Chapter Fourteen: The Immortal’s Invitation!

Qingsong had not expected such a sudden turn of events and was overjoyed, expressing his gratitude repeatedly. Jiang Liunian waved his hand dismissively. He had always acted according to his own whims and inclinations; this time, his decision to assist the Chisong Dao Palace was not motivated by any desire for rare elixirs but simply by a spontaneous impulse.

Now that their course was set, he did not delay further. Rising to his feet, he drew a crimson talisman from within his robes. The material of the talisman was unknown; it seemed to have been soaked in cinnabar, emitting a faint, sweet fragrance.

With his left hand, he held the talisman, and in his right, a dainty pair of gold-threaded jade scissors. With a flurry of movements as delicate and lively as butterflies dancing among flowers, he began to cut. In no time, a splendid red paper sedan chair, exquisitely crafted, rested in his palm.

His actions were fluid and graceful, a pleasure to behold. Qingsong watched, thoroughly intrigued, though he had no idea what this Mr. Jiang intended.

But in the next instant, his eyes widened in astonishment.

For he saw Jiang Liunian blow a gentle breath toward the paper sedan, and in a blink, the crimson paper chair transformed into a magnificent vermilion palanquin adorned with painted gold.

He hurriedly rubbed his eyes, only to find that what he saw was no illusion.

By now, Jiang Liunian had lifted the curtain of the palanquin and seated himself inside. Smiling, he called to Qingsong, “Little Daoist, why not join me and travel together in this carriage?”

Qingsong hesitated for a moment, then climbed in after him.

Immediately, he felt the sedan being lifted by unseen bearers, swaying gently as it carried them toward the gate.

Sitting inside, Qingsong could not help but curiously feel the side of the palanquin, discovering it was indistinguishable from any ordinary sedan. Puzzled, he asked, “Mr. Jiang, is this what they call the legendary immortal magic?”

“It’s hardly immortal magic—just a simple Daoist art, really. But it does make for convenient travel,” Jiang Liunian replied casually.

“Daoist art? What is that?” Qingsong felt as if a new world had opened before him and could not help but ask more.

Jiang Liunian, far from annoyed, smiled and explained, “Heaven and earth are imbued with spirit, and thus they create all things. Daoist arts are wondrous techniques that harness this spiritual energy…”

Since there was little else to do, he explained to Qingsong some secrets of the craft. These were not foundational secrets, so there was no need for secrecy.

In simple terms, Daoist arts were methods developed by ancient cultivators by extrapolating from divine Dao seeds—a weakened form of true magical powers.

Daoist arts in the world are of several kinds.

Some must be activated with spiritual energy, others require one’s own blood essence, and some need only true qi.

The last kind is not necessarily inferior to the first two; it is simply a later innovation by cultivators, lacking some of the subtlety and transformation of the earlier arts.

Though Daoist arts are precious, with the right opportunity, even ordinary martial artists can wield them.

True magical powers, however, are another matter. Only two kinds of people in the world can employ them: those prodigies who are divinely blessed with Dao seeds and can sense and cultivate spiritual energy on their own, and those like himself who have inherited the spiritual treasures of their predecessors.

...

Qingsong listened as Jiang Liunian revealed many secrets, all of which were new and eye-opening. Yet, hearing Jiang Liunian say that he himself could not cultivate left Qingsong feeling dejected.

Seeing this, Jiang Liunian comforted him, “Little Daoist, there’s no need for such disappointment. When I visited the mountain before, I discovered that the site of the Chisong Dao Palace is itself a spiritual land. Ordinary folk living there enjoy long life, free of sickness and misfortune. Why be so fixated on cultivation?”

Qingsong considered this and found it reasonable. The path of cultivation was elusive; even a prodigy like his grand-uncle had ultimately faded away. What hope was there for someone as mediocre as himself?

With these thoughts weighing on him, he lifted the curtain to gaze outside.

Before him, the green mountains came into view, with the majestic peak of Chisong standing tall not far away.

Unbeknownst to them, they had already left the bounds of the city and arrived at the foot of the mountains.

Jiang Liunian glanced at the sky and smiled at Qingsong, “With the pace of my two young attendants, we’ll reach the Dao Palace in a moment! I’m quite curious to see just who is playing tricks there!”

Qingsong’s eyes shone with gratitude, and he thanked him sincerely, “Thank you, Mr. Jiang, for your help. I am deeply grateful!”

...

At the foot of Chisong Mountain, the pines and cypresses stood lush and green.

