Chapter Thirty-Six: The Art of Giant Stones

Since the day he received the letter, Qingyuan had not set out immediately.

In the days that followed, he sometimes carved on the rocks by the stream, sometimes worked in the courtyard, but spent most of his time cultivating indoors.

Since gaining the aid of immortal energy that day, his cultivation at the first heavenly stage had neared its peak, approaching the threshold of the second. With his current foundation, through diligent study and practice, it would not be long before he could attempt to condense form and step onto the next level: the Pavilion of Shaping.

Yet the path of cultivation was arduous at every turn, and no one dared claim certain success. The barrier to the second pavilion was by no means simple.

Qingyuan had lingered outside the threshold of the Dao for many years, and now, he was in no rush. He progressed steadily and cultivated with composure.

At this moment, he was outside in the courtyard, carving a wooden figure of a tiger and wolf. This was the ninth such carving, the final stage of the process. The earlier stages had involved applying cinnabar, careful craftsmanship, refining with water, and then fire.

Now, the last step was the most intricate. This method for crafting the tiger-wolf carving involved several stages, with the fire-refining process being the most difficult; a single error could reduce the piece to ashes.

Luckily, the abbot of Mingyuan Monastery, Daoist Shuiyuan, was fond of alchemy, so the monastery had an alchemy chamber fitted with a furnace. Though this furnace was not a true magical artifact and could only refine medicinal pills—not elixirs of spirit—it was perfectly suited for Qingyuan’s needs.

In years past, he had stoked fires for the Grand Immortal Zixiao in the heavens, refining elixirs. Now, using the furnace once more, returning to his old craft, he could not help but feel a pang of emotion.

“In the heavenly palaces, it was always the senior disciples or the immortals themselves who prepared everything, placing the materials in the furnace and igniting the immortal flame with the aid of the Eight-Dragon Divination Furnace,” Qingyuan mused inwardly. “The immortal flames are not something mortals can approach, but thanks to the furnace’s protections, little of the flame’s essence would ever escape.”

“Cultivators do not fear flames, but because their cultivation imbues them with powerful energies, their presence can easily disturb the refinement of mystical medicines.”

“That is why the immortal palaces recruited novices like me…”

He glanced up at the sky, silent.

Now he was able to cultivate on his own; as long as he resolved lingering threats, his wishes would be fulfilled. What remained was to devote himself to cultivation, to study and strive in pursuit of the Dao.

As for a place of tranquil cultivation, in his heart, nothing could surpass the Palace of Purple Clouds.

But fate rises and falls; there was no return.

He put away the ninth carved tiger-wolf, tucking it into his robes, then rose and looked toward the not-so-distant figure of the mountain fiend, Gu Cang, who was practicing with a blade.

Gu Cang, descendant of an ancient race, possessed powerful vitality. Once he completed the rite of inheritance, he could break through, and from then on, the path to the third heavenly stage and beyond would be smooth. Now, having been guided by Qingyuan into the immortal path, cultivating true energy and achieving results, his wildness had subsided, and he too had reached the peak of the first heavenly stage.

However, the breathing and energy-circulation methods Qingyuan had taught were rudimentary, lacking in depth. As for the art of refining true energy into form, Gu Cang had yet to receive a proper method.

The Ninefold Jade Pavilion of the Sixth-Month Pure Monastery was a secret art of the Palace of Purple Clouds and could not be passed on.

So Gu Cang remained at this stage for now.

Qingyuan felt a twinge of guilt. “Only after I step into the second pavilion can I attempt to deduce a method for shaping true energy for him. Otherwise, perhaps on my travels I will come upon another technique…”

Gu Cang’s blade swept through the air, forming a curtain of light, nearly impervious as a wall of water.

He was far from dull-witted and worked with tireless diligence, mastering the military blade techniques to the point where, in his hands, the weapon’s murderous edge and bloodthirsty aura were fully unleashed.

As a mountain fiend, now wielding Daoist true energy and a blade steeped in blood, though still at the first stage, he fought as one at the second. Even martial masters who had condensed their inner power would find him a formidable opponent.

“Sir,” Gu Cang said, sheathing his blade and standing before Qingyuan.

Qingyuan nodded approvingly. “Though my strength is still greater than yours, your understanding of martial techniques has surpassed mine in many ways. If we were to spar, you’d be my equal…”

“No,” Gu Cang shook his head, his voice low and grave. “Sir once said that while defensive arts are necessary, what truly matters is one’s cultivation. My skill in battle may be high, but my spiritual attainment is still only at the first stage—far from the immortal path. You, sir, are almost at the threshold of the second.”

“You remember my words well.” Qingyuan chuckled. After some thought, he said, “These days, I have been preparing for stepping into the second pavilion—considering which arts to employ, what direction my cultivation should take… I have chosen the paper-cut steed technique, to be aided by woodcarving…”

He paused and smiled. “This is a secret art and cannot be shared.”

Gu Cang lowered his head, a trace of disappointment in his eyes.

“But I have been thinking,” Qingyuan continued with a smile. “Among the texts I have read, there are some techniques gathered from outside, not secret, and with lineages in the world. Since they are not secret, there is no harm in teaching you…”

Gu Cang’s eyes lit up at once, his golden gaze burning with hope as he grinned and scratched his head.

