Chapter Sixteen: The Old Man of the Twin Bridges

Chapter Sixteen: The Elder of Twin Bridges
Part Three: A Lonely Figure on Bixia Mountain Feels the Vastness, The Cold Moon Pities and Sends Forth Sorrow (8)

Ye Hua gazed at the silent, empty mountains surrounding him, the emerald waves rolling like a sea. In the midst of these towering peaks, he felt as insignificant as an ant, a pitiful speck beneath the vast heavens. Though he studied at Bixia Temple, he was deeply homesick for his parents. Despite the presence of his master and his fellow disciples, a profound sense of solitude lingered within him, prompting a soft sigh.

He shook his head, unwilling to dwell on these thoughts. Looking into the distance, he saw the undulating mountain ranges stretching on, wild and boundless. Farther still, it appeared as though a great expanse of water lay beyond, grand and mysterious. Ye Hua was momentarily stunned—how had he never noticed such a vast body of water before? Upon closer inspection, he realized that the setting sun, slanting from the west, illuminated the surface, its reflection revealing the sight. The perpetual mists of Mount Wutai often obscured such distant scenes, explaining why he had never witnessed it until now.

“Perhaps I should visit there someday. I have rarely encountered such grand lakes and am curious to see what sort of place it is,” Ye Hua mused. Time slipped by as he sat idly, and soon the moon hung on the tips of the pines, cold and solitary, its clear light radiating in all directions. Realizing it had grown late, Ye Hua was about to rise and return when he heard footsteps beyond the woods, mingled with laughter and conversation. Judging by the voices, they belonged to his fellow disciples, including Ling Yun’er and, it seemed, Senior Brother Xiao.

“Junior Sister Ling, I have long heard of the renowned Fairy Qingyao. Your talent for cultivation is truly among the finest on Wutai, and your Mysterious Red Sash is worthy of entering the Crimson Roll itself. Your future is limitless. Ah!” From the tone, Ye Hua recognized it was Senior Brother Xiao speaking.

“Senior Brother flatters me too much. Who among our Wutai disciples does not know of your own brilliance? You are the foremost of our Five Gentlemen, and your mastery of the Buddha’s Origin Technique is unsurpassed. Please, don’t tease your junior sister further,” Ling Yun’er replied with a laugh.

“Yes, Senior Brother Xiao’s Striped Bamboo Sword is famed throughout the land. Even the elite disciples of Emei and Putuo cannot rival it,” Baishi Song added with a smile.

“Junior Brother Bai, let us not bring up that incident again. When the five of us competed with disciples from Emei, Jiuhua, and Putuo, it was largely due to their forbearance that we claimed victory. We were hardly deserving,” Senior Brother Xiao interjected quickly.

“Senior Brother Xiao, I have heard much about the Crimson Roll, but what is its true origin?” Qingxia asked curiously.

“Haha, you’ve asked the right person! I happen to know a thing or two about it,” Senior Brother Xiao replied. “There are many theories about the Crimson Roll. Some say it was formed from a meteorite from beyond the heavens, possessing the ability to sense the spiritual energy of all treasures and reveal them for all to see. Others claim it was born at the dawn of creation from the primordial roots of heaven and earth—a notion even more fantastical.”

“That’s true. I have heard such tales as well,” Qingyu interjected.

“In fact, the Crimson Roll was refined by the Primeval Celestial in the Hall of Dongyang and smelted in the Court of Flowing Fire. Its text is rare and luminous. Because the aura of Dongyang is crimson, it is called the Crimson Roll, also known as the Crimson List.

It is divided into three volumes: upper, middle, and lower, commonly known as the Golden Roll, Silver Roll, and Bronze Roll. The upper volume records the thirty-six thousand Daoist artifacts born at the dawn of the Great Way, with twelve thousand in each category. It encompasses the arcane treasures of the Nine Provinces, the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths, as well as twenty-four Earthly Artifacts, twelve Heavenly Artifacts—a total of thirty-six Primeval Root Daoist Artifacts,” Senior Brother Xiao explained leisurely.

The listeners were enthralled, all expressing their admiration: “Who would have thought the Crimson Roll had such origins! Only now do we understand its history. Every treasure recorded is an object of great power; even the lowest among them are arcane treasures.”

