“Ah Jue, do you believe in karmic retribution?”
Fang Cheng Lang’s voice was low, raspy, and carried an inexplicable chill that sent a shiver through Cui Jue’s heart.
Cui Jue paused for a moment before forcing a smile. “Why would Senior Brother ask such a thing?”
One glance at Cui Jue’s expression, and Fang Cheng Lang knew he didn’t believe. With a soft sigh, Fang Cheng Lang continued, “I just had a dream.”
Cui Jue froze.
Cultivators seeking to comprehend the Heavenly Dao must eliminate distracting thoughts and maintain clarity of mind. Only those whose hearts are impure are troubled by dreams.
Senior Brother had always been the most determined among them in the pursuit of the Dao. How could he be affected by a mere dream?
As if oblivious to Cui Jue’s reaction, Fang Cheng Lang continued, “In the dream, I was myself… yet not entirely.”
“Senior Brother, dreams are false,” Cui Jue couldn’t help but interject.
“Before today, I too regarded dreams with skepticism. But in this dream, besides myself and Little Six, you were also present. Tell me, have you and Little Six ever had a dispute over the Medicine Garden?”
A flash of surprise flickered in Cui Jue’s eyes, though he quickly masked it with calm. “I did reprimand Little Zhao about the Medicine Garden once. Looking back, I may have misunderstood her. Did she mention this to you?”
Although the poisoning of the spiritual herbs in the Medicine Garden was a fact, Cui Jue firmly believed that Yu Zhao hadn’t acted intentionally. So, he magnanimously took the blame upon himself.
Fang Cheng Lang shook his head and smiled faintly, though his smile brimmed with sorrow. “No, she said nothing. I saw it in the dream.”
In the dream, Yu Zhao was covered in wounds, kneeling before him and Cui Jue, her bloodshot eyes accusing them of their biases.
Yu Zhao had spoken of the Medicine Garden incident, asserting that she hadn’t caused the poisoning of the spiritual herbs. But Cui Jue had refused to believe her.
Fang Cheng Lang didn’t want to recall what happened next. Every time he thought of it, it felt like his heart was being torn apart.
“Senior Brother, it was just a dream…”
Cui Jue couldn’t grasp Fang Cheng Lang’s anguish and despair. To him, it was merely a dream and didn’t prove anything.
“It wasn’t just a dream!” Fang Cheng Lang roared.
It was a warning from the Heavenly Dao!
Cui Jue looked at Fang Cheng Lang’s almost demonic expression and furrowed his brows.
He suspected that Senior Brother’s Dao Heart was unsteady and that he had developed a Heart Demon, confusing dreams with reality.
“Enough. You may leave,” Fang Cheng Lang said, as if all his strength had been drained. He shook his head in helplessness.
Cui Jue, having spent much of his time in seclusion, was unaware of what Yu Zhao had endured. He wouldn’t understand.
“Senior Brother…” Cui Jue hesitated, but seeing that Fang Cheng Lang no longer wished to speak, he could only take his leave.
Returning to his room, Cui Jue couldn’t shake the unease from his mind. Fang Cheng Lang’s earlier expression and words echoed repeatedly in his head.
Could it be possible that Senior Brother was telling the truth?
The thought barely surfaced before Cui Jue dismissed it mercilessly.
Impossible. A dream is just a dream. How could it become reality?
Senior Brother must be plagued by a Heart Demon, causing his mind to falter. The best course of action would be to refine a batch of pills to ease Senior Brother’s troubles.
With this resolution in mind, Cui Jue immediately began searching his storage space for ingredients.
A Desolate Mountain Cave
Yu Zhao sat cross-legged, idly toying with the Purple Small Pot in her hand.
After a while, she seemed to come to a decision. Taking a deep breath, she carefully channeled her spiritual energy into the pot.
Familiar wisps of smoke rose into the air, swiftly coalescing into the figure of a woman in red robes.
