After the collapse of the Heavenly Dao, Kunlun Mountain grew three times its original height.
This Primordial Wilderness ancestral vein was originally the Ancestor of Ten Thousand Mountains and the source of dragon veins. When the Heavenly Dao collapsed, a wisp of Pangu True Body will to create the world fell to the mountain peak, transforming into a gray-white pattern embedded in the mountain body. From then on, Kunlun Mountain possessed spirituality. It was no longer just a mountain, but a giant pillar that rose from the depths of the earth and pierced the sky. Above the mountainside, it was shrouded in a misty halo of gray-white light and earth-yellow array patterns all year round. At the foot of the mountain, the Witchblood Trees planted by the Earthly Fiend of the Witch Race formed a forest, with their roots embedded in the Earthly Dao Formation Network and their crowns supporting the nine-colored silk ribbons hanging from the Human Dao Heavenly Net. There were springs in the mountains, and the spring water seeped out from the gray-white halo. Drinking it could cleanse the soul. There was a wind on the mountain peak, which blew from the edge of Chaos. After being filtered by the Gray-White Formation Network, it became gentle and only left a cool feeling on people's faces.
The Daoist Arena of the Shichen Ancestor was built on a natural platform halfway up Kunlun Mountain.
The platform was originally a protruding boulder. When the Shichen Ancestor arrived, he found it not flat enough, so he reached out and smeared the surface of the rock. The boulder melted away like soft mud and solidified again into a nine-zhang square Azure Jade Platform. There were no engraved array patterns, no inlaid pearls, and no flags on the platform. There was only a stone pedestal at each of the four corners. Taiqing Laozi sat on the stone pedestal.
When Laozi arrived, the Shichen Ancestor was squatting by the platform, poking at ants with a twig. These were no ordinary ants; each carried a tiny, grayish-white grain of sand on its back, within which miniature stars could be faintly seen rising and falling. The Shichen Ancestor would poke at the twig, and the ant colony would change course; a second poke, and they would return to their original path. Laozi watched for a moment, then said, "You're playing with them."
Without even looking up, the Shichen Ancestor said, "I'm learning from them."
What should I study?
"Learn how to take detours." The Shichen Ancestor tossed aside the branch, dusted himself off, and stood up. He was extremely ordinary-looking, of medium height, with an indistinct face, wearing a grayish-white robe of indeterminate material, the hem stained with mud and bits of grass. If it weren't for his eyes, he would have looked like an old man doing odd jobs in some tribe at the foot of Kunlun Mountain. But those eyes had no whites or pupils, only two slowly swirling grayish-white vortices, with occasional flashes of starlight in the depths of the vortices, like watching a river flowing from an extremely distant distance.
"You've arrived," said the Shichen Ancestor.
"I've arrived," Laozi replied.
The two sat down on the stone stool. There were no pleasantries, no formalities, no empty words like "Fellow Daoist, please sit down." At their level, idle talk was more superfluous than fragments of laws. Shichen Ancestor took out a pottery pot from his sleeve. The spout was chipped, and there was a crack in the body. The water seeping from the crack had already crystallized into grayish-white granules. He poured a bowl for Laozi, and then poured one for himself. The bowls were rough pottery, with a scratch on the bottom, as if it had been cut by a sharp weapon.
Laozi picked up the bowl and took a sip. The water was ordinary spring water; it didn't prolong life, cleanse the marrow, heal injuries, or break through realms. It simply quenched his thirst.
"How long have you been stuck in the Ninth Heaven?" asked Shichen Ancestor.
"According to the Primordial Wilderness calendar, it's three thousand years. According to your river's calculation, that's about 170,000 'moments'." Laozi put down his bowl. "I've tried seclusion, I've tried dispersing my cultivation and starting over, I've tried reciting the five thousand words of the * Morality Te Ching* backwards, I've even sat on the top of City of Ten Thousand Crafts for three years watching the windmills turn. Nothing worked."
"You're in too much of a hurry."
"I'm not in a hurry. I haven't touched that barrier in three thousand years."
Shichen Ancestor laughed, twirling the chipped pottery in his hand. "I'm not saying you're in a hurry because you're in a hurry to cultivate. It's because you're in a hurry. You see the Human Race running so fast on the Heavenly Net, you see the bloodline of the Witch Race growing stronger every day, you see the Spirit Race bursting out of rocks to become Daluo Golden Immortals, you see the Star God Lineage running rampant across the sky, and a voice in your heart is asking: Taiqing, why are you still here?"
