182: Chapter 182 Quasi-Sainthood

Buzhou Mountain Ruins, late night.

The moon had reached its zenith, round like a silver plate, bright like a lamp. Its light spilled over Mount Buzhou, over the ruins, and over Lu Mingyuan. His body was glowing, not from the moonlight, but from within himself. The light was golden, faint, and soft, like the sunlight of early spring, like a mother's gaze, like a lover's smile.

Baize squatted on his shoulder, motionless. It felt the light, the warmth, and the life. The light wasn't coming from outside; it was coming from within. From his Dantian, from his Meridians, from his heart. The light was spreading, from his body to his surroundings, from his surroundings to the heavens and earth, and from the heavens and earth to the Universe.

Wanxiang True Qi was undergoing a qualitative change.

Previously, the Great Luo True Qi was liquid, like water, like wine, like oil. Now, the Quasi-Saint True Qi was transforming into a gaseous state—no, not gaseous, but a luminous state. It was light, pure light. Within that light were all phenomena: the Noble Spirit of Confucianism, the compassionate heart of Buddhism, the natural Dao of Taoism, and the Sword Intent of Martial Artists. They were no longer separate, no longer fighting, no longer competing. They merged, fused, and became one. Like pigments—red, yellow, blue, green, indigo, violet—mixed together to become white. It wasn't an absence of color, but the sum of all colors. It wasn't an absence of distinction, but the Fusion of all distinctions.

That light was called Wanxiang True Qi, Quasi-Saint-Grade Wanxiang True Qi.

Lu Mingyuan's Dantian was changing. Previously, the Great Luo Dantian was a sea, vast, deep, and wide. But a sea has boundaries, shores, and a bottom. Now, the Quasi-Saint Dantian was transforming into the Void Realm, without boundaries, without shores, without a bottom. It wasn't a sea; it was a Universe. Within that Universe were countless stars, each star a Law, a principle, a power. Those stars were shining, turning, and living.

His Meridians were changing. Previously, the Great Luo Meridians were rivers, like the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers, flowing ceaselessly. Now, the Quasi-Saint Meridians were transforming into bands of light; it wasn't water flowing, but light moving. That light was fast, as fast as lightning. Yet, that light was stable, as stable as an old ox. Speed and stability were not contradictory. Because that light wasn't being pushed; it was moving on its own. It knew where it was going, how to get there, and how fast to go. No need to urge, no need to rush, no need to hurry. It would move by itself.

His body was changing. Previously, the Great Luo Body was a body of flesh and blood; although a thousand times stronger than a Mortal, it was still flesh and blood, still susceptible to injury, pain, and death. Now, the Quasi-Saint Body was transforming into a body of light; it wasn't that the flesh and blood were gone, but that they were illuminated by light. That light shone into every inch of skin, every bone, every cell. When light entered, darkness retreated. When darkness retreated, illness vanished. When illness vanished, injuries healed. When injuries healed, the body became complete.

Not immortal, but hard to kill. Not invulnerable, but hard to injure. Not ageless, but hard to age. Quasi-Saint, half-step Saint. One foot inside the Saint's door, one foot still outside. Inside and outside the door, a single step away. But this step was farther than from a Mortal to a Great Luo. Because this step was not a Breakthrough in cultivation, but a leap in life. From Mortal to Saint, from human to god, from finite to infinite.

Lu Mingyuan was not in a hurry to take this step. He just stood at the doorway, waiting. If the door opened, he would enter. If it didn't, he would wait. No rush.

---

Baize looked at him, at this scholar who had walked out of Heyin City, at this Mortal who once couldn't even perceive Spiritual Qi, at this person who now stood at the threshold of becoming a Quasi-Saint. It remembered seeing him for the first time, in a dream. Back then, he was a child, thin, small, and timid. He asked it in the dream—"Who are you?" It said—"I am Baize." He asked again—"Are you looking for me?" It said—"Yes." He asked again—"Why?" It said—"Because you are the one that escaped."

Back then, it didn't know what the one that escaped was. It only knew that this child was very important, so important that the Heavenly Dao was paying attention to him, so important that all Saints were waiting for him, so important that the Seven Great Calamities revolved around him. Now it knew. the one that escaped was not the smartest person, not the strongest person, not the luckiest person. It was the most human person. Flawed, but knowing how to mend. Mistaken, but knowing how to correct. Afraid, but knowing how to face. Loving, but knowing how to give.