It was a stark contrast to the desolate woods of the surrounding ranges.

Though the sun had begun to set, clouds and mist still billowed amid the peaks of Chisong Mountain.

The last rays of the setting sun shone upon the mountain mist, casting a golden veil that made the whole peak seem like a fairyland from myth and legend.

Lin You, clad in a simple azure Daoist robe, sat cross-legged atop a boulder at the cliff’s edge, facing the assembled members of the Dao Palace.

Above his head, the ancient pine’s branches drooped like a celestial canopy, shielding him like a loyal guardian deity.

Before him, the Dao Palace members all sat cross-legged, their faces grave and focused.

“The essence of the Great Dao is deep and obscure; at its utmost, dim and silent; neither seeing nor hearing, one embraces the spirit in stillness…”

Countless words of the Dao flowed from Lin You’s lips, each pregnant with profound meaning, enchanting all who listened.

Several of the elder Daoists at the front grew especially animated, beating their chests and stamping their feet, as if lamenting not having heard these supreme truths sooner.

The palace disciples found that many difficulties in their martial studies or the mysteries of scripture suddenly became clear, as if a guiding lamp had been lit in a dark chamber.

All around, the sound of disciples breaking through their bottlenecks rose in succession.

This was another great use of a Daoist sanctuary.

A Daoist sanctuary—the place for transmitting the Dao!

As the master of the sanctuary, Lin You could use the spiritual endowment of the place to preach the Dao, providing the disciples with an almost miraculous boost.

Everyone’s talent and comprehension improved markedly.

Moreover, what Lin You was teaching were parts of the ancient scriptures once expounded by a great immortal a thousand years ago.

Though the words from his mouth were but a tiny fraction of the ancient immortal’s wisdom, to the Dao Palace disciples, it was as if they were hearing the ultimate truths of the Dao—utterly intoxicating.

Even the white fox, curled up by Lin You’s feet, gazed at him with reverence.

She herself was a rare mountain beast who had awakened intelligence by chance after consuming a spiritual herb. Though she possessed innate illusionary powers, she had never received any formal instruction.

Now, hearing Lin You’s teachings, she was instantly enraptured, unable to extricate herself.

Pine branches swayed overhead, casting dappled shadows.

The sunset glow illuminated Lin You’s face, lending him an almost sacred air.

He suddenly stopped speaking, his gaze seeming to pierce the billowing mountain mists and fall upon a vermilion sedan chair.

He watched as the palanquin circled the sanctuary, eyes inscrutable. After a moment, seeing a familiar figure emerge, he smiled faintly.

“Bai Yi.”

“Disciple present!” The white fox—now addressing herself as disciple—answered reverently upon hearing Lin You’s summons, treating him as a living deity.

“A guest has arrived from afar. Would you kindly go and welcome them on my behalf?” Lin You said gently.

“Your command, Master!” she replied, bowing her head in obedience before departing.

...

Beneath the shade of the trees, the sedan carrying Jiang Liunian and Qingsong wove endlessly through the woods.

Yet the mountain path ahead was shrouded in mist, twisting and turning unpredictably—the palanquin, though traveling for what seemed an age, never reached the summit.

At last, Jiang Liunian sensed something amiss. He flung open the palanquin’s curtain and stepped out, only to find the world enveloped in thick fog, with no way to tell direction.

His usual air of nonchalance vanished, replaced by grave concern.

There was something decidedly wrong with this mountain mist!

Without hesitation, he drew a talisman and swiftly cut dozens of small paper men with his jade scissors, scattering them into the mist.

Yet as soon as the paper figures entered the fog, he lost all contact with them.

“Mr. Jiang, is something wrong?” Qingsong emerged from the palanquin as well.

For once, an awkward smile flickered across Jiang Liunian’s face. Shaking his head, he said ruefully, “It seems I may have overestimated myself this time.”

He had assumed that the trouble at the Dao Palace was caused by some mountain spirit or demon—difficult for ordinary folk, but nothing to a man of his talents.

He had not expected to be unable even to ascend the mountain, trapped here instead.

Qingsong, belatedly realizing the strangeness of the lingering mist, gaped and asked, “Mr. Jiang, have you lost your way?”

Jiang Liunian did not reply, but inwardly, he had already steeled himself for a desperate struggle.

He took a deep breath, quietly slicing open his palm, gripping the jade scissors tightly in his bloodied right hand.

At that tense moment, a melodious female voice sounded from nearby: “Do not be alarmed, sir! The master invites you!”