Chapter Six: Baozi Dispels Evil

In the early winter, hunters would still venture into the mountains to hunt some game in preparation for the cold months ahead. But once the deep of winter set in, going into the mountains became a perilous undertaking. The threat of wolves, tigers, and leopards was one thing; more deadly still was the snow that could seal off the mountain paths, trapping hunters deep within, from which few ever returned.

The night after Zhou Yi and Baozi descended from the mountains, a heavy snow fell, closing off all the roads. Zhou Yi had to put aside his plans to further investigate the Taoist temple hidden in the depths of the mountains.

If there is much to tell, let it be told at length; if little, let it be brief. In the blink of an eye, the Spring Festival arrived. Once this festival passed, it would be 1917—the year of the farcical Qing Restoration, which is the very essence of this first volume, "The Dragon Veins of the Great Qing." Hear me out as I unfold the tale.

Throughout the winter, Zhou Yi resided in the west chamber. Originally, his third brother was meant to share the room with him, but Zhou Yi deftly persuaded him out with a mix of sweet words and stern tactics. In the idle cold of the northeast winter, there was little to do. Zhou Yi only went to the east chamber for meals; all other times he remained in the west chamber, devoted to his cultivation.

It had been over three months since the image of the Dao had transmitted its cultivation method to Zhou Yi, and he had reached the very peak of the first level for over a month. Yet, try as he might, he could not break through to the second level, the Realm of Subduing Evil. He suspected that the strand of purple energy left by the image of the Dao within his body was the cause. Realizing this, Zhou Yi shifted his focus to taming that strand of purple energy.

On the twentieth day of the twelfth lunar month, Zhou Yi sat cross-legged on the heated brick bed, his spirit clear and luminous. After days of effort, he had made considerable progress in taming the purple energy, which was gradually becoming more docile. However, whenever Zhou Yi tried to merge this purple energy with his own white spiritual energy, it would fiercely resist.

That day again, at a critical moment, Zhou Yi wrapped the purple energy with his spiritual energy, attempting to forcibly compress it. He was on the verge of success when the purple energy struggled desperately to break free. Gritting his teeth, Zhou Yi summoned all the spiritual energy from his meridians to suppress it. If only he could subdue the purple energy within his dantian, it would be a victory.

But though it was but a wisp of purple energy, it was far superior to Zhou Yi's own white spiritual energy. The more he tried to suppress it, the more violently it resisted. In moments, Zhou Yi failed yet again. But this time, the backlash from the purple energy was unprecedented; as it broke free from the white spiritual energy, it rampaged through it, scattering all of Zhou Yi's spiritual energy.

A sharp pain tore through Zhou Yi's organs, as if they would burst. Blood surged up his throat, stuck fast, neither swallowed nor spat out. He was suffering from a severe deviation in his cultivation—a far graver case than the first time, when his third brother pushed him. This time, his spiritual energy was completely scattered, a much more serious matter.

Just as Zhou Yi was about to lose consciousness, Zhou Dajiang burst through the door. Swiftly, he pressed eight major acupoints: Tiantu, Ruzhong, Shenfeng, Qimen, and others. Then, he sat behind Zhou Yi, placing one hand on the Tanzhong acupoint and the other on Baihui. Between his hands, a deep blue spiritual energy, visible to the naked eye, slowly entered Zhou Yi's body, calming the chaos within.

It turned out Zhou Dajiang was a cultivator at the very peak of the third level, the Realm of Subduing Demons. After a short while, Zhou Dajiang withdrew his energy. Zhou Yi felt a sweetness in his throat and spat out a mouthful of clotted blood; the deviation was resolved.

“Thank you, Father. Father…” Zhou Yi wanted to ask when his father had begun cultivating, and why he had never known all these years, but Zhou Dajiang cut him off before he could finish.

“Rest now, don’t speak. It is better to redirect than to block; reverse the order of things, and you will succeed.” Zhou Dajiang implied that Zhou Yi’s cultivation method was wrong. To merge the purple energy into the white energy was an arduous task; if the purple energy was made primary and drew in the white energy, success would come with half the effort.

All this time, Zhou Yi had been fixated on subduing the purple energy, forgetting that it was the breath of the Dao itself, the true energy of immortals. Though but a trace, it was proud and aloof. The white energy of ordinary cultivators belonged to mortals. How could immortal energy condescend to merge with the energy of mere mortals? It was a fundamental error.

