Chapter Thirteen: The Pursuit of Knowledge

“Fellow Daoist Chen! The grand debate is today—shall we go together?”

“Of course, I see no reason not to.”

Dawn had just broken, and the sky was still shrouded in misty light.

Pushing open his door, Chen Yu saw two figures waiting outside his dwelling—one tall, one short.

Priest Jiang wore a genial smile, while the young acolyte beside him brimmed with anticipation for the upcoming gathering.

“Come, come! I heard Old Master Yu himself might attend today. We mustn't miss this,” called Priest Jiang eagerly as soon as Chen Yu emerged. Without a trace of the composure he’d displayed before the young acolyte the day prior, he strode briskly toward the courtyard gate.

The two followed behind, bustling with energy, and along their way they encountered many of the Daoist friends who had assembled for yesterday’s discussions.

Haiyun Monastery had some renown in Guangyong Prefecture, and Jiang Qin’an, as its current second disciple, was recognized by many—especially since he had personally delivered invitations to most of the sects in Shiya County.

So they were greeted with much camaraderie all along the way.

“Boundless blessings of the Celestial Lord,” was a refrain that hung on their lips from start to finish.

At length, they arrived at the gathering place and halted. Priest Jiang scooped a bowl of cool water from a wooden table to the side, gulped it down, and let out a long breath, finally restored.

Chen Yu stood quietly beside him, casting his gaze about to take in those milling around.

There were not only Daoists but also ordinary folk in homespun clothes, kerchiefs on their heads and leggings bound up, dressed as laborers.

“This time, sects from across Guangyong’s counties have been invited, along with some itinerants and martial heroes. The numbers have far surpassed expectations. They're rushing to make more seats, so at the very least, everyone will have somewhere to sit,” Priest Jiang explained, familiar with every detail of the preparations since he had been involved from the beginning—no doubt hoping the two would lend a hand.

Chen Yu had no objection. At present, he was eager to acquire more texts related to the Five Viscera—not necessarily martial secrets, but medical texts would also suffice. Unfortunately, Haiyun Monastery had little of the sort, and Priest Jiang could not provide any, offering only to make inquiries on his behalf.

“Secret techniques concerning the Five Viscera are hard to find, especially those involving inner cultivation. But ordinary scriptures should not be a problem; there are a few fellow Daoists who have studied them—I might ask around.”

“I’m grateful for your help.”

…

They busied themselves with minor tasks, and soon the preparations were complete. Then, at last, came the much-anticipated grand debate.

Priest Jiang went to join his sect, while Chen Yu politely declined an invitation to accompany him, preferring to wander the grounds alone.

The number of Daoists flooding into the venue was far greater than the day before, and the atmosphere was lively, filled with an unceasing clamor.

Adding to the spectacle, a group of brawny men—some armed with spears and leading horses, others carrying long blades—marched in, surrounding a party of a dozen or so.

Hot on their heels came wandering swordsmen in flowing robes, swords slung at their sides, and martial heroes whose fists were fitted with iron spikes.

“The Green Blade Sect is here as well.”

“With Master Yu preaching, how could they not come?”

“Hahaha! Indeed, missing such a grand occasion would be a terrible shame. Do come in!”

The arrival of these martial men—these knights-errant of the rivers and lakes—sparked a wave of excitement. Many well-known figures from Guangyong were present, and even some experts from other prefectures had come, though the distance meant only a few had made it in time for today’s event.

By contrast, the Daoists who also practiced martial arts seemed far more serene, lacking the boisterous bravado of the martial guests.

The Daoists showed little interest in these outsiders, some still engrossed in yesterday’s heated debates, lost in contemplation—at times frowning in deep thought, at others gazing into the distance.

The martial men, however, frequently cast their eyes toward the Daoists, for after all, the Daoists were the true protagonists of this gathering.

They, too, were curious. Most had never witnessed such an assembly before; even those familiar with Daoist practices had only heard the terms “fasts and rituals” and never seen them performed.

