Volume One: Youths Meet in Humble Times Chapter Twenty-Nine: Sorry, You Still Cannot Cultivate

A modest Daoist temple, a middle-aged Daoist, and a rather frail-looking child—these three had now come together, truly endowing this temple, known as “Another View,” with a brand-new spirit.

Something stirred in Li Yu’s heart as he followed the Daoist inside. Taking in all that was revealed before him, he felt a rare sense of peace and security settle within. What he had always longed for was a home—a place where he could settle, live out his days in quiet simplicity.

Just past the entrance was a small courtyard, not large, with a wing room on either side, neither of which seemed inhabited. In front of the wing room to the right, a ginkgo tree stood planted. It was late autumn now, and the tree seemed draped in golden clusters, dazzling in its beauty. Li Yu had never seen anything like it before; he was instantly entranced.

Back in the Li clan’s home on Mount Tianshan, snow lay year-round. Not to mention ginkgo trees, even the colors of the seasons merged into an endless white. The only hint of seasonal color lay at the mountain’s foot, but that was not where Li Yu and his kin lived. Their dwellings were perched atop the inaccessible peaks, emphasizing their otherworldly, immortal airs.

After leaving Mount Tianshan, he traveled for so long by flying boat that he never truly glimpsed the world’s scenery. Only after his wandering brought him to Red Spring Village did he begin to learn what life among people meant.

The trees on Red Spring Mountain were mostly evergreens—fir, pine, and the like—a ceaseless green. Occasionally, a red maple would appear, and Li Yu grew especially fond of that color. His first two years in the village, he would follow Granny up the mountain each autumn, bring home beautiful leaves to keep as bookmarks, and those days, when he thought back on them, had truly been happy.

The Daoist walked on without pause, and they crossed the courtyard. The main hall’s doors were closed, but not locked. With a flick of the Daoist’s hand—who could say what he was dispelling—the doors slid open to either side, revealing the inside.

Within the main hall hung a single portrait: an elderly man riding a blue ox, and nothing else. The Daoist stepped forward, lit three sticks of incense, bowed with reverence, and placed them in the censer. He then picked up an oil flask from the table and added oil to the eternal lamp on the side. At that moment—perhaps it was only Li Yu’s imagination—the whole room seemed to grow brighter. Though the oil did indeed feed the flame, the brightness that filled the space was not simply a matter of light.

The Daoist turned to explain: “This is the Way of Harmony. Between heaven and earth, there are two energies—yin and yang. All things bear yin and embrace yang, and harmony is born from their mingling. When the lamp is bright, the Way is clear.”

Li Yu could clearly sense it: the yin and yang energies, which a moment ago seemed so distinct, now merged in an instant as the lamp was lit—each containing the other. This new energy was unlike anything he had ever seen or felt before, inspiring both wonder and reverence.

Seeing Li Yu’s expression, the Daoist realized the boy could truly perceive this. He sighed inwardly: “It seems he truly is a natural vessel for the Dao!” Indeed, to be born able to see yin and yang was rare enough to be one in a million, but not impossible. And with diligent cultivation, even that could be achieved by some. Yet to perceive the energy of harmony after yin and yang had merged—a manifestation akin to the energy of chaos—was something else entirely.

In the Daoist’s understanding, such a person should not exist, not even through cultivation. It was as if someone sought to challenge the very order of the Dao itself—a kind of heresy. The Dao was supreme, and for another to claim its place was unthinkable.

Though there were countless paths, all were but offshoots of the one true Way. What that singular Way was, no one had ever answered with certainty, and all sought it in their own fashion.

As he mused on this, a question lingered: “But could such a being truly exist? If so, why has the world shown no sign? And why should I be the one to encounter him?”

The two passed into the rear courtyard. With a quick exhale, the Daoist said, “Light!” and all the lanterns hanging there flared to life. Li Yu noticed the fragrance of osmanthus wafting from either side of the courtyard. In the center was a small pond, topped by an artificial mountain. Approaching, he peered in and saw no fish within.

“Aren’t there any little fish?” he asked.

“Not yet. Next time, I’ll take you fishing and we’ll bring some back.”

Behind the rear courtyard was a main chamber, with another to the east and a kitchen to the west. The Daoist led Li Yu to the eastern chamber. “From now on, this is your room,” he told him. “Settle in, then come find me.”

With that, he left Li Yu alone in the room.

Li Yu gazed about, still feeling dazed, as if waking from a dream. At last, he had a home again. After a moment lost in thought, he quickly set about tidying up. Once he was done, he went to the Daoist’s room.

The Daoist sat cross-legged on a mat and gestured for Li Yu to sit. “On the right is my library,” he said. “On the left, the meditation chamber. From now on, you may come and go as you like.”

“Won’t I disturb you, Master?” Li Yu asked.

The Daoist replied with serene confidence, “Of course not. I don’t spend much time in here meditating. In the future, this is where you’ll spend your time in seclusion. I only return at night to sit in the meditation room. The rest of the time, you’re free to use anything here.”

Li Yu nodded. As he hesitated to ask something more, the Daoist said, “If you have questions, just ask. You’re my disciple, there’s no need for all those formalities. It’s just the two of us here; no need to put on a show for anyone else.”

Li Yu finally asked, “Master, how should I cultivate?”

The Daoist opened his eyes, looked at Li Yu, and said, “No rush. Your situation is special. You’re still young, and cultivation is not achieved overnight.”

Hearing this, Li Yu asked in some disappointment, “Is it because I lack the Heavenly Aperture? Is it very difficult to fix?”

The Daoist, noting the look on Li Yu’s face, teased him, “I thought you didn’t have a child’s expressions! You’re still a child—no need to act so calm and mature all the time. I don’t care for that kind of show!”

He continued, “Lacking the Heavenly Aperture isn’t the real problem. If you don’t have one, we can create one—it’s not so difficult to bring something from nothing. The real issue is something else about you, and I’m not yet sure what to do. But I do know that if it isn’t resolved, even if you gain the Heavenly Aperture, you’ll never reach the summit.”

Li Yu asked, “So what should I do next?”

The Daoist looked at him as if he were a fool. “Learn to be a good person. Before you can cultivate, you must learn how to live as a person. If you can’t do that, no matter how skilled you become, you’ll be nothing but a monster.”

With that, he handed Li Yu a Daoist scripture. “Every day, I’ll give you a scripture to memorize. Whether you understand it or not, commit it to memory. Recite it to yourself whenever you have time. As the saying goes, read a book a hundred times and its meaning will reveal itself. And remember, everyone interprets the scriptures differently. Other people’s interpretations are just one perspective—use them as reference, but to walk your own path, you must gain your own insight.”

Li Yu nodded in agreement. The Daoist then added, “Of course, besides memorizing scriptures, you’ll have to help me earn our keep. You’ll also be responsible for the temple chores.”

Li Yu respectfully agreed. Seeing the boy’s earnest, old-fashioned demeanor, the Daoist felt bored and quickly sent him away.

As Li Yu stepped out, he suddenly heard his master, behind him, gloating, “Finally, I don’t have to clean the temple anymore. I’ll have more time to go out drinking and enjoying myself!”

Hearing this, Li Yu was momentarily stunned. Was his master turning out to be more of a mischievous old child than a sage? He seemed nothing like the immortal figure Li Yu had first met.