Chapter 47: Joint Cultivation
Don’t do what? Chen Changsheng naturally understood. After a moment of silence, he nodded.
This broken stele had been severed by Zhou Dufu. The Heavenly Book Stele that once stood here had been taken away by him and should have been placed in the Zhou Garden. This meant that stele was now most likely on him and Xu Yourong. The moment he saw the broken stele earlier, an intense longing surged within him—a desire to see what the complete stele looked like.
He wanted to try to see which stone bead on either of them corresponded to this stele and then reattach it…
Xu Yourong didn’t let him do it, because she knew clearly that if the Heavenly Book Stele returned to its original tomb, it would surely cause heaven and earth to change color, alerting all the powerful figures in the world.
“There are eleven Heavenly Book Steles scattered outside,” he said, gazing at the peak of the Heavenly Book Mausoleum, his voice low. “If the front mausoleum is divided by this broken stele, does that mean there are twelve mausoleums in total here?”
The Heavenly Book Mausoleum was a wondrous place.
That peak seemed very close, yet so far it appeared to touch the sky.
Both Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong knew that before Zhou Dufu seized these steles, the Heavenly Book Mausoleum had no such concept as a front mausoleum.
Xu Yourong said, “These matters can be asked of someone.”
Chen Changsheng’s expression showed slight surprise. “Ask whom?”
“I asked Her Majesty, but she refused to say.” Xu Yourong looked toward a certain place below the Heavenly Book Mausoleum. “But surely there are others who know.”
Chen Changsheng asked, “When do we start?”
Xu Yourong lifted the front of her robe and sat cross-legged before the stele hut. Then she reached out, inviting him to sit in the grass to her right.
Her slender fingers, a few feet apart, landed on the remaining broken stele. Her strokes moved like the wind, forming character after character.
She wrote quickly, but between each stroke there was absolutely no break—clear and distinct, like that sword strike that had shattered the wind and snow on the Bridge of Helplessness. Even a saint who had stepped into the divine realm could probably only vaguely trace the trail of her fingers, unable to see it fully.
Only Chen Changsheng, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her in the grass, could clearly see those characters.
When she finished, it was Chen Changsheng’s turn. His fingers were incredibly steady, each stroke as if carved by knife and chisel.
His fingers cut through the air, stirring the wind. When the wind scattered, the natural traces vanished, and on the broken stele, nothing remained.
Yet Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong stared intently at the broken stele.
Because they had memorized all those characters just now.
Those characters were both text and images.
Divided into three sections, one hundred and eight forms, together they formed the Two Severing Saber Technique.
Back in the Zhou Garden, when the giant coffin like a black obsidian mountain had opened, they had discovered this most famous and most powerful saber technique in the world on its walls.
The saber technique left by Zhou Dufu was wondrous. The one hundred and eight saber forms seemed like individual techniques, but they were actually a whole. Only by mastering all one hundred and eight forms could one truly understand the true meaning of this Two Severing Saber Technique.
At that time, Nanke had brought the beast tide upon them, and they had no time to spare. So they split the task: Xu Yourong memorized the forward sequence, recording thirty-seven forms, while Chen Changsheng memorized the reverse, remembering sixty-nine moves. Then, just as their shoulders met and they exchanged a smile, the Two Severing Saber Technique on the coffin wall vanished without a trace!
What did this mean? It meant that only the two of them could bring the Two Severing Saber Technique back into the world.
After leaving the Zhou Garden, they had each tried separately to transcribe these saber forms, only to discover in shock that Zhou Dufu’s method of carving the technique on the coffin wall faintly echoed the mysterious essence of the Heavenly Book Steles. At their current level, they simply couldn’t reproduce the lines in their sea of consciousness onto paper.
What did this mean? It meant that only when they were together could they practice the Two Severing Saber.
Back in the Zhou Mausoleum, Chen Changsheng had once said, “We’ll practice together.”
Now it seemed that this statement was an incredibly accurate prophecy.
After a long, long time, they had finally reunited, finally had the chance to practice this saber technique together.
The broken stele beneath the hut had been severed by Zhou Dufu’s Two Severing Saber back in the day. Though centuries or even a millennium of wind and rain had passed, it still retained some remnants of saber intent.
Before this broken stele, the Two Severing Saber Technique—such a peerless divine skill—was being recreated. To comprehend and then cultivate it—there could be no more perfect setting.
They had entered the Heavenly Book Mausoleum for serious business, and this was it.
Time passed slowly. The winter sun moved lazily.
Before the broken stele hut, all was silent.
On the high platform touching the sky, beneath the sky framed by the courtyard well, before the clear canal, several pairs of eyes fell upon this spot.
That young man and woman, shoulder to shoulder, sat quietly in the grass.
To any observer, this looked like a romantic tryst.
Who could have imagined they were learning saber techniques, cultivating the Dao?
Of course, learning saber and cultivating the Dao might well be their way of courting.
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The ten Heavenly Book Steles, the secrets of the Zhou Garden, the confrontation between factions—there were too many reasons for Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong to feel wary and worried about each other.
Don’t speak of love. In the long river of history, fathers and sons killing each other, husbands and wives turning against each other—such things had happened countless times. Those people were all truly great figures, possessing keen eyes that could see through the mundane world. Yet they still ended up mired in the quagmire of mutual harm. Why? Because the stakes were so immense they transcended the bounds of the secular.
Fortunately, the ten Heavenly Book Steles, the secrets of the Zhou Garden, the peerless divine skill that could only be cultivated together—there were too many reasons, alike or different, that seemed to bind them together in this life, unable to part.
Contemplating the Heavenly Book Steles, studying the Two Severing Saber, reading the Scroll of Time, pondering how to break the formation left by Wang Zhice—time passed quickly. The rendezvous at the Heavenly Book Mausoleum came to an end. Their understanding of the Heavenly Book deepened, and they finally turned the Two Severing Saber into true knowledge. Though they hadn’t fully mastered the Scroll of Time, they had enjoyed a beautiful stretch of time.
They left from before the broken stele hut. Instead of heading straight out of the mausoleum, they followed the road at the foot of the Heavenly Book Mausoleum southward to that shallow canal.
The shallow, clear canal wound through the stone terraces, forming an extremely complex pattern. Above, on the mountain slope, was a path so simple it was stark—straight, running from the mountain’s base straight to the highest peak. The stone steps were made of white jade, and this was the legendary Divine Path.
Chen Changsheng was no stranger to these sights. On his first day entering the Heavenly Book Mausoleum, he had come here.
That night, he and his companions had watched Xun Mei wake from the dream of the Heavenly Book Mausoleum, leave the small courtyard, come here, step through the shallow water of these canals, crush the starry reflections in the water, walk toward that pavilion, attempt to ascend the Divine Path to the peak of the Heavenly Book Mausoleum—and then collapse in his arms.
Xun Mei’s resolute advance before the Divine Path had left an indelible spiritual impact on him, Gou Hanshi, and the others—more important than the notes he left behind. Gazing at the straight Divine Path between the cliffs and the peak at its end, seeming infinitely distant, almost touching the sky, Chen Changsheng remained silent, thinking that one day he would walk up from here.
To walk the Divine Path, one had to pass through that pavilion. Beneath the pavilion was a person, covered in heavy, ancient armor, even the face and hands hidden by rusted metal, like a statue, yet without a sense of deathly stillness—only an overwhelming feeling of vicissitude.
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(When I first started naming the chapters, I almost wrote that word. Tsk tsk, good thing I snapped out of it in time.)