Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Request for Title, The Heart of the Dao Revealed

The door to the Zhong family’s small courtyard swung open, and through the eyes of the old shanxiao, Zhong Ming saw once more the woman who had haunted his thoughts. The kindest mother in the world stood before him.

At that moment, Zhong Ming had a thousand words he longed to say, but this was only a memory—his lips would not part, and he could utter no sound. All that remained was regret.

Clad in a simple hemp robe, Zhong Xiuniang’s face still bore that warm, comforting smile. When she saw the old shanxiao, surprise flickered in her eyes, but then she covered her mouth and laughed.

She said nothing, merely reached out to help the old shanxiao to his feet.

Zhong Ming could sense the creature’s nervousness. It clutched at its robe and asked, “Teacher, what do I look like to you?”

With a gentle smile, Zhong Xiuniang replied, “Of course you’re a person—your head is just a bit bigger, your arms a little longer. Maybe if you grow a bit more, you’ll become quite handsome.”

The old shanxiao had come to see his teacher that day not only to express gratitude for years of tutelage but also to seek the “final affirmation.”

For a mountain spirit to take human form, it must undergo this rite: seeking affirmation from a human. Traditionally, a spirit that has cultivated enough to assume a human shape will approach a passerby and ask what it resembles.

If the person says it looks human, the spirit stabilizes its heart, completes its transformation, and can then devote itself to the pursuit of the Dao. If the answer is “monster,” the spirit’s heart will falter and it will most likely never cross the threshold to transformation.

In essence, this rite is the spirit’s pursuit of perfection, drawing closer to humanity. Humans, as the most spiritually gifted beings, possess both form and speech imbued with the essence of heaven and earth, so even after ages of cultivation, spirits only ever strive to approach human likeness.

Only by doing so can they aspire to walk the path of immortality.

On the road to seeking immortality, humans have always possessed an advantage over other beings.

The old shanxiao’s quest for affirmation was now complete, its heart stable, and Zhong Xiuniang’s contribution was immeasurable. Even though she knew her visitor was not human, she never discriminated, embodying the belief that there should be no distinction in teaching.

“As long as one is eager to learn, anyone may study,” she had once said, giving the old shanxiao the name “Yaya,” meaning “learning to speak.”

Through the years, the old shanxiao grew from a babbling child into a scholar-spirit, no less refined than any learned gentleman, and he cherished the name, for it marked the arduous road of his education.

At this point the memory began to blur, the white light before Zhong Ming’s eyes slowly fading.

When he opened his eyes again, the old shanxiao was standing with hands clasped behind his back, facing away from Zhong Ming. In a low voice, he said, “The name Yaya reminds me never to forget my original heart, to always cherish the pursuit of letters. I like this name.”

“I miss my mother,” Zhong Ming whispered after a long silence, head bowed.

From his past life till now, Zhong Ming’s greatest regret was never seeing the gentle mother of his memories with his own eyes. He had no mother in his previous life, and though he had one in this, fate would not let him meet her in person.

Perhaps this was what the old blind man had once told him: “You were born under a lonely star, destined to walk alone.”

The old shanxiao lifted his massive head to gaze at the faint moon, sighing. “I miss my teacher too... Since I gained understanding, my greatest regret has been my powerlessness to save her.”

Again, silence. Man and spirit looked up at the stars, their hearts longing for the same gentle woman.

After a long while, the night wind brought again the stench of corpses and blood, and the old shanxiao seemed to awaken from his reverie.

Turning slowly, he said, “Zhong Ming, I saved you to repay my teacher’s kindness. Now that you are out of danger, I must take my leave.”

“Why must you go?”

Zhong Ming frowned. Hadn’t he stayed on this hillside for years—how could he just leave?

“Just now that immortal from White Jade Capital tried to kill you. I tried to dissuade him, but when he wouldn’t listen I had to kill him. White Jade Capital will surely send people to investigate his death. I cannot stay here any longer...”

The old shanxiao sighed. “I have long since achieved my cultivation, crossed the threshold, and reached a certain realm. In Daoist terms, I have entered the Infant Formation stage. I should have set out long ago. That I can leave today is a good thing.”

Zhong Ming was taken aback. He hadn’t expected that the seemingly boundless immortal, Li Que, had been slain by the old shanxiao.

It was all because of him, he thought with shame. Bowing deeply, he said, “Senior Yaya, I have brought you nothing but trouble.”

The old shanxiao chuckled. “I am simply repaying a kindness; it is no trouble at all.”

With that, he rummaged in the fur on his chest and produced a small white jade bead the size of a knuckle.

“This is for you.”

He handed the bead to Zhong Ming.

Zhong Ming examined it, frowning. “Senior, what is this?”

“I obtained this bead by chance years ago. I call it the Moonlight Pearl. It is thanks to this that I gained sentience, for it absorbs moonlight and transforms it into spiritual energy—what you martial artists call true qi. Since I am leaving, I have little else to give you. Take this as a memento.”

If that was so, the bead was a treasure that could hasten one’s cultivation.

Such a gift, Zhong Ming dared not accept. They were not kin, and even if they were, he would feel unworthy of such a treasure.

How could he accept such a favor lightly?

He quickly tried to return the Moonlight Pearl. “Senior Yaya, this is yours. I cannot accept it.”

There was another reason—Zhong Ming was clever, and clever men are often suspicious by nature. He half suspected the old shanxiao was testing him.

