46 – Into the Firehouse

I stood atop a perfectly still lake. The surface mirrored me clearly from my hooves upward. Just above floated two distinct sources of light. One was a bright purplish flame hovering just above the water. On the far side, clouds encircled an empty, radiant golden halo. As if a sun was meant to shine from its center. Both hung suspended just over the lake.

The clear lake beneath my hooves represented my Qi. The purple flame was my soul power, and the clouds with the empty halo were my Merit Essence. This was the impression I got while inspecting my Sea of Consciousness (识海 — Shí Hǎi), as Fumo called it. It was neat. Through this space, I could accurately gauge how much of my three resources remained after some testing. Qi and soul power recovered over time after use, which is exactly one month. Merit Essence meanwhile did not recover over time. According to the Introduction to the Arhat Path, the only way to replenish Merit Essence was through good and virtuous deeds. Though I had the distinct feeling I had already used quite a lot of it some time ago. But for what? The only thing that had happened was the three trials. I didn’t remember consciously using it.

Whatever. That wasn’t important right now. I exited my Sea of Consciousness and returned to the real world.

Back within the training grounds, the entire area was shrouded in thick black fog. It was all created through a combination of my projections, Qi, and divine sense, allowing me to see everything clearly both inside and outside the mist. Beneath the fog, the training arena was completely totaled from my various projection experiments.

“Can you try one more time?” I shouted to Fumo, who stood just outside, while consciously letting my voice carry through.

I sensed Fumo attempting to send his divine sense into the fog. As before, he was completely unable to penetrate it. He tried several times before giving up. I dispelled the fog and reabsorbed the Qi I had spent.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, stepping out of the arena.

“It seems to be working as intended,” Fumo nodded. “But this is also beyond my expertise. I wouldn’t be able to point out any flaws.” He added quickly.

I nodded. I have been training here for more than two months. Other than the fog, I had developed one other thing. As for how effective it would be, I had no idea. Most of the time had been spent on calibration. Trying to use Qi as efficiently as possible while maximizing the effect. Suffice to say, I had made very good progress. I thought I could now push my Qi to fire as many as 80 railgun shots using the 8mm standard (24mm actual). A third increase just from tweaking and standardizing the amount of Qi and soul power that went into each shot.

“Are you certain you didn’t know about the Sea of Consciousness before this?” Fumo asked again. Apparently this was a very basic thing, and when he had suggested it two months ago, I had asked what it was, like a dumb idiot.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “I mean, I think I should have been taught about this during my first training. But my senior sister got too excited beating me up, and I managed to shoot her in the head. So maybe that’s why.” I recounted my first training experience, getting knocked out flying with every punch or kick.

Fumo almost made an expression but stopped himself.

“Do you think I’m ready?”

“I cannot say for sure,” Fumo replied grimly. “There are five of them. Could be more. This will be much different from when we were outnumbered back in Jinchuan.” He paused. “I’m sorry I cannot do more to help.”

“I understand.” It was clear that Lingshan Temple could not explicitly help me. Helping me while everyone around them hated me was a dangerous move. They had the justification to let me leave after I passed their trials, but that was it.

Tomorrow will be the end of my three month stay. Ah well. I had walked toward death a few times already. Why not one more?

“Well, I’m going to rest. It’s a big day tomorrow.” Yinrui followed me back to my new guest house. After Zichen and Bàojī left, the entire place had been swiftly renovated. She had been quiet these past two months out of consideration for my training.

Actually, Fumo had been teaching her the temple scriptures too. Was that allowed? Did it mean Yinrui would become a deer that could use Buddhist techniques? How would that even work? I had no idea, so I didn’t do anything about it. Though there was still that lingering unease. Would her following Buddhist teachings steer her away from the truth I had glimpsed, of her being butchered, skinned, and eaten? Or would it lead her toward it?

Fuck! This is why I don’t trust divination and fortune telling. There is no way of telling if doing one thing or another would steer you into or out of the supposed future. It always created problems and burdens before their time. Hopefully using the Sea of Consciousness could help me find a way to at least turn this ability on and off at will. Or at the very least, aim it toward truths that weren’t related to the future if it couldn’t be turned off. For now, though, avoiding eye contact was enough.

