Master Golden Origin's Cultivation Notes

As Jiang She finished speaking.

The young-looking Daoist in a black robe embroidered with flame patterns aged inch by inch. His skin quickly grew dry and wrinkled. With every breath, he grew older still, yellow spots and wrinkles appearing as his frame grew gaunt.

He returned to the appearance he had before absorbing the incense offerings.

The "Fourth Young Master" had hidden in Ru Prefecture for years, bribing ghosts and gods.

The accumulated faith and incense offerings were drained away completely.

Li Bai and Yuan Danqiu watched from the side, aghast. They couldn't help taking two steps back, yet were reluctant to look away, staring at the scene without blinking.

For a moment, they held their breath, unable to speak.

In their eyes, the Daoist had aged in an instant, going from his twenties or thirties to his sixties, then rapidly growing even older.

In the end, he looked older even than the Old Deer Mountain God.

His hair turned white, and his flesh clung to his bones, gradually melting away and disappearing.

In just a dozen breaths, he became a skeleton.

A village boy cried out.

Only then did Yuan Danqiu remember the seven- or eight-year-old child beside him. He reached out, covered the child's eyes, and said softly, "Don't be afraid."

Li Bai also stepped forward, moving closer to the Daoist and blocking the village boy's view.

On the Flame Gold Platform, the solemn golden statue began to crack. Before the worshippers' eyes, it changed inch by inch into the way it had looked before the spell was cast, becoming a cracked and incomplete stone-and-clay idol.

The cracks spread to the platform.

With a bang, it slowly toppled, rolled off the high platform, and smashed into the ground.

"The statue!"

"What happened?!"

The worshippers in the hall cried out in confusion. Those kneeling and praying below nearly got hit. Still shaken, they clutched their chests and cursed furiously.

"What happened here? Temple keeper! Temple keeper!"

"How did the golden statue turn into stone?"

"Did you cut corners and pocket the merit money we donated?"

As they cursed,

the resplendent, magnificent Fourth Young Master Temple—

its vermilion lacquer and carefully painted murals of the immortals began to peel away in great sheets.

At the same time, gold dust flaked from the walls inch by inch. Some of it fell on several worshippers in the hall. The rest was swept by the wind outside and carried farther away, like fluttering snowflakes.

The worshippers in the hall were bewildered.

They had no idea what was happening. They could only stare as some people were covered in gold.

"How strange. How come none of this gold stuck to me?"

"This wind is eerie."

Some people looked at the cracked statue that had rolled down from the high platform, and began to suspect something. One tugged at the person beside him. "I think there's something sinister about this place. We'd better come here less often for a while."

The next moment,

people began crying out in pain.

"My eyes!"

"This gold dust... Temple keeper! How dare you pass off shoddy goods? I donated money!"

"It hurts! It hurts! What is this stuff? Fourth Young Master... Fourth Young Master, save me!"

Some of those touched by the gold dust felt pain all over and couldn't help rushing out of the hall, hoping the wind outside would blow the wretched stuff off them.

They couldn't see anything happening inside the main hall. They knew even less that the Fourth Young Master truly existed.

Before Jiang She and the others,

the Daoist had already lost all his flesh. With his last glimmer of spirit and sensation gone, the immortals had drawn the incense offerings from him, stripping away the foundation he depended on. His life had reached its end in that instant.

Many sought the Dao, but few attained it.

All the obsessions he had clung to in life, all his striving for immortality, turned into gold dust and ashes that flew through the temple.

They vanished completely.

Only a withered skeleton remained.

With a soft clatter,

a booklet fell from the hanging sleeve of his robe.

Jiang She picked it up.

It was an old, worn journal, its title written in a free and dashing hand: "Master Golden Origin's Cultivation Notes."

Beside it, another line was written vertically: "Written by Zhou Ling."

The writing was uninhibited and carefree, yet beautiful, and it was clear he had put in a great deal of effort. This journal must have been written by the "Fourth Young Master." Master Golden Origin was his chosen name, while Zhou Ling was likely his real name.

