Under One Person: The Taoist Priest Descends the Mountain

The wind from the cliff swept through the verdant peaks of Zhongnan Mountain, carrying the sound of pine trees, and made the robes of the Taoist priest standing on the cliff edge flutter.

The wind rushed up from the mountain stream, carrying the dampness of the morning mist, which could make the pine branches sway wildly, but it could not shake his figure in the slightest.

Cheng Mo stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his knees slightly bent like a bow, and his hands held loosely in front of his abdomen, palms facing each other, fingertips seemingly touching – this was the starting posture of the Taoist Eight Pieces of Brocade, "Two hands supporting the sky to regulate the three burners".

He has stood like this for fifteen years without fail, and the rocks beneath his feet have been worn with shallow indentations.

Cheng Mosheng was born on Zhongnan Mountain. In the dead of winter, a heavy snow blocked the mountain. Daoist Cheng Shou went down the mountain to buy supplies and found a baby who was frozen purple in a snowdrift. He took the baby back, fed it rice porridge, wrapped it in a cotton-padded coat, and it actually survived.

His master named him "Cheng Mo," saying that brush, ink, paper, and inkstone should all have a touch of literary elegance, even though the most literary items in the temple were probably those few well-worn volumes of the Daoist canon.

However, Cheng Mo has another secret: he is actually a time traveler.

In his previous life, he was a mediocre ox or horse, who died suddenly after working overtime for days on end. When he woke up again, he was a crying baby in the mountains.

Past events are like fleeting shadows, long since worn away by the morning bells and evening drums, the ancient scrolls and lamplight in the mountains.

Cheng Mo's only obsession is the "Dao" he learned from his master when he was three years old.

"Form is destiny; intention is nature; only when form and intention go hand in hand can one refine essence into qi and use qi to communicate with the divine."

Unfortunately, in the past fifteen years, he has only gained life, but not his true nature.

He can clearly feel the stretching of every inch of muscle.

It can make bones jingle like a zither during movement; it can evaporate morning dew into white vapor that envelops the whole body.

His body was forged from steel; he could climb mountains and wade through rivers tirelessly, and even in the dead of winter, he wouldn't feel cold in just a single layer of clothing. Even if he were to fall off this cliff, he could instinctively use his muscles to absorb the impact and roll away, most likely emerging unharmed.

This is the ultimate achievement of life cultivation, the perfection of form.

But Cheng Mo could never grasp that so-called "Qi".

Cheng Mo slowly raised his hand, palm facing upward, as if supporting a thousand-pound weight, and slowly rose along the midline of his body. The movement was so slow that you could count the arc of the pores opening and hear the sound of blood flowing in the veins.

Following the method taught by his master, he concentrated his mind and tried to "introspect" himself to find a wisp of true qi in his dantian.

However, my mind was completely blank, with only the sounds of my heartbeat, blood flow, and breathing.

There was no "flow of Qi", no "warmth of the three jiaos", and no "clarity of spirit and Qi in oneness" as the master spoke of.

Cheng Mo slowly withdrew his stance, exhaling a long breath of turbid air. The white mist dispersed in the morning light, and the hem of his Taoist robe was soaked by the dew on the grass and leaves on the cliff edge, turning the dark gray into inky black.

The master said that some people are born with "unopened spiritual apertures," and even if they practice their qigong to the extreme, they will find it difficult to glimpse the path of qi.

However, the master also said that those who have perfected their life cultivation can have their spirit carried in their form; all beings in all their forms are paths to enlightenment.

Cheng Mo believed it, so he continued doing it every day for the past fifteen years.

Another gust of mountain wind swept by, and he turned around and walked back, his footsteps as light as a cat's on the gravel path.

As he approached the kitchen door, he took a deep breath and shouted, "Old man, what's for breakfast this morning?"

The sound echoed between the courtyard walls.

A moment later, Cheng Shou's slow reply came from the main hall. It wasn't loud, but it was clear as if it were right next to his ear: "Fry an egg, and make two plates of cold dishes~"

Cheng Mo's lips unconsciously curved into a smile as he pushed open the creaking kitchen door.

The earthen stove is old, but the induction cooker next to it is new—it was installed last year as part of the government's poverty alleviation project. With water and electricity connected, the temple no longer has to fumble in the dark with oil lamps every day.

Cheng Mo first lit the earthen stove, struck a match, ignited the fire with pine needles, and the firewood crackled and burned. He then put millet into the pot, cracked two eggs and mixed them, before taking a basket to the back garden to pick wild vegetables.

The dew was cold on his hands, and he pinched off the tips of the vegetables quickly and accurately, almost without making a sound.

After rinsing and draining the porridge, as the aroma of the porridge grew stronger on the earthen stove, Cheng Mo turned on the induction cooker.

sizzle.

He heats the oil, adds the vegetables, and stirs them up, releasing a plume of smoke. He holds the wok in one hand and adds firewood to the earthen stove with the other, managing to do both without neglecting either task.

Cheng Shou strolled in. The old man's Taoist robe was older than Cheng Mo's, yet spotless. His eyes shone like stars, and as he scanned the kitchen, he sighed softly.

"The government has already connected us to water and electricity, why do you insist on fiddling with this earthen stove?"

Cheng Mo flicked his wrist, and the cold dish was served and plated. Without turning his head, he said, "We have to use the firewood we chopped, otherwise it would be a waste."

"If you don't want to cut down trees, then fine," Cheng Shou said, walking over to him with his hands behind his back and watching him fry eggs. "Cutting down trees also damages the ecological environment. We have to protect our green mountains and clear waters."

The egg mixture quickly solidified into a perfect round edge in the hot oil. With a deft flick of his wrist, Cheng Mo sent the egg arcing through the air before it landed steadily back in the center of the pan, golden brown on both sides.

