Just as the master was using one mouth to lecture Yan Zhengming to death, Cheng Qian returned. Yan Zhengming was already suffering from a severe headache, and finally found an opportunity to vent. He snorted slightly and snapped, "You used sandalwood incense to smoke his clothes? What's that about? Are you planning to become a monk tomorrow?"
The young Dao servant didn't dare to say it was Cheng Qian's own idea.
Yan Zhengming shouted at him, "Switch to hibiscus—"
Just then, Mu Chun's voice beside him rose steadily, "—Thus the heavens are clear, and the earth is turbid…"
His dragging tone sounded like a saw cutting wood. Yan Zhengming was thoroughly defeated. "Master, why is my heart so restless!"
Mu Chun lifted his eyelids and said calmly, "If your heart is restless, it's because you're being distracted by external things, fretting over sandalwood and hibiscus. Why don't you do this—don't use your third junior brother as an incense burner anymore. To help you focus in cultivation, I'll personally move into your Wenrou Pavilion tonight and chant scriptures for you until dawn. How about that?"
Yan Zhengming: "…"
This old rat was addicted to chanting scriptures—and once he said it, he meant it. Could anyone survive a whole night of that?
Helpless, Yan Zhengming sat back down. As he inhaled the scent of sandalwood—something that now reeked of rot and uselessness in his mind—he angrily picked up his carving knife and started hacking vertical lines into the wood like a corpse.
Cheng Qian, the "incense burner," sat silently beside him, continuing his homework, feeling like there was a deep-fried rabbit radiating resentment right next to him.
The master claimed Han Yuan was impulsive, but who was really the one disturbing the peace? At least Han Yuan only messed up his own business. This one here dragged everyone else down with him.
Cheng Qian began to discover a benefit of being around his senior brother—mutual resentment made for excellent focus.
Cheng Qian was diligent and truly able to "not be disturbed by external things." He mentally compared the sect rules written on the wooden board to the ones in his memory, carefully spotting differences, soon becoming engrossed in the fun of copying them. The lingering sandalwood scent around him even seemed to calm the mind, and he gradually forgot about his restless senior brother.
Meanwhile, Yan Zhengming sulked to himself and craved snacks. After eating, he felt bloated, so he stood up and paced around the pavilions.
Soon, he realized no one was paying him any attention. The master sat on a futon, meditating motionlessly, muttering scripture. Cheng Qian, the new brat, was diligently copying the sect rules like he was embroidering them, not raising his head even once.
Old and young, they sat in utter stillness. Even the Dao servants standing off to the side held their breaths.
The stillness made Young Master Yan feel awkward and bored. Reluctantly, he returned to sit in front of the hourglass. He dazed out for a while, then gave in and picked up the carving knife again to resume his practice.
This time, he didn't cause any more fuss. It wasn't until the hourglass gave a soft click that Yan Zhengming snapped out of his trance and realized his carving time was already over.
The next few days passed like this. Every morning, the four of them would listen to the master reciting scriptures without mercy.
No one knew where Mu Chun found so many scriptures. He recited a different one each day, rarely repeating any. After Taoist scriptures came Buddhist ones—often contradicting each other.
After the chanting came wooden sword practice.
Yan Zhengming shamelessly pretended he had mastered the first three sword forms and started learning the fourth without even asking for clarification. Li Yun, too, settled down a bit with the new sword form and stopped luring cats and dogs up the mountain. Cheng Qian didn't need to be mentioned—he was always serious. Only Han Yuan continued to be the group's weakest link, even disturbing a bird's nest near the preaching hall with no sense of guilt.
In the afternoon, Yan Zhengming was locked in the preaching hall, carving wood beneath the cloud cover. Cheng Qian would either be doing his homework or helping the master prune flowers and trees. Sometimes the master would leave him snacks, and when Yan Zhengming carved away with resentment, Mu Chun would ask Cheng Qian to take a break and tell him bizarre folk tales.
Yan Zhengming sometimes felt this short brat was just trying to steal the master's affection—but he couldn't deny that sitting near Cheng Qian helped him settle down.
One day, the hourglass ran out. Yan Zhengming's hand holding the carving knife was still numb, and he sat there stunned. Just a moment ago, he had felt a strange power from the friction between blade and wood.
Then a hoarse voice rang in his ear: "Concentrate. Draw your breath into your lower abdomen. What is born, dies. What dies becomes distant. What is distant turns back again. This cycle repeats endlessly—it is of infinite use—"
Cheng Qian had sharp instincts. Before the master could speak, he had already stood up and stepped back. At the same time, he felt an indescribable flow of energy swirl around him, then surge into his senior brother like a river pouring into the sea.
