Chapter 228: Pure Moon Talisman, the Old Man on the River

Song Yan toyed with the wooden puppet for quite some time before finally setting it down.

He then picked up the second item—an ancient scripture of archaic design.

Song Yan perused it carefully. It contained the technique Yuan Zhen had created himself, called the Yin-Yang Zen Body.

Within it was not only a complete cultivation method but also a detailed account of the circumstances behind its creation.

Yuan Zhen claimed to be a prodigy of extraordinary talent. Having merely observed a demonic sect scripture with all its key passages expunged, he had been able to deduce and reconstruct the missing parts on his own.

He then merged this reconstructed text with the Wisdom King Art he himself cultivated, “creating” a new technique.

He even called this art a “Holy Scripture,” placing himself on par with the founding saints of every path.

Yet when Song Yan read through this technique, he found it entirely unconvincing.

This was hardly a self-created art. Bits and pieces cobbled together from here and there, scraps copied from one source and scraps from another.

It was nothing more than a crude patchwork of Buddhist and demonic arts—and this was what he dared call a self-created technique?

By that logic, when Song Yan had used sword qi in place of spiritual energy to complete the Void Spirit Bone-Shaping stage of his Dharma Body, he too could have claimed to have created his own technique.

Utter nonsense.

Song Yan had absolutely no interest in this. He would never cultivate something so absurd.

However, at the very end of the technique text, there was an additional section that appeared to have been added after Yuan Zhen arrived in Chu Kingdom.

It spoke of a particular item.

Divine Power Relics.

In Buddhist tradition, relics were called dhatu, also known as sarira. Translated into Daoist terminology, they were called spirit bones.

Their function bore some resemblance to the golden cores, nascent souls, or even primordial spirits of the Daoist tradition.

Only their workings and manner of creation differed somewhat.

During a Buddhist cultivator’s lifetime, relics did not yet exist.

Through the practices of precept, meditation, and wisdom, Buddhist disciples made great vows and cultivated boundless Buddhist dharma and supernatural powers.

When such an eminent Buddhist cultivator passed into parinirvana, there was a certain probability that they would leave behind “relics.”

Relics condensed a portion of the Buddhist cultivator’s dharma attainment or Buddhist divine powers.

Because Buddhist cultivators believed in the three lifetimes and the cycle of karma, most relics were preserved by their disciples, to await the cultivator’s reincarnation and reclamation.

Some Buddhist cultivators designated their dharma heirs before passing, enabling them to transmit their legacy upon death.

Though the Pure Karma Chan Monastery held no particular standing in the Central Domain, it had throughout its history produced several such eminent monks.

Within the monastery stood a Relic Pagoda, enshrining the sarira of Pure Moon Chan Monastery’s first abbot—the Holy Monk Xu Jing.

What greatly surprised Song Yan was this:

Yuan Zhen had sensed the spiritual presence of a Divine Power Relic upon Wu Huaguo’s person.

It was because Yuan Zhen, during his advancement to the Certainty of the Desire Realm, had been privileged to venerate Xu Jing’s relic and experienced at close range the unique spiritual aura belonging to sarira that he could be so certain.

The relic’s presence upon Wu Huaguo was faint, and Yuan Zhen surmised it must be a fragment of a Divine Power Relic.

Even so, Yuan Zhen had been consumed by fervor.

The reason was simple. Among the Six Divine Powers of Buddhism, every single one represented a realm that ordinary Buddhist cultivators might never reach in their entire lives.

“The Six Divine Powers are: the Divine Eye, the Divine Ear, the Thought-Reading Power, the Past-Life Power, the Divine Foot, and the Extinction of Defilements.”

These represented the six forms of supernatural power and Buddhist might described in Buddhist scripture.

As Song Yan had previously read in a text detailing Buddhist cultivation realms, he had studied these six powers in detail.

They were, for Buddhist cultivators, the equivalent of what tribulation transcendence and ascension represented to all Daoist cultivators—the eternal pursuit.

Buddhist cultivators sought to attain the Great Vehicle Dharma.

To achieve these Six Divine Powers was one of the prerequisites.

In truth, Yuan Zhen did not know which of the six the relic fragment upon Wu Huaguo belonged to. But he was exceedingly proud and supremely self-assured.

He believed that a Qi Refining cultivator could not possibly draw upon even a sliver of a Divine Power Relic’s power, let alone someone like Wu Huaguo, who possessed no knowledge of Buddhist dharma whatsoever.

And so he had paid the matter no further mind.

It was precisely this lapse that had put Wu Huaguo and Rong Xiaofeng on their guard.

“If this is the case, then the Divine Power Relic fragment upon Wu Huaguo’s person must belong to the Thought-Reading Power.”

The explanation of this particular power was esoteric in the extreme, entwined with many Buddhist doctrines and allusions.

In essence, it granted the ability to know the thoughts of all sentient beings across the Three Realms and Six Paths.

