Enter My Sect

The burly man who had been a yellow ox and the tall, sturdy man exchanged a look, both filled with emotion.

It had been so long since they'd seen this...

Even though they'd known a little of what was coming, seeing it with their own eyes still stirred something deep inside them.

Even if he was only becoming an entry-level disciple, formally taking a master was no small thing.

Before that, he'd only been a registered disciple. Afterward, he could be called a disciple and enter the Daoist Sect.

The blue-robed youth let out a quiet breath, stepped forward, clasped his hands, and bowed deeply. "It is exactly what I have wished for..."

I'd wanted to do this all along.

I was only afraid of troubling you.

The old man stroked his beard and nodded. Seeing the youth about to kowtow three times and bow nine, he waved a hand and said with a smile, "Those who cultivate the Dao and live beyond the world do not follow such worldly formalities. Get up first and take a seat." Then he turned to the man beside him and said warmly, "I'll have to trouble you with what I asked you to prepare earlier."

The burly man laughed heartily. "Hahaha! My wife and I owe the fortune we have today to you, senior, for speaking up on our behalf all those years ago. No matter how difficult the task, we'd see it done. And this is only a small matter!"

"How could it be any trouble?"

"Besides, today is a fine day. Someone has caught your eye—of course we should celebrate properly."

"Come, sit, all of you. I'll go prepare the things."

Qi WuHuo took the seat below the old man on one side. The burly man sat opposite him, with the young girl beside him. She gazed at the white-haired old man with curiosity, but had no idea what made him special.

The yellow ox didn't sit down. He only sighed with a smile. "You've come today, old friend, but you didn't bring my big brother."

"If he'd come too, we could've shared a whole barrel of strong liquor."

"I'll stay standing."

He sat by the doorway and gazed up at the distant sky. Before long, Qi WuHuo understood what those so-called "things" were.

Even from far away, Qi WuHuo could smell an irresistible fragrance. He didn't know why, but the moment it reached him, an intense hunger surged through him, impossible to describe. It was as though every inch of flesh on his body cried out with longing.

The old man stroked his beard and watched him with a smile. "Are you hungry?"

Qi WuHuo nodded and murmured, "Mm."

The feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar. It was like when he'd been wandering at the age of nine, clinging to life for seven or eight days on tree roots and bark.

Then, for the first time, he'd eaten a bowl of rice porridge with a few grains in it.

It had felt as if he'd finally returned to the human world after standing on the brink of death.

But after that, he'd eaten well enough. Lately, he'd even been able to eat meat.

So why did he feel this way again?

The dishes were brought to the table: more than ten in all. There were platters of fruits and vegetables, slices of fresh lotus root, stir-fried greens, beautifully prepared meats, and a bowl of golden soup. When ripples crossed its surface, it seemed to hold the glitter of a field of stars. It was so exquisite it looked like a work of art.

The burly man was rather pleased with himself. Pointing at the fragrant rice, he said with a smile, "Don't underestimate it. This rice isn't ordinary. It takes three hundred—" The old man coughed softly and smiled, shaking his head. The man, who'd been about to explain the produce from his fields, looked surprised, then nodded in understanding. He realized there were some things best left unsaid.

Was the old man worried that knowing too much would make the boy conceited?

So he smiled and explained in a gentler tone:

"This rice takes three hundred days to sprout, another three hundred to grow, and yet another three hundred to ripen."

"I planted it several hundred days ago. It'll need another hundred days before it's ready to eat."

Qi WuHuo asked in surprise, "It takes three years?"

The sturdy, broad-shouldered man laughed. "That's right. It grows a little slowly."

"But slow-growing things are naturally different. This rice is quite helpful for cultivating one's vital energy."

"Of course, the most important thing is that it tastes wonderful. It's especially delicious with this dish..."

He introduced the dishes one by one, clearly proud of his cooking. At last, he pointed to the fish soup and said with a smile, "As for these fish, there's nothing special about them. I just caught them in the river this morning."

"For ordinary people, they're very beneficial to one's vital essence."

"They'll do you a lot of good, WuHuo."

Though his body's frenzied hunger still gripped him, Qi WuHuo sat quietly until the old man nodded. Only then did he pick up his chopsticks. The rice tasted wonderful, leaving a lingering fragrance on his lips and teeth. The fish was tender, white as jade, with a springy, resilient texture. The young girl happily shared her favorite way to eat it.

She especially recommended pouring the golden fish soup over the rice.

