Journey to the West: The Immortal Clan Begins by Feeding Monkeys at Five Elements Mountain

Chapter 137 A Glimpse of Golden Light, the Elixir of Youth
As if sensing something, Jiang Ming turned around, his eyebrows relaxed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

"Good morning, Father."

The voice was still the same familiar tone, but it had somehow gained a bit more confidence, making it sound somewhat resonant in the ears.

Upon hearing this, Jiang Yi nodded slightly and smiled, "Looking so smug today, did you stumble upon some good news?"

Jiang Ming didn't rush to answer, but nodded slowly, his expression showing no arrogance.

"Father's judgment is indeed sharp. Last night, when he was meditating on his soul, it seemed... he had just touched the tip of the iceberg."

Upon hearing this, Jiang Yi raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Jiang Ming interrupted:

Suddenly, a golden light appeared in my mind, a straight line that pierced through my brow and seemed to...penetrate the sky.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, yet with an undisguised brilliance.

Jiang Yi nodded, not asking any further questions, but a ripple of emotion spread across his eyes.

This technique of visualizing the soul, though called a technique, is actually more like a dream of inner fire.

There are no rules or regulations; it's like painting while drunk, insisting on the word "spontaneous."

With a stroke of the brush, mountains become mountains, and water becomes water; what is painted is not the external world, but the scene in one's heart.

Take Jiang Yi himself, for example. When he first heard about this method, he immediately pictured a black and white fish, head to tail, spinning around in his mind.

Thus, the visualized soul image was those two beams of light, one yin and one yang, moving in a staggered pattern.

As for the girl Jiang Xi, her mouth has never been idle since she was little, and her eyes follow her mouth. She is always staring at which tree behind the house has blossomed and borne fruit.

If you ask her to calmly contemplate her soul, she'll probably first conjure up a string of candied hawthorns in her head, and then a few candied dates.

Sure enough, what appeared to be a precious tree was a tree with branches covered with colorful fruits and a fragrant aroma.

Just hearing her talk about it makes your mouth water; she's practically the embodiment of a glutton.

It seems that the eldest son had probably heard someone describe such a scene of "a golden line shooting straight into the sky," and, feeling its majesty, it took root in his mind.

What one thinks about during the day, one dreams about at night; this was reflected in his soul and transformed into that "sliver of golden light."

Jiang Yi already had a rough idea of ​​what was going on, but he didn't say anything. He took a step forward and patted his son's shoulder with his broad hand.

The force was considerable, yet it carried no hint of provocation, and the words were spoken with composure:
"Not bad, you've made some progress."

He finished speaking, raised an eyebrow, and a hint of amusement appeared in his eyes:
"When we have some free time, let's have a go. Let me see how you 'straight through the air'."

As the family members successively stepped into the "Shenwang" gate, the secrets of that stick technique gradually began to emerge.

I've gone through the child's stick techniques from scratch, but there's no rush to talk about them yet.

On the contrary, Jiang Yi and Jiang Xi were practicing the same set of moves. Every move, every turn, and even the steps they took to turn around were exactly the same.

But now, once the stick is raised, the flavors are completely different, distinct from each other.

Jiang Yi's staff technique emphasizes the interplay of yin and yang.

With a flick of the wrist, the stick spreads out, sometimes like an old man pushing a millstone, each step steady and pressing down on the opponent; at other times, it's like a dragon breaking free of water, darting left and right, with the force of a thunderclap.

That power, which conceals yang within yin and lightness within heaviness, has been honed to perfection, giving rise to a natural and spontaneous spiritual essence.

Jiang Xi's staff techniques, however, presented a completely different picture.

With a single gesture, the momentum sinks down, like the roots of an old tree, their tendrils entwined in the soil, firmly and steadily.

But when it really moves, the stick trembles slightly with each turn, and the shadows of the branches sway wildly, just like the wind blowing through a thousand branches, where the dense branches are sparse and the sparse branches are sharp. It is vague and indistinct, yet it has its own rules.

