Chapter Sixty-Nine: Overdrawing Potential

At this most perilous moment, Chu Youtai suddenly sensed the Tuo Dragon Mountain and River Pearl blazing within him, forming a mass of fire atop the snowy summit inside his body. The flame grew ever larger, soaring higher and higher, until at last it became a rising sun.

In this instant, Chu Youtai felt as though he stood atop the snowy peak, bathed in the countless warm rays cast down by the dawn. He was stunned. How could the Daoist foundation within him evolve into such a wondrous anomaly?

To achieve the snowy mountain peak in Daoist foundation was to have entered the gates of Dao, having traversed the final step toward the path—so long as one had the methods of Dao, one could cultivate. Yet he had never heard of a rising sun forming above the summit.

Was this a blessing or a curse?

It was then, just as Lei Yinyang's hand was about to strike him, that the radiance of the sun on Chu Youtai’s body suddenly flared, engulfing Lei Yinyang before his eyes. At this moment, Lei Yinyang’s Daoist powers, exhausted by several consecutive assaults, were spent. Now, faced with the brilliance of Chu Youtai’s sun, he was utterly defenseless.

The sun’s radiance grew ever more dazzling, eventually setting Lei Yinyang entirely ablaze. Lei Yinyang struggled madly, but could not withstand the terrifying flames. In the end, he was reduced to ashes.

At the same time, the blood fox fur he held dropped to the ground, falling into Chu Youtai’s hand.

Seeing this scene, Chu Youtai was dazed.

How powerful was this sun! Had he attained some extraordinary Daoist foundation?

He picked up the blood fox fur, the very treasure he had yearned for countless times. Instantly, a scorching sensation coursed through his hand. He even felt he could employ the fur at any moment to perform the art of turning back time.

The sensation was so vivid, it felt as innate as breathing. He was overjoyed. Though he could not fathom why Lei Yinyang possessed the blood fox fur, to him it was the most vital means of self-preservation.

Nearly simultaneously, he felt his lifespan within had increased—from four years, restored to five. In the Tuo Dragon Mountain and River Pearl’s space, Lei Yinyang was weaker than in the real world, possessing only ten years of Daoist power, thus granting Chu Youtai an extra measure of Yang energy. To Chu Youtai, this was already a windfall.

Yet, to his surprise, the trial did not end with Lei Yinyang’s death.

From then on, Chu Youtai began to cultivate daily. By day, he drank wine at the tavern, immersing himself in the world’s myriad experiences; by night, he contemplated the starlight atop the high tower.

Gradually, he felt the sun within him shine ever brighter, its radiance eclipsing even the snowy mountain’s aura. At the same time, he noticed that his progress in martial arts—fist and blade techniques—had doubled in speed. His mastery of the Fish Scale Blade grew ever deeper, its killing intent more ferocious.

Chu Youtai felt as though he advanced by leaps and bounds each day.

His curiosity about the sun within him only grew.

Yet this state did not last long. After six months, Chu Youtai suddenly realized his body could no longer bear the strain—his head felt as if it would explode each day, and he was utterly drained of strength.

What was happening?

His head throbbed with piercing pain.

Unable to endure much longer, he fainted atop the tower.

********************

Chu Youtai awoke from unconsciousness to find himself back in the human world, lying in bed. It was late at night, and beside him Yun Cuixian rested at the head of the bed.

He tried to call out to her, but a stabbing pain like needles pierced his brain, rendering him speechless.

“Could this be like last time—an injury to the soul?”

“But this time, it seems far more severe.”

Sensing the energy within, he found his lifespan remained at five years, not diminished. He hadn’t been expelled from the Tuo Dragon Mountain and River Pearl’s trial space due to death. Yet when he tried to attune himself to the stars of heaven and earth, he found it impossible to quiet his mind, and the snowy summit and sun within him clashed violently. Whenever he attempted meditation, his mind nearly collapsed from the strain.

He hurriedly ceased his contemplation.

At this moment, neither star meditation nor the unity of knowledge and action—though Confucianism and Daoism were of one family, and a thousand philosophies abounded—could heal his injuries.

Meanwhile, a ravenous hunger gnawed at him from within.

Yet his body refused to move. He even sensed he might die.

But he hadn’t the strength to even end it himself.

In this state, he slipped into unconsciousness once again.

He drifted in and out of awareness; how much time passed, he could not tell.

Suddenly, he felt something warm pressed to his lips—a wondrous scent of celestial ginseng filled his nose. Chu Youtai immediately began to bite and devour it hungrily.

Each mouthful made him feel as though his entire body were made of warm jade, as if, after long suffering in snow and ice, he had suddenly found himself before a blazing fire. The hunger inside him abated as he chewed desperately, never feeling sated.

Gradually, the hunger finally eased.

Chu Youtai’s eyes snapped open.

He saw that he was still lying in bed. Yun Cuixian and others stood nearby, worry etched on their faces. By the window stood a woman of imposing presence—Second Madam.

Why had she come here?

Chu Youtai was about to speak, but she raised her hand, saying, “Don’t speak. You’ve been unconscious for a full day and night; your body has yet to recover.”

He was startled, realizing dawn had broken outside. He hadn’t expected to have been unconscious so long. What had happened within his body? The sun and the snowy summit seemed on the verge of collapse…

Second Madam continued, “The energy within you is more bizarre than ever. Originally, by pursuing the unity of knowledge and action, you grasped the true essence of Dao, laying the Daoist foundation of snow and ice. But you also used the path of poetry, entering Dao through verse, forming the radiance of the sun—thus you have also established a literary foundation!”

Chu Youtai was shocked, suddenly understanding. In this world, he had composed many classic poems—‘Brocade Zither,’ ‘The Swordsman’s Journey,’ ‘Bamboo on the Cliff,’ and ‘The Student’s Rule.’ These works were all masterpieces, their literary spirit ever more abundant. Though he could not absorb it himself, it had likely gathered in the Tuo Dragon Mountain and River Pearl, gradually forming the sun.

In the battle with Lei Yinyang, the pearl, fused with his blood, had instinctively released the sun to protect him.

Now, with both literary spirit and Daoist power within, yet unable to fuse them, his body was breaking down from their mutual repulsion.

Second Madam’s voice was cold: “Possessing both Daoist and literary foundations has rapidly increased your cultivation, but the two repel each other, constantly harming your body. Without the nourishment of celestial medicine, you will soon die of exhaustion.”

Chu Youtai was utterly taken aback; he had never imagined Dao and literary essence could not coexist.

Hearing that celestial medicine could remedy this flaw, he could not help but look upon it with curiosity.