Chapter Two: The Five Luminaries

The sun was already high in the sky when Xu Zhong slowly awoke.

He felt more comfortable in his body than ever before. With each breath, every pore of his skin seemed to expand and contract in harmony with his breathing, absorbing and releasing the air around him.

The scene before his eyes was perhaps nothing out of the ordinary, yet felt utterly different. He could see, with perfect clarity, fine grains of light drifting in the air, swirling on the breeze, reflecting the sunlight. These motes of light surged toward him as he inhaled; when he swept his hand through the air, the lights clung to his palm and then seeped into his flesh, disappearing without a trace.

“I must still be dreaming,” Xu Zhong murmured, patting his own cheek to make sure he was awake. Once certain this was no dream, he blinked hard—at which the lights vanished in an instant.

“It must be the result of my recent disordered days and nights, the imbalance of yin and yang in my body causing hallucinations,” he concluded about his unusual experience.

He went about his morning as usual: drawing water, washing his face, and exercising.

Today, the snow fell even harder than before. The weight of it bent several pine and cypress trees, breaking one of the cypresses outright. For dozens of miles around, flecks of green dotted the vast whiteness; the world was veiled in silver.

With the mountain pass snowed in, there would be no leaving for some time. Thankfully, he had laid in plenty of provisions—enough for ten days, maybe even half a month.

The cellar he’d dug beside his bamboo hut was packed with a vat of rice, dozens of pounds of cabbage, ample dried meat, and even three chickens and two geese still alive.

Xu Zhong broke off a piece of dried meat, tucked a cabbage under his arm, grabbed an egg, and climbed the stairs.

After brunch, he sat down to his studies.

To his amazement, the ancient texts that had once seemed so tedious to read now felt crystal clear; a glance could capture the links between words, and passages he once found inscrutable now revealed their meanings.

“Have I grown smarter?” Xu Zhong smiled to himself.

Outside, the wind howled and snow swirled in wild confusion. The wooden window rattled furiously in the gale. Xu Zhong hurried to latch it, but as his hand gripped the frame, a wisp of black smoke curled from the edge, forming a hand that seized his wrist. In an instant, a great force yanked him outward.

Overhead, a storm cloud surged and shifted, waxing and waning in size, ever changing. The black smoke gripping Xu Zhong’s arm was but a tiny fraction of that vast cloud.

The cloud twisted into a face, opened its mouth, and swallowed Xu Zhong whole.

Then, swift as lightning, it swept across the sky, carrying the snowstorm toward an unknown mountain ravine.

Trapped within the cloud, Xu Zhong felt profoundly uncomfortable. He struggled for a while, but found no room to move, so he gave up resisting.

He had no idea how much time passed before the cloud halted and his surroundings began to stir. The cloud spat him out.

Xu Zhong found himself in a vast limestone cave, easily a hundred paces square. There were stone tables and chairs, teacups and bowls, a bed carved from jade, and a massive cauldron stained green with age.

And there was a fox he recognized well.

“Is that him?”

The voice startled Xu Zhong. Turning, he saw a delicate-looking youth.

“And you are...?”

“My name is Shi Yao, a corpse turned demon.” The storm cloud whirled around Shi Yao’s hand and became a tattoo.

“I brought you here to ask you to teach me to read and write.”

With that, he tossed a scroll to Xu Zhong, who caught it. The scroll was so light it felt almost weightless, its pale-blue pages translucent like carved jade. The characters on it were mottled and tiny as flies, glimmering with silver.

He could barely make out a few of the words: “The Profound is the ancestor of nature and the great progenitor of all things. Its depth is so subtle, hence called ‘mysterious’. Its reach is so distant, hence called ‘wondrous’...”

Where have I seen these words before?

He glanced aside; the little fox was waving its paws and chattering away.

“You mean, this Mr. Shi Yao brought me here to teach him reading and writing, and to instruct him in the ways of cultivation?”

“That’s right!” Shi Yao nodded.

“But, Mr. Shi,” Xu Zhong continued, “since you already command magic—riding the wind, summoning clouds, wielding supreme powers—why do you need to learn to read and write? Why must I teach you the ways of cultivation?”

Xu Zhong could not fathom the cause, but he knew full well: this Shi Yao had brought him, by means of manipulating clouds and wind, from hundreds of miles away to this immortal’s abode. Why would such a being need to learn from him?

“If I were human, I’d have no need,” Shi Yao replied frankly. “But I am a demon. My original form was a cultivator who practiced here for a hundred years, reaching the level of merging with things, his soul roaming the world on the wind.”

“But for some reason, his soul was lost for three centuries and could not return. Over time, his body decayed and died.”

“And thus, I was born.” Shi Yao looked his body over. “I am formed from a spark of his spirit, possessing but a fragment of his wisdom.”

“But that fragment is not enough to control all the powers he left behind.”

“It’s like a child who inherits a fortune but doesn’t know how to manage it; sooner or later, someone will cheat him out of everything.”

“To master these powers, I must travel the path of cultivation anew, organize my knowledge of the Way. And before that, I must learn to read and write.”

