Before the words could fully fade
Thud!
A muffled sound of flesh being pierced. It wasn’t Fu Yun who struck, though he had entertained the thought.
Before his eyes, Wu Sheng’s heart was shredded by spiritual energy. Warm, fragmented flesh dripped onto Fu Yun’s hand.
A figure emerged silently against the sunlight, dressed in green robes.
The newcomer’s spiritual energy was ruthless. After shredding the heart, it did not pause, piercing straight through the chest of Fu Yun’s child-like avatar, who was still holding Wu Sheng tightly.
Before collapsing, Wu Sheng showed neither anger nor fear, addressing the figure: “Qing Sheng…”
He said something more, but Fu Yun could no longer make it out.
At the same time, the system, which had been using Fu Yun’s senses to observe the outside world, was abruptly cut off, plunging into complete silence.
The system’s vision went dark.
It had no idea what had happened, only frantically concealing traces of causality and protecting Fu Yun with all its might. But no matter how desperately it called out, there was no response.
After an unknown length of time, the system’s vision brightened again, as if an invisible hand had lifted a curtain.
A clear, childlike voice gradually grew distinct:
“Qing Qing”
The childish voice pierced the silence of the small courtyard. Though the tone was delicate, the system recognized it: it was Fu Yun.
Seeing him unharmed, the system felt a momentary relief, but communication remained unanswered.
The system stayed still, observing quietly.
Little Fu Yun held a scroll in his hand, using his foot to push open the inner room’s door. The system guessed that the “Qing Qing” he mentioned was likely the “Qing Sheng” Wu Sheng had called out before dying.
Little Fu Yun’s footsteps seemed cushioned, making no sound as he walked. Yet, Qing Sheng set down his book at the same moment the door was pushed open, bending slightly to extend a hand toward the child. “Seven months have passed, and you still aren’t used to calling me ‘teacher’?”
When they entered the dream, it was still spring and summer. Now, winter had arrived. The candle in the corner crackled softly, its warmth almost stifling.
Little Fu Yun stood on tiptoe, pushing the scroll onto the table before skillfully retreating to the side of the stove. He found a corner, crouched down, hugged his knees, and warmed his hands.
The false teacher and student enjoyed a peaceful moment.
The system was on the verge of madness: *Host! Fu Yun! It’s all fake! The fire is fake, the people are fake, even your identity is fake!*The child paid no heed.
The system recalled the cup of blood Wu Sheng had forced Fu Yun to drink. Could it have severed the connection between the host and itself?
After warming his hands for a while, his frozen joints loosened. Qing Sheng tugged at the back of Fu Yun’s collar, reminding him to sit closer. “Today, you’ll learn to write talismans.”
Little Fu Yun focused intently on his studies, but with a flick of his brush, he drew a turtle.
“A turtle for Qing Qing, a gift for my teacher.”
Little Fu Yun was punished, copying talismans until the tip of his brush frayed. He went to the courtyard’s water vat to wash his brush, climbed onto the rim, leaned over to scoop water, and tumbled inside.
Before he could cry for help, a surge of spiritual energy wrapped around him, soaking wet, and pulled him back into the room.
The owner of the spiritual energy Qing Sheng remained silent.
Little Fu Yun shivered under the blanket, his voice soft but calm and reasonable: “Teacher, I really just wanted to wash the brush. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”
Qing Sheng said, “I thought perhaps Xiao Yun wanted to run away again.”
He handed over a warm jade pendant.
Little Fu Yun said, “I don’t like this shape. It’s ugly.”
The jade pendant was covered in patterns resembling a turtle’s shell.
Qing Sheng truly changed the shape for Fu Yun.
He transformed Fu Yun into a narcissus flower, a quiet ornament basking in the moonlight streaming through the window, standing tall and graceful beautiful all night long.
Qing Sheng read for a while, then gazed at the flower for a while. At dawn, he finally transformed Fu Yun back. Little Fu Yun wilted briefly before softening his voice to say, “I want to go out and play, or I’ll die of boredom.”
Qingsheng led him out of the courtyard. The snow was falling heavily.
