26: The clay figure shines brightly

On the first day of the twelfth lunar month, the morning light broke at dawn.

Second Aunt Li of Zhaojiaao Village carried a bamboo basket, her steps uneven as she climbed the mountain path. Inside the basket were freshly steamed buckwheat steamed buns and six red-skinned eggs—items she had saved for half a month. A layer of fresh snow had fallen last night, and the thin ice on the stone steps had not yet melted; she walked extremely slowly, but her heart was filled with warmth.

Ever since her young grandson's fever broke after drinking the well water from the temple last year, she had come to offer incense every month. It wasn't for anything else but to repay that inexplicable kindness. She first inserted three sticks of incense before the nameless shrine, then carried the empty bamboo tube toward the temple.

By the time she pushed open the mountain gate, the sky was fully bright.

The snow in the courtyard had already been swept to both sides, revealing a bluestone path. Ice crystals hung from the branches of the ancient cypress tree, refracting seven colors in the morning light. As was her custom, she first glanced at the ancient cypress tree, whispered "May the old immortal be well" in her heart, and then turned toward the Main Hall.

With that turn, her entire body froze.

The hall doors were wide open, and the morning light poured in diagonally, illuminating the interior. The offering table was wiped so clean it could reflect a person's shadow, the incense burner sat empty in the center, and the meditation cushion was placed in the corner—all of this was ordinary.

What was extraordinary was that the broken clay statue behind the offering table was gone.

In its place stood a brand-new statue.

About three feet tall, it sat cross-legged on a lotus pedestal, its wide robes draped down like flowing water. The details of its face could not be seen clearly, but its features felt relaxed, the corners of its lips slightly upturned in a look that was both compassionate and indifferent. The clay statue was not painted, yet it shimmered with a warm, moist luster, like ancient jade soaked in oil. As the morning light shone upon it, there was actually a very faint halo around it, a hazy sight that made it impossible to look away.

The basket in Second Aunt Li's hand slipped slightly.

She hurriedly steadied it, her heart pounding like a drum. It wasn't fear, but a kind of indescribable... flutter. It was like that winter years ago when she pushed open the delivery room door and saw her newborn grandson for the first time, a surge of reverence and tenderness in her heart.

She stared blankly at the clay statue, forgetting to breathe.

Suddenly, all the troubles of recent days—her daughter-in-law complaining about her husband not coming home, her son's wages being delayed, her own back and legs aching so much at night she couldn't sleep—all vanished. Her heart felt empty yet full, like a mountain spring from newly melted snow, flowing clearly through her chest.

She even had an absurd thought: she wanted to kneel down and pour out all the words she had held back for half a lifetime.

"This, this is..." she murmured to herself, her eyes actually growing warm.

Steadying herself, she set down the basket, straightened her coarse cotton coat, and smoothed her graying hair. Only then did she pick up the bamboo basket and walk into the hall step by step.

The inside of the hall was cleaner than she had imagined.

The air held the faint fragrance of heart-clearing grass, mixed with an indescribable scent—like a mountain forest after rain, or like opening an ancient book; the smell made one's heart quiet. The floor tiles in front of the offering table were spotless, and she almost didn't dare to step on them.

She took out three sticks of sandalwood incense she had bought in town—she had gritted her teeth to buy these, as they were three times more expensive than what she usually burned. Lighting them with the oil lamp, the green smoke rose straight up, but as it dispersed, it formed a spiral, circling the clay statue three times before vanishing.

Second Aunt Li held the incense in both hands, raised it above her head, and bowed deeply to the clay statue.

With the first bow, she prayed for the safety of everyone in Zhaojiaao Village;

With the second bow, she prayed for her son's success away from home;

At the third bow, she paused, looked up at the face of the clay statue, and said softly: "I also ask the immortal to bless Daoist Master Li... so that he may succeed in his Cultivate."

These words were spoken very softly, yet every word was clear.

Inserting the incense into the burner, she took two steps back and bowed respectfully. The entire process was like flowing water, and even she was surprised—how did a country woman like her know such etiquette?

Exiting the hall, she filled her containers with well water and placed the buns and eggs on the stone platform. Before heading down the mountain, she looked back once more.

In the morning light, the clay statue sat quietly, a halo of light swirling around its body.

A thought suddenly struck her: this didn't look like a god that had been invited here, but rather... like something that had grown out of this mountain.

The news traveled faster than the mountain wind.

First, it was Second Aunt Li's dazed appearance after returning to the village, followed by her strange remark about it "growing out of the mountain." By noon, seven or eight villagers had already teamed up to climb the mountain.

They entered the hall, stood in a daze, offered incense, and left—no one spoke during the entire process, yet everyone's expression was solemn. On the way down the mountain, someone finally spoke:

"It's like it, it really is like it..."

"Like what?"

"I can't say. I just feel that it should be that way." "When I was kneeling, my old aching knees actually didn't hurt anymore."

"My heart is as quiet as well water."

