by Mao Ni
The Golden Dragon looked upon the boy with indifference. Only supremely strong experts, who had similarly broken into the Divine Domain, would be able to see the anger and callousness in the depths of its eyes.
The Daoist boy seemed to yell something. His face was pale, his fear abnormal, yet he did not relinquish the basin in his possession.
Furious, the Golden Dragon's breath enveloped both sides of the stream and death was on the verge of arrival.
The wooden sword dropped from the boy's hand into the stream as he turned to hug the wooden basin to his chest.
The scales of the Golden Dragon chafed against the mist, their collision spurting out countless gouts of Celestial Fire and setting the stream aflame.
At this moment, a middle-aged Daoist appeared on the stream bank.
The middle-aged Daoist gazed up at the Golden Dragon, his expression serene.
The Celestial Fire over the stream was suddenly extinguished.
The Golden Dragon stared at the middle-aged Daoist and let loose a dragon cry!
This cry was incredibly drawn out, almost as if it would never come to an end. It was an acutely complex syllable, sounding just like an intensely intricate tune and like the natural world's most terrifying hurricane, carrying with it an unimaginable might!
The middle-aged Daoist gazed back at the Golden Dragon and spoke a single word.
It was a single syllable; its pronunciation utterly strange and incomprehensible, seemingly bearing no similarities to the language of humans. This fragment seemed to contain endless information and overflowed with an aura of archaism!
The Golden Dragon understood, but it did not agree.
Thus, the fog above the stream began to churn fiercely.
Dragon breath spurted everywhere; the moist grassland and trees by the stream instantly transformed into a terrifying field of fire.
The young Daoist boy had his back to the small stream, utterly unaware of what was happening. He fearfully lowered his head, closed his eyes, and tightly clasped the wooden basin to his chest.
After a seemingly interminable time had passed, the stream bank finally grew quiet once more.
The Daoist boy gathered up his courage and turned his head, but only saw the limpid water of the stream. The fire on both sides of the stream had already died out, and only the scorched trees and rocks ruptured from heat remained to recount just how terrifying the battle just now had been.
From deep within the fog came the roar of a dragon. Anguish, reluctance, and regret filled this roar. It was telling all five continents of the world what bitter anguish and deep regret its previous hesitation brought it.
The young Daoist boy was frightened. With his one hand holding the wooden basin, he hobbled ashore and walked to the middle-aged Daoist's side, timidly gazing up at the fog.
The middle-aged Daoist extended a hand and extinguished a flame on the boy's shoulder.
The Daoist boy thought of something and somewhat arduously raised up the wooden basin.
The middle-aged Daoist took the wooden basin and gently embraced the infant within. Separated by a cloth, the fingers of his right hand rested on the infant's body. Soon after, his brows creased.
"Your fate…is truly dismal," he said pitiably to the cloth-wrapped infant in his hands.
* * *
In the east of the Eastern Continent was a small village called Xining. Outside Xining was a small stream; by the stream was a mountain, and on the mountain was a temple. There were no monks in the temple, only a middle-aged Daoist with his two disciples who were cultivating and comprehending the Dao.
The mountain was a nameless green mountain; the temple was an abandoned Buddhist temple. Of the two disciples, the older disciples Daoist name was Yu Ren, while the younger was called Chen Changsheng.
Xining Village lay within the borders of the Zhou Empire. Eight hundred years ago, the Great Zhou Dynasty established Daoism as the Orthodoxy. Even now, in the present Zhengtong era, the Orthodoxy united the world and was revered by all. Based on principle, this master and his disciples should have lived lives of silk clothes and jade rice. However, it couldn't be helped that Xining Village was too remote, and the run-down temple was even more so. On normal days, it was rare to see the appearance of people, so they could only live lives of plain tea and simple food.
Daoists naturally needed to cultivate the Dao. In the present world, there were countless cultivation methods, but the cultivation method taught by this middle-aged Daoist was completely different from those taught by any other sect. It did not emphasize cultivation and comprehension, it did not care about Fated Stars and Meditative Introspection, and it was not concerned about refining the mind. Only a single word mattered: ‘memorize.’
As a child, Yu Ren began to recite the scriptures of the Dao, and from the moment Chen Changsheng could open his eyes, he was forced to sit opposite Yu Ren and gaze blankly at those ancient books suffused with yellow. The first thing he knew of was a room filled with Daoist classics and scriptures. After learning how to speak, he began to learn how to recognize words, and then he began to recite and memorize the words within those Daoist classics and scriptures.
Memorizing and learning until they were so familiar with these books that they could recite them from back to front, this was the life these two Daoist boys lived in this run-down temple.
