Chapter Eight: Some Draw Their Bows to Shoot Celestial Beings, While Others Sacrifice the Living to Forge Bone Temples
The waterside pavilion was tranquil, a gentle breeze stirring ripples across the placid surface of the pond.
Madam Hua caressed the celadon teacup in her hand, her touch light and unhurried.
“The appearance of cultivators can be traced back ten thousand years,” she began. “At that time, the world was dominated by the Qi Refiners, whom the common folk regarded as immortals. Later, these Qi Refiners descended into the mortal realm to spread their teachings, which in turn blossomed into the Hundred Schools of Thought.”
“In that era, the Hundred Schools vied for prominence—a time of great contention. But then came the emperor who swept across the land, unifying the world, merging martial cultivation with the art of refining Qi. He standardized the written word, the width of carriages, and established rules for cultivation. From that moment, the path of cultivation gained order and direction.”
Madam Hua’s voice was calm and measured.
What she spoke of was knowledge An Le had never heard before—secrets tracing back to the very origin of cultivation.
“Of course, in the millennia that followed, the path of cultivation continued to evolve, producing countless unparalleled talents. Yet none could escape the ravages of time. Thus, cultivation is ultimately a pursuit of prolonged life.”
“In our present world, you should know that after Zhao’s southward migration, all the lands north of the Canglang River have fallen to foreign tribes. Now, the greatest master beneath the heavens is the emperor of the Yuanmeng Empire. To the northwest, he bends his bow and shoots down immortals from the sky—a single arrow tearing open the Celestial Gate, staining immortals with blood.”
The greatest master in the world, the emperor of Yuanmeng... It was said that his mere breakthrough had forced Zhao to retreat south—a peerless figure.
An Le took a deep breath, shaken by what he heard.
“Besides the emperor of Yuanmeng, there is also the Wheelchair Grandmaster of Dali, who, with a single finger, can split the heavens and summon starlight from beyond the skies—a figure of unmatched grace. Then there is the father and son of Xiliang, who, by embracing demonic martial arts, infected their vast nation, performed a live sacrifice of ten thousand souls to build a bone altar, forging a demonic blade that brought a rain of blood upon the mortal world, forcing Yuanmeng’s armies to withdraw three thousand miles.”
Madam Hua sipped her tea as she recounted the supreme powers of the realm.
Even in her words alone, one could feel a terrifying oppression. Though An Le had long known this world was far from ordinary, he could not help but be awed by its wonders and terrors.
Madam Hua glanced at An Le, a faint smile on her lips. “Of course, our Great Zhao is not weak. Peerless generals have risen, and within our borders stand the Sacred Mountain, the Academy of Letters, and the Martial Temple—three great powers, each with reclusive masters. It is one reason why the emperor of Yuanmeng dares not cross south lightly.”
This was the clearest picture An Le had ever received of the world’s hierarchy among cultivators.
“Master An, you passed the provincial exam at eighteen and now compete in the capital’s spring examinations. Having stepped onto the path of cultivation, your aim must be to join the ranks of the top palace scholars, is it not?” Madam Hua took another delicate sip of tea.
“I do hope so, but my abilities are still meager. I can only do my utmost,” replied An Le.
She nodded. “The Sacred Mountain, the Academy of Letters, and the Martial Temple are like three mountains standing in Great Zhao. The Sacred Mountain is aloof, while the Academy and the Martial Temple are rivals. Both recruit disciples from among the top palace scholars. Only by reaching that rank can you hope to enter one of them and further your cultivation.”
This was the first time An Le had learned such details. His eyes gleamed with admiration, and ambitions began to stir in his heart.
“The Academy and the Martial Temple possess the world’s finest cultivation methods—truly extraordinary arts. If you wish to master profound techniques, you must enter one or the other.”
“These two cover the core of Zhao’s cultivation system. The Academy refines the spirit; the Martial Temple tempers the body.”
“To refine the spirit is to cultivate the mind and soul, commanding its power. The stages are meditation, embryonic breath, transcending the mundane, primordial spirit, and the state of oblivion... A powerful spirit cultivator can, with a single thought, move mountains, turn rivers, or summon celestial thunder.”
“Yet, the body is no less important. The Martial Temple’s path strengthens the body—opening the channels of energy and blood, tempering the spirit bones, condensing the inner elixir, reaching understanding, and stepping into the innate realm. These are the first five stages; there are five beyond, but such knowledge will not benefit you yet.”
Madam Hua spoke unhurriedly, illuminating the stages of cultivation for An Le, dissolving the doubts that had plagued his heart.
“One must not follow only a single path—spirit refinement and body tempering must go hand in hand. Depending on your talent, you may favor one, but both are essential. Refining the spirit cleanses the heart of demons, while tempering the body allows you to laugh before the thunder tribulation. Both matter greatly.”
An Le’s eyes shone, his heart pounding with excitement. Unconsciously, he raised his cup and drained it in a single gulp.
Madam Hua watched him with a gentle smile.
What she had shared was not truly advanced, nor were they deep secrets. Had An Le begun cultivation earlier, he would have learned all this in the basic academies.
