“Philosophy? I would love to hear some more details.”
“I speak of nothing other than the philosophy of transformation,” he replied immediately. “Take the best of many schools of thought and fuse it into your own. Absorb the finest aspects of your acquaintances. Eliminate the dregs which exist in the self. Refining pills is like refining the self! By reaching perfection, the path to the pinnacle can be trodden, and the full power of transformation can be employed!” The surrounding Black Sieve Sect disciples seemed to approve of his words.
He continued in a voice that could sever nails and chop iron: “It’s like when a painter paints a mountain. He first observes millions of mountains, and then is capable of painting his own. That mountain he paints will contain the essence of all the other mountains he observed; thus, a masterpiece is created! Similarly, millions of tiny streams will fuse together to create a great and boundless river! This is the philosophy of which I speak. Assemble the thoughts from many schools, and coalesce them in the self! This is my path, and how I achieve the Dao of alchemy!” He flicked his sleeve, and his eyes glittered as he stared at Meng Hao. “I’m curious to hear Grandmaster Fang’s philosophy of alchemy!”
His words echoed out into the hearts of the tens of thousands of Black Sieve Sect disciples. Han Bei looked on thoughtfully. Behind Meng Hao, Zhou Dekun stared, an introspective look in his eyes.
Meng Hao looked back at Chen Jiaxi, his expression the same as ever. His tone light, he began, “When a painter observes millions of mountains, then paints one, perhaps his painting contains the essence of the mountains he observed. However, the mountain he paints… is not real. It emerges from his imagination, and is what he believes a mountain to be. In truth, he has already forgotten the first mountain he ever saw, because he has seen too many. He has also forgotten the feeling he experienced when he gazed at that first mountain’s peak.
“Millions of streams fuse together to become a great and boundless river. But that river… is no longer the stream it once was. It is the amalgamation of many waters, fused together and indistinguishable. That first tiny stream which dreamed of being a river is now dead, killed by the very process it desired.
“The process of his pursuit causes the painter to forget that first mountain, and because of that, the very reason he wished to paint a mountain in the first place. The process of becoming a river causes the stream to lose itself. Its will is diluted as it becomes a river, and then it is gone.” As he spoke, Meng Hao’s voice grew louder.
“This is my third question. By fusing many schools of thought, you lose yourself. You think you have benefited, but in reality, you have no path of your own. If you have no ideal of your own to adhere to, then you have observed millions of mountains, but forgotten why you wanted to paint a mountain to begin with!