Chapter Eighty: The Divine Art of Time

One day later, Liu Junhuai gradually regained consciousness, his mind clearing completely. He opened his eyes, looked around, and slowly recalled everything that had transpired.

Lowering his gaze, he saw that his arm was still withered and aged. Anxious, Liu Junhuai activated his Celestial Eye. The chaotic turbulence of the void remained before him, but the restriction on his divine sense seemed to have vanished, allowing him to clearly see, at the heart of the turbulence, a cluster of green plants growing, upon which hung three bright red fruits.

“Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit! That’s Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit!” Liu Junhuai cried out in astonishment.

Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit was the main ingredient for the Divine Insight Pill, a godly elixir of the Immortal Realm. Legend had it that a single pill could grant an immortal a thread of enlightenment, and the battles between immortals for such a pill were often exceptionally fierce, with countless beings falling into reincarnation in pursuit of it.

The Dao Fruit itself bore no fixed attribute. For someone like Liu Junhuai, who already possessed a hint of understanding of the Grand Dao, consuming the fruit would not grant complete mastery over the law of time, but it would allow him to use his insight to develop a minor divine ability—much like his current comprehension of teleportation. The Insight Pill’s effects were far less potent, merely enhancing one’s capacity for realization.

For cultivators without any trace of Dao insight, consuming the Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit would grant them a sliver of understanding of one of the three thousand Dao patterns—though which one was not fixed.

The Three Thousand Daos all return to One. The Dao is enlightenment, an understanding of the world. When this realization reaches its peak, one ascends by comprehending the Dao. The trajectory of the Dao is the trajectory of all things. The Dao is manifested through all things; thus, understanding the Dao is, in essence, understanding the arc of life.

Ordinary cultivators who took the Insight Pill might not gain enlightenment of the Dao patterns, but their state of mind would be greatly improved.

The cluster of green plants that produced the Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit was called the Dao Fruit Tree, which grew in environments of spatial turbulence like this. However, legends said these trees were only found in endless voids of chaos—why one appeared here was a mystery even to Liu Junhuai.

It was then that Liu Junhuai recalled the changes to his Celestial Eye. He remembered the old steward telling him that its next evolution would be the Unity of Dual Pupils. Unlike techniques that required cultivation, the evolution of the Celestial Eye depended on the realization of intent. This time, his haphazard advancement was evidently a result of his strengthened will.

Staring at the green Dao Fruit Tree in the heart of the turbulence, Liu Junhuai was deeply troubled. Finding a way into the spatial chaos was a daunting problem, but if he could consume the Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit, his arm would surely be restored, for he possessed the Time Dao pattern.

He considered the Severing Technique, but even that carried immense risks. Each use created a brief interval, during which the turbulence could invade and inflict unknown harm.

After much internal struggle, he resolved to risk it—otherwise, his arm would never recover.

To increase his chances, Liu Junhuai hurried to refine more golden spiritual power, thus enhancing the Severing Technique’s potency.

An hour later, he was ready. Steeling his mind, he unleashed his first Severing Technique.

A one-foot-wide rift was instantly cleaved open. Liu Junhuai quickly stepped forward, and just before he cast the second Severing Technique, the spatial turbulence surged in. He felt his bodily functions withering, his hair turning white.

There was no time to think. Liu Junhuai cast the Severing Technique again and again, and in a single breath, he reached the heart of the turbulence, now resembling an elderly man on the verge of death.

With a final Severing Technique, he stepped forward, seized a Heaven’s Marrow Dao Fruit, and swallowed it whole. A cool sensation shot straight to his sea of consciousness. After a brief dizziness, his mind became exceptionally clear. A realization regarding the law of time arose, and his body returned to its true age, no longer decrepit.

Moreover, the cool energy radiated outward, dispersing the surrounding turbulence and forming a tranquil space around him, isolating him from the chaos.

Without pausing to savor the change, Liu Junhuai swiftly collected the remaining two fruits and hurried out of the spatial turbulence, finally collapsing against the cave wall, panting heavily.