Thus, she had no intention of asking for anything in return for these revelations—not even for the painting of his that had so moved her.
“Madam Hua, if the Academy refines the spirit and the Martial Temple tempers the body, then what of the Sacred Mountain?” An Le asked after a moment’s thought.
“The Sacred Mountain...” Madam Hua moistened her lips with tea.
“Atop the Sacred Mountain of the Central Plains resides the Sage. The Sage stands above all. Beyond the Sage, there are the Mountain Masters—each a prodigy of unmatched talent. To enter the Sacred Mountain is the dream of countless cultivators in Zhao, for it means your talent has been recognized.”
“The Mountain Masters, whether they refine the spirit or temper the body, have reached the pinnacle of both.”
“Yet, since the founding of Zhao, those who have entered the Sacred Mountain can be counted on one hand.”
“As the saying goes, ‘The Sacred Mountain belongs not to Zhao, but to all the Central Plains.’”
Madam Hua’s gaze grew distant as she turned to look beyond Lin’an’s city walls, as if she saw that hazy, towering peak—soaring into the clouds, standing eternal through the ages.
An Le felt a surge of longing, but he understood his own limits well. Only those of extraordinary talent gained entry to the Sacred Mountain. Without the aid of his unique affinity with time, he would have struggled even to begin his cultivation.
Thus, he held no hope for the Sacred Mountain.
But as for joining the ranks of the top palace scholars, he truly did intend to strive for it.
Madam Hua drew her gaze back to An Le, her eyes a little unfocused, as if recalling a distant memory that was both bittersweet and faintly amusing. She shook her head, dismissing the thought.
“Chasing Wind, since Master An is curious about martial cultivation, why don’t you demonstrate what it means to be a body-tempering warrior?” Madam Hua looked to Chasing Wind as she spoke.
Lin Chasing Wind grinned broadly, showing no trace of bashfulness. Stepping forward, the blood and energy beneath his skin roared. Though lean, his body seemed to awaken like a fierce tiger.
He slipped the firewood stick from his waist into his hand.
“Master An, watch closely!” he called.
As soon as the words fell, the ends of his stick extended naturally, transforming into a two-meter staff. With a crack, he swung it, the air howling, waves of wind surging in its wake!
The force radiating from him was suffocating.
At last, Lin Chasing Wind thrust the staff into a rockery, the solid stone pierced as if it were soft tofu.
He mischievously tapped the staff, sending it swaying up and down.
“A body-tempering warrior’s physique is formidable—strength and speed far exceed that of ordinary men, and their killing power is immense.”
Madam Hua smiled. “As for spirit refinement...”
“Like this.”
She raised a finger, pointing to the great pond in the pavilion. At once, the water was drawn up by invisible force, surging skyward in a twisting pillar, writhing like a roaring dragon.
Such a marvel shattered An Le’s worldview.
Madam Hua withdrew her finger, and the watery dragon collapsed into a torrential rain, droplets splashing back into the pond.
“Spirit refinement and body tempering—this is their essence.”
“Do you have further questions, Master An?”
An Le’s mouth was dry. Was this truly spirit refinement?
It was enough to make one’s scalp tingle!
Martial cultivation was fierce and domineering; spirit refinement ethereal and mysterious.
Compared to this, his own diluted version of the Zhao Ancestor’s Long Fist was child’s play—practicing it felt utterly ridiculous.
“Thank you, Madam Hua, for dispelling my doubts. I have truly been enlightened.”
An Le composed himself and offered his gratitude.
She shook her head. “These are but the basics of cultivation—nothing remarkable.”
“I see you are eager to learn. Very well—let me gift you a manual for each path, one for spirit refinement, one for body tempering. What do you think?”
An Le was stunned, leaping to his feet. “Madam Hua, my humble painting cannot possibly be worth two such precious manuals...”
But before he could finish, she raised her hand. In her snow-white palm appeared two yellow-bound books, each exuding a faint spiritual aura—clearly not the common, introductory manuals like the watered-down Long Fist.
“Master An, your painting touched me deeply, bringing back memories—some sad, but cherished. Moreover, I gift you these manuals in goodwill; should you, with their help, ascend to the ranks of the palace scholars or even stand before the emperor at the final examination, it would bring honor to us both and add to my good name.”
She smiled, handing him the two yellow books.
An Le understood—this was an investment.
Yet, investment was only part of it. Given his humble talents and late start, it was clear that her main motivation was the painting that had moved her heart.
“Then I thank you, Madam Hua, most sincerely.”
He brushed his sleeves, bowing deeply in respect.
“Spirit refinement and body tempering are not easy. Do not rush—your start was late, so cultivate with patience and calm. Also, when you come to paint for the young masters, you may consult Chasing Wind or me about any difficulties in your practice. Guidance on the path can save you many detours.”
An Le thanked her again, heart pounding as he accepted the two books, his gaze falling upon their covers.
The first was a body-tempering manual titled The Five Beasts Body Technique.
The second was a spiritual method called The Sword Cascade Diagram.
ps: Please keep reading, vote for monthly and recommended tickets, and support!