48: Chapter 48 Smoke and Clouds over the Eastern Capital

Luoyang City, March 19th.

After Lu Mingyuan emerged from that small courtyard, he did not seek out an inn, visit any scenic spots, or even intentionally look for a quiet place. He simply walked, following his whims through one street and alleyway after another.

In the morning light, the breakfast stalls were just being set up, and the steaming vapor mixed with the scent of oil filled half the street. He bought two Hu flatbreads and ate as he walked; they were fresh from the oven, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, filling his mouth with the aroma of wheat.

It had been a long time since he had eaten like this.

For a person on the path of cultivation, one can practice Bigu after Foundation Establishment, nourishing the body and mind with Spiritual Qi. For over three years, he had grown accustomed to not consuming the food of the Mortal world; on the rare occasions he did eat, it was only for the sake of social courtesy, and he never cared for the flavor.

But at this moment, a simple Hu flatbread actually allowed him to taste the flavors of his childhood.

At the eastern street entrance of Heyin City, there had also been such a Hu flatbread stall. When he was seven years old, the old Martial Master in the village would occasionally buy one for him, breaking it into two halves—giving the larger half to him and keeping the smaller one for himself. The old Martial Master had poor teeth and chewed very slowly, yet his face was always full of satisfaction.

Lu Mingyuan chewed the Hu flatbread, thinking of that one-armed old man.

Twenty-three years had passed.

The old man had long since passed away, and that dilapidated ancestral hall had been torn down and rebuilt. But that Hu flatbread broken into two halves, and those words—"If you have something on your mind, perform a set of boxing"—remained.

They remained in his heart.

Walking through the East Market and across the West Street, he stopped at the foot of a bridge.

Below the bridge was the Luo River; the spring waters had just begun to rise, its green waves rippling. Several women knelt on the stone steps washing clothes, their wooden clubs rising and falling amidst bursts of laughter. On the bridge, there were vendors of candied haws, fortune tellers, and monkey trainers; children chased one another about, startling a flock of pigeons into the air.

Lu Mingyuan leaned against the bridge railing and watched for a long time.

The sunlight shone warmly upon him, and the wind carried the scent of green grass and earth. He thought of nothing, simply watching, listening, and feeling.

It had been over three years.

From Heyin to Zhongnan Mountain, from Longhu Mountain to Wudang Mountain, from Mount Qingcheng to Shaolin, from Bianliang to Luoyang. He had traveled across thousands of mountains and rivers, visited countless masters, and realized countless profound truths.

But at this moment, on this nameless stone bridge, watching these strangers who were but Mortals, he suddenly felt—

Those thousands of mountains and rivers, those profound and mysterious truths, all eventually had to return here.

Return to a Hu flatbread, a river of spring water, and the laughter of a group of washerwomen.

As the sun rose higher, he sat at the bridgehead for a full two hours.

Then he stood up and casually found an inn.

The inn was not large, tucked away in a quiet alley. The Proprietress was a woman in her fifties who greeted him warmly as he entered: "Where is the guest from? How many days will you stay?"

Lu Mingyuan thought for a moment.

"I do not know," he said. "Perhaps one day, perhaps three. I shall stay until I wish to leave."

The woman did not ask further, collected three days' worth of room fees, and led him upstairs.

The room was very small, with one bed, one table, and one window. Outside the window were the neighbor's roofs; dried radishes were laid out on the gray tiles, and a few sparrows hopped back and forth between the ridges.

Lu Mingyuan sat down on the bed.

He did not meditate, nor did he regulate his breathing, chant incantations, or recite the Buddha's name. He simply sat there, watching those sparrows outside the window and listening to the faint sounds of the market drifting from afar.

After an unknown amount of time, he lay down.

He slept in his clothes, his arms pillowed behind his head, gazing at that thin The Rift on the roof beam.

Then he fell asleep.

This sleep was incredibly deep and peaceful.

There were no dreams, no stray thoughts, no circulation of Spiritual Qi, and none of the "alertness" a practitioner should have. He simply fell into a heavy slumber, like a traveler who had walked for too long and could finally rest.

When he woke, it was already dusk.

The setting sun shone through the window, casting a golden patch of light on the wall. The sparrows had dispersed, the playful shouts of children came from the distance, and the scent of cooking smoke wafted from somewhere.

Lu Mingyuan sat up.

He did not immediately get out of bed, but simply sat there, feeling this moment.

His body was relaxed, and his heart was relaxed as well. That kind of relaxation was not an "intentional relaxation," but an "as it should be" relaxation. Like water, like clouds, like that setting sun gradually sinking in the west outside the window.

He suddenly thought of that night in the Shizhuang Courtyard at Shaolin.

