First Enlightenment in Cultivation

The courtyard gate was barely closed, and the crisp sound of the latch echoed clearly through the night. As soon as I stepped into the courtyard, Su Li grabbed my wrist and led me inside. Though the early autumn evening breeze was cool, the room—lit by a few spiritual flame lamps—felt as warm as spring.

"Sister Wei, where did you go? I've been looking for you for so long!" Su Li's eyes were brimming with curiosity and concern. "Some say they saw you heading to the Scripture Repository with Sister Moqing." She pulled me to sit by the table, her bright eyes sparkling with anticipation, and asked, "What did you talk about with Sister Moqing? Is she really as unapproachable as the rumors suggest?"

I smiled softly and gently stroked the back of her hand. "Hold your questions for now," I said. Glancing around, I noticed that Su Li had arranged the room in perfect order. On the table were a few simple dishes—steamed mountain fungi, boiled spiritual bamboo shoots, a plate of wild vegetables, and a jug of exquisitely fragrant flower tea.

"I suppose you hadn't had dinner yet, so you went to the dining hall to fetch some food," Su Li said apologetically, though her eyes were filled with anticipation. "It may not be lavish, but these are among the finest dishes in the dining hall."

"This is more than enough," I replied sincerely, as a warm surge filled my heart. For sixteen years, apart from my father, few had ever cared so attentively about my daily needs. That feeling of being thought of was both unfamiliar and comforting.

We sat down to dine, and as Su Li poured tea for me, she couldn't help but ask eagerly, "Sister Wei, did you really go to the Scripture Repository with Sister Moqing? What is she like? A disciple personally trained by the sect master who achieved Core Formation at fifteen, and whose swordsmanship is said to have reached consummate perfection. I've heard that very few ever get a word in with her—yet she took you there?"

I sipped my tea gently, its floral aroma refreshing my senses. "It was the sect master who instructed her to fetch a few cultivation texts for me," I replied, deliberately omitting the strange encounter at the Mirror Scripture Repository. "Though she doesn't speak much, she isn't as unapproachable as the rumors imply."

"Really?" Su Li exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise. "I've heard that Sister Moqing barely speaks—when you ask her, she often replies with a single word. Many senior disciples have tried to approach her, only to be rebuffed."

I recalled our journey with Moqing, and images of the fleeting astonishment on her face when a butterfly alighted on her shoulder, as well as the gentle tenderness in her voice when she spoke of the wisteria, filled my mind.

"She's simply not adept at conversation, though her sensitivity is profound," I murmured softly. "Perhaps it's because she was raised within the sect and never learned how to interact with others."

While Su Li served me more food, she asked curiously, "What did you talk about? Did she reveal any secret sect information?"

"Nothing in particular," I replied with a smile, then turning the topic to her. "What about you—have you come across any interesting news today?"

Su Li's eyes lit up as if she'd finally found someone to confide in. "Oh! Today was so lively! I met plenty of new friends, and after class, a few of us went to Guicang Peak. There's a herb garden there growing all kinds of rare medicinal herbs." She gestured excitedly, "There's even a thousand-year-old Lingzhi, said to be approachable only by cultivators in the Core Formation stage—otherwise, the inner energy would overwhelm you! And a flower that sings, a wondrous specimen brought from the south by the master of Taihe Peak, which, on every full moon, releases a melody as heavenly as nature itself..."

She spoke incessantly about the day's events, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I listened quietly, nodding and smiling now and then, as a long-missed warmth welled up within me. When my father was alive, he too would chat with me after dinner, recounting tales from his youth. Back then, I was often distracted, thinking only of playing outside—now, in retrospect, I feel a tinge of regret.

"Sister Wei?" Su Li's voice brought me back to the present. "What are you thinking about?"

"Just some old memories," I answered softly, picking up a piece of mountain mushroom and placing it in my mouth as its exquisite flavor spread between my lips and teeth.

"Sister Wei, you're truly remarkable. Could you tell me about your past?" Su Li leaned in closer, her eyes filled with curiosity.

I pondered for a moment before setting down my chopsticks. "I grew up in a remote mountain village with my father. The villagers were ordinary, and we were the only cultivators here." Memories surged like a tide. "My father wasn't fond of crowds; every day, apart from teaching me cultivation and sword practice, he would sit alone in meditation. Occasionally, he'd descend the mountain to procure supplies or help treat the villagers."

"That sounds like such a peaceful life," Su Li remarked. "Then your father's cultivation must have been formidable, right?"

"His cultivation had reached the late Nascent Soul stage," I said softly, as a mix of longing and puzzlement stirred within me. "But… if his power was so great, why was he betrayed?"

"Betrayed?" Su Li gasped, covering her mouth in shock. "Sister Wei, was your father… harmed?"

I nodded silently, saying no more. After a moment's pause, Su Li reached out and gently squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have asked. Sister Wei, you must be so hurt."

"Sister Wei, having only your father by your side since childhood must have been so hard on you," Su Li said, her grip tightening as sympathy shone in her eyes.

