Chapter Twenty: Temperaments Know No Measure of Time

What is the true purpose of cultivation? This question is both profound and difficult to answer. Most people give the standard reply: to grow stronger, to attain immortality, to realize the great Dao. This is not wrong, for ambition is indeed one of humanity’s greatest virtues. Yet, more often than not, as cultivators progress, they sense something amiss. Though they initially shared the same path, their directions diverge, growing ever more disparate. Perhaps some recognize their error, but it is often too late to amend, and many have lost the desire to change.

Thus, the youth become all the more precious—they have spent less time cultivating, possess strong ambition, clear purpose, and a fearless passion that does not fear death. If their cultivation is also profound, they become unparalleled prodigies. Wu Yue carefully asked Ren Ruyi a question, “Why did you intercept that domineering monk? Is there enmity between you?” To his surprise, Ren Ruyi’s expression was one of shock, even more so than when she learned Wu Yue intended to start his cultivation anew.

Wu Yue ventured a guess, “Is it out of pride?” He recalled a story he once heard.

Ren Ruyi smiled but then spoke solemnly, “The world is vast; how can one person alone shine? Cultivation is not about working behind closed doors. People may have their own ambitions—beyond revenge, I seek to see what lies at the end of cultivation. Do you know what exists in the heavens? Do you know what lies beyond the heavens?” This woman in white, with a beauty that could topple kingdoms, now radiated a boundless heroic spirit, rivaling any man’s.

“All other ambitions fade into obscurity. This time, there is no other purpose—only to temper my cultivation and see who among the young is truly invincible!”

Wu Yue took a deep breath and bowed sincerely. This journey was not in vain; it was like a divine revelation, his mind suddenly clear. He was gradually assimilating into this world—not as a regression, but as an adaptation. Perhaps Ren Ruyi’s words were not entirely correct, but as a reference, they were invaluable.

Ren Ruyi graciously accepted the bow and nodded coolly. She then gestured toward the man carrying the book chest. “You stand with him first; it would be unfortunate if you were accidentally hurt.” With a gentle push, Wu Yue found himself beside the man.

“Book Chest Man, please take care of him,” Ren Ruyi’s voice was cold and firm. Though he could have ignored her, the man complied without complaint, loudly proclaiming, “I am not Book Chest Man. I am Chai Qingshan!”

Ren Ruyi muttered softly, “Indeed, a man true to his name.” Simple as ever. Then she faced north. The ice spanning thirty miles cracked and groaned.

Suddenly, the sky fell low, clouds gathered, and the heavens seemed to merge into one—here came the monk.

No one had ever measured the true expanse of the Immortal Spirit Realm. Though populous, it paled in comparison to the vastness of the realm itself, making land cheap and plentiful. The Extreme North was said to lie at the realm’s northernmost edge. Some claimed it was an endless desert; others, a land of eternal ice and snow; still others, a vast ocean. In any case, the environment was harsh and sparsely inhabited.

Legends abounded about the region, yet none spoke of mountains there. However, there stood a monastery known as Mount Bitterheart, where every twenty years, a disciple would descend into the mortal world, all extraordinary individuals. Though remote and distant, Mount Bitterheart’s fame spread across the land.

This generation of Mount Bitterheart produced rare and remarkable wanderers, monks of unparalleled talent. Their dharma name was Heart Zen, and they cultivated Heart Zen itself. From north to south, they pressed forward unwaveringly—like unstoppable mountains and rivers, others could not deter them. They vowed to nurture invincibility through the people of the world. One monk, utterly domineering; one monk, seeking to be invincible.

No lotus bloomed as the monk approached—only a sky lowered hundreds of feet.

“I am Monk Heart Zen, born Ye by birth. Hence, Ye Heart Zen,” the monk uttered his first words. Clad in a simple gray robe, his flawless features—rosy lips and white teeth—betrayed none of the harshness of the Extreme North.

“Lady devotee, do you intend to block my path?” The words were audacious, for right beside them stood the Chu River Bridge, yet Heart Zen insisted on crossing through the river itself.

The ice spanning thirty miles shattered completely, and from the water surged a magnificent ice dragon, rising majestically amid towering waves. The dragon roared fiercely, its battle intent as vast as the stormy waters beneath it. The river’s surface surged skyward, the dragon towering even higher. Spectators on the Chu River Bridge were enthralled; one even shouted, “Well worth the trip!”

Chai Qingshan, however, revealed a trace of sorrow, murmuring softly, “It should be, well worth the life.”

Whenever the world witnessed a battle of this magnitude, its fame echoed across thousands of miles—but few were fortunate enough to witness it firsthand. This was no mere coincidence; when two dragons contend, how could the common folk survive?

Even from thirty miles away, Yu Fu and his companions felt the earth shake and mountains tremble.

“Let the waves rise and the winds blow—I remain firmly unmoved.” The ice dragon roared as it charged forth. Monk Ye Heart Zen chanted a Buddhist verse and declared, “Buddha’s wrath, the fiery lotus of fury.”

A scarlet lotus drifted down from the horizon, as if a whole pond of lotuses had been stirred by the wind, one petal swept away to this place.

The red lotus descended onto the Chu River, and in an instant, flames surged wildly.

The ice dragon exhaled chilling breath, each roar attempting to extinguish the flames. Yet the fire was vast, and the dragon visibly shrank under its assault. It circled and roared in fury but could not penetrate the space. Though far from Ye Heart Zen, it could not close the distance.

The crowd quickly experienced the clash of ice and fire firsthand. This time, they had no chance to cheer—they suddenly realized they might be too close. Could this be dangerous? A question worth pondering.

“Snow dragon’s two seals—how can there be a dragon without snow?” Heavy snowflakes fell in neat, deliberate sheets.

“Vajra, before me, lower your gaze.”

Ye Heart Zen remained with hands folded, softly chanting.

Behind him, a colossal Vajra manifested—blue-faced, fanged, radiating Buddha’s light.

“A true heretic!” Chai Qingshan exclaimed softly. Wu Yue was puzzled; Chai Qingshan explained, “He’s no true Buddha cultivator. This is a case of Buddha being cultivated by him. This monk truly knows no bounds in his arrogance.” Chai’s expression was one of admiration.

The Vajra roared, the mountains and rivers changed color. The Chu River’s flow was cut off, clouds dispersed from the sky.

Those on Chu River Bridge panicked utterly, as if a lion’s roar echoed in their minds, an overwhelming force sweeping over them. Chai Qingshan sighed, “Indeed, well worth the journey—and thus, well worth the life.”

Before Wu Yue could share in the awe, he felt a sudden tightness on his shoulder. His vision blurred. When it cleared, he was beside Hai Qing.

Hai Qing fared better—though gravely injured, he still possessed cultivation. The plump shopkeeper fared worse; despite Hai Qing’s aid, his ears rang painfully.

“Thank you, sir, for saving my life,” Hai Qing smiled bitterly, now fully aware of the vast distance between himself and others—not just in cultivation.

Chai Qingshan shook his head and continued watching.

Wu Yue glanced at the panicked crowd on the bridge, then at Hai Qing, seemingly deep in thought.

The plump shopkeeper, whose ears still rang, saw Wu Yue and suddenly felt his vision darken.

“I am but a humble woman, blind to your status. Please forgive me,” Hai Qing whispered.

Wu Yue smiled, “It matters not—not at this moment.”

Hai Qing understood and fell silent, watching the battle unfold.

The Vajra swung its arm down.

“Vajra, before me, lower your gaze.”

Ye Heart Zen stood serene, smiling gently—rosy lips, white teeth—unperturbed, unmoved, unlike any ordinary monk.