Chapter Four: The Lightning-Struck Jujube Wood and a Fate Bound by an Egg

"Changchunzi pays his respects to you, Uncle-Master."

Qiuzhen Temple, second floor of the Scripture Library.

Changchunzi, accompanied by a young Daoist acolyte, bowed low in salutation. He had been a disciple under Xuanxu’s tutelage for twenty years. Now thirty-five, he possessed a gentle countenance, eyes that gleamed with vitality, arched brows, a broad forehead, and a high bridge of a nose; the beard beneath his jaw was groomed with meticulous care. He was known for his steady temperament and sharp, capable nature. Having handled a great many of the temple's affairs for Xuanxu, he was regarded by all within the temple as the next Abbot.

It was a rule of Qiuzhen Temple that while the Abbot might not necessarily possess the highest cultivation level, they must certainly possess the most outstanding administrative ability. Mastery in managing secular affairs allowed the rest of the congregation to focus on their cultivation. This was the Daoist way.

"No need for such formalities."

With a wave of his hand, Xuanming gestured for them to rise. Changchunzi wasted no time; after a brief exchange of greetings, he instructed the acolyte to place two wooden boxes upon the table.

"Uncle-Master, my master said that since you have recently entered the path of Dao, you lack suitable dharma instruments. He specifically ordered me to bring these to you, hoping they will assist you in protecting yourself and ensuring your journey along the path remains smooth."

Upon hearing this, Xuanming felt a stir in his heart. He understood that Xuanxu was fulfilling the promise made just yesterday.

"I accept your master's kind intentions. Please convey my gratitude to him on my behalf."

"I shall certainly pass on your words, Uncle-Master. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave."

Bowing once more, Changchunzi departed with the acolyte, his actions swift and efficient, leaving no trail of indecision. He truly came and went like a gust of wind.

Inside the library, Xuanming did not immediately inspect the contents of the boxes. Amidst the curling fragrance of tea, he sipped his brew and turned the pages of his scripture. Since he was in the library, focusing on the scriptures was paramount; the contents of the boxes would not run away, and looking at them now or later made no difference.

***

The continuation of a sect lies first in its heritage. The root of that heritage lies within the library. The second floor of the Scripture Library housed precious Daoist texts, many of them unique copies, along with various treatises on mystical arts. It was a restricted area of Qiuzhen Temple. Only those who had achieved the "Hundred-Day Barrier" in their cultivation were permitted entry.

Xuanming chose to ascend to this floor precisely because it was sparsely populated. He had no desire to be gawked at like a monkey by the disciples and grand-disciples swarming the first floor, nor did he wish to be bothered by those intentionally trying to curry favor, which would only disturb his peace. The second floor was quiet, making it easier to study the scriptures and realize the Dao.

However, Xuanming did not touch the texts on the second floor—not because he did not want to, but because the timing was not yet ripe. A ten-thousand-foot pagoda must rise from the ground up. There were eight hundred scrolls in the library on the first floor, and he had yet to finish them or fully grasp their meanings; he could not afford to be overly ambitious.

A person stands with the sky overhead and the earth beneath their feet; one should be grounded, taking life one step at a time, and building a solid foundation. Only in this way can one’s path be steady, one’s heart at peace, and one’s roots secure.

As for the scrolls from downstairs, the library-attending monk would bring them up. Though the lad was gossipy and talkative, he was reliable. More importantly, he lived authentically. Before Xuanming had entered the Dao, this boy had shown him genuine respect, caring for his well-being and often bringing him game to improve his diet and nourish his body. Even though the boy usually ate the lion's share himself, Xuanming appreciated the gesture. If he ever possessed sufficient ability in the future, he would grant the boy a stroke of good fortune to repay this favor.

Studying, reading, contemplating, and meditating... before he knew it, the sun was setting behind the western hills. Xuanming did not stay up late as he usually did; after finishing his last cup of tea, he put away his scroll and rose. Daoist cultivation emphasizes a balance of tension and relaxation. Only by maintaining such a balance can one achieve twice the result with half the effort.

Having entered the path of Dao, he could no longer push himself as hard as he had in the past; he had to master the proper measure. Balancing labor and rest, adjusting speed with stillness, studying at sunrise and resting at sunset—this was the Dao.

***

To go too far would be counterproductive. Summoning the chubby monk Chang'anzi, he ordered him to carry the two wooden boxes and followed him as they descended the stairs, leaving the Scripture Library.

***

In the small thatched hut at the Asking the Dao Courtyard, Chang'anzi, being sharp-witted, noticed the late hour and realized his Uncle-Master had matters to attend to, so he made an excuse about preparing the evening meal and left the courtyard. This was another trait Xuanming appreciated in Chang'anzi: he knew the times and understood when to advance or retreat.

Sitting cross-legged before the table, Xuanming opened one of the wooden boxes. A striking contrast of red and white caught his eye. His gaze fell upon the red object, and his face lit up: "I never imagined it would be this!"

The red object was a wooden rod, about two feet long and half an inch wide, polished to a smooth finish with delicate grain. Faint lightning patterns flickered within the red texture, its spiritual power contained and not leaking out. It was lightning-struck jujube wood!

The world knew that Daoist practitioners favored lightning-struck peach or cypress wood for their instruments, but few realized that lightning-struck jujube wood was the king of dharma materials—the highest grade of lightning-struck timber. "Better to burn a cart of ebony than to part with a piece of lightning-struck jujube." This wood was the essence born from the harmony of heaven and earth's yin and yang, possessing the power to slay demons and command spirits.

