Though worldly tongues assail his name,
His Dao-heart stands beyond their blame.
The Tempest of Public Judgment
The decision to abandon the massive pharmaceutical corporation had been only the beginning. Hoa Long had severed the first chain forged by the Old Forces—the chain of wealth, status, and worldly ambition.
But once one attachment was relinquished, another was exposed. The mortal realm did not fall silent; instead, the storm grew louder.
From the small house he had built after nearly ten years of struggle within the pharmaceutical world, waves of criticism began to spread. His aging mother looked upon him with worry, relatives from both families questioned his judgment, former colleagues stared at him as though he had lost his mind, and even neighbors who knew little of his circumstances felt entitled to offer their opinions.
“After all those years of bitter study and hard work to secure a position envied by thousands, why abandon it for a job that pays so little?”
“How can anyone survive like this? What will you use to support your wife and child?”
The words were ordinary enough, yet beneath them lay the immense pressure of the secular world. Every judgment carried an invisible weight, attempting to pull Hoa Long back toward the values he had spent decades pursuing.
His wife, who had only recently returned with their daughter, was particularly troubled. She did not understand why a man who had finally achieved financial stability would willingly surrender it. She feared for their daughter's future and that the simple life Hoa Long had chosen would eventually become a burden upon the family.
And beneath those fears was something even more difficult for her to express: she was afraid that her husband was becoming a completely different person.
But Hoa Long no longer looked upon these voices with anger. Nearly ten years spent struggling within the commercial world had taught him the true price of worldly success. He knew what it meant to possess wealth and still feel empty, and what it meant to gain status while losing time.
Most importantly, he now understood that a simple life accompanied by righteous thoughts was far more precious than a prosperous life governed by attachment.
His heart gradually became still. The twin mirrored scars upon his cheeks remained cool, as though silently confirming the direction he had chosen.
He would not return.
Stepping Beyond the Mortal Matrix
With his time no longer consumed by the machinery of commercial ambition, Hoa Long began to step more openly into the path of cultivation. Each morning, he went to a quiet suburban park and practiced alongside fellow practitioners.
The surrounding world remained noisy: cars rushed through the streets, people hurried toward work, and businesses opened their doors as the mortal realm continued its endless pursuit of money and desire. Yet within that turbulence, a small sanctuary of tranquility gradually formed.
Hoa Long understood that cultivation was not merely a matter of performing physical exercises. The human realm had been flooded with misunderstanding and defamation. Countless sentient beings had turned away from the Great Fa because they had never been given the opportunity to understand it clearly.
Watching them struggle within the delusions of the Desire Realm, Hoa Long felt a deep compassion arise within his heart. He began to understand that the path before him was not solely for his own spiritual elevation:
❖ He had to preserve the truth he had encountered.
❖ He had to clarify misunderstandings where he could.
❖ He had to allow his conduct itself to become a quiet testimony to the Fa.
Every patient explanation, every forgiving smile, and every refusal to answer hatred with hatred became small acts of protection for the radiance of the Truth.
Yet Hoa Long also knew that his own Dao-heart was far from perfect. The Crucible of Kinship remained before him—his wife, his child, his aging mother, and his relatives. All of them were bonds of love and responsibility, but all could become attachments if he allowed fear to govern his choices.
It was during this period of uncertainty that a mysterious encounter awaited him.
The Silent Messenger
One evening, a faint yellow light flickered from a small teahouse at the corner of a deserted alley. Inside sat a middle-aged man—an elder practitioner from the early days—motionless, like an ancient stone statue.
When Hoa Long entered, the man looked at him quietly.
“Lately, having entered the siege of the secular world, how fares your Dao-heart?”
Hoa Long lowered his head and answered honestly: “Senior, my mind has not yet reached complete stillness. The Crucible of Kinship remains an invisible shackle. It tests my Dao-heart every day.”
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
The senior practitioner smiled with compassion: “Do you know why I always appear at the moments when you are most uncertain?”
Hoa Long remained silent.
The man continued: “When the sister journeyed far to place the True Scripture into your hands, she already knew that this physical body would face an unrelenting siege from the Old Forces. She therefore entrusted you to me, asking me to silently protect you and help preserve the nascent fire of your Dao-heart.”
A tremor passed through Hoa Long's consciousness. For so long, his path had appeared lonely, but now he understood that it had never truly been so. Behind the visible world was a vast web of fated relationships—practitioners who quietly protected him, messengers who carried out their responsibilities without seeking recognition, and behind them all, the silent arrangement of the Fa.
The senior practitioner added: “This is an inevitable process of assimilating with the Fa. Who among us, walking upon this celestial trajectory, has never experienced a moment of confusion? After passing through layer upon layer of tribulation, we eventually understand that the path itself is not flawed—our own Dao-heart simply has not yet become vast and firm enough to contain the Fa.”
