Kai sighed, rubbing his temples as if already feeling the weight of their inevitable confusion.

  "The heaven above and the earth below. The stars in the sky and the moon's glow. The rising sun, the dreams you have, the swing of a sword, the stroke of a brush. The chirping of birds, the gust of wind, the chill of night. A mother's love, a father's scorn. Endless despair. Eternal happiness." Kai’s voice grew quieter, yet heavier. "All of this... is the Dao."

  Cheng Gong frowned, trying to piece it together. "So... the Dao is everything?"

  "No."

  Cheng Gong blinked. "Then... what is it?"

  Kai exhaled, as if bracing himself. "The Dao is the concept of everything—but also nothing. It is the thing it isn't, until it’s not, and then becomes something else entirely, only to unravel and return to what it always was—yet never truly was—before time itself becomes even a factor, until it’s not, multiplied by the square root of pi to infinite variations of a continuum on a linear path until it’s not linear, but is until you see a flat circle."

  Dead silence.

  Lu Bu's face scrunched up in pain. Cheng Gong's eye twitched. Even Gin, who had been lazily sipping his drink, choked mid-swallow.

  Kai groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly why I didn’t want to get into this."

  Lu Bu, rubbing his temples, muttered, "I think my brain is bleeding."

  Cheng Gong, still looking vaguely traumatized, managed a weak, "So... it's incomprehensible?"

  "No," Kai said, then paused. "Well, yes. But also no." He waved a hand dismissively. "For simplicity’s sake, let’s just say the Dao is the essence of existence—the underlying truth of all things. But even that explanation is like calling the ocean a 'puddle.'"

  Gin, who had finally recovered from his coughing fit, smirked. "Wow. That was the most pretentious explanation I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard a lot of drunk philosophers."

  Kai shot him a glare. "How would you explain and simplify what I just said?"

  Gin opened his mouth—then shut it. After a long pause, he shrugged and took another swig. "Yeah, no. I’d rather stay happily ignorant."

  Cheng Gong, still looking shell-shocked, muttered, "I think I need to lie down."

  Lu Bu, still trying to understand, frowned and asked, "So... how do I use the Dao, then?"

  Kai’s lips quirked into a faint, almost pitying smile. "You don’t use the Dao, Lu Bu. You follow it. Or it follows you. Or... you become it. Or it becomes you. Or—"

  "STOP!" Cheng Gong and Lu Bu said in unison, their hands raised in surrender.

  Kai chuckled, his voice rich with amusement.

  "Yeah. That’s usually how this conversation ends—most people’s minds start to glaze over the moment they realize how vast and complex this all is." He leaned forward, his expression shifting into something more earnest. "But now that I’ve started, I might as well finish it properly. When cultivators speak of 'pursuing their Dao,' what they really mean is that they’re seeking enlightenment—a deeper understanding of the fundamental truths that govern existence itself."

  He gestured vaguely toward the sky, as if tracing the unseen threads of the universe.

  "The Dao isn’t just some abstract philosophy. It’s the fabric of reality, the underlying principle behind all things. Gaining insight into it isn’t just about wisdom—it’s about power. The more you comprehend, the more you can shape the world around you. That’s why understanding even a fragment of the Dao allows a cultivator to refine their cultivation, break through bottlenecks, and ascend to higher realms."

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  A wry smile tugged at his lips. "But here’s the catch—no one, not even the greatest immortals or the oldest sages, can grasp the entirety of the Dao. It’s too vast, too infinite. Trying to comprehend it all at once would shatter a person’s very existence." He snapped his fingers. "So instead, cultivators focus on a single thread, a sliver of the whole, a narrow path. You’ve probably heard of things like the Dao of the Sword, the Dao of Flame, or even the Dao of Poetry—those aren’t just fancy titles. They’re specialized paths, narrow enough to be mastered yet deep enough to grant true power."

  He paused, letting the weight of his words sink into the air like stones into still water. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken realizations, before he continued, voice low and deliberate.

