55: Chapter 55 Infant Movement

The night was deep.

On the hillside, Lu Mingyuan sat motionless for a full three hours.

In his Dantian, the shattered Golden Core had completely vanished, replaced by a purple mist. At the center of the mist, a tiny infant, about the size of a thumb, was curled up. Its limbs and facial features were faintly discernible but still indistinct, Li Ke an uncarved jade being sculpted.

A Nascent Soul.

The Nascent Soul he had waited for over three years.

But it hadn't opened its eyes yet.

Lu Mingyuan didn't activate any Cultivation Technique or Mind-Cultivation Technique; he simply watched quietly, Li Ke a father waiting outside a delivery room for that destined moment.

The night wind gently blew, and the wildflowers on the hillside swayed in the moonlight, casting mottled shadows. In the distance, the old man's lamp in the academy had been extinguished, and the entire mountain fell into silence.

He suddenly remembered something.

That day in the Shaolin Shizhuang Courtyard, Zen Master Huijue said, "resting is Bodhi." He thought "resting" meant doing nothing.

Later, in the Pure Land Hall, Huiyuan said, "resting is..." He thought "resting" meant gathering all thoughts into one.

Later, in that small courtyard in Luoyang City, Zen Master Huijue said again, "After the snow falls, there is still snowmelt." He vaguely felt that there was something after "resting."

At this moment, he finally understood—

Resting is for movement.

Just Li Ke this mountain, resting for a night is to greet the sunrise at dawn; just Li Ke these flowers, resting for a winter is to bloom in spring; just Li Ke this Nascent Soul, resting in the Dantian for so long, is for that moment—

To move.

In the Dantian, the curled-up infant suddenly moved slightly.

It was extremely subtle, Li Ke the first fetal movement in a mother's womb. But with this single movement, Lu Mingyuan's entire body trembled.

It wasn't discomfort; it was an indescribable—what?

He thought for a long time before finding a word that barely came close:

"Awakening."

Yes, awakening.

It was as if he had a very long dream, in which he traveled through thousands of mountains and rivers, met countless masters, and comprehended countless profound principles. Now, the dream had ended, and he found himself still sitting here, in an ancient temple on Zhongnan Mountain, in front of Xuanweizi.

No, that's not right.

It wasn't Zhongnan Mountain.

It was Xiangshan Mountain.

He opened his eyes and looked around.

The moonlight was Li Ke water, the hillside Li Ke a painting, and the wildflowers were as they were yesterday. He was still sitting on this hillside, still this night, still this breeze.

But everything was different.

Because the dreamer had awakened.

In the Dantian, the infant moved again.

This time, it was more obvious than before. The tiny body stretched slightly, and the curled limbs opened a little, as if someone who had just woken up was stretching.

Lu Mingyuan's mind was completely immersed in his Dantian, observing every movement of the infant.

The purple mist flowed slowly, enveloping the infant Li Ke amniotic fluid. With each flow, a wisp of purple Qi permeated the infant's body; with each permeation, the infant solidified a bit more.

He suddenly realized that the purple Qi didn't come out of nowhere.

It was every step he had taken over the past three years—

The Talisman Intent of Longhu Mountain, the Sword Intent of Wudang Mountain, the Heart Intent of Mount Qingcheng, the Zen Intent of Shaolin, the Buddha Intent of Pure Land, the Dharma Intent of White Horse Temple, the Principle Intent of Yuelu, the Sincerity Intent of White Deer, the Debate Intent of Ehu Lake, and the Heart Intent of Xiangshan Mountain.

All of this transformed into this purple mist, nourishing the infant in his Dantian.

That was no ordinary Nascent Soul.

It was the crystallization of his more than three years of cultivation, the "new self" he had condensed after traveling through thousands of mountains and rivers.

He looked at the infant, and a strange feeling welled up in his heart.

It was familiarity, anticipation, apprehension, and joy.

Li Ke a father looking at his child.

But that child was also himself.

---

The infant moved for the third time.

This time, it opened its eyes.

Not completely open, just a tiny slit. But from that slit, a faint light emerged. The light was not gold, nor purple; it was an indescribable color—ephemeral, seemingly empty yet not empty, Li Ke the faint bluish-white line on the horizon at dawn.

