Cultivation

After who knows how long, the number after [Dao Xing] slowly ticked up to "Five," then seemed to hit some kind of ceiling, stalling and refusing to grow any further.

Shen Hui understood in his heart, thinking this was probably the accumulation limit of the current stage. Or rather, the capacity of this "golden finger" for a single "charge."

He didn't wait any longer, slowly withdrawing from the meditative state.

Just as his eyelids were about to part, he suddenly felt the light in front of him blocked by something, and a warm breath nearly sprayed onto his face.

Shen Hui opened his eyes instinctively, and a slightly chubby face was almost pressed against the tip of his nose.

Her dark, glossy eyes were full of curiosity, so close that he could make out her long, slender eyelashes.

"Haah--!"

Shen Hui was startled out of his wits, instinctively leaning back in a tactical retreat, his spine thudding solidly against the wall behind him.

He focused his gaze and realized it was Fourth Senior Sister Jinghui in front of him.

She was leaning forward right now, staring at him without blinking.

And behind her, Big Senior Brother Li Changxing, Second Senior Sister Jingming, Third Senior Brother Qingyi, and Fifth Senior Brother Qing Shi were all gathered in the room, some standing, some sitting, their eyes fixed squarely on him, faces full of astonishment.

Shen Hui was momentarily stunned, feeling like he'd been caught taking a dump in public, and his expression couldn't help but turn awkward.

"Aiya! He's awake, he's awake!"

Jinghui was the first to shout, straightening up abruptly, clapping her hands, her face even more excited, "Junior Brother Qingxuan, you sure can sit still! From noon until now, a full five hours, not moving an inch!"

"Five hours?" Shen Hui himself was shocked.

He turned his head to look out the window, only then noticing that the light filtering through the window paper was already a hazy yellow, tinged with the faint colors of dusk.

He had been in meditation for that long?

Before he could think it over, everyone started chattering at once.

"Not just sitting still!"

Third Senior Brother Qingyi shook his head, a hint of awe in his voice, "For ordinary disciples to hold their first meditation for the time it takes a cup of tea is rare; a full incense stick's worth is exceptional talent. Junior Brother... five hours, motionless, breathing almost nonexistent—this isn't just exceptional talent, it's..."

"It's a once-in-a-century prodigy!" Fifth Senior Brother Qing Shi quickly chimed in, his eyes full of admiration.

"Not at all, not at all..." Shen Hui quickly waved his hands, thinking to himself, isn't meditation just like pressing the F key to get in a vehicle? If anything, he'd be a once-in-a-millennium prodigy.

"Junior Brother need not be modest," Second Senior Sister Jingming's gaze toward Shen Hui also carried a deeper meaning, "To enter meditation so deeply and for so long on your first try, with your aura flowing as if naturally formed, without any of the stagnation or emptiness of a beginner... such a temperament and aptitude are indeed a marvel of fate."

"Right, right, right! A marvel of fate!"

Jinghui nodded like a chick pecking at rice, her big eyes sweeping over Shen Hui's face as if trying to find where the "marvel" lay.

All kinds of flattery came crashing down on him, and Shen Hui couldn't handle it, his face heating up as he quickly waved his hands: "Senior Brothers and Sisters are too kind, too kind! Junior Brother is just..."

But then he felt any explanation would be futile, so he hurriedly changed the subject, looking at Jingming and voicing the doubt in his heart: "Second Senior Sister, you just said my 'fate is a marvel'... what does that mean?"

He vaguely felt it might have something to do with his identity as a transmigrator, or that strange "interface."

Jingming glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, "I've learned some physiognomy and aura reading from Master. Looking at the twelve palaces of your face and the flow of your aura, you should have been... a person of shallow fortune and thin connections, with a hint of black qi tangled between your brows, indicating early hardship, a rough fate, and there's..."

She paused, as if weighing her words, "and a sign of premature and violent death."

Shen Hui's heart jumped violently.

Premature and violent death—in plain terms, a short-lived face. Before he transmigrated, wasn't that exactly what he was—a "violent death"?

