The Journey Back to Van Lac
Clutching the True Sutra to his chest, Giang Long turned decisively toward the distant Van Lac range.
The return journey across ten thousand miles was a ruthless ordeal for his mortal frame. After days of trekking through forests and crossing mountain streams, his meager provisions were exhausted. His cloth shoes were tattered, exposing bloodied toes. Hunger and thirst clawed at his vitals, making each step heavy. Though his will remained steadfast, his flesh-and-blood body had reached the limit of endurance.
At the edge of a remote hamlet, Giang Long spotted a dilapidated teahouse by the dirt road. The aroma of roasted sweet potatoes drifted on the wind, awakening his exhausted senses.
He entered the shop, choosing a bamboo chair in a dark corner, placing the satchel containing the True Sutra before him. Reaching into his pocket, he placed his last copper coins upon the stained table: “Elder, please give me a bowl of green tea and two roasted sweet potatoes.”
The shopkeeper was an elderly woman with a kindly face etched with deep wrinkles. Seeing his exhausted appearance, she asked few questions, silently bringing out a bowl of tea and several fragrant roasted potatoes oozing golden honey.
Giang Long raised the earthenware bowl with both hands. Warmth seeped into fingers trembling from cold and hunger. He took a small sip. The tea leaves carried a bitter astringency that gave way to a refreshing sweetness, soothing his parched throat. He broke a potato in half, the steam carrying the sweet earthiness of his homeland. As each warm morsel entered his stomach, vitality slowly returned to his frame.
In his ears, the voices of porters and travelers buzzed with talk of injustice and deception in the city. Giang Long spoke not a word; he ate slowly, using one hand to gently shield the satchel beside him.
Within his robe, the Jade of Celestial Whispers radiated a gentle warmth that merged with the green tea flowing through his meridians, dispelling his exhaustion. Finishing his meal, Giang Long bowed to the shopkeeper before stepping back onto the dusty road. Ahead, Mount Van Lac appeared faintly through the mist, where his thatched home and his grandmother awaited the Light of Truth.
Purification of the Body
The silhouette of his simple thatched hut finally appeared by the dry stream. Seeing his grandmother leaning against the door in anticipation, his heart found its most peaceful harbor. Mount Van Lac remained majestic, but in the enlightened eyes of the returnee, all things bore a completely new significance.
Beneath the thatch roof, lit by a dim oil lamp, Giang Long reverently presented the scripture and recounted his miraculous journey: the treacherous cliffs, the abyss with the vision of the bridge of light, the five-colored gate, and the sacred moment of receiving the True Sutra amidst the red dust.
His grandmother listened in silence, tears of gratitude rolling down her wrinkled cheeks: “Perhaps... this is the magnificent path that our ancestors had sought for countless ages.”
From that day forward, the two entered the journey of true cultivation according to the True Sutra. Every dawn, as mist swirled around the old bamboo grove, they sat together in the full-lotus position in absolute stillness. Dew settled upon their robes as their souls merged with the heartbeat of the cosmos. No miraculous elixirs were needed—only the scripture radiating warmth, rhythmic breathing, and undying faith.
Miraculously, the karmic illnesses that had plagued his grandmother for years vanished like morning mist. Her back grew straighter, her footsteps light, and her eyes clear and bright, as if awakening from a long slumber.
Giang Long felt his body grow light as mist, his meridians clear, and his mind extraordinarily lucid, as if layers of mortal dust were being washed away from every level of his existence.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The Will Forged in the Furnace
But true cultivation has never consisted solely of peace. As their gong-fu deepened, the dense black karma accumulated over unnumbered lifetimes began to be pressed outward for purification.
During meditation, their entire bodies ached violently as if ten thousand needles were piercing every fiber of their flesh, their bones feeling as heavy as Mount Tai. Their breath came in gasps, and cold sweat poured like rain. In those moments of ultimate trial, had even a single thought of abandonment flickered, had they but lowered their legs, all physical agony would have ceased instantly.
Yet, beneath the tattered thatch roof, no one wavered. Giang Long kept engraved in his heart the principles of the True Sutra: “Hardship is a good thing; it is for eliminating karma and sublimating life.”
At times, venomous insects crawled upon their bodies, biting with a burning itch that reached the marrow. Yet they remained as stone statues beneath the sky. At night, dark images of the past and hateful voices attempted to sway his Dao-heart. Giang Long felt neither fear nor a need to drive them away; he silently maintained his Righteous Thoughts, guarding his heart. The light from the True Sutra clutched to his chest acted like a warm stream, washing away all darkness from his consciousness.
The Trial of Lust and Contention
One day, while in deep samadhi, extraordinarily beautiful celestial maidens appeared before Giang Long’s mind, dressed in radiant silks, performing dances that enchanted the heart.
In that mystical moment, a subtle hesitation crept into his youthful mind: “I practice the Righteous Fa... could these be Gods of the upper realms descending to reward my devotion?”
The moment his intent wavered, the vision turned sinister. The celestial silks thinned into translucent veils as the figures swarmed around him, their soft hands pressing against his shoulders and whispers flooding his senses to paralyze his willpower. The illusion pulled at his mortal desires, attempting to drag his soul into an abyss of sensory indulgence.
A sharp jolt of awareness struck his consciousness. Recognizing the illusion as an invasion of evil intent, Giang Long formed the hand seal for purification. Mobilizing his entire willpower, treating his Righteous Thoughts as an uncompromising blade, he shouted in his mind:
“A righteous heart remains unmoved; evil dissolves of itself. I bear a primordial vow; why should I immerse myself in the realm of mortal illusions!”
SHATTER!
The vision fractured into dust. Though the battle lasted only an instant, cold sweat drenched his forehead. He had just passed through a ruthless gate of life and death—the trial of Lust.
The Beginning of the Mortal Mission
News of the grandmother and grandson practicing the Great Fa spread throughout Van Lac village. Some came out of curiosity, others out of sincere reverence. But there were also those burdened by petty jealousy. A few who claimed to be martial artists, driven by a competitive heart, came to their home demanding a contest of Dao-methods.
Giang Long’s inner pride flared for a second, a fleeting urge arising to unleash the emerald energy of the jade to prove the supremacy of the Righteous Fa. But he quelled the impulse instantly, recalling the guidance of the scripture: “Cultivation is for letting go of the heart of contention. To want to win over others is to have already lost to oneself.”
He shook his head silently in refusal. He neither argued nor displayed divine powers, maintaining a mind as serene as an autumn lake. This motionlessness created an invisible pressure, causing the challengers' arrogance to melt away into shame; in the end, they bowed their heads and departed in silence.
Through persistent endurance, their levels sublimated daily. In samadhi, their energy field circulated from a warm crimson radiance to noble violet hues, before dissolving into crystalline clarity. Giang Long understood that such rapid sublimation was an omen of a heavy responsibility soon to be borne for the sake of all creation.
This small light in the countryside was the initial spark. Out there, amidst the bustling prosperity and demonic vortices of power, trials of cosmic proportions awaited the youth bearing the primordial vow to decide the future of the human realm.
CANTO XXX: TRIBULATIONS AND THE LIGHT
Beneath the thatch roof, the light shines clear,
The True Sutra guides, as karma starts to disappear.
Through pain, through trials, through desire's gate,
The will remains firm, defying human fate.
Not seeking for fame, with a heart like a stone,
Two sacred lamps shine, where peace is now known.
Sublimating through hardship, celestial gates rise,
The mission to save, beneath the grand skies.