Laozi didn't say anything.
Shichen Ancestor drank the water in the bowl in one gulp, wiped his mouth, and said, "Back then, you wrote on the top of City of Ten Thousand Crafts, 'Leave enough possibilities when creating things, and let go of them after they are completed.' You let go of Human Race, but you held yourself tightly."
"Are you saying I haven't let myself go?"
"I'm saying you're too eager to break through," Shichen Ancestor said, holding up two fingers. "Wanting to break through is different from wanting to eat. Wanting to eat is being hungry, wanting to break through is craving. Craving is harder to cure than hunger."
Laozi was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed, "You've been immersed in the Time Long River for so long, and all you've come up with is such a crude saying?"
"Rough talk works." The Shichen Ancestor placed the pottery pot on the stone stool. "You came to see me, didn't you? You want to borrow my river to take a look? Fine, you can look, but there's one thing you have to promise me."
"You say."
"After you've seen it, whether it's broken or not, you have to treat me to Grey Wheat from City of Ten Thousand Crafts. I heard you have to queue for half Shichen to buy them, and I'm too lazy to wait in line."
Laozi nodded. "Deal."
Shichen Ancestor stood up, walked to the edge of the platform, and faced the gray-white halo atop Kunlun Mountain. He extended his right hand, fingers spread, palm facing upward. A drop of water gradually emerged from his palm. That water was not water, but an extremely condensed Time Law, shaped like a water droplet, gray-white in color, with endless images surging within. Shichen Ancestor tossed the "water droplet" into the air, and the droplet hovered without falling, unfolding on its own and transforming into a long Gray-White Long River.
The Long River extends from the edge of the platform to both ends, one end Kunlun Mountains, and the other end sinking into the yellow earth veins below the platform. The river is not wide, only a few feet wide, and the water flows slowly, like a stream in winter. But Laozi could tell at a glance that every drop of water in the river was a complete moment in time, and every wave was a possible path.
"Give me your hand," said the Shichen Ancestor.
Laozi reached out his hand. The Shichen Ancestor grasped his hand and pulled him into the river. Laozi did not resist and let him lead him into the Long River.
The moment he entered the river, Laozi felt an extremely wondrous sensation: he himself had not changed, but everything around him had. The platform was gone, Kunlun Mountain was gone, the Primordial Wilderness was gone. Beneath his feet was a gray-white road, with boundless "water" on both sides. The water surged in from above, below, left, right, front, and back simultaneously, each drop spinning on its own, reflecting countless images in its rotation. The Shichen Ancestor was still holding his hand, walking ahead, his steps unhurried, as if strolling in his own backyard.
"Don't just look at your feet," said the Shichen Ancestor without turning his head. "Look up."
Laozi raises his head.
Above the Long River, there are more Long Rivers. One upon another, one layer upon another, flowing horizontally, vertically, diagonally, swirling in the air. Some flow fast, some flow slowly, some break in two halfway through, from which new tributaries sprout. Each river radiates outwards countless fine, hair-like water lines, the ends of which connect to complete worlds. Laozi Tzu gazes intently; some of these worlds have already extinguished, leaving only a clump of grayish-white embers; some are burning, their light shining through the water lines, illuminating the surroundings; some have just been ignited, their flames so weak they are almost invisible.
"Is this what you're in charge of?" Laozi asked.
"I don't care," the Shichen Ancestor answered decisively. "I'm only responsible for ensuring the river doesn't Duan Liu. How it flows, where it goes, and what state it takes are none of my business."
"So, just how big is your river?"
The Shichen Ancestor stopped and glanced back at Laozi. A hint of childlike smugness flickered in his greyish-white, swirling eyes. "Guess."
Laozi was too lazy to guess. He released the hand of the Shichen Ancestor, took a step forward alone, and stopped above a wave. The wave was rising from the heart of the river, and on its crest was a scene: a world where everything was transparent, flowers, trees, birds, beasts, mountains, and rivers, all as if carved from crystal, their internal structures clearly visible. The people in that world were also transparent, able to see each other's hearts, livers, spleens, and lungs, to see how blood flowed, and to see how thoughts rose and fell from their minds.
