6.11 - Abbot Liao Shan

Chen Fei rushed forward. “Abbot Liao! You’re still alive!” That, at least, let He Yu relax a bit. If Chen Fei knew this expert, he probably didn’t pose any danger to them. Still, He Yu followed behind her with considerably less enthusiasm.

“Chen Fei? It seems you’ve grown quite a bit since I’ve last seen you.” The old man’s eyes crinkled at their edges at Chen Fei’s approach. Then he looked to He Yu’s approach. “I don’t recognize who you’ve brought with you, though.”

He Yu saluted as he drew new. “I am He Yu. Chen Fei and I met when we were disciples of the Shrouded Peaks Sect.”

Abbot Liao stroked his beard. “And now you’re both proper immortals. This is no place to talk, though. Come join me at the temple. I’ll serve tea.”

With grace and speed that belied his age, if not his advancement, Liao Shan leaped onto the roof of a nearby building, landing lightly. With only a few bounds, he disappeared into the evening gloom. Chen Fei called her bronze disc. With a glance to make sure He Yu followed, she soared off after the abbot. Left with little other choice, He Yu activated the Sky Dragon’s Flight.

Liao Shan bounded over the treetops as he led them up the mountain. It appeared as though he used qinggong, rather than a proper movement technique, or any sort of flying treasure. He Yu guessed that must have been how he approached the village without alerting them. Even if he’d used a flying treasure, he’d have to release a portion of his spirit and reveal his cultivation.

Before long, they arrived at Liao Shan’s temple. It was a surprisingly modest place, nestled in to a natural cleft in the mountain’s face. A well-maintained path, paved with flat stones and kept free of overgrowth, wound along the mountain and up to a moon gate set into a sturdy-looking wall. Behind the wall lay a single small building that looked as though it were built into the mountain itself, at least from where He Yu approached.

Abbot Liao waited for them just outside the moon gate. Once they’d both landed, he led them through a small courtyard brimming with potent spiritual herbs and medicinal plants. As He Yu had suspected, the temple itself went far deeper into the mountain than it first appeared. While it looked like there was plenty of space for more monks to reside here, there was no evidence of any inhabitants other than Liao Shan himself.

They took tea in a small room cut into the living stone and set off to one side of the main courtyard. Steady light cast from bronze lanterns, filling the small space with a cozy cheer He Yu hadn’t truly felt since leaving the sect. A breeze, cool but not unpleasant, drifted in from the open door leading to the courtyard outside.

While they drank, Abbot Liao spoke mostly to Chen Fei, asking about her time away from the village, and then her training at the Shrouded Peaks Sect. She answered enthusiastically, and He Yu was content to let her speak. After visiting her former home and seeing it completely abandoned and her parents long gone, he was just glad she could visit with someone familiar.

Once Chen Fei had answered Liao Shan’s questions about her time away to the old man’s satisfaction, he filled her in on what happened to the village. The story he told was more or less the same as the one in her parents’ letter. If a bit more detailed. By the time they finished their tea, Liao Shan and Chen Fei had caught up on the intervening years. Setting down his now empty cup, Liao Shan turned to He Yu, and finally broached the subject He Yu knew would have to come, eventually.

“So what brings you to this place, so far beyond the empire? Certainly you’ve not only come to poke around the remains of an abandoned village.”

“I seek a way to push through a bottleneck. I’ve already defined my Dao, but despite that, I can’t push past the peak of Soul Refining.”

“And you think the way to break through lies here, of all places?”

He Yu fell silent for a time as he considered what to say. Although he’d spent these years surrounded by mentors and others he could trust, he hadn’t forgotten the stories. He was under no illusions about the fact he practiced a powerful art. The kind of art cultivators would kill one another over if given the chance.

“You can trust Abbot Liao,” Chen Fei assured him.

Liao Shan stroked his beard as he looked from He Yu to Chen Fei and back. “You’re wise to not reveal your secrets so freely, He Yu. But if I may speak in my defense. I have no interest in taking whatever secrets your cultivation holds. Such is not my Way. All I care is that this temple endures to a time when Daoist scholars flock to its humble grounds once more.”

It was as much an assurance as he’d ever get. More importantly, he did trust Chen Fei. And if she thought Liao Shan meant them no harm, then he’d take her word for it.

“I follow the Dao of Heroism,” He Yu began. “I came north seeking a legend. Tan Zihao told me of an expert who, long ago, ventured north into the steppe when he’d reached a similar bottleneck. He returned bearing magnificent treasures, and having achieved Divine Body Attainment during his time away. Tan Zihao thought perhaps he’d earned the approval of ancient, primordial powers. Even if it’s only a story, to pursue such a legend is just the sort of thing to advance my Way.”

“What art do you cultivate?” Liao Shan asked. He gave an appraising look as he did, as if he knew He Yu was holding something back. The next thing he said confirmed it. “Tan Zihao wouldn’t have sent you all this way simply to chase after a story.”

“The art I cultivate is an ancient one, the Cloud Emperor’s Heavenly Palace. It was given to me by the former First Elder of the Shrouded Peaks Sect, Cai Weizhe.”

“That, then, is the source of your cultivation? The storm you carry within?”

