Record of Becoming Immortal: The Road Is Hard

Record of Becoming Immortal...?

Qi WuHuo saw the writing on the yellowed pages. The strokes were sharp and forceful; though they had grown somewhat blurred, they still revealed a young man's spirit and soaring confidence. Looking further, he realized it was merely a cultivation journal. It recorded not only the key points of each step in cultivation, but also the cultivator's detailed reflections alongside them. It was of great benefit to Qi WuHuo.

Besides that, it also contained entries about the writer's daily life.

"July 13. Clear. I've succeeded in nurturing my qi. To have perfected my primordial qi at thirteen—I suppose I count as a genius!"

"My father and grandfather are both inferior to me!"

"With my sword in hand, I look down upon the Human World. Ha! Who could match my bearing?!"

"From now on, I'll use the days I spend cultivating as markers and record my journey to immortality, so that future generations can pass it down. My junior disciples will surely take pride in me."

"I'll call it the Record of Becoming Immortal!"

The words were composed and carefree, brimming with youthful confidence. Even Qi WuHuo couldn't help smiling.

Then he thought of Tantai Xuan's behavior and frowned slightly.

Could this book have been taken from a young cultivator he killed?

Was its original owner the person who had carried that Ming Zhen Dao Alliance token?

On the second page, he recorded several simple spells. The young man had written: "A cultivator's qi cannot leave the body before it merges with their primordial essence, so they cannot cast spells by relying on their own power. But at this stage, a cultivator can still use preparations at an altar to perform abilities similar to divine powers."

"Thus, they can also be called a 'Daoist,' to show that they are no longer ordinary people."

He then added: "The old man beat me yesterday. When he's old, I'll feed him the foulest-tasting medicine. Ha! No sugar allowed!"

The writing that followed had been rubbed out, as though an elder had held the boy down and beaten him. The outline of a young face remained on the paper.

Then came an addition—

"After getting beaten, I may add one lump of sugar."

Qi WuHuo couldn't help smiling.

He glanced over the page. The ritual spells recorded here were the Blood Stopping Curse, the Evil Subduing Method, and the Concealment Method.

The journal then detailed how to circulate qi, how to step through the Big Dipper, and how to cast these spells at the level of refining primordial essence.

After reading, Qi WuHuo found himself quite enlightened.

Farther on, the entries said that the young man's elders had forced him to work.

In the end, he had been so furious he'd jumped up and down.

"Grinding tofu, grinding tofu—grind your grandpa's [crossed out] tofu!"

"I'm a swordsman, a swordsman! I'm not here to grind tofu!"

"Damn that old man. What did he say? 'If you haven't entered the world, how can you speak of leaving it?' What a joke! What a joke!"

"Who enters the world by grinding tofu every day?!"

"The smell of raw beans is so strong. Boohoo..."

"My billowing white robes, my immortal swordsman's style, my grand reputation! Am I really supposed to wear my clothes, carry my sword, and grind tofu?"

"No, no! I'm a genius! I'll create a divine power for grinding tofu!"

"Decision made!"

"I'm a genius, after all!"

Qi WuHuo could almost see a boy his own age, sword on his back, crouching there and gritting his teeth before getting up to grind tofu. The white robes he'd just bought for himself, like some young hero, reeked of raw beans. He was so upset he could have cried, and in the end, he'd angrily set about creating a spell.

Qi WuHuo turned to the next page and froze. There, carefully written stroke by stroke, was—

[Tofu Pushing Curse]

The name was plain and unadorned, and the incantation was so casually natural that it made one laugh. It was clearly a joke, deliberately invented by the mischievous boy.

The incantation read: "One, two, three, four, five, Ancestor Shuai; Gold, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth, five spirits divine. Your disciple chants the spell in his heart."

"Boil the beans, burn the stalks; the beans weep in the pot. Born from the same root, why boil each other so fiercely? If it won't clear, then it won't clear; if it won't set, then it won't set."

"Turn the slurry into a basin of water. A thousand spirits, a thousand powers—let it work this very moment!"

"There really is one?"

Not only was there one, there was also a Pig Slaughtering Curse. The reason: it was too humiliating for a dignified sword immortal to pin down a pig and slaughter it.

Getting rammed in the stomach by a wild boar, then rolling around on the ground groaning in pain, was far too humiliating.

So he created a spell!

Of course, the sword immortal himself was not the one who'd been rammed in the stomach by a wild boar!

There was the Wine and Meat Cooking Curse—the reason being that his own cooking tasted so bad, it had made him throw up.

There was the Prank Reversal Curse—for use when playing tricks on childhood friends during their wedding night.

There was the Bone Dissolving Needle Swallowing Method—created by a northern cultivator who'd gotten a fish bone stuck in his throat the first time he ate fish, but found drinking vinegar unpleasant.

As Qi WuHuo flipped through the pages, he could almost see a young man laughing and cursing, proud and unruly, brimming with youthful spirit. He had cultivated, lived, and practiced his sword. He had perfected his qi at thirteen and formed sword intent at seventeen. By twenty-one, he had achieved Primordial Prenatal Qi and declared himself among the very best beneath heaven. His inherited teachings, methods, and cultivation techniques were all recorded in detail.

Qi WuHuo read on slowly, sensing something faintly stirring within him as he committed the methods of these divine powers to memory.

There were sections on swordsmanship, miscellaneous arts, ghost-driving and evil-exorcising, medicine, physiognomy, and talismans.

