Chapter 19: The Six Bamboo-Lion Segments and the Sword Immortal Daoist

Cao Kong was inwardly astonished—this Monk of the Black Nest was truly too generous. The scripture he had been given was none other than the one famed as the “ultimate sutra of cultivation, the very gateway to enlightenment for Buddhas.”

Its name was “The Sutra of Manifold Wisdom.”

Though he received only half of it, even that much was a treasure beyond compare.

“No, this can’t be just for me,” Cao Kong thought silently. “It must also be because of my master, the Supreme Lord of Deliverance, Taiyi.” Other than that, he could find no reason for the monk’s great generosity.

The world of Journey to the West was a place where background and patronage mattered above all. Though he had not announced his affiliations to anyone, the mighty beings of this world could see through his roots at a glance.

Consider the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong—after all his transgressions and debts, he was merely confined for five hundred years. Yet the Curtain-Lifting General, for breaking a single crystal goblet, was cast into the River of Flowing Sands, to suffer a hundred wounds by flying swords every seven days, enduring endless pain.

Cao Kong silently praised his master, and then glanced at Ao You, only to find that the dragon maiden’s face was calm, as if nothing had occurred.

Nearby, the pear seller continued to thank them profusely.

Cao Kong turned to him and said, “Go now. If you are able, repay this kindness to others in the future.”

The pear seller gave a deep bow, for though this money meant little to Cao Kong, to him it was sustenance for his whole family.

Yet, seeing Cao Kong’s generosity, some among the crowd began to entertain thoughts of taking advantage. One woman even pushed forward, brazenly reaching for Ao You’s sleeve and pleading, “Kind lady, have mercy on me. My family is poor, my little boy is waiting for rice porridge. Please, spare a few coins for me.”

The dragon maiden had always been moved by gentleness, not force. Now, faced with such shamelessness, she was at a loss for how to respond.

Suddenly, there was a ringing clash—Cao Kong had drawn most of his sword, its cold gleam chilling all who saw it.

“Step aside,” he said calmly.

The woman, terrified, let go of Ao You and fled in panic. The rest of the crowd, seeing this, curbed their own greedy impulses.

Cao Kong was unfazed; he knew well the nature of people. He could be kind, but he would never allow himself to be taken advantage of. Otherwise, what use was such kindness to him?

Seeing Cao Kong’s imposing bearing, the common folk quickly made way, and he and Ao You strode off without hindrance.

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Time passed, and Cao Kong had already been back on Leopard Head Mountain for more than ten days.

Though he cultivated in the mountains, he still needed ordinary supplies. After his last trip, he had bought all he could—grain seeds, farming tools, classics and scriptures, clothing, and so much more that he could barely carry it all; Ao You had to help with some of it.

Back then, Cao Kong had dearly wished for a technique like “the Universe in the Sleeve,” so he could store things away in a pocket dimension. Unfortunately, no one on Leopard Head Mountain possessed such a skill—not even Ao You. Thus, Cao Kong could only hope to achieve the Golden Elixir soon, so that when he next saw his master, the Supreme Lord of Deliverance, he could shamelessly ask for such an art.

As for the Sutra of Manifold Wisdom, he found that chanting it daily cleared his mind, though he had not yet discovered its deeper benefits—perhaps because he only possessed half the text.

Over these ten days, Cao Kong had cultivated a small field, sown seeds, tilled and farmed, studied poetry and the classics, and occasionally sought guidance from Ao You on minor techniques, so that time passed almost unnoticed.

In terms of cultivation, he practiced daily, attuning himself to the elements, breathing in the six energies and the seven luminaries, harmonizing dragon and tiger, balancing water and fire, shaping and filling the vital energies within. Gradually, he began to sense a faint energy field forming within—a union of water and fire.

One night, beneath the starry sky, Cao Kong donned his Daoist robes, tracing the nine palaces and eight trigrams with his steps, aligning himself with the stars above.

His sword hand slashed, pierced, lifted, withdrew, swept, intercepted, and crossed—each move fluid and precise. Breath, body, and blade merged; form, intent, and spirit resonated with the constellations. A subtle, inexpressible Daoist rhythm pervaded his movements.

His figure moved as freely as starlight, swift as a dragon in flight—a swordsman sage, a celestial immortal.

Suddenly, a wild wind rose outside, whirling leaves into the air.

“Yellow Lion, the six of us have come to visit you!”

A deep voice echoed across Leopard Head Mountain. Looking up, Cao Kong saw six lions riding the clouds, each of a different hue.

They spotted him, studied him for a moment, and one said, “Are you the demon our ancestor so praised?”

At that, Cao Kong spun his sword in a flash of light, and the wind-driven leaves swirled around him, forming a long dragon before settling gently to the ground, leaving not a trace.

The six lions, impressed by his swordplay, laughed heartily. “Well done! Come, let’s see what other skills the demon our ancestor admires possesses.”

With that, the six lions transformed into human shapes, each wielding a different weapon—staff, hammer, spear, axe, trident, and spiked mace.

Their martial prowess was formidable; in the stories to come, they would be able to stand toe-to-toe with Sun Wukong himself. Such skill was honed through tireless practice.

Seeing Cao Kong’s swordplay, their hunter’s spirit was stirred.

Cao Kong, in the midst of his sword dance, shouted, “Come!”

A white-maned lion became a burly man, brandishing a bronze hammer in a sweeping attack, each blow carrying the force of an army.

Cao Kong eyed the hammer—nearly as large as a millstone. He wasn’t afraid, but his own sword could not withstand such weight.

“Don’t meet force with force,” he thought. He shifted his steps, tracing the positions of Zhen and Xun, moving through the seven eastern stars like the Azure Dragon—his form flickering in and out of sight, weaving through the night.

His sword style, elusive and brimming with vitality, came in endless waves, frustrating the white lion, Bai Ze, who felt he could never quite touch him.

“You Daoist, your swordplay is slippery indeed. I can’t catch you, but neither can you beat me,” Bai Ze grumbled.

“Oh?” Cao Kong smiled. He poured his magic into the sword, which rang clear and bright, but as the power increased, the sword began to whine in protest—a fine crack appearing along the blade.

A flash of pain crossed Cao Kong’s eyes. A mortal sword could not fully carry his techniques.

He changed his approach, his sword rising to connect with the seven eastern stars, drawing down starlight.

In that moment, the six lions seemed to see the pattern of Horn, Neck, Root, Room, Heart, Tail, and Winnowing Basket—the seven stars of the Azure Dragon.

His star-stepping could summon the power of the twenty-eight constellations, but Cao Kong was most attuned to the east.

He was born with the power to ride the wind—wind belonged to Xun, to wood, and the Azure Dragon presided over wood and the birth of all things.

Thus, the aura of creation descended. Starlight and swordlight wove together in a scene of surpassing beauty, mesmerizing Bai Ze.

At that instant, Cao Kong stepped upon Zhen and Xun, his sword dancing with starlight and energy, unleashing thunder as if exhaling clouds and mist.

As the sword fell before Bai Ze, the white lion awoke as if from a dream, astonished beyond words.