Steward Liu and his men were beaten to within an inch of their lives, lying in the street like dead dogs. Their past crimes had been far too excessive, and popular grievance had long since reached a boiling point. Had several level-headed elders not urged restraint, they would have been beaten to death on the spot. In the end, the crowd hauled them like dead dogs and dumped them at the doorsteps of their respective homes — an outcome that filled the entire town with deep satisfaction.
At noon, the little restaurant rang with cheerful laughter. Little Tingting’s smile was radiant, all her worry and fear at last swept away. Grandpa Jiang had vented the pent-up frustration in his heart; the wrinkles on his face seemed to ease somewhat. He prepared dish after dish with great care: braised rabbit meat, clear-broth rabbit ball soup, sweet-and-sour rabbit spare ribs, jade-leaf wrapped fragrant chicken, spicy diced chicken — along with several vegetable dishes and wild-fruit sides.
The meal stretched on for a long time, punctuated throughout by laughter and warmth. The harmonious atmosphere gave Ye Fan an almost dreamlike feeling — as though he had come home.
After lunch, Ye Fan went deep into the mountains and began attempting to control the “divine markings,” for this was critically important to his future cultivation.
Each “divine marking” resembled a chain of divine iron, circling in the air above the golden Bitter Sea — the primordial form condensed from life essence.
Cultivators could refine their “divine markings” into various shapes — flying blades, daggers, and the like — then project them outside the body to slay enemies, which was far more effective than using the markings directly. Some cultivators invested considerable time and effort into refining their raw “divine markings” into flying swords, small shields, divine halberds, and so on. Such forms were easier to control, and their power in battle was substantially greater.
There were even rare individuals unafraid of complexity and mystery who repeatedly tempered their “divine markings,” refining them into dings — ancient cauldrons — bells, towers, and the like. These forms could unleash all manner of mysterious power.
It was said that the “vessels” refined from “divine markings” by a rare few of the most exceptional cultivators might, in their later stages, undergo unexpected transformations — weaving the Dao’s trajectories into the vessel’s interior, granting it power beyond all reckoning.
Of course, the probability of this was extremely low. Only those with extraordinary gifts and immense power could ever hope to encounter such a fortune.
Judging by all past experience, the more intricate and arcane the “vessel” refined from raw “divine markings,” the greater its power. Cauldrons, bells, and towers, by their nature, had somewhat greater potential for weaving the Dao’s trajectories within.
Naturally, the more complex the “vessel,” the harder it was to form. One might exhaust endless time and effort without ever hammering out so much as a rough shape — wasting years for nothing.
And even for those fortunate enough to succeed, it was still difficult, after long years of bitter cultivation, to receive any reward. After all, the hope of the Dao’s trajectories emerging was vanishingly slim. For the vast majority of cultivators, it was nothing but a legend — the exclusive province of an exceptional, brilliant few.
Tempering raw “divine markings” into a “vessel” was of profound importance to cultivators, and every single one took the matter seriously — for this was the very foundation of their future ability to command objects.
Han Feiyu’s command of the Azure Wood Seal, Elder Han’s control of his twelve green-wood swords, the unscrupulous Daoist’s mastery of multiple spirit-linked weapons — all of these were possible only because their raw “divine markings” had long since been forged into “vessels,” enabling them to control and wield various weapons through those vessels.
The vast majority of cultivators, once they had forged their “divine markings” into a “vessel,” would seek out a spirit treasure matching the vessel’s shape. Only when the two corresponded could their full power be brought to bear.
Of course, a mismatch in shape did not mean one couldn’t wield other weapons — it simply came with some reduction in effectiveness.
There were also cultivators who continually gathered “divine markings” and repeatedly tempered their own “vessel,” rather than wielding any external physical weapon. For these individuals, the “vessel” they forged was itself their spirit treasure.
According to the Dao Scripture’s Wheel Sea volume, the four great realms — the Bitter Sea, the Life Spring, the Divine Bridge, and the Other Shore — each allowed the cultivation of one “vessel.”
Ye Fan was already a Bitter Sea realm cultivator. Now he was ready to forge his very first “vessel.” He contemplated his choice with great care, for it was a matter of the utmost importance — once a “vessel” was refined into its final form, it was very difficult to change.
Moreover, the first “vessel” was the foundation for everything that followed, and its significance was far greater than any vessel forged in later realms.
Having chosen the path of cultivation, he would think of everything from a long-term perspective. Ye Fan immediately eliminated common weapons such as flying swords, shields, and spears.
Though he knew the odds were slim, he still hoped that his “vessel” might one day weave the Dao’s trajectories within it. Therefore, he resolved to choose from among the intricate and arcane forms.
“But what, exactly, should I choose…” Ye Fan deliberated carefully and at length — and at last, his eyes lit up with clarity.
