Chapter Nine: The World of Cultivation

Wu Ming observed that the old Taoist, Qingfeng, seemed quite amiable and not someone who angered easily. “Master, are you saying that cultivating the Tao truly leads to immortality? You’re not trying to deceive me, are you? After all, I’ve received a modern scientific education and don’t believe in feudal superstitions!” Wu Ming said with a laugh.

The old Taoist merely smiled. “I expected you to think so, but I didn’t expect you to be so forthright. Come with me!” As predicted, Qingfeng was not offended.

Damn it, Wu Ming cursed inwardly. This old priest is calling a monk a bald donkey, all while feigning politeness—he’s mocking my bluntness without a single crude word.

Just then, Qingfeng opened his mouth and spat out a sword. It shifted from illusion to reality, growing from small to enormous, until it was over two meters long and half a meter wide.

“Holy crap, a flying sword!” Wu Ming thought, wondering if he was watching a magic trick. This was exactly like the legendary sword cultivators and their flying swords.

“Don’t be surprised, my friend. Please join me on the sword,” Qingfeng said, patting the stunned Wu Ming on the shoulder. He turned, smoothed his beard, flicked his robe’s sleeve, and with a light leap, landed atop the sword. Qingfeng extended a hand to Wu Ming, inviting him up.

Wu Ming reached out and was effortlessly pulled onto the sword. Only then did he recall that there was a peculiar buoyancy here—people seemed to be in a state of semi-suspension, and with just a little effort, one could move with surprising ease.

Once Wu Ming stood behind Qingfeng on the sword, it shot off into the distance.

“In the past, when the world’s spiritual energy was abundant, flying on swords was an easy feat. Now, only in places like these spiritual veins can one perform even the simplest Daoist arts,” Qingfeng sighed.

“With the suppression of King Yu’s Nine Cauldrons, and the addition of the First Emperor’s Twelve Golden Men, the channels between realms were almost completely severed. This allowed our world to be isolated and safe from the threats of other realms. But the side effect is that now, the spiritual energy in this world is so faint as to be undetectable, making spells and Daoist arts all but useless. This is what the West calls the Twilight of the Gods, and what Buddhism refers to as the Era of the Decline of the Dharma,” the old Taoist continued.

“According to your explanation, Master, weren’t there many cultivators and immortals in the Qin Dynasty and before? But history doesn’t record that many immortals,” Wu Ming countered, still skeptical.

“That’s easily explained. The world used to be divided into the Heavenly Realm, Earthly Realm, and Mortal Realm, along with countless lesser worlds, all connected by the World Tree, which acted as the nexus between realms. As described in the ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas,’ the World Tree reaches up to the heavens and down to the netherworld. Even so, that’s not entirely accurate. By today’s understanding, these worlds exist in the same space-time but on different dimensions. If we live in a three-dimensional world, the others exist in the fourth dimension. Cultivators would not lightly intrude upon this lower world without permission. Even if they did, they avoided ordinary mortals. Rarely, mortals caught glimpses of cultivators using their arts, and these became tales of immortals. Moreover, not everyone can cultivate—the ones who can are those with exceptional innate gifts, hence the saying ‘fated for immortality.’ This further explains the rarity of cultivators…” The old Taoist droned on, his explanations sprawling and verbose, leaving Wu Ming’s head spinning.

“So where exactly are you taking me, Master?” Wu Ming, growing impatient, cut him off, not wanting to hear more.

“I am taking you to the Spirit Realm. The separation and sealing of the Mortal Realm caused the collapse and fusion of the three realms, merging countless worlds of Daoist arts into one new world—the Spirit Realm. This is where the souls of all beings go after death. We are to bring you to my sect to learn the Dao!” Qingfeng declared excitedly.

Could this be some kind of cult? And if only the dead can enter, is this old man planning to take me with him to the afterlife? Wu Ming was filled with unease.

“There’s no need for that. I’m not interested in such lofty matters,” Wu Ming replied honestly, unwilling to go to the so-called Spirit Realm—who in their right mind would want to die so young? “Besides, didn’t you say the World Tree’s passage was sealed by King Yu’s Cauldrons and the First Emperor’s Golden Men?”

“Rest assured, my friend. While most beings—even gods and demons—cannot enter or leave the sealed World Tree, exceptions exist. For example, those like us, recognized by the Nine Cauldrons and Twelve Golden Men!” As Qingfeng controlled the sword, they soared toward the crown of the World Tree, plunging directly into its vast branches without hesitation.