181: Chapter 181 A Leap in Mental State

Buzhou Mountain Ruins, early morning.

Lu Mingyuan opened his eyes from meditation. The moon still hung in the sky, faint, like a piece of ice about to be melted by the morning light. The stars were still there too, sparse and scattered, like a few grains of salt sprinkled across the canopy of the sky.

He had sat for the whole night, mending for the whole night. Mending his own haste, mending his own impetuousness, mending his own persistence. He had mended all night; he dared not say he had mended it completely, but he had mended a little. A little was still mending. One day, mend a little; in one year, mend three hundred and sixty-five points. Mending bit by bit, eventually, it would be mended completely.

Baize flew up from his shoulder, circled in the air, and landed back down.

"You have changed," Baize said.

"Where have I changed?"

"I cannot say. The scent has changed, the aura has changed, the feeling has changed. Yesterday you were still a warrior, today…"

"Today, what am I?"

"Today is… I cannot say. You should look in a mirror yourself."

Lu Mingyuan had no mirror. He lowered his head and looked at a small puddle of water in the crevice of the mountain rock. The surface of the water reflected his face; it was still that same face—the brows and eyes had not changed, the contours had not changed, the age had not changed. But his eyes had changed. There was no more haste in them, no more impetuousness, no more persistence. There was something in them now; there was that certainty of "I know who I am," that clarity of "I know where I am going," and that composure of "I know how I should walk."

Was that the change Baize spoke of? He did not know. But he knew that from this day forward, he was no longer that Lu Mingyuan who was in a hurry to mend the sky. He was the Lu Mingyuan who mended the sky slowly. A difference of one word, a world of difference.

"Baize, are we still going to look for The Rift today?"

"Yes. Your body has not yet recovered, your Dantian is still empty, and your Meridians are still injured—"

"Then we shall mend slowly. Mend myself while mending The Rift. No rush."

Baize looked at him, looked at this scholar who seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. There was no more fire in his eyes, only water. That water was very still, as still as a deep pool. But that water was very deep, so deep that one could not see the bottom. That water nurtured things; it nurtured patience, nurtured confidence, nurtured determination. That water was not in a hurry to flow, not in a hurry to surge, not in a hurry to rush. It was just there, quietly, deeply, steadily. Waiting, nurturing, accumulating.

"Let's go." Lu Mingyuan stood up and patted the dirt off his body. "Today, let's find a smaller rift, mend a bit slower, mend a bit steadier. No rush."

---

Two hundred miles south of Mount Buzhou, there was a small rift.

It was even smaller than the one from yesterday, two zhang long and one chi wide. It was like a fine crack in the earth, like a wound on skin, like a fissure on a heart. Black Devilish Qi seeped out from within, thread by thread, very thin, very faint, very light. Like a sigh, like a murmur, like a dream-talk.

Lu Mingyuan stood before The Rift, not rushing to reach out. He first looked, looking at the shape of The Rift, the rhythm of the Devilish Qi surging out, and the color of the surrounding land. He listened, listening to the sounds from deep within The Rift, listening to what the hatred was saying, listening to what the resentment was shouting, listening to what the pain was crying. He felt, feeling the temperature of that hatred, the weight of that resentment, the depth of that pain.

"The hatred in this rift is not heavy," he said.

"How do you know?" Baize asked.

"I heard it. For those with heavy hatred, the voice is deep and muffled, like beating a muffled drum. The hatred in this rift has a sharp, thin voice, like a needle prick. It is not hatred, it is grievance. It is not resentment, it is unwillingness. It is not enmity, it is regret."

"You can hear that?"

"I can. The hatred in yesterday's rift was the hatred of the Wu Race, heavy as a mountain. This one today is not of the Wu Race, not of the Yao Race, but of the Human Race. It is the grievance, the unwillingness, and the regret of Human Race Cultivators. They Cultivated for a lifetime, refined for a lifetime, suffered for a lifetime. But in the end, the sky was about to collapse, the devils were coming, and the Dharma Ending Age was about to descend. They were not reconciled; not reconciled to having Cultivated their whole lives in vain, not reconciled to having refined their whole lives in vain, not reconciled to having suffered their whole lives in vain."

Baize was silent. It had not expected that Lu Mingyuan, overnight, had learned to listen. To listen to the sounds in The Rift, to listen to the stories within the hatred, to listen to the grievances within the resentment. That was not Cultivation, it was the heart. When the heart is still, one can hear. When the heart is deep, one can understand. When the heart is vast, one can contain it.

Lu Mingyuan reached out his hand and pressed it onto The Rift. Wanxiang True Qi surged out, very slowly, very lightly, very gently. It was not the all-out infusion of yesterday, but a steady, flowing stream. Like spring rain, moistening things silently. Like a creek, flowing ceaselessly. Like a mother's lullaby, gently, softly, slowly.