To put it more simply: it allowed one to know what another person was thinking.

Wu Huaguo did not seem to possess such an ability. She could only discern whether a person spoke truth or falsehood.

Moreover, there were numerous ways to circumvent the power.

When Song Yan had first witnessed this ability, it had truly startled him.

But looking back now, many Foundation Establishment cultivators possessed probing techniques that could achieve much the same result.

Of course, it was not impossible that Wu Huaguo was concealing the extent of her ability—but such a possibility was remote.

Song Yan had no intention of becoming a monk, nor would he cultivate Buddhism. He would certainly not use this as a pretext to act against Wu Huaguo.

He stowed the Zen Body technique and tossed it into a corner of his Cosmos Bag.

There was nothing else among the spoils worth mentioning.

The ancient golden page he had obtained from Wang Ke—he had studied it briefly but found not the slightest clue. He doubted he could comprehend it in a single evening.

So he stored it away for the time being.

With everything sorted, he stepped out of the room and into the courtyard.

After surveying his surroundings, sword qi surged around him, and he summoned his Dharma Body.

Fortunately, the courtyard of this hillside estate was spacious enough, and an independent illusion formation shielded the perimeter. Otherwise, the appearance of such an unusual white-bone skeleton Dharma Body would easily arouse the suspicions of other cultivators.

Mere suspicion would be tolerable enough, but if others mistook him for some manner of demonic cultivator, that would be a grievous injustice.

The Dharma Body now sat upon the ground, its head bowed. The right leg bone was drawn up, the right hand resting upon it, while the left arm hung empty.

This battle with Yuan Zhen had yielded, beyond the contents of the wooden fish, one other significant gain—the Dharma Body itself.

The right arm was now fully covered in dark skin and flesh, faint mystical gilt patterns gleaming with a subtle luster.

This was the result of not yet having fully refined all the demonic qi.

Song Yan estimated in his mind—roughly one month more would suffice to complete the refinement, at which point perhaps half the body might be covered.

At the same time, he marveled at the vast quantity of demonic qi this Dharma Body demanded.

It should be noted that the demonic qi contained within Yuan Zhen’s demonic Dharma Body far exceeded the Qi Refining standard. To call it half-step Foundation Establishment would be no exaggeration.

Yet it had only been enough to condense thirty or forty percent of this Dharma Body’s form.

But Song Yan was in no hurry.

The greater the resources required, the more formidable the strength upon completion.

Especially after this battle, he had truly come to understand just how potent this Buddhist Dharma Body’s suppression of demonic arts truly was.

His clash against the demonic avatar had been a near one-sided affair.

Its sheer prowess in close combat had astonished even Song Yan.

The gains were many, but losses could not be overlooked.

In the heat of battle, the Dharma Body had torn off its own left arm to wield as sword qi—a desperate measure to protect its master.

Fortunately, the fully condensed right arm had not been lost, and the Dharma Body as a whole had not collapsed or dissipated.

He simply needed to recondense a left arm.

Yet what exceeded Song Yan’s expectations was that the work of repairing the Dharma Body proved far more difficult than he had imagined.

To restore that portion of the body to its original state required nearly as much sword qi as forging an entirely new Dharma Body.

Song Yan had no alternative but to patiently deploy the Spirit-Gathering Sword Formation. He consumed additional spirit stones and pills, expending considerable effort to recondense and reshape the left arm.

The good news was that after the repair, the Dharma Body’s rate of demonic qi refinement had increased.

The bad news was that young Song was nearly spent, collapsing in the courtyard into a dead sleep.

Fortunately, Xiao Ju had been keeping watch by the courtyard. Seeing something amiss, she carried him inside to rest.

Over these past days, he had fought an all-out battle, then suffered damage from forcibly attempting to comprehend the Dharma Transmission Figure, and now had drained his sword qi to repair the Dharma Body.

This exhaustion plunged him into the deepest of slumbers.

Song Yan slept straight through the agreed-upon second day of departure. He did not stir until the early hours of the third day, gradually rising to wakefulness.

He stretched his limbs, feeling immediately refreshed and brimming with vigor.

Cultivators observed few formalities. There was no need for pomp.

Song Yan immediately gathered Xiao Ju and the little snake, called for Wang Ke, and departed North Peak Mountain City.

Beyond the city walls, the four mounted the Red Dust Vessel and flew straight for Xin’an Prefecture—the capital of Chu Kingdom.

After the Go tournament concluded, Liang Feng and Hu Qing had declined to linger and returned to Lanxi Cave on their own.

Compared to the journey here, the interior of the Red Dust Vessel now felt considerably emptier.

Having gained experience from before, Song Yan was far more adept at the flight this time.

Once the general heading was set, there was little need for constant attention. He needed only to devote a sliver of divine sense to adjust the vessel’s course.

