Chapter 86: The Primordial Spirit Enters the Lake to Meet the Great Demon—A Mother’s Plea

A light skiff with a short oar glides upon West Lake, where green waters meander and fragrant grasses line the long embankment. The windless surface is as smooth as glass, and one scarcely notices the boat’s movement, save for a slight ripple beneath.

...

On the lake, slanting rays of sunlight shimmer across the water, scattering golden glints amid gentle ripples. Upon a small boat floating atop the jade-green lake stands a youth in white, wide-sleeved robes, sword at his side, hair loose about his shoulders. His brow is furrowed, his mind surging like the waves, and behind him, where countless splashes rise from West Lake, the water gathers into the form of a human figure, reflecting the slanting sun, resonating with the undulations of his soul.

A smile plays at the corners of An Le’s lips. His hair lifts faintly under the expanding force of his spirit. At his waist, Qingshan hums softly, and Mo Chi whistles as he skims the lake’s surface, tearing slender ripples in his wake.

To reach the third stage of Spirit Refinement, Transcendence, is to rise above the ordinary, to separate oneself from the common. The fourth stage is the Primordial Spirit. One tempers the mind to condense the Primordial Spirit, gaining a lifespan of three centuries, able to let the spirit roam the void independent of the body, to reach for the moon above or seek fish below the water, and command extraordinary power—a realm of true transcendence.

The gap between the third and fourth stages is immense, far greater than that between Breathing Embryo and Transcendence, for the condensation of the Primordial Spirit marks a true transformation. It is the beginning of wielding the mind’s force with extraordinary lethality.

With the Primordial Spirit, one’s mental power gains a core, a center around which to gather—more focused and potent than before. An Le, for example, can command the waters of West Lake to rise and fall, condensing them with the precision of his Primordial Spirit into a human-shaped apparition. Such finesse is beyond the reach of mere Transcendence, which allows An Le to imbue his sword with spirit and fly, to project his mind outward roughly, but never to manipulate so subtly or effortlessly.

The Primordial Spirit is as responsive as one’s own limbs. It is as if the mind has gained a brain to coordinate and control its power.

With a crashing sound, the water figure behind An Le collapses, tumbling like a torrential downpour onto the surface, roaring as it falls, startling a flock of gulls and egrets in its path.

A faint silhouette of the Primordial Spirit floats up. On the boat, An Le’s eyes are closed, his mind linked to the spirit as if gaining a second self, seeing the world from a new vantage, beholding the lake and mountains with unparalleled clarity.

Such beauty could leave one spellbound, breathtaking beyond compare.

His Primordial Spirit descends, plunging into the lake unseen and unfelt, yet taking in every detail beneath the surface. Down it goes, deeper and deeper, until it reaches the lakebed.

Suddenly, An Le’s spirit falters—a shock, for at the bottom he sees an ancient well, chains upon chains entwined about its mouth, a golden staff resting atop them, sealing the well shut.

His spirit drifts closer, sleeves billowing, gaze falling into the depths. Instantly, a torrent of demon energy bursts forth, battering the chains with a violent clamor, sending an invisible surge that stirs hidden currents in the water below. A low, guttural hiss issues from the well.

At once, the golden staff atop the well flares with light, Buddhist script swirling forth to suppress the rampant demon energy back within. Yet, a trace of that energy escapes, surging toward An Le’s spirit.

His spiritual brow tightens as he gazes upon the ancient well, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. There is no doubt—a great demon is imprisoned within, its aura so intense that its cultivation must be formidable indeed.

“A thousand-year serpent demon?” An Le recalls reading Master Ning Chen’s “Treatise on Demons,” which tells of such a creature, suppressed by a monk from Lianhua Temple, one of the three great Buddhist temples beneath West Lake.

Legend has it that the serpent demon once fell in love, even bore a child, but was discovered and despised by a monk from Lianhua Temple, who sealed her away.

Now it seems the “Treatise on Demons” was not mere rumor.

As the demon energy sweeps toward him, An Le’s Primordial Spirit flares with light, faintly interwoven with sword aura, for his spirit, shaped by meditating on the Sword Waterfall, is already suffused with sword qi. Within the Palace of the Muddy Pill, a sword embryo condenses—his heart’s sword, the essence of his mind’s power, always wreathed in sword qi.

Yet, unexpectedly, the demon energy before him twists into a small snake, coiling gently, rippling the water with a soft sound.

“Sir, please don’t be alarmed. I have no wish to fight you,” comes a delicate voice from the demon energy.

An Le’s spirit regards it coolly.

“It has been so long since I’ve seen a human Primordial Spirit. I let a wisp of my true essence seep through the seal to beg your help,” the demon’s voice trembles through the water.

“My strength is newly formed, too weak to help you,” An Le replies.

“No, I don’t ask you to free me. I dare not hope for escape. I only wish for one thing—please, sir, help me find my child, just to see them once, just once...”

“All I wish is to know if my child is well, if they have enough to eat and wear, if they are happy...”

The demon’s plea is filled with sorrow, longing, and hope.

At this, An Le’s spirit is stirred. For all mothers, their hearts are with their children. Even sealed beneath West Lake, she longs only to see her child’s wellbeing.

