Chapter 172 — A Breathing Spell

Beneath the purple-gold eight-trigram furnace the flames roared up, seething and rolling, waves of heat surging forth, their ferocity far beyond that of the day the Three Sages of Tianshui had refined their elixir. This eight-trigram purple-gold furnace of You Cen's was wrought with the number of the Zhou heaven, gathering the spiritual qi of the five elements—borrowing metal to beget water, water to beget wood, wood to beget fire. When Zhou Xuan spat out his true fire, it was as though boiling oil had been flung upon the blaze, and the fury of it redoubled.

Zhou Xuan muttered incantations and true words, his fingers weaving hand seals, carefully harmonizing yin and yang, kan and li, true water and true fire. The opening of the furnace to refine the elixir was no small matter: it demanded both cultivation and attainment, and a fine, subtle mastery of spellcraft and true essence. Fortunately, though Zhou Xuan had cultivated for only a short span of days, he was a heaven-granted talent; having received Xu Xuan's wondrous boon, his power and attainment had both reached the realm of transformation, so he need not worry on that score. Moreover, he had carefully observed the Three Sages at their elixir-making and gained some understanding of his own, and the General Compendium of Artifact Refining recorded the wondrous methods of Yun Cen, that golden immortal—how could he possibly fail?

The blood-demon seaweed, bound fast by Zhou Qing's talismans, could not stir; before a single cup of tea's time had passed it was refined into a cauldron of liquid. Xuanwu Cong raised the Eight Scenes Lantern to float three feet above his head, purple light raining down to shield them all. Within the furnace the true water boiled with a mighty rushing roar, yet the eight-trigram purple-gold furnace stood rock-steady. Zhou Xuan grew ever more skilled; as his seals flew, his robes and sash caught the wind as though he would drift into the air, like an immortal—truly a Daoist of the true way.

In but a short while, from the holes pierced in the furnace in the number of the Zhou heaven, wisps of milk-white mist came curling out, gathering above the furnace into the shapes of dragons and tigers that long refused to scatter—not the empty stuff of conjured magic at all, but bearing faintly the sound of dragons roaring and tigers crying.

After a moment more, above the elixir furnace there appeared heavenly blossoms and shimmers of light conjured by magic power—points of flowing radiance, a profusion of blossoms, scattering and drifting down in wild abundance, then vanishing clean away in an instant, like rain and dew and lightning, like dreams and illusions and bubbles.

This vast world is a riot of the strange and uncanny, a pageant of terror—demons and yakshas, celestial maidens and immortal pavilions, all faintly manifesting amid the heavenly blossoms. The onlookers, shielded by the Eight Scenes Lantern so that no heart-demon could arise in them, only felt wonder upon wonder, and thought it all most beautiful.

Xuanwu Cong, a man of wide experience, knew that refining this Elixir of Deliverance from Calamity was to act against heaven; heaven, in its jealousy, sent down demons to frighten the refiner, and celestial maidens to scatter blossoms and tempt him—half-real, half-illusion, true and false past telling. If the refiner but lost his grip and let his mind waver for an instant, not only would the elixir be ruined and the furnace split, but the man himself would suffer: at best all his attainment would be wasted, at worst his very life forfeit and his soul cast forever into the wheel of rebirth.

Zhou Xuan, within the illusion, roused his mystic art, and golden light blazed from his whole body; above his head three green lotuses faintly appeared. He remained unmoved by all the phantoms. The raining blossoms, though in truth substantial things, were blocked by the golden light of his guardian lotuses and could not descend.

Zhou Ji was like Vimalakirti himself: though heavenly maidens rained blossoms about him, not a speck of dust clung to his person.

"How strange! This Daoist Zhou is in truth a dual cultivator of Buddhism and Daoism, at once Buddha and Daoist—and yet so perfectly in harmony. He is a wonder indeed." Seeing the green lotus and golden light, Xuanwu Cong was puzzled at heart; yet he could not help but admire Zhou Yan's attainment and cultivation of mind. Reaching the exquisite passages, his ancient heart swelled within him, and he clapped his hands in praise and made a song:

*Parting yin and tuning yang, he joins dragon and tiger; melting cinnabar and transmuting lead, he unites kan and li. Three blossoms gathered at the crown, he wins the mystery; five qi returning to the origin, he passes through his very self. Like Buddha, like Dao, and like the void as well—not coming, not going, not abiding in the midst. The world all knows the golden elixir is good; it knows not that when the six thieves depart, the man falls dead.*

Xuanwu Cong made the song offhand, yet the listeners felt their hearts stir; watching Zhou Yan's seals, they all nodded, as though something had been understood. Zhou Xuan, wholly bent on refining the elixir, and needing besides to fend off the formless demons' encroachment, had no leisure to divide his mind and listen. Suddenly he spat out another great mouthful of true fire, paused the seals in his hands; the phantoms scattered one after another, the furnace fire swelled once and then sank back, a clear note rang out, and the fragrance of medicine spilled on every side.

"Fellow Daoists, what peril we have passed! I never thought this golden elixir would draw heaven's jealousy and bring down demons upon us. Fortunately this poor Daoist kept his grip—the mother elixir is now formed, and there is no great trouble remaining. Only an hour of gentle fire to temper it, and the work is done. Hereafter, when you fellow Daoists cross your heavenly tribulations, you shall have at least five parts in ten more assurance!" Zhou Xuan gasped for breath, drenched in sweat from head to foot, cursing inwardly without pause.

"Damned Yun Cen, why did you never say that refining this elixir would bring so many demons down upon me? I had to govern the fire's heat with one hand and rouse the Yuanyan Mystic Art with the other—frantic, worn to the bone. Had your grandfather's cultivation been less deep, I'd surely never have held out. Hmph! Once I ascend, I'll have words with you, Ma Heng, I swear it. I said as much—an elixir for crossing tribulation is no small thing; how could it be refined so quickly, so easily? So this was the hidden tribulation all along."

Hearing that the work was all but done, only the final step remaining, the crowd was overjoyed, congratulating one another on every side. Of this opening of the immortal mansion, the greatest beneficiary was of course Zhou Xuan; next to him, themselves. They had obtained Xu Xuan's choicest dharma treasures, together with the methods for refining them, and now a golden elixir was to be bestowed besides. Every one of them felt that immortality was now within reach—what reason had they to be anything but glad?

"Not good!" Zhou Que cried out in sudden alarm, and his hand seals faltered; beneath the purple-gold eight-trigram furnace the true fire leaped violently, frightening the hearts of all who watched. Success was in sight—if the heat slipped from control and all was lost at the last step, they would truly have no tears left to weep. Fortunately Zhou Xuan steadied his mind in time and adjusted the heat; nothing amiss appeared in the furnace.

"Daoist Zhou, why the sudden alarm? Has something gone wrong with the elixir in the furnace?" The three, Hong Cheng among them, were shaken as well; Shui Yuan asked hastily.