The Martial Arts Hall housed fifty-one souls, the cream of the third generation of disciples: one from the thirteenth generation, twenty from the fourteenth, and thirty from the fifteenth.

Mistress Zhuzhao belonged to the disciples of the fifteenth generation.

Those within the Martial Arts Hall held transcendent status, deliberately detached from worldly affairs, dedicating themselves entirely to martial arts. Their existence served two purposes: first, to advance the martial knowledge of the Canghai Sword Sect, innovating upon the existing foundations; second, to act as the Sea-Quelling Divine Needles of Canghai Mountain in critical moments, capable of subduing any foe.

In the early morning, everyone in the Martial Arts Hall gathered in the main chamber to view a landscape painting hung upon the southern wall.

Forty-odd people, varying in age and appearance, stood discussing and pointing at the artwork, their murmurs blending into a continuous hum, like a swarm of bees in the hall.

Just then, an elder in yellow robes drifted in. His eyebrows were frosted, his beard silver, presenting a lean and distinguished figure, yet his face was smooth and ruddy like an infant’s, utterly unlined. His eyes, however, were startlingly bright, like bolts of lightning, piercing straight into the hearts of others.

He floated in, and upon seeing the noisy assembly, his face instantly darkened. He said coldly, "What are you all loitering here for?! Have you nothing better to do?!"

The clamor ceased abruptly. People quickly turned to look, clearing a path. His gaze immediately fell upon the enormous painting dominating the south wall.

A great mountain stood towering, its waist shrouded in white clouds. The entire peak seemed ready to burst forth from the canvas, depicted from a high, aerial perspective that delivered a profound impact. Below the mountain, the great river coiled like a silver serpent, its waves like snow-capped ridges—majestic and boundless. Gazing at it, one could almost hear the roaring river and feel the surging might wash over them, compelling one to instinctively look up and dodge the spray.

"Martial Grand-Uncle, what do you make of this painting?" a middle-aged man in a green robe, around thirty years old, asked, pointing at the artwork.

The elder in yellow stroked his beard and examined it. His gaze grew sharper. He nodded slowly. "Hmm, not badly done. This is the handiwork of Jingying from the North Court, isn't it?"

"Martial Grand-Uncle, it isn't Jingying's. I believe it was painted by Zhanran," the middle-aged man replied, indicating the inscription in the upper left corner.

"Zhanran?" The elder in yellow glanced over, frowning. "The young man who caused such a stir in the Wuji Hall a while back?"

"Yes," the middle-aged man nodded, smiling. "We thought young Miss Jingying's painting skills were unmatched, but it seems there is always a master above the master!"

The elder in yellow nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Looking at this piece, the grandeur is immense. The painter possesses a spirit capable of embracing the world and swallowing the cosmos... While Jingying’s technique is fine, her spirit is lacking in comparison."

He added, "How did this painting come to be here?"

"The Sect Master just sent someone to deliver it," the middle-aged man said.

The elder’s frosty eyebrows knitted together. "Why would she send this painting?"

The middle-aged man smiled. "According to the Sect Master, Zhanran has integrated the essence of the Canghai Divine Art into the painting, asking us to offer our critique."

"Hmm—?" The elder’s frosty eyebrows rose sharply, and Zhanran’s gaze immediately fixed upon the painting.

After a long silence, his expression shifted to amazement, and he sighed, "Good! Excellent!"

Everyone watched him intently, including the middle-aged man. Hearing him speak, he quickly asked, "Martial Grand-Uncle, does this painting truly contain the essence of the Canghai Divine Art?"

"Precisely! Well done, Zhanran!" The elder clapped his hands together, his eyes blazing with divine light, his whiskers twitching.

"Martial Grand-Uncle...?" the middle-aged man inquired.

The elder in yellow suddenly spun around and departed, vanishing in the blink of an eye. The others exchanged perplexed glances.

Wuji Hall

Mistress Zhuzhao sat upon a meditation cushion, with Mistress Zhumei and Li Zhuyue seated on either side of her. In front of each woman lay a stack of paintings, all landscapes.