Jiang She thought for a moment, then opened it and began to read.

The ink had faded somewhat. The writing was formal and awkward, slanting across the page in a crooked line.

"In the eighteenth year of Zhenguan, Master said I was suited to entering the Dao. He told me to bid farewell to my parents and learn the arts of cultivation. Are there really immortals in this world?"

"Mother cried."

"Still, I entered the Dao at sixteen. Who else has talent like mine?"

A large blank space filled the right side, followed by several more lines.

"Turns out I have two senior brothers and a senior sister. They gave me gifts and said they were congratulating me on entering the Dao. I don't think they need to flatter me."

"If I become an immortal, I'll roam with the moon, drink wine in the breeze—what bliss!"

"Master said there are no immortals between heaven and earth, though the Art of Flight can still be mastered. It's not quite what I imagined."

"In the nineteenth year of Zhenguan. I saw a ghost for the first time. It looked frightening, with a green face, fangs, and a hideous appearance."

"Do they all look like that after they die?"

"Ugly."

Jiang She turned many more pages. The Daoist had loved writing, recording all sorts of feelings he experienced during cultivation, even that his junior brother was a terrible cook.

He was long-winded, but genuine.

"In the twenty-second year of Zhenguan. Grandmother passed away. I haven't completed my cultivation, and Master said I shouldn't get entangled in such karma. I only went down the mountain to take a look and didn't let my parents see me."

"They've grown old."

"Why have they kept the tiger-head shoes I wore as a child?"

"In the twenty-third year of Zhenguan. Senior Sister said the Emperor had died."

"Everyone dies. We who study the immortals have long since left the mortal world behind. Why cling to such things?"

"In the eleventh month, I practiced the Art of Flight and managed to rise a zhang off the ground."

"This is a Daoist art I wanted to master when I was sixteen. Now that I've reached twenty, I've only begun to understand it."

"The Great Dao is difficult. Fortunately, I'm no ordinary person."

"In the fifth year of Xianqing. I've been in the Dao for seventeen years. I'm already thirty-three. If I were at the foot of the mountain, I'd be middle-aged by now, probably with children and grandchildren. Mortals have so many bothersome concerns."

"Father passed away."

"I went to see him. Elder Brother was walking in front, supporting the coffin."

"We hadn't seen each other in more than ten years. Elder Brother had grown old too, and had grandchildren. He was very happy to see me, rubbing his hands and wanting to give me money to spend. Why would a cultivator need the foul stink of gold and silver? I looked at the wrinkles on his face and accepted it anyway."

"Master knows the art of turning stone into gold. I'll go learn it."

"Then he won't have to scheme for money anymore."

"Poor man."

"I asked Senior Brother to change the cover for me, and I wrote a new title. I'd meant to call it 'A Short Biography of Master Golden Origin's Path to Immortality.' I had a contest of skill with Senior Brother and lost. Fine, then it shall be called—'Master Golden Origin's Cultivation Notes'!"

As Jiang She read on, the idle chatter grew less and less frequent.

The writer had gone from a talkative boy to a man of few words, though his self-important, carefree spirit remained unchanged.

"In the first year of Yonglong, my thirty-sixth year in the Dao."

"Mother passed away."

"I hadn't been home in a long time. It took me ages to find the way. Elder Brother was so old he seemed near death. He held my hand and said many things. He also said Father had wanted to see me very much before he died. When Mother passed away this time, they buried the tiger-head shoes I wore as a child with her."

"I've almost forgotten what I was like when I was young."

"I look about thirty, younger than Elder Brother's son. Elder Brother's hair has already turned white."

"I regret it a little. I don't know what I was thinking when I went down the mountain before; I didn't visit them. Since entering the Dao at sixteen, I haven't spoken to them even once."

"Thirty-six years in the Dao, and I still haven't learned to turn stone into gold."