Chapter 8: The Path of Pine and Spring

  Gravity was a cruel teacher.

  In the Daluo Heaven, Liu Changsheng had stood in the presence of the formless Dao. Now, he was a projectile.

  The wind roared in his ears, a deafening cacophony that sounded like the tearing of silk on a cosmic scale. The clouds, which looked so fluffy from the ground, were violent, wet sledgehammers that battered his small body as he punched through layer after layer of the atmosphere.

  He was falling from the Ninth Heaven.

  By all laws of physics, the friction should have incinerated him. His silk robes should have been ash, and his skin should have peeled away like burnt paper.

  But the Ruyi Flower—that single, glowing blossom flicked by the Great Pure One—encased him in a bubble of soft, pulsating light. It did not stop the fall; it merely ensured he would survive the impact to suffer the consequences.

  They threw me away, Changsheng thought, his mind struggling to hold onto a coherent thought amidst the spinning vertigo. I am the Jade Emperor. I am the Sovereign. And they threw me like garbage.

  The blue expanse of the Eastern Sea rushed up to meet him. It was a vast, churning quilt of indigo and white foam.

  In the center of that endless ocean stood a single island. It didn't look like land; it looked like the jagged tooth of a submerged leviathan piercing the surface. Mist clung to its peaks like shredded wool.

  Mount Penglai.

  The legendary island of the Immortals. The place where the barrier between the mortal realm and the spirit realm was thinnest.

  BOOM!

  He didn't hit the water. He hit the mountain.

  The Ruyi bubble slammed into a plateau halfway up the peak. The force of the impact was absorbed by the light, but the kinetic energy still transferred. Changsheng bounced. He tumbled across rough gravel, crashing through a thicket of thorny bushes, and finally rolled to a stop against the mossy root of an ancient pine tree.

  The bubble popped with a soft chime, dissipating into motes of light.

  Silence crashed down.

  There was no celestial music. No respectful chanting of servants. No sound of his father’s footsteps.

  There was only the heavy, rhythmic sound of the ocean crashing against cliffs far below, and the rasping of his own breath.

  "Ugh..."

  Changsheng tried to move. His body screamed. Every muscle in his three-year-old frame felt bruised. His exquisite golden silk robes—the ones embroidered by the finest tailors in the Southern Prefecture—were shredded, hanging off his shoulders in muddy tatters. His knees were scraped raw.

  He pushed himself up, his small hands sinking into the damp, cold mulch of the forest floor.

  "Father?" he called out.

  The word was a reflex. A habit of three years.

  A crow, perched on a branch above him, stared down with beady black eyes. It let out a harsh caw and flew away.

  "Maid?" Changsheng tried again, his voice trembling. "Anyone?"

  The wind whistled through the pine needles. It was a lonely, mournful sound.

  Changsheng sat back on his heels. He looked at his hands. They were dirty. There was mud under his fingernails. He wiped them on his robe, but that only smeared the filth further.

  "I am the Emperor," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I do not sit in the mud."

  He waited. He waited for the joke to end. He waited for the Three Pure Ones to appear and say, 'Lesson learned, here is your palanquin.' He waited for the Liu Clan guards to storm the mountain and rescue him.

  Minutes dragged into hours. The sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in blood-red hues.

  The temperature plummeted. Mount Penglai was not a mortal mountain; it was a place of extreme Yin and Yang. The nights were freezing, cold enough to crack stone.

  And then, the sensation hit him.

  It wasn't a metaphysical pain. It wasn't the anguish of a split soul.

  It was a cramp. A sharp, twisting knot in the center of his stomach that radiated outward, making his limbs feel like lead.

  Hunger.

  For three years, Changsheng had eaten spiritual rice, broth made from spirit-beasts, and elixirs that dissolved in his mouth. He had never known true hunger.

  Now, his mortal body demanded fuel.

  "Food," Changsheng groaned, clutching his belly. He looked around.

  The plateau was barren of fruit. There were no orchards here. There were only rocks, moss, and trees.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Specifically, Pine trees.

  They were everywhere. Ancient, gnarled giants with bark like iron scales and needles as long as daggers. They twisted out of the rock face, defying gravity, their roots clutching the stone like desperate fingers.

  Changsheng’s memory flashed back to the Daluo Heaven. The booming voice of the Great Pure One echoed in his skull.

  "You shall eat the green pines when you are hungry."

  Changsheng stared at the tree he was leaning against.

  "Eat... wood?"

  He scoffed. A bitter, arrogant laugh bubbled up from his throat.

  "I am Liu Changsheng! I ate Dragon Liver! I drank the nectar of the Nine Heavens! You expect me to graze like a goat?"

  He turned away from the tree. He would find something else. He was a prodigy; surely he could find a berry, a root, something civilized.

  He stumbled across the plateau. He checked the bushes. They were covered in thorns, bearing no fruit. He checked the ground. Only moss and rocks.

  The sun vanished completely. The darkness on Penglai was absolute. The cold intensified, biting through his tattered silk.

  His stomach roared, a beast demanding sacrifice.

  The hunger wasn't just discomfort anymore; it was pain. It made his vision blur. It made his hands shake. His three-year-old glycogen stores were depleted. If he didn't eat, he wouldn't just be miserable; he would die.

  He circled back to the ancient pine tree.

  It loomed over him, a dark silhouette against the stars. It seemed to mock him.

  Eat, or die. The choice is yours, Your Majesty.

  Changsheng fell to his knees at the base of the tree. He reached up with a trembling hand and grabbed a cluster of green pine needles.

  They were sharp. They pricked his soft palm.

  "I will burn this mountain down when I regain my power," he hissed to the darkness.

  He shoved the needles into his mouth.

  He chewed.

  Crunch.

  It was vile.

