Volume One: Unsayable, Chapter 33: The Ginseng Fruit

The monk left, and once again, only I and this precious tree remained. Yet my heart felt empty, for the tree that had been with me day and night was no longer mine.
The monk’s abilities were astonishing. The formation he left behind allowed only me to enter and exit safely. Though I felt aggrieved, the constant fear from before had vanished. Here in this temple, I could focus entirely on my cultivation.
The books the monk left were like treasures to me. These ancient texts seemed tailor-made for me. I devoted myself to cultivation frantically, not for anything else but to defeat that monk one day and reclaim what belonged to me, though I knew it was impossible.
From these books, I learned that this tree was originally called the Ginseng Fruit—a spiritual root from the dawn of creation, imbued with infinite potential. This root would bloom for three thousand years, bear fruit for three thousand years, and take another three thousand years to mature. Just smelling its fruit would add 360 years to one’s life, while eating one could extend life to 47,000 years.
47,000 years! Good heavens, no wonder the monk wanted that fruit. But after guarding this Ginseng Tree my entire life, I was to hand it over to someone else—how could I accept that?
After learning about the benefits of the Ginseng Fruit, it took me a full thousand years to suppress my hatred. I couldn’t hate; hatred would hinder my spiritual focus. Faced with this, I chose to forget.
Sure enough, after three thousand years, the Ginseng Tree bloomed. The bloom lasted but a moment. I walked beneath it and saw petals falling in a beautiful, sorrowful cascade, covering the ground in layers of white. Before I could see it at its fullest, they began to wither. But it was fine—returning to nature in the shortest time meant beginning the next cycle.
As the petals fell into the soil, the nature of the land changed. The once soft ground turned as hard as iron. From the books, I learned that this was how the Ginseng Tree grew—“born for me, nourishing my roots.” From this, I understood the principle of holding onto the essence and preserving truth in cultivation. I didn’t know which category my practice fell into, but I felt like a true Taoist now.
In the mountains, time has no measure—once the cold fades, one loses track of the years. In the blink of an eye, flowers bloom and leaves fall, spring turns to autumn. The colors of Wanshou Mountain vary in depth, harmoniously blending together. The gentle waterfalls and streams in the mountains flow softly amidst the clouds and mist, carrying away the years and washing away all pretense. Time passes swiftly, and another three thousand years pass in the blink of an eye.

The ginseng fruit tree bore fruit. Looking at those thirty fruits, each resembling a child, the hatred I had suppressed for five thousand years surged back in my heart. I knew all too well that everything I wanted to forget was nothing but self-deception. Those thirty fruits were like my own children. I had waited for six thousand years—why didn’t they belong to me?

Facing this ginseng fruit tree, I even felt an urge to destroy it. What frightened me was that as soon as this thought arose, the monk came again.

The monk still looked the same—calm, indifferent, with a gentle smile. To me, this was merely a cover to hide his coldness deep within.

This time, the monk wasn’t alone. He brought along a Taoist disciple named Anan. The monk said that seeing me alone and lonely, he would have this disciple serve me from now on.

I sneered silently. It was clearly surveillance, but they insisted on calling it service. Yet I had nothing to say. I was like fish in someone’s net—the longer I lived, the less I wanted to die.

Anan stayed there, silent, but I could tell his skills were far greater than mine. We lived in the front yard and the back yard respectively, without speaking for three thousand years. Though Anan appeared to be a Taoist, he often held a string of Buddhist beads in his hand. I guessed he was also a monk, dressing like this only to avoid suspicion.

As I practiced cultivation, I kept asking myself one question: Why could I live so long? The monk never told me. I guessed it must be thanks to this ginseng fruit tree.

Year after year, the ginseng fruits grew larger, their color shifting from green to pink. Watching them mature, my heart suffered day by day. Eventually, these treasures, like my own flesh and blood, would leave me and end up in someone else’s stomach.

Finally, three thousand years passed, and I achieved the rank of Taiyiimmortal transcendentalist. From the books, I learned that between Taiyiimmortal transcendentalist and Taiyigolden immortal, there was only a difference in understanding of the universe. But where could I find such understanding?

One day, the ginseng fruit tree shone brightly, its radiant light reaching the heavens. I knew the fruits were ripe.