Fu Yun said, “My legs have gone numb from standing. Teacher, carry me on your back.”
Perched on Qingsheng’s back, little Fu Yun scooped up a handful of snow and, along with his frozen-stiff hand, shoved it down the back of Qingsheng’s collar.
Then, taking advantage of Qingsheng’s momentary freeze, he wriggled free, shielded his head with his hands, curled his body, and dropped into the snow. He rolled to the side and made a beeline for the gate.
Neither the system nor Fu Yun could see it, but behind them in the snow, Qingsheng gathered wood-attuned spiritual energy in his palm. The branches of the locust tree behind Fu Yun grew like ghostly claws, silently reaching out, about to tighten around Fu Yun’s neck.
“Teacher, for you.”
Fu Yun dug out a few wildflowers from beneath the snowdrift and offered them to Qingsheng. The withered locust branches retracted as if they had never been there.
For the first time, a ripple of emotion colored Qingsheng’s words: “Playing innocent and acting foolish.”
At the same time, the system, shivering as it pondered “what to do if the host turns into an idiot,” heard a voice in its mind that was no less than heavenly music
“Idiot, shut up.”
The system would never know what life-and-death peril Fu Yun had experienced in that stretch of darkness when it was disconnected.
Counting by dream time, seven months ago, Wusheng had been pierced through the heart by Qingsheng’s spiritual power.
Qingsheng was a cultivator, Wusheng a mortal, yet they both shared the same face as the Sacred Venerable two dream incarnations from different periods, one still hunting the other!
Fu Yun had also been run through, but fortunately, he was a spiritualized body; scattering and reforming was possible. With the illusory dream technique as cover, in Qingsheng’s eyes, he was severely wounded, on the brink of death.
When Qingsheng approached, Fu Yun threw the bamboo skewer that had originally pierced his flesh at him.
Twelve times.
Qingsheng killed him, and he killed Qingsheng twelve times. Toward the end, Fu Yun could only forcibly alter Qingsheng’s perception I am the nightmare you cannot kill. The cost was spiritual weakness; any longer, and he would be forced out of the dream.
After the final mutual killing, Qingsheng took Fu Yun back.
Fu Yun tried to leave the dream, but the moment he made a move, Qingsheng would appear by his bedside or stand behind him. Fu Yun also tried to escape the small courtyard, but the moment he took a step beyond it, he would be pierced by branches or spiritual energy.
Fu Yun was kept in the inner room, fed Qingsheng’s flesh, fruits and vegetables grown by Qingsheng’s wood-attuned spiritual energy, and spiritual liquid transformed from Qingsheng’s blood. He rested on Qingsheng’s knees, arms, desk.
Qingsheng raised Fu Yun like a spiritual pet.
Until three months later, another group of villagers came up the mountain to seize “immortal flesh.”
The cultivator Qingsheng also allowed mortals to take his flesh.
But human greed is boundless. One day, the inner room was pried open, and one person discovered Fu Yun, locked inside to recuperate. Mistaking him for an “immortal” as well, they tried to take his flesh.
Fu Yun killed that person in return, at the cost of a severed arm. The severed limb lay in a pool of blood as he looked toward the doorway of the inner room, where Qingsheng had been silently watching all along.
Qingsheng said, “I wanted to see how far you would go to survive.”
Fu Yun survived, and Qingsheng formally took him as a disciple.
Wood-attuned spiritual energy caused the severed limb to regenerate, bringing with it a fine, dense pain and itch, but that wasn’t the hardest to endure. One day, Fu Yun discovered that Qingsheng had actually kept his severed arm, tucked under his pillow.
The arm had been treated; it didn’t stink and wouldn’t decay.
Outside the room, Qingsheng was by the window, playing the zither, his profile bathed in dust motes of light. From the silhouette alone, he looked like a gentleman of jade.
After becoming Qingsheng’s disciple and surviving in the dream, Fu Yun reconsidered the idea of dual cultivation.
He gradually probed Qingsheng’s limits, figuring out how to provoke his anger the more enraged the incarnation, the more chaotic the sea of consciousness, making it possible to locate the spiritual platform from the flow of spiritual energy.
