Chapter 5: The Immortal Path

Xu Xian lay quietly on his bed, a point of red light on his chest radiating brilliance over his whole body, and at this moment his consciousness was incomparably clear.



The things in his mind were no longer muddled, but instead, in a trance, somewhat clear. The cultivation methods were not words, nor diagrams. Words and diagrams are, after all, only for conveying information, but in the process of transmission, distortion and misunderstanding are inevitable.



But now Xu Xian felt that the things the Daoist had injected into his mind were all precise and clear, as if the information was delivered directly to him, without any intermediary. Even someone who was illiterate could understand.



Besides marveling at the wonders of Daoist magic, Xu Xian was even more attentive to these things. Becoming an immortal or a Buddha is probably a complex in the heart of every Chinese person! It’s just that as technology developed, more and more natural phenomena could be explained, and such things gradually became classified as superstition, fading from the hearts of modern people.



But in dreams, have you ever had such scenes, bamboo staff and straw sandals, walking among famous mountains; light robes and long sleeves, wandering outside the mortal world; traversing green mountains, still young, what a carefree life that would be.



When you discover all this is real, who could not be moved? Xu Xian was no exception.



Lying quietly on his bed, savoring the mysterious cultivation methods in his mind, he gradually understood that his current stage was “Lighting the Star.” After the main star is established, it should be continuously strengthened, and when it reaches a certain level, the Star Palace is built. But that point of light was unlike any description.



Although the Chiyou Star is also red, the Chiyou Star carries a murderous, bloody aura. But it was unlike his own red star; though its light was weak, it was vast and grand, endlessly vital.



Xu Xian thought and thought, but still couldn’t understand, so he could only follow the described method, sensing the celestial phenomena above, constantly breathing in and out. He only felt that the red star kept drawing in tiny points of light from the outside world.



To be able to absorb star power without even knowing what his main star was should have been impossible. But the sun, as the main star of the solar system and the closest star to Earth, exerts its power even at night, the so-called sunlight shines everywhere, omnipresent.



Others have to draw starlight from stars tens of millions of light-years away to accumulate star power, but the sun’s light reaches Earth in just a few minutes. The difference is naturally immense.



However, Xu Xian also felt that the closer it got to dawn, the more quickly and abundantly the star power gathered, but when the sun truly rose, it became unbearably scorching—not a physical heat, but a spiritual one. He tried to resist this burning sensation and persist, but after only a short while, he felt as if his very soul was about to evaporate, so he quickly stopped. When he got up, he was already drenched in sweat.



Opening the window and looking toward the horizon, he saw red clouds like fire, the east about to brighten.



Xu Xian vaguely realized that his main star was the sun in the sky. Feeling the red light in his soul, which had been the size of a millet grain, it was now the size of a rice grain. Clearly, it had only grown a little before dawn, but now it had suddenly grown so much, truly incredible. It turned out that persisting for that short while before dawn had such a great effect. If he could cultivate at noon, wouldn’t he ascend on the spot!



But this was just Xu Xian’s wishful thinking. If he really cultivated this method at noon, instant ascension was impossible, self-immolation was more likely. Ordinary people, when they die, can still enter the cycle of reincarnation; at worst, their soul is scattered. But he would be burned so thoroughly that even his soul would be gone. Thinking of the pain he felt just from persisting a little, Xu Xian didn’t dare force himself to cultivate.



Xu Xian got up, washed, and hurried to the private school. Although he had actually not slept all night, he was full of energy, his whole body brimming with inexhaustible strength.



The teacher’s surname was Song. Every day he tended to his pots of flowers and plants. When Xu Xian arrived, the old man was still watering them, head down. Xu Xian, in any life, never expected to win the favor of teachers, so he didn’t care, just wanting to hurry past. If others ignored him, he had no interest in currying favor.



“Xu Xian, you’re here!” the old man suddenly said, though he didn’t look at Xu Xian.



“Huh? Uh, yes, sir.” Xu Xian was startled and quickly bowed in greeting. He didn’t know what was wrong with the old man, wanted to leave, but was a bit worried, so he asked cautiously, “Sir, are you all right today?”