As Jiang Yi looked at his eldest son, some thoughts began to stir in his mind.

What would it be like if the eldest son, who received the true teachings and saw the "golden light," truly brought his soul into the staff?

But he knew it in his heart.

This kid has only been touching the edge of the spirit for a few hours. His spirit is initially strong, but the foundation is still weak.

As for the trick of "controlling breathing with a method", most people haven't even scratched the surface, let alone fully understood it.

If you really asked him to put on a show now, nine times out of ten it would be empty rhetoric, all show and no substance.

Having read this far, he didn't rule out anything, but just smiled and said, "Another day."

To everyone's surprise, Jiang Ming's eyes lit up. Instead of refusing, he showed a hint of eagerness.

"Why change the date?"

As soon as he finished speaking, he walked to the center of the courtyard and stood firmly.

"Father, we can try it now."

Before he finished speaking, he gently beckoned towards the eaves.

The posture seemed ordinary, without any fancy moves, yet it possessed a natural quality.

The long stick leaning against the wall in the corner of the courtyard seemed to be drawn by an invisible hand, trembled slightly, and slowly floated up.

Immediately afterwards, with a "whoosh," the stick rose from the ground, like a fish out of water or a swallow soaring through the sky, drawing a clean arc and heading straight for his palm.

"Snapped."

The stick landed steadily in his hand, without the slightest error.

Jiang Ming flicked his wrist, causing the stick to tremble slightly, creating a flawless flourish.

The smile on Jiang Yi's face froze in that instant.

Even his calm and composed demeanor seemed to be held down by something.

He just stared at it, his eyes wide, a look of disbelief and astonishment on his face.

Controlling qi and objects, moving at will...

Even a child who has already crossed the threshold of "determined will" might not be able to use this method so freely and naturally.

But it was the eldest son, Jiang Ming, who made the move.

Let alone "determined intention," he couldn't even remember which chapter of the book "On Sitting in Oblivion" he had turned to.

Jiang Yi's mind was in turmoil, filled with mixed feelings, and his decades of self-control almost went awry.

Many thoughts battled in my mind, but eventually they all gave way, leaving only one to emerge.

He rushed into the courtyard, his throat tight, and even he could hear the dryness in his voice when he spoke:

"Ming'er, you..."

He bit his tongue halfway through his sentence before continuing in a low voice:

"Have you... stepped into the realm of 'gods'?"

He couldn't think of any other reason besides this legendary realm of instant ascension.

Jiang Ming simply shook his head slightly, quite decisively.

The hand holding the stick was as steady as the roots of an old tree, without the slightest wavering.

"That profound and mysterious realm is still a long way off."

He spoke frankly and calmly, yet every word he uttered was extremely sincere.

"Last night I had some success with my visualization practice, and somehow my breath suddenly came alive."

"The moment the thought arises, it takes the first step, so smoothly... as if it were meant to be."

As he spoke, his brow furrowed slightly, as if even he himself couldn't figure it out.

After a moment of hesitation, he raised his eyes again and looked at Jiang Yi, his tone both cautious and serious.

"Perhaps it's because...the more books one reads, the more the meaning becomes clear."

That's a very true statement, not a joke at all.

Upon hearing this, Jiang Yi's lips twitched slightly, but he ultimately remained silent.

This sounds a bit far-fetched, but he thought about it over and over again and couldn't find a more plausible explanation.

He could only give a half-believing "hmm" as a token of agreement.

This eldest son has never followed the usual path since childhood.

It seems that although he has not yet truly stepped into the legendary realm of "divine beings," this transformation... is probably the result of years of painstaking effort, painstakingly crafted between the lines.

Jiang Yi nodded and said no more.

He just smiled, turned around and pulled an old stick from under the eaves, lightly weighed it in his wrist, and then glanced sideways at Jiang Ming.

“Come on, since you say that you can understand the meaning of books after reading them a lot, then your father also wants to see how many harsh principles are hidden in the books of sages and worthies.”

