Chapter Ninety-Two: Sharing the Light, Blending with the Dust, Part One

The sect followed a policy of broad entry and strict dismissal, which was not without the flavor of elite instruction.

To a group of youths whose minds were still unformed, however, it felt no different from a prison.

Even the wandering cultivators, who already possessed some cultivation, changed expression slightly.

Still, there was one precedent to give them hope: their Uncle-Master Firecloud.

At last, a sliver of possibility remained.

Uncle-Master Boundless gave the crowd a faint, indifferent glance. Every hundred years, he saw this same look once.

After so long, he had grown numb to it.

Young people were always like this, full of boundless fantasies, convinced that they themselves were the chosen protagonists of fate, destined to slaughter gods, slay Buddhas, and trample all obstacles.

In ten years they would become immortals, in a hundred they would prove the fruit of Golden Immortal Dao, in a thousand they would step beyond space and time and attain the Great Luo path, and after ten thousand years they would establish sainthood and found their own sects. By then they could punch the Three Pure Ones and kick the Two Sages into the dirt. How glorious that would be.

Yet reality was always cruel. Most people never even reached the Immortal Path before turning to a handful of yellow earth, mere passersby in the grand journey.

That said, if a young man had no trace of pride, how could he still be called young?

As for the disciples before him, he did not expect any of them to enter the inner sect and prove the Immortal Path.

He only hoped that when he emerged from seclusion next time, he would still be able to see them, and exchange a few words.

The road to immortality was long. It was not that Boundless was cold-hearted by nature; it was the helplessness of the long-lived toward the short-lived.

How could a swan understand the ambition of sparrows? How could a mayfly imagine human life?

It was not indifference, but fear of investing feeling and receiving no return.

Back in the day, Boundless too had been full of vigor, overseeing the outer sect and honored as the senior brother.

He had worked hard in cultivation, hoping to enter the outer sect, support and care for his junior brothers and sisters, and fulfill the duties of a senior brother.

But even with special constitutions, one’s lifespan at Foundation Establishment began at a hundred and twenty years, at Core Formation at three hundred and sixty, and at Nascent Soul at a thousand.

As for the Spirit-Origin stage, lifespan began at three thousand, with a limit of nine thousand years.

A few rounds of seclusion, and old friends were gone; after cultivating a single divine ability, the beloved visage was no more.

It was not the immortals who were heartless, but time spared no one, and the relentless Dao ages all things.

Though his thoughts churned like waves, Boundless wore the same calm expression on the surface and turned away without the slightest hesitation.

He was going into seclusion.

When they saw that Boundless truly was leaving, the rest exchanged glances, unsure what to do.

At last, a wandering cultivator in black robes spoke up. “Though the inner sect is difficult to enter, now that we have already joined the sect, we have stepped onto the path of immortality. It may not be impossible to prove the Dao and become immortals.”

“In the future we shall all be fellow disciples, so why not introduce ourselves to one another?”

“If no one minds, I will begin and set the pace. I am Zhang Shunfeng, a Foundation Establishment cultivator.”

Feng Luo raised his eyelids slightly. He had noticed the Shunfeng Daoist long ago.

Among the three wandering cultivators admitted this time, Feng Luo included, all were at the Foundation Establishment stage.

Among them, Shunfeng had the highest cultivation and faintly showed signs of forming a Golden Core.

He had not expected the Shunfeng Daoist to be so lively by nature, taking the lead and seeming poised to become the head of the group.

It was just unclear whether this personality was genuine or an act.

After all, the primordial wilderness was treacherous. One could not rule out the possibility that he merely pretended to be carefree and harmless, while in truth being an old fox who struck swiftly, accurately, and ruthlessly at the crucial moment.

“What Fellow Daoist Shunfeng says is right. I am Xuan Yi, and my cultivation is also at Foundation Establishment. Greetings, junior brothers.”

Another middle-aged wandering cultivator smiled and spoke.

Then all eyes turned to Feng Luo. Of the three cultivators, he was the only one who had not introduced himself.

Feng Luo calmly uttered a few words: “My Dao title is Tianyi. Foundation Establishment cultivation.”

Plainspoken and terse, a devoted cultivator of bitter practice—that was the personality Feng Luo had fashioned for this puppet, or rather, this persona.

Once the three cultivators had finished, it was the mortals’ turn.

