68: Chapter 68 One Hundred Days of Seclusion (Part Two)

The forty-fifth day.

Lu Mingyuan opened his eyes and took out the jade pendant from his robe.

The songyun jade pendant.

When they parted at Mount Qingcheng, Perfected Master Changkong had gifted it to him personally. It was said to be a relic of Daoist Songyun, which no one had been able to decipher for nine hundred years. That day at Wenjian Cliff, he had left behind three strands of Sword Intent, and Perfected Master Changkong had given him this pendant in return.

The jade pendant was warm and smooth to the touch. Under the sunlight, faint cloud patterns seemed to flow within it.

He gripped the jade pendant and closed his eyes.

During these days, he had reviewed everything he had learned over the past five years. Talismans, swordsmanship, Chan, logic, chivalry, and craftsmanship—he categorized them all clearly.

But there was one question he had never asked himself.

Now, it was time to ask.

The heart is the Xuan Shu.

These four words were the foundation of his cultivation. From the day he descended Zhongnan Mountain, he had used them as his basis. Drawing talismans at Longhu Mountain, he used them as his basis; comprehending the sword at Wudang Mountain, he used them as his basis; questioning his heart at Mount Qingcheng, he used them as his basis; practicing Chan at Shaolin, he used them as his basis; investigating logic at Yuelu, he used them as his basis; debating the sword at Mount Hua, he used them as his basis.

But what exactly did these four words mean?

The heart is the pivot. The pivot is the door hinge; while the door opens and closes, the pivot remains still. Yet the pivot is connected to the door, and the door is connected to heaven and earth. When the heart is still, all laws naturally return to it—he had realized this on the thirtieth day of his seclusion.

But what then?

What comes after all laws return to the heart?

Where does the heart return to?

He opened his eyes and looked at the jade pendant in his hand.

Within the jade pendant, the cloud patterns still flowed slowly. Those clouds drifted here and there, but where were they drifting to? When would their drifting end?

He suddenly felt a bit lost.

After the heart becomes the Xuan Shu, where should one go?

He had never thought about this question.

For five years, he had been walking, seeing, listening, thinking, asking, and comprehending. But what he wanted to ask was always "what"—what is the Dao? What is a talisman? What is the sword? What is Chan? What is logic?

He had never asked about "after."

Now that all the "whats" had answers, that "after" had surfaced.

It was like traveling. He had always been rushing, never thinking about what to do after reaching his destination. Now, it seemed he had reached his destination, only to find—it wasn't the destination, just a rest station.

He still had to move forward.

But where to?

He closed his eyes and looked inward at his Dantian.

Inside his Dantian, that Chaos vortex was still slowly rotating. Talisman Intent, Sword Intent, Zen Intent, and the Qi of logic all flowed within the vortex, no longer distinguishable from one another.

This was the beginning of the Fusion of the Three Teachings.

But as he looked at the vortex, a question suddenly occurred to him—

Was this vortex his heart?

The heart is the Xuan Shu, and the pivot is the door hinge. The door hinge is motionless. But this vortex was moving. Can something that moves be the pivot?

He was stunned.

If the vortex wasn't the heart, then where was the heart?

If it was outside the vortex, then what was the vortex?

If the vortex was the heart, then if the heart is moving and the pivot is moving, how can the door open and close?

The more he thought, the more confused he became, and the less he understood.

The sixtieth day.

He was still thinking about that question.

But the more he thought, the more he felt he was wrong.

The heart is not the vortex. The vortex is the phenomenon after all things return to the heart, not the heart itself. The heart is the one watching the vortex—but what is the one watching the vortex?

He suddenly thought of Zen Master Huijue.

That old monk said that practicing Chan is not about thinking, but about seeing. Seeing thoughts arise, seeing thoughts fall, not following them, and not driving them away. Just seeing.

He had been seeing. Seeing the vortex in his Dantian, seeing those flowing intents.

But who was seeing?

He opened his eyes and looked at the rocks on the cave ceiling. There were water stains on the rocks, winding like paths.

He suddenly felt that he had lost his way.

The seventy-fifth day.

He stopped thinking.

He just sat there, holding the songyun jade pendant.

But even without thinking, the problem remained. Like a stone pressing on his heart, it was there even if he didn't touch it, there even if he didn't look at it.

He suddenly remembered that day at Shaolin when Zen Master Huijue said, "Breaking an obsession is also an obsession."

He thought he understood.

Now he realized he didn't.

His wanting to "understand" was an obsession. His wanting to "find the answer" was an obsession. His wanting to "know what comes after" was an obsession.

But if he didn't think about it, was it no longer an obsession?

Not thinking was also an obsession. An obsession with "not thinking."

He smiled bitterly.

It turned out there were pitfalls everywhere, and every step was an obsession.

