Xiao Huzi eventually arrived in a secluded area in the southwest corner of the city, where he bought a shop for three pieces of gold.
After tidying up the shop, he moved in. Five months passed during which Xiao Huzi traveled the world, enjoying the beauty of nature. For the first time since arriving in this world, his heart and mind felt completely at ease, unburdened by worries.
During his travels, he deliberately suppressed his cultivation level and engaged in battles with monsters and martial artists alike. The outcome was always the same—he emerged victorious every time.
Initially, he found inspiration in fighting other martial artists, observing their techniques and approaches. However, this interest waned as he quickly realized that no one could truly challenge him.
Feeling uninspired by the lack of worthy opponents, Xiao Huzi decided it was time to attempt a breakthrough into the Heavenly Ascension Stage. He understood that reaching this realm required him to comprehend and establish a unique domain.
To achieve this, he resolved to immerse himself in the mundane world, experiencing its intricacies and drawing inspiration to craft a domain that reflected his own path.
The shop he had rented, tucked away from the main streets, was perfectly inconspicuous—a characteristic Xiao Huzi found ideal for his purposes.
Xiao Huzi decided he would start painting. Painting was a good way to capture the essence of all things. And if he could do that… perhaps, he would find his way.
The next morning, Xiao Huzi opened the shop's door, cleaned it like an ordinary shopkeeper, and then sat at the table.
He unfurled a pristine white scroll, opened an ink bottle, and dipped his brush into the black ink.
A faint whisper reached his ears. It was so subtle that it could easily have been ignored if he hadn't been focused. Concentrating his mind, Xiao Huzi listened carefully, and slowly, words formed in his mind.
He murmured softly, "Heaven and Earth are impartial;
They treat all creatures as straw dogs.
The sage, too, is impartial;
To him, the people are like straw dogs.
The space between Heaven and Earth
Is it not like a bellows?
Empty, yet never exhausted.
The more it moves, the more it yields.
As Xiao Huzi spoke these words, he felt a strange sensation—he both understood something profound and felt he understood nothing at all.
A few days ago, Xiao Huzi noticed a subtle change within himself. He began to hear faint whispers in his ears. When he focused and listened carefully, he was astonished. The words he heard were profound and brimming with deep meaning.
Only after fully comprehending one set of whispers would another emerge, revealing even greater insights. This mysterious phenomenon was one of the reasons he chose to embrace a mundane life, seeking to understand the whispered truths while grounding himself in simplicity.
Clearing his mind of all distractions, Xiao Huzi picked up the brush and made the first stroke on the scroll, his thoughts completely blank and serene.
He began by sketching a hawk. Its form was bold and sharp, soaring proudly through the sky. Its talons were extended menacingly, while its wings spread wide as if to shroud the world beneath them. The hawk's entire being radiated a fierce vitality, exuding both grace and death.
Beneath the hawk, Xiao Huzi painted a rabbit—a fragile creature oblivious to the predator above. Its eyes were filled with curiosity and life.
Nearby, he added a snake, slithering silently, biding its time. Surrounding the scene was lush vegetation, detailed down to the smallest leaf.
As Xiao Huzi painted, his mind immersed itself in the scene. The image was no longer mere ink and paper—it became alive in his consciousness.
The hawk's screech echoed in his ears. He felt the rabbit's fear, the snake's hunger, and the wind buffeting the hawk's wings. Each creature, with its desires and struggles, was bound by the same indifference of nature.
For hours, Xiao Huzi painted, carefully refining every detail. The hawk's feathers glistened with a metallic sheen. The snake's scales shimmered under imagined sunlight. The rabbit's fur seemed to ripple with life, caught mid-leap.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he added the final stroke to the scroll.
"Nature is indifferent," Xiao Huzi muttered, gazing at the cycle of life and death depicted in his painting. "It has no favorites, no enemies, no allies. It simply is."
"Mortals cling to importance, yet to the Tao, we are no different from straw dogs—temporary, fleeting, and ultimately part of a greater flow."
This realization struck him like a thunderbolt.
The heavens and earth, vast and boundless, were unconcerned with the struggles of mortals. Their forces moved unceasingly, like a bellows, breathing life and destruction without bias.
The more he meditated, the more his understanding deepened.
The Tao treated all things equally, whether the mightiest warrior or the humblest insect. It nourished all creatures and phenomena but held none in special regard.
The sage, seeking harmony with the Tao, mirrored the impartiality of Heaven and Earth. This impartiality didn't imply unkindness or apathy—it reflected the ability to act without bias, attachment, or judgment.