That night, neither Yinrui nor I could sleep.

—

“You called for me, master?” Fumo enters the main temple. Abbot Zhaoshi was already seated, a new scar visible on his forehead.

“Fumo, you brought Danxing here for guidance, correct?” the Abbot asked.

“That is correct,” Fumo nodded as he sat before his master. “To help him reconcile the nature of his new body.”

“There is no such thing.” Abbot Zhaoshi said, puzzling Fumo. “During the trials, I sensed no remnants of spiritual beast instincts. There is only him.”

“But…”

“Your willingness to guide him despite your own shortcomings is commendable,” the Abbot interrupted gently. “But you have yet to see the entire picture. This understanding will come with experience as you walk further along the path of enlightenment.”

“Can you enlighten me now, master?” Fumo asks.

“I suppose it is hard for you to reconcile the man that claims ‘a man can only see as far as his eye can see and only care as far as one's arm could reach’ with the man that risked his life for an entire city of strangers.” Fumo nods.

The Abbot exhaled softly and continued. “It must be difficult for you to reconcile the man who claims ‘a man can only see as far as his eyes can see, and only care as far as his arm can reach’ with the man who risked his life for an entire city of strangers.”

Fumo nodded.

“What you must understand is that he speaks what he believes is true about himself, not necessarily what he does. This may be difficult to discern, as the two are still closely aligned. Even I am not free of this pitfall, as he has made me realize. Perhaps this is simply another delusion of his own. Or perhaps, in his world, there exists a method where for a brief moment he can see the whole world within his grasp. Either way, both stem from an inadequacy in his own self-worth that he must resolve on his own.

“It can also mean that he genuinely wishes to care and be kind, but finds it difficult, perhaps even impossible. So this selective caring is his way of coping. This is also his core flaw. As seen during the trial, a single meaningful act of compassion caused him to become attached, and it was clear that this attachment blinded him to everything else.

“All of this should have been taught to him during the third trial, which I selfishly used for my own purposes. I did not think he would entertain the idea of another meeting with me, and you have yet to gain the wisdom to properly discern and guide him.”

Fumo bowed deeply. “I understand, Master. I have been too eager and too blind. I will reflect on my shortcomings.”

“Now then, there’s one thing you can do and there’s still the issue about your punishment.”

The sound of unusual but familiar boots on the wooden floor pulled Fumo back to the present. It was Danxing’s shoes, with their thick soles, announcing his presence before he even opened the door and stepped outside. Yinrui trailed along beside him.

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping. It is certainly a good day to die,” Danxing said nonchalantly as he walked.

“You seem to be in high spirits,” Fumo commented, not knowing what else to say as he walked beside him toward the entrance.

“Well, I kinda realized this last night. That all of this is kinda exciting.”

“I wouldn’t call it exciting. But it is certainly eventful,” Fumo tried to match the energy.

Along the way, other monks watched as the trio walked toward the entrance. Some decided they had better things to do, but most followed along to see what would happen.

“Fumo,” Danxing stopped at the entrance. “If I can impose one more time, can you… take Yinrui home?”

“Certainly.” Fumo agreed without hesitation. His master might have expected this, as he had decided that Fumo’s punishment was to do what Danxing asked when he left. There was also the sense that this would not be as straightforward as it seemed. Then, Fumo took a book out of his storage ring.

“My master wants you to have this.” Fumo handed him a copy of the Tranquil Heart Sutra, Lingshan Temple’s core scripture. This was what the Abbot wanted him to do.

“What?” Danxing took the book. “Why the fuck did you only give this now?”

“It is not a combat technique. If I gave it to you earlier, it would only have distracted you,” Fumo explained what should have been apparent.

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” Danxing nodded and stored the sutra in his ring.

“As for you,” he turned to Yinrui, “thank you for trying to be quiet in consideration of me. Behave. And… maybe you can visit Tianhe after.”

“Okay.” Yinrui answered with her usual cheer. But it was a front. Fumo knew she had been quite depressed. First she learned her father was dead. Now the one who had taken care of her and named her was going to face one death after another. Despite Danxing literally wearing her father’s corpse, the young white-furred deer had somewhat taken him as her new father. Her silence these past months was due to consideration and not wanting to be seen as a burden.

