Chapter Twenty: Entering the Tribulation

Although the pill furnace appeared to be glowing red-hot, not the slightest sensation of heat could be felt within the room. On the contrary, it was as comfortable as a spring day. Wang Yuanqing took a deep breath of the pale mist, feeling his pores open, his internal organs invigorated, and even his very soul quiver. Instinctively, he thought that even the celestial abodes of legend could be no more remarkable than this.

He looked again at the person seated by the pill furnace, carefully confirming for himself—it was indeed his fourth brother. At first, he could hardly believe it.

Wang Yuanfeng, seeing this, was not surprised. He had witnessed such scenes in his past life as well, though at most they consisted of faint wisps of mist. In this world, where spiritual veins abounded and vital energy was plentiful, phenomena such as this, no matter how peculiar, were not worth particular attention, let alone pursuit. They were but the incidental byproducts of cultivation; the true root lay in one’s own spiritual attainment.

Cultivation was not about seeking out unusual phenomena to impress others. To chase after such things was to put the cart before the horse, straying onto deviant paths—conjuring false visions to masquerade as spiritual accomplishment, seeking the admiration of others to satiate one’s own ego. This only led further from the true Way, turning one into nothing more than a charlatan, attracting a handful of credulous followers on the street to eke out a living through trickery.

So-called “masters” and “great monks” were often made in this manner: “To become a great monk, another monk must raise you up.” A group of self-satisfied peers would flatter one another, thus establishing their reputations, gaining fame, and amassing wealth.

True cultivation is genuine and admits no falsehood, like drinking water—only the drinker knows whether it is warm or cold. Each step yields tangible results. If one’s spiritual attainment is genuine, then even the most extraordinary visions—flowers raining from the sky, golden lotuses springing from the earth—are not difficult to achieve. Yet which true cultivator pursues such spectacles?

Seeing Wang Yuanqing lost in these phenomena, Wang Yuanfeng coughed softly, rousing his brother from his reverie and continued, “Go outside and see if anyone is still behind.”

Wang Yuanqing obeyed, opened the door, and glanced into the dark, silent night. He closed the door and said to Shangguan Chuanyun, “No one is there.”

“Good. Go to the altar and offer three sticks of incense, using your left hand, in the order: center, right, left. Then burn the imperial petition with writing on it under the altar, and finally perform three bows and nine prostrations in solemn ceremony,” Wang Yuanfeng instructed with a nod.

Wang Yuanqing did as he was told. His fourth brother had asked him to come at midnight, and witnessing such a marvelous scene alone made the trip worthwhile.

Moreover, Wang Yuanqing was sharp-witted. He understood the meaning behind his brother’s gesture of offering him the external elixir during the day and instructing him to come at midnight. If he failed to comprehend even this much, then the method was not destined for him.

Fortunately, he had slipped out in the middle of the night, aided by his brothers who had diverted the courtyard guards. Now, at this late hour, he had arrived.

When Wang Yuanqing finished the rituals properly and took his place beside him, Wang Yuanfeng nodded to himself. The transmission had begun from the moment he questioned him earlier that day. This method was known by various names among different schools: some called it the Transmission of Merit, others, Receiving the Talisman, or Appointment of Rank. It was a necessary and reasonable formality, bestowing the protection and blessing of the ancestral masters—never the path of a solitary, rootless wanderer.

First, one must speak of cultivating virtue, subtly indicating that the transmission was taking place, but must always report to the forebears. The imperial petition was the formal document for this purpose, sealed with a great stamp. Though Shangguan Chuanyun had never sensed the presence of the Celestial Venerable, nor could he be sure whether the world would respond, he nevertheless followed the proper ritual and submitted the petition.

He then gestured to the meditation cushion across from him, separated by the pill furnace. The vital energy swirled within the cushion, linking with the furnace, which was in turn connected to Wang Yuanfeng’s breath, forming a simple domain.

He said to Wang Yuanqing, “Sit.”

Wang Yuanqing, sensing the strangeness, hurried to sit on the cushion, his face tense as he looked to his fourth brother.

By now, the elixir within the furnace was almost ready, the mist both within and without being steadily drawn inside. The moment of completion was near, but this time, not only would the elixir be formed—Wang Yuanqing would also be initiated into the path of the external alchemy.

Meanwhile, on the stretch of wall nearest to Wang Yuanfeng’s courtyard, figures began to gather, arriving in twos and threes from all directions. They perched upon the wall, watching and occasionally pointing, as if commenting among themselves.

Suddenly, the maid named Huamei beside Wang Yuanhong began to tremble all over, her aura turning strangely sinister.

Wang Yuanhong was startled; it looked just like someone succumbing to inner demons. He glanced at the wall and saw, as expected, a captivating young woman accompanied by an old crone.

He recognized her at once: the courtesan from the Hundred Flowers Pavilion, likely the Holy Maiden of the Hundred Flowers Sect. Quickly, he grasped Huamei’s hand and whispered, “Once my fourth brother’s work is done, I’ll help you seek justice. For now, calm yourself.”

Sensing Wang Yuanhong’s goodwill, Huamei’s aura gradually steadied.

As the auras around the wall diminished, on the verge of vanishing, someone suddenly called out, “A great treasure is about to emerge!”

At that moment, an invisible black mist spread across the dark night sky. The assembled figures, each in their own way, inhaled some of it, and their eyes took on a faint red gleam.

All were waiting for the treasure to appear and failed to notice this strange occurrence. Under ordinary circumstances it might have meant little, but with the prospect of treasure before them, their composure began to crack. Each group grew more anxious, secretly keeping a wary eye on their neighbors.

Inside the pill room, Wang Yuanqing waited anxiously for the elixir to be completed. Wang Yuanfeng asked, “What time is it now?”

“It is a quarter past midnight,” Wang Yuanqing replied obediently.

“Yes, it’s about time.” Wang Yuanfeng glanced outside, sensing the changes in the atmosphere. He saw the tribulation aura slowly gathering in the sky—a consequence of seizing the fortunes of heaven and earth to create the elixir, thus invoking the pill tribulation.

There were also some uninvited guests: more than thirty scattered figures, a rather large number for the imperial capital of the Great Liang Dynasty. Wang Yuanfeng estimated that, including the hidden ones, there were at least fifty. Each practiced a different method, each had their own means, and the most advanced among them were comparable to himself, some even stronger, having evidently lingered at their current level for a long time.

Yet he was a sword immortal. Though his mastery of other arts was limited, his offensive power was unmatched. Even a careless cultivator at the Great Rejuvenation Pill stage could fall to his attack.

Besides, his brothers had stationed over two hundred men in ambush, armed with defilements—should anyone be tainted, their power would be greatly diminished; at worst, they would be cut down by the blades of the guards.

Wang Yuanfeng knew this was tribulation, the necessary ordeal accompanying the completion of the elixir. If the tribulation aura was not dispelled, calamity would follow him, lurking until the next crisis, when it would erupt all at once. Bearing such aura hinders cultivation; many tried to evade tribulation by special means, but in most cases, their progress would be stunted until the calamity was fully spent and their minds were clear again.

Only then could their cultivation advance once more.