Ye Hua, hidden in the woods, listened intently. “So that is the truth. I never imagined the Crimson Roll possessed such a lineage.” He recalled a forging method described in the “Essence of the Dao,” which, if mastered, would allow one to create a treasure worthy of the Silver Roll. With some legendary materials, it might even be possible to forge an item for the Golden Roll. At the time, he did not understand the meaning of the Golden and Silver Rolls; only now did he realize their significance.

“Something isn’t right,” Ye Hua sensed a faint unease, though he could not pinpoint the reason. As he pondered, his fellow disciples’ conversation faded into the background.

Who was the author of “Essence of the Dao,” the Elder of Twin Bridges? And those remarkable predecessors—the Benevolent and Universal True Lord, the Sublime Daoist of the One Qi, the Celestial Thunder Messenger—who had founded such astonishing methods, must have been figures of great renown. Yet, when he had asked his master and fellow disciples about them, he had received only blank stares; no one had ever heard of these names.

What Ye Hua did not know was that, in their time, the Benevolent and Universal True Lord, the Sublime Daoist of the One Qi, and the Celestial Thunder Messenger had been formidable forces in the Far Western Demonlands, unrivaled in their might. In the end, they were beset by a league of demon overlords. Though the three unleashed their divine powers and managed to escape, their primordial energy was grievously depleted. After a long and perilous journey, battling demons along the way, they finally reached the Divine Continent of the East, barely surviving.

Taking refuge in an ancient, nameless cave in the wild mountains by the Sichuan River, the three were already at the end of their strength, death approaching inexorably. As their souls began to disperse, fate brought to them a young herb-gatherer climbing the mountain. In their desperate straits, the three resolved to impart their knowledge and legacy to this boy. Each had always been proud and solitary, and though the boy’s aptitude was meager, they had no other choice.

With no alternatives, they poured their life’s Daoist essence into the boy, entrusting him with all their learning before passing away. The boy’s talents were indeed limited; though he inherited their power, he could utilize less than a tenth of it—as if possessing a fortune in gold and silver but unable to spend or even comprehend its use. This was an outcome the three masters had not foreseen.

The boy, aware of his limitations, set out to find someone of greater wisdom to become his disciple and receive the legacy. After decades of searching, fortune finally favored him: he found an individual of peerless intellect—none other than the future Elder of Twin Bridges. Bringing him back to the ancient cave, the boy transmitted all that he had received from the three masters to the Elder.

It is indeed true that extremes breed their opposites. The Elder of Twin Bridges was dazzlingly gifted, his understanding of the Dao profound and intuitive, mastering its secrets without a teacher’s aid. Yet, when he began his cultivation, he and his master discovered a tragic flaw: the Elder was born with chaotic meridians, several vital channels missing, unable to circulate his Daoist energy. He could barely store a little, but it would slowly leak away. Such a person was one in ten thousand; without the intervention of his master, he would not have survived past eleven or twelve years of age.

The herb-gatherer could only sustain him with spiritual medicines. For decades, the two secluded themselves in the ancient cave, during which time the Elder mastered everything his master and the three immortals had taught—methods, talismans, formations, alchemy, and the art of forging—surpassing even his own teachers, yet possessing not a thread of Daoist energy, his brilliance wasted.

Later, the herb-gatherer, gravely wounded in a fight for herbs, returned and transferred all his remaining Daoist energy to the Elder before passing away. The Elder, wielding his vast knowledge, avenged his master and returned to the cave, where he continued his studies for another century, eventually reaching a state akin to divinity.

Afterward, the Elder painstakingly recorded all his insights, engraving them onto three Dragon Talismans, which became the “Essence of the Dao”—the labor of his lifetime. A year or two later, as his Daoist energy finally dissipated, he sealed the ancient cave with a formation and passed away, as if he had foreseen his end.

Centuries later, Ye Hua’s uncle, Ye Cheng, while traveling in the wild mountains, came upon the cave after an earthquake revealed its entrance. By great fortune, he obtained the upper volume of the “Essence of the Dao”; the middle and lower volumes’ whereabouts remain unknown. This peerless scripture, its origins shrouded in mystery and sorrow, is a marvel few have ever known.