56: Chapter 56 The First Cry of the Nascent Soul

After bidding farewell to the Xiangshan Mountain retreat, Lu Mingyuan journeyed eastward.

He had no fixed destination, simply walking. Sometimes he followed the main roads, sometimes he took small paths. At times, he lingered in the mountains for several days; other times, he sat alone by a riverbank from dawn till dusk.

Within his Dantian, the infant remained curled up, eyes closed, occasionally stirring slightly. With each movement, a wave of warmth flowed throughout his entire body, like the first thaw of spring water or the first touch of morning light.

He walked for seven days.

On the evening of the seventh day, he arrived before a mountain.

The mountain was not tall, but exceptionally serene and secluded. A stream flowed from within the mountain, babbling softly, its water so clear one could see the bottom. By the stream stood a stone tablet, inscribed with two characters:

"White Deer."

He paused slightly.

White Deer Grotto.

When he left this place, he was still at the Early Stage of the Golden Core. Now, after a circuitous journey—visiting Ehu Lake, Xiangshan Mountain—he had returned here.

But he knew this was not merely a detour.

It was a necessary path.

Just like that day on the Xiangshan Mountain slope, when he gazed at that infant and suddenly understood—some paths must be walked before one can truly return.

Returning, that was the true return.

He followed the stream upstream.

Dusk deepened, the mountain forest grew quieter. The occasional chirp of a bird only accentuated the profound silence. After walking for the time it takes an incense stick to burn, his view suddenly opened up—

A flat clearing, a few thatched huts. Before the huts, that ancient osmanthus tree still stood, its branches laden with blossoms, their fragrance enveloping him.

It was the osmanthus tree planted by Master Zhu's own hand.

It was the eighth month, and the osmanthus was in full bloom.

He stood beneath the osmanthus tree for a long time.

The moon began to rise. The fragrance of osmanthus grew even stronger in the night air. He took a deep breath; the scent penetrated deep into his being, as if to soak his entire person.

Then he turned and walked towards the back mountain.

There was a secluded hollow in the back mountain, which he had discovered by chance during his last visit. There lay a large, flat bluish stone, its surface smooth, just spacious enough for one person to sit cross-legged. Dense bamboo groves surrounded the hollow, forming a natural meditation chamber.

He sat down upon the bluish stone.

Moonlight filtered through the bamboo leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The faint, intermittent sound of the stream drifted from afar.

He closed his eyes.

Within his Dantian, the infant remained curled, motionless. A purple mist flowed slowly, like a gentle sea, enveloping and nourishing it.

He watched quietly.

No urging, no expectation, just watching.

Just like watching the snow fall that day at Shaolin's Shizhuang Courtyard.

Just like watching the bamboo that day on Yuelu Mountain.

Just like watching the flowers bloom that day on the Xiangshan Mountain slope.

Just watching.

He did not know how much time had passed.

Perhaps a quarter-hour, perhaps an hour, perhaps an entire night.

Suddenly, he felt a warmth within his Dantian.

The warmth emanated from the infant, growing warmer, more intense. The purple mist began to swirl rapidly, like a vortex, drawing all the purple Qi towards the infant.

The infant slowly opened its eyes.

Those eyes were clearer, brighter than they had been at Xiangshan Mountain. It looked at Lu Mingyuan, and Lu Mingyuan looked back. The moment their gazes met, he suddenly understood—

It was waiting.

Waiting for a moment.

Waiting for him to be ready himself.

And now, that moment had arrived.

The infant stirred.

It slowly stretched its limbs, slowly straightened its body, slowly stood up from within that mass of purple Qi. The purple Qi coiled around it like a thin gauze robe draped over its tiny form.

Then it took a step.

From the center of the Dantian, it walked outward.

Lu Mingyuan shuddered all over.

It wasn't pain, but an indescribable sensation—as if something was emerging, bit by bit, from the deepest part of his being.

The infant walked very slowly.

With each step, a purple light shot from its body, illuminating the entire Dantian. With each step, the coiling purple Qi thinned slightly, revealing its increasingly distinct outline.

Head, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, abdomen, waist, legs, feet.

Step by step, it emerged.

Reaching the edge of the Dantian, it stopped.

There was an extremely thin membrane there, like an eggshell encasing the entire Dantian. Through that membrane, one could see the world outside—the Meridians, organs, bones, flesh and blood.

A place it had never been before.

It turned its head and glanced at Lu Mingyuan.

In that glance, there was inquiry, anticipation, trust.

Lu Mingyuan said softly in his heart:

"Go."

The infant nodded.

Then it reached out a hand and gave a gentle push.

The membrane broke.

At the moment the membrane broke, Lu Mingyuan heard a cry.

Not the cry of an infant, but a sound more primal, more pure. Like the first thunderclap at the dawn of heaven and earth, like the first sigh when Pangu fell, like the first cry at the birth of all things.

The sound rose from the Dantian, ascended along the Meridians, passed through the central cavity, the chest center, the throat, and rushed forth from his mouth—

"Ah—"

A long cry that shook the bamboo grove, making the leaves rustle; that made the moonlight seem to tremble; that made the entire mountain feel as if it quivered slightly.

It was not a shout, not a roar, but an irrepressible sound surging from the very depths of life.

Three years of arduous travel, three years of cultivation, three years of waiting, three years of letting go, three years of taking up, three years of losing, three years of gaining—

All of it was in that one sound.

All of it poured forth in that one sound.

---

The long cry gradually subsided, its echoes reverberating through the mountain valley, lingering for a long time.

Lu Mingyuan slowly opened his eyes.