It was the first time Cheng Qian had touched the hidden mystery of this world. He didn't know how Yan Zhengming felt in that moment, but he heard a faint voice. As the sun set behind Fuyao Mountain, the mountains steeped in spiritual energy echoed with strange resonance. Cheng Qian felt a bizarre sensation, as though the distant past and the hazy future were whispering to him across time. He strained to hear it clearly—but those voices were like quicksand slipping through his fingers.
Cheng Qian was nearly overwhelmed.
Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder. He jolted as if waking from a dream, and turned to see Mu Chun standing behind him.
Mu Chun looked down at him. Cheng Qian felt something wet on his face. He reached up and realized—he had been crying.
Embarrassed and confused, he just stared at his master.
Mu Chun's voice pierced into his ears like a needle: "The five colors blind the eyes, the five sounds deafen the ears, and the five flavors dull the tongue. The more you see, the more you hear, the more you dwell on—how can you find peace? Wake up!"
The word "wake up" hit like a slap. Cheng Qian's mind buzzed. When he opened his eyes again, his senior brother was still sitting in place, appearing to be in deep meditation.
Cheng Qian looked up at Mu Chun, bewildered. "Master, I heard someone speaking…"
Mu Chun replied casually, "Oh, that's the ancestors."
Cheng Qian was startled.
Mu Chun continued, "Our sect has been passed down for a thousand years. What's so strange about a few ancestors?"
Cheng Qian asked, "Where are they now?"
Mu Chun said, "Dead, of course."
Cheng Qian's eyes widened. "Shouldn't they have ascended to heaven?"
Mu Chun looked down kindly and asked, "What's the difference between ascending to heaven and dying?"
Cheng Qian replied, "Of course there's a difference! Isn't ascension immortality?"
Mu Chun stared for a moment, then chuckled. He didn't answer directly and instead said, "You… Little Bean, what do you know about death and immortality? You'll understand when you grow up."
He turned and returned to the master seat of the preaching hall. Looking at the meditating Yan Zhengming with a slight frown, he said, "Why go into meditation now? What about dinner?"
Cheng Qian: "…"
So dinner was brought to the mission hall, where scripture, talismans, and a stiff jade-like body surrounded by side dishes and a meditating elder brother made up the night's ambiance.
Mu Chun had Cheng Qian sit with him on the floor. He lovingly gave him a piece of meat like an uncle from a neighboring village, pulled over some copied scripture paper, and placed it on the spell-engraving table. "Eat more and grow tall. You can spit your bones here."
Cheng Qian silently took his rice bowl, feeling that from this day on, it would be hard to hold any reverence for the mission hall ever again.
After dinner, Mu Chun stayed to protect Yan Zhengming as he meditated, instructing the Dao boys to pack half a pound of snacks for Cheng Qian so he wouldn't get hungry overnight. That night was the fifteenth—it was said to be forbidden to climb the mountain. Mu Chun didn't give Cheng Qian any special instructions, as though he trusted that Cheng Qian would obediently copy sect rules without sneaking out.
And Cheng Qian really wouldn't—but that didn't mean others wouldn't.
No sooner had he returned to Qing'an Residence than Han Yuan came trailing behind him. As soon as he walked in, he made a ruckus and snatched Cheng Qian's snacks from the courtyard, crumbs falling everywhere. "What's the point of hanging out with senior brother all day? Why not come with us? Second senior brother taught me several moves, and I've almost mastered the first form!"
Cheng Qian dodged the crumbs like it was a blizzard, looked at this fool of a junior brother, and thought to himself, You've finished learning the first move? In two more days you'll probably ascend straight to heaven.
Han Yuan pointed at Cheng Qian's little courtyard and said, "Your place is so rundown—barely better than the master's. Tomorrow you should come see mine. Ten of you could fit in it, and there's a huge pond in the back. You can swim in summer—do you know how to swim? Ah, forget it, kids raised at home like you probably don't even go outside, let alone swim. I'll take you there—by the end of summer, you'll be a little white wave-runner!"
Such "kindness" made Cheng Qian inwardly shudder in gratitude and decline—he had no intention of làng-ing about with this scoundrel.
After finishing off all the snacks, Han Yuan finally got to the real topic.
He burped, sat up straight, and whispered, "Do you remember what second senior brother said… about Mountain Studies?"
Cheng Qian had been expecting this and replied calmly, "Junior brother, that's against sect rules. Since you've already started learning the sword techniques, why not go deeper? Have you memorized the sect rules?"
Han Yuan felt this junior-who-was-actually-senior was being unreasonable, and lectured smugly, "What's the use of memorizing rules? You're the most determined person I've ever seen, but didn't second senior brother say? Without spiritual energy, even learning a full set of sword forms is just dancing. One step at a time—how long will that take? You can't be so rigid… guarding rules and all that!"