He looked down at the songyun jade pendant.

The jade pendant was still warm and smooth, and the cloud patterns still flowed. It had been nine hundred years; had the owner of this jade pendant, Daoist Songyun, also asked the same question?

When the heart is open, all laws are open.

But what after they are open?

He suddenly thought that perhaps Daoist Songyun hadn't figured it out either. Otherwise, why would he have left that lingering question at Mount Qingcheng that no one had been able to answer for nine hundred years?

Nine hundred years.

Nine hundred years later, today, he sat in this cave, holding this jade pendant, asking the same question.

He suddenly understood a little.

Some questions aren't meant to be answered. They are meant to be asked.

Ask for a lifetime, ask for a thousand years, ask for countless kalpas. By asking, the answer naturally emerges. It's not found; it's walked out.

Just like that old man building the road. He didn't ask where the road was; he just struck with his hammer blow by blow. As he struck, the road appeared.

The eighty-eighth day.

Holding the songyun jade pendant, he suddenly felt it grow slightly warm.

He looked down and saw the cloud patterns in the jade pendant flowing faster than usual. Those clouds seemed alive, swimming in his palm.

He closed his eyes and sank his consciousness into the jade pendant.

A Void Realm.

There was nothing in the Void Realm, yet it seemed as if everything was there. He stood there, unable to distinguish up from down, front from back, or time.

Suddenly, a voice appeared in the Void Realm.

It was very light and faint, like the wind passing through a pine forest.

"After the heart becomes the Xuan Shu..."

He held his breath.

The voice stopped.

After a long time, it sounded again:

"Good question."

He waited for more. But the voice never spoke again.

He opened his eyes; the jade pendant was still the same jade pendant, and the cloud patterns were still the same cloud patterns.

But he knew it wasn't a hallucination.

Daoist Songyun was asking him.

Or rather, Daoist Songyun was asking him, and also asking himself.

Nine hundred years later, that question still remained.

It wasn't that there was no answer, but that the answer was too large—large enough that it required a lifetime to walk.

The ninetieth day.

He sat on the stone bed, looking at the sunlight at the cave entrance.

The sunlight filtered through the pine forest, falling strand by strand by his feet. Birds were chirping cheerfully. The distant mountains were as lush as if they had been washed.

He suddenly laughed.

He laughed for a long time.

He laughed at his own foolishness.

After the heart becomes the Xuan Shu—after?

How could there be an "after"?

The heart is the heart. If the heart is there, the pivot is there. While the door opens and closes, the pivot is always there. The pivot doesn't need an "after"; it only needs to "be."

He had been asking about "after" because he had treated the heart as a road, thinking that once he reached the heart, he still had to move forward.

But the heart is not the road.

The heart is the one walking the road.

A road has an "after," but the one walking the road does not. A person just walks, keeps walking, until they can walk no more.

He looked down at the songyun jade pendant.

"Senior," he said softly, "this Disciple understands your meaning."

The jade pendant brightened slightly, then dimmed.

It was as if it had breathed a sigh of relief.

The ninety-fifth day.

He no longer thought about that question.

He just sat there, holding the jade pendant, listening to the birds in the mountains and watching the sunlight at the cave entrance.

Inside his Dantian, that Chaos vortex was still spinning. But he no longer looked at it. Whether he looked or not, it was spinning. Whether it spun or not had nothing to do with him.

He suddenly remembered that day at Shaolin when Hui Ke said, "You ask at every step."

He didn't understand then.

Now he did.

Asking at every step was because there was doubt in his heart. When the doubt was gone, he stopped asking.

It wasn't that he didn't ask, but that he didn't need to ask.

As one walks, what should be understood will naturally be understood. What isn't understood won't be understood even if one asks.

He leaned against the stone wall and closed his eyes.

The sunlight was warm, shining upon him.

He suddenly felt that sitting like this was also quite good.

The hundredth day.

He opened his eyes and looked at the cave entrance.

The sunlight was shining right in, spreading a layer of golden yellow on the ground.

He stood up and stretched his limbs. After not moving for a hundred days, his bones were a bit stiff.

He walked to the cave entrance and looked at the mountain scenery outside.

The pine forest was still lush, and the distant mountains were still vast. There were clouds in the sky, drifting slowly.

He took a deep breath and turned to glance back inside the cave.

The stone bed, the stone stool, the hay, and that songyun jade pendant placed on the stone bed.

In a hundred days, he had asked one question and hadn't found an answer. But he knew the answer was no longer important.

What mattered was that he was still alive and could still walk.

He picked up the jade pendant and tucked it into his robe.

He lifted his foot and stepped out of the cave.

The sunlight fell on him, feeling warm and cozy.

He squinted his eyes, looking at the Main Peak of Zhongnan in the distance.

It was time to go back.

Xuanweizi was still waiting.