People of the world are trapped in the mortal dust, driven by honor and humiliation, stirred by right and wrong. All their coming and going begins with one thing: desire.
Forgetting Desire is the first threshold of the Emotionless Dao. One must not toil for empty fame, destroy oneself over slander, or be shaken by money and power, beauty and pleasure.
Many people cultivate profound Dao arts yet cannot pass this first threshold. Their heart demons only deepen, their state of mind cannot advance, and if they allow selfish desire to run unchecked, they may enjoy pleasure for a moment but will inevitably meet a tragic end.
Those who pass Forgetting Desire may be called transcendent. After that comes Forgetting the Self.
Forgetting the Self means abandoning the narrow self in order to observe the myriad things of the world. There are ten thousand kinds of people and ten thousand kinds of emotion. If one remains imprisoned by one’s own perspective, the Great Dao will always remain beyond reach.
Those who pass Forgetting the Self may already be called sages. Only then comes Forgetting Emotion.
Heaven’s Dao moves in cycles and follows nature. Emotion may arise, yet one is not moved by it. That is Supreme Forgetfulness.
Upon reaching this realm, one may already be called an immortal.
In his time, He Tianjun had already reached the path of Forgetting the Self and stood close to Forgetting Emotion, cultivating a half-immortal body. Had he not died in the Demon-Extermination War, perhaps he would already have ascended the immortal path.
Qian Xuelang rested for another while. When he woke again, it was deep night. Beyond the window lay impenetrable darkness, and heavy mist hid every trace of scenery. A single lamp burned beside the bed, wax tears already pooled across its stand.
There was no one in the room, and he did not know where Ren Yijue had gone.
Qian Xuelang’s spirit was exhausted. For the moment, he could not even be bothered to wonder. He pushed aside the bedding, lowered his head to put on his shoes, then froze as the bright candlelight revealed a floor clean as new.
The blood…
Still not fully awake, Qian Xuelang thought for a while before realizing that Ren Yijue had probably cleaned everything while he rested.
This time, he truly had troubled him.
Qian Xuelang picked up the candle stand and lit the other lamps in the room before walking to the dressing table and sitting down.
His frost-white hair spilled over his body, and his appearance was faintly haggard. Reflected in the clear, water-bright mirror and lit by candle flame, he looked almost like a ghost or spirit. He sighed softly.
When he was young, Qian Xuelang often stood in the doorway and watched He Tianjun comb his hair from behind. Once his master finished arranging his own hair, he would rise, call Qian Xuelang over, and arrange his hair as well.
At the time, Qian Xuelang was still very young and accustomed to servants attending him. He had never learned to comb his own hair. His master was extremely proud toward others, yet very patient with him, and taught him again and again.
Fortunately, Qian Xuelang learned everything quickly. Within only a few days, he had mastered He Tianjun’s way of arranging hair and no longer needed his master’s help.
Thinking of this, Qian Xuelang pulled open one of the drawers. This dressing table was no different from a woman’s vanity, with small drawers and cabinets hidden throughout.
A woman’s boxes might hold rouge, powder, pearls, and ornaments. He Tianjun’s little cabinets were much simpler, containing only ordinary things such as combs and hairpins, along with milfoil stalks, tortoise shells, and other tools used for divination.
Qian Xuelang had once been curious about divination too, so his master had cast a reading for him. He no longer clearly remembered the result. What he did remember was that after the divination, He Tianjun rolled up the paper bearing his name and the eight characters of his birth, tucked it into a small tortoise shell, and stored it inside this drawer as a keepsake.
Elio’s Notes: The “eight characters” (bazi, 生辰八字) come from the year, month, day, and hour of a person’s birth. They’re traditionally used in Chinese fortune-telling.
He had never thought about it before and therefore never felt anything. But once the thought arose today, every kindness his master had shown in raising and teaching him surged back like a tide, crowding his mind until he could scarcely breathe.
He searched through the little cabinet, slowly brushing his fingers over the things his master had used in life. When he touched a horn comb, he took it out and held it in his palm.
