Hou Niao was taken to a compound belonging to the Daoist authorities in the Divine Capital. The conditions were quite good-at least, they were already very lenient for someone awaiting punishment like him. There were no shackles or prison uniforms, he could move freely within a designated area, and the food was quite tasty...
Cultivators retained their dignity, even when they were criminals.
But Hou Niao knew that once he entered this place, getting out again would be harder than climbing to heaven. As the Daoist Sect's cultivation headquarters for an entire kingdom, it was filled with cultivators at Chongling's level, and even more great cultivators who had reached Profound Connection or beyond. The only reason they did not keep watch over the prisoners was that they were not worth the trouble.
Before these true masters of cultivation, he was nothing but a chicken ready for the chopping block.
He was not the only criminal in the compound. There were many others who shared his plight. Their reasons differed, but their different paths had led to the same end.
He was rather unusual among them, not because he was outstanding, but because he was trash. In the words of one particularly talkative fellow prisoner, he was the only cultivator ever brought here at the Pulse Movement stage. Everyone else had at least reached Qi Gathering, though none was above Profound Connection.
This cultivator, who called himself Old Man Baoshi, talked so much that nobody wanted to bother with him. Even Hou Niao could see that the man knew his death was approaching, which made him somewhat incoherent. He was merely using conversation to cover the fear in his heart.
For Hou Niao, however, he was still a window through which to learn about the Anhe Prayer.
It was dusk, the hour for cultivation, and Daoists emerged in twos and threes to find quiet places to sit in meditation. Daoist scriptures placed great importance on harmony and communion between humanity and nature. Unless special circumstances demanded it, nobody wished to cultivate indoors. They preferred to expose themselves to heaven, earth, and nature, which was said to be more efficient.
Old Man Baoshi pointed at a man in black robes and whispered, "That's Zhou Qianyang of the Flying Feather Way, at the Grain Avoidance stage. His Flying Feather Way Art is incomparably overbearing, and he's very famous among the rogue cultivators of the Anhe Kingdom. He attacked true cultivators of the Daoist Sect over resources, killing several. Only then did a senior cultivator intervene and capture him."
He pointed at a thin man. "That's Wu Qian, an outside cultivator who practices the Azure Blood Way, at the Foundation Cultivation stage. He isn't from Anhe, but roamed through various kingdoms collecting blood for his cultivation. Countless innocents, Daoists and mortals alike, died at his hands. Then he slipped up in the Divine Capital..."
Then he pointed at a graceful scholar with a jade-like face and vermilion lips. "That's Li Zixuan of the Butterfly Way, at the Foundation Cultivation stage. He specializes in yin-yang dual cultivation and targets women from wealthy households, ruining their reputations. Though you rarely hear of him taking the initiative to kill anyone, quite a few women have taken their own lives because of his wicked deeds. In the end, he provoked everyone's wrath..."
...Whatever Old Man Baoshi's abilities might be, he was certainly well informed. He could tell Hou Niao something of the background of practically every criminal in the compound. Who knew how he managed it?
Hou Niao was a little distracted. Other people's affairs had nothing to do with him, but he knew he had to keep listening and pretend to be interested, or he would never learn what he wanted to know. He had heard something of the Anhe Prayer, but his level was too low and his circle of acquaintances too narrow, so what he knew was vague and uncertain.
"What about you? How did you end up here?"
Old Man Baoshi smiled faintly. "I can tell you my secret, but you must exchange yours for it!"
Hou Niao smiled bitterly, unable to help marveling at human curiosity. Death was already upon them, yet this man was still so eager to pry into other people's secrets. What an oddity.
"In my position, is there any point in keeping secrets?"
Old Man Baoshi licked his lips and sighed deeply. "I started out as an unaffiliated cultivator too. Through a chance encounter, I entered the Dao, and from then on, there was no stopping it. My home was gone, my family was gone, my friends were gone-everything was gone. All I wanted was longevity...
"On the path of cultivation, you need wealth, companions, methods, and a suitable place. Where could people like us find resources? The Daoist Sect wouldn't spare us a glance, so we had to find our own way. Some stole, some robbed, some killed, some swindled, and some took crooked, evil paths..."
Baoshi looked a little embarrassed. "I wouldn't kill people and take their wealth, so I thought of teaching people to cultivate. I opened a small Daoist school and charged a modest tuition to keep myself fed and clothed..."
Hou Niao understood at once. The man was a swindler, and that talk of modest tuition was probably untrue. Ordinary households would never pay to send their children to sense qi and comprehend the Dao. These had to be wealthy households, perhaps even powerful local families. Charge people like that too little, and they might not believe in you. You could only charge more and more, bleeding them dry.
"...To win their trust, I compiled a set of qi-sensing mnemonics based on Daoist scriptures and my own experience. I swear I truly wanted to teach and nurture others. I harbored no ill intent whatsoever. Who could have known where something went wrong? After a few children practiced my mnemonics, not only did they fail to improve, they actually... actually..."
Hou Niao sighed. This man was truly heedless, with no idea how close he stood to death. Was a cultivation method something one could casually compile? Only after reaching a certain level and gaining a profound understanding of the Dao could one attempt it. At the very least, one had to have achieved something oneself. Even then, one had to test it personally before extending it to others.
Old Man Baoshi also knew his past was rather difficult to speak of. "Then what about you, young friend? You're a mere Pulse Movement novice who hasn't even managed to gather qi. What could you possibly have done to outrage both men and gods?"
Hou Niao hardly knew where to begin. "I worked in criminal law. Out of anger at an injustice, I ended up killing the complainant right in front of a Daoist master..."
Old Man Baoshi froze. That was a truly unusual reason, but on closer thought, it was not so strange. It was hardly surprising for someone who had only just stepped through cultivation's gates to harbor childish ideas. Only after passing through a thousand towering hardships and ten thousand trials could one understand the bitterness of cultivation. It truly was not something ordinary people could persevere in.
He himself was much the same. Otherwise, he would never have sunk to the point of leading other people's children astray. Had he not been forced into it? Who would want such a thing?
And it was not only him. The same applied to most of the people in this compound. How many were truly vicious beyond redemption? They had all been driven by their circumstances. The desire for longevity was the source of every evil. Unless one's resolve was firm as bedrock, who could resist its temptations?
Precisely because the carrot of longevity dangled before them, everyone strained to reach it. When they could not, they could only devise their own peculiar tricks and resort to all manner of disreputable means, growing more and more extreme until they fell beyond all redemption.
Those captured like them were still a minority. Most were killed outright along the way by the so-called orthodox Daoist Sect. How many lucky souls could attain true fruition?
Once cultivation had ruined a lifetime, do not recognize the man who turned back-that was a true portrait of people like them.
Moved by these feelings, he drew a flask of wine from inside his robe. "Come, let's have a couple of drinks. We're both fallen men at the ends of the earth, after all..."
Old Man Baoshi did not hold his liquor well. Perhaps he was deliberately seeking drunkenness too. After several flasks, his speech grew muddled, and he only murmured a poem over and over, as though regretting this tragic life:
A jade flask spanned the sun and moon; golden towers cleaved the mist and rosy clouds. Where were the immortals? The Daoist had not yet come home. Spring's brew simmered with pine needles; autumn's cup steeped chrysanthemums. Meeting, better to get drunk than ever learn the art of cinnabar.