Danxing gave her one last headpat. Before turning and stepping down the mountain.

—

“It’s been five months. You still think those monks didn’t side with the Xuan?” Juéchén (絕塵|Severing Mortal Dust) of the Dúgū family asks impatiently. He is a tall, sharp-featured young man with piercing silver eyes and long black hair tied in a high ponytail. Wearing dark robes embroidered with silver threads depicting breaking chains. His presence is cold and domineering. As he has the highest cultivation level and therefore the leader of this group.

“Unlikely,” Féndào (焚道|Burning the Dao) of the Gōngsūn family answered. A slender, scholarly-looking man in his mid-thirties with warm amber eyes and neatly kept dark red hair, he wore deep crimson robes with golden flame patterns and carried a folding fan that occasionally flickered with inner fire. “The sects are in decline after the war. Lingshan Temple, among others, has it worse. We heard the three gongs, and there’s no news of the Xuan’s death. So he passed the trials, and the monks had no choice but to let him leave. Doing more would be… unwise.”

“Besides, we even have an advantage.” Each of the five of them have been gifted with a peak Foundation Establishment artifact each by an unknown benefactor to kill the Xuan.

“It is still wise to be cautious.” Fendao said, glancing toward the lone figure leaning against a tree. That was Jiànxīn (劍心 — Sword Heart) of the Ōuyáng family, whom Féndào deemed the most powerful among them. A cold, handsome man in his early forties with sharp, sword-like eyebrows and long flowing white hair, he wore simple yet elegant white robes with a single black sword pattern on the sleeve. His entire being radiated a sharp, oppressive sword intent that made the air around him feel like blades. Of course, Fendao understands. The artifacts are not just advance payment but also a sign of the danger the Xuan represents. Or that the benefactor doesn’t trust in their abilities.

Then of course, the irksome soft gasp and grunts from the two others that finished soon after. Pòjūn (破軍|Army Breaker) from Dōngfāng family and Yáoguāng (瑤光|Precious Radiance) from the Nángōng family emerged in disheveled states. Pòjūn was a massive, muscular man in his late thirties with a wild mane of brown hair and a thick beard. His upper body was mostly bare, covered in battle scars and glowing red tattoos. He wore heavy golden-bronze gauntlets and pants reinforced with beast hide, radiating raw physical power. Yáoguāng was a beautiful woman with long, flowing silver hair and seductive violet eyes. She wore revealing yet elegant purple and gold robes that accentuated her figure. Her movements were graceful and alluring, with a faint, intoxicating fragrance always surrounding her. The former had been courting the latter, and the two had quickly hit it off, regularly dual cultivating despite the heiress of the Nángōng family already having a fiancé.

“Is that him?” Jianxin finally speaks.

All eyes looked towards the creature slowly walking down from the mountain.

“There’s only one with such… distinctive appearance.” Fendao confirms.

Juechen steps forward confidently. “Xuan Danxing, surrender quietly and we will make your death painless!”

“Is there any way for all of us to leave alive?” The creature asks. Eliciting laughs and chuckles from Juechen, Pojun, and Yaoguang.

“Never would have thought the adopted son of the esteemed Xuan is such a coward.” Juechen loudly exclaimed.

“I have heard the rumors, so it is true that Elder Xuan is picking up stray animals.” Yaoguang mocks.

“I think I alone am enough to deal with this creature.” Pojun boasted.

“Well, at least all of you know of me. Can’t say the same for me.” The creature goaded.

“Courting Death!” Juechen shouts.

“Is that a popular phrase here? I will take note of that.” The creature said jovially. 

The creature finally stepped off the stairs, no longer within Lingshan’s grounds. But before any of the five could move, black fog erupted, expanding and spreading across the valley in an instant. Their eyes and divine senses could not penetrate the mist.

The five rapidly retreated using their movement techniques, wary of traps and of what the fog was made of.

Then five lines of divine sense shot out from the fog, locking onto their heads.

There was no sound. Only the breaking of life-saving talismans or their new artifacts protecting their heads. Jiànxīn alone managed to cut something aimed at his head with his sword. A body dropped. Remnants of someone’s head splattered all over the place.

It was an instant.

Dugu Juechen is dead.