Chapter 32: Ascension

Nan Yexiren seemed stunned, as if the shock had left him somewhat dazed, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to react. 

He turned in disbelief, looking out through the blown-open iron gate. What he saw were the collapsed and shattered trees and plants surrounding the secluded building, as well as the ruin of the surrounding wall about five or six yards away, crumbled, its bricks and stones scattered.

…Is this the kind of commotion that comes from blowing up a elixir furnace?

The son of the Duke of Mu sighed. “I truly apologize! I had originally instructed them to refine elixirs and test medicines quietly in the garden. I never expected such an incident to occur in front of our distinguished guest… I’ll go check the situation. Please excuse me for a moment, sir.”

When the upper authorities take an interest, the lower ones will go even further. The Lao Deng’s obsession with the golden elixir path was well known, and naturally, the noble and influential figures around him shared his passion. 

Every family kept elixir formulas and elixir furnaces, constantly testing the immortal recipes recorded in ancient books. Whenever something showed slight efficacy, it had to be meticulously documented and reports sent to the emperor. 

In some ways, this could be seen as a violent and exhaustive human data project. A national-level initiative that might one day be included in the history of scientific progress.

As an absolute confidant of the Feixuan Zhenjun, the Duke of Mu’s household naturally played a significant role in this grand cultivation project, to the point where they would be listed as co-authors in any papers published in Taoism magazine. 

It was entirely reasonable for a elixir furnace to be continually refining elixirs in the Duke’s garden. However, due to the sudden arrival of the messenger, the furnace hadn’t been extinguished in time, causing such a large disturbance.

The son seemed particularly concerned about the elixirs. After patting off the water on his clothes, he hurriedly got up, limping as he made his way outside. 

Nan Yexiren stood motionless for a moment, then slowly got up, following the son through the disordered garden and approaching the collapsed wall directly affected by the explosion.

The stone wall made of blue bricks had collapsed for more than two or three yards, and the gap was scattered with bricks and tiles, leaving the ground in a mess. 

Inside and outside the gap, a dozen or so craftsmen were standing, and upon seeing the prince arrive, they immediately bowed and saluted, not daring to speak a word.

The servants of the Duke’s residence were evidently experienced in dealing with such accidents.

 They had already cleared a space in the debris, and two chairs were placed on the cleared area. 

The prince, fuming with anger, sat down.

“Did it explode again?”

Upon hearing the word “again,” Nan Yexiren’s lips twitched. The leading craftsman cautiously nodded without saying a word, likely still stunned by the loud explosion.

The prince rolled his eyes.

“I told you to be careful, again and again, and you never listen! It seems no one was hurt, but what about the alchemy room?”

The craftsmen cautiously pointed to the red brick rubble on the ground, indicating that this was the alchemy room, or what used to be the alchemy room—constructed with loose bricks and stones to save costs and unable to withstand such a tremendous explosion.

This did not surprise the prince. But as he looked around, his confusion deepened.

“What about the emperor’s alchemy furnace?”

The craftsmen exchanged glances and cautiously pointed ahead. The prince and Nan Yexiren followed tson gaze and saw half of a fake mountain in the garden collapsed, with a half-destroyed alchemy furnace, weighing at least two or three hundred pounds, embedded in the top of the mountain.

As for the other half of the furnace, the lead craftsman pointed upward. The two looked up again and saw the furnace lid swaying from an old locust tree above tson heads.

The evidence was clear, and the cause of the loud explosion became obvious. Even Nan Yexiren, who knew nothing about alchemy, could easily deduce the terrifying situation that occurred in the alchemy room a quarter of an hour ago—the explosion likely originated from the furnace core, and the violent shockwave rapidly expanded, tearing open the sealed furnace and sending the fifty- or sixty-pound lid flying up to the seven or eight-foot-high locust tree, while the remaining furnace body was ejected like a cannonball, crashing through the wall and embedding itself into the fake mountain several yards away.

As for the power of the explosion… Nan Yexiren kicked at the broken bricks on the ground and could easily identify the blackened fracture surfaces. 

The Duke’s residence was wealthy and used the same construction method that Emperor Gaozu employed when building the Nanjing city walls—using lime mixed with fine clay to make gray bricks, which were then tightly bound with glutinous rice water and sorghum syrup. 

