Chapter Eight: The Unpredictability of Fortune and Misfortune
Severed limbs, pierced belly, beheading, cut fingers, striking the eyes...
So-called life and death borrowed to obtain embryonic breath.
According to Xu Zhi’s understanding, this was a way to shock the spirit, forcing oneself into a mysterious state akin to a fetus in the womb, thereby grasping the method of embryonic breath.
Though it appeared a shortcut and rather unconventional, it was nonetheless a legitimate path to the Dao.
It was just that others, lacking the True Dharma Realm as a safeguard, could not act as boldly as Chen Heng. They would practice this orthodox method mostly atop high cliffs or by deep, perilous pools, using the environment to temper their minds. There would always be fellow disciples or kin nearby to safeguard and attend to them, in case of mishap—falling from a cliff or drowning—and thus avoid a grand farce.
Though such practice was not as swift and resolute as Chen Heng’s method, it spared one much of the agony and disgrace.
At first, remembering the terror and immense fear at the moment of death, Chen Heng could hardly bear it, retching bile several times, and when he could endure no more, he would throw himself upon the sword and begin anew.
But in the end, he grew accustomed to it.
...
“When all outer affairs are severed, when nothing opposes the heart, then sit in peace, observe within as a thought arises...”
Chen Heng swept his sword.
His five fingers fell from his left hand with a sound.
“Hm... not bad, this is the fixed contemplation...”
Cold sweat streamed down his face, veins bulged on his forehead, and his originally indifferent, cold visage twisted into that of a fiend: “This step must be correct.”
With a sudden slash, Chen Heng cut his own throat and collapsed limply to the ground.
In an instant, his corpse vanished, and a new body manifested in its place.
“It is the fixed contemplation; this step is right.” Chen Heng shook his head, clearing the daze from his mind, and frowned:
“So where was the error, what flaw remains unremedied? Could it be that in the phrase ‘body spirit self-contained, as an image within a shadow,’ I misunderstood the meaning of ‘body spirit’? But that seems unlikely.”
Coldly, he drew the sword across his chest and abdomen. Blood gushed forth. Lingering in that agony for a moment, Chen Heng then ended his life.
...
“Five viscera radiate with spirit, the body is cast aside?”
He raised the sword.
...
“Draw breath in through the nose, seal it, count with the heart to one hundred and twenty, die without return?”
He raised the sword.
...
“No need for elixirs, guard the three-in-one?”
He raised the sword.
...
“Guard the corpse demon?”
He raised the sword.
...
“Spirit without delusion, always awakened.”
He raised the sword.
...
Once more, he was reborn.
Chen Heng gripped the longsword laid across his knees, his brow furrowed, and out of habit almost swung it again—yet his movement froze.
“No, no, is it truly so? So that’s it! That’s it!”
A sudden flash of insight lit his mind. He burst out laughing, feeling all the obstacles within his chest dissolve. The final comprehension that eluded him for embryonic breath was now firmly in his grasp.
So simple, as clear as the lines on his palm.
“Fear of life and death, spirit naturally attained—so the essence of this method lies entirely in these eight words at the beginning. I was too forceful and deliberate, forgetting the ‘natural attainment’ inherent in ‘spirit naturally attained.’ I grasped the form but lost the essence—no wonder, no wonder.”
Falling flowers, flowing water—spirit whole and embryonic.
He had fixated too much on the progression of each stage, the circulation of vital energy, fearful of missteps. In doing so, he fell into the lower path, losing the Daoist ideal of effortless spontaneity.
“The highest virtue acts without action; it does not scrutinize or seek. The lesser virtue acts, and its use never ceases. Know white, keep black, and spirit comes naturally.”
Chen Heng sighed, casting the sword far away: “My oversight—such subtle words with profound meaning, none surpass this.”
At that moment,
The True Dharma Realm began to tremble, myriad wondrous and resplendent lights blossomed all around, as illusory as a dream.
“So the time has come—ten days spent within the Dharma Realm.”
A forceful suction arose, intent on pulling Chen Heng away. He did not resist, merely steadied his mind and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again,
He had returned to the outer world’s cave-dwelling, all its furnishings preserved exactly as he left them.
Chen Heng set aside his sword, pacing slowly within the cave, tall and poised, bearing an aura beyond description.
“Dreams stride from the ocean’s depths past withered mulberries, witnessing the tempests of the Milky Way.”
He lowered his eyelids in silence, formed a knife with his palm, tapped gently on his neck, and laughed:
“Today, I behold heaven and earth.”
All three hundred sixty-five acupoints in his body quivered in unison.
But in a breath, a gentle, nurturing darkness enveloped him. The wondrous comfort made Chen Heng drowsy, as though an infant at peace within the womb...
...
...
“Yin Child?”
High above the clouds,
In the azure celestial palace, Ai Jian pondered, then a cold smile crept onto his face.
“Isn’t that a term from dual-cultivation arts? What, is our little niece already preparing her inner chambers to keep a lover in a golden house? I advise her to focus on cultivation—precocious in youth, not necessarily excellent in maturity.”
