Maximum Comprehension: Taking Care of Swords In A Sword Pavilion

Chapter 1899: 783. Enter the divine realm, a lifetime at ease amidst mist and rain_2

Translator: 549690339

“Perfect, along the way, I’ll show Brother Han the splendors of the divine realm.”

Lu Zixu looked forward and burst into hearty laughter.

The divine realm is where strong practitioners congregate, not only from the Galaxy Universe but from other powerful gatherings within the many universes.

These strong practitioners built many cities and regions with different styles in the divine realm and guarded their own little worlds.

For these practitioners, they are the masters of their realm.

As Lu Zixu walked just a hundred miles, scattered signs of life were already visible in the mountainous regions in all directions.

“Confucian Dao?”

Seeing those dressed in long robes, composing poetry and prose, Han Muye whispered, a touch of emotion flashing across his face.

In the Heavenly Mystic Central Continent, taking Confucian cultivation technique seriously within the Imperial City Academy, he had interacted with great Confucians.

Huang Ting Shu, Xu Zhi, practitioners like these with great cultivation abilities of Confucianism were not worth mentioning before the present Han Muye, but the will and quality they carried shone brightly still.

The students of the Imperial City Academy each had their own pursuits.

“Brother Han truly has a discerning eye,” Lu Zixu extended his hand towards the surroundings and nodded, “This is indeed a Confucian Dao tradition.”

“Among the divine realm, there are not many inheritances of Confucian Dao, this should be Senior Kong Zhongqiu’s divine realm residence.”

“Mr. Kong’s words can suppress mountains and rivers between heaven and earth, and he is also one of the formidable figures in the divine realm.”

Confucian Dao tradition emphasizes aligning with the way of heaven and earth.

There is no Heavenly Dao in the divine realm, but cultivators can transform their own way into the Dao.

Confucian Dao is especially adept at such methods.

In front of him, these Confucian cultivators were either composing poetry or doing various fieldwork with their heads bowed.

These people were real people.

Mortals.

Such a treasure place as the divine realm actually had so many mortals living in it.

Perhaps this is what makes the divine realm special?

Han Muye walked slowly forward, and the scholars in the thatched pavilion over there also noticed their arrival.

“This gentleman has come at the right time, I have just finished this Misty Rain Painting, how does the gentleman view it?”

A young man clad in grey scholarly robes, with a slender face, looked at Han Muye, his eyes filled with expectation.

Han Muye glanced over, and indeed, the scroll depicted an ethereal image enshrouded in misty rain.

Mountains were hidden within the enchanting clouds, appearing and disappearing, with strands of rain drifting about.

When Han Muye looked at this scene, he actually felt raindrops falling upon him.

“Illusion?”

Han Muye shook his head, his face breaking into a smile.

“If it’s not an illusion, then it’s transforming one’s own way into the Heavenly Dao.”

“Truly rare.”

Hearing Han Muye’s words, the eyes of the young man in front of him brightened.

The others around him also showed looks of surprise and delight.

“The gentleman can actually discern the imagery within this painting?”

“Haha, a kindred spirit! Come, please, take a seat over here.”

A few people pulled Han Muye into the pavilion to sit, their eyes filled with joy.

As for Lu Zixu and the others, like Senior Muyue behind him, they were all but forgotten.

Han Muye, curious about the Confucianism circulating within the divine realm, willingly sat down and started a conversation with the scholars.

The rhythm of the poems recited here sounded quite good to Han Muye, though they contained many more long and short lines, seemingly seeking more of the rhyme’s essence.

That essence is the resonance with the way of heaven and earth.

Here, without the Heavenly Dao, that Dao is Mr. Kong Zhongqiu’s Confucian Dao.

Through the Dao of Mr. Kong, they sense the world.

“Brother Han, your speech is refined and elegant, poetry must be your forte.”

“Quickly, today’s mood is suited for composing poetry.”

After chatting for a while, a middle-aged scholar in white robes held out an ink brush to Han Muye.

The others too showed smiling faces, spreading out the scroll.

Lu Zixu laughed softly on the side.

This was the Confucian Dao.

Confucian cultivation was different from other types of cultivation; it cannot be achieved through arduous practice alone but requires comprehension and enlightenment.

Whether it was in cultivation or refining weapons, Han Muye’s talents were unimaginably strong, something Lu Zixu dared not to contemplate.

But this Confucian Dao, heh.

Han Muye looked up at Lu Zixu and at the Great Venerable Muyue beside him, both sporting smiles, as if waiting to see a joke.

Shaking his head, he dipped the ink brush onto the scroll in front of him.

“Eh…?”

With one stroke down, all the surrounding scholars were taken aback.

Such brushwork, impressive!

