The next morning, Chún rose before the Golden Crow stirred, lifting himself from the thin cotton pad in the loft of the abandoned barn where he was grudgingly allowed to sleep. The air was cool, carrying the dry scent of old straw and timber.
He had told the villagers he did chores for that he would be travelling—"to broaden his horizons," as he had phrased it—so there was no reason to linger until they began to wake. Better to be gone before first light reached the peaks.
With the ease of long practice, he bundled the sleeping pad and his two changes of castoff clothing into a tight roll and hung it on his herding staff—walking staff, now.
Carefully descending the old ladder, Chún moved around the barn to gather his few remaining possessions into a worn sack: a fire starter, some hand-woven rope, and other meagre odds and ends collected over a childhood lived on the margins.
Lastly, he took up the still-full skin of watered wine from the day before, and two small, withered apples the goose keeper had given him as payment for yesterday's herding—secured, naturally, before he had mentioned he was leaving. He hung the wine at his right hip, and tucked the apples into the pouch on his left, alongside a few scavenged copper coins: the sum total of his worldly wealth.
He yawned and stretched, working the last of sleep from his limbs, then adjusted his clothing to smooth away the worst of the wrinkles. Crouching, he tied off the sack and slung it across his chest, the weight settling familiarly against his back. Straightening, he took up his staff and stepped out into the quiet predawn.
The barn stood on the village's fringe, and Chún set out directly toward the mountain. A glance at the stars confirmed he had perhaps one kè before the Golden Crow rose. If he hurried, he could detour to the nearby waterfall—there would be just enough time to bathe and scrub his spare clothes before continuing on to the patch of Thousand Year grass.
---
By the time he reached the pasture, the sky had begun to pale beneath the Golden Crow's nest, the last stars fading into Crow-rise. Birds were beginning their morning calls, their voices rising in layered greeting as the world stirred.
After a brief glance around, confirming no one was nearby, Chún returned to the boulder from the previous day. He unrolled his bedding and spread his freshly washed clothes across the stone, positioning them where the first light would fall.
Settling himself against the cool rock, he drew out one of the apples and closed his eyes, breathing in the quiet of the mountain.
He was free.
The thought came not as excitement, but as a slow, steady release—
—like a knot finally loosening after years of strain. It felt as though a weight of a thousand catties had been lifted from his back.
Whatever lay ahead… he would not go back.
He bit into the apple, chewing slowly, savouring its sharp sweetness.
Remembering Yijing's words from the day before, he gently pushed his Essence outward, seeking the rhythm of the mountain.
This time, it came faintly.
Where yesterday there had been clarity, now there were only echoes—distant chimes, low drums, something like a horn carried on the wind. Beneath that were stranger sensations, difficult to name—half-formed impressions, as though the mountain spoke in a language just beyond his understanding.
Then—
The Golden Crow crested the horizon.
The entire mountain rang.
Not in sound alone, but in Essence—a vast, resonant pulse that swept through everything at once.
Chún's breath caught as a flood of fire-natured energy surged into the mountain. The land drank deeply, colours shifting through jade, cerulean, and pale white as everything alive absorbed the incoming force.
His own body ignited in response.
Power flooded through him—stronger than the ignition wave of the day before, yet astonishingly gentle. It sank into his bones, into his marrow, leaving him trembling with vitality.
The mountain deepened in colour, almost black-green, as every living thing brightened.
Then—
Release.
A blinding cascade as the mountain, the trees, the beasts—everything—expelled their excess.
Waves of Essence burst outward in overlapping layers, washing through the world.
It lasted no more than a breath—yet felt far longer.
Chún gasped as his senses snapped back, his Essence collapsing inward. His body felt… wrong. As though he had been rebuilt and trampled all at once.
Behind him came the familiar voice of Yijing, touched with a thread of quiet amusement.
"If you are not expecting it, Chún-xiǎo, Crow-rise can be a touch bracing…"
---
"Teacher—" Chún gasped, trying to get to his feet, but only managing to topple awkwardly onto his side. His body did not seem to be responding properly to his wishes and he flailed briefly in confusion.
"Stop. Breathe slowly, calmly, and relax," Yijing instructed. "Your body just underwent an extreme amount of refinement, while participating in a very large exchange of energy and Essence within the span of a few breaths. It needs time to adjust."