Qingsheng had once told Fu Yun, “Saving you will be part of my path to enlightenment.”
To provoke Qingzun, the key lies in attacking his Dao.
The original plot mentioned in passing that Qing Sheng fell for Xie Yun, shattering his Dao heart. The system confidently stated: According to data analysis, the probability of a great cultivator practicing the Dao of Heartlessness is the highest.
Fu Yun began another round of malicious probing.
“I can’t sleep.” Fu Yun hadn’t slept for three consecutive days, dark circles under his eyes, gazing gloomily at Qingsheng. “Teacher, read me a book to help me fall asleep.”
He had prepared a storybook in advance. Qingsheng patiently read a page before realizing something was off.
The male protagonist, who practiced the Dao of Heartlessness, had just kissed the female protagonist, who practiced the Dao of Harmony and Joy.
Qing Sheng was merely helpless but not angered. It seemed he only showed emotion when killing. Fu Yun was also adept at concealing his emotions, his eyes curving slightly.
Using an innocent, childlike tone, soft yet sharp, he emphasized, “The book says the Dao of Heartlessness exists to be broken. Throughout history, no one has ever succeeded.”
You will break your Dao for someone.
You will love someone shamelessly, even sharing a husband with others.
Esteemed One, this is your fate.
Qingsheng punished Fu Yun by making him copy the storybook ten times.
This dream lasted much longer than Fu Yun had anticipated.
The difference in perception of time between a Nascent Soul great cultivator and an ordinary cultivator was like that between an ancient tree and a mayfly worlds apart.
Outside the dream, only two hours had passed, but within the dream, five years had gone by.
Fu Yun manipulated his form, growing step by step into a young man.
Qingsheng truly treated him as his only disciple, imparting genuine insights into cultivation methods, mantras, and foundational principles. Fu Yun seized every moment, seeking guidance in the dream, and Qingsheng held nothing back, often hitting the nail on the head.
The exhilaration of clearing away the clouds and piercing through the fog left Fu Yun utterly captivated.
Even if he couldn’t obtain the essence this time, the insights and techniques he had gained were immensely valuable.
He immersed himself in this mutual teaching and learning, unaware of how much time had passed. Having drunk Qingsheng’s blood and fearing the system might be detected, Fu Yun had instructed the system to focus on obscuring causality and not to call out unless something major occurred.
Today, the long-silent system abruptly spoke up: “Host, don’t you think something’s off.?”
“You haven’t seen another person for an entire year!”
He hadn’t left this courtyard. For food, clothing, shelter, and travel, Fu Yun would simply state what he needed, and soon Qingsheng would bring it to him.
Fu Yun paid it no mind.
For a cultivator, a year of seclusion was nothing out of the ordinary.
But the system had a terrifying speculation: “Is Qingsheng regretting not being able to raise Xie Yun from childhood, so in the dream, he’s using you as a substitute, playing at imprisonment?”
Fu Yun, deeply engrossed in drawing talismans, casually replied, “If he wanted to play with Xie Yun, he wouldn’t need to do it in a dream. With a single word, the sect leader would deliver him to his bed.”
“Besides, Qingsheng is a cultivator. We’re in the mortal realm now, so not seeing mortals is normal.” Fu Yun reasoned, “Qingsheng took me in for cultivation. Although some of his actions are perverse, he hasn’t actually done anything.”
The system: “Then why won’t he let you out of the dream?”
Fu Yun said, “I was just about to tell you this I’ve thought of a way to escape the dream.”
The system: “How?”
Fu Yun: “Qingsheng’s guard against me has lessened considerably. In a few days, I’ll ask him to demonstrate a large-scale technique. I’ll take the opportunity to locate his spiritual platform and then destroy it.”
This way, he could achieve both essence absorption and dream escape with one move.
Fu Yun finalized the plan, ambitious and eager. But the next morning, after finishing his meditation, he discovered half of his face was swollen.
Qingsheng and Fu Yun examined it for a while. Fu Yun self-diagnosed: “It’s gingivitis. Teacher, could we call a physician?”