Mistress Zhumei slowly turned a page, murmuring in admiration, "Second Sister, this young man Zhanran truly has astonishing comprehension. Each painting surpasses the last. This final one is so naturally formed, it's almost indistinguishable from reality!"

Mistress Zhuzhao chuckled softly without speaking.

Li Zhuyue also set down a painting and smiled. "I cannot match his insight! I’ve lived on Canghai Mountain for over forty years, yet I never noticed how drastically the view changes from one step to the next."

Mistress Zhuzhao smiled tightly. "This fellow has remarkable insight, but his talent for causing trouble is equally significant. He truly keeps us worried sick!"

Mistress Zhumei laughed. "Sister, you say one thing while meaning another!"

Mistress Zhuzhao let out a series of delightful giggles, unable to conceal her pride.

A yellow blur flashed, and the elder in yellow suddenly appeared.

Mistress Zhuzhao and the other two immediately bowed in unison. "Greetings to Martial Grand-Uncle!"

The elder in yellow waved a hand. "Enough! Rise and speak!"

The three women stood. The elder in yellow addressed Zhuzhao. "Zhuzhao, I hear you took a disciple named Zhanran?"

Mistress Zhuzhao gave a light laugh. "Martial Grand-Uncle is aware of Zhanran too?"

"Hmph, the trouble he caused was enormous. I’m not deaf; how could I not hear!" the elder snorted with a cold expression.

Mistress Zhuzhao smiled faintly. "Martial Grand-Uncle, is my disciple still acceptable?"

She seemed oblivious to his cold demeanor, smiling sweetly, her complexion vibrant as peach blossoms, appearing like a young maiden.

The elder in yellow nodded. "Yes, he is quite promising."

Just then, a girl in black robes gracefully entered, carrying a tea caddy. Mistress Zhuzhao stepped forward to take it and personally presented it to the elder, smiling. "Has Martial Grand-Uncle seen Zhanran’s painting?"

"I have seen it," the elder said, accepting the tea and sipping it, his frosty brows furrowing.

Mistress Zhuzhao smiled apologetically. "Martial Grand-Uncle, please forgive us. We only have half a pound of the Cloud Mist Clear Smoke tea left; Zhanran took it a few days ago. Will this Sun-Kissed Purple Mist suffice?"

"It will do," the elder replied coolly.

He set the tea down and grunted, "Let Zhanran enter the Martial Arts Hall!"

"This is..." Mistress Zhuzhao showed hesitation.

The elder glared, his eyes piercing like lightning. "Zhuzhao, don't play games with me! A talent like Zhanran—how can he not enter the Martial Arts Hall?!"

Mistress Zhuzhao smiled faintly. "Martial Grand-Uncle, are you being too hasty?... Zhanran has only been a disciple for a year."

The elder snorted. "With talent like that, if he isn't in the Martial Arts Hall, but remains under your care, it's a pure waste. You would be committing a crime!"

The three women showed wry smiles.

Mistress Zhuzhao conceded, "Very well. I will summon Zhanran and let him decide for himself!"

Zhanran was practicing the Canghai Divine Art in his small courtyard.

Recently, he had become completely absorbed in the Divine Art; all his focus was dedicated to it. He had reached the sixth level, still far from the seventh. As he pursued his painting, his comprehension of the Canghai Divine Art deepened and clarified. It was like revisiting old knowledge to gain new insights, and he was faintly touching the threshold of the seventh level.

Breaking through the sixth level to reach the seventh was the true superior realm of the Canghai Divine Art. It was said that no one in the Canghai Sword Sect had achieved the seventh level for a century; even Mistress Zhumei, who had practiced the Divine Art her entire life, remained stuck at the sixth. Among all disciples in the history of the Canghai Sword Sect, only a handful had truly entered the seventh level—all of them peerless masters, renowned throughout the land.

The Seventh Level: Shatter the self-obsession, achieve unity between Heaven and self (Tian Ren He Yi); Heaven is Me, I am Heaven, the Heart of Heaven is My Heart. The Sea of Qi becomes the Earthly Mother (Kun), the inner and outer cosmoses interpenetrate—this is achieved.

