on a trip to Huangshan—he heard Jianxian mention the legend of the Chief Director of Thunder, the mighty demon-banishing True Lord, and his attendants, the Divine Thunder Autumn Marshal and Water Thunder Summer Marshal, reincarnated in the Northern Song. Immediately, his interest was piqued.

Upon returning to the sect, he collected images, miracles, anecdotes, and historical records of the demon-banishing True Lord and his two marshal attendants, as well as portraits and exploits of Zhang Shuye and other Song ministers and generals. The more he learned, the more suitable they seemed. Considering the special effects of the “Thunder Chariot Fire Banner Maneuver,” he resolved to open three Thunder Palaces and visualize three inner spirits.

Aside from the predetermined gall bladder and nose acupoints, he consulted the “Inner Realm of the Hundred Acupoints,” and sought advice from his fellow disciples at the Celestial Court, finally deciding on the brow as the third Thunder Palace. In the future, upon reaching the second realm and comprehending destiny, he could consider opening the Dharma Eye here.

With acupoints and inner spirits determined, he recalled his method of visualizing the New Year Daoist—not by painting this time, but by writing a book. Sure enough, writing helped clarify his thoughts; with a million characters poured out, his three inner spirits were fully visualized.

With the visualization completed, summoning thunder became easier. Since his first thunder summoning, he had met Liang Zhenjing of Dragon Tiger Mountain twice, each time drawing more thunder than him, much to Liang’s chagrin.

Summoning more thunder, combined with the Thunder Chariot’s multiple maneuvers, he dissolved malignant energy faster—now most of his upper body moved freely.

But what truly accelerated his progress was Mingzhi Mountain’s foundational method: “The Secret of Revealing the Primordial Spirit of Longevity” and the staff technique.

“The Secret of Revealing the Primordial Spirit of Longevity” teaches that a person has three souls and seven spirits: the three souls are called Fetal Light, Shuangling, and Youjing; the seven spirits: Corpse Dog, Hidden Arrow, Sparrow Shade, Thief Devourer, Non-Toxin, Filth Remover, and Lung Stench.

The three souls govern character; the seven spirits govern fate. There is also the concept of wandering souls and fixed spirits—souls may roam, but spirits always reside in the body.

Of the three souls, Fetal Light is the soul of destiny, master of longevity, commander of the seven spirits; where Fetal Light remains, life endures; with life, the seven spirits remain; with seven spirits, the body lives. Fetal Light seldom leaves the body; if it does, the seven spirits scatter, and the body dies. Should Fetal Light depart and wish to return to life, it must regrow seven spirits—a most arduous process.

Previously, the Grandmaster of Profound Mystery and Master Sukong extracted Cheng Xinzhang’s souls and placed them in the bamboo staff—namely, Shuangling and Youjing. At that time, Fetal Light and the seven spirits were muddled, operating on instinct. So when Shuangling and Youjing left, his body became a living dead, as if all three souls and seven spirits had been drawn out.

Shuangling is the soul of intellect; Youjing, the soul of emotion—self-explanatory.

After cultivating “The Secret of Revealing the Primordial Spirit of Longevity,” Fetal Light was no longer muddled; when Shuangling and Youjing departed, Fetal Light could still command the seven spirits to function—breathing, circulation, and, together with the inner spirits, qi absorption and cultivation continued.

Once the body fully dissolves malignant energy and the secret is mastered, even when Shuangling and Youjing roam, the body may move, cast spells, and cultivate as usual—though perhaps somewhat dull in appearance.

These past months, he had used Fetal Light, seven spirits, and inner spirits together to govern his body, absorb qi, dissolve malignant energy, and open meridians. Now, the meridians from the lung acupoint to the twelve-story pavilion were mostly clear; next, he could open the Golden Palace.

Meanwhile, Shuangling and Youjing jointly commanded the bamboo form, practicing thunder, sword, and wind techniques—progressing by leaps and bounds.

This was the confidence behind Mingzhi Mountain’s rule of accepting disciples only at the fourth realm, its sparse population yet steady standing among the Eight Lotus Branches, and its endless succession of masters!

But it was also why Mingzhi Mountain had so few disciples and such peculiar recruitment trials!

Cheng Xinzhang tidied the “Chronicle of Thunder’s Demon-Banishing Might,” preparing to send it via the External Affairs Institute to the Daoist temples at Sanqing Mountain in the mortal world, to be woodblock printed and spread far and wide—furthering the influence of Thunder Dao and enhancing the divinity of his inner spirits. His pen name was already chosen: Master of Humble Caution Studio.

Looking out of the cave, snow drifted down, and the persimmons upon the tree grew ever brighter. Inspired, he cleared his desk, spread a large sheet of white paper, took up his brush and began to sketch, reciting:

“Autumn fades, winter comes, all things rest,
Only the persimmon tree hangs lanterns.”

Third Sister stirred in his arms, reminding him his mind had wandered and his scratching hand had stopped.

Cheng Xinzhang laughed heartily, left hand scratching the cat, right hand painting persimmons, continuing to recite:

“In Carefree Cave, the crane lamp glows warm,
With my feline companion, I never step outside.”

Asking for monthly votes and recommendations—comments and messages welcome.

A note: The “Chronicle of Thunder’s Demon-Banishing Might” in this chapter is based on “Chronicle of Quelling Rebels,” but only borrows the concept of Thunder God incarnations; it is not an endorsement. Readers are urged to approach it rationally.