"This is interesting," Laozi said.
"Look at how it ends," Shichen Ancestor, leaning closer.
Laozi looked back along that wave. The transparent world lasted for an extremely long time, so long that transparency itself became a torment. Everyone had no privacy, no secrets, no distinction between "inside" and "outside." Then a transparent sage invented a method: to grind a stone into a mask and wear it on one's face. The mask was opaque. With masks, people finally had "inside" and "outside," secrets, shame, performance, lies, trust, betrayal, and art. That world thus entered a new stage, eventually developing a special art of painting on masks, and everyone became a mask painter.
"It survived," Laozi said.
"Because it has learned to leave itself a space that is not transparent," said the Shichen Ancestor.
Laozi glanced at him but didn't reply. The two continued walking. After walking for an unknown distance, Laozi stopped beside a tributary. The tributary was much narrower than the main river, with a rapid current, a steep riverbed, and countless fragments churning on the surface. Laozi squatted down, reached into the Ru Shui, and scooped up a fragment.
Within the fragment lies a world. That world is at war. Not an ordinary war, but a war between entire races, men and women, the old and the young—everyone is fighting everyone else. The reason is simple: the people of that world have discovered that by killing another person, they become stronger. Kill ten people, ten times stronger. Kill a hundred people, a hundred times stronger. So everyone is killing everyone else. The strong kill the weak, the weak unite to kill the strong, and the united weak kill each other. In the end, a living person stands amidst mountains of corpses and Blood Sea, looks up at the sky, opens his mouth to laugh, but finds his mouth rotten and he can no longer laugh.
Laozi threw the fragment back into the river. The fragment Ru Shui, and the scene flipped over. In the flipped scene, that world had been destroyed. Completely destroyed, not even a trace remained. But right next to its original location, a new waterline was forming. At the end of the waterline, a new world was coalescing from Chaos. Laozi glanced at the first ray of light from that new world and discovered an extremely fine grayish-white line within it, the shape of which resembled a person kneeling on the ground begging for mercy.
"Was that left over from the previous world?" Laozi asked.
"Yes. Although it perished, it branded the thought of 'begging for mercy' into the riverbed before its destruction. The new world grew from the riverbed carrying this thought," said the Shichen Ancestor. "Watch how it uses this thought next."
Laozi observed for a while. The New World quickly developed civilization. Civilization developed laws, which stipulated: murderers die. If someone begged for mercy, the murderer could choose to forgive. After being forgiven, the murderer had to work for the victim's family as atonement. This rule was enforced for a long time, so long that the people of the New World considered it self-evident. But suddenly one day, a victim's family member refused to accept atonement, saying, "I don't want him to work for me, I want him dead." So the law changed: murderers die, and begging for mercy is useless. The New World entered another path, where fighting and killing decreased significantly, but everyone's gaze towards each other was hard and unyielding, as if looking at a stone.
"This road isn't bad either," Laozi said.
"It's not bad," the Shichen Ancestor nodded, "But when it reaches its end, you'll see."
Laozi followed the waterline and looked back. The rigid world had developed to its extreme, leaving only ironclad rules between people. The stricter the rules, the more people tried to exploit loopholes. The more people tried to exploit loopholes, the stricter the rules became. Finally, the rules became so strict that even the words "exploiting loopholes" couldn't be uttered; to say them was to break the rules. So everyone learned not to speak, but secretly they were all trying. Finally, one day, a child asked his father, "Father, what you think and what you say are different. Which is true?" His father couldn't answer, because answering would break the rules. He remained silent for a long time, then picked up his child, scaled the city wall, and ran away. Once outside, he found thousands upon thousands of people who had also escaped by scaling the wall. These people gathered together and revised the rules. This time, two new rules were added: First, one can remain silent about what one thinks; second, one cannot go back on one's word.
"He's come back to life," Laozi said.
"They've come back to life," the Shichen Ancestor laughed. "Look, the world in the river is much like the people in the river. When the pressure gets too heavy, they climb over the walls, and after climbing over, they rebuild their houses. After rebuilding, they're pressured again, and after that, they climb over again. Over and over again, in the end, those worlds that climb over the most frequently actually survive the longest."