I shook my head and managed a faint smile. "Everyone has their own fate. My father treated me wonderfully, never letting me feel alone."

Though I said so, the pain of my father's departure left a scar that might never fully heal. I could only hope that uncovering the truth might bring me some solace.

Noticing the change in my mood, Su Li deftly shifted the subject. "By the way! I nearly forgot something important!" She leaped up, turned, and retrieved an item from a nearby bookshelf. "After the morning lesson the day after tomorrow, we're heading to the training ground to study basic sword techniques—and everyone must have a sword. I noticed that your sword is getting dull and doesn't quite match its scabbard, so I procured a new one for you from the sect's armory."

That practice longsword had been with me for five or six years; its edge had begun to chip and had indeed grown rather dull.

She extended a longsword toward me with both hands. Its blade was as cold as frost, gleaming with razor-sharp edges, with faint purple sparks dancing along its surface; the hilt was wrapped in purple silk and adorned with a dark red gemstone.

"Is this… a sword imbued with thunder inner energy?" I exclaimed in surprise as I took the longsword, feeling a subtle ripple of inner energy coursing through it.

"This sword doesn't seem like something an ordinary disciple could acquire at will. How did you get it?" I asked, astonished.

A mischievous glint flashed in Su Li's eyes. "This sword is called Zidian—a thunder-element magical sword specially crafted by Ziji Peak. I mentioned that it was reserved for core disciples who had ascended the eighteenth stone step, and the managing elder agreed immediately," she said proudly with a wink. "Sister Wei, your reputation has already spread; you're now a legend among our generation!"

I smiled and sheathed Zidian into the scabbard my father had left behind. "That was very thoughtful of you."

After dinner, I rose to clear the dishes. Su Li covered her mouth and yawned, "I'm a bit sleepy; Sister Wei, you should rest early too—after all, we must get up early tomorrow." She bowed to me before turning back to her room.

The room fell silent, with only the faint glow of the spiritual flame lamps remaining. I took out the three books I had brought back from the Scripture Repository today, deciding to study them before going to bed.

The first was "Xuan Yuan Five Elements Technique," a fundamental cultivation method explaining how to guide the inner energy to circulate in accordance with the principles of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth—which generate and overcome one another, thereby enhancing both the quality and quantity of one's inner energy. Upon opening the first page, I encountered the familiar phrase, "Dao begets one, one begets two, two begets three, and three begets all things," which appeared similar to the content of the "Guiyuan Technique" that the True Immortal of Nanshan had discussed today—they complemented each other.

I sat cross-legged, forming hand seals in front of my dantian, and slowly closed my eyes. Following the instructions of the "Xuan Yuan Five Elements Technique," I first adjusted my breathing; with each inhale and exhale, I gradually attuned myself to the qi of heaven and earth. Then I guided my inner energy to circulate along the eight extraordinary meridians—rising from my dantian, ascending via the Ren Meridian to Baihui, and descending through the Du Meridian in a continuous loop.

Metal generates water, water generates wood, wood generates fire, fire generates earth, and earth generates metal. I silently recited the mnemonic for the five elements, feeling my inner energy flow along the path prescribed by the Xuan Yuan Five Elements. It was as if a spectrum of hues intertwined within me—sometimes echoing the clashing resonance of metals, other times flowing as gently as a stream, then sprouting like fresh wood, burning like flames, or embracing like the rich earth.

The cultivation method my father once taught me bore a striking resemblance to this, though its path for guiding inner energy differed slightly. I endeavored to integrate the essence of both techniques, making subtle adjustments at the critical junctures of the elemental transitions.

After roughly an hour, I sensed a subtle change in the quality of my inner energy; it was no longer rough and unrefined but had become warm and agile, like a joyful mountain stream flowing through my meridians. Wherever it passed, my muscles relaxed, my blood warmed, and an indescribable comfort permeated my entire being.

I slowly opened my eyes and stretched my slightly sore legs before opening the second book, "Taiji Qi Transformation Diagram." A brief glance revealed that it was an even more advanced cultivation method, one that detailed how to transform inner energy into yin and yang properties and merge them to achieve a perfect balance. The illustrations were exquisite and the theories profound, laced with an air of mystery. It seemed best to master the "Xuan Yuan Five Elements Technique" thoroughly before attempting this method.

Just as I was immersed in my cultivation, an unusual warmth suddenly emanated from the blue sword scabbard at my waist. Startled, I lightly touched it with my finger and felt a faint pulse—as if it possessed a living heartbeat. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the scabbard my father had left emitted an ethereal blue glow in the night, swirling with a subtle liveliness. Even more astonishing, a clear, chime-like sword note—like the roar of a dragon or the howl of a tiger, intermingled with the soft murmur of zithers—drifted from it, utterly captivating.