“How will I know your child?” he asks.

“This wisp of demon energy is the essence of my demon core, forced through the monk’s seal. With it, I form a demon jade that can stay by your side. You may use its energy to temper your body. If you find my child, the jade will react—the bond of blood will reveal itself.”

She continues, “You carry the scent of demon energy, and your spirit bears traces of ancient demons. Perhaps your cultivation involves tempering with demon qi. Thus, this demon jade will benefit you, not harm you.”

Her voice is ever more pleading.

Perhaps sensing the ancient demon aura within An Le, she believes he is unlike those who hunt demons out of prejudice, and so she risks her own essence to beg his aid.

The demon energy swirls and coalesces into a circular jade pendant, shaped like a coiled serpent.

Having just used up his ancient demon jade, An Le can only marvel at receiving another treasure of such origin.

Yet, gazing at the demon jade and hearing the mother’s simple yearning to see her child, An Le does not refuse.

He asks, “Are you not afraid I’ll take the jade and do nothing?”

A voice from the well replies, “I sense a noble force within your Primordial Spirit. One who possesses such virtue... will not break their word.”

At this, An Le smiles.

His spirit envelops the demon jade.

“The world is vast. I cannot promise success, only that I will do my utmost,” he says.

“That is enough. To have someone care is enough. Thank you, sir. If fate wills it, I may see my child again—perhaps they are already dead...”

“But if I could see them, it would be a great favor. Should the seal be broken, I would serve you for a hundred years in gratitude.”

From within the sealed well, the serpent demon’s grateful, tearful words echo.

Through the seal, An Le’s spirit seems to see a woman kneeling within, tears streaming as she bows repeatedly.

Suddenly, the golden staff atop the well bursts with radiance, majestic Buddhist power surging. The great demon within cries out in pain, flung back against the bottom.

An Le frowns and says no more, pressing his fists together in respect.

“You need not thank me. I am simply helping a mother who misses her child.”

With those words, An Le departs, carrying the demon jade from the lake’s depths, his spirit returning to the sword furnace of his inner palace.

On the boat, An Le opens his eyes. The ancient jade now floats before him, radiating pure demon energy, dense and mysterious.

Across from him, the Fairy Yunrou, having just finished her melody, is momentarily stunned.

“Sir An, this is...?” she asks, puzzled that An Le has returned from a spiritual journey with a demon jade.

Sensing the jade’s pure aura, she realizes it must be the essence of a millennium-old demon.

An Le sends a surge of righteous sword qi over the jade. The jade remains untouched, undiminished.

Righteous sword qi can dispel any evil intent. If the serpent demon bore any malice, it would be destroyed. But it seems she is simply a mother longing to see her own child—the jade contains not a trace of darkness.

He attaches the jade at his waist, his expression calm.

The pure demon energy it emits is subtly absorbed by the ancient demon script on An Le’s body, silently tempering his flesh.

“It is simply a mother’s plea to see her child,” An Le explains to Yunrou, briefly describing his encounter under the lake.

Yunrou falls silent, then sighs. “My master once said a millennium demon was sealed beneath West Lake at the moment of childbirth, when she was at her weakest. As for the child... my master never mentioned it. Perhaps you could ask him in the mountains.”

An Le nods.

“The three great Buddhist temples are Lanke Temple, nearest Lin’an Prefecture; Ganye Temple in the central lands; and Lianhua Temple, famed for its demon hunters...”

“Lianhua’s monks often style themselves as demon subjugators, specializing in slaying and refining demons—some for better, some for worse, and much debated.”

Yunrou, as a disciple of the Sixth Mountain Lord, knows of such secrets—far more than the newly initiated An Le.

“Congratulations, Sir An, on reaching the fourth realm of Spirit Refinement and condensing your Primordial Spirit. You are truly a prodigy... I remember when you first began your cultivation.”

She smiles, her gaze complicated and full of admiration—yet tinged with melancholy, pondering when she herself might break through.

An Le smiles back, basking in the sunset, chatting with Yunrou as they drift across the lake.

When stars and moon rise high, An Le freeloads a meal of crispy eight-treasure chicken and a cup of palace wine before strolling leisurely home.

Though he has stirred up a great matter in Lin’an today, An Le is unconcerned. As Cao Fu expected, poetry is his weapon, both to prove his innocence and to shame Prime Minister Qin. Even if he offends Qin, he cares not—his heart is clear.

Returning home, finding the old man of the ancestral temple absent, An Le dines and drinks alone, and though he has just reached the Primordial Spirit realm, he does not slack in his cultivation.

He sits cross-legged, meditating on the “Sword Waterfall Scroll,” the supreme method passed down by Lady Hua, whose techniques naturally offer ways to consolidate the Primordial Spirit.

Qingshan and Mo Chi are thrust into the old locust tree, which trembles gently as the leaves rustle.

Bathed in starlight filtered through the clouds, An Le’s silhouette sits in the courtyard, his spirit slowly expanding.

...

Prime Minister Qin’s residence.

The air is heavy and oppressive.

In the study, Prime Minister Qin Lishi sits rigidly in his chair, his face stern and silent.