The light rose from the Dantian, slowly ascending along the Meridians, passing through the Zhongwan, Shanzhong, throat, and Yintang acupoints, finally emerging from the Baihui acupoint at the top of his head.

Lu Mingyuan's whole body trembled.

At that moment, he saw—

He saw the dilapidated ancient temple on Zhongnan Mountain, the morning Xuanweizi imparted the Classic of Purity and Tranquility, and the joy of his first Drawing Qi into the Body.

He saw the thirty-six thousand Talisman scriptures on Longhu Mountain, the first spiritual talisman he drew, and Immortal Master Yu Shu's approving nod.

He saw the demon suppression map on Wudang Mountain, the moment he comprehended the Sword of Protection, and Jiang Yichen's words, "Your sword shouldn't break here," as he sheathed his sword.

He saw the three thousand seven hundred sword manuals on Mount Qingcheng, Daoist Songyun's sword mark from nine hundred years ago, and Perfected Master Changkong's words, "Don't fail it," as he handed over the qingni sword.

He saw the three days of snow outside the Shaolin mountain gate, the character "empty" in the Shizhuang Courtyard, Hui Ke's seventy-two years of unchanging fist and broom, and Zen Master Huijue saying, "Snow merely falls," under the moonlight.

He saw the chanting of hundreds of people in the Pure Land Hall, Huiyuan's words "resting is..." as he handed over the prayer beads, the half-broken stele at White Horse Temple, and the old sweeping monk saying, "I heard it."

He saw the small courtyard in Luoyang City, the four items—cool tea, a broken mirror, paper flowers, and murky water—and Zen Master Huijue's final words, "After the snow falls, there is still snowmelt."

He saw the cluster of bamboos on Yuelu Mountain, how he had studied for four days without gaining anything, yet realized he was no longer the same person as on the first day.

He saw the essay "Revelation" at White Deer Grotto, the lines "Rectify its righteousness without seeking its profit, illuminate its Dao without counting its merits," and the warmth that surged in his heart.

He saw the giant rock at Ehu Lake, his debate with the three Chen brothers on mind and matter, and how the azaleas in the afternoon sun "suddenly became clear in color."

He saw this academy on Xiangshan Mountain, this old man who had guarded it his whole life, and the self-blooming and self-falling flowers on the hillside outside the window.

All of this, at this moment—flowed through his heart.

It wasn't a memory.

It was "seeing."

Li Ke standing atop a high mountain, overlooking the path he had traveled. Every bend, every obstacle, every piece of scenery, was crystal clear and distinct.

The light continued to rise, pouring out from the Baihui acupoint and condensing into a faint lotus flower three feet above his head.

The lotus slowly rotated, and with each rotation, countless specks of light scattered, Li Ke flowers falling from the sky, Li Ke spring rain fluttering.

Those specks of light fell on the hillside, making the wildflowers more vibrant; they fell on the trees, making the branches and leaves greener; they fell into the stream, making the water clearer; they fell on the roof of the distant academy, as if the sleeping thatched hut was draped in a faint, light veil.

Lu Mingyuan didn't open his eyes, yet he "saw" all of this.

Not with his eyes.

But with his heart.

At that moment, he suddenly understood what "all things are complete within me" meant.

It wasn't that all things were in his heart.

It was that all things and he were originally one.

Just Li Ke this hillside, these wildflowers, this moonlight, this night wind. They weren't things outside of "me." They were extensions of "me."

And he, too, was an extension of them.

In the Dantian, the infant moved again.

This time, it opened its eyes completely.

Those eyes were extremely clear and bright, Li Ke two pools of autumn water, Li Ke two morning stars. It looked at Lu Mingyuan, and Lu Mingyuan looked back at it.

He looked at the tiny infant, and the infant looked at him.

Identical brows and eyes, identical expression, identical aura.

That was no one else.

That was himself.

It was the "new self" he had cultivated bit by bit over three years.

It was the "true self" he had walked out, inch by inch, after traveling through thousands of mountains and rivers.

It was the "original self" that naturally manifested after he let go of all attachments.

He looked at the infant and suddenly felt Li Ke crying.

Not out of sadness, but an indescribable emotion—moved by the enlightenment from so many people, the fulfillment from so many events, and the convergence of so many Opportunities along this journey.