In their simple words, reverence was taking root and sprouting.

On the third day, figures were moving all along the mountain path.

There were old men with canes, women carrying infants, and even merchants from the town. Everyone's reaction upon entering the hall was identical: first a daze, then solemnity, and finally a devout offering of incense. The offerings evolved from buns and eggs to fresh fruits, fine pastries, and some even brought brand-new red satin—wanting to drape it over the clay statue.

Li Muchen stood behind the window of the side hall and politely declined all requests for decoration: "The statue possesses its own radiance; there is no need for external objects."

These words added to the mystery. The villagers were convinced: Daoist Master Li must have cast a spell, and this clay statue was already the dwelling place of a True God.

Changes were happening quietly.

In the past, pilgrims mostly bowed outside the hall, but now they insisted on entering to offer incense; in the past, prayers were mostly for selfish interests, but now someone would always softly add, "Bless the Abbot"; in the past, the incense offerings were as tangled as a mess of hemp, but now, through the clay statue, there were signs of them being organized and gathered.

Even more strange was the clay statue itself.

Every night, Li Muchen entered the hall to Cultivate, and as his Spiritual Sense swept through the interior of the clay statue, he could "see" strands of pale golden Power Of Will and the clear light of dao rhyme intertwining and flowing, gradually forming a tiny vortex. The peaceful aura emitted by the clay statue already enveloped the entire hall, naturally blending with the vitality of the ancient cypress tree and the Spiritual Qi of the Spirit Gathering Formation, harmonizing the entire temple's field as perfectly as a Taiji symbol.

The sixth day of the twelfth lunar month, at noon.

After the last pilgrim departed, Li Muchen stepped into the Main Hall.

He stood before the offering table, observing the clay statue. Over the three days, the statue's luster had become increasingly warm, and the dao rhyme between its brows was like clouds emerging from mountain peaks, flowing without end. As his Spiritual Sense probed the core, the vortex of light formed by the intertwining Power Of Will and dao rhyme had actually grown thirty percent larger than when it first formed.

Suddenly, the clay statue gave an imperceptible tremor.

In those slightly lowered clay eyes, a very faint bright light seemed to flash—it wasn't a reflection, but a glimmer from within. An indescribable "gaze" swept through the hall and landed on Li Muchen.

Though it was only for an instant, it was real and not false.

Li Muchen's gaze froze.

This was not a hallucination. Inside the clay statue, the power formed by the fusion of the people's prayers and the spiritual nature of the dao rhyme he had bestowed had actually birthed a sliver of... "awareness" after continuously absorbing the incense offerings and spiritual opportunities.

It was as weak as a candle in the wind, as ignorant as a newborn babe.

But it truly existed.

It relied on the clay statue as its vessel, took root in the temple's spiritual land, was nourished by the Power Of Will from incense offerings, and was even connected to his own Dao Foundation and Bloodline. It was not an independent soul, but more like the rudimentary form of an Artifact Spirit, or the embryo of an Earth Deity.

Li Muchen stood quietly for a moment, then suddenly chuckled.

The Path of Divine Incense was recorded in ancient books, but it was mostly a vague legend. He hadn't expected that in this world where Spiritual Qi was just beginning to stir, in this lonely temple deep in the mountains, such a change would occur by Destiny.

He reached out his hand and lightly tapped his index finger on the clay statue's brow.

A strand of True Essence Golden Liquid mixed with the clear light of Karma was transferred into it, further incorporating his own Dao realizations of "purity," "protection," and "insight." The tiny glimmer of spiritual nature inside the clay statue trembled slightly, like a thirsty seedling encountering sweet dew, and it brightened by thirty percent.

As the energy circulated, the dao rhyme around the clay statue became increasingly harmonious. That peaceful and auspicious aura actually took on a subtle "vitality"—as if it could respond to thoughts, soothe suffering, and dispel gloom.

Li Muchen withdrew his hand and took three steps back.

The clay statue sat quietly as before, its features still blurred. But upon careful sensing, one could detect that deep within the clay, a point of bright light was slowly growing. It did not speak or reason; it simply instinctively inhaled and exhaled Power Of Will, harmonizing the aura, using this temple as its body and the pilgrims' prayers as its nourishment.

Perhaps one day, it would grow into a true guardian spirit, becoming the eternal Earth Deity of Qingfeng Temple.

Or perhaps it would always remain a simple spiritual nature, like the tolling of an ancient temple bell—its very existence being the response.

In any case, this change itself was profound enough.

The chirping of mountain birds came from outside the hall.

Li Muchen walked to the cold jade meditation cushion and sat down, brushing his robes aside. His mind was clear and bright, and his True Essence flowed like a ring, faintly resonating with the energy of the clay statue in the hall.

incense offerings became a stream, merging into a sea.

Light was born from the clay, and the temple possessed a spirit.

The story in these deep mountains turned a new page—unrelated to gods or Buddhas, but simply within the natural way of the Dao, a miracle of creation was born.