With Zhou Dajiang’s guidance, Zhou Yi suddenly saw the light. “Thank you, Father. I understand now!” Overjoyed, Zhou Yi didn’t even wait for his father to leave before resuming his meditation. Looking inward, he saw that the strand of purple energy had grown even stronger—no doubt, Zhou Dajiang had infused it with some of his own true energy during the healing.

There was reason for this. That purple energy was truly the breath of immortals. Zhou Dajiang, now at the peak of the third level, hoped that early contact with the purple energy would help him break through the blue energy barrier and reach the fourth level, the Realm of the Dao.

Having found the correct method, Zhou Yi’s progress sped up. He began to blend his white energy into the purple energy, which gradually grew stronger, like a membrane enveloping rich, creamy milk. The purple slowly faded, growing larger, shifting from deep purple to pale purple, then to deep blue and finally pale blue. The more the purple energy absorbed Zhou Yi’s spiritual energy, the paler its outer hue became.

When the true energy turned golden, it exploded in a rush, like a great river breaching its dikes. The golden energy surged through his eight extraordinary meridians, filling Zhou Yi with an indescribable comfort. He had not only broken through the early second level but had leapt straight to the peak of the Realm of Subduing Evil.

Zhou Dajiang had been keeping watch beside him. When Zhou Yi awoke, Zhou Dajiang gave him a gentle smile, filled with fatherly love.

“Father, I’ve succeeded! I really have!” Zhou Yi exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.

A fleeting trace of joy flickered in Zhou Dajiang’s eyes, gone in an instant, replaced by his usual weary gaze. “When I reached the peak of the yellow energy, I was nearly forty. Now, I'm nearly eighty, and I have no hope of reaching the purple. Remember my words, son: fortune and misfortune are intertwined, joy can lead to sorrow. Those who walk the path must guard against arrogance and impatience—preserve your true heart. I have no hope of breaking through to purple, but you do. Work hard.”

This was the most Zhou Dajiang had spoken in six years. Zhou Yi was still pondering the meaning behind his father’s words when Zhou Dajiang turned to leave.

“Father—” Zhou Yi began, but Zhou Dajiang signaled him to stop.

“I know what you want to ask. Until you reach the blue energy realm, it's best not to know. You’ve just attained the yellow energy; get used to it first.” With that, Zhou Dajiang left the room.

The more mysterious his father became, the more curious Zhou Yi grew. Just how many secrets did Zhou Dajiang hold?

Beqio, after a winter of feeding, had grown as sturdy as a calf, its fur silver-white and eyes glowing green. At midnight, it would always howl at the moon, much to the family's annoyance.

After three months spent cultivating at home, Zhou Yi found himself missing Baozi. Now, having reached the peak of the yellow energy stage and feeling no rush to continue cultivating, he decided to pay Baozi a visit.

“Beqio,” Zhou Yi said as he unlocked the chain around the wolf’s neck. Although Beqio was obedient, it was still a wolf, and Zhou Yi was not quite ready to let it roam free.

At Baozi’s house, Baozi’s father was simmering medicine, filling the room with the pungent scent of herbs.

Zhou Yi glanced at the medicine pot on the stove and asked, “Uncle, what’s happened? Who’s ill?” Originally, Zhou Yi should have addressed Baozi’s father as Eqi Ke, but since Baozi’s family were Han Chinese refugees from Shandong, the manner of address was different.

“Oh, it’s you, little Yi. Come in and sit.” Baozi’s father, Ni Wu, was in his forties. At the mention of illness, the light vanished from his face.

Zhou Yi tried to coax Beqio inside, but the wolf squatted at the door and refused to move, no matter how Zhou Yi tugged. Left with no choice, Zhou Yi entered alone. Inside, the room was dim—there were no curtains, but the window was covered with a quilt, a clear sign that Baozi had been struck by some evil spirit and was being kept from the sunlight.

Zhou Yi saw a black aura swirling above Baozi’s head as he lay under the quilt, seemingly asleep, mumbling something too faint to make out.

“Uncle, how long has Baozi been like this?” Zhou Yi asked.

“It’s been five days now. He’s like this during the day, and at night…” Ni Wu trailed off.

Baozi, lying in bed, heard Zhou Yi’s voice and suddenly sat up, retreating to the corner, his gaze vacant and fixed on Zhou Yi. “Don’t come over. I’m not afraid of you. Don’t come any closer.”

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