CDJMM – Volume 3 – Chapter 11 Compassion of the Buddha (11)

Su Jian turned his head toward Le Jing. “Are we going?”

Le Jing shook his head and said calmly, “Wait. Let them go first.”

To be honest, combined with the hint that sword cultivator gave just now, he had immediately connected it to the exam content.

The cloud stairway would most likely use each person’s memories to generate illusions and test the candidates. This was also one of those tropes that had been used to death in later cultivation novels.

But… there was always the chance of the unexpected.

So Le Jing naturally had to observe for a while first.

As it turned out, many candidates had the same thought process as Le Jing.

The chaotic crowd immediately divided into two groups. One group, like Le Jing, stayed put and chose to observe, while the other group just stepped onto the cloud stairway without hesitation.

Then, one after another, the people who stepped onto the stairway silently disappeared into the mist.

Le Jing narrowed his eyes. Was it spatial transference? An illusion? Or perhaps spatial folding?

It seemed that he would only know after experiencing it himself.

Le Jing nodded toward Su Jian. “Let’s go.”

Although it was called a “cloud” stairway, when Le Jing stepped onto it, it felt solid, like a polished white jade floor.

Mountain winds howled on both sides, yet the stairway remained perfectly steady. Walking on it, one could hardly feel the slightest sway.

After only a few steps, a heavy fog rose—milky white and inexplicably sudden.

Almost at the same moment the fog appeared, Su Jian and the big wolfdog beside him vanished.

Le Jing quietly continued walking along the icy-cold stairway. The path ahead and the way behind were both swallowed by white. All he could do was step steadily.

A few breaths later, the thick fog dissipated, gradually revealing the cold outlines of a city.

Le Jing steadied himself and calmly surveyed his surroundings.

Ancient-style buildings stood all around, looking nearly identical to those of Changsu City.

And almost immediately, Le Jing noticed something wrong.

It was too quiet.

There were only a few scattered figures on the street. The occasional passerby walked quickly and silently. The wind slipped through the empty street without a sound. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath, not daring to chirp.

It was as if he had stepped into a long, silent film.

Le Jing had already discovered—he couldn’t see the cause-and-effect threads of the people around him.

Either his power was being suppressed by something, or the people he saw didn’t actually exist; they were illusions.

He walked forward cautiously. Shops on both sides of the street had their doors open, but no one was attending them. The shopkeepers sat stiffly behind their counters, seemingly not even blinking.

By chance, his curious gaze met the lifeless eyes of a teahouse owner. The owner stiffly nodded at him, and in a robotic monotone asked, “Why aren’t you in class?”

Le Jing thought for a moment, then said calmly, “I’m sick today.”

The man’s granite-stiff facial muscles twitched violently. “If you attended class every day and properly underwent ideological reform, how could you get sick?”

Le Jing: …

“Go to class now, or I’ll have the constables arrest you.”

“…Alright, I’m going. Goodbye, uncle.”

Le Jing ran off without looking back.

Suddenly, the sound of gongs and drums erupted. On the nearly empty street, a parade procession appeared.

Four men were carrying a wooden donkey. A completely naked woman sat astride it, letting out inhuman, agonized screams.

As they walked, the men shouted out her crimes: “Her husband died, yet this shameless woman did not commit suicide to follow him! She even smiled at another man!”

The once-silent crowd suddenly erupted in furious shouts:

“Drown that whore!”

“Beat her to death!”

“Throw her into a pig cage!”

The woman screamed in torment, blood flowing from between her legs and leaving a winding trail on the ground.

Le Jing stared at the scene in shock, utterly speechless.

The agitated crowd surged past him. The stench of blood thickened around his nose. His expression remained blank as he lowered his head, stomach churning violently.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm tightly and demanded, “Why aren’t you in class?”

Le Jing slowly lifted his head and saw a distorted smiling face.

“…I’m sick.”

The man’s grin widened. “That’s because your ideological reform isn’t thorough enough. That’s why you’re sick.” He gripped Le Jing’s arm firmly, as if seizing a criminal. “Come. I’ll take you to class.”

Dragged along, Le Jing was pulled in the opposite direction of the parade.

A crow suddenly landed on his shoulder. Its cold beak pressed against his ear as it whispered, “We are watching you.”

