The mental world.
Lu Zhao's consciousness body entered the mental world, surrounded by viscous whispers.
He did not visit the Primordial every night; traversing the mental mire was grueling, each step no less agonizing than climbing a mountain of blades or plunging into a sea of fire.
Normally, Lu Zhao went in once every few days. The last time was when the old Taoist had imparted the spirit-refining cultivation method to him.
Tap!
A soft tapping sound rang out, like the light strike of a jade chime.
Lu Zhao once again arrived at the far shore of the mental world—the Primordial.
Beneath his feet was no longer formless chaos, but white stone pavers, warm as jade and smooth as mirrors.
Looking up, a quaint, modest Taoist temple came into view, standing amidst the boundless void and nothingness of the Primordial.
It had no towering halls, no intricate carved beams or painted rafters, only a serene stillness of returning to raw simplicity.
"Come up."
The old Taoist's voice carried over.
Without hesitation, Lu Zhao walked toward the temple.
Above nine tiers of steps, the temple's main doors stood wide open.
Inside the temple, the old Taoist sat cross-legged with an upright back, possessing the steadfast composure of a millennium-old tree that had weathered countless vicissitudes yet remained unmoved.
Looking past the old Taoist, two ancient seal-script characters were branded onto the wall facing the entrance:
Heaven and Earth.
Lu Zhao gazed at them unconsciously. His vision began to expand, expanding, expanding further, as if he had been cast into an infinite cosmos, his consciousness losing all perception of space.
"Layman."
The old Taoist's voice was calm yet carried an irresistible force, snapping Lu Zhao's consciousness back in an instant.
"What do you think of this poor Taoist's humble temple?"
Slightly dazed, Lu Zhao sat on the rush cushion to the right at the old Taoist's gesture and asked, "Daoist, why is this place able to form such a stable realm?"
In Dijing University's department of psychic disciplines, courses taught students how to construct mental palaces, which was one of Lu Zhao's primary areas of study.
For the vast majority of people, their mental palaces existed based on reality; Lu Zhao's was his empty room. In essence, it was a ritual—any object or setting used to anchor the mind.
According to his mental palace instructor, psychic superhumans at the Martial Marquis rank could construct palaces directly within the mental world, and from there use those palaces to intervene in physical reality.
In ancient times, this was known as the Yang Spirit.
The old Taoist's consciousness body was at least at the Martial Marquis rank—in all likelihood, even stronger.
"Spirit coalesces in objects; intent manifests heaven and earth."
The old Taoist pinched a wisp of light between his fingertips, and a small round table appeared before Lu Zhao, bearing a cup of steaming hot tea.
"Borrowing the Fate Bone you sent in, this poor Taoist manifested a few items through intent, lest your visits here be too dull."
Lu Zhao picked up the teacup, deeply amazed. "Your techniques are truly miraculous, Daoist."
That a Fate Bone could be turned into a 'solid object' in the mental world was another feat beyond his knowledge.
"A clumsy trick, nothing more. You will be able to do it effortlessly in time, Layman."
The old Taoist stroked his beard and smiled. "If you are not afraid, you may have a taste."
Lu Zhao examined it for a moment, then took a cautious sip.
Hmm...
A very ordinary tea flavor.
Yet this was the first time he had ever consumed anything in the mental world, and it felt as authentic as reality.
Previously, anything related to 'eating' in the mental world involved flavors appearing directly in the mind. Moreover, such memories were muddled with other sensations—such as "a cat barking at you with a tinge of sweetness."
Chaos was the keynote of the mental world; only the Primordial was as stable as reality itself.
When Lu Zhao finished it, the old Taoist produced another pot of tea from who knew where and poured him another cup. Lu Zhao had no choice but to drink it down. The old Taoist kept pouring, and he kept drinking...
Round and round it went, until he had drunk nine consecutive cups.
A consciousness body could not get bloated, and the tea could be poured endlessly like a boundless sea.