He Yu hadn’t revealed more than the barest shadow of his presence when he’d used the Sky Dragon’s Flight to follow Liao Shan up the mountain. Despite that, he wasn’t surprised the old expert had so easily identified his cultivation.

“I sensed there was something unusual about you,” Liao Shan said. “I trust you understand somewhat of your art’s requirements?”

“Sadly, I do not,” he admitted. “My former mentor at the sect told me a little. She said that primordial arts, like the Cloud Emperor’s Heavenly Palace, ask a great price of their practitioners. I subjected myself to a heavenly tribulation when I formed my Golden Core.”

“What is tribulation?” Liao Shan asked.

He Yu frowned. The question was of the sort Zhang Lifen would ask. A question whose answer mattered less than the process of answering it did. A question meant to teach. For a time He Yu thought, searching for the point Abbot Liao wanted him to see. Eventually, he simply said, “A tribulation is punishment. To cultivate is to defy the heavens. To go against the natural order of the world, and claim its laws for yourself.”

This was his understanding, at least. A cultivator’s presence was a manifestation of this idea. The way an expert’s spirit exerted ever greater pressure on the world served as the clearest example. At his current advancement, a simple exchange of techniques could alter the land or the weather for miles around. It called to mind his recent battles, both with Tan Qingsheng and with the wind serpent Qingzhao.

In the strictest sense, this was a violation of the natural law—the order established by heaven that must be followed by earth and man alike. What natural occurrence would cause a storm to manifest in a clear sky? Cause a flood to rise from a dry riverbed, or turn a lush forest to a desolate waste? None, at least that He Yu could name. Except the simple unshackling of a spirit refined through cultivation.

Liao Shan interrupted He Yu’s thoughts. “The Dao contains all, does it not? We accept the profound truth that the Dao encompasses the law of the universe. Is not the imposition of our cultivation merely another manifestation of the divine law? If the Dao contains all things, it must contain those who cultivate immortality, no?”

“So cultivation isn’t defiance of the heavens?” Chen Fei asked, speaking up for the first time since their talk with Abbot Liao had turned away from mundane matters.

The abbot’s only answer was to turn up his palms.

He Yu didn’t think that was the answer. At least not in full. The legends were all in agreement, and so was everything he knew about cultivation. But defiance of the heavens wasn’t the same as moving against the Dao. The heavens themselves, as auspicious their laws may be, were subsumed within the greater truth of the Eternal Dao, were they not?

“A test, as much as a punishment,” He Yu said, not wholly realizing he’d done so aloud until the words had escaped.

“Close enough for this humble priest,” Liao Shan said with a knowing smile. “For you, I think, the way forward is simpler than you might realize. In thoughts, at least, if not in deed. Approval is what you must seek. Approval from beings great and terrible. But tell me this, young Daoist. Why do you seek this breakthrough? Not for power’s sake, for I think we both know this is not your Way.”

Liao Shan’s spirit expanded. It was at once the revelation of a presence greater than He Yu had ever experienced since the fall of the Shrouded Peaks, but also markedly different. Yes, the old man was a mountain, brimming with life. So vibrant and full of vital power, that He Yu couldn’t imagine how anything other than the untamed natural world could take root for ten thousand li. The influence was that strong, that overwhelming.

That sort of power ought to have obliterated the temple, caused the mountain to explode with new growth. Trees should burst from seedlings and grow to their full height in a matter of moments, with all the destructive force that would entail. But, no. Liao Shan merely sat there, his spirit pressing down on He Yu’s, and by all appearances on He Yu alone.

The old priest’s question reverberated like a temple gong. He Yu had spent countless hours contemplating these answers. Years. Decades, even. For now, at least, it all came down to one thing. One moment. One stark realization.

A bloody sunset touched the western horizon, framing a lone figure on a field of the dead. An alabaster pillar cracked, then crumbled. With the death of one expert, another rose to power. A land, an empire, prosperous and peaceful, fell under the sway of one who cared little for the good of its people. Who cared only for power and authority. Slowly, the empire fell to corruption. He Yu had witnessed as much on his journey south, when he’d gone to visit his father. He wasn’t nearly fool enough to think Xin Lu had been the only official who cared little for the laws and order of the old empire.

“She must be stopped,” was all he said. Behind him, the gates to the Heavenly Palace opened. The now-familiar beat of Leigong’s drum thundered around him. In much the same way Liao Shan’s spirit kept light upon the world in this place—despite its power—He Yu’s presence remained so, too. Although lightning flashed, and outside their little sanctuary, winds rose and rain fell, the surrounding land remained untouched.

“And you are the one to do so?”

“Someone must.”

He Yu’s Wayborn Seed pulsed deep within his spirit. The slow rotation of the universal truth revealed the Way to him, and a nascent connection strengthened. Between the Seed, the primordial figure seated serenely in meditation within He Yu’s Golden Core, and the Dao of Heroism.

Liao Shan bowed his head ever so slightly. The world came crashing down once again, the heights of spirit and wisdom fading to the edges of He Yu’s perception—grasped, but not quite fully remembered.

“So it seems,” the abbot said after a time. The lamps burned low, and the outside, the sky grew light. “I will tell you where you must seek. Whether you find what you need, that will be up to you.”