The walls were strong and durable, and even chisels couldn’t create cracks.

The force that could instantly destroy such a wall… Nan Yexiren’s lips twitched for a moment.

The prince ignored the Japanese emissary’s small actions, slammed his chair, and angrily shouted:

“I told you to be careful, and now look what you’ve done! You’ve caused me trouble; you’ve really caused me trouble!”

He looked up at the furnace lid, still furious, and spoke sternly:

“This was supposed to be the elixir for His Majesty, and now you’ve messed it up beyond repair! How am I supposed to report this to the palace? After such a disaster, I won’t let you off lightly. 

You’ve been reckless! I had planned to promote you to seventh rank, but now, as punishment for this heinous crime, I’ll have to make it eighth rank!”

With such a forceful outburst, the craftsmen could only tremble and bow, obediently accepting tson punishment of a lowered rank.

After the last of the eighth-ranked criminals had left the garden, the prince turned back to apologize to the emissary, asking for forgiveness for the unintentional mishap. 

The emissary stared at him in silence for a long time before slowly speaking:

“You said this was the elixir for His Majesty. Does that mean the Emperor of your country has been refining such…”

“Refining such things?”

“Not all of them are like this,” the prince replied frankly. “Actually, this is a new product developed in recent years, and it follows an entirely new path to immortality.”

Nan Yexiren instinctively repeated, “An entirely new path?”

The prince was eager to share the alchemical advancements with the foreign emissary and eagerly introduced:

“This concept was proposed by the Taoists of Longhu Mountain. They believe that simply pursuing immortality with the golden elixir will only achieve the status of an earth immortal, which is not worthy of His Majesty, who deserves to be the Heavenly Emperor, a true celestial being. 

The goal is to ascend to heaven and attain the status of a Heavenly Immortal. I also support this path of ascension, which is why I have been experimenting with it and offering it to His Majesty…”

Nan Yexiren looked around and, for the first time, doubted his understanding: “This is… ascension?”

“Why wouldn’t it be ascension?” The prince said confidently. “May I ask the emissary, what does the term ‘ascension’ mean?”

Nan Yexiren was about to answer, but then realized he was momentarily speechless—since Japanese culture shares a basic understanding of Taoist practices and immortality, even though the limited understanding of current technology and real-life experiences might fail to grasp the more mystical and fantastical ideas of ascension in Taoist immortality practices. 

Most people would think that “ascension” simply means flying in the sky!

As for “flying in the sky”… Could you really say that this alchemy furnace hadn’t flown in the sky?

Nan Yexiren’s eyes nearly popped out.

The shock was so intense that after an awkward silence, he finally spoke hesitantly:

“Isn’t this… a bit unreasonable…?”

Such “ascension”?

The prince was unconcerned: “Taoism is inherently surprising and unimaginable! The emissary says my method is unreasonable, but is the common practice of Taoist immortality reasonable?”

“If you can believe that mercury, lead, and sulfur can make you immortal, why can’t you believe that a person can fly to the sky with an elixir? The problem lies in your limited thinking!” 

The prince had used this argument to defend his method to the palace eunuchs, leaving them speechless, and today, the Japanese emissary was equally stunned, with nothing to say.

They were speechless, which proved that the son’s plan was impeccable and should continue to be pursued. Confident in his theory, the son enthusiastically explained to the envoy:

“This theory is the source of my inspiration. I believe consuming substances like lead and mercury in pursuit of immortality is unreliable. Instead, the path of physical ascension is far more feasible. 

After all, during the early Tang and Song Dynasties, alchemists discovered that sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter could create elixirs that caused alchemy furnaces to momentarily ascend.

Of course, the power of this ascension was very weak at the time, only lifting small objects a few feet into the air. It was far from the level of immortals who could ‘travel from the North Sea to Mount Cangwu in a day.’ 

But by improving the formula, enhancing the potency of the elixirs, and strengthening the structural integrity of the body, it’s surely possible to achieve a state where even an adult can ascend in broad daylight!”

At this point, as if unsatisfied with his explanation, he pulled a silk document from his sleeve and displayed it to the envoy. 

