Lü Master stepped forward and tapped the table. The gray-robed man stirred his eyes, which were slightly stiff, and upon seeing it was Lü Master, he felt delighted. But when he noticed the damp mud on the man’s coat and shoes, he gasped. “Master Lü, what has happened?” Just as a child, once able to walk, would never think of crawling again—how could a Dao practitioner who had mastered sword-flying flight still wish to walk? Lü Master said: “I merely want to be cautious. Otherwise, the other sects might learn of this and rush in to claim these two.” The gray-robed man replied: “We are fellow disciples; it’s unlikely that we would have such a situation.” Lü Master added: “But what if another sect comes and claims them?” The gray-robed man smiled with amusement. “You speak quite dramatically, Master Lü. I shall see just how remarkable a talent you’ve found—how much you’re concerned!” Lü Master gestured for Jing Jiǔ and Liu Shi’ai to step forward and said: “This is Master Ming Guo-xing from our Southern Gate who has been assigned as your Senior Uncle before entering the Inner Gate. From now on, you will refer to him as such.” Liu Shi’ai promptly called out: “Senior Uncle Ming!” When Lü Master turned to Jing Jiǔ, he paused and then blinked in awe, exclaiming with admiration: “What a lovely child—like carved jade and ice! Master Lü, your fortune today truly seems extraordinary!” “Perhaps he may only have an elegant appearance. But I’ve chosen someone younger.” Lü Master sighed. He spoke without avoiding Jing Jiǔ. After just three days of travel, his impression of Jing Jiǔ had steadily worsened—he even began to regret the decision. He’d never seen anyone so lethargic. Indeed, what truly disturbed him was that Liu Shi’ai—whom he considered a true prodigy—was being treated with such lack of autonomy and deference. The gray-robed man, following his instructions, glanced at Liu Shi’ai. He saw the boy’s fresh breath and steady gaze, which made him nod in approval—he truly believed this was promising. When he used his sword to perceive the boy’s inner energy, however, he was startled so much that his voice trembled. “An innate Dao seed?!” Lü Master smiled and said: “Indeed.” Master Ming Guo-xing urgently called out: “Then what are you waiting for—go in now!” Lü Master led Jing Jiǔ and Liu Shi’ai through the stone gate. Ming Guo-xing gently patted his chest, exchanged a smile with Lü Master, then felt at ease. Once they entered the mountain gates, they were recognized as disciples of the Qingshan Sect—no one else could claim them now. Not even from other cultivation sects, nor from Chao Ge City, nor from the Evergreen Forest or Juan Lian Ren, dared to approach this place. How many times had anyone dared to act boldly in the Qingshan Sect? Master Ming Guo-xing picked up his brush, dipped it into the inkstone, opened a scroll, and looked at Liu Shi’ai with a question: “What is your name?” Liu Shi’ai answered with some nervousness: “Liu Shi’ai.” Ming Guo-xing paused slightly, then said: “Name—your name—not just age.” Liu Shi’ai widened his eyes and asked: “Then I may simply be called Liu Shi'ai? Is that not acceptable?” When he first received this name, he had been dissatisfied. But now, it was both familiar and even pleasant. “Even if you call yourself Wan-Sui—‘Mythical Emperor’—it would be fine.” Ming Guo-xing smiled warmly. After recording Liu Shi’ai’s details, he turned to Jing Jiǔ and asked: “And you?” Though mentally prepared, the sight of that beautifully poised young face made him involuntarily narrow his eyes—he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath in admiration. “Jing Jiǔ, from Chao Ge.” The young man looked toward a distant lone peak and answered casually. Ming Guo-xing was excited, not noticing Jing Jiǔ’s lack of formality. He gently encouraged the boy with several kind remarks before turning to Liu Shi’ai, preparing to share an in-depth conversation with this natural Dao seed. Unbeknownst to him, however, Liu Shi’ai had barely glanced at him and walked toward the mountain gate—because Jing Jiǔ had already moved ahead. On the mountain path, the white-robed youth led the way, while the younger boy carried luggage behind, keeping close in step. Watching this scene, Ming Guo-xing was astonished: “What is going on?” “They are master and servant.” Lü Master recalled what Li Fu said to him that night. He furrowed his brows. “Can a natural Dao seed serve as a mere servant?” asked Ming Guo-xing, utterly amazed at Lü Master. “No matter how close their relationship was before entering the mountain gate—nowadays, mundane matters seem irrelevant. Didn’t you tell them about this?” Lü Master felt helpless. On the very first day, he had clearly explained the matter to both Jing Jiǔ and Liu Shi’ai. While Jing Jiǔ listened quietly, Liu Shi’ai simply would not listen. … … The clouds had long since dispersed; though the wind still carried a dampness, the mountain path was gentle and smooth—walking through it felt pleasant. Liu Shi’ai observed the surrounding cliffs, his small face full of curiosity, his heart simultaneously tense and excited. Perhaps influenced by Jing Jiǔ’s presence—or perhaps stirring up memories from long ago—the boy spent more time lingering on the landscape around him. With this emotional state, they quickly walked over twelve miles, reaching a cliff plateau halfway up the mountain. The plateau was covered in towering trees, with dozens of thatched cottages scattered throughout. As mist rose again, the cottages became partially veiled. Upon closer inspection, each cottage had its own courtyard walls. At the plateau, several paths diverged, and Liu Shi’ai didn’t know which to take—so he looked at Jing Jiǔ. Behind the cliffs was a sound of water—a clear, melodious murmur—likely from a spring source. A melody also began to rise, harmonizing with the water sounds, making it seem ethereal. Jing Jiǔ reached out and poured tea into his cup. The tea had already cooled from the pot; no steam escaped. Yet the sound of the pouring was as crisp and clear as a stream of water. Jing Jiǔ took the cup and drank it down before passing it back. Liu Shi’ai then placed both the teapot and cup away, retrieved a round fan from his bundle, and began to fan Jing Jiǔ gently. The rustling sound of the fan was clearly heard in the quiet hall. (End of Chapter) 9. Chapter Nine: The Innate Dao Seed