The words settled deeply into Hoa Long's heart. Then the senior practitioner reached into the inner pocket of his vest and carefully withdrew a thin package.
“This…” He paused. “…contains the Master’s new Verses.”
The New Verses
The instant the word Master was spoken, something deep within Hoa Long trembled. A surge of profound energy raced through his consciousness as fragments of an ancient cosmic vow seemed to stir within the depths of his primordial spirit.
The senior practitioner placed the package before him:
“These new Verses do not replace The True Sutra of the Great Fa you already possess. They are a lighthouse. They will help reveal the true mission of a disciple of the Fa-Rectification in this age of decay. The True Scripture gave you the opportunity to attain the Fa; these Verses will help you understand the greater cosmic design for which you descended into the human realm.”
Hoa Long reverently received the thin package with both hands, his chest vibrating with emotion. He understood that in this degenerate age, neither mountains of gold nor treasures of jade could purchase such sacred words.
The senior practitioner offered no further explanation. He simply rose and departed into the darkness.
Hoa Long returned home and carefully placed the new package beside the True Scripture. But he did not open it immediately. His Dao-heart was not yet completely still, and he understood that sacred words should not be approached with curiosity alone, but with reverence, humility, and a heart free from worldly agitation.
So he waited. He did not know that this simple act of waiting would soon become another test.
The Voice Beneath the Storm
That night, rain fell steadily upon the roof. Hoa Long sat beside the old wooden tea table, listening to the rhythm of the rain.
Yet rumors had begun to spread more aggressively after his decision to change professions. Some claimed that he had fallen into superstition, others said that he had abandoned his family's future, and still others whispered that he had joined a strange cult.
That night, after their young daughter had fallen peacefully asleep, his wife approached him. There was no anger in her eyes—only exhaustion and anxiety.
“Today at the market, people questioned me again. They asked what kind of work you are doing now. They said terrible things about you.”
She paused, looking toward their sleeping daughter.
“I chose not to answer them. But my love… can our family slow down just a little? I only want a peaceful livelihood for our home. Our daughter is still so young.”
Her words came from love, which was precisely why they struck so deeply. The Old Forces did not need hatred to test a cultivator; sometimes love itself could become the sharpest blade.
For one brief moment, Hoa Long's resolve wavered. A thought appeared within his mind: If I temporarily slow down my cultivation, perhaps the rumors will fade. Perhaps the family will become peaceful again.
The thought sounded reasonable, compassionate, and responsible. But beneath its apparent kindness was fear—fear of losing his family's security, fear of causing his wife pain, and fear of standing alone.
And the instant that thought took shape, the twin scars upon his cheeks suddenly burned.
The Warning of the Dao-Heart
A searing heat spread across his face, and Hoa Long's consciousness jolted awake. He understood: the most dangerous temptations were not always those that appeared evil, but those that appeared as perfectly reasonable compromises.
He looked toward his wife. She was not his enemy, but a mortal being struggling to protect the family she loved. The true battle was not against her, but against the fear and attachment within his own heart.
Hoa Long quietly opened The True Sutra of the Great Fa. He read a short passage and closed the book. Silence returned to the room.
Gradually, a deeper realization emerged within his consciousness:
❖ If he merely endured everything without cultivating his heart, his spirit would eventually wither.
❖ If he responded only with kindness while abandoning righteous principles, the secular currents would sweep him away.
❖ If he remained silent out of fear, others would define his path for him.
He needed something greater than endurance, greater than ordinary kindness, and greater than silence. He needed a righteous heart capable of containing the Fa while remaining compassionate toward those who did not yet understand it.
Hoa Long's gaze slowly turned toward the secure cabinet where the thin package of the Master’s new Verses lay. He did not open it yet, for his heart was still undergoing its final purification. Yet he could already sense that something immense had begun to emerge:
His suffering had never been merely about suffering. His family had never been merely a source of attachment. The trials themselves were shaping him for a responsibility far greater than his mortal life.
Outside, the rain continued to fall. Inside, the Dao-heart stood firm.
The storm of public judgment had not ended, and the Crucible of Kinship was still underway. But Hoa Long was no longer standing before them as the same man who had once entered the mortal realm.
He had begun to understand the celestial design. And somewhere beyond the veil of the visible world, the wheels of a greater destiny had already begun to turn.
CANTO 53 — THE CELESTIAL MISSION
Though worldly tongues assail his name,
His Dao-heart stands beyond their blame.
The Master’s Verses light the hidden way,
Revealing why he came to earth one day.
A wife’s soft plea makes his resolve incline,
Yet righteous thoughts restore the sacred line.
No longer seeking liberation alone,
He bears a cosmic mission yet unknown.