Chapter Fifty-Six: The Tao Exists on Mount Lao

Amid swirling mist, a solitary lantern flickered as a lone figure pressed forward.
He called himself Chen Jin—a Taoist priest.
He claimed to know how to plant peach trees, catch ghosts, and divine fortunes, or so the stories went, all originating from his own mouth.
It was the seventh day since his arrival in this world.
He seemed always to be searching—for something greasy… no, for something else entirely.
Everyone experiences a moment of honest self-examination born of kindness; Chen Jin was not in such a mood now. His intuition told him he lacked that particular skill.
“We’re here.” Chen Jin’s voice echoed through the haze.
He halted; before him stood a tall wall, twice the height of a man, built of yellow clay.
He traced its length through the mist.
Finally, he arrived at a grand gate.
Just as he raised his hand to knock, the gate creaked open of its own accord.
“How hospitable,” Chen Jin mused, stepping boldly inside.
Within the wall lay a simple courtyard and a small earthen hut.
The hut was modest, barely the size of a scholar’s cell, making it conspicuously out of place in the vast courtyard, which stretched like a football field. One could only wonder whether the owner had peculiar tastes or had offended some designer.
A soft sound—
The hut’s door swung open.
A bald head emerged.
“May I ask if you are Master Liao Xin?” Chen Jin stepped forward.
This Master Liao Xin was the man Chen Jin sought, the object of his search through the mist—not the greasy thing, but the bald monk.
“I am,” the monk replied with a gentle smile.

“I have been sent by my master to invite you to our temple for tea and discussion.” Chen Jin withdrew a slender bamboo strip from the folds of his broad robe.
Master Liao Xin took the bamboo strip, twisted it lightly, and it instantly turned to black ash, falling softly to the ground.
“I have seen it. Let us go,” he said with a faint smile.
Chen Jin didn’t grasp the principle behind the transformation, but it was impressive—its mysteries far beyond the comprehension of a novice like him.
“Please, after you.” Chen Jin gestured forward.
“Well then, it has indeed been a long time since I have admired the sights of Mount Lao,” the master nodded.
“Ha, master, your interests are truly refined,” Chen Jin replied with a smile.
His current identity was that of a Taoist priest at a temple atop Mount Lao, a beginner on the path of cultivation. His name was Chen Jin, his Taoist title Zhengyang, and he cultivated the “Mysterious Primordial Tao Practice,” a foundational method taught to all Mount Lao Taoists. It built the body and preserved the mind, and when one’s spirit overflowed, it was time to switch to a true cultivation method.
Chen Jin’s body had just reached the stage of overflowing spirit when he arrived.
Now, his realm had advanced, but he had not directly increased his cultivation, for he was not truly Zhengyang.
Based on Zhengyang’s pace and aptitude, it would have been impossible to reach the next stage instantly; he should barely be at the stage of settling his mind. Thus, Chen Jin had not begun to draw in and refine the primordial energies of heaven and earth; instead, he absorbed them into his body, for these energies could be carried back to the modern world.
Why waste such precious energy simply because it couldn’t be transformed into the primordial blend? Naturally, Chen Jin used it to nourish his body, hoping to bring it back to modern times.
As for the task from the Black Book… there was none, as before. So Chen Jin could not predict when he might leave this world.
Aimless, he spent his days as a recluse in the temple atop Mount Lao, only descending occasionally to collect daily necessities.
This time, he had come down solely to escort Master Liao Xin.
Truthfully, Chen Jin felt such errands could easily be handled by sending messages via flying swords.
Did they really believe that sending someone in person showed greater respect?
“Has your master taught you the technique of controlling qi?” Master Liao Xin suddenly asked as they walked.
“Almost,” Chen Jin responded instinctively, his mind racing as if bypassing thought entirely.
“I see. I observe your spirit overflowing and your vitality abundant. Once you acquire a method for the next stage, you will advance further, and the technique for controlling qi will naturally follow,” Master Liao Xin said with a kindly smile.
After the incident at Mount Ge Hong, Chen Jin had learned never to underestimate those of higher cultivation. Judging by his current reasoning, they were certainly more powerful and wiser than he, and every word might conceal a subtle trap. Before he even realized what had happened, their schemes would already be complete.

Thus, Chen Jin carefully considered the monk’s words, weighing them against the circumstances of his temple, and found nothing amiss.
Still, his response was brief; otherwise, with the Buddhist tradition of cultivating eloquence, if he engaged further, the monk would surely have much more to say.
“Thank you, master, for your guidance,” Chen Jin replied simply.
“Do not blame your master for withholding the qi technique. You are still young and need more tempering. Moreover, your master once had… but never mind, if I speak of this, your master would certainly protest,” Master Liao Xin began, as if lost in reminiscence, but stopped abruptly, recalling something unpleasant.
His expression plainly sought to provoke Chen Jin’s curiosity, hoping he would inquire about the past, so he could refuse three times before yielding to Chen Jin’s persistence.
“May I ask what it was?” Chen Jin, sensing the monk’s intent, obliged with a question.
He thought it best to let the bald monk feel a sense of satisfaction.
“Better not. If you heard, your master would be displeased,” Master Liao Xin shook his head.
“Well… then let it be,” Chen Jin hesitated a moment, feigning fear of his master, then nodded.
“Hmm…” Liao Xin inhaled sharply.
“Master Liao Xin, are you all right?” Chen Jin looked at him with concern and puzzlement.
“Cough, cough, it’s nothing, just a bit of chill from the past days. It’s nothing serious, nothing at all,” Liao Xin replied, coughing awkwardly, his explanation feeble.
Such an excuse fooled no one—not even the original Chen Jin. For a true cultivator, how could a mere chill afflict him?
The two continued their journey in uncomfortable silence.
“Zhengyang, I feel I must tell you your master’s story after all…”
Master Liao Xin could not resist the urge to speak.
………