Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Early morning.

Yujing City, Jiangnan Province Daoist Alliance Headquarters.

The first light of dawn peeks through the leaves of the great phoenix tree, casting speckled sunlight into the tranquil little courtyard.

Inside the third-floor office, Lou Hechuan is leisurely savoring freshly brewed tea; white wisps of steam swirl upward, and the brisk fragrance of tea instantly permeates the entire office.

Spring water boils the new tea; laughter dissolves your cares.

Yet at this moment, the chairman of the Jiangnan Province Daoist Alliance finds his mind far from tea-tasting; instead, his aged face reveals a trace of exhaustion, and his turbid eyes are laced with bloodshot veins.

Normally, with Lou Hechuan’s cultivation, even if he went three days and nights without sleep or rest, without food or drink, the True Yang within him overflowing, refining essence and transforming qi, he would still be as vigorous as a dragon or a tiger, showing no hint of mental fatigue.

But after just one night, he appears like this; it is clear his Consciousness is agitated, having drained his spirit and blood.

After all, the news from Gusu City last night caused Lou Hechuan’s Three Corpses to rage violently, his seven apertures to smoke with fury—he was nearly sent off himself.

Ten years ago, after many calculations and exhausting his wits, the human-shaped Primordial Spirit he extracted from beneath Dragon Tiger Mountain to seal away ended up dissipating; even the Observatory of Profound Mystery’s ceremonial Mighty Spirit Demon-Suppressing Gold Seal failed to refine it.

Ten years of scheming, and it all amounted to nothing—no wonder Lou Hechuan nearly suffered a cerebral hemorrhage.

He made several calls to Master Xuanji, seeking answers, but there was no response whatsoever.

For this, Lou Hechuan sat alone in his office all night, steeped in solitude.

Ring ring ring... ring ring ring...

Just then, a sudden, urgent telephone ring shattered the dawn’s silence.

”Chairman, a call from the Observatory of Profound Mystery.”

A middle-aged Daoist walked over to the couch with the phone, respectfully handing it over.

”At last, a call.”

Lou Hechuan’s aged brows lifted slightly, his gaze grew sharp as he took the receiver.

”Hello, this is Lou Hechuan…”

”What?”

In that instant, Lou Hechuan’s expression changed dramatically; the teacup in his hand shattered with a crack, scalding tea splashed everywhere on the table, flowing wantonly, its course resembling the unfathomable path of fate.

”Master Xuanji… is dead!?”

Lou Hechuan’s eyes nearly split with disbelief as he sprang up, demanding confirmation.

When the voice on the other end affirmed it, Lou Hechuan’s gaze trembled, shaken to the core—he could scarcely believe it.

”How is that possible!?”

The chairman of Jiangnan Province Daoist Alliance spoke each word as if squeezing them from between clenched teeth, clearly struggling to accept this reality.

”Chairman, Master Xuanji is dead?”

Seeing Lou Hechuan hang up the phone and stand dazed, the middle-aged Daoist at his side could no longer hold back from asking.

”The appointed time approaches… the appointed time approaches… That old bastard got it right again.”

Lou Hechuan’s eyes narrowed to a line, as a dignified, aged figure surfaced in his mind—a name pressed forward within his thoughts.

Jiang Wansui, whom people of the Daoist Sect call ’Ten Thousand Years of Mountains and Rivers’, meaning half of the world’s Daoist power, immortal, unfallen.

He is the peerless master of White Crane Temple, his status so high it rivals Chu Chaoran of Zhenwu Mountain—hence the saying, ”South River, North Chu.”

At the start of the year, Lou Hechuan had led a delegation from the Jiangnan Province Daoist Sect to Shangjing City, paying a visit to White Crane Temple.

Master Xuanji accompanied them and met Jiang Wansui.

At that time, Jiang Wansui looked at Master Xuanji and said his appointed time was near, life and death uncertain, that this would be the year, the tribulation would surely arrive, between the eighth and ninth month.

Lou Hechuan wore a grave expression, lost in thought, and instinctively glanced at the calendar on the wall; the Dharma Jar sealing the Xiao Primordial Spirit Fragment was delivered to Gusu City on August 31, and Master Xuanji passed away last night—September 3.

”The tribulation must arrive, only between eight and nine.” Lou Hechuan murmured lightly, ”Jiang Wansui… that old bastard’s cultivation grows ever more inscrutable.”

”Chairman… Chairman…”

Just then, the middle-aged Daoist softly called out, dragging Lou Hechuan’s thoughts back to the present.

”Siqi, go yourself to the Observatory of Profound Mystery and see what is truly going on,” Lou Hechuan instructed.

”Very well, I’ll depart at once.” The middle-aged Daoist nodded.

”Wait a moment.”

Lou Hechuan crooked his finger, and the Daoist came closer, bowing to receive further instructions.

”Find out clearly… last night at the ritual, did Chu Zhenren’s disciple display any unusual behavior?”

”Zhang Fan!?” The Daoist was slightly taken aback.

”Don’t make a fuss—it’s Zhenren’s disciple, after all,” Lou Hechuan stared and said, ”You should know how to strike the proper balance.”

”Chairman, I understand.”

The middle-aged Daoist nodded and strode out of the office.

...

Midday, Gusu City.

Observatory of Profound Mystery.

Zhang Fan and the others, having rested the night, rushed over from the hotel. Upon arrival, they saw white banners fluttering in the temple, a mourning in shroud and ritual.

”What’s going on? What happened?”

”Someone died? Judging by these rites… not an ordinary person, for sure.”

After stepping into the Observatory of Profound Mystery, Zhang Fan and his group made a few inquiries and soon learned a shocking truth.

Master Xuanji is dead!?

”He passed away last night—heard it was peaceful,” Sui Chunsheng murmured softly.

Apparently, when Master Xuanji was discovered, his body had already grown stiff. Sitting cross-legged in his room, he wore a gentle smile—departing with arrival and composure.

”But when we left yesterday, wasn’t he just fine?” Zhang Fan pondered aloud.

”He was old, after all. To recklessly act and exhaust the oil in his lamp is possible,” Jiang Hu said gravely.

Destiny is always set by Heaven, never a matter men can control.

Many people, even with robust health and brisk steps—checkups showing no issue, enjoying plenty at dinner—might close their eyes in sleep one night and never wake.

Such is fate; lifespan decreed, unrelated to all else.

Even a cultivator, shifting the energies of Kan and Li, subduing Dragon and Tiger, striving for longevity, possessing invincible Divine Techniques—will still struggle to defy a death already inscribed by destiny.