That night he had also sat like this, not asking, not thinking, and not practicing, just sitting. At that time, he felt that was "cultivation," that he was "learning" a new state.

But at this moment he understood that it was not something learned.

It was something that was already there.

It was just that for over three years, he had been too busy—so busy that he forgot he already knew how to sit.

As the twilight deepened, he went downstairs and ordered a bowl of plain noodles.

The noodles were handmade by the Proprietress herself; the broth was clear and the noodles white, sprinkled with a few scallions. He ate slowly, listening to the woman chatter about today's vegetable prices, neighborhood gossip, and her son far away.

He listened, occasionally offering a response.

After finishing the noodles, he returned to his room.

The sky outside the window was pitch black, and the lights from near and far were lit one by one. He did not light a lamp, but simply sat in the darkness, watching those lights, watching the brightness from other people's homes.

Then he closed his eyes.

It was not entering meditative concentration; he simply closed his eyes.

An unknown amount of time passed.

Perhaps it was fifteen minutes, perhaps two hours, or perhaps an entire night.

He suddenly felt an unusual movement within his Dantian.

It was not uncomfortable or painful; it was an extremely light and gentle "movement"—like the first melting of spring water, like a seed breaking through the soil, like the first fetal movement of a child in its mother's womb.

He turned his vision inward.

Within the Dantian, that mass of Chaos aura had already existed for over three years. It had appeared when he first drew Qi into his body at Zhongnan Mountain; later, as his Dao and Martial paths fused and the Confucian, Daoist, and Martial systems intersected, it had remained there—warm and moist, like a mass of unformed mist.

But at this moment, that mass of mist changed.

It was rotating.

Extremely slow and light, like the first rotation of a nebula, like the first formation of Taiji. With every rotation, the mist became a bit more solid; with every bit of solidification, light would shine through from the center.

It was not a piercing light, but a warm and gentle light, like pearls and jade, like the moon and frost.

Lu Mingyuan did not move.

He simply watched and felt, allowing it to circulate naturally.

He did not urge his spiritual power, nor did he activate any Mind-Cultivation Technique, nor did he do anything pertaining to "cultivation." He simply sat there, just as he had that day in the Shizhuang Courtyard at Shaolin, as he had that night before the broken stele at White Horse Temple, as he had just been dazing at the bridgehead, and as he had just eaten that bowl of plain noodles.

He was just sitting.

And the Chaos within his Dantian began to rotate on its own.

The rotation became slower and slower, heavier and heavier.

At the center of the mist, a tiny point gradually condensed—smaller than a mustard seed, smaller than a speck of dust, almost invisible. Yet within that point, there was light.

That light grew brighter but not piercing; it became more condensed but not rigid.

It was growing.

From a mustard seed to the size of a pea, from the size of a pea to the size of a date, from the size of a date to the size of a pigeon's egg.

When it grew to the size of a pigeon's egg, Lu Mingyuan finally saw it clearly—

It was a Core.

It was not golden, but Chaos-colored—with yellow within the blue, white within the yellow, black within the white, and blue within the black. Five colors flowed together, perfectly integrated, like the state of the world before it was first opened.

The Core was formed.

At the very moment the Golden Core took shape, Lu Mingyuan suddenly "saw" many things.

It was not seen with his eyes, but with his heart.

He saw that dilapidated ancient temple on Zhongnan Mountain, he saw that morning when Xuanweizi taught him the Classic of Purity and Tranquility, and he saw the joy when he first drew Qi into his body.

He saw those thirty-six thousand volumes of talisman scriptures on Longhu Mountain, he saw the first spiritual talisman he drew, and he saw the nodding, approving gaze of Immortal Master Yushu.

He saw that demon suppression map on Wudang Mountain, he saw the moment he realized the Sword of Protection, and he saw Jiang Yichen's words as he sheathed his sword: "Your sword should not be broken here."

He saw those three thousand seven hundred volumes of sword manuals on Mount Qingcheng, he saw that nine-hundred-year-old sword mark left by Daoist Songyun, and he saw Perfected Master Changkong's words as he handed over the qingni sword: "Do not fail it."

He saw those three days of snow outside the gates of Shaolin, he saw that character for "Emptiness" in the Shizhuang Courtyard, he saw Hui Ke's fist and broom used consistently for seventy-two years, and he saw Zen Master Huijue saying under the moon, "The snow is just falling."

He saw the sound of hundreds of people chanting the Buddha's name in the Pure Land Hall, he saw Huiyuan's words as he handed over the prayer beads: "resting is...", he saw that half-broken stele at White Horse Temple, and he saw the Sweeping Old Monk saying, "I heard it."