The horn comb was fine and smooth. It had developed a few cracks, though none were severe, and its teeth remained closely set. Qian Xuelang studied it again and again, then suddenly gathered his hair and slowly drew the comb downward.
The person in the mirror, the body within a dream.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Qian Xuelang asked softly, “So this is what grief feels like? Back then… how did I not know?”
His voice thickened without his noticing.
He was truly miserable. The twisting pain in his heart began again, so he quickly set down the horn comb and braced himself against the table, forcing his emotions to settle and refusing to think about the past until he finally regained his composure.
At that moment, the door was suddenly pushed open. Qian Xuelang turned, his gaze cold and sharp, yet the corners of his eyes were flushed red, lending him a trace of allure that made Ren Yijue’s heart jump.
Ren Yijue possessed one particular talent: his temperament recovered quickly. Seeing Qian Xuelang awake, he stopped worrying and smiled. “It seems the Jade Beauty has recovered quite well.”
“Yes. Thank you for taking care of me,” Qian Xuelang said calmly. “What are you holding?”
Ren Yijue deliberately joked, “Nothing much. A bowl of boiled spring water. You fainted and coughed blood, so naturally you ought to nourish yourself. Unfortunately, there is nowhere here to dig up wild ginseng, so you will have to make do with some hot water.”
In truth, he had dissolved a spiritual pill in the water. The medicine was dry and difficult to swallow, and he had worried Qian Xuelang might have trouble taking it directly.
Qian Xuelang believed him completely and assumed it was plain water. Ginseng soup and water were worlds apart, but he did not care. He merely accepted the bowl. “You were thoughtful.”
Ever since his cultivation reached a certain level, he had stopped eating and drinking. When his mouth occasionally felt too empty, he would take a few sips of snow water and leave it at that. Now, with warm liquid entering his stomach, he felt warmth spread through his body and found it unexpectedly comfortable. Not knowing this was the pill taking effect, he assumed only that he had gone so long without food or drink that he had forgotten the taste of warmth.
After thinking for a moment, Qian Xuelang added, “The water is very clear and sweet.”
Ren Yijue burst out laughing and sat down on a round stool nearby. As he watched Qian Xuelang drink one sip after another, he examined his face carefully. The corners of Qian Xuelang’s eyes were flushed red, but there were no tear tracks. Ren Yijue knew perfectly well that Qian Xuelang must have felt pain again just now, perhaps nearly enough to cry. Yet within moments he had turned from grief back to calm, as though nothing remained in his heart.
This emotionless man was truly impossible to read.
Only after Qian Xuelang finished drinking did Ren Yijue ask, “May I know what the Jade Beauty has gained?”
Earlier, Qian Xuelang had deliberately told Ren Yijue his master’s final words because he genuinely could not understand why He Tianjun had looked so delighted at death while leaving behind such desolate words. If everything became empty, then had all the past not been rendered meaningless?
To speak such lonely words while smiling so brightly was profoundly strange.
He had hoped Ren Yijue might understand something from them. When Ren Yijue showed no reaction either, Qian Xuelang had returned to the matter at hand and said no more.
Who would have known that after going in circles, it would still be one sentence from Ren Yijue that awakened the dreamer and allowed Qian Xuelang to understand those words? Since the insight had arisen because of him, there was no harm in telling him.
“I originally thought Master meant something bad when he said everything would become empty and useless.” Qian Xuelang held the empty bowl and considered his words. “Only after your guidance did I understand. I cultivated for many years for my own sake. But the realm of Forgetting the Self requires forgetting one’s own joys. Master must have meant that all the things of the past should be forgotten completely. One must cast the past aside, and everything one sought for oneself becomes useless. There is no need to remain attached to it or dwell on it.”
Ren Yijue’s gaze darkened, though he still smiled at an unhurried pace. “You give Ren too much credit. I understand the principle, but I cannot accomplish it. The Jade Beauty is the one who truly sees clearly.”
Qian Xuelang was about to answer when he suddenly sensed a trace of demonic qi approaching from far away. His expression sharpened. He set down the bowl and vanished.
From its sheath came a long cry from Wentian as Qian Xuelang took Honglu in hand.