Qingsheng said flatly, “The physician is dead.”
Fu Yun had grown quite adept at understanding his abbreviated sentences. “There’s fighting down the mountain again, huh.”
Qing Sheng said, “I’ll take a look for you.”
His expression was no different from when he said he’d check Fu Yun’s schoolwork. Fu Yun instinctively responded with an “Mhm.”
A hand cupped the side of his face that wasn’t swollen.
Before Fu Yun could react, the fingers pressed down harder, making him gasp in pain and open his mouth. A wisp of spiritual energy probed inside.
Fu Yun fell silent. Forced to tilt his head back, the spiritual energy swept over his teeth, tickling intensely, while his restrained jaw grew hot and painful.
Fu Yun: “…”
It was all the system’s fault. Such an ordinary action now felt completely off!
When the spiritual energy touched the affected area, a sharp, sour itch shot straight to the top of his head. Fu Yun clenched his teeth fiercely, actually biting off that wisp of spiritual energy. A cool sensation seeped into his gums.
Fu Yun covered half his face. “Teacher, maybe we should just go find a doctor.”
But another surge of slightly scorching spiritual energy flowed in. Cold sweat dampened half of Fu Yun’s back. Would Qing Sheng cut out his tongue if he didn’t get his way?
Finally, the extra tooth was extracted, and Fu Yun’s resistance was worn down completely.
Qing Sheng didn’t throw the tooth away, nor did he return it to Fu Yun. Instead, he wrapped it in a silk cloth. Fu Yun lowered his eyes and chuckled twice, the sound cold and hollow. Qing Sheng simply said, “I’ve heard that in the mortal world, when children lose their teeth, families keep the first one as a memento.”
“I want to go down the mountain and see the mortal world,” Fu Yun said.
Qing Sheng replied, “It would be dangerous.”
Fu Yun displayed his spiritual energy. “I’ve already guided energy into my body. I can use techniques.”
Qing Sheng did nothing, just watched him like that. Under his gaze, even the flow of Fu Yun’s spiritual energy grew somewhat sluggish.
Fu Yun offered the sweetest, most obedient smile of his life. “Teacher, come down the mountain with me.”
The first step of cultivation through absorption was about to begin.
The rain during Qingming was as fine as mist, clinging stickily to their clothes.
Fu Yun looked back. Qing Sheng’s plain robes blended into the mountain scenery. The Wood Spirit governed life, yet no vitality of living beings could be found on him. Instead, he was shrouded in the same gloomy, overcast haze as this rain.
“Do you like Qingming?” Fu Yun suddenly asked, trudging through the mud. Otherwise, why choose this day specifically to bring him out?
Qing Sheng didn’t say he liked it, only stating, “During the Qingming rains, grasses and trees wither and flourish, tens of thousands live and die everywhere is the Dao.”
“You seem to prefer death over life,” Fu Yun remarked with a sudden, cold laugh.
Qing Sheng still didn’t confirm or deny his preference. “Life is the great virtue of heaven and earth. Seeking life leads to the Dao.”
Fu Yun pressed him. “And death?”
“Seeking life to prove the Dao.”
Fu Yun seized the moment to inquire further. “How does one comprehend the Dao?”
Qing Sheng said, “Become blind.”
“Humans have five senses connecting them to heaven and earth. If you exhaust your vision, the other senses decline. The more you see, the more accustomed you become, and naturally, the less of the Dao you attain.”
“Many things the eyes cannot see or contain must be perceived with the heart,” Qing Sheng said.
“What do you see?” Fu Yun asked.
A gentle, springwater-like “mist” Qing Sheng’s Wood Spirit energy veiled Fu Yun’s vision.
Fu Yun felt a cool sensation on his eyelids, and in an instant, his spiritual awareness cleared. He saw
A raindrop on a willow branch, bending the twig, falling onto a wildflower.
A tender yellow bud held by a small, withered hand.