To treat people as "straw dogs" meant valuing them appropriately in the moment but not clinging to them or being overly swayed by their actions or opinions.
Like a bellows that generates wind through its emptiness, the void between Heaven and Earth is brimming with limitless potential.
This emptiness is not a void of lack but a wellspring of endless creation, sustaining all life and phenomena without ever being depleted.
At that moment, Xiao Huzi's internal energy began to stir, flowing seamlessly into the painting before him as though his very essence had become a part of it.
In the blink of an eye, a month had passed. Xiao Huzi's shop, tucked away in the quiet streets, began to fill with his creations. The shelves were now adorned with paintings so vivid they seemed almost alive.
His brush captured the essence of life—males and females, the young and old, vibrant landscapes, and serene depictions of nature.
Throughout this time, not a single customer had stepped foot into his shop, yet Xiao Huzi didn't mind. Immersed in his art, he found joy and purpose. His dedication was so consuming that he had even set aside martial arts practice to fully focus on painting.
...
The soft chime of the shop door interrupted my thoughts, its delicate ring dissolving into the stillness of the room. I lifted my gaze from the painting before me. A boy, no older than ten, stepped hesitantly inside, his small frame barely making a sound against the wooden floor.
His wide eyes darted across the shop, lingering on the paintings that lined the walls. Awe flickered across his face, a childlike wonder so pure it almost startled me.
Then he saw me. His body stiffened for a moment, but the tension quickly melted away as his attention returned to the paintings. With an eager grin, he turned to me and asked, "Big Brother, did you make all these? They're so pretty! Can I have one?"
I set my brush aside, a small smile tugging at my lips. It had been a long time since someone looked at my work with such unguarded admiration.
Without a word, I walked to the shelves and retrieved a particular painting. It was simple, at least in appearance, yet it held within it something far deeper.
The upper half was a swirl of mist and shifting clouds—formless, undefined, stretching endlessly beyond the confines of the paper. It represented the nameless Tao, the infinite potential that existed before the birth of all things.
Below, mountains rose in quiet dignity. Rivers flowed in patient grace. A solitary tree stood at the center of it all, its roots deep, its branches reaching toward the heavens. This was the named Tao, the world of form, the tangible reality born from the unseen.
Between the two realms lay a thin, unpainted space, an absence that spoke louder than color. It was the boundary, the silent threshold where the formless became form and the infinite took shape.
As I handed the painting to the boy, his face shone with excitement—until he noticed the inscription at the bottom. His lips moved as he carefully read aloud, stumbling over the unfamiliar words:
"The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the origin of Heaven and Earth;
The named is the mother of the myriad things.
Therefore, constantly without desire, one observes its essence;
Constantly with desire, one observes its manifestations.
These two arise together yet are different in name. Together they are called the mysterious.
The mystery of mysteries is the gateway to all wonders."
He frowned, his small brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Big Brother, I don't understand a single word. Can you explain it to me?"
I chuckled, ruffling his hair gently. "That's because it's not something to be understood with the mind alone. Listen carefully, and I'll try to show you."
I turned my gaze to the painting. "Think of the Tao like the ocean—vast, boundless, always moving. Words are like small buckets of water drawn from it. They let us grasp a little piece of the ocean, but no matter how many buckets we gather, we can never hold the entire sea in our hands."
The boy nodded, though his expression remained uncertain.
"The nameless Tao is the vast ocean itself, infinite and unknowable. It is the silent force behind everything, the emptiness before creation. The named Tao is the waves, the rivers, the rain—everything we see and touch, the forms that arise from the formless."
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he tried to grasp my meaning.
"These two are not separate. Just as a river is not different from the ocean it flows into, the world of form is not separate from its source. They arise together. Without the unseen, there would be nothing to see. Without emptiness, there would be no space for things to exist."
He bit his lip, still struggling. I sighed softly, searching for a way to make it simpler.
"Look at the sky." I gestured toward the open doorway, where the late afternoon sun painted golden streaks across the clouds. "When you look at it without expectation, without trying to name the colors or describe the patterns, you simply see its vastness. That is seeing the essence of the Tao. But the moment you try to define it, to capture it in words, you are only seeing its manifestation—the part of it that can be named, not its true nature."
His eyes widened slightly, something shifting in his gaze.
"Desire itself isn't wrong," I continued. "It's part of being alive. But if you cling too tightly to it, if you only chase after the named Tao—things, labels, fleeting emotions—you will never glimpse the formless truth behind it all."