The silk scroll meticulously detailed the results of numerous experiments conducted by the Duke Mu household. Judging from the records, the son’s proposal had indeed been systematically implemented, yielding promising results. 

In the earliest experiments, lightweight alchemy furnaces filled with elixirs barely rose three feet into the air. However, in the latest tests, the craftsmen successfully made a five-hundred-pound alchemy furnace ascend fifteen seconds into the air, reaching nearly fifty feet. 

The steadily increasing height and duration of ascension strongly validated the son’s theory.

Clearly, if even a heavy alchemy furnace could ascend into the sky under the force of these potent elixirs, then how much easier would it be for a person like the “Feixuan Zhenjun”? Once a few minor technical challenges were overcome (such as ensuring the body remained intact during the process), the Taoist master’s long-cherished dream of becoming an immortal would surely be within reach.

After all, isn’t physical ascension still ascension? In fact, this method is far more reliable than some of the vague and esoteric techniques out there. 

Many alchemists speak of primordial spirits and spiritual infants, but who has ever seen them with tson own eyes? By contrast, the lids of alchemy furnaces flying into the sky after using these elixirs are visible to everyone and cannot possibly be faked. 

The son’s confidence was well-founded.

Unfortunately, the Japanese envoy lacked the ethereal imagination required for such immortal pursuits. 

Faced with a groundbreaking experimental approach that could redefine the path of Taoist cultivation, Nan Yexiren thought not of the glorious vision of immortality but instead of certain mundane and crude applications.

For instance, if these elixirs were used in naval warfare to launch heavy objects weighing hundreds of pounds—like cannonballs or massive stones—the effects would likely be…

Nan Yexiren took a slow, deep breath.

Amid a mix of complicated emotions, including fear, he noticed some easily overlooked details. 

For instance, the silk scroll the son handed him was embroidered with delicate dragon patterns and dates, indicating that these experimental records were regularly submitted to the palace and reviewed personally by the “Feixuan Zhenjun.” 

This suggested that the highest levels of authority were fully aware of and invested in the project. The son’s claims about “imperial decree alchemy” and “offering to the emperor” were certainly no lies.

Because of this, a suspicion that had vaguely arisen during the conversation became increasingly clear—and terrifying. If the reclusive Feixuan Zhenjun in the palace was commanding nobles to produce such “elixirs” regularly, the emperor’s true intentions were beyond comprehension.

People naturally project tson own ambitions onto others. Immersed in ambition and desire for too long, Nan Yexiren’s thoughts veered toward conspiracy theories. 

If Japan cloaked its aggression in a facade of humility and politeness, what could the emperor be hiding behind his obsession with Taoist cultivation? 

This fixation on “elixirs” and repeated experiments with “ascension”—could it possibly… Could it possibly mean he was preparing for war?

Nan Yexiren was well aware of the Da’an Emperor’s nature: cold, selfish, greedy, and insidious—these were indisputable traits. But greed has many purposes. Pillaging wealth to build palaces and craft luxuries for personal enjoyment indicates corruption and mediocrity, unworthy of fear. Pillaging wealth to research “elixirs” and create explosives, however, points to militaristic ambitions.

For the impoverished citizens being exploited, the difference between these two purposes may be negligible. 

But for Japan, as the neighboring nation of this colossal entity, the distinction is one of life and death.

So, what path had the emperor chosen? Nan Yexiren did not know the answer, but his face grew increasingly pale.

The son, however, did not notice the envoy’s changing expression. He carefully inspected the shattered alchemy furnace, a look of frustration gradually appearing on his face.

“I had intended to present this new elixir as a gift during His Majesty’s birthday celebrations, but now it’s ruined! The only option is to refine another batch. 

I heard the envoy will soon depart—why not stay and join the festivities? It would be a wonderful way to express the peace and friendship between our two nations!”

Moments ago, the two sides had been locked in a fierce verbal duel, neither willing to yield. Now, the son was suddenly advocating for peace and friendship. 

The stark contrast was baffled. Nan Yexiren remained silent for a moment before softly replying:

“…I did not prepare a gift.”