He had just memorized a little trick for using his own qi to regulate someone else's body.

It could achieve the effect of Supporting the Righteous and Expelling Evil. But when he turned another page, he paused.

"Year eighteen. Today, Zong Wei married."

"The one she loves is me. I know it."

"But my heart holds only the Dao; I seek nothing else. On a mountaintop in the rain, I watched her marry another man, then turned and left."

"I'll wander the world, seek teachers and the Dao, and cultivate both nature and life."

"Year thirty-one, seventh month—"

"Passing an isolated temple, I saw ghostly demons running rampant. I drew my sword and cut them down. One Tree Demon had cultivated quite deeply."

"I pursued it a hundred miles with my sword. I slew one hundred and thirty-one ghosts, suffered dozens of wounds, and saved thirteen people."

"At sunrise, I drank until I was thoroughly drunk beneath the purple clouds on the horizon. Exhilarating!"

"Year thirty-six, eighth month—"

"The road is hard. I saw a great drought, brought water to the people, and saved lives."

"I bought a jug of wine and left at my leisure."

"Year forty-one, sixth month—"

"I encountered an Evil Cultivator who was refining his arts by killing people. Enraged, I pursued him with my sword and killed him, though I was gravely wounded. I lost thirteen years of my life."

"He said that one day I, too, would fall into this path."

"Ha! What a joke, what a joke. We cultivators should be like swords, with nothing to be ashamed of, no matter how we face the heavens or the earth. If that day ever comes, I'd be better off drawing my sword and killing myself!"

"How dare he disturb my Daoist heart?"

"Evil heretics—everyone has the right to kill them!"

"Year fifty—"

"My breakthrough... failed. Ha, no matter. I'll set cultivation aside for today and go drink, go drink!"

"Year fifty-one—"

"My breakthrough failed... Enough, enough."

"Year fifty-three—"

"My breakthrough failed."

"Year sixty—returned to my hometown."

"Zong Wei is dead. I saw her body being carried away right in front of me."

"My heart ached. I wandered in a daze, then made my way up the mountain again."

"It was here that I saw her marry. It was here that I saw her pass away. I witnessed her whole life."

"That night, I drank alone until I was drunk. In my dreams, I seemed to see her and myself as we were when we were young. My heart was heavy with sorrow. When I woke, I was still lost and unsettled. Should I have faced my true feelings back then and taken her away with me...? A lifetime spent cultivating the Dao, and I achieved nothing here."

"Was I wrong?"

As Qi WuHuo read the pages that followed, he saw how the once-proud, spirited young swordsman had lived through too much. He watched one friend after another pass away. No matter how he cultivated, he was always one step short, always one step short. The sixtieth year, the seventieth, the eightieth—nothing changed. At last, when Qi WuHuo reached the record of the hundredth year of cultivation, he saw that the writing had become confused and frenzied.

"Failed again! Failed again! Failed again!"

"Could it be that fighting others when I was young damaged my foundation?! If only I'd known, if only I'd known..."

"If only I hadn't saved those people!"

"I should have watched them die, die, die!"

"Year one hundred and ten."

"Failed, failed, failed, failed!!"

"Year one hundred and seventeen."

"I tried refining the Blood Demon Pill. I only borrowed a little of their blood; it won't affect their lifespan. It won't."

"It works, it works... Hahahaha, it works! It really works!"

"I can feel some of my foundation returning. My qi, my qi is surging, surging!"

"There's a chance, there's a chance. I don't want to die. I don't want to die!"

Looking at the page, Qi WuHuo now knew who the book belonged to.

He seemed to take a slight breath, then quickly turned to the pages that followed. The words were like knives, recording how the once-spirited young man had sunk step by step into the mire. First he took people's blood to make pills, then their lifespans, and finally their fates. His temperament changed as well; he grew increasingly deranged and cautious, willing to do anything for more years of life. At last, Qi WuHuo reached the final entry on the last page—

"Spring, year one hundred and thirty-one."

"Zong Wei's grandson has passed away too."

"My hometown truly means nothing to me anymore. I'm like a drifting tumbleweed, like a worm gnawing at the world. Everything beneath heaven seems to have no connection to me anymore. My family are all dead, my friends have all fallen. Suddenly, I feel so melancholy."

"I drank until I was dead drunk. While walking alone at night, I saw a river flowing by. My lips were parched, and I wanted a drink of water to soothe my throat."

"The moonlight is very bright tonight. I lowered my head and suddenly froze."

"In the water beneath the moon, the reflection looks like me, but also not like me... It's the face of a young man, with sword-like brows and bright, starry eyes, glaring at me. He looks like me when I was young, as if he wants to draw his sword and kill me. I froze. The killing intent was thick. I suddenly fell to the ground, and for some reason, I was enraged."

"I summoned my sword case and hacked the river to pieces. I was panting, but I—I still seemed to see my younger self standing in the mist, watching me. He seemed very far away, yet very close."

"His eyes were too bright. I hated them."

"He said, 'Evil heretics must be killed and destroyed!'"

"I went back. Ever since then, the sword I used in my youth has, for some reason, wailed in the night."

"It's an ill-omened sword."

"I suppose I'm going to die..."

"I want to smash it to pieces, but I can't bring myself to. I bound it with countless red cords, and bound 'me' as well."

"I want immortality."

P.S.

Those few spells also came from folk Daoist lineages.