Chún ceased struggling and turned his attention to his breathing. Slowly, control returned to his limbs. He pushed himself upright onto the boulder beside his teacher, first gingerly, then more confidently as his body responded.
"Does that happen every Crow-rise, Teacher?" he asked after a few breaths.
"The world's energy and Essence, with a few exceptions, begins with the rising of the Golden Crow," Yijing said, gesturing slowly around them. "All living things—including ourselves—take that energy in. They absorb it, and it fuels life, which itself is a concept of Dao. And the expression of Dao is what creates Essence from all things—Essence is the energy created from the forming of Dao, released back into the world."
"I thought Dao was a grand mystery?" Chún asked. "At least that is what the village storyteller says."
Yijing nodded. "Most people believe that. But Dao simply is. And for anything to be, it must also have Dao."
"So everything has Dao? Even the grass?" Chún asked slowly. "And when we gave it more energy, it was able to change its Dao to Thousand Year grass?"
"It did not change its Dao, Student," Yijing corrected patiently. "It is, after all, still grass. It simply broke through to a higher level of Dao. And comprehension of Dao is the act of creation, which releases extra energy and Essence—so after, there is more than before."
Chún fell quiet, listening to the birds and the faint sound of water in the distance as he thought through what his teacher had said.
"If we are all living beings, Teacher… then we all have Dao? So that includes people?"
"Yes, Student. But unlike you and I, most will never naturally accumulate enough energy to allow their Dao to grow. The same is true for animals—most will never become Essence beasts. There are always exceptions—a person or animal exposed to so much Essence that their Dao spontaneously matures. They begin to generate more themselves and comprehend Dao—but that is very rare."
Yijing paused and took a drink from his gourd, tilting it back before letting out a quiet breath.
"It has been a long time since I spoke so much," he said.
He replaced the stopper, then continued.
"Less rare, but still something not seen in a thousand million people, is the one who comprehends and ignites the natural growth of their Dao through contemplation or enlightenment. They grow their Dao without relying on artificial means. These may be considered True Cultivators."
"From those people or beasts who encountered fortune, enlightenment—or were born close to Dao—their descendants arise," Yijing continued, waving a hand loosely. "If a True Cultivator has children, those children will naturally be closer to their Dao. They still must comprehend it—but the potential is there from birth."
He rolled his eyes, voice turning airy and dismissive.
"Thus you hear of all manner of 'Heaven's Fortunes'—Perfect Yang bodies, Perfect Yin bodies…" He flicked his fingers as though swatting flies. "Body of the Extra Excellent Kicking Donkey… and so on."
He glanced sideways at Chún.
"Do you understand, Student?"
Chún failed to restrain himself—he let out a short laugh, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.
"I have never heard anyone speak so… disrespectfully about Cultivators—" he caught himself, "—Consumers, I mean, Teacher."
"Trust me," Yijing replied dryly, waving a hand as though brushing away an annoyance, "once you meet a few, you will understand. Everything they do is built around artificially creating a Dao within their bodies using so-called 'cultivation techniques,' completely disconnected from the Dao around them. It twists their minds. Every one of them greedy for more resources, happy to step over anybody else to obtain them. The only reason we are not completely overrun is that they spend so much time killing each other."
He sighed, and something in his posture seemed to fold inward. For a moment, he looked far older than before.
"The worst part," he continued more quietly, "is that most of the time the Dao they practise is not even the one their body is born with. That is why you hear of them crippling themselves, going mad, dying, or struggling endlessly to 'break through.' And the ones who succeed…" He let out a humourless breath. "They are worse. They rebuild themselves around flawed Dao—so of course they themselves become flawed, in mind and spirit—and never realise it."
Chún watched him in silence. There was a weight behind those words, something hollow and worn that made his chest tighten. He wondered how many people Yijing had seen walk that path… and how many he had failed to save.
Yijing's gaze drifted toward the Golden Crow, unfocused. For a time, it seemed as though he no longer saw Chún at all.
---
Chún did not interrupt.
The silence stretched, unforced.
He remained where he was, letting the moment settle rather than rushing to fill it. The morning air brushed cool against his skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and flowing water. Birds called softly from the trees, insects hummed through the grass, and beneath it all he felt the faint, steady presence of the Mountain—quiet, content, a gentle hum of awareness that eased something inside him.
Only when that stillness had fully settled did his Essence begin to move.