After briefly restoring his spiritual energy, Liu Junhuai crawled toward the cave’s exit, as if afraid that any delay would see him swallowed by the turbulence. A sense of fleeing calamity gnawed at him.

Crawling through the narrow passage, he replayed recent events in his mind. Far from feeling liberated, he found himself increasingly terrified with each recollection.

It was not the first time Liu Junhuai had faced death, but this ordeal had left him deeply shaken. Watching his own body age from his fingertips upward was a terror that mere death could not compare to. There was no pain or despair—his entire body, his brain, had grown numb; only his thoughts remained active.

He even wondered: if given the choice between enduring this again or facing the threat of death, which would he choose? After much deliberation, he found he would resolutely pick the latter.

Sometimes, the fear of something can be far worse than the threat of death itself.

At last, he emerged from the long, narrow tunnel. Using stones, he concealed the entrance behind him, then climbed up the cliff without looking back.

It was only when his feet touched solid ground atop the cliff that his heart gradually calmed.

On his way down the mountain, Liu Junhuai found a densely wooded area and began to test the skills he had gained from his insight into time.

Facing a thick tree trunk, he channeled his spiritual power, entwined with a thread of temporal law, and struck with a single blade technique. The trunk was cleaved cleanly in half, but the cut section had already turned withered and yellow.

Staring at the withered wood, Liu Junhuai’s eyes flashed with shock. This minor divine ability of time was truly frightening. If used on a person, even without spiritual power, it would surely age them until death. So he mused.

For a while, Liu Junhuai fell into deep contemplation over the three thousand laws of the Grand Dao.

He recalled the old steward’s explanation: What is Dao? It exists within the heart, and from one Dao, myriad phenomena arise. Laws are naturally formed to attest to the existence of Dao; they encompass all things, from a nation, a world, a universe, down to a leaf, a person, even an ant.

Cultivation is a practitioner’s understanding of life and the world, leading to breakthroughs—hence, enlightenment and realization of the Dao.

The three thousand Daos polarize into yin and yang, which then transform into the five elements. How could he hope to grasp such profundity? Liu Junhuai sensed that, at present, he understood only the barest surface.

The three thousand Daos are the natural laws governing the world of cultivation, and the Dao arises from nature itself. The Dao is like the human heart—vast enough to contain all things, yet minuscule in its subtleties. Liu Junhuai could not say what it truly was, but all things in the world arise from the Dao, and return to it. Practitioners like him are merely a part of this unfolding process.

In his heart, Liu Junhuai always felt that the Dao had no fixed trajectory—it moved freely, unrestrained, true to one's innermost self.

The two minor divine abilities he now possessed were as nothing compared to the Grand Dao—like comparing the Qi Refining stage to the Tribulation Crossing stage. For a moment, Liu Junhuai was filled with both dejection and confusion.

Cultivation is truly difficult, he mused. In truth, it is much like being human. There are benefits to being human—don’t animals, too, yearn to be human? Even immortals are but an elevated form of humanity, just like cultivators are merely at a higher level.

But the price is so high. Perhaps immortality exists, but what good would it do? What of the myriad tribulations? A person is meant to experience the full range of life’s joys and sorrows! Though bitter and exhausting, perhaps even the gods regret becoming divine! He laughed softly to himself.

At this thought, Liu Junhuai felt his heart lighten; his current approach to cultivation ought to be a kind of Dao—a Dao of wandering freely, unbound. The state of mind he had before, seeking only to scale peaks by stilling his heart, was utterly misguided.

He understood now the source of his former anxieties: dissatisfaction breeds vexation. As long as one’s desires are reasonable, one should feel content, happy, and at ease—not plagued by endless worries.

People always wish to cast aside all troubles, to live a carefree life, never realizing that what seem like troubles now may one day become precious memories and the roots by which they overcome future woes.

Compared to ordinary cultivators, who could claim such fortune and luck as his? How could he truly fathom their hardship?

The sage acts without striving, teaches without words. Dao, Dao, Dao—why cling so obsessively?

At that moment, it was as if a faint thread of enlightenment touched Liu Junhuai’s heart, yet it was intangible, invisible—just beyond his grasp.