Chapter Forty-Seven: Monsters Appear in the World (Part Two)

Making a grand entrance truly was the right choice, Fang Zhuowei thought to himself with deep satisfaction at the effect he’d achieved.

“Ancestor, may I… may I attend your teachings as well?” Zhao Yang hobbled forward, still limping, his expression disheveled and fear lingering in his eyes. Yet his instincts screamed at him to seize this opportunity, or he would regret it for the rest of his life.

“You may. I accept all who wish to learn,” Fang Zhuowei nodded. Anyone willing to listen was welcome—after all, they were all his people. What they could ultimately comprehend, however, was up to each individual alone.

Three days later.

In the capital.

A sea of people surged; nearly every soul in the imperial city had come. Beyond them, from outside the capital, crowds thronged in—some had witnessed terror that day, some came out of curiosity, some in desperate hope, others at the urging of friends and family…

Among the masses, Fang Zhuowei noticed the bald young man he’d once seen from a divine perspective, and with him, Zhao Yang and several others.

Even the heads of the Eight Great Sects and the king of the Li Dynasty had arrived. These notables had come earliest and now stood in the front row, each one a pillar pointing in a different direction. Especially the bald youth—he stood foremost, his martial prowess unparalleled, an undefeated champion among the ancient apes. His aura was unleashed, so overwhelming that none dared stand near, not even the heads of the Eight Sects would challenge him for that place.

Such a scene should have left the world aghast, yet now it drew little attention.

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. Nameless, it is the origin of heaven and earth; named, it is the mother of all things. Always without desire, one can see its subtlety; always with desire, one can see its outcome. These two emerge together but differ in name; together called the profound. The profound and again the profound, the gateway to all marvels…”

“Before heaven and earth were born, the Dao alone existed. To force a name upon it is to call it the Great. Man follows the earth, earth follows heaven, heaven follows the Dao, and the Dao follows what is natural. The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao. The Dao acts without striving, yet nothing is left undone.”

On this day,

Standing atop a vast dais,

Fang Zhuowei produced the Dao De Jing and began to recite in a gentle voice.

Though his words were not loud, each ancient ape in the audience heard him with perfect clarity, not a syllable missed.

The intricate, enigmatic language became notes in a melody that lingered in the air.

Some listened in bewilderment, as if hearing a heavenly text, understanding nothing, gaining not a single insight. Others struggled on the edge of comprehension, needing only a final spark to break through. Still others, at first dazed, suddenly lit up with enlightenment, discovering a new world in a phrase or a word.

“Honored teacher, may I ask, what does ‘the profound and again the profound, the gateway to all marvels’ truly mean?”

The bald youth could not restrain himself from inquiring. He spoke with utmost reverence, addressing the ancient ape formed from a wisp of Fang Zhuowei’s spiritual power as "honored teacher"—a title in Li reserved for the highest veneration, akin to “ancestor.”

If before he had only been awed by raw power, now he was genuinely convinced, heart and soul. Never had he heard such depth and subtlety. Compared to this, the Invincible Diamond Body he had cultivated, even the Buddha’s Palm he later attained, seemed mere child’s play.

“‘The profound and again the profound’ describes the Dao’s unfathomable, elusive void. The Dao is still and vast; it is boundless, formless, soundless, and invisible. Yet, as the ancient text says: ‘The Dao, as a thing, is shadowy and indistinct. Indistinct and shadowy—within it is an image; shadowy and indistinct—within it is substance. Deep and dark, within it is essence; its essence is supremely real, and within it is faith.’

Thus the Dao gives birth to one, one gives birth to two, two to three, and three to all things. It has no form, cannot be seen or touched, yet it is everywhere.

You know as much as you know; as for the unknown, it will always remain. The more the world is studied, the more mysterious it appears, and the more mystery, the greater the urge to explore. It is like a world of darkness and the unknown; what you see is merely the light before the eternal night. Therefore—‘the profound and again the profound, the gateway to all marvels’…”

Fang Zhuowei’s eyes half-closed, his true self hastily consulting his phone for some analyses before continuing.

“So that’s what it means…” The bald youth felt as if a windowpane long blocking his vision had finally shattered, and a mysterious gust of energy swept through his body.

A faint hum arose.

In a daze, a golden light flashed from the bald youth’s form, and the next instant, he floated into the air, rising to a height several times that of a man before coming to rest.

This sight stunned everyone present.

Walking on air, suspended above the earth—this was far beyond the reach of ordinary martial arts.

“The Dao is formless, yet I have surveyed the ancient past and distilled its path: refining essence into energy, refining energy into spirit, refining spirit to emptiness, and merging emptiness with the Dao… Each stage grants power ordinary people cannot conceive.”

Fang Zhuowei cast an approving glance at the bald youth.

No wonder, even at such a young age, he had mastered the martial path to this degree. His comprehension alone made him worthy of the title "heaven’s favored child."

Someone asked in awe, “When gazing upon the universe’s vastness, we are but a drop in the ocean; when observing a blade of grass, we marvel at the cycle of life. The Dao pervades all, unseen and unheard. If we sit in stillness and observe our hearts, can we be without selfish desire? If we rise and enter the world, can we act without striving?

I am a foolish old man. Though I teach you the Dao, I am only slightly stronger than you. Above me, there are far greater beings.

Such beings transcend the dimensions of time and space. The river of time flows around them, the sands of space stretch beneath their feet. With a single thought, they could destroy your world. I call them Immortals.”

The ancient figure formed by Fang Zhuowei’s spiritual power spoke slowly.

…

…

For many years thereafter, he preached and taught here without rest, day and night, reciting the Dao De Jing more than seventy-eight thousand six hundred times. Many could recite it by heart, and handwritten and memorized copies spread through the land.

Time passed swiftly, the world changed.

Centuries rushed by in the blink of an eye. Yet even now, listeners flocked to hear his teachings, sitting nearby, thirsting for wisdom, unwilling to waste a single moment.

In a hundred years, the Dao De Jing had spread throughout the Black Earth Continent. Many achieved insight through it, leading by example, forging entirely new roads of practice and forming layers of new cultivation systems.

Spurred by the Dao De Jing, new sects sprang up like bamboo after rain. Some of the original Eight Great Sects rose to become holy lands; others, lacking those attuned to the Dao, faded into oblivion as the years rolled on.

The Dao flourished, yet martial arts did not decline.

If martial arts before were like cold steel, then under the Dao’s blessing, they became as fearsome as missiles and cannons—possessing unprecedented destructive power.

One day,

Not far from where Fang Zhuowei taught, a fig tree growing in a remote corner suddenly began to tremble violently…

It was a tree that should have long since withered, yet now, as if granted a new spring, it came to life, blossomed, and put forth new leaves, its branches heavy with fruit.

This phenomenon lasted nine days.

On the tenth day,

A mist descended and enveloped the fig tree.

On the eleventh day,

The mist dispersed. The fig tree had vanished, and in its place stepped a woman—slender as a willow, her features as if painted in a dream.

Her hair was as black as ink, her face delicate and beautiful, stunning as an immortal. Naked and barefoot, she strode swiftly to Fang Zhuowei, and without a word, fell to her knees in obeisance.