It slipped outward without conscious effort, more easily than before. Colours bloomed across his perception as the currents of Dao revealed themselves—threads of energy woven through everything around him. He could sense his own body drawing Essence inward, refining it, then releasing it again in slow, gentle pulses.
Each ripple spread outward through the world.
"Life gives, life takesAll is oneAll is Dao."
As he sang, the ripples strengthened.
The plants in the pasture stirred in response, their colours brightening and shifting in time with his voice. Some trembled faintly, releasing their own Essence in return. Motes drifted upward like sparks from a fire, while threads of colour passed between stone, water, soil, and leaf—each exchange subtle, but unmistakable.
"Water runs swift;Earth is strength,Reborn in Fire;Air is life.Dao is all—All is one."
The entire meadow seemed to breathe with him—waves of Essence rising and falling in quiet harmony, each lifeform responding in turn.
Through it all, Yijing stood like a blazing fire.
In Chún's perception, his teacher was a fountain of power, Essence pouring outward in an endless stream, barely any flowing inward at all. Wherever he stood, the world itself seemed to deepen, the surrounding Dao growing richer and more complex.
Strange curls of Essence moved around him—patterns that almost resembled characters or interlocking structures. For a fleeting moment, Chún was reminded of the diagram he had glimpsed when the Thousand Year Grass had ignited its Dao.
---
"Well done, Student."
Chún opened his eyes.
"It is unfocused and weak," Yijing continued, though there was approval in his tone, "but you are channelling Essence to strengthen the world around you. The singing helps direct it. It is your Dao—so you should continue to develop it."
Chún withdrew his senses and turned toward him. "Your Essence flows outward without ceasing, Teacher."
"If you survive long enough," Yijing replied, "yours will as well. You will create more than you receive—like those World-level existences I mentioned—but without needing to consume more than you produce."
Chún hesitated, then asked, "Teacher… you said all Consumers use flawed techniques. Surely some techniques must match a person's Dao? Would that not help them comprehend it more quickly?"
Yijing smiled faintly. "I am glad you are thinking about what I teach rather than simply accepting it."
He raised his hand, curling down one finger.
"Firstly, almost no Consumer understands Dao as something within themselves. They believe it is something to be reached through cultivation techniques—artificially constructing fragments of Dao within their bodies. If they are fortunate, their true Dao accepts those fragments and adapts. If not…" He curled a second finger.
"Secondly, even those who grasp the concept in part approach it through family traditions. A clan passes down a technique—something like the 'Three-Faced Donkey Fart Technique'—and because their ancestors used it successfully, they assume it must suit everyone in that lineage."
He snorted.
"It may match in part—but never perfectly. So they progress quickly when young, then stagnate. You will find many such cultivators trapped in the middle levels, unable to advance no matter how many so-called Heaven-defying resources they consume."
His hand closed into a fist.
"Finally—and this is the greatest problem—ALL Consumer techniques are incomplete."
Chún blinked. "How can that be? Surely they would realise…"
Yijing let out a short, ironic laugh. "Oh, they do. They say a cultivator must comprehend their own techniques to truly advance. But they fail to see the flaw in that thinking."
He tapped his staff lightly against the ground, the chimes ringing softly.
"The source of all cultivation is Dao, yes?"
Chún nodded slowly. "Yes…"
"And can you fully understand Dao? Even your own?"
Chún hesitated. "No… one can only become part of it…"
"Exactly," Yijing said. "A technique is an attempt to describe Dao. But Dao cannot be fully described. Therefore, every technique is incomplete—flawed from its foundation."
He gestured with his staff.
"It is like writing a description of the world on a scroll and expecting the scroll to be the world itself."
Chún slumped slightly. "Then… you cannot teach me any techniques to survive?"
"They would be useless to you if I did."
Yijing poked him lightly in the chest with the tip of his staff.
"Your Dao is here. Listen to it, and it will show you what it needs."
The staff struck the ground with a resonant thump, sending a nearby flock of birds scattering into the air.
"This is what separates True Cultivators from Consumers. We strengthen the Dao within and around us—and it strengthens us in return. Consumers force their bodies to follow flawed Dao, using stolen Essence to reshape themselves. They are not connected to the world—and when that power is gone, so are they."
Chún rubbed his chest, frowning. "But Essence Beasts do not use techniques…"
He paused, then nodded slowly. "They follow their instincts… so they cultivate naturally?"