The old man was about to get angry, but after thinking for a moment, he waved his hand and said, “Hurry inside.”



Xu Xian, puzzled, went in and sat down. He didn’t know that his performance yesterday had been seen by the teacher, who felt that although this boy disliked studying, his talent was the best. He should guide him onto the right path. The teacher had failed the imperial exams many times in his life and always wanted to teach a truly outstanding student.



But the imperial exams were like a thousand troops crossing a single-log bridge, even harder than the college entrance exams of his previous life, how could it be easy? But with a photographic memory, he had a huge advantage.



The exams were divided into the child student exam, the provincial exam, and the metropolitan exam. The early exams mostly tested book knowledge, just repeated and mixed up, without a good memory, it was impossible.



Passing the child student exam made you a xiucai, but most scholars spent their lives stuck at the provincial exam, never advancing, always remaining commoners. Unable to do manual labor, looking down on merchants, they could only become poor teachers. The lucky ones could become legal advisors. That’s why people say, “A scholar is useless for anything but reading.” Truly, a poor, despised xiucai.



But if you passed the provincial exam, you became a juren, and even without an official post, you didn’t have to bow to officials and received a state stipend every year. The whole village would try to curry favor, and Xu Xian’s photographic memory made passing the provincial exam as easy as reaching into a bag.



Mr. Song thought happily: When that time comes, I’ll be Xu Xian’s teacher, respected by all. Even if I never pass the exams myself, it’ll be bad luck, not lack of learning. So he became more affectionate toward Xu Xian, though out of pride, he couldn’t bring himself to be too nice, but his attitude had already changed.



So, Xu Xian’s day was very strange. The teacher kept calling on him to answer questions, making him feel flattered. But now, with a clear mind and perfect memory, he answered fluently, making Mr. Song more and more pleased, treating him as a prized student.



In the small private school, the sound of reading was bright and clear.



Xu Xian still didn’t like studying, but his photographic memory soon became known. Sometimes, when his sister came home, she’d happily say who gave her an extra scallion at the market, or who praised Xu Xian. Even the laundry foreman stopped making things difficult.



Xu Xian would just smile and say, “One scallion isn’t enough. I memorized the Zuo Zhuan today, have them give you two tomorrow.” His sister would laugh and agree.



But there were also some worries. Xu Xian’s sister was already of marriageable age, but with Xu Xian as a burden, and being only plain-looking, she hadn’t married. Now that Xu Xian’s reputation as a prodigy was spreading, all the matchmakers in Qiantang County came crowding in.



Xu Xian’s sister refused them all. When the matchmakers saw that persuasion didn’t work, they started making snide remarks, only to be chased out by Xu Xian’s sister wielding the door bar. In the marketplace, a family without a man would be bullied if not a little fierce.



Xu Xian laughed and asked, “Sister, why not pick one?”



“What’s there to pick? They’re either blind or lame. As for those young masters and Mr. Zhangs, who knows how many concubines they have at home. Go, you little monkey, don’t meddle in my business. Study hard, become a top scholar, and I’ll get a title too—then all my suffering won’t be in vain.” She wasn’t very literate, so her words were blunt, but her heart was kinder than those with vast learning.



Xu Xian could only smile wryly. It wasn’t as bad as she said, there were good families too. Later, Xu Xian learned that his sister already had a suitor, just an ordinary constable from a poor family. Xu Xian was moved. In the original story, didn’t Xu Xian’s sister marry a constable? They weren’t rich, but lived a happy life. That was the best outcome!



Mr. Song had also been upset lately, someone wanted to steal his student, offering many benefits, no tuition, even room and board. Although Xu Xian politely refused, it still made the old man angry. But he treated Xu Xian even more kindly.



So, as the “hot commodity,” Xu Xian lived his peaceful days. Daily cultivation was a must, and he was much more diligent about it than studying. Every day he felt some improvement, though small, but always changing.



This change was slow and subtle, like a butterfly in a cocoon waiting to spread its wings. Through countless days and nights, the butterfly’s beauty was unknown, even to itself.



But when the butterfly spreads its wings and flies into the blue sky, will it remember its cocoon? Will it abandon it without a second thought, or leave a trace of longing for the empty shell?