Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Elder of the Ancestral Temple Raises a Cup to Discuss Demons, and the Little Sage Ascends to the Top Eighteen of the Ranking

Spring mud, moistened by rain, is slicker than a mirror; the dawn trees, veiled in clouds, seem like painted scrolls. Anle sat just so, upright beneath the eaves, spring rain mingling with the gentle breeze. Suddenly, a few drops leaped in, touching his face; the boiling energy and blood coursing beneath his skin evaporated them, leaving behind a mist like drifting clouds.

Days of seclusion and arduous training had brought forth a harvest: the intense mobilization of spirit, energy, and essence, relentless practice of the Five Beasts of the ancient demon arts, finally yielded fruit today. The spring rain, stirred by spiritual energy, made waves inside the courtyard; gusts swept through the old locust tree, rustling its leaves.

Anle closed his eyes, his mind sinking into his dantian. The dantian was like a furnace, fueled by vital blood, burning and forging. He could vaguely see a nascent inner pill of energy and blood forming, hovering within, spinning rapidly!

Opening the vital energy, forging the spirit bones, condensing the inner pill—these are the first three realms of the body-tempering martial path. He had stepped into the transcendence of the God-refining realm several days ago; Lady Hua believed that the "Five Beasts Body Refining Art" held Anle back, so she sent him to the Martial Temple to observe the stones and learn from the martial masters' new scriptures.

Yet, even after receiving the martial scripture and being baptized by the sword energy of Green Mountain and the vital blood from the martial masters' stones, Anle did not immediately condense his inner pill. At first, he felt a pang of disappointment. Now, however, he was much calmer; some things grow more elusive the harder one pursues them.

It was as if a single drop of spring rain fell, bursting open, shattering the bottleneck of cultivation that had always constrained his body. Across his flesh, the ancient demon script of the Five Beasts seemed to awaken; faint roars of primordial demon tiger, ferocious bear, and magical ape echoed, forging a vast and domineering aura!

The inner pill is crucial to a body-tempering cultivator. It is the root from which vital energy flows without cease. Human strength has its limits, but a fully forged inner pill can unleash power endlessly. Just as the transcendence realm is a tremendous leap in the God-refining path, the martial inner pill is equally momentous.

Its importance lies in bearing the future path of cultivation; the fourth realm in body-tempering, the comprehension of mysteries, is intimately tied to the inner pill.

Outside the courtyard, wind and rain raged. An elderly man from the Grand Temple appeared in simple attire, floating in. He looked at the youth sitting upright beneath the eaves, carrying the ancient demon’s spirit, and his eyes showed admiration.

“Water flows into channels, breakthroughs come naturally; cultivation values harmony within,” the Grand Temple elder said, stroking his long brows with a sigh.

Anle’s talent grew ever more astonishing with his progress. The higher one’s cultivation, the harder it is to break through, yet Anle seemed to possess a force ready to shatter all barriers. The elder once thought Green Mountain chose Anle because of his upright character, seen in his bamboo paintings, his unyielding resilience; now, he realized there was more. Perhaps the youth’s innate talent was also a reason Green Mountain favored him.

Within the courtyard, Anle’s aura gradually subsided. The inner pill was round, gathering energy, spiritual essence, and fleshly vitality, gleaming with brilliance and vigor. Such near-perfect quality at initial condensation was exceedingly rare among body-tempering martial artists.

Anle exhaled a breath of stale air, feeling inexhaustible power within; the inner pill was like a spring, continuously pushing forth strength. If God-refining transcendence is a transformation of the mind, then condensing the inner pill is the transformation of the flesh.

He recalled how he slew the coachman and forged the mountain days ago; primarily, it was because the mountain lacked a high-grade body-tempering technique, his inner pill was crudely formed, and his mind was weak. The sword energy overwhelmed him. Otherwise, it would have been easy for those of the third realm to defeat the second.

Looking back, Anle realized how perilous it was, yet he felt no regret. Cultivation is the process of cutting through the thorns blocking one’s path, ascending the mountain peak.

One must be fearless, yet also weigh the situation carefully to reach ever greater heights. Opening his eyes, his mind was like threads entwined.

Suddenly, Green Mountain leaped from the old locust tree. Anle raised his hand and caught the Green Mountain bamboo sword, letting his internal energy circulate as he began to wield it. Threads of sword energy permeated Green Mountain, soaked into Anle’s body, consolidating his cultivation.

The elder sat familiarly beneath the eaves, smiling, drinking alone. He let his spirit overflow, offering Anle some guidance on his sword techniques. The small courtyard, filled with crisscrossing sword energy, seemed both lively and warm.

After a long while, Anle gradually stopped, ceased his sword dance, and sat upright on a small chair with Green Mountain laid across his knees, drinking with the elder.

