Such a method is the fruit of thousands of years of the Daoist school's hammering and refinement, and admits of no error or doubt whatsoever. Yet at this moment Zhang Qingyue's heart was like a storm, tossing and pitching without cease. All because what he had heard today was diametrically opposed to the set of oral formulas that the monk Puzhao had transmitted to him that day, and to its manner of cultivation.

On the eve of the Willow Temple Village massacre, when Puzhao transmitted the formulas to him, he had told him plainly that in refining the truth and tempering qi, one must sever every connection between oneself and the outside world and awaken to one's own nature—the so-called: all dharmas are empty of marks, neither arising nor ceasing, neither defiled nor pure, neither increasing nor decreasing; therefore in emptiness there is no form, no feeling, perception, formation, or consciousness; no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind; no form, sound, smell, taste, touch, or dharma; no realm of eye-consciousness, even unto no realm of mind-consciousness; no ignorance, and no ending of ignorance, even unto no old age and death, and no ending of old age and death; no suffering, accumulation, extinction, or path; no wisdom and no attainment. (Note: from the Heart Sutra.)

Such profound and arid doctrine Zhang Qingyue could not at this time comprehend clearly, but that the two methods of cultivation were fundamentally different, that he could tell. His heart was a tangle of hemp, and he knew not what to do.

In truth, Zhang Qingyue did not know that the Taiji Profound Purity Way, to be sure, is the Daoist school's supreme wondrous dharma, but the formulas Puzhao, who had set a great vow upon him and staked a lifetime's hopes on him, had transmitted were likewise the Buddhist school's highest dharma—the Great Brahma Prajna.

The two methods, two utterly different ways of cultivation, must be traced to their roots.

The Buddhist and Daoist schools have long histories and in olden times held no dealings with one another; their arts of cultivation each arose from their own currents of thought. Take the Daoist school: its essence lies in the single word "Dao"—the so-called: the Dao begets one, one begets two, two begets three, three begets the ten thousand things. The ten thousand things bear yin and embrace yang, and through the qi of the middle they attain harmony. (Note: from the De Jing, Book of Virtue, Chapter 5.) The Daoist religion arose from Daoist thought, and even the threefold realms of the Taiji Profound Purity Way are named after the Jade Purity, Supreme Purity, and Great Purity of the Primordial Lord of Heaven, the Lord of Numinous Treasure, and the Lord of the Way and its Virtue in Daoist myth—what is commonly called the "Three Pure Ones." Daoist cultivation holds that one should breathe as one with heaven and earth, make the body one with nature, and with the body command nature's creative workings, transmuting them into great power.

The Buddhist school, by contrast, holds as its essence: "Let the mind arise without dwelling anywhere; all the ten thousand dharmas never depart from one's own nature." It is also said: How wondrous is one's own nature—in its essence pure; how wondrous is one's own nature—in its essence without birth or death; how wondrous is one's own nature—in its essence complete in itself; how wondrous is one's own nature—in its essence unmoved; how wondrous is one's own nature—able to bring forth the ten thousand dharmas! (Note: from the Platform Sutra, Chapter One, "On the Occasion of the First Discourse.") Buddhist cultivation emphasizes awakening to oneself, illuminating the five aggregates—"able, by a single prajna, to bring forth eighty-four thousand wisdoms." That is the principle.

Buddhist and Daoist thought diverge utterly, and their methods of cultivation naturally run counter to each other; only, for thousands of years each has guarded its secrets and neither was known to the other. And now, on Dazhu Peak of the Canglan Sect, one petty disciple, Zhang Qingyue, was left with his head splitting over the matter.

"Which one is right, after all?"

Zhang Qingyue sprang off the bed and paced ceaselessly back and forth in the room, his head a welter of confusion, his thoughts running wild, and he dared not ask anyone. At last he could only sit dumbly on the edge of the bed, heave a long sigh, and say nothing.

He was not by nature a clever man, born of a farming family, young in years, and with little experience or judgment to his name. On a matter of such consequence he thought and thought, and after half a day of futile labor still could make nothing of it. In the end Zhang Qingyue said to himself in his heart, "Forget it. Master Puzhao never said anything about a case like this anyway. I'll just cultivate both together and be done with it." Thereupon he thought no more on it, and his heart grew light instead; he climbed back onto the bed, sat in meditation, and first cultivated the Taiji Profound Purity Way.

Only, it was easy to conceive and quite another thing to do. The Taiji Profound Purity Way refines qi by opening the seven apertures and every pore of the whole body and drawing the spiritual qi of heaven and earth into the body to course along the meridians, thereby tempering and firming the body's vital essence and inner vessels. The Great Brahma Prajna, however, requires entry into the realm of extinction, sealing every thought, perception, and consciousness of the whole body, taking one's own body as a single world, beholding one's own nature alone, and with the true essence of the deep mind consolidating the root and nurturing the source.

The two methods were diametrically opposed, and they left Zhang Qingyue in unspeakable misery. Over the three months that followed, apart from climbing the mountain to cut bamboo every day, rain or shine, he gave himself wholeheartedly to cultivating these two methods. But no sooner had he gained a little success in the Taiji Profound Purity Way, his apertures opening for the first time and the spiritual qi entering his body, than the Great Brahma Prajna that followed demanded he force them all shut again and enter the realm of extinction—so that all his prior effort was all but poured down the drain.

Three months later, Tian Buhui took it into his head one day to come and inspect Zhang Qingyue's progress. He asked a question and gave a test, and it very nearly choked him with rage. By common reckoning, an ordinary person cultivating the Taiji Profound Purity Way, crude as the first tier is, should have some small success after three months, able at least to draw the spiritual qi of heaven and earth into the body and run it three to five circuits. But Zhang Qingyue's aptitude was so poor as to be truly rare and unheard-of. After a full three months of cultivation, he could not even control the apertures of his whole body at will; as for drawing in the spiritual qi, it was a strain at best, to say nothing of running several circuits.

Tian Buhui glared at Zhang Qingyue with wide eyes and a face full of wrath. The other disciples looked on with sympathy but dared not make a sound. Song Dayi had meant to put in a word or two for Zhang Qingyue, but seeing the junior brother he had taught reach such a pass, he lost face and dared not speak either. As for Tian Lingsu, she stood by grinning and watching the fun.

Zhang Qingyue, covered in shame, knelt before Tian Buhui, wishing he could sink through the floor, thinking that whatever scolding the master gave was only his due. Yet he waited half a day and heard not a word from the senior brothers around him, nor even from Tian Buhui. Puzzled, he stole a glance upward and saw that Tian Buhui's face, so full of wrath, had at some point turned to disappointment—truly as the saying goes: no grief is greater than a heart that has died.