“Listen not to the noise of forest leaves in the wind, what harm is there in reciting poetry at leisure while strolling?

“A bamboo staff and straw shoes lighter than a horse, who cares? Wearing a raincoat, living detached through life’s rains.

“Awakened from wine by the sharp spring breeze, slightly chilly, the slanted sunlight on the mountaintop greets us in return.

Looking back to the desolate places from the past, returning, there is neither wind and rain nor clearing skies.”

The handwriting was like a clear spring flowing.

When the writing on the scroll was finished, only the fragrance of ink remained.

Han Muye put away the ink brush, his expression serene.

“Be content with a simple shelter amidst the smoke and rain all my life…” The middle-aged scholar opposite was spellbound, muttering softly to himself.

“Neither wind and rain nor clearing skies, neither wind and rain nor clearing skies…” Another young scholar turned his head, looking outside the thatch pavilion, holding his fist, continuously murmuring in a low voice.

In the entire thatch pavilion, no one spoke again.

Everyone was lost in fascination.

Lu Zixu opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.

Sitting there, Han Muye seemed to feel a breeze caress his face, but when he looked up, not a trace was visible.

“Hum” The scroll trembled slightly, and the words on it wafted up, condensing into a phantom figure holding a bamboo staff, slowly stepping forward.

This figure was desolate, seducing one’s state of mind into a downfall.

But the figure also exuded determination, sparking a sense of vitality from deep within one’s heart.

The conflicting emotions entwined, causing discomfort all over.

“This is… the Confucian Path Imagery…” A scholar who had come to his senses murmured in awe.

The Confucian Path Imagery is capable of merging with the power of heaven and earth, and can absorb the spiritual energy of the beholder.

This kind of profound interaction is the most commonly used method by Confucian cultivators.

For instance, the figure at this moment was imbued with the power of heaven and earth of the Confucian Path.

“I’ll give it a try.” Unable to hold back, a scholar in green robes leapt forward, charging at the phantom figure.

“The great river falls from the sky, and from the flat grounds the wind and clouds arise—” As the scholar spoke, a green river appeared, transforming into a water dragon, carrying wind and clouds, and collided with the phantom figure.

The wind and clouds surged.

This seemingly ordinary scholar now merged his words with the power of heaven and earth, summoning a cloud dragon to dance.

This method was the majesty of the Confucian Path.

Han Muye’s expression remained unchanged, watching the figure holding a bamboo staff slowly walk ahead.

The figure raised his hand, and the staff made a light tap.

“Through the forest, comes the rain.”

Three characters shone forth, turning into countless raindrops.

The raindrops fell, shattering the body of the cloud dragon, its vapor absorbed.

The misty clouds spread out.

Another Confucian scholar leaped out, his ink brush dabbing in the air.

Drops of dark blue ink fell, turning into an ink lotus.

“Purify the stream, remain untainted though emerging from the mud.”

The petals of the ink lotus instantly unfolded, scattering innumerable fragments, encircling the phantom figure.

This technique caught the attention of Lu Zixu at the side.

“Beautiful painting,” he exclaimed softly.

Using ink as the essence and vapor as the clear spring, these scattering petals represented the imagery of the lotus.

Only imagery can break imagery.

“The spring breeze, blows.”

The figure holding the bamboo staff whispered.

As the wind blew, the ink dispersed.

The spring breeze caressed the face, mist and rain blurred the view, and the ink-colored petals too were washed away.

“Incredible,” the crowd in the thatch pavilion exclaimed, and then all eyes were fixed on the scroll in front of Han Muye, shining brightly.

“Brother Han, can I buy this ‘Content with Life As It Is’ scroll from you?”

“Brother Han, may I use this poem of yours?”

“Brother Han, I have fine wine, we must drink to our heart’s content today.”

The key to interacting with scholars and literati is whether you can catch their eye.

Cultivation abilities don’t matter, only talent does.

Han Muye’s poem, filled with deep imagery, had already conquered everyone inside the thatch pavilion.

Han Muye stood up with a smile, his gaze shifting forward.

The ink-colored figure slowly dissipated.

“Such a remarkable figure still exists in the world of Confucian Dao, rare indeed.”

“Young friend, I wonder if you’d like to visit my Chongwen Pavilion as a guest?”

A voice resonated from the void.

As the voice sounded, several scholars inside the pavilion stood up, bowing and saying, “We greet our master.”

Surprise flashed in Lu Zixu’s eyes as he exclaimed, “It’s Mr. Kong!”

Han Muye also raised his hand, smiling and responding, “I would like nothing more.”

With a step, he moved out of the pavilion, and the dissipating figure with the bamboo staff seemed to merge with his own form.

Be content with a simple shelter amidst the smoke and rain all my life.

There is neither wind and rain nor clearing skies.