Chapter 57: Misty Lake

Humans possess five viscera: spirit, soul, will, essence. Heaven has five elements: water, fire, metal, wood, and earth. Separated by seasons, they nurture and transform, giving rise to all things. Gain even one, and the divine mind opens. You have already cleared all your meridians—spirit, soul, essence, and will can all be shaped by thought and flow through the body. Now, empty yourself, send your thought deep into your mind, and you will see the world within your dantian.

Out on the grass beyond the house, Li Chunfeng sat cross-legged with Lu Xin, personally guiding his cultivation. Following Li Chunfeng’s instructions, Lu Xin soon saw an elliptical vortex of power, with a wisp of flame suspended above it.

The Onmyoji's cultivation allowed one to use thought to see the microcosm, and to sense the world’s energies—a fundamental distinction from ordinary people. The essence of cultivating in the Realm of Perceiving the Void was to perceive the subtlest things, to see through the myriad forms of the universe: the acupoints and meridians, spirits and monsters, the vital energies of the five elements, the essence of sun and moon, and so on.

What Li Chunfeng aimed to teach Lu Xin now was how to condense the Taoist True Fire, sense the elemental vital energies with his mind, and refine them into magical power.

“Celestial herbs inherently possess powerful elemental energies, which is why they can immediately form a vortex of power in your dantian. But the flame floating above it is half a step away from the Taoist True Fire.”

“What is it still lacking?”

“At the dawn of creation, as the dragon veins multiplied and the five elements gave birth to all things, ten primordial fires came into being. Among them, the Ziwei Heavenly Fire is born from the power of the stars, and is the only flame the flesh can endure. The so-called Taoist True Fire is, in fact, the original form of Ziwei Heavenly Fire. In the Realm of Perceiving the Void, True Fire is shaped by the vital energies of the five elements, but must be fused with the spirit and soul to be wielded at will.”

“So that’s why I can’t feel the power’s presence, nor move the flame in my dantian.”

Lu Xin nodded, sending his thoughts coursing through his meridians, then connecting each of his five viscera. According to Li Chunfeng, the five viscera: the heart houses the spirit, the liver the soul; merging the two, then driving them with thought into the dantian, allows one to unite with the flame and produce the Taoist True Fire. Then, using the True Fire to refine the elemental vital energies, one fills the vortex of power, gaining all manner of extraordinary abilities.

In short, Onmyoji cultivation is a complex process that brings tremendous change to both body and spirit.

A mountain breeze passed, the sunlight was just right, and Lu Xin, seated on the grass, entered a state of utter selflessness. His mind was immersed within his body, roaming the microcosm—a sensation beyond words. The human body, with its countless meridians and acupoints, was as vast as the universe itself. During the condensation of the Taoist True Fire, Lu Xin felt, for the first time, at one with heaven and earth.

Two hours later, the youth suddenly opened his eyes. With a flick of his hand, a wisp of red flame appeared in his palm, summoned from thin air, burning without fuel, unscattered by the wind.

“This is the Taoist True Fire?”

Lu Xin was overjoyed. He could now control the flame within his dantian at will, and with every gesture, could release a formless power.

“It seems your mind is far stronger than most. Ordinary Onmyoji, upon first condensing the True Fire, cannot yet manifest it outside their bodies as you do.”

Li Chunfeng nodded, evidently pleased with Lu Xin’s performance. Then he drew a vial from his robe, unstopped it, and a rich medicinal fragrance wafted out.

“Though Ziwei Heavenly Fire can refine the soul and protect the body, Taoist True Fire still damages the flesh. In the Realm of Perceiving the Void, Onmyoji must take elixirs to protect their bodies, lest they be reduced to ashes by the True Fire’s power.”

“No wonder there are so many legends about alchemy. So the real reason for taking elixirs was to suppress the True Fire within.”

Lu Xin took the vial and swallowed a pill without hesitation. Just as Li Chunfeng had said, ever since he condensed the Taoist True Fire, a strange heat had risen within him—it surged from his dantian through his entire body, especially the meridians and viscera, as if roasted by a furnace, exceedingly uncomfortable. And this was only after condensing the True Fire for a few minutes; how much worse would it be after years of cultivation?

“So many Taoists and emperors recorded in history died from alchemy—perhaps not all were poisoned. Some may have been burned alive by the Taoist True Fire. Also, perhaps alchemy was not for immortality at all, but simply for cultivation!”

Before traveling to this world, Lu Xin had not been fond of study, but had a keen interest in novels and unofficial histories. Since ancient times in China, the practice of alchemy had existed. Countless Taoists, nobles, and even emperors were obsessed with refining elixirs. The most famous was the First Emperor of Qin, who sought immortality, devoted the resources of the entire nation to alchemy, and died of poisoning.

But when one considers it carefully, is it plausible that an emperor would die of poisoning? Any elixir could be tested on others first. Even without modern medicine, the toxicity could be checked on living subjects. Moreover, Onmyoji, with their insight and discernment, could easily tell if a pill was poisonous.

From this logic, the claim that emperors died from alchemical poisoning seems tenuous. Of course, whether, as Lu Xin speculated, emperors refined elixirs for cultivation is hard to prove.