“That’s not a problem,” the son replied magnanimously. “If the envoy can compose a proper critique of the ceremonial poem and sign the free trade agreement between our two nations, that would be the greatest gift! His Majesty will surely overlook the rest.”

Nan Yexiren fell silent. His expression wavered, clearly reluctant to stay and promote peace and friendship. 

Unfortunately, the persuasiveness of that furnace’s ascension seemed a bit too strong. After a long pause, he ultimately did not refuse outright.

·
Whether or not the emperor would tolerate Nan Yexiren remained uncertain, but it was clear he had little patience for the son. With spies scattered throughout the Beijing, even the smallest commotion could reach the highest levels, let alone an alchemy furnace ascending in broad daylight. 

Thus, by that very afternoon, the Feixuan Zhenjun swiftly dispatched eunuchs to inspect the aftermath, berating the son for being “reckless and sensationalist.”

However, scoldings lose tson sting when repeated too often. Once or twice, the reprimands carried weight, but in just two years, the palace had sent five or six envoys to reprimand, dock pay, or place the son under house arrest for his numerous misdeeds. 

By now, everyone was exhausted. Even the eunuchs delivering the imperial decrees were listless and fed up.

It took quite an effort to finish reading the repeatedly-issued decree of reprimand, already reduced to a standardized template. Eunuch Huang, who had been sent to instruct the noble families, let out a long sigh as he surveyed the chaos and wreckage scattered across the garden.  
“What has the son done this time?”  

Mu Qi stood respectfully with his hands at his sides, head bowed in deference to the decree.  

“I was merely experimenting with alchemy…”  

The corners of Eunuch Huang’s mouth twitched slightly, but he ultimately said nothing. As the director of the Dongchang and a key figure in the Beijing’s intelligence network, he had received countless reports from the Duke Mu Mansion. 

Yet no matter how many he read, he could never quite comprehend the twisted logic behind the son’s actions.  

In theory, noble families practiced alchemy and mystical arts to curry favor with the Zhenjun and solidify tson status. Occasionally, they might employ some unconventional methods to stand out—nothing unusual about that. But regardless of the approach, the goal of alchemy was supposed to be medicinal efficacy, not destructive power, right?  

Was there something fundamentally wrong with the son’s understanding of Taoist practices?  

Eunuch Huang could not grasp the so-called “physical ascension” theory of immortality espoused by the son. (In truth, even the Feixuan Zhenjun might not fully understand it.) 

Yet instinctively, he felt something was amiss and couldn’t help but offer a cautious warning:  

“I’m afraid this method may not be very effective. Why devote so much effort to it, Your Grace?”  

Mu Qi immediately defended himself.  

“You don’t understand, Eunuch. I’ve already managed to make the lid of a 200-pound alchemy furnace soar more than ten zhang into the sky. This is tremendous progress!”  

Eunuch Huang was speechless for a moment. Lacking the scholarly expertise to refute him based on orthodox Taoist principles, he could only muster a feeble response.  

“But according to your method, the furnace still falls back down eventually, doesn’t it? How is that considered ascension?”  

“That’s because it doesn’t fly high enough!” Mu Qi dismissed the concern. “The Taoist texts mention the Thirty-Six Heavens, with the Feixuan Heavenly Immortals residing in the Emperor Huang Zengtian, located eighteen million zhang above the ground. In other words, as long as I can propel a mortal body above eighteen million zhang, it will permanently escape the confines of the mortal world and never fall back to earth.”  

Eunuch Huang froze. “Are you joking with me, Your Grace?”  

Mu Qi grew indignant. “Why would I deceive you? I am crafting these elixirs with utmost sincerity for His Majesty’s benefit. How could I speak falsely?”  

The son to Duke Mu was a man of his word and would never lie. For context, one zhang is approximately three meters, making eighteen million zhang equivalent to Earth’s geostationary orbit in outer space. 

If Mu Qi could indeed use the explosive power of his elixirs to ascend to such a height, he would have to reach escape velocity, allowing him to orbit Earth indefinitely and never fall back.  

Of course, whether the ascended individual would appreciate the “Emperor Huang Zengtian” in geostationary orbit was another matter entirely. But the question wasn’t about feelings—it was about feasibility. Would this method achieve ascension? Well, technically… yes.