The bitter cold of winter had passed, the frozen river gradually thawed, old trees sprouted new buds, and although thin layers of snow still remained in the mountains, spring had quietly arrived.
Huamei Mountain resembled famous scenic spots south of the Yangtze River, with its beautiful landscapes and winding roads. Birds had already begun singing, echoing through the valleys, and more hunters entered the mountains, enhancing its serene beauty.
This time, although “Cold Ice Fairy” Ye Yuqi had not yet returned from her travels, Meng Qi, familiar with the place, the paths, and the faces, was led by a disciple into the back mountains, where he saw the modest thatched cottage and the unadorned grave beside it.
Master Lu still wore simple blue robes, held a hoe, and bent over, weeding around the rare flowers and herbs surrounding the grave. He was fully absorbed, forgetting himself in the task, while his famous longsword, renowned throughout the land for its power upon being unsheathed, lay quietly to one side.
With his cultivation and strength, he could have effortlessly cleared weeds and pests with a mere wave of his hand, leaving the exotic flowers unharmed. Yet he chose not to do so. Instead, he seemed to be performing a task of supreme artistic value and cosmic significance. His movements were graceful and measured, unhurried and serene, filled with deep reverence. Watching him, one could unknowingly forget worries and troubles, immersed in this focused tranquility, experiencing an indescribable peace.
Meng Qi stood quietly beside the cottage, not approaching to greet or interrupt Master Lu’s work. He simply watched the scene unfold, as if returning to the time he observed carvings at Maoling. His mind calmed, stillness gave rise to concentration, concentration gave rise to wisdom, and wisdom revealed the “self.”
Time passed. After an unknown duration, Master Lu straightened his back, returned to the cottage, leaned the hoe against the wall, sat cross-legged, and pointed, saying simply: “Sit.”
He looked directly at Meng Qi, his gaze unwavering, his mind fully present, waiting patiently for Meng Qi to speak.
“Thank you, Senior, for rescuing me. I have no way to repay you, except for this small tree, which contains the sword technique ‘Dao Spreads Across the Universe’ from the Seven Heavenly Dao Cuts.” Meng Qi came straight to the point, directly presenting the Great Dao Tree before him. It stood green and translucent, brimming with hidden vitality. A breeze passed, and its branches and leaves swayed, faint glimmers of sword light flickering.
Master Lu glanced at the “Great Dao Tree” and smiled: “Indeed, you possess great fortune and entangled karma. Even the Buddha’s Heavenly Dao Cuts are connected to you.”
With a teasing remark, he sighed: “Had this been earlier, I would have avoided this ‘Dao Spreads Across the Universe’ sword technique like a venomous snake. But now, it is perfectly timed, just right for laying the groundwork for the next step.”
Meng Qi was puzzled, his eyes swirling with confusion. Why would he have avoided it before, yet now it was just right?
He thought for a moment but did not ask directly. Instead, he said: “The elegance of your swordplay left me restless and unable to forget. Your sword moves with the Dao, its transformations profound and subtle, establishing cosmic laws, setting limits for gods and demons. Once the sword is drawn, none dare resist. Truly beyond the reach of human or earthly immortals. It reminds me of a mighty cultivator I once met…”
Meng Qi briefly recounted Yang Jian’s stone inscription incident, watching Master Lu intently, hoping for a response. Could it be that Master Lu had reached the same level as the Divine Lord of Qingyuan, far surpassing human and earthly immortals? Otherwise, why would these two events be so similar?
Yet if that were true, someone like Guldo would have already been destroyed!
Master Lu listened quietly, then smiled wryly: “Old man like me is still far from that Jade Void Yang Jian. I can sever the connection between gods and demons of that world and the mortal realm, forcing them to ascend or preventing them from descending. But in our world, within the Nine Heavens, I still cannot do so. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand…” Meng Qi first shook his head in confusion, then frowned. “Is it because our world is unique, its fundamental laws difficult to alter like the Nine Heavens?”
This thought stirred a vague realization.
“Exactly.” Master Lu replied calmly, his eyes like a clear yet unfathomable lake. “Old man like me has just entered the earthly immortal stage, but I have gained something unique, slightly possessing the traits of a legendary cultivator. That is why I can set limits for gods and demons and bring peace to the great river.”
“Slightly possessing the traits of a legendary cultivator?” Meng Qi was nearly stunned. “Shouldn’t the legendary stage be a much later realm? How could you already touch it now?”
He had only recently, through combining insights from the Valley of Eternal Life and Qi Zhengyan’s words, begun to grasp the meaning of the legendary realm—the stage of being the sole existence across all worlds. Yet now, Master Lu’s words shattered his understanding, leaving him utterly bewildered.
Master Lu’s aura was as ordinary as any man’s, his sword resting casually by his side. His eyes, at first glance deep and unfathomable, upon closer inspection were clear and pure. He smiled slightly:
“Whether it’s martial arts, or paths like Daoist techniques or the Buddha’s transformation body, the legendary realm is indeed a necessary stage in cultivation. Normally, Daoists must reach the peak of Immortal Sage, while Buddhists must attain the level of Great Bodhisattva or Great Arhat, nearly reaching the Buddha, before they can sense the ‘other selves’ across realms, establish connections, enlighten them, and transform them into the ‘self,’ becoming the sole existence across all worlds. In Buddhism, that is the Buddha, or a Great Bodhisattva or Great Arhat who chooses not to become a Buddha due to unfinished vows. In Daoism, it is known as the Immortal Sovereign.”