“Body-tempering and God-refining, the three realms—such achievements in so short a time, young friend Anle, your talent is excellent. In terms of breaking through the first three realms, among all cultivators I’ve seen, you rank in the top ten,” the elder said, raising his cup.

Anle was taken aback by this, and the elder continued, “That boy Zhao Xianyou, after neglecting cultivation for over a decade, broke through as easily as drinking water—one realm a day, three days to reach the third realm. His speed surpasses yours, naturally.”

“But he is called the Mortal Immortal and cannot be judged by ordinary standards, so he doesn’t count.”

“Then there is the emperor of Yuanmeng, who broke through three realms in seven days, causing a sensation throughout the imperial court.”

“Also, the Dao Child of Zhenwu Temple, the Young Celestial Master of the Celestial Master’s Mansion, the Golden Cicada Buddhist Son of Rotten Branch Temple—all prodigies of this age. For them, the first three realms are like paper.”

Anle, hearing these names for the first time, was curious.

“Zhenwu Temple, Celestial Master’s Mansion, Rotten Branch Temple—these powers are different from the Literary Academy and Martial Temple. The former are sects, with little entanglement with the court. The Literary Academy and Martial Temple, however, are intimately tied to the government,” said the Grand Temple elder, sipping his aged wine.

“Of course, before Sacred Mountain, none of these amount to much.”

“Young friend Anle, your speed in breaking through the first three realms is faster than even the mountain lords of Sacred Mountain. However, even the talents of Dao Child, Young Celestial Master, and Buddhist Son are like drifting clouds before the mountain lords.”

The elder laughed heartily, “So you must guard against arrogance and impatience. The road of cultivation is long; you have only just begun.”

“A moment’s brilliance counts for little. Beyond the third realm are five more, beyond the fifth another five, and above ten realms lies scenery countless cultivators yearn for.”

Anle understood the elder was instructing him not to let his talent breed arrogance. He filled a cup of yellow wine, saluted the elder, and drank it all.

“Thank you for your guidance, senior.”

The elder’s face was serene; he raised his cup to Anle and drank it down.

“When your spring examination ends, I’ll take you somewhere to see the world. Absolutely interesting, absolutely exhilarating,” the elder promised with a smile.

Anle smiled in turn, “Then I’ll look forward to it.”

“Haha, you certainly should! Others wish for such things in vain. Today, I’m in high spirits. While your mind is clear from your breakthrough, paint a bamboo in ink—a bamboo that embodies your current mood. It will surely have a unique flavor. Let me feast my eyes.”

Anle did not refuse; he rose and made his way to the desk inside.

The courtyard was clean and free of clutter, the study tranquil and idle.

He ground ink and spread paper.

The sound of wind, rain, and brushstrokes—all entered his ears.

He calmed his mind, focused his spirit.

…

…

Outside the courtyard.

Zhao Xianyou arrived gracefully, his splendid robes touched by spring rain. The lingering energy and blood from Anle’s breakthrough seemed ready to vaporize the rainwater.

Hands clasped behind his back, Zhao Xianyou shook his head, “I’m late, no wine left to drink.”

“They’re talking about painting inside. I have no interest in painting, so I won’t join the fun.”

He turned away, his flawless boots stepping through the spring puddles without a drop clinging to him, as if nothing in the world could stain his purity.

“What scenery lies beyond the tenth realm? I wonder if Brother Anle can walk that path with me?”

He slowly walked out of the alley, his voice full of confidence.

He looked back at the cool, rainy lane and smiled.

“Brother Anle is still a bit lacking.”

“But, I look forward to it.”

He turned away; the spring rain fell and vanished silently above his head, his figure growing indistinct.

A gentle laugh lingered along Clear Wave Street.

“The Little Saint Ranking... things are about to get interesting.”

…

…

Drinking with towering mountains, Green Mountain’s face shines.

Outside Lin’an Prefecture, mountains stretch on, clouds swirl.

The First Mountain of Sacred Mountain does not resemble the Sixth, sharp as a sword’s edge; rather, it is like an old sage seated in meditation, overlooking the world, peering into all affairs with a smile.

Upon the First Mountain stood a thatched hut.

Inside, an elderly man sat, fingers poised, before an incense altar. A stick of incense burned, blue smoke curling.

Suddenly, ash fell from the incense, sounding like thunder, startling the old man from his idle dozing.

Bleary-eyed, he calculated with his fingers and yawned.

“The Little Saint Ranking has changed?”

“Who is climbing up?”

He flicked his finger; a bamboo slip drifted down in front of the incense altar.

The ash floated up, and two lines appeared on the bamboo slip.

“Little Saint Ranking—Wang Qinhe, falls to nineteenth.”

“Little Saint Ranking—Anle, body-tempering and God-refining both at the third realm. Ascends, now eighteenth.”