But the old shanxiao bared his teeth in mock anger. “Take it! My teacher taught me that even a drop of kindness must be repaid a hundredfold. I must repay this debt.”

Seeing his fierce expression, Zhong Ming dared not refuse again. He tucked the Moonlight Pearl safely into his robe.

Once it was put away, he asked, “Senior, may I ask where you are headed?”

“To the Suiyun Mountains. Three years ago a palace descended from the heavens, and those of us who walk the Dao hear more than you mortals do. I heard from birds flying from Suiyun Mountains that there is an immortal palace there called the Forest of Ten Thousand Demons, filled with spiritual fruits and rare beasts—a paradise for spirits. I want to see it for myself, to find others of my kind.”

The old shanxiao gazed longingly to the south.

Zhong Ming bowed. “That sounds like a wonderful place. May your journey be smooth, Senior Yaya.”

“Thank you for your kind words.”

With that, the old shanxiao waved his hand, and a demonic wind rose. In the blink of an eye, he transformed into a scholar’s likeness, remarkably similar to Zhong Ming, though his features were more handsome and resembled Zhong Ming’s mother.

Perhaps, in the old shanxiao’s heart, the greatest scholar under heaven should look like Zhong Xiuniang.

He was a decisive creature; once he said he was leaving, he simply left. His steps seemed slow, but each stride covered many yards, and after only a few, he melted into the night.

“Zhong Ming, the immortals of White Jade Capital are tyrannical. If you can no longer stay at the borderlands, come find me in the Suiyun Mountains!”

The night wind carried away his figure, leaving only his voice drifting from afar.

“Thank you for your advice, Senior!” Zhong Ming called after him, bowing once more to the darkness.

Only when the night fell silent did he rise to his feet.

Taking a deep breath, Zhong Ming shook off the dream-like encounter and turned to look at Zhang Nianchen, who lay unconscious on the ground.

Zhong Ming crouched to check his breathing and found it weak but steady—an internal injury, as Brother Longhu had once described, common among martial artists.

Using what little true qi he had left, Zhong Ming probed Zhang Nianchen’s dantian and found it completely empty, which explained the unconsciousness.

Though Zhang Nianchen was a Daoist, the nature of his cultivation was much the same as martial artists—he too refined true qi.

Normally, someone with similar inner strength would help an injured man restore his qi, but Zhong Ming’s own reserves were depleted; he was powerless to help.

Still, Zhang Nianchen was in no mortal danger, so Zhong Ming didn’t attempt immediate treatment. Instead, he hoisted Zhang Nianchen onto his back and hurried toward Yuni Village.

The corpse miasma had not been contained; the tide of corpses was breaking out. Zhong Ming’s only comfort was to return to the village.

Jogging all the way, he was out of breath by the time he reached the hilltop, where he saw a pool of blood.

Fragments of a blue brocade robe, still fresh blood, and frost crystals on the grass. Here, Li Que had met his end, though his body was missing—only bloodstained garments remained.

Zhong Ming had no idea Li Que had already been eaten by the old shanxiao. He spat. “Tried to kill me, serves you right!”

He paused to catch his breath but dared not linger. With the corpse tide surging below, he had to hurry back.

Carrying Zhang Nianchen, his pace was slow, and he was exhausted by the time he reached the foot of the hill. He had to pause for a brief rest, and it was then he noticed a flash of light in the nearby grass.

A golden-green radiance, swirling together. Zhong Ming narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that the old Daoist’s gourd treasure?”

Setting Zhang Nianchen down, he drew his Juexiang Blade and crept closer.

Peering ahead, he saw the old Daoist, Zhang Daozhen, sitting cross-legged in the grass, two colored elixirs—gold and green—spinning around him.

“It really is the old Daoist!”

Joy brightened Zhong Ming’s face; he’d thought Zhang Daozhen had perished in the corpse tide.

But no, though he looked a bit pale, he was breathing steadily and clearly alive.

As Zhong Ming stepped forward, the two elixirs suddenly sped up, whistling through the air toward him. Had he not been alert and dodged quickly, his head would have been smashed open.

With no other choice, Zhong Ming shouted, “Daoist Zhang! Daoist Zhang! Wake up, something terrible has happened!”

At the sound, Zhang Daozhen sprang up, still forming hand seals. But his eyes were empty pits, impossible to tell if he was truly awake.

He had, in fact, awakened. With a cough, Zhang Daozhen asked, “Layman Zhong, what has happened to make you so flustered?”

He broke his seal, uncorked his jade gourd, and retracted the spinning elixirs.

Seeing the old Daoist unharmed, Zhong Ming breathed a sigh of relief. “Daoist, you’re unaware—just now that minor immortal from White Jade Capital came after us, intending to kill us.”

He recounted the events.

Zhang Daozhen listened thoughtfully, then muttered, “No wonder I couldn’t suppress the corpse miasma—someone was meddling.”

His brows furrowed deeply as he calculated, then said anxiously, “It is dangerous to linger here. Ominous signs hang over us. I fear more disaster is on the way. We must leave at once.”

Zhong Ming nodded eagerly. This haunted place had made him suffer enough for one night; he didn’t want to stay a moment longer.

So Zhang Daozhen fed Zhang Nianchen a pellet to ensure his wounds were no longer life-threatening. Zhong Ming hoisted Zhang Nianchen onto his back, and the three of them hurried toward Yuni Village.