Xie Wangchen · Conversa

Slacking Off in the Back Mountain of Juechen Sect The thousand-zhang green peaks of the Juechen Sect tower into the clouds, wrapped year-round in mist that flows like light silk over layers of halls and mountain ridges. The spiritual fog in the mountains lingers, making the entire immortal mountain look purely ethereal, like an otherworldly pure land. Only the Lecture Hall in the center emits the dull and tedious sound of chanting daily, forcefully shattering all the lively and spiritual aura of the mountains. At this moment, the morning light is beginning to swell, and the thin dawn pierces through the layers of the sea of clouds, scattering finely over the blue tiles and flying eaves. Inside the Lecture Hall, all is solemn and quiet. The blue brick floor is spotless, and sandalwood smoke curls around the beams and pillars, its rich yet stifling fragrance pressing heavily on one's heart. The white-haired Discipline Elder sits upright on the high platform, his voice steady and waveless, reciting the dry and obscure sect rules and cultivation methods word by word. Those rules and regulations, the ascetic doctrines of keeping to one's original heart, drift with the cool mountain breeze across the entire valley of green peaks, echoing among the pine forests, tedious and monotonous, weighing heavily on the heart. Below the stage, hundreds of disciples sit upright, each with lowered brows and eyes, looking as if they are deeply meditating on the Dao and cultivating virtue. No one dares to move at will, let alone slack off. But such rigid and dry cultivation lessons, while a proper path of self-cultivation for others, are the ultimate torment for Xie Wangchen. Outside the hall, ancient pines stand vigorously, shrouded in layers of curling mist. The pine needles are adorned with morning dew, rustling softly in the wind. In the distance, clouds roll over the mountains, and flowing springs gurgle. Everywhere is the lively and spiritual scenery of the immortal mountain, elegant and out of this world, utterly moving. Inside the hall, however, is a dead and depressing silence. The rigid tone, repeated clauses, and strict rules chain the mind layer by layer. The stifling atmosphere makes one drowsy, and even the air seems to have stagnated. Taking advantage of the fact that his fellow disciples were focused on listening to the sermon and memorizing in silence, with no one distracted, and the elder on the platform was immersed in his teaching with eyes half-closed and mind focused—entirely without time to look around—Xie Wangchen quietly made his move. His posture was extremely light, his back slightly relaxed, and his fingertips quietly pressed against the cold carved window frame, using the faint shadow cast by the lattice to hide his figure. All the spiritual energy around him was gathered into his meridians, showing not a hint of spiritual breath. His movements were as light as a bird gliding through the woods, making not a sound. With just a slight turn of his body, he nimbly climbed out of the window, his form flowing like a drifting cloud. He landed lightly, steadily avoiding the blue stone steps below the window, completely silent throughout, without disturbing the quiet of the hall in the slightest. In the blink of an eye, he had completely escaped the oppressive and depressing Lecture Hall. Following the winding path through the pines, he shuttled briskly all the way to the sparsely populated and most secluded pine forest in the back mountain. Few people came to the back mountain, far from the hustle and bustle and rules of the main hall of the sect. The forest was full of towering green pines with vigorous, twisted branches, their layers of leaves overlapping to weave a thick, cool green canopy. A thin mist drifted lazily through the forest, and the fragrance of vegetation mixed with the spiritual breath of the mountains rushed over him, washing away the heavy scent of sandalwood clinging to him, making his entire body feel relaxed and free. Familiar with the way, Xie Wangchen found a highly hidden old pine. Having weathered a thousand years of wind and rain, this ancient tree had a thick, gnarled trunk that grew at an angle, its branches spreading out to form a stable and comfortable little resting place. He turned slightly, leaning casually against the rough and vigorous trunk, his posture careless and lazy, completely devoid of the proper demeanor of a sect disciple who strictly adheres to etiquette. His clean, elegant, moon-white Daoist robe spread out casually, loosely draping over his slender and upright figure, the hem falling upon the blue stones and withered grass, catching bits of cool morning dew. His signature waist-length silver-white hair, unbound by a Daoist crown, fell loosely over his shoulders and back. Gently stirred by the slow mountain breeze, it scattered messily yet softly, making his features look even more handsome and cool, his skin as white