Longevity: Comprehending the Heart Method

A mournful wind howled, sweeping over the sea of white that covered the mountain.

All of Vast Mist Peak was shrouded beneath a pall of dark clouds.

"DONG..."

"DONG... DONG..."

A deep, solemn bell toll echoed, ringing nine times in succession.

All clad in white mourning robes, the members of the Song Clan silently emerged from their rooms.

Today, the Song Clan held the funeral for those fallen in battle. From top to bottom, everyone in the clan wore mourning clothes.

They gathered in silence, crowding around dozens of jet-black coffins.

For cultivators, all rites were kept simple, and funerals were no exception. There were no Soul Banners, no Mourning Sticks, not even a single sheet of joss paper—only the sound of relatives’ sobs, suppressed to their very limit.

In less than a quarter of an hour, every Song Clan Cultivator on the mountain had assembled. From afar, the procession resembled a great white dragon.

A stooped, elderly man shuffled to the front of the procession. Aside from Song Xianming and Song Xianyun, he was the most senior member of the "Xian" generation, already one hundred and thirty years old.

Among Qi Cultivators, whose lifespans were generally little more than a hundred years, this was considered a venerable age.

Gazing at the sea of white before him, the old man’s eyes welled with tears. He had witnessed such scenes many times. Over the past century, he had sent off countless sons of the Song Clan, including his own two.

This time, his grandson was among them. Not even a full corpse remained; inside the coffin lay only a few bone fragments.

The old man took a deep breath and, in a powerful voice that belied his age, announced, "The hour has come—"

"Bear the coffins—"

The relatives of the deceased lifted the coffins in unison. Song Changsheng was among them, carrying Song Luyao’s casket alongside a young girl.

Song Luyao had never married and had no descendants. Only after losing her legs did she adopt a parentless child from the Mortal Realm to care for her daily needs.

"O souls, return—"

Led by the old man, the procession slowly made its way toward the Ancestral Mausoleum.

The Song Clan Ancestral Mausoleum was located on the northern slope of Vast Mist Peak. Over five hundred years, it had grown from a single, lonely burial mound into a vast cemetery where over a thousand Song Clan members lay in eternal rest.

After the caskets were interred, Song Changsheng recited a long eulogy on behalf of the clan and led the members in paying their respects. The rites continued until 3:00 PM before concluding.

Once the crowd had dispersed, Song Changsheng went first to the old man who had led the procession. He bowed solemnly and said, "Grandmaster Chengg, please accept my condolences."

Song Xiancheng nodded blankly, his voice desolate. "Thank you for your concern, Young Clan Leader. I have other matters to attend to, so I must take my leave."

Watching Song Xiancheng’s bleak and lonely back as he departed, Song Changsheng’s heart grew exceptionally heavy. ’For the sake of the clan, he has lost two sons and a grandson.’

There is no greater sorrow in this world than for the old to bury the young.

’The rise of a clan can never be accomplished by a single individual. The Song Clan has reached its current standing because countless sons of the clan have braved death, hacked through thorns and brambles, and built its foundation with their very lives.’

’And the clan has countless others like Song Xiancheng.’

Suppressing these thoughts, Song Changsheng walked to Song Luyao’s grave. As he stared at the inscription on the headstone, he suddenly felt as if he were in a trance.

’Song Luyao was famous in the clan for being cold, ruthless, and impartial. Most clan members feared her.’

’But he had nothing but respect for her. She had lost both her legs just to find a Foundation Establishment Pill for him.’

’And now, he had lost this elder.’

"Changyue, my condolences," Song Changsheng said softly, looking down at the young girl kneeling before the grave.

Song Changyue’s eyes were swollen like peaches. At his words, she returned a respectful bow and said in a low voice, "Thank you, Clan Brother."

Seeing her state, Song Changsheng felt a pang of pity. ’Song Changyue lost her parents when she was six, and now her adoptive mother is gone, too. She’s only sixteen...’

"If you need any help in the future, come find me. Though Ninth Aunt has passed on, you still have me." Song Changsheng sighed deeply and walked toward another new grave.

"Thank you, Clan Brother." Song Changyue bowed gracefully, already choking back sobs...

"Clan Brother, my condolences."

"Sixteenth Uncle, my condolences."

...

Song Changsheng paid his respects at each grave, one by one, until he began to feel numb. ’The Song Clan has truly lost far too much in this battle.’

It was midnight by the time he had paid his respects at every grave. Song Changsheng left the Ancestral Mausoleum. Instead of heading to the Minor Affairs Hall, he returned to his own courtyard.

Just as he reached the entrance, the courtyard gate suddenly swung open. Dressed in mourning clothes, a red-eyed Song Qingxi threw herself into his arms and wailed, "Uncle, Eleventh Grandpa is dead! Eleventh Grandpa is dead..."

Song Changsheng’s heart trembled. During the first few years Song Qingxi had spent at Little Cyan Mountain, it was Song Luhuai who had taught and protected them, so they shared a very deep bond.

For various reasons, they had not seen each other in several years. He never expected that she would hear the news of Song Luhuai’s death right after returning to the clan from the Mortal Realm.

Looking at the grief-stricken Song Qingxi, Song Changsheng let out a quiet sigh. He could only pat her back gently, at a loss for words.

After a long moment, Song Qingxi finally reined in her emotions. Seeing the large wet patch on Song Changsheng’s chest, she looked rather embarrassed.

Song Changsheng paid it no mind. After sweeping his Divine Sense across the courtyard, he frowned and asked, "Where did Qingxing go?"

His tone held a hint of displeasure. He hadn’t seen Song Qingxing at the funeral earlier. ’Putting all else aside,’ he thought, ’Song Luhuai was his mentor. It was only right and proper for him to pay his respects, yet he was nowhere to be seen.’

As if sensing Song Changsheng’s displeasure, Song Qingxi quickly explained, "He changed into his mourning clothes and went out just now. He should be on his way to the mausoleum."