An Jia stared at the second bamboo slip, running his fingers over the smooth surface. Though he couldn't yet read the inscription, he let his fledgling spiritual sense explore the grooves and ridges, trying to decipher their meaning.
This was a spell for summoning wind and rain. First, he'd have to sink into a meditative state and visualize the gathering clouds, the rising winds. The more strongly he could imagine it, the better.
Then he would chant mantras, using his teeth and nasal cavity to create a rhythmic, buzzing hum, letting the dizzying vibration overtake him.
This would induce him into a trance-like state.
If he could fully embody the mindset of Fengleiyunyu (see the end of this page), he could make the heavens resonate with his spiritual consciousness. The wind and rain would answer his summons.
Unlike the Na Qi Slash, the Mo Yun Jue actually depicted the whole process, from the first wisps of cloud to the final thunderclap. It was like watching a painting come to life before my eyes.
Strange, yet mesmerizing.
The last requirement for this technique seemed mundane in comparison. It instructed him to run in a drunken, weaving gait, lurching precariously with each step. Just standing upright would be a challenge using this posture, much less running.
Through the unbalanced movements, he could supposedly circulate cold qi from his feet upward, leaving his mind clear and empty. Then reverse the flow, condensing hot qi in his head before circulating it back down his body.
Closing his eyes, An Jia began visualizing the human form. Skin, flesh, tendons and bones - the body's physical components. Muscles and bones move only by the power of the organs and senses. The organs depend on the flow of blood, the life-giving river that separates life from death.
He focused on his breathing, drawing qi deep into his vessels with each inhalation. Blood qi awakened in his meridians, kindling an inner vitality. This energy swirled upward, gathering above his head before circulating back through his body.
Like the body, the Primordial Spirit had form—consciousness its feeling—and mind its thought. Those whose spiritual consciousness was strong could observe the world with eyes shut fast. Those whose spiritual sense was keen could move the world with a single thought.
An Jia had scanned the three bamboo scrolls 2000 times with his spiritual consciousness, painfully memorizing each character stroke by stroke. Now the teachings were etched into his memory, from first line to last.
Opening his eyes, An Jia breathed out slowly. The principles were clear, but mastery would require persistence. Taking up the first scroll, he began again.
From far away, the island looked as flat as a pancake. But up close, the ground was a mess of bumps and holes. No roads stretched across the land, just rocks and dirt.
At first, he walked fine over the uneven ground. But An Jia kept stumbling, twisting his ankle on the bumpy earth.
Only now did An Jia realize the purpose behind the strange, swaying gait of wind-chasing walk—it was perfectly suited for navigating this bumpy landscape.
Curious, he tried imitating the odd posture—leaning forward, taking huge steps. On flat ground, he would have certainly fallen. But here, each giant step met a dip or hill that caught his foot just in time.
"How fascinating!" he remarked.
Up ahead, An Jia trudged along, clutching a broken basket and a hatchet in his hand. He was heading to the bamboo forest nearly a kilometer away to gather firewood. It would be no easy feat for even a sober person to walk that distance on this treacherous road.
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he strolled up the hillside path. His legs burned with each step, protesting the rapid ascent. Blood pounded in his ears. Just a little further. He crested the hill and collapsed in the shade of an ancient tree, its knobby roots jutting from the earth like giant fingers.
As his panting eased, an unsettling chill crept over his skin. His limbs felt hollow, like a marionette with half its strings cut. He flexed his hands—the barest quiver.
"It said practicing more makes you stronger. Why do I feel weaker?" An Jia muttered, frustrated.
He pondered the wind-chasing steps, retracing each movement in his mind. He had followed them precisely, he was sure of it. Yet the result was not as the manual claimed. Instead of power, he was utterly exhausted as if the exercise had sapped his very lifeforce.
Yes, that must be it—releasing his qi and blood with such exertion had drained him dry. Even a pond would evaporate under the baking sun once the rain has stopped.
"But the manual claims absorbing qi into the veins and meridians restores vitality. Have I misunderstood?"
Nevermind if it made sense. This was the way of cultivation—to follow the prescribed forms without question.
The human body functioned simply: eating gave energy to blood, blood nourished the body. Opening meridian channels allowed excess blood power to flow into the veins. These veins were then used to nourish the Primordial Spirit.
The Primordial Spirit was the sixth sense. It consists all of the five senses. Develop this spirit, and the mind's influence grows larger, granting ever more control over the elements of nature.
From meager beginnings at birth to the heights of power, and the inevitable decline into death—such was the cycle of reincarnation. Cultivation aimed to break this cycle, to overpower nature's decline.
But, to conquer aging, first one had to eat well.
An Jia knew that without intervention, a man's strength remains unchanged from birth to death. The only way to continuously gather power and vitality was to feast on the essence of the natural world. This was the key to prolonging one's life and achieving immortality.
This was An Jia's understanding, gleaned from studying the cultivation techniques.
When he practiced the wind-chasing steps, he felt his blood boil and surge within him. But instead of spilling out the veins of his head, it looped back and poured into his spirit. From there it got sucked directly into the Primordial Spirit, hence nourishing it.
An Jia patted his grumbling stomach. Time for lunch.
After walking a kilometer, his legs were weary however his mind felt refreshed and focused. This proved he was on the right path.
This he could accept.
Passing a bamboo forest, he spotted slender green stalks, tender yet firm. One look and An Jia knew they would be easy to cut, yielding to a single slice of his blade.
Swish! Thunk.
A resounding crack split the air. One thick stalk splintered and collapsed with a whoosh, exploding into a cloud of sawdust and shredded leaves.
"Damn it all!" An Jia cried in dismay. So much for an easy snack.
...
Fengleiyunyu: One of many Gods in Chinese folktale, specifically the one who has control over rain and thunder. 风 (fēng) - wind, 雷 (léi) - thunder, 云 (yún) - cloud, 雨 (yǔ) - rain