Chapter 70: Master Cloud Elephant

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Chen Jin’s conveniently acquired master had a name long lost to history; only his Daoist title survived: Master Yunxiang.

His cultivation had reached the very pinnacle for mortals, lacking just a single step to ascend to immortality.

By such measure, he surpassed even Ge Hong, yet there was no record of him in later generations. Perhaps this was because he concealed himself too deeply.

Those fortunate enough to meet him naturally would not boast or leave any written word for posterity, and those who had not met him would never hear of his name. After all, this fellow was a true recluse, unlike Ge Hong and other cultivators who traveled the world, experiencing its splendors, engaging in magical duels with others and with demons, and leaving behind all manner of legends.

Chen Jin’s conveniently acquired master could be counted as the most orthodox of Daoist cultivators—finding a random mountain, building a temple, holing up within to practice, never seeking to impress or humiliate others, single-mindedly cultivating until reaching the highest realm.

Chen Jin could imagine that, even upon becoming immortal, his master would likely seek out some tranquil mountain or riverside to continue his cultivation.

On second thought, that might not be quite right. His master aspired to become a Celestial Immortal, the most revered and profound fruit among the Five Immortal Realms—Heavenly, Earth, Human, Ghost, and God—by the end of cultivation. At that point, his state might not even be human in form, or rather, might have no fixed form at all. Additionally, Celestial Immortals mostly transcend the mortal world and cannot linger long within it.

Thus, if his master truly became a Celestial Immortal, he would need to find a place beyond the mortal realm to continue his practice.

And yet, he would probably still be a recluse…

As Chen Jin’s thoughts wandered, he arrived at the secluded chamber deep within the temple where Master Yunxiang cultivated.

At that moment, Master Yunxiang’s eyelids were half-open, half-closed, a contradictory gathering of decay and abundant vitality emanating from his form.

When Chen Jin had first arrived and met him, he had appeared just like this—hovering between life and death.

It must be, Chen Jin thought, because he was on the verge of shedding mortality and ascending to immortality.

Yet, Chen Jin had never seen anything like it with Ge Hong.

“Well?” Master Yunxiang was the first to speak.

“Huh?” Chen Jin was bewildered.

Well, what? Was he asking about Master Liao Xin’s family matters?

“Well?” Master Yunxiang repeated.

“It’s… all right, I suppose.” With nothing specific to refer to, Chen Jin dared not hazard a guess before Master Yunxiang; a careless word here would be ill-advised.

“In the primeval chaos, there was a god who existed with the Dao. The god began to think, to observe the chaos. Where thought extended, the four directions and all above and below were called the universe; to contemplate before and after was called time. Thus, the cosmos was formed.” Master Yunxiang spoke slowly.

Chen Jin remained full of questions.

He knew there was profound meaning in these words, but what was Master Yunxiang trying to convey?

Moreover, this story differed greatly from the mythology Chen Jin had learned in modern times. Wasn’t the creation of the world always the work of Pangu? How did it become the work of a god, who merely looked and thought, and the universe came into being?

“Do you still not understand?” Master Yunxiang asked gently.

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No, he did not understand at all!

Was this a hint about cultivation?

“Mm.” Master Yunxiang suddenly nodded.

“Mm?” Chen Jin was baffled.

Could Master Yunxiang read his thoughts?

“Mm.” Master Yunxiang nodded again.

“⊙∀⊙!” Chen Jin stared at him in horror.

Yet Master Yunxiang’s eyes remained half-open, half-shut, his gaze seemingly fixed upon the tip of his own nose.

“Remember what I have said. You may go.” Master Yunxiang continued.

“…Very well. Thank you, Master.” After a brief silence, Chen Jin bowed and left the room.

As soon as Chen Jin stepped out, another person appeared within—the monk Master Liao Xin.

“You want him to be your true successor?” Liao Xin asked in surprise.

Master Yunxiang remained silent.

“That boy isn’t your secret grandson, is he?” Liao Xin pressed.

Still no response.

“All right, all right, you don’t seem the type to have secret offspring. But you hardly look like a man on the verge of immortality.” Liao Xin continued.

Master Yunxiang still said nothing.

“The method that boy cultivates is not of this age, but left by God in the human realm. Its dangers are beyond reckoning. You truly want him to inherit your legacy? Aren’t you afraid it will die out with him?” Liao Xin asked.

Still no reply, but this time Master Yunxiang shook his head.

So, he was not afraid.

“Enough, I know you don’t wish to let slip the dual breath of life and death right now. I’ll be outside awaiting your public teaching.” With a wave of his sleeve, Liao Xin left the room.

…

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It was now a quarter to midnight, fifteen minutes before Master Yunxiang’s public teaching would begin.

Though the temple held more people than usual—seven or eight more—all present were disciplined cultivators, so the atmosphere was tranquil and harmonious. These observers were by no means ordinary practitioners; each appeared as if with the hair of a crane and the face of a child, venerable in age yet brimming with mysterious profundity, far more so than the somewhat greasy middle-aged monk Liao Xin, who was the type to be thrown out of the courtyard, given a flurry of punches, and taught that not everyone is so easily deceived.

The place chosen for Master Yunxiang’s teaching was the temple’s main hall.

Numerous portraits adorned the hall: the Three Pure Ones, the Four Sovereigns, the Five Elders, the Heavenly Emperor, all the gods and immortals, and the thirty-three heavens (likely influenced by the Western Buddhist concept of the twenty-eight heavens).

Thus, the main hall was spacious enough to seat about fifty people cross-legged for morning prayers.

It was said that the temple itself was built by Master Yunxiang. Too lazy for labor, he simply conjured it with magic, unconcerned with any notions of sincerity or devotion.

Of course, given his indolence, he needn’t have built a temple at all—he could have just found a cave in the mountains.

Yet, he did build one, and even took on disciples.

Chen Jin happened to be his last disciple.

The world is ever-changing, the human heart fickle—new ideas every day, new thoughts every second.

Perhaps Master Yunxiang was simply subduing such thoughts, and so did things that seemed out of character for him.

In the end, he became what he was—not his original form, not his true form, but rather the form he wanted for himself. This is cultivation: to become the existence you desire.

“Just lazy!” This was Chen Jin’s final verdict on his conveniently acquired master.

Dong… dong… dong…

With three strikes of the gong, a figure abruptly appeared atop a meditation mat before the portraits of the immortals and gods.

It was Master Yunxiang.

At this moment, his entire being was shrouded in the aura of twilight, as if he might fade away at any moment.

Yet beneath that aura, a tiny spark of vitality was hidden.

…