He saw that small courtyard in Luoyang City, he saw those four items—the cool tea, the broken mirror, the paper flower, and the muddy water—and he saw Zen Master Huijue's final words: "After the snow falls, there is the snow melting."

Over three years of travel, over three years of people, over three years of enlightenment—at this moment, they flowed through his heart.

It was not memory; it was "seeing."

Those people and events, those scriptures and methods, those realizations and breakthroughs—at this moment, they all became a part of him. They were not learned, nor were they cultivated; they were the natural growth of every step he had taken.

Just like this Core in his Dantian, it was not refined; it was formed on its own as he walked the path of these past three years.

Lu Mingyuan opened his eyes.

It was already broad daylight outside the window.

The sunlight shone in, falling upon him, upon his knees, and upon the prayer beads he had unknowingly gripped tightly in his hand. The Agarwood was as warm and smooth as jade, and the two characters "resting is..." lay quietly in the light.

He looked down at those two characters.

resting is...

These three months, from Shaolin to the Pure Land, from the Pure Land to White Horse Temple, and from White Horse Temple to Luoyang City, he had been "resting." But it was only at this moment that he understood—

Resting is not stopping your walk.

It is not being in a hurry to arrive while you are walking.

It is just eating noodles while you are eating noodles.

It is just sitting while you are sitting.

It is just watching the Core form when it is forming.

That is all.

He stood up and walked to the window.

He pushed open the window, and the spring wind rushed against his face, carrying the scent of earth, the smell of green grass, and the clamor of the distant marketplace. On those gray tiles outside the window, the dried radishes were still drying, and the sparrows were still hopping, exactly the same as yesterday.

But he knew that something was different.

It was not his cultivation base.

It was his way of "seeing."

Yesterday, when he looked at these tiles, these sparrows, and these dried radishes, it was "I am looking at them." Now when he looked, it was "They are there, and I am here."

Seeing is just seeing; being is just being.

It was just so.

He turned and packed his simple luggage.

When he went downstairs, the Proprietress was doing her accounts. Seeing him come down, she smiled and said, "Is the guest leaving already? You only stayed for one night."

Lu Mingyuan nodded.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"I did," he said. "It was the best night's sleep I've had in years."

The woman smiled again: "That must be because you were exhausted, sir. Sleep when you're tired, and leave when you've had your fill of sleep—living a life, isn't that just how it is?"

Lu Mingyuan looked at her and suddenly smiled as well.

"Yes," he said. "That is exactly how it is."

He paid his room fee and walked out the door.

When he reached the mouth of the alley, he glanced back at that unremarkable little inn. The sunlight shone on the door panels, on that scholar tree that had just sprouted new buds by the entrance, and on the woman who was currently sweeping.

Then he turned and headed east.

The next stop, Yuelu Mountain.

The Three Academies of Confucianism.

The Luo River flowed quietly in the morning light.

He walked across the bridge from yesterday; below the bridge, women were still washing clothes, children were still chasing one another, and the candied haw vendor was still shouting. Everything was as it was.

But he knew that everything was already new.

Because he was no longer the person who stood at the bridgehead watching the scenery yesterday.

He was a Cultivator who had just formed his Golden Core.

He was a Seeker of the Dao who had traveled through three mountains and three temples.

He was a person who had broken through three layers of attachments and finally even let go of the act of "Breaking attachments."

He was a person who finally understood that "after the snow falls, there is the snow melting."

He walked, neither fast nor slow.

The qingni sword at his waist swayed gently, and the seventeen sword marks on his bamboo staff were as clear in the morning light as they were yesterday. The songyun jade pendant pressed against his chest, as warm as ever. The prayer beads gifted by Huiyuan were wrapped around his wrist, and the two characters "resting is..." occasionally brushed against his skin, itching slightly.

They were all old.

They were also all new.

Because the person seeing them was new.

As he walked out of the city gate, he suddenly stopped.

Looking back, Luoyang City lay quietly in the morning light, its city walls mottled, the shadows of its pagodas towering, cooking smoke curling upwards, and the sounds of people faint. The thousand-year-old imperial capital had seen so many people come and go, witnessed birth, age, illness, and death, and seen both prosperity and decline.

And he was but one of them.

A scholar who had walked for over three years and finally reached the Golden Core Stage.

A Seeker of the Dao who still had to keep walking, not knowing how much longer he would have to go.

He looked at that city and said softly:

"Thank you."

Then he turned and walked into the mists of the east.

Behind him, Luoyang City gradually receded.

Before him, Yuelu Mountain was still very far away.

But he was in no hurry.

Because he finally understood—

The road is meant for walking.

It is not meant for rushing.