Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Chapter 297: Chapter 169: Lighting the Heavenly Lamp with True Flame, Bowing Before the Imprisoned Immortal Temple! Finally Back Again (5k-word Chapter)

Seven days passed in a blink, and soon it was the fifteenth of September.

The air was laced with a chilling bite; the season had entered deep autumn. The sun set earlier day by day—just past five or six o’clock, dusk already stained the sky, and a hazy full moon emerged.

”The moon on the fifteenth is fullest on the sixteenth...”

Zhang Fan gazed at the sky, sensing that on the fifteenth night’s full moon, the Taiyin shone fiercely. Clear Qi in the mountains descended; turbid Qi lingered—on this night, many wild beasts grew restless, and those with spiritual sense would all fix their gaze on the moon.

”A wisp of morning brilliance gives birth to the sun, and the moonlight of the fifteenth solidifies into precious radiance... All of these are Great Medicine for Cultivators.” Liu Xingtui murmured softly.

Cultivators view the dawn’s first sunlight and the round moon’s radiance as Great Medicine—if gathered and refined, it nourishes the Primordial Spirit, strengthens True Yang, and between cycles circulates and fosters life itself.

In those years, Ancestor Master Chunyang followed Fire Dragon Zhenren, gathering sun’s essence for three years, refining moon’s essence for seven—thereby ascending to the rank of Earthly Immortal, with a talent that suppressed both ancient and modern times.

”Luoxia Mountain truly is a blessed land for cultivation.” Liu Xingyu couldn’t help but say.

Ordinary men see the moon as merely round and bright, nothing more.

But if you observe with the Primordial Spirit, a luminous mist seemed to radiate all around the moon, nearly spilling over, as though the orb were shrouded in gauze.

Most mysterious was that, at varying times and places, the intensity of this silvery ”mist” differed, and the quantity of moon essence you could gather naturally changed as well.

Thus, cultivation adheres to Heaven’s time, Earth’s place, and harmony with men.

The same moon, if gathered in the city or on Luoxia Mountain, would produce vastly different results.

This is why great masters of the ancient Alchemy Dao preferred to retreat deep into the mountains—if they could discover those famed blessed lands and ascend to refine upon lofty peaks, they would naturally draw one step closer to the Immortal Path.

”Let’s go!”

Zhang Fan’s eyes grew calm and clear. On this night, he felt an unshakable tranquility, and strode forward toward Luoxia Mountain.

The Liu Brothers exchanged a glance and followed after.

Since witnessing Zhang Fan’s many methods, they had long since shifted from mere expediency to utter loyalty.

After all, in their eyes, following Zhang Fan promised a future far brighter than following Meng Qingtong in the past.

Although Zhang Fan was not yet renowned among the Daoist Sect—not like Xia Weisheng, An Wuyang, Qi Delong, or Qi Dongqiang—deep down, as bright as a Mingjing, they knew: this disciple secretly cultivated by Zhenwu Mountain was in no way inferior to those other figures.

”Brother Fan, do you think we will truly find the Imprisoned Immortal Temple in this mountain tonight?” Liu Xingyu followed Zhang Fan’s steps and couldn’t help but ask.

”On the fifteenth’s full moon, as sun and moon alternate, Heaven and Earth’s airs shift, illusions are often pierced and the truth revealed.” Zhang Fan replied coolly.

”We should be able to.”

The world is a grand, makeshift troupe; the Buddhist Sect sees it as illusion, the Daoist Family views it as a mere semblance; as impermanence stirs, these illusions and semblances shift in tandem.

Grasp the patterns of change, and you may glimpse the true.

Thus, there is a saying in the Daoist Sect: True Nature arises from emptiness, begins at the root, awakens amid illusion.

To behold the real, you must search amidst the false; to perceive life, you must first encounter death...

The Way of Cultivation truly contains endless delights.

”The fog is thick tonight.”

Zhang Fan and his group stepped into Luoxia Mountain; darkness had fallen, the moon hung high and ever brighter.

Yet in the mountains, great mists surged, pale and dense, exuding a damp chill.

Zhang Fan spoke little. With Primordial Spirit Observation, he saw in that vast white mist a faint road appear, long and narrow. At times a few steps would emerge, but mostly, the path was rugged and broken, graves and bones even scattered beside the way.

”There really is a road.”

The Liu Brothers, of no weak cultivation, used Primordial Spirit Observation, and could see it, too.

”This is an ancient road,” Zhang Fan intoned.

Since ancient times, mountains have held countless roads, yet buried by the drifting years, many now lie hidden.

But wherever the earth was moved, the ground’s Qi was stirred; within Heaven’s fate and earth’s vital force reside the thoughts of the Divine, so at certain appointed times, the road reveals itself once more—though most cannot perceive it.

Just as some hikers, at peculiar times, clearly follow the set path yet stray into bewildering deviations—those lucky return alive, but by their account, no new road can be found.

”When Heaven shifts, Earth stirs; ordinary folk should never set foot deep in the mountains,” added Liu Xingtui.

For example, right after earthquakes, or just before and after storms—those are times Heaven shifts, Earth stirs, when transformation in the mountains reaches its fiercest. Even cultivators must wait and not act rashly.

This is the strictest of mountain taboos.

Gu-gu... Gu-gu...

Suddenly, a series of strange sounds came from afar, muffled and hoarse, as if someone’s throat were clasped, producing choking croaks.

Zhang Fan fixed his gaze—and saw a sinuous figure, hands brought together in salutation, bowing toward the bright round moon above.

The figure was almost human, yet not quite; its head and neck were one unbroken curve, merging with its elongated body.

”A yellow-skinned rat!”

Liu Xingtui’s eyes lit up; never had he seen a yellow-skinned rat so large—size of a big dog, fur sleek and glossy, each bristle standing on end, trembling with its breath as it kowtowed in worship.

”Remarkable. This yellow-skinned rat seems to have cultivated here in the mountain for many years, becoming a Spirit Monster.” Zhang Fan said gravely.

By his estimation, this yellow-skinned rat had lived at least thirty years.

In years past, the Chuma He Family also worshipped yellow-skinned rats, known as Yellow Immortal.

That time, he and He Huan—this mad girl—engaged in magical combat; though he won in the end, it was only by the narrowest margin.