Sure enough, the monk came again. He and Anan brought gold hammers and white jade plates to collect the thirty fruits. Then they said to me, “It’s a great fortune for you to be able to guard this ginseng fruit tree. You’re close to the essence of the universe. As long as the universe endures, you won’t die. What more could you ask for?”

I was stunned. So immortality was so easy? Just by getting a seed through luck, one could achieve what countless cultivators and immortals dreamed of. But why didn’t I feel happy at all?

The monk said again, “I will take this ginseng fruit only this once, just to test that Hunyuan Dao Fruit. I’ll leave you the formation on the mountain—it’s infinitely powerful. If you refuse, even a Taiyi Golden Immortal will find it hard to enter. Taking your ginseng fruit and restoring your status as the ancestor of earth immortals is also a matter of fate.”

Indeed, the monk never came back again, and the name of Zhenyuan the Great Immortal, the ancestor of earth immortals, gradually spread throughout the world.

Nine thousand years passed, and at last I got my ginseng fruit. I couldn’t wait to pick one and eat it. I realized that within this ginseng fruit lay insights into the universe. After 18,000 years, I finally achieved the status of Taiyi Golden Immortal and was now qualified to explore the world.

I originally thought that with my status as a Taiyi Golden Immortal and the title of the ancestor of earth immortals, I could go anywhere in the world. But reality dealt me a crushing blow. The world was so vast, with so many forces, all so intricately intertwined that they were intimidating.

There was the Heavenly Court in the sky, other worlds in the west, and the netherworld on earth. There were countless immortals, Buddhas, and bodhisattvas. They treated me politely but kept their distance. At first, I didn’t understand why, but later I gradually realized that whether I had reached the status of Taiyi Golden Immortal or not, I was fundamentally different from them—I was just a wandering immortal.

Among all the immortals and Buddhas in the world, few were stronger than me. With my status as a Taiyi Golden Immortal and the blessing of possessing the spiritual roots of the universe, the Jade Emperor would surely bestow honors upon me. But how could I lower my status to be just a mere spirit official in charge of guarding a temple?

It’s shameful that the Jade Emperor lacks discernment and is surrounded by slanderers. In such a situation, I would rather live freely than become some trivial spirit official.

Whether in the sky or on earth, no matter what elixirs or miraculous medicines there are, how can they compare to my ginseng fruit? With this precious tree, I have an inexhaustible treasure trove. One fruit can last 47,000 years. I will live forever alongside the universe, free from worries about disasters, and without needing to seek elixirs or peach blossoms.

However, these past few years have not been peaceful. There have always been thieves and rogues coming to harass me. That brute ox has an incredibly strong body; even my various spells can’t do anything to him. There’s also that Golden-Winged Roc—its wings spread fast as lightning, and even the universe within its sleeves can’t contain it.

These two thieves have colluded, and now there’s also that monkey with its eyes constantly moving around. Now that I’ve captured them with my divine powers, I must punish them.

Wukong and the Bull Demon King were trapped inside the robe sleeves and unable to escape for a while. Wukong had long known about the power of those sleeves and calmly waited to see what would happen, but the Bull Demon King was unaware. When the Three Flavors of True Fire was used, he didn’t realize that this “world within the sleeves” wasn’t really using sleeves to contain people—it was actually a kind of supernatural power similar to containing Mount Sumeru within something small. Even if the Furnace of Laozi were brought here, it would be useless against it.

Once inside the courtyard, Zhenyuanzi shook his robe sleeves, throwing Wukong and the Bull Demon King to the ground. Realizing that it was easy for Zhenyuanzi to capture them, they stopped struggling and tried to flee.

Zhenyuanzi said, “You have repeatedly disturbed my Taoist temple. What crime do you deserve?”

Wukong sneered, “What an unreasonable Taoist! I came here for the first time, thinking there must be some enlightened beings on this sacred mountain so I could discuss Taoism with them. Who would have thought that before I could say a word, you would capture me? There’s no such thing as ‘repeatedly’ disturbing you.”

Zhenyuanzi laughed and said, “You’re here for the first time, but this brute bull isn’t, is he?”

The Bull Demon King stiffened and said, “Last time, I came to challenge you. This time, I was provoked by others and got caught right away. Naturally, I have nothing to say and am at your mercy.”

Zhenyuanzi said, “You’re at least brave enough to admit it. Well then, you may go. I’ll deal with this monkey later.”