When it saw Ye Fan again, the purple crystal-like little squirrel came rushing over with eyes brimming with tears, its large gemstone eyes blinking rapidly — it darted toward him in a flash, clung to his body, and then quickly hid itself behind his back, peering out from behind just half a small head, shooting furtive glances forward.

Xu Ye was a lively girl, bouncing over like a little whirlwind, arms flailing, laughing her bright, delighted laugh, reaching to grab the little purple squirrel.

These past several days, Ye Fan had been traveling constantly — heading south to deal with the matter of Pang Bo, going from place to place, covering great distances. He had not kept the little squirrel at his side, leaving it instead at Xu Qiong’s home in City B.

Without question, a small creature like this would draw every eye no matter where it went — its fur like silk, shimmering with crystal translucence, purple radiance flowing across it. Xu Ye had been utterly captivated the moment she laid eyes on it.

Whether eating or sleeping, the girl insisted on holding it, refusing to let it out of her arms for even a moment. This level of enthusiasm had thoroughly terrified the little creature.

Before departing, Ye Fan had warned it: do not show any cultivation, do not reveal any Dao attainment whatsoever. And so the little purple thing had endured without ever escaping those hands, suffering through a kind of sweet torment.

It was unaccustomed to being held — it had always been alone, facing the ancient Buddha beneath the moonlit night, breathing in and out with the moonlight, going through its existence in a gentle blur of innocence and purity.

The only thing that had made these days bearable was the food — an abundance of delicious things that surpassed anything it had ever tasted before. Without that, the little creature might have fled long ago.

And that was the reason for its tearful eyes when it saw Ye Fan again — it had truly been frightened of the little she-demon, and hid behind his back, leaving only one large eye peeking out, looking and looking.

“Little Ye, what have you been doing to Xiao Song? Look how badly you’ve scared the poor thing.” Ye Fan spoke — ‘Xiao Song’ was the name he had given to the little purple creature.

“I’ve been perfectly wonderful to Xiao Song! But it won’t appreciate any of it — honestly, it drives me mad.” This girl was not particularly young anymore — sixteen or seventeen, tall and willowy, nearly as tall as her mother — and yet still every bit as wild and bouncy, springing about trying to catch Xiao Song.

In Xiao Song’s eyes, that beautifully refined face was no different from a demon with horns. It looked up at Ye Fan with aggrieved eyes and silently asked whether it could please go back to its little home on the rocky hill.

Seeing the poor little thing so thoroughly distressed, Ye Fan quickly reassured it, gently explaining at length that he would not leave it alone again like this.

The fragments of the white jade vase had set the entire world of collectors buzzing, and the Jiāde Auction House had been treating it as a priceless rarity — each auction drawing rapt attention.

Ye Fan received a portion of the proceeds and asked Xu Qiong to help him purchase a slightly weathered old villa in a quiet part of the city. He had come back, after all — he needed somewhere to live, somewhere that would not attract too much disturbance.

Today he needed to buy a few household things. Xu Ye had volunteered enthusiastically, accompanying her parents to help Ye Fan pick things out.

Ye Fan brought Xiao Song along, but was stopped multiple times within minutes — countless people asking what the dazzlingly purple-radiant small creature on his shoulder was — until it became too tiresome to bear.

Several people even threatened to report him, claiming he was illegally keeping an endangered species, that such a rarity should be handed over to the state and protected with the utmost care.

By the end of that day, Ye Fan was worn out from dealing with it. Someone even called the police out of overflowing sympathy, demanding the rescue of this endangered creature.

At last, peace was restored. Ye Fan engraved formation patterns throughout the old villa, then took out a dust-repelling pearl and set it in place, bringing a quiet, clear brightness to the space.

