Chapter 27: Adventure
When Zhen emerged from samadhi, he was no longer the same man. An unutterable world-knowledge rested deep within him, radiating from his dantian. It calmed his Shen-spirit and effortlessly silenced all chaotic thought, like stones sinking into a mirror-smooth lake without leaving a ripple.
Zhen Xu dressed, removed the talismans, and made his way back to the cave. Each step through the forest awakened new sensations, as if he had just been born. Even the predators no longer seemed to regard him as prey. Zhen paused and stood in place for several minutes, simply feeling the forest around him and listening to the birdsong. The humid air clung to his skin, leaving a film of moisture. Birds called back and forth. Something rustled in the underbrush. A nearby stream burbled quietly. Sunlight filtered in patches through the thick canopy of leaves, whispering in a language Zhen could now finally understand.
He returned to the cave and silently sat cross-legged before his master.
"Good. There's no reason to stay here any longer," came the elder's voice, low and resonant. "Cut off the head just above the dagger and place it in the box. As for your vows to me, they are now empty. I can no longer be your master under these circumstances. But remember the principles and purpose of our sect. From now on, you alone bear the responsibility for the fate of the sect and your cultivation. You are now the leader of the Holy Sect of Refining the Void. From time to time, I may come out of samadhi to see how you're doing or offer guidance—but don't count on it being timely or frequent. I must conserve energy. You already know how to transfer my Hun-soul. Take the dagger with you. This cave will self-destruct one hour after you leave. The blast will be immense, so get as far away as you can. Head due south for three days. After that, unlock my memories concerning the ancient ruins and the final plans I prepared for you. You'll know what to do next... Your destiny lies within you, not in the heavens. Farewell."
Zhen Xu rose in silence, bowed three times with full prostration, and drew his sword. He swept elder's long, matted hair to one side, revealing the desiccated neck with the dagger protruding from the back, and with a single motion, severed the head a finger's breadth above the blade. The sword gleamed in the dim blue light of the stone walls, and the head fell gently into the elder's folded arms. No blood spilled. Instead, a pleasant fragrance reminiscent of aromatic oil spread through the chamber. Zhen was not the least surprised.
Using the same sword, he trimmed away the excess hair and beard, then placed the head into a box pre-filled with preserving herbs. He tucked it carefully into his pack. Having wiped the blade on the elder's tattered robe and sheathed his sword, Zhen slid the dagger into his boot, hoisted his pack onto his back, and strode out of the cave to meet his fate.
An hour later, deep in the mist-choked jungle, his body streaked with dew, vine sap, and mud, Zhen heard a deafening explosion. He turned and saw a column of dust rising slowly above the treetops.
On his journey, he encountered many large predators, but none dared approach him. They could sense the mysterious force of De flowing from Zhen's being. Though they didn't understand what it was, they instinctively felt the presence of a powerful, ancient entity moving through their territory—one that evoked reverence, awe, even something like parental affection mixed with primal fear. They knew it was best not to draw attention. Still, curiosity often kept them watching from a distance.
After three long days of travel, Zhen found a secluded spot in a ravine near a stream. He cleared it of insects, laid down fern leaves, and sat cross-legged on the improvised yogic throne, savoring the relief from the heavy pack he dropped beneath a nearby tree.
Settling his inner Qi-winds, he quickly entered samadhi and unlocked the elder's stored memories to see what plans had been laid out for him.
Ge Xu Tong had left instructions and maps showing where to search for ancient ruins, along with passwords, locations, contacts, and the estimated position of the Qi-Wellspring in the Green Mountains. It had been three hundred years—his mortal agents were surely dead. But the hidden caches might still exist, and some secret knowledge could have been passed down through mortal clans and sects founded by those agents. These networks had been disguised as martial arts schools, religious sects, and even builders' guild. Zhen would need to investigate what remained—and whether any of them had been exposed. He also needed to scout the ruins and identify those that had not yet been looted. However, the elder advised against exploring them deeply, as it might be too dangerous without reaching the Core stage.
The elder had also left practical advice for the work of a spy: how to dress, how to conduct interrogations, and other spycraft details, illustrated through memory fragments from Ge's own life and experience.
Leaving the elder's memories behind, Zhen turned his focus inward. The moment his awareness touched the dantian, it opened like a flower. Jing began to flow through his channels. The secret inner medicine was working. Zhen sank deeper and deeper into a state of complete non-action. Qi and Jing moved of their own accord, driven by the power of De from the mysterious Dao-Source. Time ceased to exist and aligned itself with cosmic rhythms. The hidden inner mechanisms of the body revealed themselves to Zhen's detached awareness in intricate and wondrous ways. His Inner Fire warmed the Cauldron, refining the gathered elements within.
He remained in that state nearly a full day, until the Earth Qi beneath him was exhausted. Then Zhen opened his eyes. The Lesser Inner Elixir had only grown a little, but his body had been fully renewed. His pinkish skin gleamed with a healthy luster.
"I need to find a stronger wellspring."
Zhen stood, gathered his things, and quickly scanned the forest around him. He oriented himself and chose to head east—toward a village marked in memory as two days away.
"If it still exists, that would be a stroke of luck."
Gliding between the trees like a shadow, Zhen blended into the forest. He did not look where he stepped with his eyes but with his gut, sensing his surroundings with invisible tendrils that spread from him like a net.
He no longer needed sleep. Instead of dreams, whenever fatigue crept in, he entered samadhi—where even the sense of self dissolved into a luminous presence that now filled the inner space of his mind. It all depended on the cosmic and earthly cycles within his body. One could say he simply remained in a state of non-doing, in harmony with the path laid out by nature.
Before reaching his intended destination, Zhen sensed a settlement in his path. Drawing closer, he opened the Eye to examine it more clearly.
It wasn't the village from memory—it was new. The old village had apparently grown into a town, surrounded now by newer settlements.
This town was clearly built recently: all wooden structures, encircled by a palisade and moat to keep out predators. Focusing on a conversation between a local blacksmith and a customer, Zhen noted with concern that he couldn't understand their language. Although Elder Ge's memories contained several local ones, it had been three hundred years—languages had changed. They spoke a dialect Ge once knew, but distorted, and Zhen couldn't access that knowledge as if it were his own. Language, it seemed, was a skill—not just memory. He would need to train first.
After watching the settlement through the Eye for a day, Zhen emerged from the forest the next day at noon and walked straight toward the palisade.
He was spotted almost immediately. An older man sat in a field, watching over grazing cattle while weaving straw sandals. A boy lingered nearby and caught sight of Zhen.
"Uncle Liu, look! Someone's coming!" the boy, maybe eleven years old, pointed at the figure approaching the settlement.
Uncle Liu looked in the direction the boy pointed and saw the stranger: a young man, filthy from head to toe, in wide blue trousers, a short grey robe, and a pack slung over his shoulder. His long black hair was tied with a similarly filthy ribbon—probably once blue—and hung down over his shoulders, something unheard of among the people of Do Li Si. A sword was visible at his hip. Uncle Liu's hand froze mid-air, still holding the strip of the bark he was weaving. One look at the stranger's bearing, his light step and strange presence, made his stomach churn. This was clearly no ordinary man.