Now, in Guangyong Prefecture of the Western Province—a place the central plainsfolk deemed remote, backward, and wild—a ritual was about to be held. The novelty was palpable and keenly felt.

Boom!

Boom, boom!

The hide-covered drum was struck, announcing the beginning of the grand debate.

At the sound, Chen Yu saw a Daoist elder in plain robes, radiating an ethereal aura, drift toward the stage from afar.

He seemed to float in the air, his movements light as if riding the wind.

“What remarkable skill!” someone exclaimed, and the others voiced their admiration as well.

Chen Yu watched as the Daoist took his seat at the head of the platform and saw that the man’s hair was white as frost behind his head, his face ruddy and youthful—were it not for his slightly gaunt frame, he would not have seemed old at all.

As Chen Yu observed, the elder faced the assembly and performed a slow, formal Daoist salute, then spoke in a voice that rang with strength.

“I am Yu Qimeng, styled Yuanyang, and I thank all fellow Daoists and lay guests for honoring us with your presence.”

At these words, the crowd erupted in commotion.

“Not at all, Master Yu, your words are too modest.”

“To hear your teachings is a rare fortune in ten years—there is no question of merely honoring you with our presence.”

“Master, there is no need for such courtesy.”

It was clear these were all people who knew of Daoist Yuanyang’s great name—none were mere rabble, all had some standing or influence.

Only now did Chen Yu truly realize the extent of this elder’s renown.

A true cultivator of the Dao—those four words alone were enough to command respect and quell any dissent.

The lecture that followed did not disappoint. Yuanyang’s discourse was indeed profound. Even Chen Yu, a half-baked Daoist who only half understood, felt he had gained much.

Of course, what he gained was not quite the same as the others—concepts like prenatal breath, spiritual force, inspiration, and spiritual fluid were his alone.

The Daoists cultivated the heart; the martial men, the strength.

Yet neither had transcended the mundane. But Chen Yu was different. The emergence of spiritual force within him had already given him a chance to prise open that hidden door.

And the prenatal breath, which resided in his dantian like the inner power and true essence of storybook heroes, had enabled him to explore realms far beyond those of his peers.

Thus, the Daoist path could only serve as kindling for him—it was not a road he could follow to the end.

It might not be wrong, but it was certainly not suitable. Not even the so-called true cultivators could change that.

Chen Yu needed to forge his own path.

But for now, that was well enough. Whether in martial arts or Daoist scripture, there was much to learn and much to inspire him—it would sustain his journey for a long while.

By the time he had absorbed all that, perhaps he would have already made great strides forward, and the question of which path to take would trouble him no more.

“Cultivation…”

Chen Yu gazed up at the brilliant, cloudless sky.

Across two lifetimes, there had always been those who sought the Dao.

Some pursued self-fulfillment, giving rise to sects that emphasized self-realization and the illumination of the spirit.

Some longed to swallow the golden elixir, to place their fate beyond the dictates of heaven, and thus came the alchemical and inner-dan traditions.

So what about me?

For once, he found himself pondering—not in self-doubt, nor in the sentimental confusion that had gripped him on the mountain before.

It was simply a wish to know. Or perhaps, to set himself a goal.

Looking back, it seemed he’d never truly cared for or pursued anything in particular.

One could call it free-spirited; one could just as easily call it aimless, little better than a walking corpse.

As these thoughts turned in his mind, he realized he needed something to drive him forward, or else, sooner or later, he would run into trouble.

Wealth? Affection?

The thought made him shake his head. Such things were well enough if they came, but if not, he would not force them.

Let things take their course.

Then… immortality?

Yes, immortality. Chen Yu thought that was worthwhile—especially the immortals of legend, gazing down on the world from above. Their power was truly awe-inspiring.

And life, fleeting as it is, surely needs more time to experience and enjoy.

But in the next moment, he paused. If immortality was for the sake of enjoyment, then why not simply enjoy life from the start?

More importantly, what exactly was he enjoying? What did he wish to enjoy?

At that moment, a word surfaced in his heart.

The pursuit of knowledge.