The child clutched a half-eaten, waterlogged green rice cake in his hand. As Fu Yun looked closely, the chain of events surrounding the rice cake unfolded: in the noble’s kitchen, steam rose from the pot as rebel soldiers flooded in, scrambling for food. A severed head rolled into the pot, the green rice cake tumbled to the ground, only to be snatched by a plump dog clad in silk. It slipped through a hole and finally, the rice cake ended up in the hands of a child crouching by the dog hole.
The child ate the rice cake. Soon, he would choke to death on the glutinous rice. His bones would rot in the mud, and a wild grass would sprout by the dog hole, competing with the moss on the wall for nutrients.
New shoots piercing old bones, crimson blood nourishing green traces “This is the mortal world,” Qing Sheng said. “When you attain the Dao-heart, you too will witness your own mortal world.”
He noticed Fu Yun’s gaze lingering on the wildflower.
Qing Sheng: “Do you like it?”
Fu Yun nodded.
Then, a nameless flower fell into Fu Yun’s palm warm to the touch. Fu Yun’s hand instinctively closed around it, and flower juice seeped through his fingers, sticky and warm.
Fu Yun’s eyes didn’t blink as he asked Qing Sheng, “What kind of magic is this?”
Qing Sheng replied, “A trick of the eyes.”
As his words fell, the withered flower transformed into a green rice cake.
Fu Yun: “…”
A trick to tease a child. The corner of Fu Yun’s mouth lifted slightly, wanting to laugh, but he held it back.
Earlier, through Qing Sheng’s eyes, he had glimpsed the dream world and formed a hypothesis about the location of the spiritual platform.
Soon, Fu Yun would disrupt Qing Sheng.
Destroy him.
Fu Yun was about to speak when creak the wooden door by the street was pushed open, the sound dragging on.
The setting sun stretched people’s shadows long. Dozens of figures, silent, surged forward, nearly a hundred pairs of yellow or red eyes encircling Fu Yun and his master in the middle of the road.
Bo-dhi-satt-va.
Meat.
The murmurs spread like a plague, infecting one person after another. Another voice whispered, “May the Bodhisattva bless us,” as hushed conversations, prayers, and lamentations spread.
The crowd closed in.
Qing Sheng shielded Fu Yun behind him, facing the mortals without resistance.
As he rolled up his sleeves, baring his arms, Fu Yun manipulated the wood spirits to slaughter the entire crowd.
Blood splattered onto Qing Sheng’s face. He froze for a moment, instinctively wiping a drop of blood, almost bringing it to his lips, but quickly restrained the impulse.
“You didn’t need to save me,” Qing Sheng said. “I have wood spirits protecting my body. My flesh and blood will regenerate, enough to feed countless people.”
“You’re indulging their greed,” Fu Yun interrupted.
Was Qing Sheng saving them? He didn’t resist, didn’t relocate, didn’t hide. He watched himself being devoured while observing the newcomers scrambling for more.
In these chaotic times, the legend of immortal flesh was like poisoned wine.
“Giving them a twisted hope, watching them die fighting over it, or surviving in this chaos,” Fu Yun asked, “Master, can you attain the Dao this way?”
The previously relaxed atmosphere vanished entirely, and the surrounding wood spirits slowed their flow.
Indeed, the “Dao” was what Qing Sheng cared about most.
Qing Sheng countered, “Did you kill today out of some insight into the Dao-heart?”
Fu Yun: “I was furious. Because of you.”
Qing Sheng: “Hmm?”
Fu Yun: “You let these people stumble upon me again. What did you want to see? Another severed arm of mine for your collection?”
Qing Sheng was taken aback, then stated firmly, “No.”
Fu Yun: “Swear an oath to the Heavenly Dao. If you lie, you will never attain sainthood.”
Qing Sheng sighed helplessly and swore the oath.
Fu Yun reached a conclusion: “Then you’re just being plain foolish.”
While Qing Sheng was stunned by this crude remark, Fu Yun walked up to him, placed a hand on his back, and said intimately, “Rather than feeding those fools, why not just feed me?”
Qing Sheng: “But.”
Fu Yun directly reached from behind, snapping the ribs and grabbing towards Qingsheng’s heart.
He guessed that the spiritual platform was located in one of two places, and the heart was one of them.