The woman’s expression was arrogant, her head held high. Even as she stood silently, a commanding aura that seemed to dominate the world exuded naturally from her presence.
“Stand in my way, and die!”
A suffocating pressure filled the cave, sending fine particles of dust rippling outward. Yu Zhao’s daoist robe billowed, though there was no wind, its rustling sharp and clear.
Yu Zhao’s pupils trembled.
Even up close, she couldn’t detect any flaws in the illusion. It was as if a living, breathing master stood before her.
After some thought, she didn’t stop and continued channeling her spiritual energy into the Purple Small Pot.
As her reserves of energy began to deplete, the pot remained unresponsive, as if it had reached its limit.
Yu Zhao furrowed her brows slightly.
This was within her expectations.
If the Purple Small Pot had other remarkable abilities, Fu Rong would have provided a more detailed introduction at the Black Water City Auction, and its base price wouldn’t have been set so low—just two high-grade spirit stones.
But Yu Zhao was certain this Purple Small Pot wasn’t ordinary. She couldn’t mistake the aura of the Illusory Tides Technique.
With that thought, she made a decision. Forming a hand seal, she activated a spell unique to the Illusory Tides Technique and sent it into the pot.
A flash of spiritual light disappeared into the pot.
In an instant, golden light flared.
The dim cave lit up as bright as day.
Yu Zhao instinctively closed her eyes against the piercing brightness. When she reopened them, the light had vanished, and the Purple Small Pot was once again serene, as though everything she had just experienced was a figment of her imagination.
Just as Yu Zhao was puzzled, the domineering voice of the red-robed woman resounded in the cave.
“So, we finally meet, destined one.”
Yu Zhao was startled, her gaze snapping toward the illusionary figure, now speaking.
The red-robed woman raised an eyebrow, studying Yu Zhao with an amused expression.
After a moment, she nodded in satisfaction. “A water spirit root, excellent comprehension—you’re a perfect candidate for cultivating the Illusory Tides Technique.”
Yu Zhao was silent for a long while before she bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Bright Moon Hermit.”
Bright Moon Hermit laughed heartily. “You’re quick-witted. Aren’t you afraid that I, just a remnant soul, might possess your body and start anew?”
Yu Zhao raised her head to meet the woman’s gaze, her voice steady and firm. “If Bright Moon Hermit could create the Illusory Tides Technique, you wouldn’t stoop to body possession.”
To be unfeeling is to remain untouched by personal desires and aversions, allowing one’s being to exist naturally, neither harming oneself nor others.
To have desires yet not be governed by them is the foundation of the Path of Emotional Detachment.
“Well said! You’ve already grasped half the truth of the Path of Emotional Detachment.”
Bright Moon Hermit clapped her hands in delight, her expression filled with satisfaction.
“When I created the Illusory Tides Technique, I vowed to find a successor to inherit my legacy. Yet mortals, bound by their desires, are forever trapped in their struggles and cannot attain freedom. Even I, after failing to find an ideal disciple, succumbed to resentment…”
Her words were like a warning bell, reverberating through Yu Zhao’s sea of consciousness.
It is said the paths to enlightenment are as numerous as the stars, all leading to the same ultimate truth.
In the cultivation world, tales of ascension through the sword, blade, or scholarly arts were common, but rare were those who reached enlightenment through the Path of Emotional Detachment—a testament to its arduous nature.
Even the creator of the Illusory Tides Technique, Bright Moon Hermit, had ultimately perished due to her unfulfilled desire, her lifespan abruptly cut short.
Yu Zhao felt a pang of sorrow but maintained her composure.
No matter how long and treacherous the road ahead, she would not waver!
“What is your name?” Bright Moon Hermit suddenly asked.
“Yu Zhao.”
“Yu Zhao… Yu Zhao… An excellent name.” Bright Moon Hermit repeated the name a few times, smiling faintly. “Yu Zhao, would you be willing to become my personal disciple and inherit the name of Bright Moon Hermit?”