Chapter 109: The Two Idiots of the Tang Dynasty

It was another silent, late night, and Chen Jin was still sitting in meditation.

Earlier, Chen Lan had spent some time in his room, clinging to him and asking for explanations of the Taoist scriptures. Chen Jin did not refuse, sharing his insights on the texts until Chen Lan grew drowsy and fell asleep. In Chen Jin’s view, Chen Lan’s mind was far too scattered; without proper discipline, it would be difficult for her to succeed in cultivation. Even if she managed to cross the threshold, achieving longevity would be an impossible dream, let alone condensing a Golden Elixir. After all, without the resolve to cultivate, true success is unattainable. Chen Jin decided he would need to find a technique for her to focus her mental thoughts.

While Chen Lan’s scattered thoughts worried him, his parents were a pleasant surprise. They had actually touched the threshold of cultivation. Their minds were far purer than Chen Lan’s—perhaps because they had lived through the vicissitudes of the world, allowing them to let go of worldly attachments, which in turn accelerated their progress. However, despite reaching the threshold, they still lacked much. Their advanced age meant their physical bodies were frail, which halved the efficiency of their absorption of the world’s primordial energy. Consequently, Chen Jin could only place a low-grade energy sphere in their room each day, attempting to compensate for quality with quantity. A single low-grade energy sphere contained as much primordial energy as a practitioner at the Mind-Settling stage would absorb in seven days of breathing exercises. Chen Jin dared not provide too much; after all, in this world, more is not always better—moderation is key. Moreover, he did not have many of these energy spheres left.

Today was March 18th, the time for Chen Jin’s fourth traversal. He had no idea what kind of era he would encounter, as the black-covered book provided no elevated permissions to allow him a glimpse of his destination. He could only hope he wouldn't be sent back to the age of the dinosaurs.

As the time slowly approached 10:50 PM, the black-covered book that had been hovering before Chen Jin’s eyes suddenly flipped a page. This time, there was no writing.

Then, Chen Jin felt the world spinning. His consciousness was suddenly stretched thin; every thought became drawn-out and sluggish, to the point where he couldn't even be sure if he was still thinking.

*Snap.*

A sharp pain in his forehead hit him, the spinning stopped abruptly, and Chen Jin’s thoughts returned to normal. His senses began to return, starting with his hearing.

"What's wrong with the Zhang family boy?"
"He must be possessed by an evil spirit..."
"Quick, go fetch Mother Wang..."

Voices—some gloating, some worried, others simply idle—echoed in his ears. Next came his sight. The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the people were dark, with twisted faces and whispering heads looming in a dense mass. Then, his sense of smell returned; the stench of sweat, feet, salted fish, wine, food, and rotting wood instantly flooded his nostrils. Finally, his sense of touch returned, and with it, the restoration of his muscle control.

Chen Jin immediately performed a carp-leap, springing three feet into the air and landing squarely on a square table, kicking the pots and pans clattering to the ground. His sudden "resurrection" provoked a chorus of gasps, and the onlookers stared at him in stunned silence.

"Halt! I am a disciple of the Immortal Ge Hong, descended upon the mortal realm! Who dares to provoke me?!" Chen Jin struck a pose on the table and shouted as if performing in a grand opera.

Why did he do this? In that split second, he had absorbed the memories of this body. Because his own cultivation was high and this vessel belonged to no one of consequence—merely a dim-witted village boy—the memories were sparse and easy to integrate. Due to the boy’s mental handicap, he hadn't learned much, only that his name was Zhang Junbao.

*Hmm, so I’m meant to create Taiji Fist?* Chen Jin thought. But the name had come a bit too early; born in the Tang Dynasty, he would have no connection to the Wudang Sect or Taiji Fist.

It was the third year of the Taihe era of the Tang Dynasty—the era of Emperor Wenzong. Few in later generations would know of Wenzong; when people thought of the Tang, they thought of Taizong, Wu Zetian, or Xuanzong. Wenzong was the fourteenth emperor, or the sixteenth if counting Wu Zetian and Emperor Shang. His achievements were mediocre, though he was not entirely without merit. But most emperors were like that—neither idiots nor geniuses, merely average.

As for his location, he was in a small town at the foot of Mount Emei called Liyuan Town. It was a place lost to the tides of history. In this life, he was the dim-witted son of a landlord in Liyuan Town—a truly dim-witted one. The silky clothes he wore were proof that his life here was quite comfortable.

But since he had regained his senses, Chen Jin needed an excuse to avoid being accused of demonic possession and subjected to vile "cures" like wood ash or excrement. Thus, he had staged this dramatic entrance, invoking the legendary name of Ge Hong to establish his status.

The crowd was shaken, listening with awe to his pronouncements. Though few were educated, many knew the name of Ge Hong, as tales of the legendary figure were common in Sichuan. Seeing them intimidated, Chen Jin began to chant in a theatrical, strained voice: "The Immortal has ordered me to descend to the mortal realm, to perform good deeds and cultivate virtue, to nourish the world and aid the people. If I complete one hundred and eight good deeds and build a cycle of virtue, I shall ascend to the heavens. What troubles do you have? Speak them to me!"

The crowd stared at one another in silence, none daring to respond. However, three young men with their hair tied up in cloth strips quietly surrounded the table. As Chen Jin finished his speech, the three lunged at him. They were quite strong, leaping three feet high as they charged.

Chen Jin did not panic. He raised his hands and struck three times, each palm landing squarely on a forehead.

*Smack! Smack! Smack!*

The three flew backward, a red handprint branded on each of their brows.

"If you have a grievance, speak! Why approach me with such intimacy?" Chen Jin shouted, still playing the part as he pointed at the three youths sprawled on the ground.

These three were actually not bad people; they were the servants of this body, tasked with protecting him and keeping him out of trouble. Unfortunately, they were no match for Chen Jin.