He did not resist those grievances, did not eliminate those feelings of unwillingness, did not Seal away those regrets. He listened to them speak, listened to them tell, listened to them cry. He heard an Old Taoist say—"I Cultivated for eight hundred years, and was about to Undergo Tribulation, but then The Rift came, the Devilish Qi came, my Daoist temple was gone, my Disciples died, my Cultivation Technique was ruined. I am not reconciled."

He heard a middle-aged female Cultivator say—"I waited for him for three hundred years, and he finally agreed to marry me. But on the day of the wedding, The Rift cracked open, he was swallowed by the Devilish Qi, and I could not even find his body. I am not reconciled."

He heard a young swordsman say—"I had just realized that sword strike, just understood what the Sword Intent was. But The Rift came, and before I could unleash that strike, I was eroded by the Devilish Qi. I am not reconciled."

Lu Mingyuan listened and listened. He did not interrupt them, did not comfort them, did not persuade them. He just listened and listened. Listened to them finish speaking their grievances, listened to them finish telling of their unwillingness, listened to them finish expressing all their regrets.

As they spoke, those voices grew softer. As they cried, those tears dried up. As they shouted, those throats grew hoarse. They were not suppressed; they were heard. Once heard, they became lighter. Once lighter, they faded. Once faded, they dissipated.

The Rift was shrinking. Very slowly, as slowly as a snail crawling. But it was shrinking. Two zhang became one zhang nine, one zhang nine became one zhang eight. Shrinking thread by thread, inch by inch, chi by chi.

Lu Mingyuan was not in a hurry. He mended slowly, mended steadily, mended gently. Like mending clothes, sewing one stitch at a time. Like mending a wall, laying one brick at a time. Like mending a heart, warming it one bit at a time.

One hour later, The Rift shrank from two zhang to one zhang. Two hours later, it shrank from one zhang to five chi. Three hours later, it shrank from five chi to two chi. Four hours later, two chi shrank to one chi, and one chi shrank to zero.

The Rift was sealed.

It was an hour slower than yesterday. But Lu Mingyuan was not tired, his Dantian was not empty, his Meridians were not injured, his body was not weak. Because he was not in a hurry, did not use all his strength, did not force himself to hold on. He just mended slowly, mended steadily, mended gently. After mending, he was still standing, still clear-headed, and still had energy left.

"It is done," he said, his tone very calm, as if saying the weather was nice today.

Baize looked at him, looked at this person who had transformed from a warrior into a healer. Yesterday he was still a warrior, rushing up, mending with all his might, and collapsing after finishing. Today he was a healer, walking up, healing slowly, and able to walk away after finishing. A difference of one word, a world of difference.

---

Buzhou Mountain Ruins, dusk. Lu Mingyuan sat on the mountaintop, watching the sun set. The horizon was red, like fire, like blood, like the wings of a Phoenix. He watched that red, neither sad nor happy. If it was red, it was red; if it set, it set. Tomorrow it would rise again, and it would be red again. Red was not the end; it was the beginning. Setting was not death; it was rest.

"Baize."

"Hmm."

"I have figured out one thing."

"What thing?"

"The difference between a warrior and a healer."

"What difference?"

"A warrior wants to win; a healer wants to save. A warrior looks at the enemy; a healer looks at the patient. A warrior uses strength; a healer uses the heart. A warrior rushes up; a healer walks over. A warrior risks their life; a healer preserves life. When a warrior wins, the enemy dies. When a healer saves, the patient lives. A warrior's victory is the end; a healer's victory is the beginning."

Baize did not speak. It just crouched on Lu Mingyuan's shoulder, watching that red, listening to that wind, and feeling the change in that person.

"Also," Lu Mingyuan continued, "a warrior can only fight one battle; after fighting, they are tired, after being tired, they collapse, and after collapsing, they cannot get back up. A healer can treat many patients; after treating one, they still have the strength to treat the next. Treating bit by bit, eventually, they have treated many. Once there are many, the sickness is less. Once it is less, it is better."

"So you don't want to be a warrior anymore?"

"It is not that I don't want to. It is that I cannot be one anymore. Being a warrior can only save for a moment. Being a healer can save for a lifetime. Being a warrior can only save one person. Being a healer can save many people. Being a warrior can only resist. Being a healer can mend. Baize, you once said, 'Resistance is useless, mending is the Righteous Path.' I understand now. It is not understanding the principle, it is understanding how to do it. It is not knowing, it is becoming."

Baize turned its head, looking at him. There was light in its eyes; that light was relief, pride, and being moved. It had waited for over a hundred thousand years, waiting for someone to understand this principle. Today, it had finally waited for it.

"Are you ready?" Baize asked.

