Chapter 50: The Cultivation Notes of Master Jinyuan
As Jiang She’s words fell, the young-looking Taoist clad in a black flame-patterned robe aged inch by inch before their eyes. His skin quickly withered and wrinkled; with every breath, he grew more frail and aged, yellow spots and wrinkles appearing, his figure becoming gaunt. He reverted to the appearance he had before absorbing incense offerings.
“The Fourth Lord” had concealed himself in Ruzhou for years, bribing ghosts and gods. The accumulated spiritual power and incense offerings were now completely drained.
Li Bai and Yuan Danqiu watched nearby, horrified. They involuntarily took two steps back but couldn’t tear their eyes away, staring intently at the scene. For a moment, they held their breath, speechless.
In their eyes, the Taoist instantaneously aged—from his twenties or thirties to old age, and then rapidly became even older. In the end, he looked older than the Old Deer Mountain God. His hair turned gray, his skin clung to his bones, gradually melting away, disappearing. Within a dozen breaths, he was reduced to a skeletal frame.
A village child screamed.
Yuan Danqiu suddenly remembered a small child nearby, about seven or eight years old. He reached out, covered the child’s eyes, and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”
Li Bai stepped forward two paces, drawing closer to the Taoist, shielding the child’s sight.
On the golden altar of flames, the solemn golden deity statue began to crack. Before the worshippers, it gradually transformed, reverting to its pre-enshrinement form—an incomplete, cracked stone and clay effigy. Cracks spread to the golden altar itself.
With a heavy thud, it slowly toppled, rolling down from the high platform and smashing onto the ground.
“The deity statue!”
“What’s happening?!”
The worshippers in the hall were bewildered and screamed in alarm. Those kneeling below in prayer nearly got struck, their hearts racing, clutching their chests, cursing fiercely.
“What’s going on? Temple steward! Temple steward!”
“How did the golden figure turn into stone?”
“Did you skimp on the work and pocket the donations meant for merit?”
Amid their furious shouts, the magnificent Fourth Lord temple, resplendent with vermilion lacquer and exquisitely painted divine murals, suffered large swaths peeling away.
At the same time, gold dust on the walls flaked off inch by inch. Some of the golden particles landed on a few worshippers inside, while others were swept by the wind outside, drifting away like falling snowflakes.
The worshippers inside were suspicious and confused. They didn’t understand what had happened, only noticing that some people were dusted in gold.
“Strange, why didn’t any gold stick to me?”
“This wind’s uncanny.”
Some, eyeing the cracked deity statue that had rolled down from the platform, whispered to each other, tugging companions’ sleeves, “I think this place is cursed. We should come here less for a while.”
At that moment, someone suddenly cried out in pain.
“My eyes!”
“This gold dust... Temple steward! You dared to substitute the real thing? I donated money for this!”
“It hurts! It hurts so much! What is this thing? Fourth Lord... Fourth Lord, save me!”
Some who had been dusted with the gold flakes writhed in pain, unable to bear it, rushing outside to try and shake off the cursed substance in the wind.
They could not see what was happening inside the main hall. Nor did they know the Fourth Lord truly existed.
Before Jiang She and the others, the Taoist had lost all flesh, his last spiritual light and consciousness gone. The divine beings had drawn out the incense power, severing his foundation of existence, and at that moment, his lifespan reached its end.
Many seek the Way, but few achieve it.
All his earthly attachments and quests for immortality turned to golden dust and ashes in the temple.
All vanished, leaving only a withered skeleton.
With a soft “plop,” a worn booklet fell from the drooping sleeve.
Jiang She picked it up.
It was an aged journal, the handwriting lively and graceful: “Master Jin Yuan’s Cultivation Notes.” Alongside it was a vertical inscription: “Written by Zhou Ling.”
The writing was untamed yet elegant, showing evident effort. This must have been composed by the so-called “Fourth Lord” himself. Master Jin Yuan was his self-bestowed title, and Zhou Ling was likely his real name.
Jiang She pondered briefly and opened the book to read.
...
The ink had faded somewhat. The writing was earnest and awkward, lines slanting unevenly.
“Eighteenth year of Zhenguan: Master said I’m suited for the Way, told me to bid farewell to my parents and learn cultivation. Do immortals really exist?”
“Mother cried.”
“But, who at sixteen enters the Way as I have?”
There was much blank space on the right, followed by a few more lines:
“Turns out there were two senior brothers and one senior sister above me. They gave me gifts, congratulating me on entering the Dao. I feel they need not flatter me.”
“If I become immortal, I shall roam with the moon, drink beneath the wind—how joyous!”
...
“Master said there are no true immortals in the world, but the technique of flight can still be achieved. It’s not quite what I imagined.”
...
“Nineteenth year of Zhenguan: First time seeing a ghost. It looked terrifying, with a blue face and fangs, utterly repulsive.”
“Do all the dead look like this?”
“Ugly.”
Jiang She flipped through many pages. The Taoist loved to write, recording all his experiences during cultivation, even noting how badly his junior brother cooked—all was written down.
The words were garrulous but sincere.
...
“Twenty-second year of Zhenguan: Grandmother passed away. I haven’t succeeded in cultivation. Master said I shouldn’t be entangled in karmic ties, so I only went down the mountain to take a quick look, without letting my parents see me.”
“They have aged.”
“Why do they still keep the tiger-head shoes I wore as a child?”
...
“Twenty-third year of Zhenguan: Senior sister said the emperor has died.”
“Everyone dies. We cultivated immortals have long since left the mortal world; why be attached to such things?”
“In November, I practiced the flight technique, rising one zhang off the ground.”
“This was the Dao method I wanted to master at sixteen; now, only after coming of age do I understand a bit.”
“The Way is difficult. Fortunately, I am not an ordinary person.”
...
“Fifth year of Xianqing: Seventeen years into the Way. I am thirty-three years old. If I were down the mountain, I’d be middle-aged, likely with children and grandchildren. Mortal life is so troublesome.”
“My father passed away.”
“I went to see him; my eldest brother was carrying the coffin.”
“It had been over ten years. My brother had grown old and had grandchildren. He was glad to see me and rubbed his hands, wanting to give me money. Cultivators need no gold or silver. But looking at the wrinkles on his face, I accepted it.”
“Master has a method for turning stone into gold. I will learn it.”
“Then he won’t have to struggle for money.”
“Pitiful.”
“I asked senior brother to help me change the cover and rewrite the title. I wanted to call it ‘The Little Biography of Master Jin Yuan’s Ascension,’ but I lost a bet with senior brother, so it’s called ‘Master Jin Yuan’s Cultivation Notes’ instead!”
As Jiang She read further, the idle chatter lessened. The man had gone from a talkative youth to a taciturn adult, retaining only his arrogance and carefree spirit.
...
“First year of Yonglong, thirty-six years into the Way.”
“My mother passed away.”
“I hadn’t been home in a long time. It took a long while to find the way. My eldest brother was nearly at death’s door. He took my hand and spoke at length, telling me that before father died, he always wanted to see me. This time, when mother passed, they buried my childhood tiger-head shoes with her.”
“I am almost forgetting my early years.”
“I look about thirty, younger than my eldest brother’s son. My brother’s hair has turned white.”
“I regret not visiting them when I descended the mountain before. Since entering the Way at sixteen, I haven’t spoken to them.”
“Thirty-six years into the Way, and I still haven’t mastered turning stone into gold.”