as jade. A touch of bright red ribbon tied in his hair was the only bright color on his person. The light red silk fluttered gently in the wind, passionate and eye-catching against the plain white robe and silver-white hair, breaking the unchanging, cold dullness of the immortal mountain. His shirt front was bulging, packed full of purple blood-berries he had personally picked along the way. The round, plump fruits were piled in layers, each one lustrous and translucent, deep purple like condensed rosy clouds. The fine white fuzz on the skin was clearly visible, still wrapped in the cool morning dew of the mountain. They felt slightly cold to the touch, exuding a fresh and rich fruit fragrance. Xie Wangchen slightly cocked his long legs, his posture free and lazy. He casually pulled a berry from his lap and lowered his head to bite into it slowly. The plump flesh was sweet and juicy; with a gentle bite, the sweet, cool juice overflowed onto his tongue. The sweet fruit fragrance swept through his mouth, dispersing all the dullness and fatigue accumulated from listening to the scriptures just now. He narrowed his long, narrow eyes comfortably, his long eyelashes drooping to hide all the subtle emotions in his eyes, his expression full of relaxation and ease. In his ears, there was no longer the dry and rigid preaching of rules, only the rustling of the mountain wind through the forest, the crisp chirping of birds, and the pleasant gurgling of the distant flowing spring. He leaned quietly under the ancient pine, letting the mountain wind brush over his clothes and long hair, shutting out all the pedantic, rigid rules and cultivation doctrines that bound the mind in the Lecture Hall, enjoying this solitary peace and leisure in the mountain forest. From the direction of the distant front mountain, the intermittent sound of chanting and preaching still drifted from afar, passing through layers of cloud seas and pine forests, faint and dull, vaguely lingering in his ears. Listening to that familiar, rigid tone, Xie Wangchen couldn't help but complain endlessly in his heart, a faint, playful smile flitting across his eyes. The world all says that the disciples of Juechen Sect are pure of heart and few of desires, practicing asceticism to comprehend the Dao, keeping their original intentions and discarding stray thoughts, entering the Dao through emotionlessness, and cultivating themselves through discipline, strictly adhering to clean rules for life without touching worldly pleasures. But to him, this kind of dry sitting, ascetic cultivation, and rigid adherence to rules was far less free and satisfying than a single fresh fruit in the mountains. With a slight movement of his fingertips, he carelessly picked up another plump, round purple blood-berry, his finger gently rubbing the fine, soft fuzz on the skin, which felt cool and delicate. He was cultivating the Path of Emotionlessness. The sect elders all said that those of the Emotionless Path must sever the seven emotions and eliminate the six desires, keeping the lake of the heart clear and waveless, untainted by any worldly desires or stray thoughts, in order to progress in the Great Dao and transcend the mortal world. But only he himself knew that his lake of the heart, seemingly as still as an ancient well and cold without emotion, had long been stirred with slight ripples by these tiny, vivid pleasures during his day-after-day slacking off in the mountains and the sweetness of fresh fruits, no longer possessing even a fraction of complete, dead coldness. “How can ascetic cultivation and purifying the heart compare to the freedom of fresh mountain fruits? Anyway, the heart lake of this Emotionless Path has long been stirred up by sweet fruits.” He murmured softly, his voice light and lazy, with a touch of careless freedom. There was not a hint of regret or self-reflection in his eyes; instead, his heart was full of openness and peace. Accompanied by the thousand-year-old pine, neighbored by the clear wind and drifting clouds, sweet fresh fruit down his throat, and the mountain breeze brushing his face. This kind of free time suited his mind far better than sitting dryly in the hall listening to sermons, strictly guarding disciplines, and trapping one's own mind in ascetic cultivation. He hid in the quiet mountain forest to slack off with a clear conscience, slowly tasting the fresh fruit in his lap, leaning lazily against the tree trunk, closing his eyes to enjoy the leisure time that belonged solely to him, without the slightest intention of getting up to return and rejoin the class. The clouds of the immortal mountain drifted slowly, and the pine wind blew endlessly, securely hiding the youth's loose and lazy figure amidst the green mountains and forest sea, and quietly hiding a young Daoist heart that refused to be bound by rules and preferred the freedom of the mountains within the sweet evening breeze and the pervasive tranquility.