But Jingming's tone shifted, a hint of confusion in her eyes: "Yet the strange thing is, beneath this ominous sign, there's a faint, hidden purple qi, like a withered tree meeting spring, finding life in a desperate place. Moreover, now you're full of spirit, your gaze clear and upright, and the aura foretelling disaster has mostly faded, instead revealing a hint of... unpredictable change. Such a contradiction, this turn from extreme misfortune to good fortune—isn't that 'marvelous'? Isn't that 'mysterious'?"

Shen Hui was silent.

What could he say? That Second Senior Sister, your reading is spot on—I did die once, but crawled back from another world?

No wonder the master had taken him in as a disciple, no wonder he'd given him the Daoist name Qingxuan.

This fate really was "mysterious" to the point of leaving him speechless.

"Alright, alright, physiognomy is a profound mystery; don't take it too seriously, but don't cling to it either."

Big Senior Brother Li Changxing, seeing the atmosphere grow a bit heavy, interrupted, "Junior Brother Qingxuan making such progress on his first cultivation session is a blessing for Clear Wind Temple. It's getting late, let's have dinner first."

The group filed out of Li Changxing's room, stepping into the dusk as they headed toward the dining hall.

The mountain evening breeze carried a chill, but it couldn't blow away the excitement and curiosity on everyone's faces.

On the way, Jinghui, Qingyi, Qing Ding, and the others seemed to remember something, pulling things out from their robes and stuffing them into Shen Hui's arms without a word.

Shen Hui looked down and saw all sorts of oddly shaped fruits.

Some were green tinged with red, with smooth skins; some were deep purple, covered in fine white dots; some were small and golden, giving off a clear, sweet fragrance.

All were varieties he'd never seen before, still carrying the mountain's coolness and the scent of grass and trees.

"What's this?" Shen Hui asked, puzzled.

"Wild fruits picked from the back mountain. The vines and branches are a bit old, so they've absorbed a little spiritual energy, barely counting as 'spirit fruits,'" Third Senior Brother Qingyi explained with a smile, "Though they can't compare to real spiritual medicine, eating them regularly can nourish your blood and qi, helping with gathering energy and absorbing spiritual power. We thought, since you just joined, you could use the supplement."

Spirit fruits? Helpful for gathering energy and absorbing spiritual power?

Shen Hui's eyes lit up. He didn't stand on ceremony, casually picking up a green-and-red fruit, wiping it on his Daoist robe, and then biting into it with a crisp "crunch."

The flesh was crisp, the juice abundant, and a flavor of clear sweetness tinged with slight sourness instantly dissolved in his mouth.

Even more wondrous was that, as the fruit entered his stomach, a faint, cool breath slowly rose from his lower abdomen, resonating with the spiritual energy gathered within his body, bringing an indescribable comfort.

"Mm!"

Shen Hui couldn't help but take another big bite, chewing and mumbling in praise, "Delicious, delicious! Many thanks to all you senior brothers and sisters!"

His eager feasting left the others momentarily stunned, then they all burst into laughter. Even the usually aloof senior sister Jingming cracked a faint smile.

Dusk settled, and the mountain temple grew still.

After a simple evening meal, as the bowls and chopsticks were cleared away, Second Senior Sister Jingming spoke warmly, "Junior Brother Qingxuan, it's late today, but we shouldn't delay your calligraphy practice for too long. Come with me; I'll first teach you some basic characters and sentences, so you can later read the scriptures on your own."

Shen Hui glanced at the nearly pitch-black sky outside, a flicker of surprise passing through his mind.

So late at night, alone with a woman... and he still had to make up lessons?

Was that proper tutoring?

But seeing Senior Sister Jingming's expression open and honest, her gaze clear as autumn water, he quickly laughed at himself for his impure thoughts and promptly replied, "I'll trouble you, Senior Sister."

The two left the dining hall one after the other, stepping through the hazy moonlight and crossing the silent courtyard.

Jingming's dwelling was in the western compound, a more secluded corner. In front of the door grew several clumps of slender bamboo, rustling softly as the night breeze passed.

Pushing the door open, Jingming flicked her sleeve, and an oil lamp flared to life, casting a soft glow.

The room was slightly smaller than the eldest senior brother's, but exceptionally tidy, almost to the point of being spotless.

