Chapter 84: I Wish to Be Left Alone, Let Things Take Their Course
Cao Kong stood silently as the group of Daoists continued to argue, with Zhang Mingde being the most vehement among them. In the end, they yielded before the authority of the Celestial Master, defeated.
He sighed and said, “You are the Celestial Master; your word is law.”
Upon hearing this, the Celestial Master turned to Cao Kong and smiled, “What do you think, my friend? Our Orthodox Dao was handed down from the ancestral Celestial Master, it is a grand tradition. If you were to join us, with your talent, cultivating our Orthodox Dao’s wondrous methods and upholding the righteous path, your future would surely be among the immortals.”
Cao Kong bowed, “Thank you for your kind offer, Celestial Master, but I already have a lineage. I would never abandon my master.”
The Celestial Master, with his youthful face and crane-white hair, though residing on the mountain, had traveled widely in his younger days, and was renowned for his keen perception. Hearing Cao Kong’s words, he knew they were true, and thus sighed without asking further about Cao Kong’s teacher.
He pondered, “Since it is so, let it be. My friend, in the two books just now, ‘Laozi’s Commentary for You’ contains secrets of our Orthodox Dao and cannot be passed on lightly. The other book, however, records the words and deeds of Laozi as chronicled by the ancestral Celestial Master, and I can allow you to study it for three days.”
As his words settled, Cao Kong did not affect modesty, bowing in thanks.
The Daoists returned the courtesy.
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As the sun rose and the mist faded, the green pines shone as if anointed. Cao Kong resided within a Daoist temple. Morning sunlight streamed in, illuminating the hall, and before him lay an ancient book, old yet seemingly indestructible.
Within it were the words and deeds of the Sage Laozi, recorded by the ancestral Celestial Master Zhang Daoling.
The Sage’s words, the Celestial Master’s records—such a book could not be ordinary, immune to the decay of the mundane.
Cao Kong, out of respect, bathed and burned incense before reading it.
This book was a treasure, even heavier than ‘Laozi’s Commentary for You,’ for the latter was compiled by Zhang Daoling and could not be transmitted lightly.
He opened the first page and read the last line, Laozi’s words on water.
“The highest goodness is like water. Water benefits all things and does not compete. It dwells where others abhor. Thus, it is close to the Dao.”
Cao Kong contemplated its meaning, as if glimpsing the true essence of the Dao of Water between the lines. His understanding of the Dao of Water, the northern sword constellation, and even the new chapter of the Sword Scripture—the Water Star chapter—all advanced, broadening to comprehend the benevolence of water, which even enriched the eastern sword constellation.
Unaware, he finished a page, awakening as if from a dream, his heart filled with the joy of ‘attaining the Dao.’ Eagerly, he turned to the next page, sensing Laozi’s words were not yet finished, their meaning incomplete.
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The next page surely held the follow-up; he was prepared for further insight into ‘water.’
Upon opening it, Laozi’s words on fire appeared, unsettling Cao Kong’s mind.
No—his Dao of Water was left unfinished, abruptly shifting to fire.
Cao Kong even suspected Laozi had omitted something, so he flipped through several pages, checking the last line of each and the first line of the next.
The Daoist looked horizontally and vertically, but could not find any connection between pages—it was as though half the words were spoken, the rest left unsaid.
At first, Cao Kong fell silent, then suddenly smiled. Laozi, the incarnation of the Supreme Elder Lord, the ancestor of Dao, upheld tranquility and non-action, following nature.
And to follow nature is nothing more than acting when inspired, ceasing when interest wanes.
This book records Laozi’s words and deeds; boldly speaking, Laozi said what he wished, stopped when tired, and left things half said.
With this thought, Cao Kong’s mind opened. He laid the book flat, no longer striving to pursue ‘water.’
He did not turn the pages by hand; instead, a gentle breeze flipped them for him.
Since Laozi spoke as he pleased, Cao Kong would read as he pleased—thus, whichever page the wind turned, he read.
And so, in the mortal world’s Daoist temple, a mystic leopard read a book.
In the heavens above, in the Realm of Separation and Regret, an old Daoist stroked his beard and laughed.
A boy beside him asked, “Grandfather, why are you laughing?”
The Elder Lord replied, “I am delighted by an amusing event and an interesting person.”
“Oh,” the boy said, “Grandfather, the Emperor’s Elixir Festival is only a few decades away; we still have to refine many pills.”
The Elder Lord’s hand paused, his smile fading, “Enough chatter, stoke the furnace quickly. Unless I tell you to stop, do not stop.”
The boy, with a golden ribbon tied to his head, made a bitter face. Wasn’t it said that after forty-nine days of stoking, someone else could take over?
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Three days passed swiftly. Cao Kong returned the book to the Celestial Master.
The Celestial Master saw the Dao radiance emanating from Cao Kong, almost overwhelming, and laughed, “You have remarkable insight, my friend.”
Cao Kong replied, “I must thank you for your kindness, Celestial Master. Observing Laozi’s words and deeds has been immensely beneficial. I have gained much, feeling inspiration at every moment, yet regret that I cannot record these insights forever.”
The Celestial Master laughed heartily, blinking his clear, reserved eyes like a child, “Do you know the origin of our Orthodox Dao’s ‘Laozi’s Commentary for You’?”
Cao Kong thought for a moment, “It was the ancestral Celestial Master, inspired by observing Laozi’s words and deeds, who set them down in writing.”
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“Indeed. The great Dao encompasses all phenomena; thousands observe it, each with their own insight, yet all are part of the Dao. Thus, books were written for later generations to find inspiration.”
Cao Kong’s eyes suddenly brightened. Yes, though he was neither immortal nor divine, he had read many classics. If those before him could record their insights upon observing Laozi’s words and deeds, why couldn’t he?
He realized that words are vessels of the Dao!
Now, he feared his insights would fade over time; it would be better to compose his own work.
Following the example of the ancestral Celestial Master, he would record Laozi’s words and deeds, annotating them, and create his own ‘Laozi’s Commentary for You!’
With this realization, his mind became open and expansive. Cao Kong’s face lit with joy, and he bowed to the Celestial Master. “Thank you for your enlightenment. May I ask if there is writing material?”
“There is, there is.”
Thus,
Within the Daoist temple, Cao Kong wrote, recalling his insights from observing Laozi’s words and deeds, infused with his own understanding of cultivation.
He wrote freely upon a blank book; committing thoughts to paper was different from pondering them in the mind. In his mind, insights flowed like water, unobstructed.
But when he tried to write them down, he became cautious and meticulous.
For seven days, Cao Kong wrote dozens of pages; but on the eighth day, whatever he wrote did not satisfy him. He tore the pages again and again until the ground was littered with scraps.
He recalled how, upon first reading Laozi’s words and deeds, he had been startled by Laozi only speaking half his thoughts.
Unconsciously, the phrase ‘following nature’ arose in his heart.
He had written for seven days, recording much of what he’d comprehended—the true essence he had attained. Why insist on perfect continuity?
He was but a seeker on the path of cultivation, shallow in attainment and practice; how could he achieve perfection in a single leap?
So, he smiled, deciding to leave the incomplete book and fill it in later.
The Celestial Master suddenly appeared, picking up the scattered pages and reading them. At first, he was indifferent, but soon his expression grew solemn. With his cultivation, he found them extraordinary.
Yet Cao Kong had discarded them as mere scraps.
The Celestial Master’s face grew pensive, a curiosity for Cao Kong’s book arising within him.