The rice seemed not to fill the stomach at all.

Qi WuHuo found that as he chewed, the flavors grew richer. When he swallowed, the food seemed to turn into a stream of pure energy. He never felt full or bloated; the energy simply spread through his body. Before he knew it, he'd eaten more than a dozen bowls. He'd eaten more than everyone else combined, leaving the man stunned.

The man's eyes widened slightly. A glimmer of spiritual light seemed to flash through them as a divine art swept over Qi WuHuo's body.

He frowned, astonished.

This is...

Five fatigues and seven injuries. He once escaped death, then suffered calamity after calamity. As a child, he endured years of hardship and wandering. His mind, too, seems to have suffered a terrible blow.

For a long time, he survived on tree bark and weeds that did nothing to nourish the body—in fact, some were poisonous.

It seems he even ate something like "Guanyin clay," which could fill the stomach but provided no nourishment.

The fact that he survived at all is a testament to an iron will.

Even so, his foundation has been severely damaged.

He used the Art of Returning Light to peer into the past.

The gap between his cultivation and Qi WuHuo's allowed him to glimpse some of what had happened to the youth.

He saw disaster descend. A child of only nine stumbled down a road amid refugees fleeing famine. After walking away, the boy bit back his hesitation and turned around to share his flatbread with an even younger child. But others swarmed him and snatched away his last morsel. He survived by eating leaves and roots, found a sword, and wandered on.

He used the sword he'd found to stab an adult who had grabbed him. Then, famished, he opened an iron pot—only to find a child's arm inside, marked with the signs of gnawing. At last, the nine-year-old dragged his sword with both hands. The starving, emaciated man had still been wailing in despair—

"You can't take my meat!"

"I traded my own child for that!"

"You can't!"

He lunged to seize Qi WuHuo and throw him into the pot.

The nine-year-old tightened both hands around his sword and killed him.

Then he dug a grave with the sword and buried the child who had died in the pot.

He took a little flatbread from the dead six-year-old's clenched hand, apologized, and dragged his sword away.

Watching these flickering scenes, the man suddenly understood why the old man had asked him to bring out today's food. After enduring such things, even surviving would leave deep wounds in one's foundation and mind. The damage was so severe that, even with proper cultivation techniques, the boy might only live to sixty or seventy.

His Primordial Spirit had grown more resilient because of what he'd endured.

But his vital energy and vital essence were the body's foundation, and they had naturally suffered greatly.

Special spiritual foods could make up for what he had gone through.

The man sighed inwardly. He looked at the boy, who was only fourteen, and felt a touch of pity. He wondered how much pain the boy had endured to be left so full of injuries and illness. He also wondered how, after all that, he'd still kept his present character. Perhaps he'd met someone who had guided him away from the crooked path.

The old man saw Qi WuHuo finish another bowl without stopping and smiled as he pushed his own bowl toward him.

Qi WuHuo instinctively said, "Old man..."

The old man chuckled. "Still calling me 'old man'?"

Qi WuHuo said, "...Teacher."

Only then did the old man smile with satisfaction. "Since you're calling me Teacher, don't stand on ceremony with me."

By the time the meal ended, Qi WuHuo had eaten more than everyone else put together. He felt a little embarrassed. Just then, the man Qi WuHuo had been told to call Uncle Yun swept his sleeve, and the table and dishes were cleared away. The old man sat in the seat of honor. Seeing Qi WuHuo's confusion, Uncle Yun smiled. "It's time."

He clapped his hands.

Three people suddenly emerged from outside the house. All wore blue robes, jade pendants hanging at their waists, lotus-colored embroidered shoes on their feet, and their hair in high, neat buns. Their features were graceful, their lips curved in smiles, and each carried a tray as white as jade. They entered together.

Red silk covered each tray, with an object resting atop it.

On the first tray lay a blue water-silk robe.

The robe was neatly folded.

Resting on it was a Daoist sect cloud crown.

The bearer stood before Qi WuHuo, smiling brightly.

On the second tray lay a Daoist five-colored silk sash, its five hues symbolizing the five elements and the Five Directional Emperors.

The third held a pair of plain shoes and a jade register.

The three stood in a row before Qi WuHuo and bowed together, smiling as they said, "Daoist, please."

The old man said, "Now that you've entered the sect, how could you remain dressed as you are?"

Warmth filled his eyes. His voice was calm, measured, and unhurried.

"Since I am your master,"

"I shall perform the transmission rite for you."