Chapter Seventy-Nine: Painting Bamboo in Pursuit of the Way, The Nascent Spirit Emerges and the Path Unfolds
There is no need to spend money to buy a mountain for seclusion; sitting alone amidst the deep bamboo groves, one is hidden beneath the emerald sky.
The Heart-Seeking Forest, renowned as the literary academy’s sanctuary for tempering the soul, enjoys considerable fame within Lin’an Prefecture. The Heart-Seeking Forest, stretching before the Literary Stele amidst a swath of tranquil bamboo, draws countless cultivators who long to refine their spiritual strength.
Most of the time, however, the Heart-Seeking Forest remains concealed. Only scholars who excel in the academy’s grand examinations and secure a place on the Literary Star List are granted the privilege to enter the forest and cleanse their minds.
It is said that the bamboo groves within the Heart-Seeking Forest have existed since the founding of the academy ten thousand years ago, their leaves subtly influenced by the sages who once debated and discoursed here.
Thus, when the academy announced that the Heart-Seeking Forest would be used as the standard for evaluating cultivators in this spring’s imperial examination, even the officials of the Ministry of Rites were astonished.
Upon learning that this decision was made jointly by all three masters of the academy, suspicions arose: were they truly favoring the scholars on the Literary Star List?
Most scholars on the Literary Star List have traversed the Heart-Seeking Forest before; they are experienced and possess clear and precise plans for navigating its paths.
Yet, even if the masters are biased, no one dares to voice such thoughts.
For a moment, the Ministry officials’ expressions were complicated; they could only silently observe from outside the Heart-Seeking Forest.
Contrary to their expectations, the first to enter the forest was not one of the many Literary Star scholars, but rather a handsome, upright youth in white.
“That must be Master An… His ink bamboo paintings have startled Lin’an; who would have thought, today he enters the Heart-Seeking Forest. Perhaps this experience will inspire new ideas for his bamboo art,” remarked one of the Ministry officials, recognizing An Le.
An Le’s ink bamboo is quite famous, but his real renown was cemented after the stormy night he punished Wang Qinhe atop West Lake.
Master Pang Ji, the second master, stroked his beard, eyes narrowed in curiosity and expectation—he seemed to hope the youth would surprise him.
Meanwhile, the Literary Star scholars, stunned, recovered their composure with faces that betrayed their displeasure.
A gentle breeze stirred the waves of the bamboo sea.
One scholar, feeling overshadowed, spoke with a hint of bitterness: “Master An is truly… reckless. The bamboo branches in the Heart-Seeking Forest are elusive; a careless step and one’s mind may be lost within. If he doesn’t clarify his route outside the forest, plunging in headfirst, he won’t get far.”
“To enter the Heart-Seeking Forest, one should first observe the patterns of the bamboo paths from outside, seeking a trail trodden by predecessors that leads to the Literary Stele. Observing before entry is akin to playing a game of strategy with the ancient sages within.”
“Master An is at least a qualified scholar; how can he not see this?”
With the first criticism, others followed, their words growing sour. Han Shi, carrying a sword at his back, could barely stand the bitterness and pinched his nose in annoyance.
“What’s with all this sourness? Maybe Master An will reach the Literary Stele without obstruction. Observing before entry is your custom, your common sense, but why impose it on Master An?” Han Shi retorted bluntly. Hot-tempered as ever, he despised these sour scholars.
Though An Le was a scholar, he was not of the academy; he had stirred the blood of Wu Kui Shi Sheng, wielded the Sacred Order, and triumphantly defeated Wang Qinhe atop West Lake.
Such strength, courage, and resolve made him the kind of scholar Han Shi respected—like General Li You’an!
The more Han Shi spoke, the angrier he became. Meeting the glares of the Literary Star scholars, he glared right back, like a furious lion.
Ignoring them, he strapped his sword and stormed after An Le into the Heart-Seeking Forest.
Within five breaths, Han Shi returned, still angry, looking at the crowd outside and slapping his head, glaring at the scholars.
“Who the hell dragged me out?!”
So crude and vulgar! Truly, a product of the martial temple, those rough warriors!
Many Literary Star scholars sneered.