Yijing nodded approvingly. "Good. That is why Essence Beasts themselves become valuable resources. Humans must reach a point where they generate more Essence than they consume before they become the same."
He took another long drink from his gourd, then passed it to Chún before continuing.
"There is another exception. Occasionally, a Consumer without access to techniques or resources is forced to follow their instincts. They comprehend their Dao through necessity—through hardship or fortunate encounters."
A faint smirk crossed his face.
"Those are the ones who drive the established sects mad—so-called 'trash' who outperform them at every turn. If they survive, they often approach True Cultivation quickly, returning what they have taken to the world—and adding to it."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Can you think why?"
Chún nodded. "Because they follow their own Dao—even unknowingly. Their path aligns more closely. And if they follow Dao… then the Heavens favour them."
Yijing's eyes gleamed. "Precisely. As far as we have observed, that is the case. Which is why you must always follow Dao—and never seek shortcuts." The old man took another long drink from his flask, then passed it to Chún. Chún took a drink of his own as his teacher resumed speaking.
"Student, there are still quite a few things I must teach you before I leave, so do not worry. You may not learn the 'Three Headed Donkey Fart Technique' from me—but I am still qualified to be your teacher."
Yijing hopped lightly off the boulder and gestured for Chún to follow as he turned toward the stream and the trees.
"Now, come. The Golden Crow grows too warm to remain beneath its full gaze."
Chún faltered, staring at the old man. "You... you are leaving me, Teacher?" He scrambled off the boulder and rushed after him.
"In no more than a day or two, Chún-xiǎo." Yijing did not slow, his staff tapped lightly against the ground with each step, its bells giving a soft, irregular chime.
"It is necessary. You must follow your Dao—not mine. If I remained, even with the best intentions, you would begin to follow my Dao more than your own… and become flawed."
Yijing gestured with his staff toward the slopes beyond the pasture.
"This place is already gathering Essence. For your sake, that is a good thing—stronger Essence will make it easier for you to grow. But if the Mountain awakens fully without your guidance, you will be overwhelmed."
They continued across the pasture, the low murmur of the stream growing clearer ahead.
"You must be the one to ignite its Dao. It is already a part of you. With you here, alone, it will grow with you and strengthen you as you strengthen it."
Chún swallowed, glancing toward the Mountain. "You make it sound as if the Mountain will be my partner, Teacher."
"Yes."
"When True Cultivators take their first steps, each forms a connection to a place—a locus. This is an excellent one. I stopped here because I sensed such a connection had formed, and I wished to discover who it was."
He cast Chún a brief sideways look.
"I did not expect to find someone I did not know. New True Cultivators are rare and according to True Cultivator law - as the one who discovered you, it is my responsibility to evaluate and instruct you."
They reached the stream. Water flowed clear over stone, its steady movement filling the brief pause between them.
"A locus continues to aid us," Yijing went on, stepping along the bank. "It strengthens us through the land we stand upon, no matter how far we travel, and it benefits from any excess Essence we return to it. Eventually, we produce more than we require and no longer rely on such support—but that takes time."
"How long?" Chún asked.
"Thousands of years."
Chún's foot caught on uneven ground.
He stumbled, arms flailing slightly as the weight of those words struck him all at once, and fell hard beside the stream.
For a moment there was only the rush of water—
—and then the stream seemed to chuckle softly as it ran over the stones.
"Thousands of years… what?" Chún pushed himself upright, staring.
Yijing turned back, rolling his eyes, and extended a hand. The bells on his staff chimed faintly as he leaned on it.
"Constant renewal. Following your Dao. Growing as it grows," he said, hauling Chún easily to his feet. "You will not die of age, Chún-xiǎo. You will be immortal..."
He stepped lightly across the stream and continued toward the trees.
"…unless something kills you."
Chún blinked.
Yijing's voice drifted back over his shoulder as the distance between them slowly grew.
"An Essence Beast… a hot-headed Consumer… a technique striking you before you can react…"
He waved a hand vaguely as he walked.
"…a Dao ignition burning you out… too much tribulation lightning… falling rocks…"
His voice grew fainter as he moved into the shade.
"…choking on a chicken bone…"
Chún stood there for a moment, staring after him.
Then he exhaled slowly, rubbing his face.
"Perhaps it is a good thing Teacher is leaving…"
He shook his head and hurried after him.
"Teacher—wait for me!"