Two hundred years ago, the founder Qiuzhenzi, while traveling the world, had the good fortune to form a bond with a jujube tree spirit, helping it survive a heavenly lightning tribulation. In gratitude, the spirit gifted him this lightning-struck wood. Later, when the founder established Qiuzhen Temple on Fuyun Mountain, the wood was crafted into a dharma sword, which became the token of the Abbot's succession. After the sword was finished, the remaining small piece was sealed with lightning, gathered with spiritual energy, and carefully polished and stored in the treasury, never to be awarded without great merit. For a hundred years, no one had been qualified to use it.

Xuanming had only seen the true form of the heirloom sword because his own father was a previous Abbot, which was how he recognized this piece of wood at a glance. Three years ago, the Great Elder of Qingfeng Temple had personally come to request this item, offering a profound-tier pill formula in exchange, only to be flatly refused by the Abbot. Yet now, it had been delivered into his hands.

It was truly... "Good! Excellent!"

"My junior brother the Abbot is certainly generous!"

After his exclamation, Xuanming accepted the gift with peace of mind. The superior Yin-Yang Foundation Establishment Method he possessed was far more valuable than the wood, and looking across the entirety of Qiuzhen Temple, no one was more qualified to possess it than he.

His gaze shifted to the white object. Although Xuanming did not recognize it, his thoughtful junior brother had included a small booklet with an introduction. After browsing it, his confusion vanished. It was Celestial Silkworm Silk, spun by a three-hundred-year-old silkworm spirit. It was impervious to water and fire, possessed immense resilience, and could change length at will. Though precious, it seemed somewhat ordinary compared to the lightning-struck jujube wood.

However, Xuanming did not mind. While materials influenced the power of a dharma instrument, the ultimate factor was the person. Mountains are not famous for their height, but for the immortals who dwell there; waters are not deep for their depth, but for the dragons that inhabit them. Only the practitioner's level of cultivation and their depth of understanding of the Dao could determine the true strength of an instrument. Xuanming was old and wise, and he saw this clearly.

He opened the second box, which contained a piece of lightning-struck peach wood. It was quite large and of a suitable length, enough to be fashioned into a peach wood sword.

"A whisk to clear the heart, a dharma sword to protect the path."

"Junior brother Xuanxu has a thoughtful heart." Xuanming stroked his beard, beaming with joy.

***

"Uncle-Master, dinner is served."

Chang'anzi was excellent at timing. Just as Xuanming finished putting his things away, the monk walked in. Carrying a tray and taking small, quick steps, his chubby body and fat, smiling face were a delight to behold. In the hut, by the table, the old man and the young monk sat facing each other.

Chang'anzi cast a shifty, mouse-like glance out the window. Seeing that no one was approaching, he acted like a thief and pulled two things from his robes... eggs!

Qiuzhen Temple did not forbid the consumption of meat. Logically, they had no need to be secretive about eating eggs. But these eggs were different—they were slightly larger than chicken eggs, their shells as white and translucent as jade, without a single flaw. These were laid by the spiritual cranes kept by Junior Brother Xuankong, known for their ability to consolidate the foundation, nourish the essence, and purify spiritual power.

For the past five years, this Chang'anzi had always managed to steal from the tiger's den, bringing him two eggs every month to nourish his body. Chang'anzi’s master had died early, leaving him with no one to protect him. Xuanming had once advised him to stop, lest he be caught red-handed by the greedy and food-protective Xuankong and face punishment. The boy would always agree to his face but never change his ways, often boasting of his own "theft" skills and gossiping about how his master Xuankong was bad at counting.

Seeing him persist, Xuanming eventually stopped wasting his breath. After all, he was the one enjoying the food, and if things went south, he could always give the boy a bottle of high-quality healing salve.

"Uncle-Master, eat quickly. They're still warm."

These words pulled Xuanming from his memories back to reality. Seeing Chang'anzi peel the egg for him, the elder, before peeling his own, Xuanming smiled with gratification.

"Good child!"

As he picked up his chopsticks to taste the egg, Xuanming felt a sense of contentment. As for Junior Brother Xuankong... once or twice might have been a coincidence, but after five years of stolen eggs, how could he not know? In the end, Xuankong was likely using Chang'anzi’s hands to send warmth to his senior brother. Chang'anzi was clever; he probably guessed the truth long ago and, like him, was playing dumb. After all, one should not let down Junior Brother Xuankong’s good intentions.

He would consider these eggs a performance fee. Sacrificing oneself to help a fellow disciple—Junior Brother Xuankong’s merit was boundless.

***

Huoyun Peak, back mountain.

The broad-minded and stout-bodied, innocent-looking Daoist Xuankong sat slumped on a blue rock, looking much like the Taiyi Zhenren from the movie *Nezha*. Thinking of the two spiritual eggs pilfered by Chang'anzi, he took a heavy gulp of wine. Thinking of the hundred-plus eggs taken over the last five years, he clutched his chest and continued to drink in heartbreak.

*Gulp, gulp!*

After several more gulps, Daoist Xuankong said to the spiritual cranes nearby: "The last time! This is absolutely the last time!"

"Senior brother has already entered the Dao and is nourished by the spiritual energy of heaven and earth; these spiritual eggs should be cut off."

The several spiritual cranes nearby rolled their eyes in unison, expressing their speechlessness before turning away and fluttering their tails to show their attitude. Only the world where Daoist Xuankong was hurt had been achieved.