Master Pang Ji chuckled gently: “Calm your mind, enter with a peaceful heart, or you’ll quickly find yourself back outside. If everyone else approaches the Literary Stele and you drift farther, you’ll regret it.”
Han Shi respected Master Pang Ji; he clasped his fists, exhaling hot air, suppressing his irritation, muttering to himself and closing his eyes to calm down.
The Literary Star scholars sneered and continued to study the forest’s paths, waiting to see An Le’s performance.
If the famed Master An of Lin’an makes a fool of himself in the Heart-Seeking Forest, that would be amusing indeed.
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...
When the academy opened the Heart-Seeking Forest, a stream of pure energy surged into the heavens. Many powerful spiritual cultivators sensed it, their souls stirred.
In a secluded path, there stood a thatched cottage.
Inside, two elderly men were playing chess; the black and white stones seemed to contain yin and yang, each move radiating subtle light.
Grandmaster Zhu Huoxi and Third Master Wang Banshan were engaged in their game.
“The youth has stirred the Literary Stele; I wonder if he can reach the pavilion beneath it. Likely, yes—but can he gaze upon the stele and condense his literary courage?” Zhu Huoxi smiled as he placed a white stone.
Wang Banshan stared at the board, sweating, his eyes serious and intense, as if facing a worthy opponent.
He hesitated, holding a black stone for ages, unable to place it.
Zhu Huoxi shook his head imperceptibly, amused; Wang Banshan’s chess skills… were still as poor as ever.
“Literary courage depends on fate. An Le dared to compose such a grand declaration for the northern expedition; literary courage is nothing for him. The question is whether he can summon the righteous aura to strengthen himself.”
“The academy has flourished for ten thousand years, yet those with righteous energy are fewer than ever,” Wang Banshan said softly.
He squinted, placing a stone, but immediately regretted it and tried to pick it up.
Zhu Huoxi shook his head and swiftly placed a white stone.
“You are the academy’s third master; you must not lose the quality of never regretting a move,” Zhu Huoxi smiled.
“Righteous energy is rare. Across dynasties, this has always been so. The more prosperous the court, the more seductive its splendor, eroding the will of scholars. Now, with the Zhao dynasty’s migration south for five centuries, Lin’an is at its peak, with nightly revels and endless temptations.”
“How can scholars maintain their upright spirit and gather righteous energy?”
“To cultivate righteousness, one must possess both virtue and scholarship. Today’s scholars are lost in splendor, neglecting study—how can they possess righteousness?” Zhu Huoxi sighed. “The rise and fall of the court begins thus.”
Wang Banshan was unconcerned: “When academy scholars become entangled with the court’s elite, it is inevitable. This is their choice. We old bones can only express our thoughts; whether they listen or not, we cannot force them. As long as the academy’s lineage continues, it is enough.”
“How carefree you are,” Zhu Huoxi remarked.
Wang Banshan shook his head: “Not carefree; after seeing too much disappointment, hope fades.”
“As for whether An Le can summon righteous energy, it depends on himself. He received the Green Mountain as a gift from Zhao Huangting; he is worthy. Drawing righteous energy is no challenge.”
Whether he summons righteousness depends on An Le’s own will...
Wang Banshan’s words startled Zhu Huoxi—he truly held this youth in high regard.
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...
An Le had long sensed the restlessness of the Ink Pool, which he suppressed with his mind, preventing any chaos.
Yet, as soon as he relaxed, the Ink Pool surged forth, darting into the bamboo forest.
An Le was helpless; it was like a horse gone wild.
He truly looked forward to the Heart-Seeking Forest—a sanctuary for refining the spirit. His current realm of spiritual cultivation was at the threshold; after envisioning the Sword Waterfall during the spring examination, he was only a step away from perfection.
Perhaps today, the Heart-Seeking Forest would help him achieve completion.
Clad in white, An Le stepped into the bamboo grove, his figure vanishing amidst the deep green. Looking back, the path behind was erased, leaving no trace.
He observed his surroundings: only upright bamboo branches waving gently, the emerald air fresh as after a rain, invigorating the spirit.
He faintly heard the Ink Pool racing through the bamboo sea, its blade brushing the leaves with a soft rustle.
Ahead, there was no path—only countless green bamboos growing in profusion.
Walking within the grove, his feet pressed on soft, fallen leaves.
