Chapter Sixteen: Gathering the Morning Violet Qi, Dining on Evening Clouds

Luchen needed to browse the classics of various sects to seek a way to repair his golden core. He also required a place rich in spiritual energy to quietly nurture his dantian. Wudang, which had appeared before the eyes of numerous Taoist masters since the pre-Qin era, boasted a thousand-year legacy and naturally had received visits from many distinguished Taoist sages, leaving behind their writings and insights. As the ninth-ranked Taoist blessed land, and the nearest famous mountain for secluded cultivation, it was the most suitable place Luchen could find.

Preaching was not urgent, so Luchen plunged into the Taoist library, reading extensively in search of answers. Half a month later, he emerged with a sigh. The remedies for golden core damage were either external elixir supplementation or prolonged quiet cultivation. External elixir was out of the question due to the difficulty of obtaining the necessary materials. Quiet cultivation required a place abundant in spiritual energy, with at least three years of meditation and recuperation. In other words, Luchen would need to remain at Wudang for no less than three years.

It was once again in the side hall of Wudang’s Purple Cloud Palace that Luchen had a lengthy conversation with Daoist Chongjing, settling on a three-year promise: upon emerging from seclusion, he would preach for three days atop Wudang Mountain, repaying Wudang’s kindness. Daoist Chongxu nodded and led Luchen to a northwestern peak, distant from the main Tianzhu Peak. “Originally, Tianzhu Peak was the best place for cultivation, but alas, it is thronged with pilgrims and noisy crowds—now a mundane land. If you wish to enter seclusion, this peak is preferable. Its majestic form is rarely visited, and its summit is shrouded in clouds—a fine place to gather purple energy. Ancestor Sanfeng greatly admired this peak, though he feared worldly disturbances and so it remained unnamed. Now, with your seclusion, this peak shall at last earn its name.”

Standing outside the hall, Luchen gazed in the direction indicated by Daoist Chongjing, and indeed saw a perilous peak, slightly lower than Tianzhu Peak, subordinate in stature, yet wreathed in mist and remarkable in form. Most importantly, it was far from the palaces and untouched by visitors—a tranquil haven. Luchen nodded in agreement.

The following day, he set off alone toward the unnamed mountain. Bereft of the ability to fly with magic, Luchen truly experienced the hardship of trekking—‘horses can die chasing distant mountains,’ as the saying goes. The journey was filled with undulating terrain and dense forests, cliffs blocking the path, swamps barring the way; climbing and fording, he was fortunate his spiritual sense was unimpaired, allowing him to narrowly avoid the mountain beasts. It took three full days to traverse dozens of miles and reach the base of the unnamed peak.

There was no path up the mountain. Luchen coaxed a monkey with fruit, hoping it would help carry a rope up to the trunk of a remarkable pine tree. But the monkey, once fed, departed nonchalantly, leaving Luchen staring helplessly. He was left to ponder how to climb.

Unexpectedly, early the next morning, Luchen was awakened by a troop of monkeys—the same monkey had brought its companions. Luchen was delighted. After some gestures, recalling his many dealings with monkeys in his own mountains, the troop picked up his rope, and with joint effort, managed to haul it up to the tall tree by the ravine. After a haphazard wrapping, Luchen tugged the rope and found it, though not expertly placed, had at least established a foothold. He climbed up, then waited for the monkeys to carry the rope further. By dusk, Luchen finally reached the summit. Looking out, he found the view expansive, with clouds billowing through the evening glow—a truly splendid place. The monkeys stood atop the peak alongside him, imitating his actions, endearing in their mimicry.

As the sun set, the monkeys prepared to leave. Before departing, a mother monkey approached and handed Luchen a rare white baby monkey from her arms. Luchen understood—the little monkey was entrusted to his care. Though the white monkey was clever, its striking color made survival difficult. The troop’s act of entrusting it to Luchen was out of necessity, but also a sign of trust. The intuition of beasts is keener than that of humans—they sensed no malice from Luchen, only peace and warmth, prompting their assistance. Luchen sighed. Why was he so favored by animals? Yet, as the monkeys had helped him, he could only accept the charge and ponder how to care for the chirping little monkey. Luckily, the mountain was abundant with wild fruit; presumably, the monkey could climb.

After the monkeys departed, Luchen fashioned a makeshift nest for the little monkey out of tree branches, fed it his last bit of dry rations, and then turned east to begin his meditation, awaiting the cycle of moonrise and sunrise, the shifting of yin and yang.

Every few days, the monkey troop would return, bringing fruit for the little monkey. However, the baby could not eat much, so Luchen shamelessly benefited as well. Each day atop the mountain, he began teaching the monkey Taoist scripture, regardless of whether it understood. At sunrise, when the sun’s purple energy was best to gather, the little monkey would imitate Luchen, facing the sun with its mouth wide open and breathing deeply. At night, when the moon was high, it was time to absorb lunar essence and harmonize yin and yang. The monkey slept soundly, while Luchen quietly regulated his energy, blending the mountain’s spiritual energy with yin and yang, guiding it into his dantian.

Days passed, and the little monkey gradually grew, becoming ever more mischievous, playing up and down the mountain with the troop, but always returning before sunset to sleep beside Luchen, awaiting the dawn’s first light together.

One day, the little monkey returned from its excursion, bringing Luchen an object. If Luchen was not mistaken, it was a fragment of a damaged alchemical furnace, bearing a corner of the Eight Trigrams and various cloud patterns. Its ancient design suggested it was a relic from the pre-Qin era. Sadly, until Luchen repaired his golden core, ascending and descending the mountain was difficult, so he put it aside for now.

On the ninth day of the ninth month, the day of the Dark Heavenly Sovereign’s enlightenment—the Double Ninth Festival—Luchen sat serenely atop the peak, awaiting dawn. The clouds on the horizon shifted in brilliant colors, rising and falling like tides. A beam of sunlight pierced the morning haze, shining straight down to earth. Facing east, Luchen inhaled, suddenly feeling a scorching current rise from his abdomen, flowing through his body like molten lava. His whole body flushed red, and white vapor streamed from the top of his head. He endured the burning pain in his meridians, forcibly circulating his energy, gathering yin harmony to fill his channels, and urged the hot current toward his dantian. Yet, this fiery yang energy was formidable, rampaging through his meridians and instantly dispersing the hard-earned yin harmony. Luchen felt as though he was being cooked alive; his organs burned, his whole body thundered with pain, sweat poured like a spring, soaking him in moments and startling the white monkey. Following the energy’s path, Luchen gritted his teeth and persisted, not knowing how much time passed before he finally guided the unruly fiery yang into his dantian.

He felt a thunderous explosion in his spiritual sea—a momentary instability of his soul. The sensation of soul-burning overwhelmed him. At last, his golden core, stimulated by the fiery yang, spun madly, surging spiritual energy coursing from his dantian through his meridians. Yet, his spiritual sea could no longer bear the agony of soul-burning; darkness fell before his eyes, and he knew nothing more.