“What I will teach you is the Giant Stone Technique,” said Qingyuan. “This is a method usable by those at the second stage—somewhat clumsy, but of the highest quality. It’s said that a certain celestial lord in the heavens once used it to sever a piece of a divine mountain, shrinking it to palm-size at will, though the weight remained unchanged. Released, it would crush any foe—a touch meant certain death.”

Gu Cang’s face filled with longing.

“For those with profound cultivation, the method is simple,” Qingyuan explained. “By circulating your energy to form channels within the stone and following the prescribed patterns, you can make the weight as light as a feather. Over time, you can even shrink it to the size of a seal, yet when hurled, it becomes as large as a house, smashing all in its path.”

Having mingled with people for days, Gu Cang was no longer the ignorant creature of old. He caught the implication and asked, “What of those with shallow cultivation?”

Qingyuan replied, “If your cultivation is shallow, you cannot circulate sufficient power, so you must rely on aids like cinnabar.”

Gu Cang set down his blade, crouched on the ground, and listened intently.

“By infusing substances like cinnabar into the stone to create channels—whether through water-grinding, fire-refining, or other means—you establish a connection. As you cultivate, circulate your energy and direct it into the stone; in time, it becomes as an extension of your own body.”

“Later, with secret methods, after three to five years at most, perhaps only three to five months with luck, the stone will be light as nothing in your hand but remain heavy as ever to others—immovably dense.”

He gazed at Gu Cang. “Of course, with uncommon fortune, the process may be quicker.”

Gu Cang considered this and thought that carrying a boulder, even if light to himself, would be troublesome—especially now that he was no longer a mere mountain spirit, but would draw too much attention.

So he asked, “When can the stone be made to change size at will?”

“That depends on the stone you choose—its density, size, and your own prowess,” Qingyuan laughed. “The greater your cultivation, the easier it will be. If not, it will take long, arduous effort.”

Gu Cang, reflecting on his own limited attainment, felt a pang of discouragement.

“You must know your limits; cultivation is always the foundation,” Qingyuan advised. “Imagine: for an immortal, shaping a mountain is nothing, but for you, refining one might take centuries, time better spent on advancing your Dao.”

Gu Cang nodded thoughtfully.

“When you choose your stone, do so carefully,” Qingyuan instructed. “Dense rocks may seem small but are heavy and hard for cinnabar to penetrate, making energy infusion difficult; they require much work. Loose stones are large, easy for cinnabar and energy to fill, but lightweight…”

He grew solemn. “Most importantly, loose rocks lack solidity; a single blow can shatter them, or they may break under a weapon’s strike—making all your effort useless.”

Gu Cang recognized the sense in this, recalling his own painstaking work destroyed in an instant; he shuddered and nodded repeatedly.

“These things are not achieved in a day,” Qingyuan sighed. “In the coming days, I’ll teach you all I know and leave notes and texts for your reference. In years to come, this art should serve you well.”

Gu Cang was stunned, hearing the unspoken message, and looked at Qingyuan in alarm. “Sir, are you leaving?”

Qingyuan nodded. “Important matters call me south.”

Gu Cang spoke softly, “Why not take me with you?”

Qingyuan replied gently, “I do not know what dangers lie ahead, and how can anywhere compare to the tranquility of this monastery? The world is in chaos; even Daoists seek seclusion. This is a good place—if not for matters of life and death, I too would stay here and cultivate.”

Gu Cang bowed his head in silence. After a long pause, he murmured, “Sir… you’ve treated me well…”

Qingyuan, who had spent many days with him, understood the meaning. Gu Cang meant Qingyuan had treated him best and was closest to him, while the others at the monastery, though accepting, remained somewhat distant.

Qingyuan shook his head. “Though you have disguised yourself, the others here must have sensed your true nature as a mountain fiend. They may not say so, but I can tell—they won’t mind your presence. Master Yun Jing said Daoist Shuiyuan is an open-minded man who will accept you. Food and water here are not in short supply.”

Gu Cang scratched his head and asked, “Do you not want me to come with you?”

“It’s not that I mind your company,” Qingyuan smiled. “But your cultivation is at a critical juncture; it’s not the time to travel.”

Gu Cang patted his chest and shook his head. “I am not afraid.”

Qingyuan smiled. “And what of the Giant Stone Technique?”

Gu Cang paused. “What does that have to do with it?”

Qingyuan explained, “The Giant Stone Technique requires long, dedicated practice; in the beginning, the stone is heavy and hard to carry, so you must remain in one place until it is refined. If you travel with me, how will you ever complete your stone?”

Gu Cang pondered, then said, “Then I won’t practice it.”

Qingyuan was a little surprised.

He knew the mountain fiend had always longed for magical abilities; teaching him this art would hone his swordsmanship and give him a path forward while his cultivation was stalled. He hadn’t expected Gu Cang would rather give up the technique to accompany him.

“‘A day as teacher, a lifetime as father,’” Qingyuan sighed. “You may not have heard these words, but you understand their meaning.”

He gazed at Gu Cang and nodded. “Very well, you will come with me.”

Gu Cang’s face lit up, grinning broadly. He picked up his blade and thumped his chest in delight.