With a thought, Shi Yao sent the little fox floating over to him, chittering midair.

“This fox was gifted intelligence by a spirit pill from my original self. Somehow, it also mastered magical arts.”

Xu Zhong more or less understood, assuming Shi Yao was not deceiving him. “So, you want me to teach you the ways of cultivation, as I did for the little fox.”

Shi Yao shook his head. “Not to teach, but to clarify.”

“I already possess the realms within myself—I need only to comprehend them. I don’t require you to impart techniques, merely to help me make sense of my own cultivation.”

The little fox settled into Xu Zhong’s arms. “I can see your heart—your blood surges like a tide, your pulse like a drum, your inner fire cycles within you. You must have opened one of the Five Luminaries. Explain to me the principles of the Five Luminaries.”

Xu Zhong was utterly bewildered. He looked down at his chest—his heart beat steadily, unlike what Shi Yao described.

And what were these Five Luminaries?

“You don’t know what the Five Luminaries are?” Shi Yao asked.

Xu Zhong shook his head.

“Then how did you achieve one of them?”

The little fox squeaked in agitation.

“I cultivated in my dreams?” Xu Zhong asked, astonished.

The fox recounted in detail how Xu Zhong had, while dreaming, practiced cultivation and, just yesterday, had broken through a realm, swallowing the purple energy of three hundred miles to improve his fortune and talent.

“Dream cultivation is not unheard of,” Shi Yao mused. “There is said to be a method for practicing in dreams: with a single thought, one is born, and the world is created... Though I’ve only heard of it, never seen it myself.”

“Since you know little of cultivation, let us start with reading and writing.”

Shi Yao had prepared thoroughly—not only had he abducted Xu Zhong, but also brought along his books, food, and even his livestock.

“Let’s start with the Thousand Character Classic.”

From the moment he’d witnessed Shi Yao’s abilities, Xu Zhong knew resistance was futile; he could only take things as they came.

Shi Yao proved exceedingly clever, grasping everything immediately and learning by analogy. In one hour, he had memorized a thousand characters.

But the meaning behind the words remained a blank.

After another hour, Shi Yao ended the lesson himself.

By now, dusk had fallen and night was coming on.

“Make yourself something to eat. I’m heading out.”

Hearing this, Xu Zhong was surprised to find himself suddenly ravenous. Shi Yao left without another word.

Xu Zhong, calming himself, prepared a simple meal. He walked toward the cave entrance, not intending to escape but curious about Shi Yao’s errand.

The little fox followed him, finally grabbing his pant leg and climbing up to perch on his shoulder.

The fox chattered away.

“You’re saying Shi Yao has only just become a demon, and his soul and body haven’t fully merged.” No wonder the fox had managed to consume Shi Yao’s original spirit pill and steal his cultivation method.

“Because of that incomplete fusion, bringing me here and enhancing his intelligence drained him, so he has to absorb spiritual energy from the world to recover.”

“And, being a corpse demon, the light of the moon can rapidly restore him.”

The fox nodded eagerly.

“So he’s outside now, absorbing moonlight?” Xu Zhong mused.

“I’ve always heard that immortals can live on wind and dew, roaming the world by spirit, but I’ve never seen it myself.” He unconsciously quickened his steps.

“Now, I might see it with my own eyes.”

The fox jumped down, blocking his path, and spoke earnestly.

“Whether human or demon, cultivation is the most private of matters, and it is strictly taboo to be watched. If you wish to see the sun rise tomorrow, you’d best not sneak a look.”

Xu Zhong’s ears, as if by magic, translated the fox’s words.

A cold wind blew, sending a chill down his back.

“Best not, then,” Xu Zhong said, dejected, turning back.

“So, have you ever watched me cultivate before?”

The fox squeaked again.

“You’re saying what I did doesn’t count as cultivation—just basic breathing exercises. Achieving the Five Luminaries is the limit; beyond this, I would need systematic study of the Daoist arts.”

The fox nodded, placing its pink paw first on his heart, then on his lungs, liver, kidneys, and spleen.

“You’ve only opened the Fire Treasury among the Five Luminaries of the flesh. There are four others…”

The Five Luminaries correspond to the five elements, the five organs, each aligning one to the other.

Cultivators refine a single breath—the qi. When qi gathers, one lives; when it dissipates, one dies. To attain immortality, one must retain this breath and let it circulate endlessly within, thus achieving eternal life.

To forge this breath, one must extract the primal essence from the world and, through the interplay of yin, yang, and the five elements, transform it into qi.

Thus, the first cultivators drew the five elements from their five organs, creating the Five Luminaries.

For now, Xu Zhong had only one foot in the realm of the Five Luminaries. He had just opened the Fire Treasury and could not yet draw upon its power.

Without orthodox cultivation, this was the limit for a mortal—good health, a long life, but no more.

So the fox said his practice was only basic breathing, not true cultivation.

“Then how do I open the other Treasuries?” Xu Zhong asked humbly.

“Gather qi, nurture qi, strengthen qi. Only then can you use qi to break through and open the hidden Treasuries of the body!”