Chapter 5

Zhang Kedao heard the distant sound of five knocks from the direction of the town.

He did not rush to return to the living, suppressing his soul's longing for the "host body." After confirming that there were no other ghosts around, he took advantage of the time to float above and silently recite the *Taisang Dongxuan Lingbao Tianzun Shuo Jiuku Baise Miaojing* (The Great Supreme Grotto-Mystery Spirit-Blessed Celestial Lord’s Scripture on Deliverance from Suffering and Expiation of Sins).

To help the deceased find peace and allow the soul to rest, this could be considered a sign of respect and a simple handover ceremony for the "host body."

Those who can return to the living are those whose lifespan has not yet ended, fortunate souls who have managed to escape from the netherworld.

Not all wandering or ghostly spirits can possess a corpse and return to the living; there are no such easy opportunities in the world.

Zhang Kedao recited the *Taisang Jiuku Jing* (The Great Supreme Scripture on Deliverance from Suffering) once, then recited the *Qingxin Jue* (Heart-Cleansing Spell) for himself. Subsequently, his soul, like a light mist, entered the host body.

He continued to recite the scripture silently, feeling his soul gradually merging with the host body, accepting various chaotic memories. The twisted expression on the host body's face gradually became peaceful, and the curled body relaxed and lay flat.

Resisting the overwhelming fatigue that came with the soul's return, Zhang Kedao dared not fall asleep at this critical moment.

There would be plenty of time to sleep later; he had to overcome his laziness.

He recited the scripture over and over, striving to achieve a perfect fusion of his soul with the host body.

As an amateur Taoist, he knew far more about the process of returning to the living than the average person. Using the scripture to cleanse himself and the residual aura of the host body was the most common and basic method of fusion. Of course, he did not know any more advanced techniques.

By the time the sunlight slanted through the small window of the thatched hut, illuminating the entire room, Zhang Kedao had completed his task. He turned over, covered himself with a thin quilt with two patches, and fell into a deep sleep, utterly exhausted.

The light and shadow shifted, and the thatched hut grew dark again.

He slept well until the late afternoon, when the high-pitched, continuous braying of a donkey from the animal shed woke him up.

The thatched hut's soundproofing was slightly better than the four-sided animal shed.

With a rumbling stomach, Zhang Kedao got up, examining the coarse cloth middle garment with a patch on the elbow. He then looked at the gray cloth old Taoist robe folded on the wooden stool by the bed. He had basically accepted the host body's memories and various knowledge and skills.

He attributed this to the recitation of the scripture and the perfect execution of the ritual, which brought him good fortune.

What surprised him was not the identity of the Taoist named "Zhang Wenfeng," but the fact that this world was home to real cultivators, demons, ghosts, and other mysterious beings. This explained the bizarre incident he had witnessed, where a huge hand shadow appeared out of nowhere.

He had entered a legendary world of cultivation.

Even more unexpectedly, he discovered that the host body he had fused with had cultivation, Taoist techniques, and practices.

"Ha!"

Zhang Kedao shook his head and laughed. Was this a case of bitter hardship followed by sweet reward, or the good fortune of surviving a great calamity?

Having truly died once, he found solace in such thoughts.

The mud-brick thatched hut was simple and clean. By the window was a rough wooden table with two hand-copied scriptures, a silver-sheathed sword hanging on the wall, and an unpainted, natural wooden door leading to a small storage room.

According to the host body's memories, he found a set of clean, neatly folded clothes and shoes in the old wooden cabinet. He changed from head to toe, inside and out, though the clothes were also washed-out gray cloth, he felt no discomfort wearing them.

After finishing his tasks, he would burn the old clothes and shoes as a way to conclude the matter.

In the evening, he would perform a ritual for the deceased, burning paper money and paper ingots, which were not lacking in the Taoist temple.

He tied his hair into a Taoist bun with a wooden pin, tidied up his old Taoist robe, and pulled the door bolt, stepping over the threshold and out of the thatched hut, ignoring the donkey still braying for food.