“That’s not for a Yuchan sect outcast like you to worry over, Xiao Jian. You must understand, since she is a true heir of the Chiming Sect, every move she makes holds deep meaning.”
The beautiful woman dismissed him with disdain.
With a mere gesture, the handsome men behind her, obedient as cats, leaned forward to be caressed.
“However, I do happen to know her purpose in seeking the Yin Child.”
The woman said, “Among the divine arts of the Chiming Sect, there is one that requires the fate of a Yin Child as a medium. That, I believe, is why she asked me to seek one.”
“Divine art? What divine art requires—”
Ai Jian muttered softly, but soon his expression changed drastically.
He had once been a disciple of the Yuchan Sect, and hailed from the Ai clan of Shangyu—he quickly formed a conjecture.
“How could it be... Could the Chiming Sect intend to make my niece the Dao Successor? Such an ancient art, and they would bestow it upon her?”
The woman only smiled, saying nothing.
In this age when the Way is manifest and immortals walk the earth,
There were no constraints of gender or hierarchy; all were judged by cultivation alone.
A man could take wives and concubines, keep many maidservants; likewise, a woman could keep three thousand favored consorts.
Yet if two became life-bonded Dao companions, and one refused, that would be another matter.
“Be that as it may, I am no adept at physiognomy, nor can I discern such traits. At most, I can gather people within this territory for you.”
Ai Jian spread his hands. “You must have a way to identify the Yin Child?”
“Naturally.” The woman nodded.
“Moreover, every Yin Child is marked by extraordinary beauty, blessed with rare talent—if we search by this, we’ll find them even sooner.”
Before Ai Jian could reply,
Venerable Yuanji, who had sat in silence, suddenly brightened.
Since the banquet began, he had schemed to forge an alliance with the Ai clan behind the beautiful woman.
But she was entirely aloof, never once sparing a glance for the three great elders of the Xuan Zhen Sect.
Yan Feichen and Gu Jun’s views were unknown,
but Yuanji was anxious as if ants crawled on a hot pan, repeatedly wanting to join the conversation, yet fearing to offend, hesitating time and again.
“Refiner! Refiner! If beauty is the key, our sect has just the one! So close, yet so far—right before our eyes!”
Yan Feichen’s eyes darkened as he heard, seemingly grasping something, and glared at Yuanji with murderous intent.
“His name is Chen Heng, at our Xuan Zhen Sect’s Luoxia Peak, once served as head of the Music Hall.”
Ignoring Yan Feichen’s murderous glare, Yuanji, having finally found an opening, bowed obsequiously to the woman and said with a fawning smile:
“This youth is truly like a celestial being descended! If he is not the Yin Child, then no one could be worthy of the title.”
“Oh?”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Music Hall? Musician?”
She glanced at the musicians below, who cowered in terror, her face showing disdain.
“Mere mortal musicians like these?”
The musicians of the Music Hall, already terrified by the secrets revealed today, now trembled all the more, believing themselves doomed, and wailed in despair.
“Not so, not so,” Yuanji broke out in a sweat. “Chen Heng is different—young, surpassingly beautiful, and...”
“Xiao Jian?”
Impatient, the woman looked up to the jade platform where Ai Jian sat.
“It is true. The Venerable speaks no falsehood; this Chen Heng is indeed a banished immortal. In five centuries, the Southern Domain has produced none like him—truly heaven’s chosen.”
Ai Jian nodded slightly, a curious smile on his face.
“If there are any who can rival his looks, in all my days I’ve only seen two—one, the prince who nearly slew you, and the other, the Jade Pivot Master who once contended with the Doushu Sect. These three, their beauty is unforgettable!”
The woman snorted coldly.
Before she could retort, Ai Jian traced Chen Heng’s likeness in true energy.
...
The woman stood stunned for a long moment.
Only after a while did her throat move; she was clearly entranced.
“Well, Refiner? Is he to your liking?” Yuanji smiled, raising his cup.
“Good! Good! Good!”
Ignoring him, the woman gazed fervently at Ai Jian.
“Hurry! Now! Take me to him at once!”
Fortune indeed! Heaven itself assists me!
“Aunt, you are most impatient.”
Ignoring Yuanji’s awkwardness, Ai Jian smiled and spurred his talisman, and the azure celestial palace descended toward a mountain below the clouds.
“Such weeping and wailing, utterly lacking dignity.”
Some musicians still sobbed below. Frowning, Ai Jian waved his hand, erasing all memory of the day from their minds and sending the dazed group to the mountaintop.
“Aunt, he—”
Ai Jian pointed at a cave dwelling, about to speak, but paused.
A mysterious, profound, and unfathomable energy was slowly rising—it was subtle, but could not escape the senses of the gathered masters.
“How strange—was it not said that Chen Heng had no interest in the Way, nor the heart to pursue it?”
Ai Jian laughed, clapping his hands.
“Who would have thought he’d attain embryonic breath today?”