Chapter Seven: The Highest Virtue Is Like Water

The Daoist’s eyes lacked vitality, and showed none of the world-weariness that lingered in Xin Qubing’s gaze. Though he possessed the bearing of an immortal, his presence was less distinguished than that of Mr. Su. Yet Shen Lian sensed, almost instinctively, an unfathomable mystery about the Daoist—something that inspired awe, compelling him to bow in reverence.

He closed his eyes slightly, for a glow of Daoist radiance enveloped him. A surge of warmth rose within Shen Lian, coursing through his meridians toward the ancestral aperture at his brow. In the spiritual platform, all was silent and without form. The innate deity appeared quietly, and upon seeing it, the warmth seemed startled—retreating before it could enter the spiritual platform, vanishing without a trace.

Before Shen Lian could ponder this, an invisible force hurled him toward the side of the great hall, striking his back against a beam and pinning him there. Yet his gaze remained fixed ahead: the youth known as Little Black was engulfed in black flames, his head covered by a precious mirror from which a pillar of light descended, enveloping him. Still, the invisible force seeped out.

The elder in red robes and the one in grey each raised their index and middle fingers as if wielding swords, channeling the boundless energy of heaven and earth in the direction of their hands, invisible currents flowing forth. The magnitude was astonishing, far beyond Shen Lian’s imagination.

He could now sense the omnipresent energy of heaven and earth, and understand the terrifying cultivation of the two elders. The vast energies poured into the bronze mirror, weakening the black flames until they were finally extinguished.

Shen Lian heard the elders’ faint, labored breaths—clearly, their exertions had not been light. What puzzled him, however, was that the seated Daoist, the master of Qingxuan, had not intervened.

The precious mirror fell into the Daoist’s sleeve; the grey-robed elder produced a Daoist talisman and affixed it to the youth’s forehead. Shen Lian and Lu Sheng stepped forward, and Shen Lian noticed the youth’s exposed arm, covered in black markings that slowly faded as the talisman took effect.

The Daoist spoke slowly, “Jingqing, take Shen Lian and Lu Shouyi to the bamboo lodge for rest.”

Without any inquiry, he already knew the names of Lu Sheng and Shen Lian. Shen Lian could not help but admire such immortal ability—to perceive cause and effect so easily. Yet he wondered if the Daoist was aware of his practice of “The True Explanation of the Supreme Purity Spiritual Treasure’s Natural Lock of Mind.”

Jingqing was the young apprentice who had opened the door. Shen Lian and Lu Sheng understood that the youth was far from ordinary, and likely the Daoist would discuss matters with the two elders, so the child was to escort them away.

Upon leaving the great hall, the young apprentice smiled at Shen Lian and Lu Sheng. His form shimmered, and suddenly a massive serpent appeared—entirely azure, with a golden line running from its belly to its tail, and, most peculiarly, a pair of wings.

The serpent spoke in a child’s voice, “Please, brothers, sit upon my back.”

Shen Lian recalled the phrase, “Winged serpent flies without feet.” This must be the apprentice’s true form—a creature of demon origin. Judging by its species, it seemed to be a “Winged Serpent” from the annals of divine monsters.

Shen Lian and Lu Sheng mounted the serpent, and immediately mist and clouds arose, obscuring all sense of direction. At last, they alighted beneath a building—a refined bamboo lodge. Behind it, the sea of clouds stretched far and wide, with changing radiance, and the wind rustled the bamboo leaves nearby.

A dense bamboo forest stood not far from them. The lodge was built halfway up the mountain, which soared high above the sea of clouds, its position nearly level with them.

Shen Lian and Lu Shouyi dismounted, and the serpent resumed the appearance of a child. Jingqing smiled and said, “Brothers, our Qingxuan Sect has five peaks: Taiyi, Qingliang, Zifu, Tianyuan, and Yuyang. We were just on the main peak, Taiyi; now, this is Qingliang Peak, where the disciples of the lower courtyard reside and cultivate.”

Lu Shouyi asked, “If there is a lower courtyard, surely there must be an upper one as well?” He was always straightforward, so he spoke directly.

“Indeed,” Jingqing nodded.

“What is the difference between the lower and upper courtyards? Is the upper courtyard better?” Lu Sheng seemed displeased. In his view, if a celestial sect like Qingxuan divided its disciples into ranks, it was disappointing.

“The upper courtyard is also comprised of disciples, but most are connected to the sect’s cultivators by blood or friendship, or are descendants of old acquaintances with innate talent for cultivation, so they are admitted to the sect. Yet, the difference in treatment is not great. Previously, some brothers from the lower courtyard questioned the master, asking why cultivators should be divided into ranks. The previous master punished him by sending him to the bamboo sea to cut stone bamboo for seven years, saying he did not understand his fortune, nor the merit of being ‘lower.’”

Though Jingqing was a demon in disguise, his aura was pure and clear. As a winged serpent, Shen Lian felt none of the discomfort he had experienced when encountering five-eyed evil gods—nor was there any foul smell.

“Apparently, that brother failed to understand the value of ‘being lowly,’ just as ‘supreme goodness is like water.’ Thus, the master told him he did not know his fortune,” Shen Lian mused aloud.

He guessed that the previous master’s intention was that “supreme goodness is like water, nearly akin to the Dao,” so, like water, it avoids heights and seeks the low, nourishing all things without striving for fame or gain. Such is the heart of the Daoist.

If one fixates on distinctions of high and low in cultivation, it does not bode well.

Jingqing was slightly surprised, “Whether that was the previous master’s meaning, no one really knows, but someone indeed said something similar to him at the time.”

Lu Shouyi was curious. He was well-versed in the Five Classics and Four Books, but only generally familiar with Daoist texts. His quest for the Dao arose from a personal experience that led him to enlightenment and the pursuit of longevity.

Thus, he did not quite understand how “supreme goodness is like water” related to the matter at hand. Moreover, since someone had said something similar long ago, he found it even more intriguing.

Lu Shouyi asked, “Who was that person? With the long years of the immortals, could he still be in the world?”

Jingqing replied, “I cannot say who he is, but since the founding of Qingxuan, his achievements rank among the top three. He likely still dwells somewhere in the world.”

At these words, Jingqing’s expression grew complicated, an odd look on his childlike face. Lu Sheng could not help but smile. Yet Jingqing, being a demon, might well have been born long before even his grandfather’s grandfather.

Suddenly, Jingqing chuckled and said, “Let us not speak of him. Do you know who spent seven years cutting stone bamboo?”

“Who was it?” Lu Shouyi asked.

Shen Lian did not ask, but smiled inwardly, having guessed the answer.

“You have already met him,” Jingqing replied with a smile, shifting into the winged serpent, his tail striking the ground and raising clouds of dust.

Then a cluster of mist in the sky dissolved into the vast sea of clouds.

“Brother Shen, who was it then? Was it the Daoist in red, or the one in grey, or perhaps the sect master?” Lu Shouyi asked Shen Lian.

Shen Lian shook his head and answered, “Brother Lu, you stayed on the Path of Heart for so long—aren’t you tired? I suffered greatly at the summit; now I only wish for a long, deep sleep.”