When they awoke in the early morning, they would memorize books. Under the blazing sun, they would be memorizing books. When the hoarse ring of the bell rang out the coming of twilight, they were memorizing books. Springs flowers bloomed in warmth, summer thunder rumbled, autumn wind rustled, and winter snow was cold and desolate; they were sitting in the fields, at the stream bank, under the tree, by the plum blossoms. Holding up the Daoist scriptures, they constantly read and memorized, unaware of the gradual passing of time.
An entire room of the run-down temple was piled high with scrolls and books of Daoist scripture. When he was seven, Yu Ren once counted them in a fit of boredom. There were no less than three thousand books, the three thousand scriptures of the Great Dao. Each book contained several hundred to several thousand words. The shortest was the "Classic of Gods" at three hundred fourteen words while the longest was the "Classic of Longevity," which contained at least twenty thousand words. These three thousand scriptures were what they needed to memorize.
The brother disciples incessantly repeated and memorized, only seeking to remember, never seeking to understand. They had long since become aware that their master would never answer any questions they had in regards to the Daoist scriptures, only saying, "Remember, and understanding will naturally come."
To those children just beginning their studies, who only desired to play, this sort of life would truly be difficult to imagine. Fortunately, this green mountain was out of the way and was rarely visited by others. Without external things distracting their minds, they could focus. These two Daoist boys had rather unique temperaments, not feeling this life to be, in any way, dull or tedious. Day after day repeated like this until, without sensing it, several years had passed.
On a certain day, the sound of reading, which had not ceased for several years, finally came to a stop. Two children sat on a mountain rock, side by side, a book resting on their two pairs of knees. They glanced at the book, then at each other, both of them somewhat at a loss.
At this moment, they had memorized everything up to the final scripture, but they had no means of continuing. They could not understand the words in the book—the characters in this Daoist scripture were very unfamiliar. To be more precise, they were very strange. They recognized all those radicals and strokes, but when together, they transformed into eccentric sigils. How should they read them? What did they mean?
The pair returned to the temple in search of the middle-aged Daoist.
The middle-aged Daoist said, "Of the three thousand scriptures of the Great Dao, the two of you are looking at the very last book. This book consists of sixteen hundred and one char
acters. According to legend, within these characters is the final meaning of the Heavenly Dao. There has never been anyone that could completely comprehend the meaning within, so how could you two?"
Chen Changsheng asked, "Master, you don't understand it, either?"
The middle-aged Daoist shook his head, saying, "No one would dare say that they truly understand it, including me."
The senior and junior brothers looked each other in the eye, feeling somewhat regretful. Although they were still children, they had memorized the three thousand scriptures of the Daoist Canon up until today, only a single book away from completion. They were naturally unhappy, but in the end, they were not ordinary children. From the time they were in ignorance, the Daoist scriptures were their companions. Their personalities were also rather mild. The two prepared to turn and leave.
The senior and junior brothers looked each other in the eye, feeling somewhat regretful. Although they were still children, they had memorized the three thousand scriptures of the Daoist Canon up until today, only a single book away from completion. They were naturally unhappy, but in the end, they were not ordinary children. From the time they were ignorant, the Daoist scriptures had been their companions. Their personalities were also rather mild. The two prepared to turn and leave.
At that moment, the middle-aged Daoist continued, "…but I can read it."
From that day on, the middle-aged Daoist began to lecture them on how to read the final book of the Daoist Canon. One by one, he imparted the pronunciation of each word unto them. These pronunciations were exceptionally strange. They were very simple monosyllables, yet they required the use of a certain muscle in the throat and elicited special demands on the vocal cords. In brief, they were not sounds that an ordinary human could make.
Chen Changsheng was utterly confused. He could only act like a little duckling, obediently imitating the pronunciation of his master. On the other hand, a word his master said would occasionally remind Yu Ren of that terrifying being by the stream all those years ago.
After a very long time, Yu Ren and Chen Changsheng were finally able to grasp the pronunciations of those one thousand six hundred one words, but they didn’t comprehend their meaning. They could not obtain an answer from the middle-aged Daoist either. By that time, they had already spent an entire year on this final book. Then, they began to act as they did before, holding this final book and continuing to read it until they had memorized it.
When they finally believed they had escaped this life of memorizing Daoist scriptures, the middle-aged Daoist required the two to read them all a second time. The helpless children were compelled to repeat this process, and perhaps precisely because of this repetition, they found this reading of the Daoist Canon much more exhausting, an almost unspeakable suffering.
It was also at that moment that they began to grow confused. Why did their master want them to read these Daoist scriptures? Why wasn't he teaching them how to cultivate? It was clearly written in these scriptures that Daoists should cultivate the Dao and that it was only way that they could pursue longevity.
At this time, Yu Ren was ten, while Chen Changsheng was six and a half. In the autumn of this year, a white crane broke through the clouds, carrying the greetings of a distant and old friend as well as a silk book. In this book was written a birth date, a marriage contract, and a token; some high official that had once been saved by the middle-aged Daoist wished to fulfill the promise made in the past.
