Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

In the central part of Dongzhou, there is Mount Taixu.

The Zhenwu Dao Sect is as famous as the Wanfo Temple, and is one of the two holy sites of the righteous path in the Eastern Continent. The mountain gate is majestic, the halls are solemn, cranes fly, and clouds and mist swirl around.

The lineage of the Zhenwu Dao Sect is even older than that of the Wanfo Temple. Each successive sect leader has been a pinnacle of martial arts.

The most dazzling genius of this generation in the Zhenwu Daoist sect is a nineteen-year-old Taoist priest.

Returning to the origin.

At this moment, he is standing on the summit of Mount Taixu, facing the sea of ​​clouds, with his hands behind his back.

Her black hair was casually tied up with a wooden hairpin, a few strands fluttering in the mountain breeze. Her blue Taoist robe rustled in the wind, and she wore cloth sandals. In her hand, she held a whisk. The white strands of the whisk moved gently in the wind, like clouds and mist.

He was tall and slender, with a handsome and refined face, and a maturity beyond his years in his eyes. His gaze was deep and calm, like a still pond, without a ripple.

Several young fellow students were standing around him, chatting amongst themselves.

"Senior Brother Guiyuan, have you heard?" a young Taoist priest exclaimed excitedly. "Wangwo Master has emerged from Wanfo Temple, the same age as you, nineteen! He converted over a hundred bandits in Nanzhou, and even a Grandmaster-level demonic expert. He's incredibly powerful!"

"He's more than just amazing!" another young Taoist priest chimed in. "I heard he never kills anyone, he just chants scriptures. People listen and then cry, kneeling and begging him to convert them. Isn't that incredible?"

Gui Yuan smiled slightly and turned his head.

"Master of Selflessness." He repeated these four words in a low voice, a hint of longing flashing in his eyes, "To save people with compassion, without harming a single life... that is true spiritual practice."

"Brother Guiyuan, who do you think is more powerful, you or Master Wangwo?" a young Taoist priest asked curiously.

Guiyuan shook his head and flicked the whisk in his hand.

"Spiritual practice is not about who is more powerful," he said, his voice clear as a spring. "Master Wangwo guides people, returning to the origin and following the natural course. The paths may differ, but the destination is the same."

The young Taoist priests nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

In the distance, a middle-aged Taoist priest walked slowly towards them. He wore a purple Taoist robe, held a jade ruyi in his hand, and had a slender face and an air of otherworldly grace. He was none other than the True Martial Taoist Master, Master Qingxuan.

"Return to the Origin," Master Qingxuan called out.

"Master." Guiyuan turned around and bowed slightly.

Master Qingxuan walked to Guiyuan's side, put his hands behind his back, and looked at the sea of ​​clouds.

"It's been half a year," he said. "You've been down the mountain exorcising demons for half a year now. What insights have you gained?"

Guiyuan remained silent for a moment.

"I have seen a lot," he said. "There are demonic beasts causing havoc, evil spirits running rampant, and people suffering. I have done my best to save those I can, to guide those I can, and to suppress those I can."

"How many did you kill?"

Guiyuan shook his head: "This disciple did not kill them."

Master Qingxuan turned to look at him: "That Grandmaster-level demon beast, you didn't kill it?"

"No," Guiyuan said. "It just wanted to live, but it went astray. I've suppressed and sealed it, so it can no longer harm people. I'll release it when it understands what's happening."

Master Qingxuan looked at Guiyuan and remained silent for a long time.

"Do you know that suppression is more difficult than killing?" he asked. "Killing only requires one strike, but suppression requires daily care, and the slightest carelessness will ruin everything."

"Disciple understands." Guiyuan raised his head, his gaze calm and firm. "But the path of cultivation is inherently like rowing against the current. Disciple chose the more difficult path because disciple believes that all things have spirits and all beings are equal. Whether it is a demon beast or an evil path, all have a day of repentance. If disciple were to kill it today to save trouble, I would be cutting off its path of repentance."

Master Qingxuan looked at his last disciple with eyes full of satisfaction.

"Very good," he said, his voice tinged with emotion. "You have not let your master down. Guiyuan, you still have a long way to go, but you are walking steadily."

"This disciple thanks Master for his teachings."

Master Qingxuan patted Guiyuan on the shoulder and turned to leave.

After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped without looking back.

"Oh, by the way," he said, "the selfless young monk at Wanfo Temple is the same age as you, and just as compassionate as you. If you have the chance in the future, you can go and meet him."

Guiyuan was slightly taken aback: "Master means..."

"Although Buddhism and Taoism are different, they lead to the same goal," said Master Qingxuan. "You two are perhaps the two brightest stars of the righteous path in this generation. If you can verify each other's teachings and encourage each other, it will greatly benefit your cultivation."

After finishing his speech, Master Qingxuan strode away, his purple Taoist robe disappearing into the clouds.

Guiyuan stood there, gazing in the direction his master had left, lost in thought.

"Forget yourself..." he murmured, a slight smile playing on his lips.

That little monk I'd never met, that Buddhist prodigy who guided people with compassion—

Guiyuan eagerly awaited the day she would meet him.

The mountain wind howled, and the sea of ​​clouds surged.

Guiyuan stood with his hands behind his back, his green robe fluttering and his whisk swirling in the wind.

His figure stood alone and upright atop Mount Taixu, like an ancient pine tree growing on a precipice—impervious to wind and frost, and unyielding to thunder and lightning.

"The path to enlightenment is endless," he murmured, his gaze piercing through the sea of ​​clouds and looking into the distance. "I still have a long way to go."

But he wasn't in a hurry.

The path of spiritual cultivation is long and arduous.

He has plenty of time; he can take his time.

Wanfo Temple, Bodhi Courtyard.

Master Liaokong sat cross-legged under the Bodhi tree, his prayer beads slowly turning in his hand.

A disciple walked in from outside the courtyard, his hands clasped together: "Master, news has come from down the mountain that Master Guiyuan of the Zhenwu Dao Sect has suppressed another evil master at the peak of the Grandmaster level. He did not kill him, but only crippled his cultivation and let him go."

Master Liaokong opened his eyes, a glimmer of clarity flashing in his cloudy eyes.

"Guiyuan..." he repeated the name softly, a tiny smile curving his lips.

"Does Master know him?"

"I don't know him." Master Liaokong shook his head, "but I've heard of him. He's nineteen years old, the closed-door disciple of the Zhenwu Dao Sect's leader, and he cultivates the 'Supreme Way of Forgetting Emotions,' where his mind is as still as water, unmoved by external things."

The disciple was taken aback: "How does Master know so much?"

Master Liaokong smiled.

"Because selflessness is as great as he is," he said. "Buddhism has produced selflessness, and Taoism has produced returning to the origin. This is not a coincidence, but the will of Heaven."

The disciple nodded thoughtfully.

Master Liaokong closed his eyes again, and the prayer beads slowly turned.

"Selflessly helping others, returning to the origin and following the will of Heaven," he said softly, his voice as light as the wind rustling through bamboo leaves. "One takes compassion as his boat, the other takes nature as his path. Though their paths are different, they lead to the same destination and will eventually come together."

In the courtyard, the bamboo shadows sway gently.

The autumn wind blows, and fallen leaves flutter down.

The sound of the bell from Wanfo Temple echoed through the mountains, distant and lingering.

Meanwhile, on Mount Taixu, thousands of miles away, the bells of the Zhenwu Dao Sect rang out at the same time.

One Buddhism and one Taoism, one Western and one Chinese.

Two nineteen-year-old boys, each on their own path of spiritual cultivation.

They had never met, yet their fates were intertwined—

We will meet one day.