If no one stepped forward, they would simply continue through the motions.

The overall structure had already been set: among this generation of disciples, the three cultivators were the core, while the mortals who had not yet cultivated were all junior brothers.

At that moment, a handsome young man in ornate clothing stepped forward. He had been the one who earlier asked Boundless when the duties of the outer disciples would end and whether they would stop fetching water and chopping wood.

Although the question had not been answered satisfactorily, most of the disciples probably held him in some favor.

He clasped his hands and bowed, saying neither humbly nor arrogantly, “I am Teng Yuan, son of the Lord of the Teng Marquisate. Greetings to the three fellow Daoists.”

In storybooks, anyone and everyone could be called a young master.

But in the great cosmos of the primordial wilderness, in ancient times, that title was not used so casually.

Young masters of noble houses, as the phrase implied, were sons of dukes and grandsons of kings and marquises.

In the Shang dynasty, noble ranks were divided into duke, marquis, earl, viscount, and baron.

Dukes and marquises were all people of the Immortal Path; while earls were a little inferior, they still held authority over a region and, having been granted lands and founded states, were lords of a nation and of noble status.

Thus Teng Yuan did not quite qualify as a young master, but beneath the Immortal Path, he was certainly among the elite.

As expected, once Teng Yuan had finished introducing himself, several people unconsciously gathered around him.

After a short while, everyone had introduced themselves.

The scene gradually split into two camps, one headed by Shunfeng, Xuan Yi, and Feng Luo, and the other by Teng Yuan.

Just as the atmosphere was starting to feel slightly off, Teng Yuan smiled and said, “We are all here to seek the Dao and cultivate immortality. We must support one another in the days ahead.”

Upon hearing this, the Shunfeng Daoist smiled. “Junior Brother Teng speaks truly. The road to immortality is long. Let us each find our own lodgings, and tomorrow we will listen together to the teachings of the outer sect steward. What do you think?”

Teng Yuan nodded with a smile. “Everything shall follow Senior Brother’s lead.”

They presented themselves as exemplary senior and junior brothers, all harmony and goodwill, but the unspoken meaning was that the Immortal Path ruled above all, and everything else could wait until after cultivation.

In the end, both sides led their people off to find lodging, and the crowd instantly divided into two streams.

Feng Luo naturally followed the Shunfeng Daoist, since he was a wandering cultivator with real cultivation; after all, one’s stance was determined by one’s posterior.

Besides, the hidden dragon lies among the clouds, the concealed tiger dwells in the valley, and the truly subtle one hides in the common crowd.

If one were to cultivate in isolation without paying attention to others, obsessing over every tiny detail, one would only attract more attention.

Such a person was a living target.

The truly secure path was to blend one’s light and share one’s dust, to hide within the alliance and disguise oneself as someone mediocre.

Only then would one avoid drawing notice.

As for factional struggles, Feng Luo did not take them the least bit seriously.

The new disciples had split into two camps in an instant, and the reason was simple: the Tai’er Sect did not bother to manage them, letting them do as they pleased.

But if a sect did not manage things, it would still have limits. Among fellow disciples, killing one another was certainly forbidden.

In that case, what was there to worry about?

If necessary, Feng Luo could unleash his special skill: slipping left and right between sides!

After all, his goal in coming to the Tai’er Sect was not to fight for power, but to fill the water bottle.

I am the Tao for myself; all else, save me, is a heterodox path.

The next day, a bell rang.

A leisurely Daoist floated over and briefly explained, “I am the outer sect steward, Daoist Zimu. Today I will go over the sect rules.”

“First, one may not betray teacher or ancestors. Second, one may not harm fellow disciples. Third, one may not leak cultivation arts. Fourth, those not yet admitted to the inner sect may not leave the mountain at will. Fifth, one may not betray the sect...”

Though Daoist Zimu spoke at an unhurried pace, his words came like arrows. By the time he reached the three thousand six hundred and fifty-second rule, he had not even paused.

Everyone stared blankly, cold sweat beading on their foreheads. What kind of sect was this?!

When he finished reciting the thirty-one thousand and eighty-first rule, Daoist Zimu paused and said, “That concludes the two hundred and fiftieth revision of our sect rules. The Tai’er Sect’s inner sect retains the final right of interpretation!”

Sleep, sleep. I’ll get home tomorrow and start an explosive update spree with the draft stockpiled.