Ascension Is a Hook - Chapter 2

The old servant took me beneath the Scripture Library.

The Xuanwei Sect’s library had nine floors: the upper three held sword arts, the middle three alchemical methods, and the lower three miscellaneous books.

I had never known there was another level underneath.

The entrance was in the broom closet.

He moved a broken wooden bucket aside and lifted a moss-covered flagstone.

A narrow stone stairway led down.

A fishy stench hit me in the face.

I covered my nose.

The old man went ahead with a lamp. Its swaying light passed over the back of his neck.

Only then did I notice the old scar there.

Curved.

Like the mark of a hook.

“Who are you, sir?”

He did not turn.

“They used to call me Master Qinghe.”

I stopped in my tracks.

Master Qinghe.

I had seen that name in the sect’s old records.

Seven hundred years ago, the Xuanwei Sect had possessed an elder of extraordinary talent. He reached Integration at three hundred, failed his heavenly tribulation at five hundred, and died beneath the lightning.

“Weren’t you dead?”

Qinghe gave a laugh.

“They needed me dead.”

“Why?”

“Because on the day of my tribulation, I saw the hook.”

At the foot of the stairs was a hidden chamber.

There were no cultivation manuals inside. Only yellowing volumes, one after another.

Names covered the walls.

I spotted Master’s at once.

Xuanwei.

Beside it was a line of smaller writing:

*Thirteen hundred years. Flesh matured. Collected.*

Something thundered in my skull.

Collected.

Not ascended.

Collected.

Qinghe handed me a damaged book.

Half its cover had rotted away. I could barely make out the three characters of its title:

*The Fish-Rearing Scripture.*

I opened it to the first page.

Water had destroyed much of the writing, blurring the ink into smears. Only a few lines remained legible.

*Let spiritual energy be the water.*

*Let the Dao be the bait.*

*Use tribulations to test how fat they have grown.*

*Collect them through ascension.*

My fingers stiffened.

I kept turning the pages.

The book recorded events from long ago, when no one in the mortal world cultivated immortality.

People were born, aged, grew sick, and died. Plants flourished and withered. Mountains and rivers collapsed. Emperors became bones in their graves.

Then one day, the first cultivation manual fell from the sky.

A herdboy found it.

He practiced what it taught and lived to a hundred and eighty.

The world called him an immortal.

Afterward, more and more manuals fell from heaven.

Qi Refining.

Foundation Establishment.

Golden Core.

Nascent Soul.

Spirit Transformation.

Tribulation Transcendence.

Ascension.

People thought heaven had bestowed the Great Dao upon them.

In fact, it had given them a method of rearing livestock.

Spiritual energy was the water.

Cultivation arts were the bait.

Realms were weighings.

Heavenly tribulations were trial hooks.

Ascension was reeling in the line.

A Golden Core was not the fruit of the Dao.

It was a pearl grown inside a fish’s belly.

A Nascent Soul was not a second life.

It was the tenderest morsel in the fish.

Severing affection and desire was not a way to become pure.

It removed the fishy taste.

Perfecting one’s merit was not a way to become immortal.

It let the flavor sink in.

My stomach heaved.

“What are those things?”

Qinghe was silent for a moment.

“No one knows.”

“Immortals?”

“No.”

“Gods?”

“Not those either.”

“Then what?”

He looked up at the thick stone ceiling.

“A fish doesn’t know what the people on the bank are called.”

A large water jar stood at the very back of the chamber.

There was no water in it.

Only fish scales.

Every scale had words carved into it.

I picked one up.

*I hear the music of immortals. I know it is bait. Still I want to bite.*

Another read:

*The stronger the Dao-heart, the sweeter the bait smells.*

And another:

*Do not let those who follow ascend. Do not let the pond fill again.*

I thought of the surge in spiritual energy after Master’s ascension. Of the disciples making breakthroughs. Of their ecstatic faces as they spoke of the patriarch’s blessings.

“After Master was collected, the spiritual energy grew denser,” I murmured.

“After catching a fish,” Qinghe said, “the angler scatters a fresh handful of bait.”

“Why?”

“So the fish in the pond will believe the one that was caught has gone somewhere better.”

I braced myself against the wall, barely able to stand.

Qinghe watched me.

“Jiang Zhao, you are the last person in the Xuanwei Sect who is still awake.”

“Why me?”

“Because you can’t make progress in cultivation.”

I stared at him.

Slowly, he said, “You’re not worthless.”

“You simply don’t taste good.”