Xuanweizi, Immortal Master Yu Shu, the Pavilion Keeper, Jiang Yichen, Perfected Master Changkong, Jingchen, Hui Ke, Zen Master Huijue, Huiyuan, Li Ke, Huang Gan, that old man guarding the ancestral hall, this old man from Xiangshan Academy, the three Chen Jiuchuan brothers...

And those nameless ones—the Pavilion Keeper of Longhu Mountain, the Daoist guide of Wudang Mountain, the old sweeping Daoist of Mount Qingcheng, the gate monk of Shaolin, the old sweeping monk of White Horse Temple, the fellow students of Yuelu Mountain, the stele guardian of White Deer Grotto...

And those who were not human—the Talisman scriptures of Longhu Mountain, the demon suppression map of Wudang Mountain, the sword marks of Mount Qingcheng, the stone steles of Shaolin, the prayer beads of Pure Land, the broken stele of White Horse Temple, the bamboos of Yuelu Mountain, the osmanthus trees of White Deer Grotto, the giant rock of Ehu Lake, the wildflowers of Xiangshan Mountain...

Everyone, everything, all objects, had become him.

All transformed into this tiny infant in his Dantian.

He looked at the infant, and the infant looked back at him.

Suddenly, the infant smiled.

An extremely faint smile, just a slight upturn of the corners of its mouth and a subtle relaxation of its brows and eyes. But with this smile, Lu Mingyuan's entire heart warmed.

He also smiled.

On the hillside, under the moonlight, a person sat, smiling at the tiny self within his Dantian, both looking at each other.

After an unknown amount of time, the infant slowly closed its eyes.

Not falling asleep, but at peace.

It curled up there, Li Ke a fetus in a mother's womb, quietly awaiting the moment of birth. The purple mist still flowed slowly, enveloping it, nourishing it, Li Ke a gentle ocean.

Lu Mingyuan withdrew from his inner vision.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the night sky.

The moon had already begun to set, and a faint bluish-white appeared on the horizon. The darkest hour had passed; dawn was approaching.

He sat there, motionless.

Not in meditation, not comprehending the Dao, not any kind of cultivation.

Just sitting.

Feeling that tiny life in his Dantian, feeling its every subtle heartbeat, feeling the indescribable connection between it and himself.

He suddenly remembered something Xuanweizi had said:

"At the end of cultivation, you will find that you are not cultivating anything; you are merely returning to your original self."

He hadn't understood then.

Now he understood.

He was originally that infant. That infant was originally himself. More than three years of cultivation had merely wiped away the dust covering him, allowing his original appearance to gradually manifest.

Just Li Ke that day in Xiangshan Academy, the old man pointed to the flowers on the hillside and said, "If you remove the obstruction, the flowers will naturally be clear."

The heart is also Li Ke this.

Remove the obstruction, and the heart will naturally be clear.

When the heart is clear, one sees the original self.

The eastern sky gradually brightened.

First bluish-white, then fish-belly white, followed by a faint line of golden-red. The golden-red grew richer and more vibrant, until finally, a red sun leaped out from behind the mountain.

Ten thousand rays of golden light instantly covered the entire hillside.

The wildflowers became more vibrant in the morning light, the dewdrops on the grass leaves sparkled, and the outlines of the distant mountains became clear, Li Ke a freshly painted ink wash.

Lu Mingyuan slowly rose.

He had sat all night, yet his legs felt no numbness. His body felt light, as if he could float away on the wind at any moment.

He knew that this was a sign that the Nascent Soul was about to form.

It wasn't truly the Nascent Soul Stage yet—it still lacked the final step, where the Nascent Soul would break out of the Golden Core and exist independently within the Dantian. But that moment was not far off.

Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in the very next moment.

He was not in a hurry.

When it was time, it would naturally come.

He turned and walked towards the academy.

The old man was already up, sweeping in front of the house. The tip of the broom brushed the ground with a steady rustling sound, identical to Jingchen's at the Shaolin Shizhuang Courtyard.

Lu Mingyuan walked up to him and bowed deeply.

The old man stopped sweeping and looked at him.

"Is it done?"

"Still one step away."

The old man nodded, not asking further, merely saying:

"Then wait."

Lu Mingyuan straightened up, looking at this old man who had guarded Xiangshan Mountain his entire life.

"Master, this Disciple has a question."

"Speak."

"While guarding this academy, have you ever seen Master Xiangshan?"

