Chapter Twenty: On the Nature of Cultivation (Seeking Comments!)

Though he spoke of martial arts being inferior to cultivating immortality, his body was honest. After all, immortality was elusive, existing only in tales and stories both past and present, far less tangible than the set of Cloud Crane techniques he practiced.

Once his mind was calm, Chen Yu resumed his training.

Cloud Crane techniques included breathing methods—not particularly profound, but effective in adjusting the internal organs during movement and stillness. With advanced mastery, one could even regulate the flow of blood within the body, thus strengthening vital organs like the heart.

In the towns below the mountain, this stage was called “organ training.”

Organ training required force, and so was considered the hallmark of skilled practitioners; crossing this threshold marked one as a formidable fighter. Though Chen Yu saw the martial world as tumultuous—third-rate practitioners everywhere, second-rate not worth mentioning—in reality, in any given county, few truly reached such levels. Most spent their lives clutching scraps of manuals, never crossing the threshold of mastery.

With the newly awakened force, his movements grew ever more imposing, each punch and kick sending gusts of wind echoing through the air.

Bones and flesh occasionally crackled and popped, trembling with impact. Perhaps due to the nourishing effects of the spiritual liquid, Chen Yu found himself far more agile than before.

He immersed his mind, sensing the subtle changes within, seeking the anchor point of the spiritual liquid’s effect and the source of the strange power budding in his flesh.

To absorb the spiritual liquid must be a process—just as food enters the stomach to be digested, just as oxygen is carried throughout the body by the blood.

He doubted the spiritual liquid could create power from nothing; there must be something within, some foundation.

If he could find it and harness it, it would aid not only his martial practice but also his understanding of the nature of the spiritual liquid and spiritual energy.

Yet soon he realized the difficulty of this endeavor.

His mental strength, far beyond that of ordinary people, now met an unimaginable obstacle; he could not penetrate and perceive the inner workings of his body. After several attempts, he could only rely on his force, exploring bit by bit.

The process was arduous, consuming much time and energy. Chen Yu tried to flush a small area near his elbow with force, but it barely spread half an inch before dissipating. The texture of bone and muscle relaxed, unable to be activated again in the short term.

He had to stop. The force generated by a martial artist was not like the internal energy in fantasy novels, coursing through the body in streams or torrents. It was intangible, not a flowing river.

Cloud Crane techniques had detailed records about this.

What is force? To harness skin, bone, blood, flesh, and sinew as one and channel it forth—that is force!

Ultimately, internal force was just another kind of strength, though with piercing and explosive qualities.

To activate internal force was to focus all the body’s power at a single point—be it skin, bone, or any part of the body, wherever strength could be gathered and released.

Of course, achieving this required mastery of internal force, far beyond what Chen Yu, a mere novice, could attempt.

His entry into the practice was thanks to the spiritual liquid and the strange power that could penetrate his flesh, allowing strength to flow easily through every part.

“That power that emerges from blood and flesh…”

He paused, opening his hands to study them.

He constantly felt that after drinking the spiritual liquid, his body was being slowly transformed. The changes were not obvious, but in certain places, he saw behaviors unlike before.

Spiritual liquid… spiritual energy… What exactly had he cultivated?

He wondered—could it really be the “spiritual energy” from the stories?

The thought flickered, and he shook his head. Surely not; spiritual energy was not something to be grown. Besides, his own spiritual energy could not be touched or consumed directly; it had to be blended with spring water before it could be taken.

That night, Chen Yu found himself pondering deeply. Resting his head on the bench, he gazed at the misty mountains in the distance. Thoughts churned in his mind, rising and falling.

One after another, tangled and prolific, like wild grass.

Cultivating immortality. To say he did not wish for it was a lie. If a man could traverse worlds, if martial skills truly existed, who could confidently claim there was no path to immortal cultivation?

Yet he had neither seen nor heard of it. If he were trapped in a corner, ignorant of the wider world, his master—the old temple head—surely had traveled and seen much; he had journeyed across deserts, drunk from hot springs in snowy mountains.

Even so, he maintained a respectful distance from the supernatural.

According to the old master, longevity was worth seeking, but those who sought eternal life were misguided. All must die; true Daoist cultivation was to follow the natural way and find clarity within, returning to simplicity through understanding the world, avoiding fanciful pursuits.

In short, martial arts for self-defense, Daoist practice for cultivating the mind; through this, one could nurture the spirit and achieve health and long life.

Yes, the old priest was a legitimate practitioner of the Pure Bright Law, emphasizing clarity of mind and self-awareness. He looked down on those who relied on external things for so-called cultivation.

For example, the alchemists who manipulated lead and mercury.

He believed those who made poisonous pills were corrupted by scholarship, deceiving and harming the world, even tainting the name of the Dao.

He even left the calming pills passed down from the second master unused for a long time, only taking them to town in exchange for necessities when he suffered misfortune. After a few trades, he stopped altogether.

Turning his thoughts, Chen Yu remembered the “cultivation of truth” often heard in his previous life.

Cultivation of truth—using the false to cultivate the true, seeking the real Dao.

In novels, cultivators could fly and shift mountains, and those with great powers were immortal and indestructible.

Yet in reality, few could achieve anything of the sort.

He guessed the reason was that in both of his lives, he lacked the most crucial element—spiritual energy.

Not the kind he cultivated.

But what, after all, was spiritual energy?

The mother energy of all things? The essence within living beings? Or the manifestation of the world’s rules?

In his previous life, Daoists believed spiritual energy was innate at birth, enabling wisdom and understanding, nourishing the spirit. Cultivation was to refine this spiritual energy, avoiding corruption by worldly affairs; following nature, avoiding stagnation from false beliefs.

Dwelling in the spirit within, radiating outward, over time one would become different from ordinary people—so-called immortals.

To seek the mysterious and cultivate immortality was to refine oneself.

Thus, it seemed that the Daoist practices of this world were much like those of his previous life, especially the Pure Bright and Harmonization Law sects, whose philosophies were nearly identical.

In the end, Chen Yu concluded that regardless of past or present life, cultivation was a process of following the changes of heaven and earth, seeking the true self.

A matter of mind and character, an inclination toward enlightenment and self-awareness.

As for the “spiritual energy” mentioned in the scriptures, it was probably just a metaphor—a hope for spiritual freedom and unity with nature.

But what about this?

Was it spiritual energy, or something else?

Chen Yu raised his water flask, which still held half a dose of spiritual liquid. He took a sip, and his body felt light, as if floating among clouds; his mind calmed, complexities faded, leaving only clarity.

In that moment, the usually tumultuous sea of consciousness grew still.

Countless points of light rose and circled brightly.

After a long time, he awakened, feeling clear-headed, with no trace of the previous anxiety or frustration.

He glanced at the dim sky and laughed freely.

“Such wild imaginings—nothing but wild imaginings!”

He slapped his forehead, straightened his back, and strode lightly toward his bedroom.

Why worry so much? Whether it was spiritual energy or not, since he had cultivated it, he should make good use of it.

Dwelling on it served no purpose—only wasted time.

If he truly wished to pursue immortality, he could forge his own path; set his own realms—today a novice, tomorrow a true immortal.

Wouldn’t that be delightful?

The more he thought, the more sense it made.

A smile crept onto Chen Yu’s lips. He took another swig, his demeanor growing ever more relaxed and carefree.