The Eighth Level: Shatter the self-obsession, achieve unity between Heaven and self; Heaven is Me, I am Heaven, the Heart of Heaven is My Heart. The Sea of Qi becomes the Heavenly Father (Qian), the inner and outer cosmoses merge into one—this is achieved.

The incantations for these two levels were extremely vague, speaking only of the spirit and mind, offering no physical methods. His profound meditative discipline gave him a great advantage in cultivating the Divine Art; the initial phrases were clear, but true realization was difficult, and the latter phrases remained obscure. He understood this was due to insufficient realization; once the realm was attained, understanding would come naturally, and clarity would break through.

While painting, he had faintly glimpsed the path: Heaven is Me, I am Heaven, the Heart of Heaven is My Heart. He applied a Buddhist method of contemplation: sitting atop Canghai Mountain, he focused his spirit to observe, observing another self sitting in the void, looking down upon Canghai Mountain. This method demanded extreme mental focus, akin to the soul leaving the body. After a full day and night of observation, he completed the contemplation and looked down upon Canghai Mountain.

Subsequently, in one continuous effort, he finished the panoramic view of Canghai Mountain from above—the very painting hanging in the Martial Arts Hall. After completing this work, he felt the seventh level was within reach; only dedicated practice was needed to arrive there.

While he was cultivating, a woman in black suddenly knocked, announcing the Sect Master wished to see him.

Li Muchen was extremely reluctant. Immersed in the Canghai Divine Art, he was in a crucial flow state and had no interest in mundane protocol. However, he could not defy his Master’s request, so he reluctantly gathered his thoughts and proceeded to Wuji Hall.

As soon as he entered, before he could even offer his respects, two gazes shot toward him, sharp as lightning bolts, seemingly capable of illuminating his entire being. His heart tensed, and he turned to look. He saw the white-haired, youthful-faced elder in yellow staring at him with a cold expression and eyes like electricity. Li Muchen swiftly executed a palms-joined salute. "Greetings to Master, Martial Elder, and Martial Uncle."

Mistress Zhuzhao said, "Zhanran, come pay your respects to Martial Grand-Uncle!"

Li Muchen joined his palms, bowing to the elder. He was astonished; this elder looked to be only sixty or seventy years old, yet he was a Martial Grand-Uncle—his cultivation was unfathomably deep.

"Mm, not bad, a good child," the elder in yellow murmured, stroking his beard.

Mistress Zhuzhao chuckled softly. "Zhanran, do you wish to enter the Martial Arts Hall?"

Li Muchen paused, then replied, "This disciple wishes to descend the mountain and travel for a while. I will not enter the Martial Arts Hall for now. When I am old and can no longer move freely, it will not be too late to join the Hall."

"Hmph, what kind of place do you think the Martial Arts Hall is?!" The elder’s face darkened, and he roared coldly.

Li Muchen looked toward Mistress Zhuzhao, who wore an expression bordering on schadenfreude, and chuckled softly. "Zhanran, your Martial Grand-Uncle is actually of the Martial Arts Hall."

Li Muchen nodded in understanding and said nothing more.

The elder in yellow's face was icy, his eyes like lightning, projecting intense authority. He said coldly, "I ask you—will you enter the Martial Arts Hall or not?"

Li Muchen raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. "Reporting to Martial Grand-Uncle, this disciple is still young. Though I am a monastic, my worldly desires have not yet fully subsided. I shall postpone entering the Martial Arts Hall for the time being."

"Good lad, you have a stubborn tongue!" The elder laughed out of sheer exasperation.

Li Muchen smiled, his expression serene.

"Martial Uncle, what should we do...?" Mistress Zhuzhao looked troubled.

The elder in yellow stated coldly, "Today, whether he wishes to enter or not, he will enter!"

Mistress Zhuzhao shook her head with a helpless, wry smile. "Zhanran, why don't you just agree? It is rare for Martial Uncle to favor someone so highly; don't be ungrateful."

Li Muchen smiled and shook his head. "This disciple's mind is made up. I hope Master will grant my request."