  "And once you've grasped even a sliver of the Dao?" A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. "That's when the true journey begins. Because the paradox is this: the moment you hold a piece of it in your mind, it slips through your fingers like smoke. You can chase it, meditate upon it, even bleed for it—but you will never grasp the whole of even that single fragment. The Dao isn’t a scroll to be memorized or a technique to be mastered. It’s a mountain whose peak vanishes into the clouds no matter how high you climb. It’s the reason aged sages spend centuries in silent contemplation, why warriors duel not for victory, but for the fleeting glimpse of truth in their opponent’s blade."

  He crossed his arms, gaze drifting toward the drunkard. "Gin isn’t entirely wrong—the Dao is about greatness. But greatness isn’t merely strength. It’s the understanding that power without purpose is an empty vessel. It’s the why behind the sword you swing, the brush you wield, the earth you till. Without it, you’re just a shadow dancing on the wall of a cave, mistaking the flicker for the flame."

  A heavy silence settled over them, pressing down like the air before a storm.

  Then Cheng Gong let out a slow, disbelieving sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "So… what you’re saying is that the most powerful cultivators in the world—the ones who move mountains and split rivers—are just… eternal students?"

  Kai’s smirk returned, edged with something older and wiser than his years. "The moment you think you’ve graduated, that’s when you’ve truly failed. Welcome to the world of cultivation, Gong. Hope you like unanswered questions."

  “If being a cultivator means I have to pursue a Dao… what Dao should I pursue?” Lu Bu asked, his brow furrowed with the weight of the question.

  Kai chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Most cultivators don’t even think about their Dao until Foundation Establishment—when their qi is deep enough and their understanding broad enough to grasp the essence of a path. You? You’re still learning how to cycle your breath properly.”

  Lu Bu puffed out his chest. “But I want to know now!”

  “Fair enough,” Kai conceded, leaning back. “Any concept under heaven can be a Dao. The Dao of the Sword. The Dao of Alchemy. The Dao of Cooking. I’ve even heard of a madman who pursued the Dao of Money—ended up richer than emperors but died alone in a vault, counting coins with trembling hands.” He smirked. “But, you don’t need a Dao to advance. Some of the strongest immortals never tied themselves to one. They just… walked their own way.”

  Lu Bu’s eyes lit up. “Then I’ll take the Dao of the Sword! Or—or the Dao of Fire! I’ll be unstoppable!”

  Kai couldn’t help but smile. The boy’s enthusiasm was like watching his own younger self—bright-eyed, brash, convinced greatness was just a matter of picking the right weapon.

  “It’s not that simple, kid,” Gin cut in, swirling a gourd of liquor with a lazy smirk. “You don’t just pick a Dao like a new pair of boots. I’ve been trying to crack the Dao of Drinking for years—heard it makes you immune to hangovers—but no luck. Why? Because I don’t care about drinking. I just want the benefits.” He took a swig, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “A Dao isn’t something you want. It’s something that claims you.”

  Kai sighed. Gin was crushing the boy's dreams before they could fully take flight, but… he wasn’t wrong.

  “Gin’s right,” Kai admitted, watching Lu Bu’s excitement dim. “A Dao isn’t just a tool. It’s a calling. In my old sect, there was a swordsman who swore never to wield anything but a blade. For fifty years, he trained, bled, even broke his body for the Sword Dao. And yet…” He shook his head. “He never touched its true depths. Because he didn’t understand the sword—he just worshipped it.”

  Lu Bu frowned. “But you said pursuing a Dao could help my cultivation.”

  “It can,” Kai allowed. “But it’s not the only way. The path of cultivation is vast—some walk with it, some without. Some find theirs early, some spend lifetimes searching. And some…” He glanced at Gin, who raised his gourd in a mock toast. “Some chase the wrong one entirely.”

  Gin snorted. “Why are you looking at me?”

  Kai rolled his eyes before turning back to Lu Bu. “For now, focus on the basics. The Dao will come—or it won’t. Either way, what matters is that you keep moving forward.”

  Lu Bu nodded slowly, his earlier excitement tempered but not extinguished. “Then… I’ll get strong first. And when the time comes, my Dao will find me.”

  Kai grinned. “Now that sounds like the beginning of wisdom.”

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