His choice was made. He resolved to temper his “divine markings” into a ding — an ancient cauldron.
This was not a moment’s impulse. Ye Fan had reached this conclusion through deep and careful reflection. Not only did he feel a strong personal affinity for the ding — more importantly, the ding was the most mysterious of all objects in ancient China.
The ding ran through the entire span of Chinese history. The shattering of mountains and rivers, the rise and fall of dynasties, the warring of feudal lords, the unification of the Nine Lands — all of it was inseparable from the ding. It was the sacred vessel of the Nine Lands, the hallowed object of the nation.
To contend for the Central Plains — the prime of the Spring and Autumn Age — countless idioms were bound up with the ding, each one carrying a grand and magnificent air. The ding had existed in ancient China since time immemorial. It was the most mysterious of all “national vessels” — one could even say the ding represented ancient China itself.
How far back China’s history truly stretched was difficult to say. Many things had left no records and no inheritance. Ye Fan thought of many things, and that was why he had chosen the ding.
In the pre-Qin era, countless sage-kings and ancient emperors had performed the feng and shan rites upon Mount Tai — including Fuxi, Shennong, the Yellow Emperor, and seventy-two other sovereign rulers of high antiquity. Viewed now through Ye Fan’s eyes, they were shrouded in far too much mystery. Drawing from his own experiences, it was not hard to perceive that ancient China had been enveloped in boundless haze.
Ancient China seemed to have passed through an era of profound mystery — ages submerged in the vast river of history. From scattered and fragmented clues, one could sense something of those times: it seemed the ancient forebears had commanded extraordinary power.
And the ding, as the most mysterious of vessels handed down from that era — the most important sacred object that ran through the entirety of ancient Chinese history — was naturally prized above all else by Ye Fan. It was, without question, the one he chose as his “great vessel.”
Ye Fan was fully confident in this choice. It was the very crystallization of ancient China — as his first “vessel” and the foundation of his cultivation, nothing could be more fitting.
The ding came in many forms. The most celebrated were the three-legged round cauldron and the four-legged square cauldron. Which should he choose? Ye Fan turned the question over in his mind once more.
“The three-legged round cauldron appeared earlier in history…” A decision began to take shape in his heart.
Beyond the matter of antiquity, there were other reasons as well. Thinking from his current perspective as a cultivator, he felt that the three-legged round cauldron contained certain ineffable principles.
Three legs were more stable than four — it was the most balanced of all forms. And the circle encompassed the Dao and its meanings more broadly and deeply than the square.
Three legs — stability, strength, steadiness, firmness!
The circle represented the heavens, the earth, the cosmos, and the stars. It was said that when Pangu separated heaven from earth, he did so by shattering a circle — breaking open a spherical space. That was the primordial process of chaos taking form. The circle represented the ultimate source of all things.
“Yes — the three-legged round cauldron it is!” After this earnest and deliberate reflection, Ye Fan made his most important decision.
To temper raw “divine markings” into a vessel was no simple matter. It was a grueling and lengthy process — nothing that could be accomplished in a single step.
First, one had to fix the form of the “vessel” firmly in the mind, branding it there with absolute precision as the reference for all future tempering — not a single flaw permitted.
Ye Fan held his Bodhi Seed and sank into a state of clear and tranquil emptiness. In his heart’s field he etched the image, using his divine sense to give form to the nineteen “divine markings,” then began tempering them — first setting their shape in the mind’s sea.
Through relentless effort, the nineteen “divine markings” fused and melted together, ultimately condensing into a tiny golden cauldron the size of a soybean, brilliantly radiant and perfectly formed.
Yet Ye Fan was not fully satisfied. He felt that something was still lacking — the form was perfect, but it was missing the resonance of the Dao.
“Ah — it still needs cauldron ears.”
Ye Fan began tempering once more. Gradually, the tiny golden cauldron was hammered into shape with a pair of cauldron ears.
The moment this golden cauldron was completed within his heart’s field, Ye Fan suddenly sensed a surge of natural Dao-resonance. Utterly satisfied, he murmured to himself, “One cauldron, two ears, three legs. Yes — the Dao begets one, one begets two, two begets three, three begets the ten thousand things, and the ten thousand things carry yin and embrace yang, with vital breath flowing to achieve harmony…”
The longer Ye Fan gazed at it, the more deeply satisfied he became. The tiny golden cauldron, soybean-sized though it was, grew ever more profound and wondrous in his eyes. At last it filled his entire mind’s sea entirely — ancient and unadorned, vast and magnificent, perfectly natural.
“Yes — this is it!”
The form was set. The three-legged round cauldron was forever branded into the depths of his heart. From this day forward, he would begin tempering a true “cauldron” of this form within his Bitter Sea.
“The most mysterious vessel in all of Chinese history…” Ye Fan’s heart brimmed with anticipation.