And Xiao Song was finally free. But it still harbored a degree of fear toward Ye Fan, watching him cautiously. It carefully cracked open a hazelnut, held the kernel between its small claws, tilted its head back, and held it out to him as an offering — its large eyes, black as gemstones, bright and guileless.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me. People live to be free — and you too. Don’t put a cage around yourself. If you’re not comfortable here, I can take you back to the Tibetan region, where you can go on cultivating without a care.” Ye Fan gave it a light pat on the head.

He did not know why, but sometimes he felt a kind of quiet sorrow looking at the little creature. That innocence, that state of not quite understanding, and that timidity — these were expressions of something deep at the very core of it. A reverence for the weight of fate.

Xiao Song seemed to half-understand, but at least it relaxed somewhat — stealing glances at Ye Fan from the corner of its eye, while sitting quietly and shelling hazelnuts, piling the kernels one by one into a small porcelain dish.

“Be however you want to be, same as before. No need to be afraid. Here — this is for you.” Ye Fan took out a Crimson Moon Fruit, shaped like a crescent moon, deep red and crystalline throughout, with a pure, clean fragrance.

Skitter, skitter…

The little purple creature’s large eyes instantly lit up, rolling about in excitement. It asked, carefully and hopefully — was this really for it?

“Of course it is. Don’t be restrained anymore. I am your teacher. You can think of me as family.” Ye Fan reassured it.

The deep-seated unease in its heart finally dissolved. It came alive at once — clutching the Crimson Moon Fruit and rolling about with it back and forth in sheer guileless happiness, its simplicity somehow deeply touching.

Clang!

Ye Fan cut away a small fragment of Great Luo Silver Essence, then hammered and worked it through a thousand refinements, channeling his own Dao attainment into the forging, and at last cast it into a silver bell. It was not large — shaped like a small bell, the only difference being that something was suspended inside it, to strike the walls and produce sound.

He worked with great care. The body of the bell was cast from Great Luo Silver Essence — only the size of a single knuckle — and then the small stone Buddha was reduced in size and refined into the clapper, and placed within.

From its earliest days, the little purple creature had grown up alongside the small stone Buddha. A deep bond had formed between them. And now Ye Fan had forged this treasure for it, even teaching it how to store the bell within its own body — of course it was overjoyed.

Even setting aside Earth, in the entire northern stellar region this would have been a world-shaking divine treasure: casting the “bell” from Great Luo Silver Essence, using the mysterious and unfathomable small stone Buddha as the “clapper” — there was nothing else like it under heaven.

Moonlight flowed down like water. Xiao Song breathed out the treasure, stood by the window, and drawing upon the halo of Buddhist radiance cast by the bell, pulled in the moonlight and began to cultivate.

It had remarkable spiritual intuition. Guileless as it was, it understood the benefit of this method of cultivation and had great perseverance — it would never waste a single night.

Ye Fan did not force its growth. With his current level of Dao attainment, it would have been no great matter to send it surging forward rapidly. But he chose not to do so. On the path of cultivation, each step must be taken in its own time — the foundation of the Dao must be solid. That was everything. If it was not, what seemed like a towering structure could collapse in a single night from a flaw in its very base.

What he could do was guide the path and transmit the method — the actual cultivation had to come from the little creature itself.

“Tonight, I will transmit to you a passage of the Demonic Sovereign’s Ancient Scripture.” Ye Fan had once discussed techniques with Pang Bo, comparing ancient scriptures, and through this had come to know a great deal about the Cyan Emperor’s scriptures.

Drawing upon the Dao scriptures and the Demonic Sovereign’s scripture, he created a technique tailored specifically for Xiao Song. One could say that the moment this technique took shape, it immediately moved heaven — the Great Dao itself responded, and thunder rolled.

“This technique is inferior to none — it begins at a very high level. From here on, what becomes of you is entirely up to you.”

It had to be said — the little purple creature had remarkably high spiritual intelligence. It committed everything firmly to heart, and in no time at all was aligning with the technique, setting its own Dao attainment in motion.

Before long, word came from India. The several senior masters had returned and given a full account of everything. The monk who was over a hundred and ninety years old was moved, and had arranged with two others of similar standing to make the journey east together.