Before he finished speaking, he shifted his feet and his body flipped like an eagle. With a flick of his wrist, the force of his staff spread out like ink splashed across the ground.

This stick technique was honed over more than a decade of weathering storms and snow.

His muscles and bones are imbued with skill, his blood and qi are wrapped in power; before he even moves, his aura already overwhelms others.

With a flick of the staff, a whooshing sound arose as it swept left and right with measured steps.

In contrast, Jiang Ming has spent all his time on textual analysis over the years. Although he hasn't put down his stick, he has long lost some of his familiarity with the fundamentals.

The first few moves were quite difficult to parry.

Some stances are too difficult to parry, so you can only dodge with your body.
Those who managed to get a hold of the ball mostly had incomplete moves, struggling to defend themselves, and looked like they were being beaten and stumbling all the way.

After about ten moves, Jiang Yi's brows slowly furrowed.

This kid's stick fighting skills are indeed "clumsy"—his hands and feet are clumsy, his eye movements are clumsy, and his stance is very loose, as if he picked up the skill halfway through his life.

But his aura... was unbelievably "alive".

Having practiced for most of my life, I know how the Qi flows according to the movements.

Like driving a horse-drawn carriage, every movement is steady and orderly, moving forward smoothly and methodically.

But Jiang Ming's anger didn't accept this set of rules at all.

His breath was like that of a herd of wild horses that had broken free of their reins; the techniques were just the beginning, like lighting a lamp, and the rest depended entirely on his breath running on its own.

The thought had barely formed when the energy had already moved ahead of it, and the movement seemed to be chasing after one's own energy.

When Jiang Yi strikes down with his stick, the force is as powerful as a mountain collapsing and rocks splitting; anyone else would be caught off guard and in a panic.

But as soon as Jiang Ming shifted his waist and flicked his wrist, energy emanated from his body, causing that force to vanish without a trace.

The father and son stood facing each other in the courtyard, their sticks flashing and whistling in the wind.

The wooden sticks struck each other with muffled thuds, like raindrops falling on tiles, so dense and impenetrable that it was difficult to determine who was superior for a moment.

As the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, before the thin mist had dissipated, the soft clanging of spatulas could be heard from the kitchen.

Then came a lazy "Mmm" from her daughter and a long, drawn-out yawn from her grandson, all soft and gentle.

The two men understood each other without saying a word, and the blow from the sticks stopped abruptly as they each withdrew their weapons.

The two sticks touched lightly in the air, making a crisp sound, and finished the game perfectly.

Jiang Yi put away the stick, took a few steps, walked to his son's side, leaned closer, and whispered something.

Jiang Ming kept his eyes down, his face expressionless, and listened quietly until the very end, when he finally nodded very slightly.

After breakfast, the chill in the cold ground was still strong, but the wind suddenly changed.

Jiang Ming, who was originally a man of simple and unassuming nature and who wished he could be buried in a pile of books, seemed to have changed his ways in his actions.

When taking a book from the desk, one no longer needs to bend down to reach it.

With a single glance, the file seemed to be pulled by an invisible thread, floating up gracefully and landing perfectly in his outstretched palm.

In the corner, Jiang Rui listened in a daze, his head nodding slightly.

Jiang Ming remained silent and did not even bother to frown.

With just a flick of his fingertip, without even a ripple in his sleeve, a pebble silently leaped up and flew over the heads of the group.

It made a slow, gentle arc, and with a "smack," it struck Jiang Rui squarely between the eyebrows.

The boy woke up with a start, as if he had fallen off a cliff in his dream. He straightened up, all sleepiness gone, and looked around blankly.

His expression was truly laughable, but who knew where this "hidden weapon" came from?

Such a method, without any shouting or subtle movements, left Jiang Xi, who was standing nearby, speechless and unable to help but hiss.

Jiang Ming simply smiled faintly, showing no trace of smugness.

