The Path to Immortality

There were no flashing blades, no raging storms, no hidden threats—only a solitary, towering mountain, a winding path with no end in sight, and a silent, soundless world. The pressure here did not arise from strength or wisdom, but from within.

The mountain soared into the clouds, seemingly without limit; sheer cliffs flanked her on either side, and a single misstep would send her plunging into the abyss, her body dashed to pieces. The twisting mountain path was rugged and treacherous, often blocked by loose stones. Not a soul lingered nearby—no companion journeyed with her, not even a living creature to prove she existed in a world still alive.

Hardship, loneliness, ceaseless vigilance without a destination in sight—an endless solitude welled up, with no outlet, no words for comfort. She could only endure, letting that loneliness strike her heart again and again, bearing it until she grew accustomed.

At first, Lingyu walked with ease. In full vigor, a mountain path was nothing to a cultivator. But soon enough, she felt the weight—solitude enveloped her, silent and absolute.

The mountains at her side seemed to press down, suffocating her. The abyss below called to her, tempting her to leap and be done with it, promising eternal release.

Was this the true secret of the trial? Lingyu walked on, silently reciting Daoist scriptures in her heart.

Loneliness was no stranger to her. As a child, she would listen, spellbound, to tales of immortals, dreaming she too could command wind and rain. Yet no one understood her. They saw only a child’s naïve fantasies.

Monotony neither troubled her. Back at Baishui Monastery, Master Xuanchenzi’s teachings were strict beyond measure—days and nights of reciting scriptures, rising before dawn, resting late at night. Did she not endure then, pushing through exhaustion, forcing herself onward?

Then at Xuan Yuan Monastery, her path seemed smooth, yet some unseen barrier always loomed, and the way to transcendence remained hidden.

Loneliness, confusion, misunderstanding… Trapped by them, she pressed forward step by step, cultivating the Dao, training with the sword—hesitant, yet determined.

All these hardships—what of them!

She still had a long road ahead, many hurdles to cross, much brilliance yet to experience.

She did not know how long she had walked. Lingyu wiped the sweat from her brow. Still, there was neither sun nor moon, only endless clouds. Though she had walked so far, the path seemed never to shorten—an endless journey.

Now and then, pebbles tumbled down the mountain path, rolling and tumbling until their sound faded to nothing.

This place stood so high—if she were to fall, she would be as those stones, vanishing without even an echo.

Lingyu felt a growing weariness—not of the body, but of the heart, as impatience crept in. She knew she must do something, for no matter how steadfast her will, she would eventually be consumed.

She considered, then simply stopped in her tracks and sat cross-legged upon the path.

Why was it so unbearable? Because she could not see the end, and so monotony and frustration set in. And why the tedium? For lack of things to do, of thoughts to think. In that case, she would give herself something to occupy her mind.

Lingyu took out her celestial tome and turned to the third page. She had practiced the Basic Sword Control Technique for half a year, yet felt she had never exhausted the depths hidden within those thousands of words.

She could already recite it backward, but she still read it carefully once more, then put the book away. As she continued her ascent, she pondered its mysteries, and whenever she hit a difficult point, blue or red sword-light would flicker in her palm, simulating the flow of sword energy.

Unconsciously, she walked much farther. Suddenly, thunder roared across the sky, and rain as large as beans came pelting down.

Lingyu looked up, flicked her sleeve, summoned a protective spiritual light, and continued her climb, still contemplating the sword technique.

“Perhaps here, I could try this…” The red light in her hand faded, blue arose, then shifted into violet—a trinity of colors swirling in endless transformation. Lingyu thought deeply, then rejoiced. “So this is how the three sword energies can be transformed!”

No sooner had she spoken than one of the threads in her spiritual web vibrated violently. Lingyu looked up, startled, to see a deluge of rocks crashing down upon her.

“So this is the real test?” she thought, but her actions were swift. She raced forward; when she could not dodge a falling stone, she struck it with sword-light, shattering it to dust.

There was no time to further study the sword technique. Amid wind, rain, and flying rocks, her attention was utterly focused. The path was treacherous enough for walking, let alone running. Now, with the wild wind and pouring rain, the stone path grew slicker still. Worse, the falling rocks could not be blocked by her meager protective light alone—she had to unleash sword energy again and again to shatter those that threatened her.

She was nearly clear of the danger when the path was suddenly cut off by a chasm.

Now, Lingyu could not stop. Her speed was at its limit; the wind howled, the rain lashed, the rocks plummeted. To halt now risked losing her footing and being swept off the cliff.