Within, Qin Qianqiu sits with his head in his hands, hair falling through his fingers, his body trembling.

“Father, I want to kill him—I must kill him!” he growls, voice thick with tears, echoing in the room.

Qin Lishi looks at his beloved youngest son, his clenched jaw quivering.

Meeting Qianqiu’s gaze, Qin Lishi suddenly regrets letting him go instead of Qin Hua’an—Hua’an’s strength would have withstood An Le’s sword qi.

But there is no medicine for regret. Qin Qianqiu’s spirit has been cut down, his realm fallen to Breathing Embryo. He may never reach Transcendence again.

For one with little innate talent, this is a crushing blow. Qin Lishi had hoped to use rare treasures to force a breakthrough to Primordial Spirit, granting him a longer life and more time together.

Now that chance is gone. With his spirit fallen, returning to Transcendence is near impossible—not something treasures can mend, but a matter of overcoming his own inner obstacles.

Yet if Qianqiu had such resolve, he would not have stagnated here.

“Kill him? Do you still think An Le is a nobody? He is not. He has risen. When he was weak, you did not crush him. Now, to kill him would cost too much,” Qin Lishi sighs.

He rises and walks to the window, his aged voice filling the room. “The Lin family is of no concern—even if they support him, they are old enemies. More important: he cannot be accused of cheating in the exams, which means he is certain to enter the top ranks, perhaps even first.”

“I’ve read his paper. Aside from the Northern Expedition essay, which disagrees with my views and earned no points, he answered all else correctly.”

“On those alone, he will be in the top ranks. In the cultivation test, he surpassed all the scholars, crossing the Forest of Self-Reflection in half a quarter—the best result. All together, he may well become the top scholar and stand in the palace examination.”

“At such a critical moment, how could we dare kill the top scholar so lightly?”

Qin Lishi looks at Qianqiu.

“Moreover, he has the support of the Academy. Today, he drew upon righteous force. The Academy will no longer stand aside—they will prize him, beg him to join.”

“But none of that is what worries me most.”

He shakes his head.

Behind his hands, Qianqiu lifts a tear-streaked, twisted, hate-filled face, glaring with confusion. “What other trump card does he have?!”

Qin Lishi answers, “Today, before the Prime Minister’s residence, someone laughed wantonly—mocking and derisive. Do you know who?”

“Few in this world dare mock me so.”

“The bamboo sword at An Le’s waist—did you notice it?”

Qianqiu is baffled, clutching his head, near madness. “I don’t care—I must kill him, father, I must!”

“You cannot—not now!” Qin Lishi snaps, and Qianqiu shudders, collapsing in his chair, fear of his father returning.

“I have become the laughingstock of Lin’an. If he lives, I will never find peace,” Qianqiu mutters, body shaking.

“That sword belongs to Zhao Huangting, the old prince of the Zhao imperial clan—the man who fought the emperor of Yuan-Mongol to a standstill during the southern campaign!” Qin Lishi intones. “A man near the end of life, yet supremely powerful and above the rules. Such a man must not be provoked!”

Qianqiu slumps, consumed with bitterness. “How does a nobody from the backwaters of Chongzhou earn such favor?”

“So endure it. A true achiever must bear what others cannot. Endurance is a virtue. Zhao Huangting’s days are numbered; he cannot protect An Le for long. When the palace examination ends and the Lin family falls, An Le’s protectors will wither away like petals.”

“Then, dealing with him will be much easier.”

Qin Lishi pats his son’s head, his tone earnest.

“If you cannot bear it, ask your elder brother. The palace examination approaches; he seeks the laurels and an audience with the Grand Master. Have him vent your anger on the examination stage.”

...

The next morning.

Dew clings to the leaves, glistening like crystal.

An Le sits beneath the old locust, having spent the night refining his mind and sword qi. With the Primordial Spirit formed, his understanding of the Sword Waterfall deepens, his sword embryo more complete.

The fourth stage of Spirit Refinement is the Primordial Spirit, the fifth is Oblivion. To enter the fifth, one needs a flash of insight. For now, An Le is content to wait.

He rises, blood and qi roaring within, and begins his exercises. The demon jade at his waist releases pure energy, which his body absorbs, refining flesh and bone. The jade’s quality, combined with his Dao Fruit, makes his progress swift—his body strengthening rapidly, inner core resonant, and the ancient demon signs manifesting, stirring sudden winds and rustling the old tree’s leaves.

After a set of Five Beasts, An Le changes into fresh white robes, his sword qi restrained but present, his features handsome and striking.

He takes up Qingshan and Mo Chi, hangs them at his waist, selects a book, and leaves the courtyard.

He plans a stroll by West Lake, then to the Lin residence to teach Lin Qingyin painting and catch up on portraits for the Lin sons—a backlog from the recent examinations.

But as he leaves the ancestral alley, by the side of the Grand Temple on Qingbo Street, he sees an elderly scholar in conversation with the old temple keeper.

The old man glances at An Le with little enthusiasm, jerking his chin in introduction.

“Little friend An, this is Grand Elder Zhu Huoxi of the Academy, here to invite you to join. You two may speak alone.”

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