Chapter Nineteen: Scorched by Raging Flames, the Heart Seed Bursts Forth into a Golden Lotus (Part One)

Everyone followed Bei Dou Yi’s gaze, their eyes flickering with surprise.

The Sacred Locust Tree?

This peculiar ancient tree indeed possessed something divine, yet to ordinary people, it merely offered a slight calming effect on the mind and promoted blood circulation through its magnetic field. Beyond that, its significance to the Qingmu Xin Yi Sect lay mostly in symbolism.

As for tales of old trees becoming spirits or demons, that was impossible. After nearly two centuries of guarding this ancient tree, the sect had found no abnormalities.

“Is this ancient locust tree what you’re looking for?” Mu Huaidong asked, puzzled, glancing at Bei Dou Yi.

“The locust wood is a spirit-connecting tree. Many legends say it harbors hidden spirits and ghosts—not baseless rumors. All things have a spirit. Though it stands here without ears to hear, eyes to see, or mouths to speak, it records extraordinary wills beyond the mundane,” Bei Dou Yi said slowly, stepping toward the great locust tree at the center of the training ground. As he passed through the crowd, they instinctively parted, unwilling to block his path.

The physical body is not the sole vessel of spirit and will.

A single word, a painting, a statue, a rusted sword, a bloodstained jade pendant—all can carry a fragment of spirit and history.

If one can resonate with these, it’s like opening a book of poetry, reading through the vicissitudes and splendors of time.

Yet, due to the weight of the spirit contained and the limitations of the human mind, few can truly achieve this.

A fingerprint left on a terracotta warrior a thousand years ago can move some to tears, as if their spirit crosses time to dance with the craftsman, experiencing history firsthand; others only see an eyesore.

But when the imprint is left by a master who has sanctified the body, combined with Bei Dou Yi’s extraordinary mental abilities, the impossible becomes possible.

With wisdom illuminating all, he can perceive across past and present.

Bei Dou Yi reached the ancient locust tree, slowly placing his palm on its sturdy trunk.

At that moment, his spirit focused intensely, connecting through his palm with the tree, producing a strange resonance.

Rustle, rustle!

The trunk trembled slightly, leaves brushing and whispering.

Bei Dou Yi’s mind seemed to leap across a century, witnessing a piece of history—the fierce spirit of a body-sanctified master imprinted within the tree.

He saw a tall man dressed in a blue martial robe, young in appearance, no older than thirty. His eyes blazed like twin fires; his waist was straight and firm, like a celestial pillar linking heaven and earth.

The man stood before the ancient tree, gently caressing its bark.

“Old friend, I have a premonition that this parting will be our last. Who would have thought that such a small island nation, a mere speck on the map, would harbor so many who have sanctified their bodies? This is the tide of nations and the making of an era.”

The man continued, “Though small, this island has undergone an industrial revolution—strong ships, powerful cannons, abundant supplies, and no one starves. Modern ideas no longer accept servitude. Though our great land is vast, how many there truly eat meat every meal? Alas, I am but a lone warrior, focused solely on martial arts, ignorant of affairs of state.”

“But as a martial man, how can I retreat in such a national crisis? Even if it costs me my life and way, I must let the villains understand our resolve. This land nurtured me; I cannot stand by and watch it fall into alien hands.”

“Old friend, they say locust wood hides spirits. Today, I entrust my sanctified will to you. Even if I perish, perhaps my will can be passed to future generations, so our legacy will not end.”

Boom!

In the next moment, a powerful will surged forth, shaking Bei Dou Yi’s spirit, bringing him back to the moment when the man had sanctified his body, his spirit at its fiercest.

A hundred years ago, the nation was in peril, invaded by foreign enemies. The land of Shenzhou was fallen.

Han Province became the frontline of war, with cannon fire everywhere, civilians suffering terribly. The invaders burned, killed, humiliated, and plundered. Beyond open warfare, they also ordered the purge of martial experts in Donghua, seizing martial secrets.

The Qingmu Xin Yi Sect had a century-long legacy and considerable renown in Han Province. Feng Huachuan, the sect leader, led disciples in secret resistance, killing invaders and reclaiming supplies, becoming a thorn in the enemy’s side.

When Dawu City fell, many civilians fled to the mountains, but over ten thousand were captured. The enemy broadcasted day and night into the mountains, demanding Feng Huachuan appear in Dawu City within three days for a meeting, or they would slaughter all the captives.

Ignoring the pleas of leaders from Liuyang Yiqi and Wuhuo Lianzhen sects, Feng Huachuan resolutely went.

“I am but flesh and blood, yet can exchange myself for thousands of lives. It is worth it!”

“Even if it’s a trap, I will go! Otherwise, if those ten thousand perish because of me, how can my heart find peace? How dare I face what I have learned in my life?”

Outside Dawu City, Feng Huachuan met alone with the enemy leader, who had prepared a mountain of firewood.

“I keep my word. You sit there until you fall in the flames. Until then, those ten thousand have a chance to escape. When time’s up, I will order a new capture. Let’s see what you can do,” the enemy leader said, gesturing at the ragged civilians behind him with a mocking smile.

“Go quickly, don’t hesitate. If you have the chance later, avenge me,” Feng Huachuan said calmly, stepping onto the pyre and sitting cross-legged.

Whoosh!

Flames exploded, and thousands cried and fled.

The burning pain defied description.

Clothes burned, skin blistered, smoke choked the organs—human torment at its peak.

Yet Feng Huachuan remained unmoving, fully focusing on activating the seed of revival within, stirring his life force.

Each moment he endured granted the thousands more time to escape.

In that intense agony, facing life and death, with great sacrifice and courage, Feng Huachuan comprehended the Way.

The Qingmu Xin Yi technique, inspired by the form and spirit of the ancient locust tree, condenses qi and blood, nurturing a seed in the dantian to imitate plants, strengthening the body and prolonging life.

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