Daoist Title

Old Chen sat the most steadily. He had been practicing basic breathing exercises for decades, so meditation was no stranger to him. However, no one had ever used the energy of the Yin Fire to help him gather his thoughts while he was meditating.

Liu Jin's voice was like a hand, gently and softly brushing over the meridians he had accumulated over decades of breathing exercises, gradually gathering the scattered, faint energy within his body to the vicinity of his dantian.

He felt a slight coolness in his lower abdomen, as if moonlight were shining on his skin, or as if he were brewing a pot of very light and clear new tea, the aroma of which permeated from the inside out, and he gradually calmed down.

My breathing became longer and more even, and the slight, barely perceptible stagnation between breaths was quietly smoothed out. For the first time in decades, I truly entered a state of deep meditation, which was quietly achieved amidst this ethereal sound.

The fawn lay down at Old Chen's feet, its front hooves neatly together, its head resting on its hooves, and its ears turning back and forth.

The crow perched on the edge of the well, tilting its head and staring at Liu Jin with one eye. Then it slowly closed its eye, opened it again after a while, and switched to the other eye. Finally, it closed both eyes, its wings drooping slightly, its feathers fluttering gently in the morning breeze.

The courtyard was extremely quiet, with only Liu Jin's ethereal voice and the rustling of pine needles falling in the wind intertwining, like a thin veil covering everyone.

The one who reaped the greatest benefits was Mingxin, who was sitting in the main hall. The methods of the Fire Condensation Scripture were a make-up lesson for him. He had cultivated illusion techniques for many years, and his spiritual strength far surpassed that of his peers, but his vital energy was severely deficient, resulting in an imbalance among the three.

The meditation method Liu Jin taught perfectly filled the gap in his knowledge: it was not about cultivating the spirit and soul, but about allowing the spirit and soul to calm down automatically in the cool aura of the Yin Fire, and allowing the body and consciousness to slowly regain their synchronized rhythm in deep stillness.

He closed his eyes, and the Illusion Moon Mirror trembled gently on his knees. The moonlight on the mirror's surface and the lingering Yin energy in the courtyard echoed each other, one bright and one dark, one breath in and one breath out.

He was trapped in the illusion for too many years. During that time, his soul constantly deduced the illusion, his consciousness was always active, but his body was asleep. After waking up, although he could walk, eat, and talk, there was always a barrier between his soul and body, just like when his hands were frozen, he always felt like there was a layer of cloth between them when he held something.

At this moment, guided by Liu Jin's Yin Yin, this barrier was penetrated for the first time. He felt his soul no longer floating above his body, but sinking back into his dantian, flowing slowly along the meridians. Each acupoint he passed through felt slightly cool, and the previously sluggish meridians became unobstructed again as if washed by moonlight.

The Illusion Moon Mirror on his lap suddenly flew up on its own, hovering three feet in front of him and slowly rotating. The mirror did not reflect his face, but the recurring illusion he had been trapped in the stone house in Laoshan, with mountains and water, moon and clouds, a boy running in the mountains, and three fellow disciples sitting around discussing the Dao.

These images, once recurring nightmares he couldn't control, now began to slowly change under the influence of the Yin energy: the running boy stopped and looked back, one of the three people sitting around discussing the Dao stood up and walked out of the scene, and the flowers under the moon began to wither and bloom again. He was no longer a prisoner of the illusion, but its master.

He reached out and gently touched the surface of the Illusion Moon Mirror with his fingertips. All the images in the mirror simultaneously converged, transforming into a thin wisp of moon-white light that entered his brow.

He opened his eyes, the moon-white light deep within his pupils slowly fading. He then stood up, pushed aside the curtain of the main hall, and bowed deeply to Liu Jin. He did not speak, and Liu Jin merely nodded slightly; everything was understood without words.

As the sun rose higher, the mist in the pine forest completely dissipated. Liu Jin withdrew the Yin Sound and told everyone to regulate their breathing. The first thing the big boy did upon opening his eyes was to look down at his palms, flipping them over and over the backs of his hands, seemingly checking if they were glowing.

The little girl asked him what he was looking at, and he said he felt his palms were a little cold, as if he had held a piece of the moon. Old Chen opened his eyes and remained silent for a long time, then touched his lower abdomen and whispered, "So that's what it feels like."

The little one actually fell asleep while lying on the futon, his drool soaking a small patch of the straw mat. When his brother shook him awake, he still groggily asked, "Is the moon out yet?"

Seeing that everyone had gained something and was not trapped outside, Liu Jin felt relieved. He then brought up the next matter: to give everyone their Taoist names.

The three children are siblings, all surnamed Li. They don't have formal names yet, only humble ones. Their father worked hard despite his illness and eventually passed away. Their mother, heartbroken and exhausted, also passed away.

Fortunately, there were several elders in the Li family who contributed some food, barely managing to feed the three little ones. Hearing that a Taoist temple was taking in people, the three little ones, unwilling to rely on the charity of others, were sent there.

The eldest boy, eleven years old, was named Gouzi and was the most mature of the three siblings. Liu Jin renamed him Li Zhitui, meaning "knowing when to advance and when to retreat."

The girl was nine years old and her name was Xiaohua. Liu Jin named her Li Zhiruo, which means "knowing her weakness but not being strong".

The youngest boy was five years old and named Er Gou. Liu Jin named him Li Zhiwei, which means "to see the big picture from small details".

The three children were all chanting their new names, which were also their Taoist names, and they were overjoyed. Little Stone didn't understand such profound words, and after his initial excitement, he pressed his brother for an explanation. Chen Zhitui replied, "It just means you have sharp eyes," and he laughed again.

The little deer had no name, and it couldn't even speak. But it was the only seeker in the entire place who found the wooden door by pressing its nose against the ground. Liu Jin named it Xinlu, meaning "Magnolia receiving dew."

Mingxin nodded slightly and said that the name was good. Magnolia is the earliest flower to bloom in the mountains, and dew is the purest spiritual energy at night.

Zhao Fengnian chimed in, saying the name was too elegant and suggested calling it Lulu instead. The little deer tilted its head, glanced at Zhao Fengnian, blinked, and didn't object.

A crow perched on the edge of the well, tilting its head and staring at Liu Jin with its beady black eyes, waiting for its name to be called. It was the only demon in the entire area that could speak human language, and it passed the test the easiest way, flying directly over the courtyard wall. Liu Jin named it Wu Jian, meaning "to act according to circumstances."

The crow was quite pleased with the name and repeated it twice in its sandpaper-like voice: "Wu Jian! Wu Jian!" Then it flew down from the well and landed on the stone table, bowing its head to Liu Jin as if in greeting.

After a moment's thought, Liu Jin remarked that although Old Chen's breathing technique was rudimentary, it was the most authentic foundation of the Xuanmen (Taoist school). The ability to expel the old and inhale the new with each breath, and to persist for decades, was itself a testament to his Daoist heart. He picked up a brush and wrote a single character on the paper: "恒" (Heng).

"His Taoist name is Hengxiu. He is steadfast in his practice and never stops cultivating."

Old Chen took the paper with both hands, looked down at the character "恆" on it, his lips moved a few times, and his eyes reddened slightly.

He had lived for over sixty years, and this was the first time someone had given him a proper name, especially a Taoist name. He folded the paper neatly, placed it against his chest, and then bowed deeply to Liu Jin: "Disciple Hengxiu thanks the Abbot for bestowing this name upon me."