Within the Red Dust Vessel, Wang Ke continued to arrange his chess positions.

This time, however, Song Yan had set out a chessboard of his own.

In his left hand he held the golden page. With his right, he picked up black and white stones one by one, placing them upon the board.

Though the Red Dust Vessel flew smoothly, cultivating during the journey was still impractical.

Not that it was impossible—merely that any unforeseen disturbance could affect one’s technique, and if the disruption proved significant, the losses would outweigh the gains.

Xiao Ju was familiarizing herself with the operation of the Red Dust Vessel, hoping that in the future she could free Song Yan’s hands for his own pursuits.

When Song Yan first set out the board and produced the chess manual golden page, Wang Ke had studied it with interest for a time.

He did not know what use this object served and wished to see whether it produced any change or difference in another’s hands.

Strangely, this Fellow Daoist Song seemed not to know its purpose either.

It appeared he had been drawn to the name that day.

The little snake slithered about Song Yan’s body in idle boredom.

“Yan Yan, are you playing against yourself?”

She poked her head from his sleeve, gazing at the black and white stones on the board.

Song Yan shook his head.

“No. But I do not know what this is.” He patted the little snake’s head. “I’m just arranging them for fun.”

Black and white stones filled the board.

Song Yan could discern not the slightest mystery in the arrangement.

If one called it a game position, it technically was—but the strategies displayed were neither particularly brilliant nor noteworthy.

And so it naturally failed to meet Wang Ke’s discerning eye.

“You don’t even know what it is, and still you arrange them…”

Xiao He slipped from her sleeve, taking human form, and seated herself at the edge of the board, muttering to herself.

She propped her chin in her hands and studied the position.

Song Yan was deep in contemplation when a small, pale hand reached in from the edge of the board.

A tiny finger traced circles in the air above one area.

“This part looks like Little Lonely Mountain.”

Little Lonely Mountain?

The deep mountain north of Green Mountain—Xiao He’s former home.

Song Yan looked left and right but could not see the resemblance.

He had little ground to speak, however, as Xiao He knew Little Lonely Mountain far better than she.

Perhaps the shape and flow of the stones evoked that mountain from some particular angle.

“Hmm…” Xiao He continued her assessment. “This part looks like Green Mountain.”

Green Mountain was not originally called Green Mountain. Its former name was Empty Chamber Mountain.

But for most of the villagers, the name was too cumbersome to pronounce. When they wished to refer to it, most simply called it “that mountain.”

But calling it that forever was hardly ideal, so the schoolmaster in Stone Beam Town chose a compromise: Green Mountain.

It was a name at least, and not too difficult to say.

Song Yan stroked his chin. “Green Mountain…”

“And how did you determine that?”

“Because it’s in the middle of the board.”

“…”

Song Yan chuckled softly, paying it no further mind.

But now that he considered it, Little Lonely Mountain did have a squared-off silhouette and a grounded, stable topography that resonated with the element of earth.

It truly did resemble this cluster of stones on the board.

Just as Song Yan sat in thought, he seemed to sense something.

He raised his head and gazed beyond the vessel.

Everyone inside the Red Dust Vessel turned to look outside as well.

In the distant sky, several streaks of light traced across the horizon like shooting stars, leaving fleeting traces upon the firmament.

Most of these were flying artifacts piloted by other cultivators, or the escape lights of Foundation Establishment seniors.

In hues of five colors, they sped or drifted in various directions across the sky.

On their earlier, shorter flight, the route had passed mostly through desolate mountains and wilds, with only the occasional spirit beast or two in the sky—nothing else that flew.

But now, as the Red Dust Vessel pressed onward, the escape lights of other cultivators grew increasingly frequent. They could even make out the shapes of some flying artifacts in the distance.

Among them, several caught young Song’s eye—most notably a massive jade gourd that exhaled billowing clouds and a bronze carriage drawn by flying beasts.

At one point, a cultivator who appeared to be at Foundation Establishment flew past, standing upon a feathered fan, his robes fluttering in the wind—an image of ethereal grace.

Song Yan picked up the control jade talisman. “We are close to the Chu capital.”

The Red Dust Vessel trembled slightly, its speed easing.

Xiao He hurried to the vessel’s edge and peered into the distance.

Along the horizon, the faint outline of a sprawling city wall had begun to emerge—lofty ramparts coiled like a great serpent, gleaming with a cold, blue-gray light under the sun.

Drawing nearer, they could make out the scene on the ground.

Official roads extended in every direction. Horse-drawn carriages and travelers were mere specks of black.

“Wow—”

The wind tousled the little snake’s dark hair. Gazing upon the sky and the earth below, her small mouth fell open in wonder.

Xiao Ju beheld such a sight for the first time as well, her heart filled with quiet astonishment and admiration.

Approaching the Chu capital, though they had not yet descended, the faint clamor of the mortal world seemed to wash over them like a rising tide.