Chapter 87: The Small Symposium

Chen Jin had quite a few friends in Rong City—after all, he had gone to university there, so it was only natural he knew plenty of people and had no shortage of companions. However, he didn’t plan to stay in Rong City long. His friends were likely busy these days, and though they would all surely take time off to host him if he asked, Chen Jin didn’t want to trouble them. So he headed directly to Wuhang, a county-level city next to Rong City. In recent years, there were even talks about Wuhang being incorporated into Rong City as one of its districts.

These matters, however, had little to do with Chen Jin. He was only there to catch a flight.

When he arrived at the airport, his phone suddenly rang. It was Hao Wenjia calling; they had exchanged numbers in the car.

“Hello, what’s up?” Chen Jin asked.

“Chen Jin, I think someone is following me. What should I do?” Hao Wenjia’s voice trembled with anxiety.

Chen Jin frowned. Being followed wasn’t really the sort of thing she should call him about—they barely knew each other. They had only chatted for half an hour on the high-speed train, and they hadn’t even spoken back in high school.

Though he felt a bit awkward, Chen Jin couldn’t just hang up.

“Aren’t you on a business trip to Egret City? Just find the person you’re meeting there, or go to the police station, or even to the Egret City Cultivators’ Association,” Chen Jin suggested, offering three straightforward options.

“I’ll try the police station first,” Hao Wenjia said after a brief pause.

“All right, give me a call if everything’s fine,” Chen Jin replied politely.

Normally, after saying that, the other person wouldn’t call back.

“Okay, thank you. I was just panicking, and yours was the first number in my call log, so I called you. I’ll hang up now,” Hao Wenjia said.

“Take care,” Chen Jin replied.

The call ended there. Chen Jin didn’t dwell on it; he figured Hao Wenjia was just being overly cautious, but better safe than sorry—life only comes once.

Setting aside Hao Wenjia’s troubles, Chen Jin waited at the airport for his flight.

His flight was a bit unusual, so he had to undergo an extra security check—nothing too special, though, not like the scrutiny he’d faced at the immigration office in Xialu County; there were no additional interrogations this time.

Luckily, the staff were respectful. Otherwise, Chen Jin might have lost his patience, tossed his luggage aside, and glared daggers at them.

His flight was scheduled for four in the afternoon, arriving in Jiao’ao a little after six. He would probably need to spend the night in Jiao’ao before heading to Mount Lao.

…

At 6:48 p.m. Beijing time, Chen Jin’s flight landed at Tingliu Airport in Jiao’ao.

As soon as he stepped off the plane, two men in black suits came to greet him. They cut quite the figure—black hair, black sunglasses, black suits, black leather shoes, all with unsmiling faces. At a glance, Chen Jin knew they were members of the Qilu Province Cultivators’ Association.

“Mr. Chen Jin, welcome. We are operatives from the Jiao’ao Branch of the Cultivators’ Association, here to extend our special welcome to you,” said the more handsome of the two, though his welcome was rather cold—he didn’t smile at all, making it seem less like a greeting and more like they were receiving an extraterrestrial.

“Thank you,” Chen Jin replied, shaking his hand.

He followed them through a special airport passage, with no further checks, and got straight into their car, heading to the association’s headquarters.

So, the hotel Chen Jin had originally booked could now be canceled, saving him over a thousand yuan.

The Cultivators’ Association here was very hospitable—the branch president himself greeted Chen Jin at the entrance.

The president’s cultivation was on par with Chen Jin’s—at least on paper—they were both at the initial stage of the Qi Consolidation Realm, or, according to modern classification, at the transition from Refining Essence to Qi to Solidifying the Foundation.

The branch president was named Wu Liangkun, a man in his thirties, with a wealthy look—his face and belly were both fleshy and oily. He wore a gray-and-white Taoist robe, his long jet-black hair tied into a topknot.

Yet, in his hand, he held a string of Buddhist prayer beads…

“Dual cultivation of Buddhism and Taoism,” Wu Liangkun explained with a hearty laugh.

Chen Jin could only clench his fist in admiration. To practice both paths was no small feat.

The cultivation methods of Buddhism and Taoism are quite distinct. Buddhism, as practiced in their land, evolved from the ancient Indian Brahmanical traditions, while Taoism is a native Chinese school of cultivation. Their philosophies often diverged, their interpretations of techniques could differ greatly, and their understanding of the natural world sometimes stood in sharp contrast. Disputes over the ultimate Dao would even break out now and then.

Yet Wu Liangkun had managed to walk both paths—a remarkable achievement. It was a reminder not to underestimate the heroes of the world; anyone who could cultivate in this age of declining spiritual energy was no ordinary soul.

The two exchanged a few compliments: “talented youth,” “venerable elder still in his prime,” “young and accomplished,” “old but vigorous,” “representative of the new generation,” “the sword grows no duller with age”… There seemed to be a hint of something extraordinary mixed in their words.

Both were men of the world. After a few rounds of conversation, it was clear neither was a simple recluse who cared only for cultivation.

Generally speaking, cultivators were all sharp-minded, but if one secluded themselves for too long, with little information from the outside world, their minds would grow dull. Even the cleverest might stumble in conversation, leading to the stereotype of the simple-minded cultivator. But after some time in society, absorbing more information, they could adapt quickly to the schemes and intrigues of the world—none of the seasoned old foxes could match them.

Of course, there were always those who cared only for cultivation—these were the most troublesome, yet also the easiest to deceive. Chen Jin felt he could trick them into running circles around Mount Tai like fools.

After a lavish, nourishing meal with Wu Liangkun and his associates, Chen Jin joined in sharing cultivation experiences.

Most of the staff from the Jiao’ao Cultivators’ Association attended, including some who had not yet begun their practice. These newcomers took notes with voice recorders, but no one brought a camera—none of the cultivators present had any interest in being filmed.

The main conversation was between Wu Liangkun and Chen Jin—the two of them were the highest-ranked in the room. Occasionally, others would share their insights or raise questions about their practice, and everyone would brainstorm solutions together.

Of course, no one would reveal their core cultivation methods. Most referred to the national standard text, the “Popular Cultivation Taoist Canon,” when discussing their ideas.

Cultivation rests on four pillars: resources, companionship, methods, and place.

Resources need no explanation—they are the essentials for practice. Companionship refers to those with whom one can exchange experiences. In this age of information, it’s much easier to discuss and share cultivation insights, especially with the national Cultivators’ Association organizing events like this. The opportunity for exchange has never been simpler.

Chen Jin gained much from this gathering.

…