Chapter 22: An Era Beyond the Common Folk

Chapter 22: An Era Beyond the Common Folk

To choose one among essence, energy, or spirit and achieve the innate is called pseudo-innate.
Those who refine essence to the innate are mostly martial artists roaming the world.
Those who break through with energy to the innate are mostly Daoist priests.
Those who master spirit to the innate are often profound sorcerers.
But when essence, energy, and spirit merge into one at the mysterious gateway, that is the true innate—the Great Innate.
Throughout dynasties past, those who cultivated to the pinnacle, gathering the three to the summit, five energies returning to the source, were acclaimed as Innate True Persons.
One step beyond the True Person is to transform all beings, called the Attained, honored as Attained True Person, or Grandmaster of the Innate!
Few in history have reached such heights.
Ming Dynasty: The founder of Wudang, the Enlightened True Person Zhang Sanfeng.
...
Southern Song: Founder of the Southern Sect, the Purple Sun True Person, Zhang Boduan; Second Patriarch of the Southern Sect, the Verdant Profundity of Apricot Grove, Shi Tai.
Northern Song: One Hundred Years in a Dream, Master of Soaring Winds, Chen Tuan.
...
Tang Dynasty: Founder of the Internal Alchemy, Pure Yang True Person, Lü Dongbin.
...
Southern and Northern Dynasties: Founder of the Supreme Purity Sect, Lady Wei Cunhua; Attained Bodhi Golden Body, Patriarch Bodhidharma.
...
Han Dynasty: Founder of Dragon Tiger Mountain, Celestial Master Zhang Daoling.
...
All who opened the mysterious gateway have left their names in history, renowned throughout the world.
Yet, as the modern age approaches, those who open the gateway grow fewer.
The most recent was the Wudang founder seven centuries ago.
It is rumored that six hundred years ago, Liu Bowen reached this realm, but it remains only a rumor. Four hundred years ago, Wang Yangming advanced then retreated—again, merely rumor.
Since the Black Dragon entered the Pass, a dragon’s force has suppressed all worldly arts, and an imperial edict has shackled the mind’s transformation.
For three centuries, the gateway has vanished from the world.
In the Daoist sects today, the mysterious gateway is but a legend.
Elder Shuiyue’s greatest hope is for Zheng Zha’s spirit to achieve perfection, to unravel the mystery of birth and attain the status of a Ghost Immortal.
Among the Five Immortals, the Ghost Immortal ranks just beneath them. Detached in darkness, the shape of the spirit in obscurity, the ghostly gate without a name, the three sacred mountains without a title. Though beyond reincarnation, they cannot return to the Isles of the Blessed. Ultimately, they have nowhere to belong, ending only in abandoning the womb after rebirth.
Lü Zu disdained this path, considering it a lesser attainment, unworthy of the true Dao.
Yet for ordinary cultivators, it is already a lofty achievement—akin to living a second life.
To pursue the Dao again in the next life is far easier than before.
Zheng Zha fell silent for a while: ...
Right now, he cared about only one thing: how far had Luo Feng reached?
If in cultivation he had made a misstep, it would be nothing more than a common communion of spirit and energy.
But if he stood just one step away from merging essence, energy, and spirit into the mysterious gateway, attaining the rank of Innate True Person—
Why was he still hiding out in Yang Family Village?!
Was he planning to challenge planes and cannons with his flesh, break through tanks and radios with his mind?
Would he only emerge once he could subdue the world single-handedly, shatter a nation alone?
With a complex mood, Zheng Zha went to study the secret scriptures of the Orthodox Talismanic Tradition.

In Elder Shuiyue’s eyes, a peerless genius, ranked among the top ten through Supreme Purity’s history, was only half of Zheng Zha’s true strength.
After years with Luo Feng, he had learned a trick or two in steady conduct.
He once thought his talent was unparalleled.
Alas, there are always monsters in this world—monsters who work even harder than he!
...