"Ready for what?"

"To Breakthrough to Quasi-Saint."

Lu Mingyuan was stunned for a moment. He felt his Dantian, felt his Meridians, felt his heart. His Dantian was still half-empty, his Meridians were still injured, his body was still weak. But his heart was full, full like the ocean, full like the sky, full like the Universe.

"I am ready," he said. "But my body—"

"The body is not important. What is important is the heart. When the heart arrives, the body will follow. When the heart has not arrived, it is useless even if the body arrives. Your heart has already arrived. Your body will be Reborn during the Breakthrough."

"How to Breakthrough?"

"There is no need for how. Sit here, sit on this Mount Buzhou peak, just sit. Open the heart, open the door, open the pivot. Let Wanxiang enter, let all laws enter, let all Daos enter. No need to fight, no need to grab, no need to seize. They will come on their own. Because your heart is the pivot; when the pivot does not move, all laws return on their own."

---

Buzhou Mountain Ruins, night. Lu Mingyuan sat on the mountaintop, closing his eyes. He did not circulate his Cultivation Technique, did not guide Spiritual Qi, did not Cultivate anything. He just sat, sat, and sat. Opening the heart, opening the door, opening the pivot.

The heart opened, and Wanxiang came. The Noble Spirit of Confucianism came, from Yuelu, from White Deer Grotto, from the heart of every scholar. That Qi was righteous, straight, and firm. That Qi said—I nurture you, nurture your heart, nurture your soul, nurture your life.

The Compassionate Heart of Buddhism came, from Shaolin, from Daxiangguo Temple, from the vows of every practitioner. That heart was sorrowful, compassionate, and merciful. That heart said—I deliver you, deliver you from your suffering, deliver you from your hardships, deliver you from your Tribulation.

The natural Dao of Taoism came, from Longhu Mountain, from Wudang Mountain, from Mount Qingcheng, from the stillness of every Daoist practitioner. That Dao was of non-action, natural, and pure. That Dao said—I accompany you, accompany you to watch the clouds, accompany you to listen to the wind, accompany you to walk the path.

The Sword Intent of Martial Artists came, from Huashan, from Junshan Mountain, from the fists of every Martial Artist. That Sword Intent was sharp, keen, and pointed. That Sword Intent said—I protect you, protect your body, protect your Dao, protect your person.

Wanxiang came, all laws came, all Daos came. They surged into his Dantian, surged into his Meridians, surged into his heart. Not fighting, not grabbing, not seizing. It was returning, it was coming back, it was coming home. Because his heart was the pivot; when the pivot does not move, all laws return on their own.

The Dantian began to fill. It was not filled up, it was naturally full. Like a lake, when it rains, the water is full. Like the ocean, when rivers come, the water is full. Like the sky, when clouds gather, the sky is full.

The Meridians began to repair. They were not healed, they were naturally better. Like a wound, when the time comes, it heals. Like a tree, when spring arrives, it sprouts. Like a flower, when the sunlight arrives, it blooms.

The body began to recover. It was not mended, it was naturally recovering. Like a person waking from sleep, opening their eyes and having strength. Like a hibernating bear, waking up and having spirit. Like grass in spring, breaking through the soil and having vitality.

His heart was beating, beating very steadily, very deeply, very powerfully. That heartbeat was not the heartbeat of Foundation Establishment, not the heartbeat of Golden Core, not the heartbeat of Nascent Soul, not the heartbeat of Soul Transformation, not the heartbeat of Body Integration, not the heartbeat of Earth Immortal, not the heartbeat of Heavenly Immortal, not the heartbeat of Golden Immortal, not the heartbeat of Taiyi, not the heartbeat of Daluo. It was the heartbeat of a Quasi-Saint.

Quasi-Saint, quasi-Saint. A half-step Saint, half a foot inside the door of a Saint. But he was not in a hurry, not in a hurry to enter the door, not in a hurry to become a Saint, not in a hurry to transcend. He just stood at the door, standing. If the door opened, he would enter. If the door did not open, he would wait. No rush.

Baize crouched on his shoulder, feeling the change in him. That change was not earth-shattering; it was moistening things silently. Like spring rain, coming quietly, falling quietly, moistening quietly. Moistening and moistening, the grass turned green, the flowers bloomed, the trees sprouted.

Above Mount Buzhou, the moon was very round, the stars very bright. That moonlight shone on Lu Mingyuan, that starlight shone on Lu Mingyuan, that light shone into his heart. In his heart, that little tree was still growing. One zhang three, one zhang four, one zhang five. Very slowly, as slowly as a snail crawling. But it was growing, growing in the darkness, growing in the resentment, growing in the despair. It was growing, so it would grow big. Once grown big, it could mend more. Once mended more, it could shine more. Once shined more, the dark night could…