Chapter Fifty-Five: Spirit

This was an entirely new experience.

Chen Yu did not hesitate; following his instincts and curiosity, he drew closer to that cluster of light. Yet, before he could approach, an invisible barrier halted his advance. He tried to press in, reaching for the wisps of luminous glow at its core, but all he could see was an unfathomable darkness.

Soon after, ripples stirred in his mind, and the tranquil state he had maintained could no longer be sustained. Sitting cross-legged on the bluestone, Chen Yu opened his eyes.

His thoughts lingered on the scene he had just witnessed, the memory resurfacing and refusing to fade. It was a vision unlike any he had known before. Though its nature remained unclear, he suspected it was closely tied to the transformation his spirit was about to undergo.

Since acquiring the Divine Lanting Fruit, which could refine his spirit, he had felt his mental strength growing ever more potent in recent days, even to the point of feeling slightly dizzy, as if top-heavy. The vague sense of something brewing deep within his consciousness grew stronger by the day.

Chen Yu wondered if he had reached the final threshold, and whether the vast accumulation of spiritual force had begun to nurture something new.

With this in mind, he closed his eyes and attempted to return to that state once more. Yet his thoughts churned endlessly, making it impossible to regain his previous calm. Several attempts ended in failure.

“If only I had the Heel Breathing Method or the Qi Circulation Technique,” he mused.

There might be some unexpected efficacy in those arts. The Hesha Sect excelled at cultivating and harmonizing qi with evil energies, and their methods were quite effective for calming the mind and purifying one’s thoughts. Nonetheless, when it came to truly understanding one’s nature and stabilizing the spirit, the Pure Bright Sect’s arts were superior.

Unfortunately, his knowledge was incomplete; the various techniques passed down by the old Daoist remained only fragmentary in his memories.

He decided to wait until his mind was tranquil before trying again.

Chen Yu let go of these thoughts and pressed his fingers to his brow, contemplating the nature of that cluster of light he had just glimpsed.

Was it the primordial spirit? The true soul? Merely a concentration of mental power? Or something else entirely?

He tried to sense it once more. Though he could not sink again into that profound state, he noticed, upon careful attention, a faint pressure and swelling between his brows.

It was not something he had perceived before, but now, upon close inspection, he realized it was not an illusion.

It felt as if a small part of his frontal bone was gently pulsating, expanding and contracting like a heartbeat.

The pineal gland? No, in Daoist terms, this was known as the Third Eye. He recalled some basic knowledge about this region, but could not connect it to the cluster of light he had seen.

He could not deduce its meaning.

Unable to make sense of it, Chen Yu had no choice but to set the matter aside for now. So long as what he had experienced was not a mere fluke, he would surely be able to revisit it in the future.

He withdrew from his tangled thoughts and resumed his cultivation, his focus returning to the present.

In recent days, the continued consumption of the Divine Lanting Fruit had steadily increased his spiritual power. He could feel the change growing richer and more substantial, yet it remained elusive, as if separated from him by a thin veil.

This led Chen Yu to wonder whether he could, by means of certain techniques, mobilize his spiritual power to pierce that membrane and perceive the changes deep within his consciousness.

Today, he had been attempting just that. Falling unexpectedly into that chaotic void and beholding the cluster of light had been a mere accident.

He could not unravel the mystery of the light in such a short time, but the experience had yielded unexpected progress in his ability to manipulate his spiritual power.

What is the spirit?

His memories from his previous life told him it was the phenomenon called “consciousness” produced by neural activity in the brain.

In Daoist thought, however, the concept of spirit was divided in various ways. For example, the internal alchemy practiced in his past life held that everyone possessed essence, qi, and spirit: essence was the tangible transformation of bodily energy, while spirit was the condensation and manifestation of the mind and will. Here, though there was no explicit doctrine of the “three treasures,” people still regarded spirit as the innate mark that made one truly human; without it, one would be dull-witted, incapable of reason.

Of course, as far as he knew, neither in his past nor present life had any Daoist ever truly cultivated the spirit to its full potential, nor had there been any verifiable tales of wandering souls or pure yang spirits leaving the body. Thus, all discussions of spirit remained, at best, philosophical conjecture—rich in theory, yet poor in practical application.

But for Chen Yu now, things were different. He was genuinely aware of the existence of spiritual power.

Every time he sought inspiration, he had to stir up great waves within the ocean of his consciousness—those waves were the manifestation of spirit.

Yet he could not truly command this power; he could only drive it within that boundless sea, and after several attempts discovered he could stir it but not calm it, unable to make the ocean tranquil.

The only time he had achieved absolute calm was upon first entering the mountains—a happenstance, too.

But now, what he needed was to wield his spirit outside the sea of consciousness, a challenge several times more difficult.

To project his spirit beyond his body was nearly impossible.

That, at least, was what Chen Yu had thought. He intended to first explore the various properties of his spiritual power within his consciousness, using whatever Daoist methods he could recall, testing every technique regardless of its supposed efficacy. If none succeeded, he would consider other options.

Yet fate had its own designs. An unexpected event had allowed him to faintly grasp the traces of his spiritual power.

Now, it seemed clear to him that while the various Daoist methods might be useful, their effectiveness would be limited.

With this realization, Chen Yu no longer hesitated. He took out a minor spirit-commanding method recorded in the “Record of Ten Pure Lifetimes.”

According to legend, this method was left behind by an accomplished master of the Pure Bright Sect—a tale best taken with a grain of salt. Every year, rumors would circulate of some Daoist transcending mortality, but never had one appeared to perform miracles; only a new memorial tablet would be seen on the altar.

Months of cultivating body and mind allowed Chen Yu to quickly settle into focus, closing his eyes until his inner vision was barren and silent.

After a long while, he opened his eyes, a look of realization on his face.

Daoist methods could indeed allow him to sense the fluctuations of spiritual power outside his sea of consciousness, but they offered no means to control it.

The instructions were too vague, and when it came to actually wielding spiritual power, the method was full of empty platitudes. Chen Yu had no patience for guessing games—he would not risk a grave mistake.

Most likely, either the exalted master who left behind the method was operating on such a high level that his instructions were unsuitable for someone like Chen Yu, who had not even entered the threshold, or the master himself had never truly controlled spiritual power.

Chen Yu thought the latter more probable.

Though the “Record of Ten Pure Lifetimes” described spiritual power, and recounted how various Daoist sages had achieved enlightenment through it, Chen Yu now seriously doubted that the spiritual power he perceived was the same as what the Daoists of this world spoke of.

Much like “spiritual energy.”

But unlike spiritual energy, Chen Yu was certain that what he had found was indeed the [spirit] that countless practitioners had sought in vain, and nothing else.

In other words, it was not that he had gone astray, but that the entire Daoist tradition had veered off course.

This was confirmed in subsequent attempts. Of the five spirit-commanding methods he tried, three allowed him to sense spiritual power, while the other two were utter nonsense and completely useless.

Even so, none of the three provided a truly effective means of control.

If he could sense it, one would expect, after hundreds of years of continuous transmission, that there would have been some breakthrough—yet there had been none.

Thus, it seemed that ordinary people simply did not possess spiritual power, or that it was buried deep within their consciousness, requiring certain traits to draw it out. Mere meditation or martial practice would never suffice.

In other words, throughout history, he was probably the first and only Daoist to have ever come into contact with spiritual power.

As for what those traits might be, Chen Yu did not dwell on it. Instead, his gaze shifted to the water flask hanging at his waist.