The moonlight remained, the bamboo grove remained, the stream remained. Everything was as before.

But he knew nothing was the same.

He lowered his head and looked towards his own Dantian.

There, a small infant sat cross-legged, seated within the Void Realm at the very center of the Dantian. Its eyes were closed, its expression serene, like an old monk in deep meditation. Its body was transparent, like jade or crystal, with a faint purple light flowing within.

Nascent Soul.

A true Nascent Soul.

Not the curled-up fetus from before, but an independent, complete, living being.

That was him.

That was another him.

That him could leave the body, could go anywhere, could see things the eyes could not see, could do things the body could not do.

Yet it was also him.

He and that infant were one, not two.

He looked at the infant. The infant seemed to sense his gaze and slowly opened its eyes.

Their eyes met.

The infant smiled.

That smile was extremely faint, merely a slight upturn of the lips, a gentle relaxation of the brows. Yet, with just that smile, Lu Mingyuan's entire heart melted.

He smiled too.

In the bamboo grove, under the moonlight, a man sat cross-legged, smiling at the tiny version of himself within his Dantian.

He did not know how long they smiled. Suddenly, he remembered something.

That day on Mount Qingcheng, Immortal Master Changkong had said: "The Nascent Soul is the sign of Major Achievement in Heart-Nature."

He had not understood then.

Now he understood.

The Nascent Soul is not cultivated.

It is walked out.

It is the form that naturally manifests after a person with Major Achievement in Heart-Nature has traversed countless mountains and rivers.

Just like the stream in these mountains, flowing and flowing, naturally converging into rivers.

Just like the blossoms on this osmanthus tree, blooming and blooming, naturally filling the valley with fragrance.

Just like the moonlight in this bamboo grove, shining and shining, naturally scattering its pure radiance.

The Nascent Soul is that "naturalness."

He stood up and walked to the edge of the bamboo grove, gazing at the distant mountain shadows.

Under the moonlight, the mountains stretched like dark ink strokes, layer upon layer, all the way to the horizon. At the horizon hung an extremely bright star—whether it was the morning star or something else—hanging there quietly.

Looking at that star, he suddenly thought of someone.

Xuanweizi.

What was his Master doing at Zhongnan Mountain now? Was he meditating in the ancient temple, or walking alone under the moon? Did he know that his disciple had just formed his Nascent Soul?

Thinking this, he suddenly smiled.

What did it matter whether his Master knew or not?

What did it matter whether he achieved the Nascent Soul or not?

What was important was that he had walked the path.

What was important was that he was still walking.

He turned, went back, and sat down again on the bluish stone.

Within his Dantian, the infant still sat cross-legged, expression serene. Its eyes were closed, as if sleeping, or as if in deep meditation. He knew that from now on, no matter where he went, this infant would accompany him.

He was no longer alone.

He was also no longer the person he once was.

Yet he was still the person he once was—that scholar who studied diligently by a cold window in Heyin; that youth who met Xuanweizi in the ancient temple; that seeker of the Dao who traveled down the mountain; that Cultivator who drew talismans on Longhu Mountain; that swordsman who comprehended the sword on Wudang Mountain; that junior who took up the nine-hundred-year-old unanswered question on Mount Qingcheng; that person who stood for three days in the snow at Shaolin; that lay practitioner who chanted Buddha's name in the Pure Land Hall; that visitor who listened to brahma sounds at White Horse Temple; that fool who drank cold tea, gazed at a broken mirror, plucked paper flowers, and observed muddy water in Luoyang; that scholar who studied bamboo on Yuelu Mountain; that wanderer who read "The Revealed" at White Deer Grotto; that debater who discussed mind and matter at Ehu Lake; that seeker of the Dao who realized that mind is principle on Xiangshan Mountain.

All these people were him.

All these people, on this one night, had condensed into this tiny infant.

He looked at the infant. The infant seemed to sense his gaze and opened its eyes again.

This time, the infant did not smile.

It simply looked at him quietly, its gaze clear as water.

Looking into that gaze, he suddenly remembered a sentence.

The last sentence Zen Master Huijue had spoken in that small courtyard in Luoyang:

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

Now he understood.

The snow falling is cultivation; the snow melting is the Nascent Soul.

When snow falls, heaven and earth are a blanket of white—that is the pure aspect of cultivation.

When snow melts, the whiteness disappears, revealing the original earth, plants, trees, mountains, and stones. That is the real world, the real self.

The Nascent Soul is that real self.

It is not cultivated; it is inherently present.

It was merely covered by snow.

The snow melted, and it emerged.

The east gradually brightened.

The first ray of morning light shot from behind the mountains, shining upon the bamboo grove, upon the bluish stone, upon him.

He stood up and took one last look at this mountain hollow, this bamboo grove, this bluish stone.

Then he turned and walked down the mountain.

Within his Dantian, the infant still sat cross-legged, eyes closed, expression serene.

He walked, neither hurriedly nor slowly.

The mountain path stretched beneath his feet, the morning light spread out ahead, birds chirped on the branches.

He suddenly remembered that flatbread he had eaten that day in Luoyang City.

Hot, crispy, fragrant.

Back then, he had just left Shaolin, had just understood that "snow simply falls," had just learned "not to ask."

Now he was walking on the back mountain of White Deer Grotto, having just achieved the Nascent Soul, having just understood that "after the snow melts, the true essence remains."

The flatbread was still a flatbread.

But the person eating the flatbread was no longer that person.

Looking ahead, he smiled softly.

Then he continued walking.

Walking back to the academy, walking back to the world of men, walking towards the next stop—

The Three Sects of Martial Arts.