  Resin exploded in his mouth—thick, sticky, and overwhelmingly bitter. It tasted like turpentine and dirt. The needles were tough, fibrous, and sharp. They poked his gums. They stabbed the roof of his mouth.

  He gagged.

  His body tried to reject it. His throat closed up.

  Spit it out, his instincts screamed. This is poison. This is filth.

  Changsheng’s eyes watered. Tears spilled over his cheeks, mixing with the dirt on his face.

  No, the Human Soul of the Jade Emperor snarled. I will not die here. I will not give them the satisfaction.

  He forced his jaw to work. He ground the fibrous needles between his small milk teeth until they were a pulpy mess of sap and wood.

  He swallowed.

  It felt like swallowing a ball of sandpaper. It scratched his esophagus all the way down.

  He grabbed another handful.

  Crunch. Gag. Chew. Swallow.

  "Green pine," he sobbed, the bitterness coating his tongue. "Green pine..."

  He ate until his stomach stopped cramping. He ate until his hands were sticky with resin. He ate until the taste of royalty was completely erased from his memory, replaced by the harsh, uncompromising taste of survival.

  Then came the thirst.

  The pine sap was dry, astringent. It sucked the moisture from his mouth.

  "You shall drink from the mountain springs when you are thirsty."

  Changsheng wiped his mouth. He listened.

  Faintly, over the sound of the wind, he heard a trickle.

  He crawled toward the sound. His knees were bleeding now, the silk trousers worn through. He didn't care.

  He found it near the edge of the plateau. A small fissure in the rock, from which a thin stream of water emerged, pooling in a natural stone basin before overflowing down the cliff.

  The water was crystal clear, reflecting the starlight.

  Changsheng didn't cup his hands. He didn't look for a cup. He shoved his face directly into the water, drinking like a wild animal.

  Shock.

  The water was freezing. It was meltwater from the high peaks, infused with the Yin energy of the moon. It hit his stomach like a block of ice.

  But it was sweet.

  It was sweeter than the wine of the Tushita Palace. It was cleaner than the tea of the Liu Estate. It washed away the bitterness of the pine resin. It sent a jolt of clarity through his brain, sharp and electric.

  He drank until he gasped for air.

  He rolled onto his back, lying on the cold stone.

  He was wet. He was dirty. He had just eaten tree leaves and drunk from a puddle.

  He looked up at the stars. They seemed further away than ever.

  "Pine and Spring," Changsheng whispered.

  He understood now. This wasn't just punishment.

  The Pine was the symbol of longevity—it endured the harsh winter without withering.

  The Spring was the symbol of the Dao—it flowed around obstacles, soft yet capable of wearing down stone.

  They were feeding him the essence of the mountain. They were replacing the mortal food that clouded his body with the raw materials of the earth.

  But understanding it didn't make it hurt less.

  A wolf howled in the distance. Then another. Closer.

  Changsheng sat up. The pity party was over.

  He was small. He was alone. And on Mount Penglai, he was prey.

  "Cultivate," he said. The word hardened in his mouth.

  He dragged himself back to the base of the pine tree. He wedged his small body between two large roots, creating a makeshift shelter protected from the wind and hidden from sight.

  He crossed his legs.

  He closed his eyes.

  He didn't need a manual. He didn't need a teacher. He was the Jade Emperor. He had written the manuals.

  He searched his fragmented memories. He bypassed the complex, high-level techniques that required a Golden Core. He needed something primal. Something that could take this raw, chaotic Qi of Penglai and forge a foundation.

  [Technique: The Primordial Breath of the Turtle and Snake]

  It was the cultivation method of Zhenwu, the Northern Sovereign. The Turtle represented stillness and defense. The Snake represented agility and strike.

  Changsheng inhaled.

  He visualized the air entering his nose not as gas, but as light. He pulled the freezing Yin energy of the night into his lungs.

  Inhale for five heartbeats.

  Hold for five heartbeats.

  Exhale for five heartbeats.

  The cold energy rushed into his meridians. It felt like swallowing needles. His mortal pathways were narrow, clogged with the residue of his sheltered life.

  The Qi slammed into the blockages.

  Pain spiked through his chest.

  "Break," Changsheng gritted his teeth.

  He forced the Qi through.

  Pop.

  A microscopic blockage in his lung meridian cleared. A warmth bloomed in his chest, countering the freezing night air.

  He did it again.

  Inhale. Pain. Push. Break. Exhale.

  Slowly, rhythmically, the boy under the tree ceased to be a shivering child. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat grew heavy and powerful, like the slow thrum of a war drum.

  The sap of the pine he had eaten began to digest, releasing faint wisps of wood-element Qi. The water he had drunk released water-element Qi.

  Under the guidance of his Imperial will, these energies began to spiral in his dantian.

  A faint, pale light began to glow around his body.

  The wolves approached the edge of the plateau. They sniffed the air. They smelled the child. But as they drew closer, they stopped.

  They smelled the blood and the dirt, yes. But beneath that, they smelled something ancient. They smelled a predator that was currently asleep, but dreaming of a throne.

  The alpha wolf whined low in its throat, turned tail, and slunk back into the shadows.

  On the first night of his exile, Liu Changsheng did not sleep. He breathed.

  And with every breath, the spoiled young master died a little more, and the Sovereign began to wake up.

  Author’s Note: The Diet of Immortals (Bigu)

  The concept of "Eating Pine and Drinking Spring Water" is a literal reference to the Daoist practice of Bigu (Grain Avoidance). In ancient texts, Daoist hermits would stop eating the "Five Grains" (which were thought to feed the 'Three Corpse Demons' in the body) and instead consume pine needles, resin, and dew to purify their bodies and achieve longevity.

  For Changsheng, this is the physical purging of his mortal reliance. He is switching fuel sources from "calories" to "Qi."