The bidding for the white jade vase reached a climax. Two fragments had been acquired by the Indian senior masters. In the rounds that followed, three more consecutive fragments were taken by a single young man.

The involvement of Buddhist senior masters had only deepened the air of mystery around the white jade vase. Many collectors had abandoned any thought of assembling the complete set — the price was simply beyond them. At this point, merely owning a single fragment was considered an honor.

“All the better. I’ll use the vase fragments to test the waters — see who surfaces.” Ye Fan murmured to himself.

Time can soften everything. As the days passed, the grief in Ye Fan’s heart still lingered — but he no longer sank into it as he once had.

During this time, he had often taken to steeping himself a cup of green tea. In quiet moments, he would recite the Yellow Court Scripture; in solitude, he read the Nanhua Scripture. By degrees, his heart had grown spacious and clear, and he often spent the evenings gazing up into the stars.

The Cutting of the Dao!

He knew the time was drawing near. Had he wished it, he might have stepped through at any moment. Yet in these days of great upheaval and gradual return to stillness, he suddenly felt that extinguishing the attachments within his heart — that was not his Dao.

“Whether on this side of the stars or on the other shore — I will not cut away any of it. Not even forgetting them for a little while is something I am willing to do.”

He had come back, and yet his parents were no longer here. The attachments in his heart had only grown stronger. And on the other end of the stars — so many old companions, so many things that had passed — none of it could be let go, and yet none of it could be returned to.

“Cut away either one, and I could step into the third stage of immortality immediately. But I will not do it…”

Ye Fan shook his head. His attachments were too many. Cutting the Dao was simple enough in words — one need only choose a thread, sever it with conviction, and tread one’s own path. But the true difficulty lay in his refusal to do so. He wanted to hold every thread whole — to let the heart find peace while losing nothing. And yet to do such a thing was nearly to unmake oneself entirely.

“I will remember all of it!”

His gaze hardened with resolve. He knew now what this juncture would ask of him — and it would be unlike anything faced by anyone who had come before.

The Dao descends to cut away the human path — and he intended to defy that, to rise against it, to cut back against the Dao that sought to cut him. This was a path that ran against the very grain of the world.

“You will not wait for the Dao to cut me. I will be the one to cut the Dao.”

Ye Fan was calm. In saying this, there was no rising of emotion, no grand surge of feeling — just the quiet of a man who had been sipping green tea and reading the Nanhua Scripture day after day, whose heart had settled into a stillness like still water.

He knew well the consequences of such a choice. Success would mean a Dao broader and more boundless than any other person’s — surpassing them all. Failure would mean that what was cut away would be himself.

“Cut the Dao, cut the Dao — perhaps this, truly, is what Cutting the Dao means. If you will not cut the Dao that blocks your path forward, how can you deserve that name?”

Earth was a place where the Great Dao could barely be sensed, harder to cultivate in than the northern stellar region had been before heaven and earth changed. More difficult by far.

And yet there was a singular advantage: if one’s Dao attainment advanced here, that advancement would be extraordinary without exception — just as the human sages of the northern stellar region had been so incomparably powerful that even the ancestral kings who had survived from the primordial age trembled before them.

Now Ye Fan had chosen this path unlike all others. If he could not break through, so be it. But if he did — to reverse-cut the Great Dao under conditions of such extreme hardship and suffering — it would shake all of time, past and present.

The path had to be walked by oneself. Perhaps one morning it would all turn to ash. But if it was crossed — perhaps there would be a view no one had ever seen before.

A cup of green tea, its quiet fragrance drifting in gentle threads. Ye Fan stood by the window, gazing into the distance.

In these recent days, he had not cultivated at all — and yet he had grown calmer and more still with each passing day. To steep a cup of fragrant tea, to read through the Daoist Canon once — these had left his spirit and mind in a state of absolute clarity.