Lu Mingyuan was that person. The most human person.

"Baize." Lu Mingyuan opened his eyes.

"Hmm."

"I've had a Breakthrough."

"I know."

"But I feel no different from before."

"Of course there's no difference. You are still you, I am still I, heaven is still heaven, earth is still earth. A Breakthrough isn't about becoming someone else, it's about becoming a better version of yourself. You are still that scholar who walked out of Heyin City, still that person who won the debate against the Saints in Zixiao Palace, still that person who stood unyielding at the South Heaven Gate. It's just that now, your light is brighter, your heart is bigger, and your path is wider."

"Then can I mend more of The Rift?"

"Yes. But you can't rush."

"No rush. I'll mend it slowly. One Rift a day, three hundred and sixty-five Rifts a year. Mending it little by little, I'll mend a lot."

Baize smiled. Not laughing at his foolishness, but at his genuineness. Only a genuine person can mend the heavens. A false person cannot. Because the heavens are real, the earth is real, the heart is real. A false person, who cannot even mend their own heart, how can they mend the heavens?

---

Lu Mingyuan stood up, standing on this Mount Buzhou peak, in the moonlight, standing. His body was glowing, that light was golden, faint, and soft. That light shone on his face, on his hands, on his body. He didn't look like a Saint, but like an ordinary person. Because he was originally an ordinary person. An ordinary person who walked out of Heyin City, an ordinary person who cultivated on Zhongnan Mountain, an ordinary person who traveled among various sects, an ordinary person who fought before The Rift. It's just that this ordinary person became a Quasi-Saint.

He stretched out his hand, looking at his palm. There was light in his palm, that light was pulsating, like a heartbeat, like a pulse, like life. He placed his hand on his chest, feeling his own heartbeat. That heartbeat was strong, powerful, and steady. Thump, thump, thump. Like a drum, like a bell, like thunder. That heartbeat was not the heartbeat of one person, but the heartbeat of all things. Because his heart contained all things, contained the heavens and earth, contained all living beings. His heart was the pivot; if the pivot remained still, all Laws would return to it. When all Laws returned, his heart expanded. When his heart expanded, it could contain more. Containing more, he could mend more. Mending more, he could shine more. Shining more, the darkness could retreat.

"Baize."

"Hmm."

"I want to go to a place."

"Where?"

"Zhangjiaji."

"What will you do there?"

"To see Zhang Qingyuan, to see Qingyuan, to see those I saved. I want to see if they are living well."

"Alright. I'll go with you."

---

Five hundred li north of Mount Buzhou.

Zhangjiaji. It was still dark before dawn, the village was pitch black, with only a few households lit. The roosters hadn't crowed, the dogs hadn't woken, and people were still asleep. Lu Mingyuan stood at the village entrance, looking at this place where he had once fought. The hundred-li Rift was no longer there; he had mended it. But there were still traces where it was mended, like a scar after a wound healed. That scar was black, faint, like ink spilled on the ground. But that scar was fading, fading day by day, fading year by year. Fading and fading, until it was gone.

He walked into the village, to the front of Zhang Qingyuan's house. The door was closed, and there was no light inside. He stood at the door, listening to the sounds of breathing inside. Zhang Qingyuan's breathing was steady, deep, and peaceful. He was sleeping, sleeping very well. No nightmares, no fear, no worries. Because he knew that The Rift was sealed, the demons had retreated, and dawn had broken.

Lu Mingyuan did not knock. He just stood at the door, standing. After a while, he turned and left.

He then walked to the front of Qingyuan's house. The door was also closed, and there was no light inside. He listened to the sounds of breathing inside; Qingyuan's breathing was very light, soft, and sweet. He was dreaming, dreaming of what? Of his father? Of his mother? Of that wheat field? He didn't know. But no matter what he dreamed of, they were good dreams. Because he no longer had to be afraid, no longer had to run, no longer had to hide. The Rift was sealed, the demons had retreated, and dawn had broken.

Lu Mingyuan stood at the door, standing. After a while, he turned and left.

