Chapter 242: The Heavens Move Vigorously

After returning to Xiangshan Academy, Mu Feng looked up at the sky. Instead of cultivating, he continued to grind ink and repeatedly wrote three characters on blank sheets of paper. One character was ‘Calm,’ another was ‘Slay,’ and the last one was ‘Zen.’

When writing the character ‘Calm,’ he focused his mind without distractions, imagining himself in an endless bamboo forest. The sound of rustling bamboo surrounded him as he quietly read and wrote alone.

Stretching all around were continuous bamboo groves, and before him lay a crystal-clear lake. Above, a waterfall cascaded down, bringing cool mountain spring water. Splashes of water fell on him, seeping into his heart. From the inside out, he felt unstained, pure and untainted by worldly filth, far away from earthly distractions and sins.

When writing the character ‘Slay,’ his posture was erect, with only his wrist moving. His brush moved as if guided by divine force, the strokes flowing freely and vigorously. He imagined himself on an endless battlefield, littered with corpses and rivers of blood, the sounds of killing and warfare unceasing. The Ancestral Sorcerer’s Essence Blood within him naturally stirred, sending waves of scorching heat through his veins, his blood and energy churning. He stood high on a chariot, looking down coldly upon the entire battlefield, holding the reins with one hand and a long halberd with the other, charging forward to crush the dark, swarming enemy forces.

As soon as the character ‘Slay’ was completed, he began writing ‘Zen,’ and his aura transformed once again. It was like an old monk entering deep meditation, severing one thought after another, his heart free of attachments. He imagined himself alone, quietly practicing Zen. A simple thatched hut, a dim oil lamp, a worn-out meditation cushion, and an ordinary Wooden Fish. Beyond these, inside and out, there was nothing else!

Calm, Slay, Zen!

Mu Feng did not deliberately cultivate or seek enlightenment. He simply wrote over and over again. Naturally, the Visualization Great Art taught by the Ghost Mother surfaced in his mind.

Slowly, as time passed, a single thought became an entire world.

The imagined scenes grew more and more vivid, as if he were truly there, experiencing it all. He envisioned the ghost gate swinging open, demons dancing wildly, while around him appeared wisps of Yin Wind, faint cries of wandering spirits echoing. It seemed as though countless ghosts who had not entered Samsara swarmed toward him, stretching out their eerie, bony claws.

“To cultivate, to cultivate… Could it be that cultivating the heart means cultivating each thought? When the heart stirs, thoughts arise; when the heart is calm, thoughts cease. When thoughts flow freely, is that what is called Return to Innocence?”

Mu Feng quietly pondered as he wrote.

In his contemplation, he reflected on his own cultivation and consolidated his current realm. It wasn’t until the rooster crowed that he noticed a strip of fish-belly white had appeared on the horizon.

“Today, should I sit in on various classes, or…”

Mu Feng hesitated briefly, then scooped cold water to wash his face and strode away. He passed by bright, clean-windowed classrooms without entering, heading down the mountain instead.

Upon reaching Jiangling Prefecture, there was one matter he had been unable to forget. As he walked, he retrieved a Protective Talisman from the Breeze Ring, sighed after a glance, and remembered the escort He Wu, whom he had met at Qingshan Pass on the way to the Poison Sect, and the final request He Wu had made.

Though the sky was just beginning to brighten, many students were already up and studying. Some held books and read silently, some practiced swordplay in the woods by the path, and others spread out large sheets of white paper, using the academy as a backdrop to create ink-wash landscape paintings.

“An academy with such a long history truly has a different academic atmosphere!”

Mu Feng looked around as he walked, nodding inwardly after viewing the works of several students.

Some learn the Way earlier, others specialize in different arts. Some students might be unremarkable in appearance, or their handwriting might not be impressive, but they painted exquisitely. From grand, majestic palaces to tiny branches, everything was depicted vividly, every blade of grass and tree leaping off the paper. As he walked, he turned past a grove of maple trees and unintentionally spotted an old man in a blue robe practicing calligraphy by the roadside. After one look, he instinctively stopped.