He followed the brick path through the side gate of the courtyard, entered the kitchen, lifted the wooden board covering the water tank, and used a gourd ladle to scoop water into a wooden basin, carefully washing his hands and face.

He still felt a sense of unfamiliarity with this body, so he slowly familiarized himself with it by doing some daily chores, drying his hands with a green, old towel hanging on the wooden rack.

Crossing the wheat drying field, he climbed the stone steps to the main gate of the Taoist temple.

On the black plaque with gold edges, three gold characters were engraved from right to left: Xianling Guan (Immortal Spirit Temple).

At the bottom of the plaque, in ancient seal script, were the two small characters "Xuanmu."

The surroundings of the temple were quiet and solemn, with ancient trees surrounding it in an orderly manner. The wind rustled through the branches like waves, and yellow leaves fell, adding a touch of autumn.

The ground in front of the temple was raised and paved with blue bricks, forming a square plaza. A three-tiered, two-meter-high bronze incense burner stood majestically in the center, its surface etched with the marks of time from rainwater.

The temple was surrounded by carved stone pillars, and the plaque and carved beams and painted windows and doors showed signs of peeling and fading, indicating the temple's financial difficulties.

Zhang Kedao, having inherited all the host body's knowledge, had no problem reading and understanding the local language.

He pulled out a string of long and short brass keys from his waist, selected a two-pronged key that was polished to a shine, and fiddled with the brass ring keyhole in the center of the main door. With a "creak," he pushed open the heavy double black-lacquered, gold-edged wooden doors.

A light and elegant incense aroma filled his nostrils as he put away the brass key, tidied his old Taoist robe and hair, and stepped over the high copper-clad threshold with a serious expression.

He took nine incense sticks from a side table and lit them with the eternal lamp.

Holding the incense sticks in both hands, he joined them in front of his chest and bowed three times to each of the three Taoist ancestors' statues in the Three Pure Ones Hall, reciting prayers as he inserted the burning incense sticks into the small incense burner inside the hall.

He then offered incense to the two ancestral masters' portraits sitting in the left curtain gallery, below which were neatly arranged memorial tablets of the deceased abbots.

He filled three eternal lamps with clear oil using a small copper pot, took a brass scissors from the drawer of the offering table, and trimmed the wicks to brighten the lights.

He then took a dry cloth to wipe the railings, tables, benches, incense burners, copper candlesticks, lampshades, and doors. Each task brought back corresponding memories, helping him become familiar with them. He used another large cloth, slightly dampened, to clean the blue brick floor of the hall, then washed and wrung out the cloth and hung it to dry on a rope on the side of the temple.

After finishing and washing his hands, Zhang Kedao returned to the main hall, knelt on a thick straw cushion in the center, straightened his body, and chanted the *Gongke Jing* (Daily Chanting Scripture). Although he was the only one reciting, he did so with great care.

He started with the *Buxu Yun* (Step-Emptiness Melody), with a rhythmic and steady pace, without any noticeable pauses even when taking a breath.

The solemn hall was filled with incense smoke, and the chanting voice rose and fell like the tide.

Finally, with a "ding" from the chime, he completed his first daily chanting in this world.

He stood up, bowed three times to the Three Pure Ones' portraits.

The incense aroma filled the room, making him feel refreshed and clear-minded.

From then on, he was the abbot of Xianling Guan, Zhang Wenfeng, a certified Taoist with a degree. The former Zhang Kedao could only live in his innermost heart, unknown to others.

(From this point on, the protagonist will be referred to as Zhang Wenfeng, and all time and measurements will be in ancient units.)

Stepping out of the Three Pure Ones Hall and down the blue stone steps, Zhang Wenfeng glanced at the sundial on the left, which indicated the sixth hour of the afternoon, 2:30 PM. Although he was hungry, his face showed a calmness born of surviving a great calamity. The guilt he felt towards his parents in his former life could only be buried deep in his heart.

Living is a long journey of cultivation.

Cherish every moment!