A wooden bed, a writing desk, a bookshelf, and a simple wardrobe made up all the furniture.

On the desk, brush, ink, paper, and inkstone were arranged neatly, beside them a few thread-bound books and a scroll of unfinished scripture.

A faint scent of medicinal herbs hung in the air, mingled with the fragrance of ink, calming the mind.

"Sit."

Jingming pointed to a cushion opposite the desk, then sat down behind it herself.

"A cultivator who is illiterate in letters will struggle to understand the scriptures' meaning and is more prone to giving birth to inner demons."

She directly pulled out a stack of neatly cut plain paper and a brush from under the desk, then took out a thin copybook.

"I'll first teach you how to hold the brush and recognize characters. The common script of this dynasty—you need to learn it from the beginning."

As she spoke, she demonstrated holding the brush, her fingers slender and steady, yet her wrist strength sufficient. Stroke by stroke, she wrote the four characters "Heaven, Earth, Dark, Yellow" in regular script on the paper—upright, clear, and vigorous, the ink penetrating the paper.

Shen Hui focused his gaze.

Indeed, some characters looked quite similar to those in his memory, only with slight adjustments in stroke structure, like "Heaven," "Earth," and "Dark," while others differed greatly, even being entirely unfamiliar in construction, such as the character for "Yellow," which was written in a rather archaic form.

He collected his thoughts and carefully memorized.

Jingming taught with great patience. After every few characters, she had Shen Hui trace them with his finger dipped in water on the desktop, correcting his stroke order and structure.

"Senior Sister, this character 'Yu'—why must the horizontal stroke in the middle be written so long?" Shen Hui pointed to a character in the copybook and asked.

Jingming glanced at it and replied, "This character takes the form of a 'house roof'; the long horizontal signifies the ridge beam. The shapes of written characters often imitate the forms of all things, embodying underlying principles. When writing, knowing the reason behind it allows you to capture both form and spirit."

Shen Hui suddenly understood. Learning the script of this world was actually quite interesting, like deciphering another kind of code.

The night deepened. The oil lamp occasionally burst with a tiny spark, a soft "crackle" sounding.

Outside the window, bamboo shadows swayed, reflected on the paper window pane like splashed ink wash.

Suddenly, a very faint rustling sound came from outside the window.

Jingming's brush tip paused.

Shen Hui also looked toward the sound, seeing a small shadow flit across the window paper.

"It's a civet cat from the back mountain; sometimes it comes begging for food."

Jingming explained without lifting her head. "No need to mind it. Let's continue."

After studying a while longer, Shen Hui felt his wrist growing sore and a fine sweat breaking out on his nose.

As he moved his wrist, he didn't notice a drop of ink tremble from the brush tip, landing precisely on the character he had just written.

With a "plop," a small ink blot spread beside the character.

But Jingming calmly handed him a clean piece of rough paper: "Writing requires a calm heart, a steady hand, and even breath. Once stray thoughts arise, the brush tip goes astray."

Shen Hui quickly took the paper to wipe away the ink stain, gaining even more admiration for this cool Second Senior Sister.

Just look at her words and demeanor—no wonder the master had her teach him calligraphy and reading.

Time slipped by unnoticed.

Before they knew it, the oil in the lamp had sunk a notch, and the chirping of insects outside the window gradually thinned.

Jingming shifted slightly, then put down the brush and paper in her hands. "It's the end of the Hai hour. We'll stop here for today."

Only then did Shen Hui notice a simple bronze water clock in the corner, and was startled to realize it was already nearly eleven at night.

He worked his stiff neck and wrists, feeling a slight fuzziness in his head, but the gains were substantial—at the very least, he had memorized the form, sound, and meaning of several dozen basic characters.

"Senior Sister, you've worked hard." Shen Hui rose and bowed.

Jingming shook her head slightly. "You learn very quickly, and your memory is good. Many characters only need to be taught once before you remember how to write them, and you often have unique insights when interpreting their meanings."

She looked at Shen Hui, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. "From now on, you can come often after breakfast. The light is just right then, and there's plenty of time."

"Yes, thank you, Senior Sister." Shen Hui acknowledged and turned to leave.

If you can't find the book by its title, try searching by the author—maybe it's just been renamed!