The old Taoist stopped pouring. "Nine is the extreme; more would be unfitting."
Lu Zhao closed his eyes and savored it closely. The taste was undoubtedly that of ordinary tea.
Yet a consciousness body was unlike a physical body; it possessed no concept of organs in itself.
Lu Zhao existed in the form of a 'person' because he had already established a self within the mental world, known academically as an outer form.
This was the characteristic of a first-rank psychic superhuman.
Simulating organs akin to a flesh-and-blood body and possessing personal senses within the mental world belonged to the traits of a second-rank psychic superhuman.
Now, through this tea, he was experiencing the state of the second rank ahead of time.
The tea stimulated taste buds, liquid flowed down the esophagus, and finally settled in the stomach.
This was not a jumbled memory, but an authentic sensation originating from the 'body.'
It was precisely because of the mental world's chaos that authenticity was so precious—and what powerful psychic superhumans pursued their whole lives.
Lu Zhao opened his eyes, a glint of spiritual light flashing across his gaze.
He slowly exhaled a breath of turbid air—another gain from just now, for his spirit could now exhale.
Those nine cups of tea were like a key, briefly unlocking the doorway to a higher realm for him and granting him a glimpse into the world of the inner form.
Looking at the old Taoist once more, Lu Zhao said solemnly, "Thank you, Daoist, for instructing me and imparting the Way."
The old Taoist stroked his beard and laughed. "The master leads one through the door, but the skill depends on the individual. Besides, this poor Taoist gave no spoken guidance. It is entirely your own extraordinary talent, Layman—no weaker than this poor Taoist's was in my youth."
A trace of admiration showed in his tone. He rarely expressed emotion or preference, which was enough to show how satisfied he was with Lu Zhao.
Even in his own youth, he had not been much better than Lu Zhao.
Lu Zhao shook his head. "Without you, Daoist, I fear I would never have had the chance to touch the inner form in advance. Even if I broke through to the second rank later on, I would only be swallowing the dates whole without tasting them."
Such an experience was unheard of in the outside world.
If there existed psychic powerhouses capable of letting someone experience the inner form beforehand, they would surely be of the Martial Marquis rank, individuals far beyond Lu Zhao's reach.
Talent and effort were certainly important, but before a massive chasm of resources, they often took a backseat to background.
During his student days, he had seen far too many people whose talent and effort were similar to—or even slightly below—his own. Merely due to their deep backgrounds, they easily received private tutoring offered by renowned mentors and favorable consideration for all kinds of subsidies and honors.
Meanwhile, he had to invest a hundred times more labor just to obtain the same resources.
He had once gone two hundred hours without closing his eyes, developing his life force on one hand while helping college instructors complete research projects or even teach classes in their stead on the other.
He had wished he could split himself into three.
Others claimed he was aloof and unsociable, but in truth, Lu Zhao simply had zero spare time for socializing.
Now, he could be considered to have gained benefits that others could never obtain.
"Outer and inner forms, the Inner Landscape Ethereal Terrace—did your teachers not instruct you in these, Layman?"
The old Taoist seemed to have caught an opening and shifted the subject: "You once said, Layman, that the new dynasty promised equality to all Hua people under heaven."
"Actually, to all citizens," Lu Zhao corrected him. "Though after the reforms ten years ago, only the Hua ethnic group retained voting rights; other ethnic groups have no household registrations."
"Mere barbarian bastards—how could they be fit to enter the inner sanctum?"
From the old Taoist's mouth naturally spilled words that were not quite so 'transcendent and sage-like.'
The corners of Lu Zhao's mouth twitched, but then he thought that an ancestor would indeed hold such views.
The old Taoist stroked his beard, seemingly certain of his point, and smiled:
"In this matter of cultivation, from what this poor Taoist can see, the word 'equality' is ultimately nothing more than the moon in water, flowers in a mirror—no different from my Great Ming."
Chapter 32