He walked back to the village entrance, standing under the old locust tree. He remembered the first time he came to Zhangjiaji; back then, he was just an Earth Immortal, knowing nothing, capable of nothing. He saw that hundred-li Rift and his legs went weak with fear. But he didn't run, didn't flee, didn't hide. He stood there, standing before The Rift, standing. At that time, he didn't know how to mend it, only knew he had to guard it. Guarding an inch was an inch. Guarding a foot was a foot. Guarding a zhang was a zhang. Guarding and guarding, he held it. Once held, he could mend it. Once mended, it was sealed.

Now he was a Quasi-Saint, but he was still that person. Still that scholar who walked out of Heyin City, still that person who stood unyielding before The Rift, still that person who wanted to mend the heavens. It's just that now, his light was brighter, his heart was bigger, and his path was wider. He could mend more Rifts, save more people, and dissolve more hatred.

But he wasn't in a hurry. Slowly. One Rift a day, three hundred and sixty-five Rifts a year. Thirty-six thousand five hundred Rifts in a hundred years. Three million six hundred and fifty thousand Rifts in ten thousand years. Mending and mending, he would mend a lot. When there were many, it would be bright. When it was bright, the darkness would retreat.

---

Zhangjiaji village entrance, dawn broke.

The sun rose from the east, red, round, and warm. Its light shone on the village, on the rooftops, and on the wheat fields. The wheat was ripe, golden yellow, like a golden sea. The wind blew, and the wheat waves rolled, rustling. That sound was beautiful, like a song, like a poem, like a dream.

Lu Mingyuan stood at the village entrance, looking at the wheat field, at the village, at the sun. He remembered what Xuanweizi had said—"Cultivation is walking. Walk the path beneath your feet well, and you will naturally know how to walk thereafter." He remembered what he himself had said—"Keep walking, until the day it is mended." He remembered what Emperor Antian had said—"Your love cannot mend my flaws." He remembered what Baize had said—"Even one, is mending."

He smiled. A light, faint, and genuine smile. It wasn't a bitter smile, nor a mocking smile, nor a fake smile. It was a happy smile, a relieved smile, a blissful smile. Because he knew what he should do, how he should do it, and which path he should take.

Mending the heavens. Mending day by day, Rift by Rift, bit by bit. Without haste, without agitation, without attachment. Mending slowly, steadily, gently. Mending and mending, the heavens would be mended. Once mended, the darkness would dissipate. Once dissipated, the Dharma Ending Age would retreat. Once retreated, the Three Realms would be at peace. Once at peace, all living beings would be joyful.

That was his path. That was Xuan-shu Path. That was Lu Mingyuan.

---

Above Mount Buzhou, the sun rose.

Its light shone on Mount Buzhou, on the ruins, and on Lu Mingyuan. His body was glowing, that light was golden, faint, and soft. That light was not from the sun; it was emitted by himself. The light of a Quasi-Saint, the light of a healer, the light of a heaven-mender.

In his heart, that small tree was still growing. Fifteen feet, sixteen feet, seventeen feet. Very slowly, as slow as a snail crawling. But it was growing, growing in the darkness, growing in resentment, growing in despair. As long as it was growing, it would eventually grow tall. Once tall, it could mend more. Mending more, it could shine more. Shining more, the darkness could retreat.

That tree was Xuan Shu. That tree was Wanxiang. That tree was a Quasi-Saint. That tree was Lu Mingyuan.

Baize squatted on his shoulder, looking at the sun, at the wheat field, at that person. There was light in its eyes, that light was contentment, pride, and emotion. It had waited for over a hundred thousand years, waiting for one person to reach this day. Today, it finally arrived.

"Let's go." Baize said.

"Where?"

"To mend the next Rift."

"Okay."

Lu Mingyuan turned, left Zhangjiaji, and walked towards the next Rift. Without haste, without agitation, without attachment. Walking slowly, steadily, gently. Taking one step at a time. Living one day at a time. Living one year at a time. Walking and walking, he would reach it. Once reached, he would mend it. Once mended, he would leave. Once left, he would look for the next one.

One Rift a day, three hundred and sixty-five Rifts a year. Thirty-six thousand five hundred Rifts in a hundred years. Three million six hundred and fifty thousand Rifts in ten thousand years.