Le Jing moved his eyes slightly, and the crow immediately flew away. Another crow perched on a nearby wall stared at him and croaked hoarsely:

“Remember, I’m watching you.”

Face pale, Le Jing allowed the man to lead him into a private school. The teacher was lecturing inside, while dozens of expressionless children sat properly in their seats.

“Why are you so late? Sit down and listen.”

Le Jing silently took the seat in the very back.

“The new classmate—what is your name?”

“Le Jing.”

“Recite for everyone the Monday Freedom Schedule.”

“…I don’t know it.”

“How can you not know?! This is the freedom that we must memorize by heart!” The teacher was displeased. “Liu Hua, recite it for the new student.”

“Alright.” A boy of about ten stood up. His expression was blank, but at the moment he was about to speak, his mouth stretched into a wide, delighted smile.

“On Monday, at the first quarter of mao hour, one must rise. Breakfast consists of plain congee and tofu stir-fried with greens… At the first quarter of chen hour, students must arrive at school to study. They must read the teacher’s recent teachings one hundred times… Farmers must go to the fields, officials must attend court or their offices… At noon, everyone eats; commoners may not consume meat or fish, officials may have cooked beef… At the first quarter of mao hour, married couples may engage in marital relations, and by hai hour everyone must retire to bed…”

Liu Hua continued reciting non-stop for over ten minutes. In his exhaustive narration, every hour of Monday’s twelve-hour cycle contained precise instructions for people of all professions—down to sleeping postures and the exact duration allotted to marital intercourse.

“Teacher, I’m finished.”

“Very good, sit down.” The instructor asked Le Jing with a cold face, “Have you memorized it?”

All the classmates neatly and uniformly turned their heads toward Le Jing and expressionlessly asked, “Have you memorized it?”

Le Jing silently met their gaze for a long time, then slowly closed his eyes. A sudden realization rose in his heart.

This was his fear.

There were very few things Le Jing feared—very, very few.

But everything before him right now was indeed his greatest fear.

He feared the banality of evil.

He feared freedom being stripped away, thoughts being monitored, humanity being strangled.

He feared “I am watching you.”

“War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.”

“Under the chestnut tree, you betray me, and I betray you.”

“Thoughtcrime does not lead to death; thoughtcrime is death.”

“Big Brother is watching you.”

This was the fear buried deep in his heart since childhood. It was also the lingering “growing pain” from a childhood spent under surveillance and control—one that never faded.

That was why this illusion was so twisted, bizarre, and grotesquely out of place.

When Le Jing opened his eyes again, the instructor, the classmates, and the classroom had all vanished. Familiar white mist surrounded him. After a dozen seconds, an elderly man with white hair and a gray robe appeared before him.

“What an interesting little fellow.” The old man looked at Le Jing with an inquisitive gaze. “I’ve never seen such an eerie fear. Ordinary at first glance, but the more you savor it, the more it makes your scalp crawl.”

Le Jing politely nodded. “I didn’t expect that this was my greatest fear either.”

“But you remained very calm,” the elder asked curiously. “Why? Are you not afraid?”

“If I panic, will fear disappear? No, it won’t. Fear only feeds on my fear, grows stronger, and slowly becomes a demon that controls my mind.” Le Jing raised an eyebrow and smiled lightly.  “So I don’t need to—and must not—fear fear itself.”

The elder stared at the calmly smiling boy, admiration rising in his eyes. He couldn’t help feeling a deep affection for such talent. “You are excellent.” He asked expectantly, “Boy, would you like to take me as your master?”

Such an outstanding seedling—if he didn’t snatch him up now, someone else surely would, and by then it would be too late to regret it.

……

……

On the spectators’ platform, Mei Yingliang sat with his gaze drifting across the cloud mirrors suspended in the sky. Each mirror displayed a different scene—every examinee’s inner fear.

Between life and death lies great terror. That is why mortals struggle so hard to pursue immortality. Cultivation is training the heart, and also pursuing longevity.

Aside from life and death, the world is filled with countless tiny fears.

Fear of aging, fear of injury, fear of parting from loved ones, fear of giving without being repaid…

Fragmented fears, but together they form a mortal’s life.

Only by facing fear can one break through delusion, conquer fear, transcend the mundane, and walk farther on the Dao.

