Chapter Two: Zhuangzi Awakens from His Dream After Hundreds of Years

Liu Yunfei walked along the path, his stomach growling after having only a bowl of porridge and two fried dough sticks for breakfast. He was growing weak with hunger and could barely continue. Just as he was about to sit down for a rest, he suddenly caught sight of a white deer ahead.

“A deer? And it’s pure white, not a spotted one? Luck must be on my side—I’ve stumbled upon a rare species!” Overjoyed, Liu Yunfei broke into a run, chasing after the deer.

He followed the white deer, sprinting through a patch of woods until the trees gave way to a clearing—a vast expanse of yellow earth, barren of even a single blade of grass, nestled in a hollow between hills. The deer had vanished. Liu Yunfei searched deeper into the hollow and, raising his eyes, saw a doorway set into a yellow clay cliff. Not far from the entrance stood a stone stele, about five meters tall, inscribed with ten golden characters: “Spiritual Platform, Square Inch Mountain, Slanting Moon, Three Stars Cave.”

“Three Stars Cave—that sounds familiar. But I don’t recall any tourist spot by that name on Little Yang Mountain.” While Liu Yunfei puzzled over where he might have heard the name before, the small door creaked open, as if it hadn’t been used in years, sending up a cloud of dust like a shower of flour.

When the dust settled, an elderly man stood in the doorway. He was short, dressed in ancient garb that appeared to be woven from hemp, his hair tied in a scholar’s knot atop his head, his face aglow with a ruddy radiance—no, it wasn’t just healthy, it was positively luminous. His long white beard trailed down to his belly.

With eyes closed, the old man addressed Liu Yunfei, “You have arrived. Come in.” Liu Yunfei, his mind in a fog, followed the old man into the cave.

To his amazement, the tiny wooden door opened not into a cramped space but a vast, circular hall. Looking up, Liu Yunfei felt as though he stood in the atrium of the Jin Mao Tower in Shanghai, gazing upward at balcony after balcony, level upon level, ascending beyond sight. Suspended in the air above the hall floated enormous, translucent characters, and at the lowest point was a grand lotus pedestal.

The old man floated up to the lotus dais and said to Liu Yunfei, “Kneel.” So stunned was Liu Yunfei that he obeyed without a thought.

The old man continued, “I am Bodhi. I have cultivated here on the Spiritual Platform for five thousand years. Once, I met the Stone Monkey, Sun Wukong, born of the eternal rock.”

“What? You’re the Patriarch Bodhi? Sun Wukong’s master?” Liu Yunfei’s mind, just beginning to function again, crashed under the weight of this revelation.

Bodhi paid him no heed and went on, “After another five thousand years of cultivation, fate brings me to you. Heaven’s will is clear—destiny has arranged our meeting. Since Wukong, I have not accepted a disciple. Today, I grant you the Daoist name ‘Wu Xuan.’ Follow me in cultivation.”

“So I’ve become Sun Wukong’s junior disciple? Master, please accept my obeisance—a hundred bows, a thousand bows…” Overwhelmed with excitement, Liu Yunfei babbled incoherently.

The old Bodhi, perhaps not having seen a human in millennia, seemed in good spirits. He extended his hand, “Wu Xuan, come forward.” Liu Yunfei suddenly felt himself lifted, as if by an invisible force, and floated up onto the great lotus dais.

“Today, I begin imparting to you the principles of the Dao,” said Bodhi.

“What principles? Will you teach me Sun Wukong’s seventy-two transformations? The Somersault Cloud?” Liu Yunfei asked.

Bodhi replied, “Those are merely arts, not the Dao itself. Technique without understanding is hollow. The Dao encompasses the nature of rising and sinking, ascent and descent, movement and stillness, the interaction of forms—the origin of mist and vapor, the interplay of heat and cold, victory and defeat, contraction and extension. Its emergence is subtle and simple, its fulfillment vast and enduring. To know begins with simplicity; to emulate simplicity is to be in harmony. The differentiated may be symbolized as Qi; the unified, as Spirit. The untamed, the mist, are not the Great Harmony…”

As Bodhi began his discourse, Liu Yunfei’s mind slipped into a trance-like state—half asleep, but with the depths of his mind growing intensely active. The massive, translucent characters floating above began to spin, shrinking and multiplying, rearranging themselves according to secret patterns before flooding into Liu Yunfei’s consciousness.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he awoke, still kneeling as before. Bodhi sat serenely with eyes closed. Liu Yunfei felt an extraordinary clarity, a profound sense of comfort, his body brimming with energy, yet perfectly composed. His breathing was slow, his chest warmed by a gentle sun that radiated no heat; he could sense and control every pore of his body. Even his mild nearsightedness had vanished—he could see a spider’s thread far in the distance.