Drizzle blurred the air, orchids gave off a faint fragrance.
Luo Feng and Luo Yuan, carrying bundles large and small, set off for Mount Mao.
Along the way, what they saw and heard left the young girl silent and troubled; even Luo Feng, with his steadfast Daoist heart, could not help but feel sorrow.
Compared to a decade ago, the world had not improved—it had worsened.
For a mouthful of food, the common folk abandoned dignity, begging from all corners, seeking only survival.
Rags and sallow faces were the norm; selling sons and daughters, leaving home, was commonplace.
This was an age of darkness, an age of misery.
Enemies outside, warlords within.
The wind, snow, and moonlight seen by scholars—their opulence and luxury—belonged to the upper crust.
The beautiful lives depicted by great writers would never belong to the common folk.
There was only darkness, and for a thousand years and more, only pain.
The young girl had never witnessed such scenes. Luo Yuan’s eyes reddened, murmuring, “Is it wrong just to live?”
They sought neither wealth nor fame nor power—they only wanted to survive!
They were the most honest people, working hard yet reaping little.
Now, even living was a luxury.
“It’s not wrong.”
“Everyone has the right to live.”
Luo Feng gazed into a corner at the old man missing an arm, the dying child, the dazed middle-aged man, the weeping woman. For some reason, his eyes were unusually deep.
Luo Yuan hesitated for a long time, then stammered, pleading, “Uncle Feng, can I help them?”
After speaking, the little girl lowered her head, not daring to hope.
She knew Uncle Feng’s ways: avoid trouble, mind your own affairs, do not meddle, seek neither cause nor consequence.
To ask might mean failure—her heart would ache; but not to ask would guarantee no success, and her heart could not rest.
“Go ahead.”
Luo Feng sighed.
He fetched a bag of steamed buns from the carriage, along with a mask and a cloak.
Luo Yuan looked up in surprise, wiping the dampness from her eyes.
“When you’re tired, you sleep; thirsty, you drink; hungry, you eat. This is a truth that not even immortals or emperors can deny!”
Glancing up at the heavens, Luo Feng declared with finality.
“Mm!”
Luo Yuan nodded, took the mask, donned the cloak, and went to distribute food.
Benevolence is necessary, but vigilance is essential.
Human nature is such—it takes a mile when given an inch, repays kindness with malice.
Never underestimate the ugliness of the human heart.
For they are ignorant, muddled, and so it has been for millennia!
He looked out across the scene.

The refugees reacted variously to Luo Yuan’s arrival: excitement, resentment, longing, gratitude.
Distributing aid for the first time, Luo Yuan was nervous, her delicate hands clenched tight.
Feeling the cloak draped over her, she relaxed a little.
Then, with a thought, she glanced at Luo Feng, marveling inwardly, “No wonder he’s Uncle Feng—not only does he conceal identity, he even accounted for people’s emotions.”
Under the cover of cloak and mask, even though her heart pounded with anxiety, outwardly she appeared calm and collected.
“All of you, line up—elders and children in front, young men behind!”
Luo Yuan called out.
The dozen or so refugees glanced at each other; at last, an old man led the way and they queued up.
It wasn’t that Luo Yuan held great authority, but that she held a bag of food.
The distribution did not go smoothly. In the back, a destitute youth tried to snatch a bag of buns and run.
However, Luo Yuan was not to be trifled with.
As Luo Feng’s personal disciple, she had trained her breathing technique to the ninth level, and practiced martial arts from childhood.
No need for fancy moves—a simple punch, and the youth, weak as he was, was sent flying by sheer force alone.
The other refugees were dumbfounded, holding their breath, and thereafter received their food with greater respect.
The last to approach was a beggar boy, carrying a baby in his arms. Not old nor young, and with a burden, he did not dare push forward and waited at the end.
Seeing his pitiful state, Luo Yuan’s heart softened. She quietly slipped him a few copper coins, and gave him her own water gourd, which contained milk.
“Thank you!”
The boy took the food and gourd with trembling hands, bowed in gratitude, and said thank you.
His lips curled in a shy smile. The others had thanked her, but this one felt the most sincere to Luo Yuan.
Waving goodbye, she walked slowly to the dejected youth and handed him a single bun.
Everyone else received two; he got one.
This was punishment.
The young man stood stunned for a moment before Luo Yuan turned to leave.
A tear rolled down his cheek, and he knelt to kowtow once.
When Luo Yuan had boarded the carriage, Luo Feng took up the reins and asked, “Do you understand now?”
Luo Yuan’s bright eyes flickered. “Without order, the nation fails; without law, the people fall?”
Luo Feng smiled but said nothing.
The girl pondered, then continued, “When the granaries are full, people know propriety; when clothed and fed, they know honor and shame.”
Luo Feng shook his head, then nodded.
The young girl mused for a long while: “Human nature is good at heart—always leave a line for others.”
“It was not Qin that destroyed the Six States,” Luo Feng sighed, then said, “Yuan-yuan, everything you’ve said is right, but none of it is complete.”
“What they lack is a goal, or an idea, a belief—or perhaps a person, or a group of people.”
Luo Yuan fell into thought, resting her chin on her hands. “Will this era ever change?”
Luo Feng answered without hesitation, “It certainly will!”
Since the days of Chen Sheng and Wu Guang, the common people of China have never lacked such courage!
Willing to risk everything to pull the emperor down from his throne—this is the unique character and spirit of the Chinese people.

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(End of chapter)