“You already possess wood-attribute magical power. Now, let me teach you the ‘Earth Burial Sutra of Virtuous Law’—a method that will allow you to cultivate fire-attribute power as well. Once you succeed, with the cycle of the five elements, using wood to generate fire, your strength will be more than three times greater than other Onmyoji of the same realm.”

...

Time passed swiftly—so it is said, in the mountains, days and months are indistinguishable. Lu Xin and Li Chunfeng cultivated in the mountains of Phoenix Ridge for over half a month. One midday, master and disciple awoke from meditation, exchanged smiles, and finally decided it was time to descend.

Now, the youth’s eyes shone with a new brilliance, as dazzling as stars in the night.

“Your magic is formed, though you are only at the first stage of the Realm of Perceiving the Void. But with your power, four or five Onmyoji of the same realm are no match for you.”

“Thank you for your guidance, Master. Only now do I truly understand the wonders of this world.”

Lu Xin stood up, feeling himself surrounded by an intangible force. With a casual punch, he could send a man flying ten meters. In his dantian, two vortices of magical power—one green, one red—swirled, drawing each other in, showing signs of merging. The Taoist True Fire above them was now far stronger than it had been half a month before.

“Once you enter the Way, you are set apart from mortals. Though the road ahead is long, there is now a glimmer of hope for immortality. My disciple, do not blame your master for nagging: only those who keep the people in their hearts can achieve true greatness. No matter how strong your cultivation becomes, never place yourself above others, nor forget what it means to be human.”

“I will remember your teachings, Master.”

In the third year of the Zhen Guan era, on the first day of the sixth month, Li Chunfeng led Lu Xin out of Phoenix Ridge. They walked to the outskirts of Raozhou City before stopping. Lu Xin wanted to visit Wuzhou to search for the scholar and Moonless and the others, but after Li Chunfeng cast a divination, foreseeing great events soon to unfold in Chang’an, he decided to head directly north. Moreover, the imperial examinations were scheduled for June; if the scholar and his companions were unharmed, they would surely make their way to Chang’an as well. If they detoured to Wuzhou now, not only would time run short, there was a risk of missing each other entirely. As a disciple, Lu Xin naturally obeyed, and Li Chunfeng’s reasoning was sound.

Outside Raozhou stood the Grand Canal leading directly to Lake Poyang. After crossing into Jiangzhou, instead of heading straight north, Li Chunfeng bought two swift horses and led Lu Xin west to Yuezhou. Though this added two days to their journey, it was better than detouring to Wuzhou and did not disrupt their plans.

Two days later, master and disciple stopped by the shores of Dongting Lake. Night had fallen, and a dreamy mist drifted over the waters. The stars above were reflected on the lake’s surface, creating a scene both illusory and enchanting.

“Master, is this the Yunmeng Marsh you spoke of?” Lu Xin looked at the boundless lake before him, his expression curious. They had arrived in Yuezhou, and Dongting Lake was famous even in modern times. The classic essay ‘Memorial to Yueyang Tower’ described its grandeur with lines such as ‘when the long mists disperse, the moon shines for a thousand miles.’ This lake was renowned indeed. Yet the more famous a place, the more ordinary it can seem. It is often those remote mountains and forests, rarely visited by man, that hold the deepest mysteries.

However, Li Chunfeng had gone out of his way to take two extra days to detour to Yuezhou—proof enough that the lake before them held secrets.

“These eight hundred li of Dongting were once called Yunmeng, the sacred ground of the ancient Shennong clan. Within lies a hidden universe, concealing many secrets of heaven and earth. Alas, the tides of time have washed all traces away.”

Bathed in moonlight, Li Chunfeng stepped into the water, his voice as ethereal as the drifting mists. Lu Xin, unable yet to walk on water, had to call out from the shore.

“Master, what is it that brings you here?”

“There is great calamity ahead in Chang’an. Even with my cultivation, I may not overcome it. Beneath Yunmeng Marsh lies a millennium-old Ghost Market—I need something from there if we are to prevail.”

“Ghost Market?” Lu Xin was stunned. The term “Ghost Market” was usually found only in horror and tomb-raiding stories—a gathering of spirits and ghosts, setting up stalls to trade items not found in the world of the living. Yet now Li Chunfeng claimed there was a thousand-year Ghost Market beneath Dongting Lake—Lu Xin could not help but be shocked.

He looked up at the moon; midnight had already passed. Li Chunfeng said no more, casting a spell to envelop Lu Xin as they made their way into the depths of the lake. The wind and waves on the surface were fierce—as described in the ‘Memorial to Yueyang Tower’: “At times the dark wind howls, foul waves crash into the sky”—truly perilous.

The expanse of Dongting Lake was vast indeed. Entering it was like entering the sea, endless in all directions. There were many islands within the lake. Following Li Chunfeng, Lu Xin spent more than two hours before they finally stopped at a crescent-shaped island. It was clear Li Chunfeng had been here before, for he quickly found a cave among the woods.

Lu Xin entered the cave to find a vertical tunnel beneath his feet. After descending some fifty or sixty meters, Li Chunfeng pushed open a stone door—and before their eyes appeared a scene beyond imagination.