Chapter 4: The Past

Somewhere in the rural regions of Henan, there was a village of about a hundred households. Like many of its neighbors, this was a settlement of a large clan, its center marked by the ancestral shrine and a sacred tree, with family houses radiating outward from there.

The elders of the village gathered beneath the sacred tree, chatting as clusters of children played around them. If there was anything that set this village apart from others, it was surely the children themselves: curiously, every single child in the village was a boy.

Such a phenomenon was deeply strange. To outsiders, it might seem that the villagers practiced infanticide against their daughters. Yet, if you observed from outside the village, you would sense an atmosphere of honest calm, with no trace of malice or lingering resentment. Instead, the place radiated sincerity and wholesome family values.

Standing at the edge of the village, Wang Liang recalled the words of his steward, Little Lan. Little Lan had already inquired with some of the local spirits and learned that this place was called Dong Family Village. All the residents here bore the surname Dong, having migrated from Stone Bamboo Mountain three centuries ago, and were well-known in the area.

But their fame did not rest on honesty or tradition—it was the fact that their family only ever produced sons. At first, people suspected them of killing their daughters, but as time passed, it became clear their fortune was real: for three hundred years, not a single girl had been born here. It had become a local legend.

Wang Liang had heard of such a village in his dreams, but as an interviewer at the time, he had never visited it himself and did not know its exact location. That was why he had asked Little Lan to seek out the old spirits and ask around.

As he approached the village entrance, Wang Liang saw the villagers returning from the fields. When they noticed him, they nodded in greeting, each face beaming with cheerful smiles.

A man in his forties addressed Wang Liang directly, "Young man, where do you come from?"

Wang Liang had just dismounted his blue horse and replied politely, "May I ask, are you the main branch of the Dong family that moved here from Stone Bamboo Mountain, the one beneath Eagle's Beak Rock?"

Hearing this, the man’s expression grew solemn as he studied Wang Liang. "Yes, that’s us. And you are?"

Wang Liang explained, "I wonder if your family still remembers this blessing: 'May your descendants thrive, your incense burn for ten thousand generations, your line flourish, and every marriage bring forth sons.'"

"Indeed, yes! How do you know that? Are you a descendant of that immortal? Of course, the immortal buried his mother near our home, and for generations we’ve tended her grave," the man replied with surprise.

Wang Liang shook his head. "No, I’m not his descendant. I’ve just come to ask about something. Do you know if, about a hundred and fifty years after that event, someone—well, I don’t know quite how to describe him—came to your village, laughed three times, then wept three times, and finally died?"

The man hesitated. "I really don’t know about that. Tell you what, young man, let me take you to the clan chief. He’s sure to know more."

Wang Liang thanked him courteously and followed the man into the village.

As they walked, the elders chatting beneath the sacred tree noticed Wang Liang and his blue horse. The villagers were curious—after all, the horse looked almost otherworldly, its spirited presence nearly overshadowing Wang Liang himself. Yet Wang Liang paid this no mind, intent only on seeking the answers he needed.

The middle-aged man did not know the story, but the elders, keepers of family lore passed down in bedtime tales, certainly did. After a few words from the man, a well-fed elder rose, his cloudy eyes turning thoughtfully.

"There really was such an event," the elder said at last. "Over the years, our family has always cared for the poor and buried the unclaimed bones. Behind our village, in the nameless graves, who knows how many lost souls lie buried? Normally, we would have forgotten such things, but that man’s death was most peculiar. Like you, he asked many questions—about treasures beneath Eagle’s Beak Rock, about that old blessing. You… you’re not here to…"

The elder stared at Wang Liang, fearful that he too would laugh three times, weep three times, and die as the stranger had.

But Wang Liang did nothing of the sort. Instead, he asked, "When your family moved here, did you bring their remains with you?"

"How could we? When we settled here, we didn’t even move our ancestors’ graves, let alone those of strangers. But in the ancestral shrine, we left a spirit tablet for them, and we offer incense every year."

"Could you let me see it?"

Most families would have refused such a request, but the Dong family prided themselves on their good character. Once Wang Liang asked, they led him straight to the ancestral shrine.

Just as the elder had described, besides the tablets of the Dong ancestors, a separate altar stood in a corner, bearing the inscription "Grave of the Nameless."

Standing there, Wang Liang felt his spirit reaching across centuries. Calmly, he spoke:

"I know where you died, though I don’t know what you left behind. I have come only to tell you—we succeeded. I did not, as my uncle said, need to pass through nine lives before I could begin my cultivation. I have already set foot on the path, and in a way none of us imagined. Believe me, in the end I will become immortal. The contest between us and Li Xuan has only just begun."

As he finished, Wang Liang felt a sudden release, as if a shackle on his soul had been lifted. At the same time, a flood of insights filled his mind—revelations about the Supreme Path, some never recorded in any book, as if spoken by an ancient sage whose face he could not see. Yet he knew instinctively that every word was true, each phrase a key to the great Way.

These insights vanished as swiftly as they had come.

A clear chime sounded in his ear, and before him appeared a message:

[Your primary cultivation technique, the Supreme Mystery Scripture, has reached Master Level 4. You may now begin to form your own Immortal Golden Core. Would you like to begin?]

[Note: Upon reaching Master Level 4 in the Supreme Mystery Scripture, new branching enhancements are available. Please select your preferred path…]

[A: Untouched by All Dharmas…]