Chapter Sixty-Nine: Retrospection

The past always dissipates like light smoke; once those who remember it are all gone, even the last wisps fade away. Thus, pen and paper came into being, and from them, history was born.

Master Liaoxin was a man whose tongue could never rest, lacking the discipline to keep from spreading whatever tales he knew. So, on their journey to Mount Lao, he recounted to Chen Jin a story—not especially tragic, nor particularly outrageous.

The players in this tale: Master Liaoxin, Chen Xiaomei—Chen Sanquan’s aunt, and the old lady of the haunted house mentioned earlier.

The origin: Master Liaoxin, upon awakening the spiritual consciousness of his previous life as a Buddhist monk, resolutely renounced the world and became a monk, cutting all ties with the mundane.

The course of events: Master Liaoxin, whose given name was Chen Dadan, was Chen Sanquan’s uncle and the elder brother of Chen Xiaomei. Being the reincarnation of a Buddhist monk, he suddenly became enlightened at the age of sixteen, left home, and wandered the world as a monk.

At the time, the Chen family opposed his decision, but Chen Dadan was too determined, and there was no stopping him. And as the family still had two sons and a daughter, the elders thought the lineage would continue.

Later, when Chen Sanquan’s father married and had a son—Chen Sanquan—he died of illness soon after. Yet the family still believed they had an heir, and that the Chen family’s line would persist.

But as Chen Sanquan grew, the elders of the Chen family gradually passed away, one by one, leaving only ancestral tablets behind. In the end, only Chen Xiaomei, Chen Sanquan, and Chen Dadan—now Master Liaoxin—remained.

Though it all seems strange, all the elders died natural deaths. Given that the average lifespan at the time was only forty or fifty, it was not unusual.

Chen Sanquan soon married, but his wife failed to conceive, much to Chen Xiaomei’s distress. In such matters of seeking children, people often turned to the spirits, and so did she. But in seeking answers from the supernatural, Chen Xiaomei met with misfortune and died.

Yet, due to her powerful attachment, her soul clung to her former body, allowing her to linger among the living. However, a dead body cannot endure for long. When all vitality is lost, even if nourished by yin energy, it can only become a corpse sustained by shadow, and at that point, her spirit could no longer attach itself. Such corpses, devoid of soul and spirit, cannot house a ghost.

This situation lasted until two years ago.

At last, Chen Xiaomei’s body became a shadow corpse, and she could no longer enter it. Once formed, a shadow corpse requires the fresh blood of kin to awaken intelligence, and it instinctively seeks out its closest relatives.

Thus, the shadow corpse sought out Chen Sanquan.

Fortunately, Chen Sanquan was, at that time, praying to the gods for a child. The shadow corpse, fearing the might of the temple, dared not approach and instead began to haunt Yuyuan Town.

It was then that Master Liaoxin returned from his travels. He easily subdued the shadow corpse and, unmoved by family ties, burned it to ashes.

With that, the matter concluded. Master Liaoxin departed, building a small house near Yuyuan Town to meditate in seclusion.

Seeing her brother’s prowess, Chen Xiaomei’s ghost sought him out for help, hoping he would resolve the Chen family’s bloodline predicament. But Master Liaoxin refused, insisting that all was ordained by fate: if the Chen family’s line was to end, it was karma, and he could not change it.

Angry and disappointed, Chen Xiaomei departed.

Later, she somehow learned forbidden arts of ghost immortals and the technique of “substituting the plum for the peach,” hoping to continue the Chen bloodline by these means.

Thus, a series of murders began—eighteen victims, seven hearts harvested, the rest used merely to preserve her disguise.

Each of the seven hearts was chosen for a particular birth date. With these, she combined her scheme with the act of borrowing seed. When she finally succeeded, she took the hearts of both Chen Sanquan and Gao Chuqi, performing a ritual to intertwine the bloodlines of the Chen family and Gao Chuqi, so that the Chen line might continue.

Master Liaoxin watched her actions, but he too was in a state of confusion. Though he thought himself detached, he had not truly let go of family ties. Thus, he indulged Chen Xiaomei for a long time.

In the end, it was only after Chen Jin’s master—by means of an invitation—enlightened him that he finally saw things clearly and sent Chen Xiaomei into the underworld.

Of course, the Chen family’s bloodline remained unchanged; genetically, the child in Chen Sanquan’s wife was of Gao Chuqi’s line, yet would bear the Chen family name and worship the ancestors.

After Gao Jiu and Gao Kang took the painted skin back, the legend of the painted skin would spread through this generation.

…

They arrived at Mount Lao.

It was still night, and mist shrouded the mountain. Traversing this terrain required caution, for the fog severely tested one’s vision.

Yet, for Chen Jin and Master Liaoxin, neither darkness nor fog posed any real obstacle.

Mount Lao was dotted with temples, though they were scattered and small. This was not the flourishing age of Taoism as in early Tang or Song times; many famous temples had yet to be built, and sects were not firmly established, so most cultivators on the mountain practiced independently.

There were indeed true cultivators here, but few of great power. In the region of Qi and Lu, most strong practitioners gathered at Mount Tai—the sacred mountain—so those on Mount Lao were of lesser accomplishment. Among them, the highest was none other than Chen Jin’s master.

He was perhaps one of the most powerful individuals in all of Qi and Lu, and across the Central Plains, apart from a handful of elusive earth immortals, Chen Jin’s master could stand above nearly all others.

During the half month since Chen Jin’s arrival in this era, he had little contact with his master. The man spent most of his time in meditation, so different from Ge Hong, who gave an impression of stillness amid action. Chen Jin’s master, by contrast, seemed to embody utter stillness—so much so that, like a tortoise, he might live forever without stirring. Well, perhaps that comparison wasn’t so far off…

In short, Chen Jin considered his master exceedingly lazy—too lazy to move, to eat, to sleep, never seen to relieve himself, perhaps even too lazy to breathe, for he never seemed to draw the vital energy of heaven and earth.

According to the other disciples in the temple, his master was undergoing the final stage of shedding mortality.

Liaoxin also said the master was ambitious—he had no desire to remain an earthbound immortal, nor to ascend and become an immortal spirit. He sought instead to become a celestial immortal, to attain union with the Way and live forever in its truth.

Now, his master was completing the last transformation: his true spirit resonating with the world, his yang spirit comprehending the Way. If he succeeded, he would roam freely as a celestial immortal; if he failed, he would shed his mortal body and become the lowest rank of ghost immortal.

Lost in these thoughts, Chen Jin and Master Liaoxin arrived at the temple.

At that moment, many others had gathered as well.

According to Liaoxin, today was the master’s great day—the moment of shedding the mortal for the immortal.

The very thought filled one with wonder.

…