Chapter Fifty-Nine: Disciple of the Immortal (Part Two)

The story that Xu Kang recounted to Lu Zhi and the others was, of course, not his own invention, but rather a tale that had long been crafted by another, and one with considerable fame. It is called “Journey to the West,” authored by Wu Cheng’en.

The episode Xu Kang spoke of just now, that so-called “past event,” actually originates from the part where Sun Wukong travels to Penglai to study under the Patriarch Bodhi. Through this episode, Wu Cheng’en not only introduces to the readers a master well-versed in both Buddhist and Daoist arts, but also vividly portrays Sun Wukong’s mischievous and unruly monkey nature, leaving a lasting impression upon all who read it.

If even those in later generations were so captivated, then how much more so for people of the Eastern Han, an era starved for spiritual entertainment.

As Xu Kang wove his narrative, both Lu Zhi and Huangfu Song became thoroughly absorbed. At this point, their minds were no longer concerned with whether the story was true or not, but rather with how the events would unfold.

The more impatient Huangfu Song immediately pressed Xu Kang, “Yide, what happened next? You refused to learn this and that—didn’t the Patriarch Bodhi become angry?”

“Yes, he was angry!” Unlike before, this time Xu Kang nodded earnestly.

“Master was furious and scolded me, ‘You little rascal! You refuse to learn anything. Let me teach you the severity of the discipline ruler!’ And with that, he struck me three times on the back of my head, then shut the main hall doors and left.”

Upon hearing this, both Huangfu Song and Lu Zhi revealed expressions of “just as expected,” then quickly asked, “And then? Did you go and apologize to the Patriarch Bodhi, Yide?”

In their minds, Xu Kang would surely have gone to beg forgiveness, pleaded his case, and in the end, earned the master’s pardon before gaining his skills.

Yet to their surprise, Xu Kang shook his head again.

“No, I waited until the third watch of the night, when all my fellow disciples were asleep, and only then did I sneak into Master’s chamber!”

“What?” At this, Lu Zhi’s eyes widened with curiosity, and Huangfu Song could not help but blurt out, “Yide, what were you doing in the Patriarch Bodhi’s room in the dead of night? To confess your fault?”

Xu Kang smiled and shook his head. “Of course not. Master struck me three times and shut the main door by day—that was his way of telling me to come by the back door at the third watch to study Dao. My fellow disciples did not comprehend his intent, but I understood!”

“Oh, so that’s how it was!”

Upon hearing Xu Kang’s explanation, Huangfu Song’s face lit up with realization. “The Patriarch Bodhi was testing your insight, preparing to impart true skills to you!”

“Exactly so,” Xu Kang replied with a gentle smile, a look of reminiscence crossing his features. “Seeing my keen perception and sincere eagerness to study, Master said, ‘I possess the arts of invisibility and transformation, which come in two forms: the thirty-six transformations and the seventy-two transformations. Which do you wish to learn?’”

“Transformation arts?” At the mention of this, both Lu Zhi and Huangfu Song drew in sharp breaths.

To those of later times, the art of transformation is but the stuff of legend and fiction, but in the Eastern Han, where Daoism flourished, it was considered an essential aspect of Daoist practice.

At first, the art of transformation was but a basic form of Daoist technique, but by the Jin dynasty, it had evolved into an entire discipline with a vast system. The most famous treatise is “Mozi’s Five Elements Chronicle.” According to its records, Daoist arts, through the use of herbs or talismans, could enable one to soar the heavens or vanish into the earth, to change form at a smile into a woman, to become an old man with a furrowed brow, or to squat and turn into a child. As for casting wood to become forests, drawing land into rivers, or shaping mountains from dust, such feats were considered mere trifles.

To later generations, such accounts might inspire only a wry smile, but to those of this era, they were taken as truth.

Whether anyone could actually achieve these feats was irrelevant—the Daoist arts were real; if you could not perform them, it merely meant your cultivation was lacking. Such was the formidable logic!

Under the sway of such beliefs, even men like Lu Zhi and Huangfu Song held the Daoist arts to be true.

So when Xu Kang mentioned the art of transformation, their excitement immediately soared, and they asked in unison, “Yide, you actually studied the art of transformation?”

Seeing the fervor in their eyes, Xu Kang first nodded, then shook his head.

Lu Zhi, though brimming with curiosity, managed to restrain himself, trusting that Xu Kang would eventually provide an answer.

But Huangfu Song could not wait. He placed his hand anxiously on Xu Kang’s shoulder and demanded, “Yide, what do you mean by nodding and shaking your head? Did you learn the art of transformation or not? Or did you refuse because it wouldn’t grant you immortality?”

His eagerness was such that it seemed he himself was the one making the choice.

Xu Kang fought hard to suppress his laughter, biting his lip, and finally nodded with a dejected air. “I learned it.”

“You did? Truly?”

Huangfu Song, having thought Xu Kang had refused the art, was taken aback. Yet, seeing the dejected look on Xu Kang’s face, his puzzlement only grew.

“So why are you so downcast, if you learned it? Did you fail to master it?”

“No, I mastered it,” Xu Kang replied, nodding once more.

“What, you mastered it?”

This time, both Huangfu Song and even Lu Zhi could not help but ask, “If you’ve learned it and mastered it, why this expression, Yide? Did something happen afterward?”

“That’s exactly it,” Xu Kang had been waiting for this question. He nodded, then sighed deeply.

“Alas, I was too arrogant. Having learned only a smattering, I began to show off my skills before my fellow disciples. When Master learned of this, he said, ‘I taught you the art of transformation so you could show off before others? I will not punish you, but you must leave. Go back to where you came from.’”

“What?” Huangfu Song was once more anxious. “The Patriarch Bodhi was casting you out! What did you say? Did you beg him?”

“I did,” Xu Kang replied, nodding. He recalled the scene from the television drama, composed himself, and spoke with a hint of a sob. “I pleaded with Master not to expel me. I owed him a debt for all he had taught me—how could I leave without repaying his kindness?”

Hearing this, both Lu Zhi and Huangfu Song nodded in sympathy; such a reason aligned perfectly with their values.

Yet, seeing how “emotionally distraught” Xu Kang seemed, they suspected the outcome would not be happy, so neither interrupted, awaiting his conclusion.

Under their gaze, Xu Kang’s face became contorted with grief, his eyes rimmed red, tears glimmering within.

“Though I begged him earnestly, Master replied that he wanted no repayment from me. He only asked that if I ever caused trouble in the future, I not reveal his name. He told me never again to call myself his disciple, and that he would never see me again.”

At this, Xu Kang bowed his head, and in that instant, a teardrop slipped from the corner of his eye, tracing a line down his cheek.

In that moment, Xu Kang, performing with all his might, unleashed his full dramatic powers—his acting reached its peak.