After allowing him a moment to adjust, Bodhi spoke, “Wu Xuan, the Dao has been expounded. You are as if reborn. From this day forth, you are immune to all poison and disease, unburned by fire, unbroken by hammer, never thirsty, never hungry. Your body is indestructible, capable of traversing the heavens and the earth. I hope you will perform many good deeds and spread the great Dao I have taught you.”

Liu Yunfei immediately replied, “Master, I understand. Thank you for your boundless kindness.” He knelt and kowtowed three times.

Bodhi did not refuse his bows. After the three obeisances, he said, “I have yet to teach you spells. What would you like to learn?”

“I’m not sure, Master. Please decide as you see fit.”

“Very well, come with me.” Bodhi led Liu Yunfei down from the lotus dais and out of the cave, then said, “I shall teach you as I once taught Wukong.”

True to his word, with the Dao foundation established, Bodhi only needed to teach Liu Yunfei a few incantations, and he mastered the seventy-two transformations and the Somersault Cloud at once. Liu Yunfei practiced them over and over, but this was a world apart—one somersault carried him tens of thousands of miles, and there was nothing to see or do in this realm.

When Bodhi saw that Liu Yunfei had mastered the basics, he said, “Wu Xuan, our bond as master and disciple is now complete. It is time for you to depart. Before you go, I will give you a parting gift—this Radiant Jade Slip, a treasure from ancient times. It will allow you to store some items.” With a pinch of his fingers and a wave of his wide sleeve, a seven-colored ray of light shot into Liu Yunfei’s body. Instantly, Liu Yunfei sensed a glowing point within his consciousness—a space of several square meters, almost like a virtual dimension. He thought, “Now I’ll never need a backpack for school again!”

“Master, you’re sending me away after just one day? You’ve been here alone for thousands of years—let me keep you company a while longer.” Liu Yunfei’s conscience finally stirred. But Bodhi’s next words startled him.

“It has not been just one day—transmission of the Dao took forty-nine days, and with today, it has been fifty.”

“What? I slept for forty-nine days?” Liu Yunfei was astonished. Suddenly, a terrible thought struck him: “Oh, no! Yu Xiaowei and the others must still be waiting for me. If I don’t go home for forty-nine days, my parents will be frantic! Will they call the police? Send search helicopters into the forest?” But Bodhi’s next words sent him into utter despair.

“One day in this cave equals ten years in the mortal world. Since your arrival, four hundred and ninety years and one day have passed in the human realm,” Bodhi said.

“Four hundred and ninety years! My parents…” Liu Yunfei’s face went pale. “Dad, Mom… Master, you must have a way, right? Please, help me. I don’t want the Dao or any magic—I just want my parents.” Tears welled up and streamed down his face.

Bodhi, who had waited five thousand years for another disciple, was moved by Liu Yunfei’s grief, guessing he was thinking of his own parents. With a sigh, he said, “Very well. Seeing how filial you are, I will do my utmost to help you. I will use the Moonlight Box to send you back to the day you arrived.”

At this, Liu Yunfei’s tears turned to a smile. “Master, I’ll come visit you often. But how will I find you?”

Bodhi replied, “Wu Xuan, my disciple, do not come seeking me again—you will not find me. Our fate together is fulfilled; remember to do good in the world, and that will please me greatly. Ahem…”

Who says immortals are heartless? Even Bodhi, who had waited five thousand years for a disciple, found it hard to let go. But as an ancient sage, he could not permit himself to weep, so he coughed to hide his sorrow.

With a flourish, Bodhi traced a circle in the air with his middle finger and shouted, “Moonlight Box, if not now, when?”