Li Yan had no idea that his communication with Dong Fuyi had taken place within a mental realm—a silent exchange of consciousness. In truth, although the conversation might seem long-winded in retrospect, it transpired within only a few dozen breaths. Had it not been for Dong Fuyi's tremendous expenditure of power to sustain Li Yan's life and heal his wounds, those exchanges would have been over in mere moments. Just as Li Yan was lost in wonder and doubt over all that had happened, he suddenly felt a release on his body—the eerie presence, which had seemed to watch him like an ever-vigilant eye, had vanished.
Master Ji withdrew his divine consciousness and steadied his heart. With a gentle smile, he addressed Li Yan, "Disciple, you have now completed the meridian-cleansing step of our secret technique. You have officially entered the first level of 'Mu Yin Gong.' I am very pleased with your performance. Now go and rest—after lunch, come to me and I will impart to you the incantations for the first level of Mu Yin Gong." With that, he looked on at Li Yan.
Upon hearing these words, Li Yan sat in stunned silence for a moment before his face lit up with joy. Bracing himself with both hands on the ground, he rose and bowed deeply to Master Ji, saying, "Thank you, teacher!" A trace of sincere gratitude shone in his eyes as, after another respectful bow, he turned and walked briskly toward his stone dwelling.
Watching his disciple's figure recede into the distance, Master Ji slowly lifted his gaze. A flicker of complex emotion passed briefly through his eyes; after pausing for a short moment, he too turned and returned to his own chamber.
Li Yan then set off toward the stone tier. He could distinctly feel that same uncanny force lingering at his back—like sharp needles pricking him—until it eventually faded away. Still smiling as before, he walked lightly into his stone house.
Once inside, he casually closed the door behind him. Instantly, his expression turned somewhat somber. He now understood that neither the stone hall nor its doors could block Master Ji's stray divine consciousness. Still, having retreated indoors, he felt noticeably more at ease, and he was convinced that the divine presence had withdrawn.
Glancing down at his soaked clothes and recalling the gentle voice and warm smile of Master Ji from when he'd first opened his eyes, Li Yan felt a tightening in his heart. Then a bitter laugh arose within him: "Do you really care about me that much? You're only afraid that this 'pig' of mine might die too early—so it wouldn't be worth it. Otherwise, you'd let a frail body lie drenched on the ground for half an hour—even though it's nearly deep autumn by now! Or perhaps you fear that the fire poison inside me will never be expelled, so you keep dousing me with chilly water to suppress it. And all that fuss about forgoing complicated initiation rituals, fabricating a 'Mu Ying Sect' backstory, and explaining every little detail about the various martial sects and levels—it's all just to convince me that you're an aloof hermit, that what you pass on is nothing more than a martial secret manual. So meticulous that even the smallest everyday details are rendered in such an impeccable manner—truly, you've deceived me beyond measure."
Yet even the most perfect trick has its flaws. Li Yan recalled that on the day he joined Master Ji's sect, after kowtowing, Master Ji immediately began to instruct him in the "Qi Guidance Technique," leaving him momentarily stunned. Although Li Yan was no longer one of the martial world, he still remembered that even in early schooling, teachers would lay down all sorts of classroom rules. How much more so for a sect! Typically, once a disciple is admitted, the sect's rules and regulations would be explained—but at that moment, Master Ji seemed almost impatient, eager for him to learn immediately. Reflecting on it now, Li Yan recognized Master Ji's ingenious stratagems—but he couldn't help noticing a few cracks, though it was all evident only in hindsight.
As he looked down at his drenched appearance, a nauseating odor suddenly reached his nostrils. Examining more closely, he discovered dark, clinging stains on his clothes that shimmered with watermarks. Curious, he unfastened his garments—and was instantly dumbstruck to see that his skin was smeared with a greasy, sticky, black substance, as if coated in oil. The repulsive smell was overpowering. He had no idea that this was the result of reaching the first level of Qi Condensation, where the spiritual energy forces impurities and waste out through the pores. He reasoned that this must be the toxins Dong Fuyi had helped him purge.