The old man was silent for a moment.

"I have."

Lu Mingyuan's heart trembled.

"Where?"

The old man pointed to his own chest.

"Here."

He paused.

"Young man, do you think Master Xiangshan is that dead man from eight hundred years ago? No. Master Xiangshan is here, in the heart of everyone who truly understands him. The phrase 'Mind is Principle' that you comprehended yesterday was spoken to you personally by Master Xiangshan."

Lu Mingyuan stood stunned.

"Master means..."

The old man smiled.

"I have guarded this place for forty-three years and seen countless people come. Some come to burn incense, some to kowtow, some to seek relics, some to pursue knowledge. But there is only one kind of person who has truly seen Master Xiangshan—those who live out the principles he spoke."

He looked at Lu Mingyuan.

"You sat on the mountain all night last night, and your Nascent Soul is about to form. That is not just your affair. Master Xiangshan was also there, sitting with you all night."

Lu Mingyuan's eyes felt a little warm.

He turned and looked towards the small tomb behind the academy.

That was Master Xiangshan's tomb.

Eight hundred years ago, the old man who said, "The Universe is my mind, and my mind is the Universe," rested there forever.

But he was not only there.

He was here, in the old man's heart, in his own heart, in the heart of everyone who truly understood him.

This was the Legacy of the Confucian school.

Not a mantle, not a Dharma scroll, not any tangible thing.

It was a transmission of the heart.

As the sun rose higher, Lu Mingyuan bid farewell to the old man.

The old man saw him off to the mountain gate, and at parting, took a scroll from his sleeve and handed it over.

"This is a handwritten copy of Master Xiangshan's sayings, which I have copied my whole life. Take it with you and read it on your journey."

Lu Mingyuan took it with both hands and solemnly put it into his bosom.

The old man looked at him and suddenly asked:

"Young man, do you know the last words Master Xiangshan spoke before his death?"

Lu Mingyuan shook his head.

The old man said, "A Disciple asked the Master if he had anything else to say. The Master said: 'Matters within the Universe are my proper duties; my proper duties are matters within the Universe.'"

He looked at Lu Mingyuan.

"Do you understand these words?"

Lu Mingyuan thought for a moment.

"Matters within the Universe are my proper duties; my proper duties are matters within the Universe."

The old man nodded.

"If you understand, then go and act upon it."

Lu Mingyuan bowed deeply.

"This Disciple obeys."

He turned and slowly descended the mountain along the path he had come.

Behind him, the old man still stood at the entrance of the academy, watching his retreating figure. The sunlight fell on his faded blue robe, on his wrinkled face, and on his eyes that had guarded for forty-three years and seen countless comings and goings.

He didn't wave or call out.

He just stood there, Li Ke a stone statue, guarding this mountain, guarding this academy, guarding the wisdom of that old man from eight hundred years ago.

Lu Mingyuan reached the foot of the mountain and looked back.

The old man was still there, a small figure, standing at the entrance of the academy, standing in the morning light, standing in the quiet solitude of this mountain.

He suddenly remembered Mingzhan, the one who guarded the cave for forty-three years at Shaolin in Chapter 43.

One guarded a cave, the other guarded an academy.

One waited for the smoke and fires of the world to rise again, the other waited for people to understand Xiangshan.

Both were guarding.

Both were guarding a "wait."

He retracted his gaze and turned east.

The next stop might be Yangming Cave, or back to Yuelu, or to a place he hadn't even thought of.

He didn't know.

But he knew that no matter where he went, the tiny infant in his Dantian would accompany him.

That was the testament of his journey through thousands of mountains and rivers for over three years.

That was his companion for countless years to come.

He walked, neither fast nor slow.

The mountain path stretched beneath his feet, wildflowers bloomed by the roadside, and birds chirped in the branches. The warm sunlight shone on him, and the wind blew, bringing the scent of green grass and earth.

He suddenly remembered Zen Master Huijue's last words that day in the small courtyard in Luoyang:

"After the snow falls, there is still snowmelt."

Now he understood.

Snow falling is cultivation; snow melting is transformation and birth.

He had cultivated for over three years, and now the snow was almost melted, and new sprouts would emerge.

Those new sprouts were this tiny infant in his Dantian.

He looked ahead and smiled softly.

Then continued walking.