In that critical instant, Lingyu reached into her storage pouch, slapped a Swiftstride Talisman onto herself, and her speed surged anew. Like a lightning bolt, she leapt high—

No, her momentum was still too much; she would overshoot. Her eyes flashed. The Kanli Sword became a streak of light, darting from its sheath with a clang, striking sparks from the cliff wall. The rebound gave her just enough force, allowing her to land lightly on the far side.

The sword-light circled back between the cliffs and returned to her hand.

A chasm crossed—a new sky revealed.

Lingyu looked up at the clear, boundless sky, the calm after the storm, and let out a breath.

Sometimes, life is just like this: falling stones above, wild winds around, mud beneath, an abyss ahead, and every path seems cut off. But if you leap with all your strength, crossing that gulf, you find yourself in a world of sunlight and gentle breeze.

Lingyu turned and pressed on. Not far ahead, she stopped in astonishment.

The towering mountain, endless just moments before, had suddenly come to its summit. She had but turned a corner, and the unscalable peak was now effortlessly beneath her feet.

Unbeknownst to her, she had already come so far, climbed so high.

Lingyu stood tall, feeling the biting mountain wind on her face, her hair and clothes billowing together.

“To stand atop the highest summit, and see all mountains beneath one’s feet.” She recalled a line of poetry she had once read. The crushing pressure that bore down on her along the path was now gone; the rolling peaks lay below her, and the once insurmountable mountain now seemed so small.

She could not help but look up at the sky. Was there a place even higher than this? Above the blue heavens, might there be another realm, where this highest peak would seem just as insignificant?

As she gazed skyward, a phantom figure silently appeared nearby, taking on the appearance and attire of Fu Changchun.

“Cheng Lingyu.”

Lingyu started in surprise. The figure was not corporeal; she could see the landscape through its form. How had this been done?

Even as she wondered, she quickly composed herself and saluted, “Senior Fu.”

Fu Changchun’s phantom smiled gently. “Have you gained anything?”

Gained? Lingyu tilted her head, gazing back at the path she’d climbed, at the chasm that had severed her way, recalling all she had experienced, her feelings, her changes.

Loneliness, solitude, no companion; impatience, unease, anxiety at having no destination; monotony, hardship, the difficulty of the climb; bedraggled, unsettled, buffeted by wind and rain; crisis, uncertainty, the tension of dodging falling rocks; the shock when the path was suddenly cut off; and at last, the lightness after leaping forward into clarity.

At this, she smiled and bowed deeply to the phantom. “Thank you, Senior. Even if I gain nothing else from this journey, I will not regret coming.”

Fu Changchun’s smile deepened. “Let me hear it.”

Lingyu steadied herself and spoke slowly. “The path to immortality is steep and hard to climb. At every moment, one stands at the edge of an abyss—one misstep, and you fall, your body destroyed. Without enough courage, you cannot go on. At the same time, the end is never in sight; you never know how long you must walk before reaching your destination. If you cannot master your anxiety, you will only stray further. Moreover, this road is yours alone—no one can help you, and there is no solace for your loneliness. You will face storms, crises, even broken roads and countless unimaginable difficulties. Besides courage and faith, you must have strength and resolve. When the storm comes, withstand it; when crisis strikes, face it; when the path breaks off, summon your courage and leap. Only then can you reach the summit and stand at the highest point.”

Fu Changchun nodded with a smile, but asked again, “And what else?”

“And what else?” Lingyu pondered, then looked up at the sky. After a moment, she murmured, “I wish to go even higher, to feel more storms, to see even more beautiful sights. Above the plains are high mountains, above mountains are perilous peaks, above peaks the blue heavens, and above the heavens? Perhaps there is somewhere higher still.”

“To reach the highest peak, yet wish to go higher—does that not mean the journey never ends?”

Lingyu replied, “If you have not reached the highest, how can you know there is higher? The path to immortality is endless.”

“The abyss can be crossed in a single leap—but how will you cross the blue heavens?”

Lingyu answered without hesitation, “When I reach the blue heavens, I will know how to cross them.”

Fu Changchun asked no more. Smiling, stroking his beard, his phantom scattered like sand, as if he had never appeared. Only a lingering voice remained: “Cheng Lingyu—the Path to Immortality: Excellent.”

As his words faded, the world before Lingyu’s eyes changed. The towering mountains and perilous peaks dissolved into illusion.

When all settled, she found herself standing in a different place.

She looked up, and drew a sharp breath.

She now stood upon an immortal mountain, suffused with spiritual energy, cranes soaring through the air. A lofty mountain gate exuded an otherworldly grace, and above it, three golden characters shone: Taibai Sect.

ps: This chapter is for myself. Lately, troubles have weighed me down, and I nearly lost the courage to continue. But I must believe: after the storm comes the sunshine, beyond the abyss lies the great road—no hardship is insurmountable.