Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Hall of Profound Truth

This Chang Le Palace covers three or four acres, yet perhaps because of its sparse population, it is not overly burdened with buildings. The most important structure, situated at the very heart of the palace, is the Xuan Zhen Hall, whose doors stand wide open. It is here that Liu Chen seeks the oil lamp.

Behind the Xuan Zhen Hall, to the left, are the monks’ quarters. As Liu Chen passed by earlier, he could faintly sense the vitality of four or five people within. Carefully avoiding them, he made his way slowly toward the hall from the right.

Liu Chen walked with utmost caution, taking nearly half an hour to cover less than a mile, constantly glancing back with each step, fearing that something ominous might emerge from the enigmatic depths of Chang Le Palace.

Yet nothing happened along the way—it seemed he had only frightened himself.

Entering the Xuan Zhen Hall quietly through the main door, he saw a hundred or so bronze oil lamps arranged in a square atop a long table. Behind the table stood three raised platforms, each bearing a lamp of red copper, far more exquisite than their bronze counterparts.

Moreover, the aura emanating from the three red copper lamps was much denser than that of the bronze ones. As soon as Liu Chen laid eyes on them, the Nether Spirit Flame flickered within his gaze.

This reaction made it clear to Liu Chen that these three red copper lamps were treasures.

But he did not immediately ignite their aura with the Nether Spirit Flame to absorb their essence. Instead, he looked further up past the raised table and saw a shallow yellow wooden statue of a Daoist. The figure wore a yellow crown, purple robes beneath, and a five-colored cloud shawl. His expression was solemn and dignified; his jet-black eyes appeared almost lifelike, painted in such a way that one wondered what pigment had been used.

“It doesn’t seem particularly special—just more refined. Strange,” Liu Chen thought.

He had believed the mysterious aura sensed outside the palace might be connected to the deity enshrined within, but upon inspection, aside from the craftsmanship, nothing remarkable stood out.

“Enough pondering. Better deal with the aura on these lamps first.”

Having entered safely, Liu Chen decided not to waste effort on vague mysteries. Better to seize what was at hand. As for the unfathomable aura, so long as it did not hinder him, he would ignore it.

Suddenly, a bell sounded from the northeast. After three chimes, faint rustling came from the monks’ quarters, followed by footsteps approaching the Xuan Zhen Hall.

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At the very moment Liu Chen was about to act, the bell rang out in the dead of night, startling him. He feared he had triggered some alarm, causing the bell to sound.

Yet after steadying his mind, he sensed that only two vitalities in the monks’ quarters shifted rapidly, clearly awakening, while the others merely fluctuated briefly before settling back into sleep once the bell ceased.

Realizing this, Liu Chen understood he had not been discovered; this must be a routine ritual of the Daoists in Chang Le Palace. Glancing around, he leapt up and concealed himself atop the beams.

No sooner had he hidden than two figures entered the hall from a side door at the rear. Peering out, Liu Chen saw two Daoist boys, about eleven or twelve years old, one carrying a kettle, the other a ladle.

Once inside, they set down their implements, straightened their attire, and recited in front of the Daoist statue:

“May Grandmaster Xuan Zhen enjoy eternal prosperity and peace. Disciple Zhen Chang and disciple Zhen An bow in respect.”

After the salute, they began refilling the bronze lamps along the table. Once those were full, the boy with the ladle headed toward the raised platforms to refill the three red copper lamps.

“Zhen An, how many times must I tell you! These three are the life lamps of our three masters; you must mix white cloud stone powder before you refill them. Haven’t you been punished enough?” Zhen Chang, holding the oil kettle, stopped Zhen An just as he was about to proceed, his tone exasperated.

“Ah, I nearly forgot again. I’ll add it now. You really are clever, Zhen Chang, just like our masters and the rest of the Ren family!” replied Zhen An sheepishly, recalling the instruction. He took a paper packet from his pocket, shook out some luminous white powder, and prepared to mix it into the lamp oil.

“Don’t use it all—save a little for your own cultivation. When you use the Minghua Lamp to reflect upon yourself, and in one thought break free from the prison of darkness, you’ll become a talisman disciple. Then the masters won’t be able to beat you so freely,” Zhen Chang said, stopping him just before the last of the powder was used. He took a bamboo joint with a stopper, collected the remaining oil, and handed it to Zhen An.

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“Is this all right?” Zhen An asked, clutching the bamboo joint, clearly nervous.

“What’s there to fear? Our three masters aren’t much to speak of—at their age, still mere talisman disciples. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been sent here to Xin City. Using this lamp oil is a waste on them; better you have it. When you become a talisman disciple, I’ll ask my father to take you back to Ru Yin with me. Our Ren family is from there, and it’s much better than here,” Zhen Chang replied, unconcerned by Zhen An’s hesitation. He pressed the bamboo joint into his friend’s pocket, gathered their belongings, and prepared to leave.

Only after the two boys had departed and Liu Chen sensed they had gone back to sleep did he descend from the beams.

Seeing that the last of the three red copper lamps had noticeably less oil, Liu Chen couldn’t help but smile—these two Daoist boys were quite amusing.

Beyond amusement, their casual conversation revealed important things: Chang Le Palace belonged to the Ren family, and the three lamps with the densest aura were the life lamps of the three masters.

Liu Chen had heard about the Ren family from the Daoist; they were one of the seventeen great houses of the Lingbao Daoist lineage, among the nine whose ancestry could be traced directly to the source of the Daoist tradition, the Supreme Daoist. Their heritage far exceeded that of the Lu family.

Yet, because they rarely participated in court affairs, their reputation was less prominent than Lu’s, so the Daoist’s introduction had been brief.