Chapter Thirty-Three: The Valley of Ice and Snow

At this moment, Chu Youtai felt his head throb with increasing pain, making it utterly impossible to continue his cultivation.

“Could it be that entering the Dragon-Tortoise Mountain and River Pearl has overdrawn my body’s strength?” he wondered.

With this thought, Chu Youtai lay back down on his bed to rest. Yet the moment he closed his eyes, the sensation of needles pricking him grew ever sharper. His body was exhausted to the extreme, yet sleep eluded him.

He took a dose of his own concocted medicinal juice—a miraculous remedy that could heal a hundred ailments—only to find that this time, it had absolutely no effect.

“My body’s not the problem—this feels like an injury to my spirit and soul!” Chu Youtai recalled stories of those who, stricken with grief or consumed by longing, suffered harm to their very souls.

If such a state persisted, the body would grow thin, sickness would follow, and in some cases, the heart’s vessels would fail, leading to death.

“It seems that my repeated injuries in the trial space reflected back on my real body, and with no elixirs to nourish my spirit, I’ve wounded my soul!” Chu Youtai gave a bitter smile. If things went on like this, it wouldn’t be long before he was tormented to death.

“Perhaps I should try that method of comprehending the Dao,” he thought.

Chu Youtai sat cross-legged on his bed, closed his eyes, and began to sense the stars between heaven and earth, aligning his benevolent thoughts with the turning of the cosmos, contemplating the unity of knowledge and action.

Unity of knowledge and action—what is that, truly?

Wang Yangming was revered as a sage of his generation, having endured the humiliation of public caning, the terror of awaiting death in prison, the despair of exile among southern barbarians, and the ravages of plague. Yet even when ignored by all, even in desolate mountains and wilderness, Wang Yangming remained steadfast, ultimately attaining inner peace through his own Dao.

In the end, he was celebrated as a sage who established virtue, merit, and words—a pioneer of a new realm in Confucian thought, founder of the School of Mind, and achiever of the “true three immortalities.”

Suddenly, Chu Youtai gained insight: Unity of knowledge and action means striving for the utmost good, unmoved by external joys or personal sorrows! To enter the Dao through Confucianism, for the two are but one family.

In that instant, countless rays of starlight from beyond the heavens poured down upon him.

At this moment, the Dao that had never before manifested in this world finally took on its initial outline, faintly emerging!

Bathed in the radiance of the stars, Chu Youtai sensed within himself the formation of a glacial valley, absorbing all the starlight.

For a time, above this snowy valley within him, many multicolored lights flickered like a brilliant rainbow.

Rainbow-hued rays continually poured into Chu Youtai’s body, making him feel as though he were bathing in a hot spring. Gradually, the restlessness within him melted away, his spirit recovered, and his heart grew incomparably calm. The feeling of soul-weariness vanished without a trace.

“So this glacial valley is the foundation of the Dao within me, and those rainbow lights are merit and virtue? If so, I am now using merit and virtue to dispel the hostile energy?” Chu Youtai’s heart stirred.

Just then, he sensed in the neighboring room two petite figures moving lightly outside—it seemed to be Shangguan Wanru and Hongyu.

He recalled that after hearing the storyteller’s tale earlier, Hongyu had been acting secretive and preoccupied, saying she would visit the old madam in the next room, but had not returned for some time.

It seemed she had told Shangguan Wanru about it and now wanted to seek out those storytellers. But it was already quite late—the teahouses and taverns would soon be closing.

Curiosity arose in Chu Youtai’s heart.

He knew Shangguan Wanru’s strength was not inferior to his own. Though he possessed the Dragon-Tortoise Mountain and River Pearl, if she wielded the Snow Ape Stone with full force, he might not be her match—just as he had the Fishscale Blade, but was still defeated by Lei Yinyang.

Yet he remained uneasy, so he suppressed his aura, donned a night-walker’s garb, and silently followed after them.

Not far along, Chu Youtai was startled to see that Hongyu and Shangguan Wanru were heading west, even climbing over the western city gate.

To the west of Yan Prefecture lay tracts of ruined lowlands and marshes. Beyond the western gate stretched a lonely graveyard for several li, and twenty li farther on stood the long-abandoned Guiyuan Monastery. Recently, rumors had surfaced of the Blood Lotus Cult’s presence there, prompting the authorities to issue an extermination order and summon Daoist officials from all over to suppress it. Could it be they were heading to Guiyuan Monastery?

Anxious, Chu Youtai was about to step forward and stop them when he saw Shangguan Wanru and Hongyu come to a sudden halt among the graves.

By now, it was deep into the night.

Suddenly, Hongyu drew her own blood, letting it fall around her. Her pupils flashed with a red glow, which shot into the nearby graves.

“What is Hongyu doing?” Chu Youtai was taken aback.

At that moment, the graves touched by Hongyu’s blood began to tremble—first gently, then so intensely it seemed the earth itself was shifting.

Then, a wild gale swept in with the power to swallow heaven and earth, as if all the stars had vanished. In the distance, a hundred meters away, where Hongyu and Shangguan Wanru stood, everything was shrouded in fog—nothing could be seen.

When the gale surged toward Hongyu, Chu Youtai’s heart leapt. In a flash, he appeared at her side, grasped her hand, and said, “Hongyu, be careful!”

But then, his vision went black and he found himself in a world of midnight gloom.

In this world, a blood-red moon hung in the sky, while wraithlike shadows drifted about, swaying as they walked.

Some of these specters were missing limbs, some lacked heads, moving slowly as if trudging endlessly around some vast circle—like the living dead.

Yet these ghosts did not attack or even acknowledge them.

Startled, Chu Youtai realized: “These are all ghosts!”

But wasn’t it impossible for him to see ghosts? And why were there so many?

Suddenly, a realization struck him and he whispered, “The Ghost Marsh! This is the Ghost Marsh!”

He had only ever heard tales of the Ghost Marsh’s terror—a realm separated from the living by the law of yin and yang, impenetrable by mortals, and nearly impossible for ghosts to enter the human world. Never had he expected to find himself inside it.

At that moment, he recalled the red light in Hongyu’s eyes and understood.

Hongyu was a ghost medium, and she had just activated the ability to enter the Ghost Marsh—dragging him along as well.

Startled, Hongyu turned and, seeing Chu Youtai, exclaimed in astonishment, “Brother Chu, how did you get here too?”

Shangguan Wanru replied coolly from the side, her gaze sharp as steel. “He’s been following us for quite some time.”

“Ah?” Hongyu gasped, then her heart warmed. “Thank you for worrying about me, Brother.”

Chu Youtai asked, “Hongyu, why have you and Miss Shangguan come to the Ghost Marsh?”

Hongyu bit her lip, remaining silent.

It was Shangguan Wanru who spoke coldly, “Hongyu feels her strength is insufficient to help you, so she wanted to come to the Ghost Marsh to grow stronger. If she could capture some ghosts, she might be of use. But she was worried she might not be able to make it out alive, so she asked me to assist her.”

“That’s not it… I just wanted to catch some ghosts for fun…” Hongyu’s voice trailed off as she glanced at Chu Youtai, then at Shangguan Wanru, growing softer with each word.