He opened the book to himself, his tone gentle and unhurried, as if it were a spring breeze yesterday:

"These minor skills are merely for amusement. If one can calmly study and thoroughly understand the principles in the book, not only can one control objects and manipulate qi, but one might even be able to strike thunder with one's fist and tread on wind and fire."

Upon hearing this, Jiang Xi's eyes lit up, as if she could see celestial dragons flying in the pages of the book.

Liu Xiulian also calmed her restlessness and became more serious than usual.

Half an hour later, the book closed gently, the sound as still as water, without a ripple.

Without saying much, Jiang Ming spread his sleeves and seemed to be carried out the door by the wind, heading straight towards the back of the mountain.

Jiang Yi and Liu Xiulian returned to the courtyard, each holding a baby and patiently feeding them lukewarm rice cereal with a small spoon.

The sun had risen, and its warm light lazily spilled across the ground, falling on the mottled walls and swaying gently, creating a somewhat picturesque scene.

This peaceful daily routine was soon shattered by a flurry of footsteps.

Before anyone could be seen, Jiang Xi's voice boomed in, clear and crisp like a copper bell: "Father! Mother!"

Before she finished speaking, she had already swept into the courtyard like a whirlwind, holding a letter in her hand, her joy almost overflowing from her eyes.

The letter reached Jiang Yi.

He twirled the paper between his fingers, recognizing its thickness and texture perfectly. Without even looking at the signature, he knew it came from Liangzhou.

As soon as the envelope was opened, a square package wrapped in oil paper slid out and landed in my palm, feeling slightly heavy.

Upon opening it, it was an unremarkable wooden box with an old, worn-out wood grain.

Lifting the lid, two dark, heavy pills lay quietly inside, about the size of longans, with rough skin and an unappealing appearance.

The aroma of the herbs was enticing, yet it carried a bitter taste, as if the herbs had been mixed with a little dried ginger, creating an ambiguous blend of herbal notes.

Jiang Yi raised an eyebrow and casually unfolded the letter.

The handwriting on it was wild and unrestrained, crooked and messy, clearly the work of that kid Jiang Liang.

It is said that Feng'er recently went to the top of Heming Mountain to start a furnace and, following an ancient recipe, produced a batch of "Youth-Preserving Pills".

I made two pills, and dared not keep them for myself, so I sent them home for my parents to try.

After reading it, Jiang Yi told Liu Xiulian the message. The two looked at each other and smiled.

Without saying a word, they each reached out and took one.

Jiang Yi took the lead, swallowing half a bowl of warm water with his head tilted back, looking as natural as if he were eating a hawthorn ball.

Liu Xiulian didn't hesitate and followed his example, swallowing it cleanly and decisively.

Before the medicinal smell had even dissipated, he burst out laughing.

Jiang Yi sat on the veranda, leaning against the door frame, twirling the slightly curled corner of the letter, and slowly read it in the warm morning sunlight.

The words are familiar, the language is common, and what is being said is nothing more than the same old family matters.

That kid Jiang Liang has been following the Protector of the Qiang around lately, making a name for himself and getting increasingly ambitious.

However, that "Dr. Li" has recently gained considerable fame.

Today he appeased Madam Zhang's anger, and tomorrow he soothed Miss Wang's nerves; his influence has even subtly overshadowed several old gentlemen in the city.

Jiang Yi's lips curled slightly as he watched, and he shook his head with a smile.

Liu Xiulian, holding the baby in her arms, gently swayed the little body and only made a soft "hmm" sound at the tip of her nose. It was unclear whether she was responding to him or was engrossed in listening to the interesting story in the letter.

The letter was almost at the end, and it had been talking so enthusiastically at the beginning, but suddenly the pen tip changed direction, and the handwriting became a bit darker.

In just a few words, it was said that there was an urgent matter at the Li clan in Luoyang, and the messenger was in a hurry, so Wenya had already been taken away.

Several blank lines followed, as if there was still more to say, but no further writing was done.

(End of this chapter)