Suddenly, the scabbard trembled gently, slowly ejecting Zidian—the sword I had just inserted—as if it were rejecting its union. My heart stirred as I recalled today's strange encounter and sudden insight at the Mirror Scripture Repository—if all things in the world possess dual yin and yang, and all rules can be reversed, then could it be that the sword scabbard my father left conceals secrets unknown to others?

The moonlight flowed like water, and countless stars dotted the sky. I walked into the center of the courtyard with my sword in hand; the moonlight draped over everything like a delicate veil, adding an air of mystery to the night. Taking a deep breath, I gripped Zidian and attempted to apply today's insight—"reversing the conventional approach"—to the Jieling Sword Technique my father had taught me.

The Jieling Sword Technique was renowned for its speed, ferocity, and precision—a single strike flashed like lightning, swift and decisive. Today, however, I chose the opposite path—seeking slowness within speed, softness within hardness, and curvature within straightness. My sword's ascent flowed like a gentle stream, its edge concealed lethal intent; its descent, like a spring breeze caressing willows, was silent yet precisely aimed at vital points.

The move "Rising Against the Wind" was no longer a brutal strike aimed straight for the throat; instead, it became a graceful lift of the hand, with the sword's tip tracing an elegant, flowing arc—seemingly harmless, yet subtly directed at the enemy's vital point. Likewise, "A Glimpse of a Soaring Swan" shed its overt ferocity to become a gentle, swirling motion, with the sword's gleam resembling a moonlit reflection on water, its true path elusive and mysterious.

Just then, the scabbard at my waist suddenly emitted a clear, resonant sword sound, its blue glow intensifying until the entire courtyard shone as brightly as day. Startled, I instinctively withdrew Zidian and caressed the scabbard. Its warmth had increased, as if a gentle fire burned within—not searing, but imparting a strange, familiar comfort.

I tried to insert Zidian back into the scabbard, and this time it did not resist; instead, a subtle resonance arose, as if the sword and scabbard were conversing—exchanging messages that I could not comprehend.

"Why does my father's scabbard react in such a peculiar way?" I asked myself softly, running my fingers over the ancient inscriptions that appeared on it in the blue glow. I had never seen these symbols before; they were profound and enigmatic, seemingly imbued with an ancient power.

The night had grown deep, and in the courtyard, it was just me and the scabbard. Sitting in the moonlight, I took out the "Jietian Sword Diagram" I had acquired earlier from the Mirror Scripture Repository, hoping to uncover some clues within its pages.

I opened the book, and on the first page was an antique illustration: an old man with white hair standing amidst the clouds, holding a green-forged sword whose light intertwined with the swirling mists to form a beam of sword qi that reached to the heavens.

Turning to the second page, I found a sword formula: "Heaven and earth are constant, yet the sword way is ever-changing; the cycle of cause and effect turns, and the sword qi can sever."

I continued reading, finding the later passages even more obscure. Many sections appeared to be written in a special code, entirely unintelligible. The diagrams were highly abstract, and the initiation, execution, and conclusion of the sword moves were utterly unlike conventional techniques—more akin to a bizarre dance than a practical method.

"No wonder Xuanling said I was destined to be linked with this book—could it be because of my father?" I murmured softly, a wave of confusion rising within me. My father had never mentioned the "Jietian Sword Diagram" during his lifetime, yet the Jieling Sword Technique he taught me bore a certain resemblance in name. Could there be a connection?

The night grew deep and the bright moon slid to the western sky. I carefully put away the book and prepared to return to my room to rest. The courtyard was utterly silent, save for the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind and the occasional call of night birds in the distance.

I lay on my bed, my thoughts still drifting between sword techniques and cultivation methods, until a heavy drowsiness gradually enveloped me. My consciousness began to blur, and the world around me started to melt and reassemble in a strange, surreal manner.

In my drowsiness, the vision before me gradually cleared—a boundless sea of wisteria swayed gently in the breeze, its blossoms layered like purple waves, with an elegant fragrance permeating the air. At the center of this floral ocean stood a white figure, as still as a pine; her dark tresses cascaded like a waterfall down her back, held in place by a simple jade hairpin, her face cool and as frosty as if carved in ice, and her eyes as deep as a winter pool.

It was Moqing.

She stood beneath the wisteria, her white dress merging with the floral shadows as if she were an exiled celestial being. She gazed at me in silence; those eyes, usually as calm as a still ancient well, were now filled with emotions I couldn't comprehend. Her lips parted ever so slightly, as if trying to speak, yet her words were carried away by the wind before reaching my ears.

I involuntarily reached out toward her, eager to draw closer, but no matter how hard I tried, the distance between us remained unchanged—as if an invisible barrier separated us. Wisteria petals drifted on the breeze, forming a hazy curtain between us.

Then she turned and departed, her white dress drifting in the wind like a cloud, vanishing gracefully. The rain of wisteria petals swirled about, soon engulfing her figure and causing her to disappear into that dreamlike sea of flowers.

A surge of inexplicable melancholy welled up inside me, and I fell into a deep sleep amid that strange, otherworldly dreamscape.