A sense of time seemed to rise and surge, washing over him; each fallen leaf marked the passage of years.
Layer upon layer of leaves covered the ground, perhaps after countless seasons, turning to spring soil to nurture new shoots.
Roots exposed like dragon’s spine, leaves fanned out like phoenix tails.
Listening to the sound of the bamboo waves, An Le proceeded slowly; the sword furnace within his brow’s Niwan Palace grew serene.
His mind, in this tranquility, was like a gentle hammer forging, slowly refined and strengthened.
The Ink Pool darted back and forth amidst the bamboo.
An Le, hands behind his back and Green Mountain sword at his waist, stopped before a bamboo stalk, observing it closely. Truth be told, such bamboos were abundant in the Heart-Seeking Forest.
He had painted ink bamboo before; he was not unfamiliar with it, knowing how to use ink, how to paint leaves, how to express the resilience and dignity of bamboo.
Yet, this was the first time he had truly, quietly observed bamboo.
His ink bamboo had always been based on the impression and technique of a master from his previous life.
But he always felt something was missing.
In the Heart-Seeking Forest, An Le stared at a bamboo stalk for a long time.
Outside, the Literary Star scholars who had mapped out their paths with their minds began to move, entering the forest and advancing slowly.
Their planned routes, validated by predecessors, were considered reliable; they believed that following those trails would surely lead them to the Literary Stele.
Though the paths were covered by fallen leaves, they used their minds to discern the hidden tracks, uncovering the way.
This process was a cleansing and strengthening of the mind—the true wonder of the Heart-Seeking Forest.
One by one, the Literary Star scholars entered the forest.
Other candidates did as well, including Han Shi, who calmed himself, mapped his route outside, then entered, following the chosen path.
Master Pang Ji watched quietly, the serenity on his face growing deeper.
Outside the forest, the Ministry officials were curious, wondering who had gone furthest.
Then Master Pang Ji lifted his sleeve.
The forest grew transparent, revealing every candidate within; their positions became clear.
“Ah? Master An has only gone this far?”
“Has he lost his way? If so, what a pity…”
“Master An is skilled at ink bamboo—let’s hope he doesn’t lose his way among the bamboo and become a joke.”
The officials watched An Le standing motionless before a bamboo stalk, puzzled.
They thought he should have advanced much further, but he remained near the entrance, surpassed by many new arrivals.
Master Pang Ji’s gaze grew more intense, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
...
...
Beneath the thatched hut.
Chess pieces clacked crisply.
Third Master Wang Banshan squinted: “It begins—he has entered the Heart-Seeking Forest.”
Grandmaster Zhu Huoxi smiled: “Yes. How long do you think it will take him to exit?”
Seeing the chessboard nearly empty, Wang Banshan tossed his piece back in the box, stretched, and smiled: “Grandmaster, chess is dull; let’s write our guesses on paper and see who is right.”
Zhu Huoxi stroked his beard, smiling, indulging his companion.
They entered the hut and wrote their guesses, folded the papers, then returned to the chessboard.
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...
An Le stared at the bamboo before him for a long time—a mature stalk, its surface marked with patterns, traces left by time.
He reached out and touched it; it was icy cold. The branch swayed, shaking down a shower of leaves.
The bamboo seemed shy.
In that moment, An Le was astonished; his understanding of bamboo seemed to deepen.
Bamboo, too, has a soul.
He did not search for a way out, nor did he follow the paths of predecessors.
He began to observe each bamboo, studying their demeanor and spirit.
His ink bamboo lacked vitality, too stiff; it differed from real bamboo.
An Le sought to understand bamboo, to elevate his ink bamboo to true mastery.
To paint bamboo that belonged to An Le alone.
The forest was silent; a breeze broke the stillness, stirring waves.
Unnoticed, the sun slanted west.
The evening sun lingered, cold bells filled the empty grove.
The candidates, after their initial progress, began to hesitate; though they had planned their routes, once inside, they grew lost.
Lost, they wandered aimlessly, searching for a path but only circling in place.
No one exited the Heart-Seeking Forest.
An Le continued observing bamboo; after a long time, he felt he had gained much, now attuned to the bamboo’s spirit.
He touched the Green Mountain sword at his waist—it seemed content.