Laozi didn't speak, but stood up and continued walking. This time he walked faster, no longer stopping to look at every wave, but only at the shapes he saw for the first time: In one world, everyone was a tree, and trees could walk, their roots taking hold wherever they went, turning the land into a forest; in another world, time could be stored, and the more time stored, the slower one aged, so everyone desperately tried to store time, until finally the entire world's flow was slowed down, and everyone's speech sounded like it was in slow motion; in another world, there was no light, and all living things lived by touch and hearing, carving extremely intricate stone tools in the darkness with their bodies, so intricate that every line corresponded to a sound; in yet another world, magic could be calculated using mathematical formulas, and if the calculation was correct, it could be released, but if the calculation was wrong, one would explode in their face with ashes, so mathematicians held the highest status in that world, and poets and artists assisted mathematicians, helping them calculate the formulas.
Laozi suddenly stopped at this point, turned around and asked the Shichen Ancestor, "How many tributaries does your river actually have?"
"Countless."
Have you counted them?
"Counted."
How many times?
"I'm tired of counting."
"Then what?"
"Then I tried a different method." The Shichen Ancestor held up one finger. "I taught them to count themselves. Every so often, the world in the river would gather together for a meeting, exchange information, and show off their new tricks to use. After the meeting, they would each return to their respective waterways and live their own lives. I would sit on Kunlun Mountain waiting for their meeting, and after it was over, I would go and see what they had brought back."
Laozi Tzu paused for a moment, then said, "This isn't a river. This is a market."
The Shichen Ancestor laughed, "That's right. You've finally hit the nail on the head. The River of Time isn't a line, it's a marketplace. The world isn't pushed along by time; it moves around on its own. I've just set up a stage for it."
Laozi closed his eyes and stood in the middle of the river for a long time. The river flowed past him from all sides, each drop carrying the essence of a different world. Some worlds smelled sweet, like freshly picked fruit; some smelled burnt, like shards of burnt pottery; some smelled salty, like dried fish that had been sun-dried for three days; some smelled bland, like water, without any flavor at all. Countless essences mingled together, yet Laozi could distinguish them clearly. He suddenly remembered the "Morality" of the Taiqing lineage, which emphasized "nature." He had always thought "nature" meant going with the flow, not forcing anything, letting the water flow wherever it wanted. Now, standing in the middle of the river of time, watching countless worlds change course, build bridges, climb walls, and construct houses on their own, he suddenly realized that his understanding of "nature" was still too shallow.
"Your concept of 'nature'," the Shichen Ancestor suddenly spoke, as if seeing through his thoughts, "Omits the word 'human.' Nature isn't the world moving on its own; nature is a group of living beings moving together. Where there are living beings, there are ideas; where there are ideas, there are detours; where there are detours, there are pitfalls; some fill the pitfalls; some take detours; some turn back and run away. No matter how high you run, you still grow from this group of living beings. If you remove 'living beings' from 'nature,' then 'nature' becomes a rigid set of rules. Rigid rules don't sustain people."
Laozi opened his eyes.
The river beneath his feet suddenly slowed down. Not the entire river, but the section he was standing on. The Shichen Ancestor looked down and laughed, "Oh, you've created a slow-moving section of water by yourself."
Laozi ignored him. He stared at the slow-moving water for a while, then suddenly squatted down and put his hand into the water. The instant his hand Ru Shui, he felt his soul being gently touched by something. That thing was extremely small and fine, like a needle tip reaching out from a great distance, touching him, and then retracting. Laozi followed that needle tip back to the bottom of the water and saw an extremely small point of light. That point of light was not the world, not a fragment of law, not anything he had ever seen before. It was just a point of light. Laozi picked up the point of light and placed it in his palm, examining it carefully for a long time.
"What's this?"
The Shichen Ancestor leaned closer for a look, a expression Laozi had never seen on his face before—an expression that seemed to be both respect and regret. He remained silent for a moment before speaking, "Left by the Shichen Ancestor."
"The previous one?"
"I had my predecessor too. When I took over, he handed this river over to me and said one thing: 'Don't throw away what you fish out of the river, save it.' I asked him why he was saving it, and he said: 'For the next person to take over.'"
"He didn't say what he'd do when he got there?"
"No," Shichen Ancestor shook his head. "That was all he said."
Laozi held the point of light in his palm and felt it twitch very, very lightly. It was as if something was breathing inside it.
