Chapter Five: All Buddhas Are Equal, The Realm of Ultimate Truth

As soon as the elixir entered his abdomen, a surge of vital energy burst forth, flooding his entire being with a gentle warmth. His skin steamed as if he were being boiled alive. Chen Heng felt every aperture and channel in his body loosen and come alive.

Had he been able to look inward at that moment, he would have seen countless red and white filaments weaving through his blood and bones, forming a net that bound the rampaging, dragon-like cold Dou true energy within him. Yet that true energy seemed almost sentient. With a sudden jolt, it broke free of its bonds and fled elsewhere, but the filaments pursued relentlessly, entangling it in ever-tighter coils.

Amid this internal struggle, Chen Heng’s complexion alternated between red and white. His chest convulsed, and suddenly he spat out several mouthfuls of black blood.

“As expected of a great yang medicine… it truly works,” he muttered, not frightened but elated by the sight.

He took another small White Yang Pill from the porcelain bottle, dissolved it in water, and swallowed it before continuing his meditation on the reed mat.

Three days passed in this way.

Within the cave dwelling, Chen Heng, seated in meditation, suddenly opened his eyes. He stretched his limbs and felt as though all lingering ailments had vanished. The stagnant blood and qi within him now flowed with renewed vitality, and with each breath, a profound sense of tranquility settled over his spirit.

The cold Dou true energy inside him was at last firmly bound by the filaments, cocooned like a silkworm, temporarily dormant and no longer stirring.

“With these two bottles of White Yang Pills, I can suppress the cold Dou true energy for at least half a year. In half a year, it will be time to enter the Abyss. If I die, all ends there. But if by chance I survive, I should have found a method to cultivate true energy and reached the stage of energy refinement.”

In this world, the thirty-six grades of true energy are divided into nine tiers, each clearly ranked. Only true energy of the seventh tier and above can form a solid foundation for the path ahead, paving the way for the Golden Core and even the Primordial Spirit.

However, methods that can refine high-tier true energy are exceedingly rare. Not even the Profound Truth Sect possesses any in secret—across the vast southern region of Eastern Mi Prefecture, such arts are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

Such precious methods are recorded only in the greatest immortal or demonic sects and among the ancient families of the mysterious schools, and are never lightly shared.

Someone of Chen Heng’s ordinary—or, more accurately, mediocre—talent would hardly draw the attention of those lofty sects.

Though he longed to cultivate upper-tier true energy, if it ultimately proved unattainable, Chen Heng knew he would have to settle for any energy-refining technique, if only to stay alive and step onto the path of cultivation at last.

Even the lowest three tiers of true energy would have to suffice.

“Still, while superior true energy is crucial, lacking it doesn’t mean one’s path to immortality is forever blocked.

“The classic texts record that Perfected Yan Xi achieved only low-tier true energy, a lower-grade foundation, a meager Purple Mansion vision, and the lowest grade of innate golden mercury—yet he still formed his Golden Core, attained his Primordial Spirit, and at last entered the Return to the Void realm, establishing the ‘Shunlie Azure Cloud Source’ Paradise in the East Sea. Even elders of the Eight Major Sects of the Mystic School sought his friendship.”

Chen Heng swallowed another White Yang Pill and reflected, “Pondering such tales avails nothing. What matters most is to first achieve embryonic breath and sensation of qi, to step onto the immortal path as soon as possible, and thus gain some means of self-preservation.”

Achieving embryonic breath marks the departure from mortal flesh. With a single sweep of the arm, one gains the strength of three horses. Bones and marrow are transformed, the body becomes as hard as metal, and one’s lifespan more than doubles that of a common man—living to a hundred and fifty years before the decline of qi and blood.

In the mortal martial world, this stage is revered as Innate Martial Mastery, the ultimate pinnacle of martial arts. Those who reach this are called Grandmasters.

Such a figure, clad in armor, wielding a sharp blade, mounted on a fine steed and supported by an elite squadron, could, with their incredible might, not only withstand a thousand foes but perhaps even carve a path through ten thousand soldiers, enough to sway the outcome of a battle.

Thus, any Grandmaster willing to serve the court would be lavishly rewarded with fief and title—wealth and honor easily within reach.

Yet, this so-called ultimate stage of mortal martial arts is but the first threshold of the immortal path. Those warriors toil for decades, tempering bone and boiling organs, and only one in ten thousand achieves Innate Mastery—most are left crippled by age and injury.

How could such a path compare to the enlightenment of immortality, where a single awakening brings effortless transformation?

“Mortal martial arts, hmm? I wonder if there are other paths as well…”

Chen Heng set aside such thoughts, took up a newly purchased longsword from the cave wall, and gripped the Golden Cicada in his hand.

The cicada-shaped jade carving glimmered with a faint light, exquisitely crafted—its face, antennae, carapace, and limbs rendered in lifelike detail. Its wings were golden, radiant and resplendent. On its belly, nearly imperceptible, were four tiny characters: “Realm of True Law.”

As Chen Heng focused his mind, his vital energy drained away. His face paled, and in an instant, the Golden Cicada pulled him into a realm of wondrous strangeness.

…

In this place, there was no sky, sun, moon, or stars above; no grass, trees, or earth below. There was no way to distinguish north from south, east from west, nor any sense of its vastness or boundaries.

It seemed one could wander here for lifetimes and never reach its edge.

“Though I understood all its functions the moment I first grasped the Golden Cicada in this world, seeing it with my own eyes is still profoundly astonishing.”

The realm was empty and boundless, as though one were lost in clouds and mist. Chen Heng sat cross-legged at random, laying the sword across his knees, and marveled.

This universe was called the Realm of True Law, possessing two main functions.

First, upon entry, it would generate a heart-reflection—a simulacrum identical to oneself in every respect, including one’s current cultivation and all items carried. Any insight or progress attained by the heart-reflection within the realm would be fully transferred to the true body upon exit.

Most precious of all, even if the heart-reflection died within the realm, the true body would remain unharmed, neither suffering loss of vital energy nor depletion of qi and blood.

Given the rule “one day in the real world equals ten days in the realm,” this meant Chen Heng had ten times the training time of ordinary people—no less than those who dwelled in the great paradises of the immortals.

“If not for the need to expend vital energy to enter the Realm of True Law, and the toll it takes on my body, why would I have waited until now?”

Chen Heng gazed around with great interest. Were it not for the nourishing White Yang Pills and the binding of the cold Dou true energy, he would never have dared to activate the Realm of True Law.

Just days before, without the aid of the elixirs, each time he grasped the Golden Cicada and sought entry, a terror arose in his heart, warning him away.

Only after today’s dose did that dread somewhat fade, though a weariness lingered.

“There are other heart-reflections as well…”

With a slight gesture, three yards before him materialized a Daoist with striking features and a sword on his back. A golden page floated above the Daoist’s head. At Chen Heng’s beckon, the page flew into his own hands.

…