An Le smiled, ceased his observations, stood, the sunlight through the leaves casting his elongated shadow.
He raised his hand and tapped lightly in the air.
Whoosh!
The Ink Pool, wild all day, broke through the dense bamboo and circled An Le.
He seized the Ink Pool and began to paint in midair.
As if using heaven and earth as his canvas, the Ink Pool as his brush, he created an ink bamboo painting.
Outside the forest.
The Ministry officials perked up; Master Pang Ji squinted, watching the youth who stood by the entrance all day.
The white-robed youth wore a radiant smile, painting with his sword in the air.
His mind surged like a waterfall, blending into the artwork before him.
The ink bamboo, stark in color, should have clashed with the real bamboo, yet in An Le’s hands, it harmonized with the forest, blending seamlessly.
In that moment, the sword furnace within his brow reached perfection!
Faintly, his mind gathered within the sword embryo, forming a blurry figure.
Perfected mind, the primordial spirit manifests!
Though vague, it meant An Le had touched the threshold of the fourth realm—the Primordial Spirit.
Once the spirit solidifies, it can roam outside the body, marking true entry into the Primordial Spirit realm.
Outside the grove.
The Ministry officials were shaken, watching the youth painting with sword energy and mind, drawing sharp breaths.
“Is this Master An’s ink bamboo? It seems… more lively now. Though freehand, it possesses the realism and detail of fine brushwork—remarkable!”
Many officials praised him.
Master Pang Ji squinted, letting out a long breath, his eyes full of appreciation.
Now, he no longer worried whether An Le could exit the Heart-Seeking Forest.
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...
Qingbo Street, the Imperial Temple.
Zhao Huangting, painting in the temple, paused, hearing a faint sound like leaves struck in the forest.
The ink bamboo painting hanging on the wall began to tremble.
He hurriedly put down his brush, rushed to the window, and gazed toward the academy, his eyes narrowing as he saw a stream of pure energy rising skyward.
Zhao Huangting laughed, pinching his long brows.
His mind stirred; his formidable primordial spirit left his body, drifting toward the academy in the waning sunlight.
Above the academy, not only Zhao Huangting’s spirit hovered.
Li You’an’s spirit arrived with hands clasped behind, Lady Hua’s spirit floated gracefully, and several other powerful spirits from Lin’an Prefecture gathered.
Zhao Huangting’s spirit observed An Le painting bamboo with his sword in the Heart-Seeking Forest; this ink bamboo had subtly changed.
An Le’s previous ink bamboo was the founding work of a new school, but its imagery lacked refinement. Today, he had corrected this flaw, as if he were a different artist altogether.
Now, this ink bamboo truly belonged to An Le.
While Li You’an and Zhao Huangting focused on the bamboo, only Lady Hua sensed the perfection of An Le’s mind, perceiving a phantom of the primordial spirit emerging.
Lady Hua parted her red lips, inhaled sharply.
An Le seemed… even more talented at spiritual cultivation than she!
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...
In the waning sunlight, within the Heart-Seeking Forest.
An Le finished his ink bamboo; a breath of pent-up energy burst forth, shaking the bamboo grove and strengthening his perfected mind, making his eyes bright and spirit vigorous.
He had painted a bamboo that truly belonged to him; his heart was free, his thoughts clear. Laughing with abandon, he sheathed the Ink Pool at his waist and strode forward.
He neither mapped a route nor searched for a path.
He simply walked, and the bamboo branches before him moved aside, opening a new path!
A path that belonged to An Le alone.
As with painting bamboo, so with walking, so with cultivation.
After half a quarter hour, the figure in white, swords at his waist, emerged from the grove.
He arrived at the pavilion shrouding the Literary Stele.
At this moment,
The stars and moon hung above, the stele shining with radiant starlight.
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...
Inside the thatched hut.
The charcoal stove boiled water.
Grandmaster Zhu Huoxi and Third Master Wang Banshan exchanged glances, unfolding their papers.
Both had written their guesses.
“One quarter hour.”
From the moment An Le began painting bamboo with sword energy to when he exited the forest, only half a quarter hour had passed.
Beneath the eaves, the moonlight was cold and clear.
The two masters looked at each other and smiled wryly.
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(End of chapter)