“Heaven’s movement is ever vigorous, so the nobleman strengthens himself without cease; Earth’s condition is receptive and devoted, so the nobleman carries the outer world with a virtue broad and firm…”

Mu Feng stopped to watch, reading the words softly.

This ancient sage’s teaching was not unfamiliar to him, but what truly astonished him was the calligraphy itself. Each horizontal and vertical stroke, each slant and press, flowed freely and naturally. At first glance, it seemed somewhat hasty, but upon closer inspection, the characters appeared graceful and unconstrained, as if each held a hidden spirit within.

The ancients often said, “Characters are dead, but people are alive.” Yet, the characters written by this old man seemed alive as well.

“Young man, do you understand this ancient sage’s teaching?” The old man, who had been writing with his head down, suddenly looked up.

He was not tall, his beard was white, and despite his advanced age, he stood straight. More remarkably, his face showed almost no wrinkles, his skin as smooth and fair as a baby’s—white-haired yet youthful in appearance. It was none other than Qi Guoyuan, one of the five senior leaders of the academy responsible for his evaluation, a master calligrapher of his generation.

Within him, no surge of power could be sensed, yet he faintly gave the impression of someone who had achieved Flesh Body Sanctification, his demeanor extraordinary.

“Student Mu Feng pays respects to Master Guoyuan!”

Mu Feng bowed in salute, then raised his head and looked at the elegant characters on the paper. Without false modesty, he said, “The general meaning of this ancient sage’s teaching is that the changes of heaven are strong and powerful, so a true nobleman must be resolute and strive tirelessly. No matter how great the setbacks in life, one must persevere unyieldingly. The earth is thick and yielding, so we should broaden our capacity to embrace all things. We must treat everyone equally, avoid stubbornness, and practice patience and tolerance!”

“Good, very good!”

The old man nodded, then paused. He looked Mu Feng up and down before continuing, “Then, young man, have you achieved this?”

“No!”

Mu Feng answered truthfully, somewhat ashamed.

Strengthening oneself without cease is easy, but to achieve the virtue of embracing all things—how difficult that is!

Over the centuries, countless people have read this sage’s teaching and understood its meaning. Yet, very few have truly practiced it. Some appear righteous, always quoting ancient sages and acting dignified in public, but behind the scenes, they engage in unspeakable, dirty deeds.

“Good, very good!”

The old man nodded, then did not look at Mu Feng again, burying himself in his calligraphy practice.

“Master Guoyuan, may I ask which classroom you usually teach in?” Mu Feng bowed again.

After seeing the old man’s brushwork, he finally understood what it meant that there is always a higher sky and a better man. In Jianning City, his own calligraphy was among the best, but compared to this old man, he still fell far short. He could write the same sage’s teaching with strength and grandeur, but he could not imbue it with the same spirit as the old man.

“Young Master Mu, I have seen your handwriting. I dare not claim any qualification to instruct you. If you are truly interested in calligraphy, then go find someone else! My attainments in calligraphy are less than one percent of his.” The old man understood Mu Feng’s intent and politely declined.

“Who?” Mu Feng was somewhat surprised.

The old man, known as Master Guoyuan, had calligraphy skills that left others in the dust. To be a hundred times more profound than him—what kind of master would that be?

“Ye Beigong!”

The old man did not look up, enunciating each word clearly, then said no more, concentrating on his practice.

The current Academy Lord of Xiangshan Academy, the teacher of Tuoba Tiandu, who was known as the First Senior Brother of the Tuoba Clan?

Mu Feng’s heart shook. He had long heard that Academy Lord Ye Beigong was versed in all arts—zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Now that even the accomplished Master Qi Guoyuan spoke of him this way, he had no further doubts. His curiosity about the Academy Lord, who had never shown himself, grew stronger. What kind of peerlessly magnificent personage could he be?