This was the first time Meng Qi had heard a systematic explanation of the path beyond the Dharma Body. He listened with great interest. “Legendary” could be a cultivation stage, but more accurately, it described the characteristics of that stage.
Human Immortal, Earth Immortal, Heaven Immortal, Immortal Sovereign (Legendary), and the stage where Zhenwu and others stood? The stage of the Three Pure Ones and the Jade Emperor? The stage of Dao Sovereign and Buddha Ancestor? Meng Qi excitedly analyzed.
“Buddhism often says the world is like a sea of suffering. Achieving the Dharma Body grants the foundation to cross it. An important step in this is the legendary stage—connecting with the ‘other selves’ across countless worlds, receiving the power of infinite universes, remaining unsinkable in the sea of suffering, immortal to death, able to revive at any moment unless one can track and kill every ‘other self’ across all universes. Were it not for some unknown reasons, those beings would possess infinite lifespans and live forever.” Master Lu added, “The National Preceptor Bomi you once encountered tried to take a shortcut, using ‘another’s self’ to replace the countless ‘other selves’ sensed in the void, attempting to achieve the legendary stage prematurely. That is why I said his path was already flawed.”
“Oh, I see.” Meng Qi nodded in realization.
The angler and the fish actually originated from the legendary stage. The true purpose of the remnant soul of the Haotian Mirror was to help one sense the ‘other self’ in advance. The Eternals used it for reincarnation, completely misusing its potential. No wonder the Blood Sea Rakshasa was so desperate to obtain it. His so-called reincarnation body was merely a facade—it was actually about transforming ‘other selves’ into the ‘self.’
If he succeeded a few times, wouldn’t he have already slightly possessed the traits of the legendary realm? Just like what Master Lu described?
Now, with the remnant soul of the Haotian Mirror gone and Du Huaishang’s schemes thwarted, not to mention Master Lu severing the connection between heaven and earth, the Blood Sea Rakshasa must have been enraged. Who knows if he still had similar arrangements in other realms?
Meng Qi voiced these thoughts, finally saying: “I always thought I knew many secrets, but Senior knows even more.”
“Old man has lived a few more years, participated in many events, and visited numerous ancient ruins and immortal tombs. Eventually, I came to know a few things.” Master Lu chuckled. “Thanks to you all for exposing the Blood Sea Rakshasa’s schemes, or else we would still be kept in the dark. Given time, if he had succeeded and combined the power of Blood Shadow, he would have been extremely difficult to deal with, nearly immortal.”
Hearing Master Lu’s evaluation, Meng Qi secretly marveled. Indeed, every Dharma Body cultivator was no simple matter. Even though the Blood Sea Rakshasa had been repeatedly thwarted by them, he still harbored grand ambitions, and his success rate was likely quite high!
“So, Senior must have gained a special opportunity to connect with the ‘other self’ ahead of time, slightly possessing the traits of the legendary realm?” Meng Qi flattered with a smile.
Master Lu’s expression suddenly softened: “There was indeed a similar opportunity, but my path differs from the ancients—it was not through connecting with the ‘other self.'”
He pointed to the rare flowers and herbs beside the cottage, his tone gentle: “My late wife loved flowers and plants, planting them here. Now, they have spread across this peak, blooming in a riot of colors, breathtakingly beautiful.”
Though his words were plain, they stirred the heart. Meng Qi did not understand why Master Lu brought this up, yet his emotions were drawn in, deeply moved.
“She was a cheerful woman, bright and warm, stern yet not delicate. I was dull and inarticulate, yet seeing her always brought me joy. I never imagined I could earn her affection.” Master Lu’s eyes filled with deep emotion as he spoke simply, his voice gradually tinged with sorrow. “Since her passing, I often revisit the places we once went, recalling her image, fearing even the slightest forgetfulness.”
“This feeling remains deep in my heart, intense and burning. She was one of a kind, and so was this love. A man like me, filled with such unique emotions and devoted to the sword, must also be one of a kind, different from all others.”
“I often sensed ‘other selves’ in dreams, yet the more I felt this unique love, the more I realized how different those ‘other selves’ were from me. As this love deepened, I gradually separated from them. They are they, and I am I. The ‘other self’ is not me, and I am simply me.”
“This path is completely opposite to the path of merging all ‘selves’ into one. I do not know if it leads to a dead end, but it is a choice from the depths of my heart. I can only continue exploring it slowly.”
Though Master Lu openly spoke of his emotions, Meng Qi felt no sense of pretentiousness or melodrama. Suddenly, two lines surfaced in his mind—the widely known appraisal of the “One-Heart Sword” in the martial world:
“He who is deeply emotional wields a deeply powerful sword. A lifetime, one heart, one person!”
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