Cultivation is, in truth, a continuous process of overcoming inner fears.

Within the illusion that reflected their fear, many examinees revealed their true nature—ugly and unrestrained.

Some lay lifeless on hospital beds;

some wept uncontrollably at their own aging;

some committed suicide after falling from riches to beggary…

Cloud mirrors kept disappearing—proof that examinees were being eliminated because they couldn’t overcome their fear.

Suddenly, the attention of many spectators—including Mei Yingliang—was drawn to one particular cloud mirror.

The scene within looked ordinary, yet the more one looked, the more terrifying it became.

Mei Yingliang stared at the boy on the screen, puzzled.

He hadn’t expected to see the senior on the cloud ladder!

A senior with profound magical power should have been in the front row taking disciples. Why was he personally participating in the Ascension Gate assessment?

This… this was against the rules!

But he quickly set aside his doubts and focused entirely on the cloud mirror.

He had cultivated for decades and reached Foundation Establishment, and he too had broken through his fear back then, fighting through the masses to survive.

But if he had been confronted with this kind of fear back then, there was an eight or nine out of ten chance… he would have been eliminated.

Even now, he had no confidence he could overcome such a terror. He had never even imagined such a “fear” could exist.

It looked plain at first glance, but every detail, every second made one’s scalp tingle and back turn cold—it felt like the whole world was the enemy, and there was nowhere safe to stand.

As expected of a senior—he remained calm even in the face of such fear.

Mei Yingliang grew even more curious: how would the senior conquer it?

The next moment, the boy opened his eyes. Immediately, the illusion formed by his fear vanished, and milky-white mist once again filled the cloud mirror.

Mei Yingliang was stunned.

It was over?

Back then, he had struggled in his illusion for three days and nights, hacking down the bully who tormented him since youth before he could escape.

But the senior did nothing!

He merely closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the illusion dissolved!

As Mei Yingliang stared in disbelief, an old man appeared in the cloud mirror. He had snow-white hair, a youthful face, and wore a gray robe. His aura was ethereal, like a drifting mist.

Gasps and sharp inhales echoed around Mei Yingliang—he himself was also shocked.

This old man was well-known in the Linqing Sect. His Dao title was True Lord Xingyuan, the sect master’s senior martial brother, the Supreme Elder of Linqing Sect. His cultivation had reached the Great Ascension stage—only one step away from ascension.

The cloud-ladder illusions and the heart-reflecting water mirror were both his divine abilities. But in hundreds of years, with countless examinees, only a very, very rare few had ever drawn him out in person!

“Why? Are you not afraid?” True Lord Xingyuan’s question was also Mei Yingliang’s question. He stared unblinkingly at the boy, hoping for an answer.

“If I panic, will fear disappear? No, it won’t. Fear feeds on my fear, grows stronger, and becomes a demon that controls my mind. So I don’t need to—and must not—fear fear.”

Mei Yingliang was dumbstruck. Then, admiration for the senior flooded him—utter, overwhelming admiration!

Only now did he realize that throughout the entire illusion, the boy’s eyes had remained calm and clear. Because of that, the senior didn’t need to do anything—the illusion naturally collapsed.

Knowing one “must not fear fear” is easy. Achieving it is difficult. Most people know but cannot realize.

Even Mei Yingliang himself could not claim he had conquered all fears.

But the senior did it with such ease.

This was the true bearing of a master!

True Lord Xingyuan also wore a look of deep appreciation, almost eagerness, as he asked,  “Would you take me as your master?”

In the front-row seats of various sect masters and elders, a burst of curses erupted:

“Hey! That old man stole the first move!”

“Xingyuan, that rascal—so fast!”

“This child’s Dao lies in freedom—he fits perfectly with our sword arts! He should join our Zixiao Sword Sect!”

“Bah! He obviously belongs in our Heavenly Dao Sect, cultivating the Emotionless Path! With this child’s calm and rational temperament, he’ll reach Nascent Soul in less than a hundred years!”

“No, no! He is young, but his mind is mature, his insights keen—he should enter our Qingshan Academy and study the Confucian path!”

Mei Yingliang watched, dumbfounded, as the lofty immortals—masters and elders from every major sect—threw aside decorum and began a spectacular shouting match over which sect the senior (Le Jing) should belong to.