The clinging, oily residue made him feel unbearably uncomfortable. He quickly decided he needed to clean up. Opening the door again with a faint smile, he went out to fetch some hot water. A brief, simple wash and he immediately felt his mind clear and his body become light and refreshed.
After changing into a clean set of clothes, Li Yan sat cross-legged on a wooden bed inside his room, closing his eyes ever so slightly—as if to consolidate the cultivation he had just undergone.
At that moment, Li Yan wasn't actively cultivating. Once he sat down and adjusted his breathing, he finally had the chance to sense his internal state. Not only had his perceptual acuity multiplied several times over, but he also felt that the spiritual energy within him had grown immensely thick. He now clearly recognized that this was his inner power—the same energy he had felt when practicing the Qi Guidance Technique, which had made him feel light and alert. But now, his perception of the world, of heaven and earth, was unprecedentedly clear, and his entire body felt exhilarated—as if every drop of blood were joyfully leaping and surging.
Yet he still couldn't perform true internal vision; he could only rely on his sensations. Suddenly, he recalled Dong Fuyi's warning that the fire poison still resided within him. That meant he could no longer practice the original "Mu Yin Gong"—or rather, it should be "Wu Ye Lian Qing Gong" instead—because doing so would trigger the fire poison's resurgence.
With that thought, he cautiously began to channel the mental method of "Wu Ye Lian Qing Gong." In an instant, his face went pale. His original intention had been merely to verify the truth of what the old man had said—driven by the natural curiosity of youth, he wanted to see his inner energy flow along the prescribed path. But before his energy could fully traverse his meridians, a torrent of searing heat, like a ferocious beast reacting to the scent of blood, burst forth from a corner of his dantian. The overwhelming heat threatened to erupt from his body; startled, he immediately dispersed his technique.
Even after that, it took a long while for the churning energy in his dantian to gradually settle, and the blistering heat in that area slowly dissipated until it was imperceptible. Only then did Li Yan exhale a long, relieved sigh. He thought, "So what Dong Fuyi said was true—the fire poison is indeed suppressed deep within me. That means the 'Gui Shui Zhen Jing' (True Scripture of Gui Water) he mentioned is truly imprinted in my Sea of Consciousness. But how on earth can I access it?" For a novice with no teacher at his side, the whole matter was utterly baffling.
"Could it be by channeling my energy to the Baihui point? No—that would require expending my spiritual energy, and all I know to invoke energy is via 'Wu Ye Lian Qing Gong'—isn't that courting death? Perhaps it must be accomplished through meditative focus, using nothing but pure intent to activate my divine consciousness?"
After a moment, he shook his head and chuckled self-mockingly. "Since Dong Fuyi said that the immortal method resides in the Sea of Consciousness—and knowing my current state—it surely isn't meant to be unlocked with mere spiritual energy. So what exactly should I do? Moreover, he clearly stated that the Sea of Consciousness is a realm formed solely by mental power. That means it must be accessed by sheer thought, or spiritual force. The Sea of Consciousness is located in the brain—in areas such as the top of the head, the forehead, or even the back of the head. That leaves only a few regions to try."
Not wanting to overthink things, he slowly began to regulate his breath and calm his mind, directing his thoughts to envision the Baihui point at the very center of his head. After some time, nothing happened. He then shifted his focus to the "Shenting" point at the front of his head—but again, no reaction. Unperturbed, he moved his thoughts further toward the area between his eyebrows, intending to inspect the Yintang acupoint. Yet as his focus reached the middle of his forehead, before it could fully settle on Yintang, a sudden burst of dazzling, dizzying images flooded his vision. Moments later, when the surreal scene subsided, he was startled to find that he had been transported back to the very space where he had previously met Dong Fuyi—standing atop the same black lake, under a sky as dark as pitch. The lake remained completely windless and undisturbed, so utterly still it felt as if he had been there forever, suspended above the water.
In that instant, he understood—the space Dong Fuyi had referred to was his Sea of Consciousness. If it wasn't here, then where could it be? Could it be that he possessed multiple Seas of Consciousness unlike ordinary people? No, that wasn't possible.
He looked around; the entire space was shrouded in a gray haze with no objects in sight—nothing that hinted at any books or martial manuals.