"That won't do, I need to train. Chopping wood, carrying water, going up and down the mountain—these are all ways to practice."

Cheng Shou chuckled and rolled his eyes: "Then go down the mountain and buy a gas stove. Carry the gas cylinder up and down the mountain every day. The training effect will be amazing."

"Master, you're so out of touch," Cheng Mo said, turning off the stove and scooping out eggs. "We don't need to change the gas cylinder every day. At the rate we use it, it'll last a month."

"You little brat! You think your master doesn't understand English?" Cheng Shouyi glared and pointed at Cheng Mo with his finger.

"Back when I was with Merrill's Marauders, dealing with those Japanese devils in the woods, I learned way more vocabulary than you, you little brat! 'Out'... Fubar's seen it all, your little bit of cleverness is naive!"

"..."

Cheng Mo silently placed the fried eggs and cold dishes on the small wooden table, and also served two bowls of thick millet porridge.

The master and apprentice sat facing each other. The morning light shone through the window, cutting bright blocks of light on the table. The two ate quietly, with only the soft clinking of bowls and chopsticks and the occasional chirping of birds outside the window.

Cheng Mo ate quickly, finishing his portion in a flash, and then got up to clear the dishes.

Cheng Shou finished the last mouthful of porridge, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took out a bank card from his inner pocket, and slammed it on the wooden table: "Mowa, pack up and let's go down the mountain today."

Cheng Mo was stacking bowls when he heard this, and without stopping, he said, "What strange and unusual thing are you looking to buy now? That book about the Big Bang is still gathering dust under the bed."

"Go get us a new satellite dish." Cheng Shou pointed to the bank card on the table. "We can only get five channels now, and the snow is bigger than a person's shadow. I heard that the better ones can even receive TV signals from Hong Kong now. We should watch more of this colorful world."

The dish lid is a satellite antenna that can directly receive satellite signals.

Cheng Mo recalled yesterday afternoon when his master had monopolized the old television, and CCTV-1 was broadcasting "The True Story of Taoism".

This program started airing in July 2006, airing once a week. Yesterday was the third episode, which talked about Zhang Zhiwei, the 7th Celestial Master of Longhu Mountain and the Taoist Master of Tiantong, and how he single-handedly carried forward the Celestial Masters sect after the War of Resistance against Japan.

At that time, the master stared at the screen without saying a word.

The faucet was running loudly. It was because of his previous experiences and this show that Cheng Mo finally realized that he had transmigrated to "Under One Person" rather than some other unfamiliar supernatural world.

He later asked his master if the Celestial Master could handle his problem.

The old man then tossed him a stack of letters. It turned out that the phrase "the one who has achieved perfect destiny" was just the old master comforting his master...

Cheng Mo rinsed the foam off the bowl, then suddenly turned his head and grinned, "Master, you wouldn't be... feeling jealous and inferior after seeing that old Celestial Master, would you?"

"I feel inferior?!" Cheng Shou was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on; he almost jumped off the stool, his eyes wide with shock. "That old bastard Zhang Zhiwei didn't even dare to come down from the mountain back then! I killed at least a thousand... ptooey, several thousand Japanese devils!"

"That's because the Celestial Masters sect values ​​the old Celestial Master and protects him as a seed of their lineage." Cheng Mo wiped his hands, his tone quite irritating. "How can it be compared to your kind?"

Cheng Shou choked for a moment, his white beard twitched, and he waved his hand irritably: "...Alright, alright, I'm not going to waste my breath on you, you little idiot! Here, take the card, buy the pot lid and have Xiao Li bring it back, and don't come back."

Cheng Mo paused in wiping his hands: "???"

"Old man, can't you take a joke? I still have to take care of you in your old age and see you off when you die, and I still have to inherit this Taoist temple!"

"What nonsense are you spouting at me!" Cheng Shou angrily pointed at Cheng Mo. "I'm telling you to go down the mountain and cultivate in the world! Back then, I was kicked off the mountain by your grandmaster when I was twelve. I let you stay here for six more years, and you're still not satisfied?"

Cheng Mo immediately breathed a sigh of relief. Entering the mortal world to cultivate? He almost laughed.

In my past life, I toiled away in this world for decades, working overtime, paying off mortgages, and dealing with interpersonal entanglements, eventually dying at my desk. Wasn't that enough? This world is just the same old story, nothing like the tranquility of the mountains.

"I'd rather not engage in worldly cultivation," Cheng Mo waved his hand, showing little interest. "This world is full of petty squabbles and the pursuit of fame and fortune. I'm tired of it all. I'd rather chop wood and carry water on the mountain and practice my skills."

Snapped!

Cheng Shoumeng slammed his hand on the table and stood up.

The old Taoist robe on the old man fluttered and rustled without any wind, and a faint mist of light emanated from him. The air seemed to thicken, and an invisible pressure spread through the kitchen, causing the firewood in the stove to suddenly dim.

The old man is... getting serious!

"Master! Master! Please have mercy!" Cheng Mo immediately cowered, raising his hands. "I'll give in, I'll give in, okay? Please don't get angry, anger is bad for your health, what if it damages your Golden Core!"

The terrifying light and pressure emanating from Cheng Shou's body receded like a tide, and his Taoist robe fell gracefully down again.

"That's more like it." He snorted, sat back down on the stool, and pushed the bank card towards Cheng Mo again.

"There's 100,000 yuan in this card. Tsk tsk, back in the day, your grandmaster gave me half a string of cash and a bag of dry rations so hard it could kill a dog, and then kicked me off the mountain. Look how good your master is to you now."

Cheng Mo: "...Thank you so much!"