The middle-aged Daoist silently smiled at the marriage contract, then turned to his two disciples. Yu Ren waved his hand, pointing at his blind eyes as he refused with a smile. Chen Changsheng had a perplexed expression, not understanding what all this meant. In a haze, he took the marriage contract, and from that point on, he had a fiancée.
Throughout the following several years, the white crane would break through the clouds, carrying the greetings of that noble in the capital and bringing some rather small interesting gifts for Chen Changsheng.
Chen Changsheng gradually came to understand these matters, to know what an engagement signified. Every night, he would gaze under the starlight at the marriage contract lying in his drawer and feel an indescribable feeling. When he thought of that fiancée, who was about the same age as him, he felt a serene joy, a little shy, and very perplexed.
When Chen Changsheng was ten years old, an accident occurred in this calm life of reading. On a certain night, after his seventy-second repetition of the one thousand six hundred one words of the final book of the Daoist Canon, he suddenly felt his mind depart from his body and drift about the forest on the green mountain. At that moment, he fell unconscious, and his body began to exude a strange aroma.
It was neither the scent of flowers nor leaves, nor was it cosmetic powder. One could describe it as faint, yet it lingered on and on in the night wind without dispersing. It could be described as dense, drifting into the nose, yet it was barely discernible. It did not seem like an aroma that could appear in the human world. It was impossible to grasp, yet incredibly alluring.
The first to realize Chen Changsheng's situation was Yu Ren. Upon smelling that strange aroma, his expression immediately became incredibly grim.
On the gloomy green mountain, overshadowed by tree leaves, there were lions roaring and tigers howling, cranes dancing and dragon-snakes charging, and the thunderous croaks of frogs that should only have appeared on summer nights. In the depths of that mist, to the east of the green mountain, that no one dared step into, a gigantic shadow could be faintly seen, some mysterious lifeform. Under the greedy and reverential gazes of countless beings, Chen Changsheng exuded this strange aroma; his eyes closed in a deep sleep, sleep that might last quite some time.
On the gloomy green mountain shadowed by tree leaves, lions roared while tigers howled, cranes danced while dragon-snakes charged, and the thunderous croaks of frogs that should only have appeared on summer nights could be heard. In the depths of that mist, to the east of the green mountain, a place no one dared to step, a gigantic shadow could faintly be seen, a mysterious lifeform. Under the greedy and reverential gazes of countless beings, Chen Changsheng exuded this strange aroma; his eyes closed in a deep sleep, a sleep that might last quite some time.
Yu Ren was fanning with all his might by the couch, wanting to blow that fragrance hanging around Chen Changsheng's body away because that fragrance caused his mouth to water, caused him to develop a very grotesque and frightening idea. He absolutely had to fan, fan until he had blown the idea away.
At some point, the middle-aged Daoist appeared in the side room. Standing by the couch and gazing at the sleeping Chen Changsheng, he spoke a sentence, the meaning of which only he could understand, "Where is the cause?"
A night passed.
The moment the dawn light illuminated the green mountain, the strange scent instantly vanished from Chen Changsheng's body, not even a whiff of it remaining. He returned to his previous appearance, and the myriad of strange beasts and the terrifying silhouette in the mists departed for places unknown.
Seeing his soundly sleeping junior brother, Yu Ren finally stopped panicking and exhaled. Wanting to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, he realized that his shoulder ached too much to move because he had been fanning his arm as if his life depended on it for the entire night.
Chen Changsheng opened his eyes as he woke up. Although he slept the entire night, he knew that something had occurred. Seeing the pained expression on his senior's face, his face also paled. He asked, "Master, what's wrong with me?"
The middle-aged Daoist gazed at him in silence for a very long time before finally replying, "You are sick."
According to the middle-aged Daoist's explanation, Chen Changsheng's illness was because his body was innately weak; the nine meridians in his body were unable to connect. Last night's strange aroma was because his soul had no means of circulating and could only forcefully discharge through his sweat. This sweat contained the essence of the soul that no human could go with
out; so naturally, it carried a strange scent. This was a very mysterious sort of illness.
"Then…can Master cure it?"
"I cannot; no person can."
"An illness that can't be cured…that's fate, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is just your fate."
* * *
From his tenth birthday on, the White Crane no longer came to the green mountain and communication with the other party in the capital was cut off, almost as if it had never appeared at all. Occasionally, when Chen Changsheng was standing by the stream and looking west, he would think of this matter.
Of course, what he thought about even more was his illness, his fate. He did not grow feebler, and other than the fact that he was somewhat more prone to drowsiness, he was the picture of health. In no way did he seem like a person destined to die young; he even began to doubt his master's judgment, but if his master's judgment was correct, what then? Chen Changsheng decided to leave this run-down temple and take a look around the flourishing human world. Taking advantage of the fact that he could still see them, he wanted to see the legendary Mausoleum of Books and end the marriage engagement.