Li Yan refused to think that Dong Fuyi had gone through all that trouble to save him—only to deceive him. He knew the manual was somewhere, even if he hadn't found it yet. But this realm was utterly empty. Deciding to search farther afield, he suddenly felt his body launch forward. Startled by the abrupt movement, his form wavered in the air before coming to an abrupt halt.
Previously, in this Sea of Consciousness, he had attempted to move his body but was unable to take even a single step. Now, with one thought, he managed to propel himself forward—and that feat nearly startled him out of his wits. Once the shock passed, he slowly steadied his mind again and directed his thoughts onward. Soon he was gliding forward effortlessly, gradually accelerating; the thrill of newfound flight filled him with delight. He began to playfully soar around, becoming increasingly adept as he zigzagged left, right, up, and down—simply reveling in the freedom.
After a long while, Li Yan hovered in the air and gradually let his excitement subside. "Flying is truly wonderful—so fast and without the tortuous obstacles of walking. Shame that it's all an illusion; if only I could really fly, how marvelous that would be!" The thought filled him with a wistful longing; he cherished that liberating sensation of unconditional freedom.
From the moment humankind first took form, people have yearned to soar like birds across the sky—it is the eternal dream of humanity. Yet it has always remained merely a dream. Still, as his eyes slowly brightened, he remembered that true immortals can fly. Yes—a cultivated immortal not only flies but can traverse heaven and earth with ease. In that moment, Li Yan felt an overwhelming desire to embrace cultivation. Ironically, earlier he had been so set on returning home to live as a mortal. Now, spurred solely by the unexpected exhilaration of flight, he found himself tempted by the idea of immortality—a reason so trivial that it made him uneasy.
After standing still for a moment, Li Yan discarded those fleeting thoughts. For now, his most urgent task was to locate the immortal technique manual in this realm.
About half a cup of tea's time later, he paused. This space wasn't particularly vast—it extended roughly five or six hundred zhang, taking the shape of a hemispherical chamber. At its center was a small, circular lake; the rest of the area was shrouded in a soft gray hue, with the ground tinted bluish-gray and the sky oppressively overcast. Near the boundary, it seemed as if an invisible force prevented anyone from drawing near. He wandered about aimlessly, sometimes descending to search here and there. Yet as time ticked by, he discovered nothing.
Standing on the open ground with nothing to obstruct his view, he gazed toward the distant, hazy sky. Resting a hand on his chin, he mused, "I've explored every inch of this several-hundred-zhang expanse, checking every nook for even a hint of something amiss—and yet, where is that immortal manual?"
After a few moments, he suddenly smacked his forehead and muttered, "How stupid!" For in this space, only the central lake stood out. Had he been blind to it under his very nose? With that realization, he launched himself toward the center.
In no time, he reached above the small central lake and peered down. The lake's surface was undisturbed—calm, like a deep black mirror—and below it lay an abyss of darkness. "Must I dive into the lake?" he wondered. "If so, this old man's sense of humor is truly perverse—forcing me into a treasure-hunt game!" With a touch of resignation, he descended toward the water, hoping that the lake wouldn't be too deep so as to avoid any strenuous underwater feats.
But as he neared the surface, his expression froze. He discovered, to his dismay, that he couldn't actually submerge—the lake's surface was as smooth and impenetrable as a polished black mirror, forcing him to remain afloat instead of sinking.
Overwhelmed by frustration—feeling as if this place were likely to hide the manual, yet he couldn't possibly dive in—he cursed his misfortune. "Only the mirror-like lake stands out here," he thought with a spark of insight, glancing down once more, only to see nothing; the inky-black water reflected the somber expression on his face.
He stood for a few moments before suddenly taking to the air once more. When he lifted himself above the lake, he narrowed his eyes and concentrated his mental energy downward. Soon, a cascade of dense golden characters began to shimmer on the surface. Near the far right edge, four gleaming gold characters spelled out "Gui Shui Zhen Jing" (True Scripture of Gui Water), and immediately to its left was a neatly arranged column of smaller characters. Realizing that his spiritual force was still meager and not wanting to delay, he quickly focused and began to read—these words were critical not only to his survival but also to his long-coveted ability to fly.