"I'll take this," Laozi said.
"It was originally meant for you." Shichen Ancestor waved his hand. "Now that you're here, I've done my job."
Laozi glanced at him. "You're quitting?"
"Do it. But not so meticulously." The Shichen Ancestor pointed to the dense lines of water and waves on the river's surface. "Before, I used to use a branch every day to guide the world back onto the right path. Later, I discovered that the more frequently I tried to guide it, the faster it went astray. Now I understand—if it's crooked, it's crooked; once it reaches its limit, it will naturally straighten itself. I'll stop guiding it."
"So what do you do every day?"
"Let's plant some ants," said the Shichen Ancestor in a serious tone. "Several new types of ants have arrived on Kunlun Mountain, the kind that carry grayish-white gravel on their backs. I want to see how many grains of gravel they can carry before they get tired. After I've finished watching, I'll go to City of Ten Thousand Crafts to queue up for Grey Wheat."
Laozi stood up from the river and put the point of light in his palm into his sleeve. Shichen Ancestor also stood up; the pottery pot, the stone stool, Azure Jade Platform were still there, as was the gray-white halo of Kunlun Mountain, only the sky had darkened. The two returned to the stone stool and sat down. Laozi suddenly asked, "Of all the worlds you've seen, which one do you think is the most promising?"
The Shichen Ancestor pondered for a moment, "A small world that few people pay attention to. The people in it don't know what cultivation is, what the Heavenly Dao is, or what Saint is. They only know how to do one thing: move things from one place to another. They move stones, wood, water, food, people, and news. As they moved things, they built roads; with roads built, they invented carts; with carts invented, they began to move even more things. They used their moving skills to create an Iron Box that could run on its own, faster than birds; they created an Iron Bird that could fly on its own, faster than a shooting star; finally, they created an Iron Net that could talk, where a sentence spoken from one end was immediately heard from the other. From beginning to end, they didn't know what 'laws' were, what 'time' was, or what 'space' was, but they used their moving skills to experience all of these things."
"So what happened to them in the end?"
"It's not over yet. Last time I went to see them, they were sitting in Iron Box flying into the sky, saying they were going to bring back a little star."
Laozi was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed, "Okay, I'll go with you next time."
The Shichen Ancestor slapped his hand on the stone stool. "Then you have to treat me to two pancakes."
"Two it is then."
Laozi Tzu rose to take his leave. The Shichen Ancestor escorted him to the edge of the platform, then suddenly seemed to remember something and said, "Don't rush to study that point of light in your sleeve. The more you rush to study it, the less it will tell you. Take it to eat cakes, take it to see the windmills, take it for a walk around the fields, and it will speak for itself."
Without turning his head, Laozi waved his hand and walked towards the sky, stepping into the gray-white halo.
He returned to the Lotus Platform and sat down, not immediately closing his eyes. He took the point of light out of his sleeve and placed it in his palm, gazing at it for a while. The point of light lay quietly in his palm, breathing very softly, without haste or agitation. Laozi put it back in his sleeve, closed his eyes, and began to ponder the word "nature" anew. As he pondered, he suddenly recalled the image of the Shichen Ancestor squatting by the platform, swatting ants, and felt that that posture was closer to the Hunyuan Taiji than any of the deadly meditations he had undergone in the past three thousand years.
He opened his eyes and glanced in the direction of City of Ten Thousand Crafts. The windmills on the city wall were still turning, turning slowly, like the way the Shichen Ancestor walked.
Laozi rose from the Lotus Platform and headed towards City of Ten Thousand Crafts. This time, he didn't become invisible or step on any aura; he simply walked down the mountain step by step. When he reached the entrance of City of Ten Thousand Crafts, the old man guarding the gate glanced at him and asked, "Here to hang up the wooden sign again?"
Laozi shook his head. "Come and line up to buy cakes."
The bakery is on the corner of Third Street, and the end of the queue is at the intersection of Fifth Street.
Laozi was at the end of the line. Ahead of him was a woman holding a baby who was chewing on a wooden sign. The sign read, in crooked handwriting, "Today's lecture on mud and divine materials is free; bring your own mud." Laozi looked at the sign, then at the baby, and realized that the Shichen Ancestor was right—it was indeed time for him to eat his cake.