Confucian and Taoist Cultivation Starting from the Equipment Slot

Chen Zhuo looked down at the book in his hand.

No wonder that although the handwriting in the book is uniform, the last few pages are noticeably more casual.

Looking back now, I realize it was something I jotted down recently, and I didn't have time to copy it neatly.

"Your father is a thoughtful man," Chen Zhuo said sincerely.

Gu Qing'e turned to look at him, her eyes sparkling:

"You've only known my dad for a day, how can you trust him so much?"

Chen Zhuo thought for a moment and gave an answer that wasn't exactly a lie:

"Because some people's eyes don't lie."

He himself felt a little embarrassed saying it, but Gu Qing'e seemed to enjoy it.

The wariness on her face lessened a bit, replaced by a mature expression as she walked around Chen Zhuo with her hands behind her back.

"My dad sent you here to read, which means he values ​​you a lot." She stopped and tilted her head to look him over. "But you look so silly reading this."

Chen Zhuo: "..."

He was actually looked down upon by a little girl.

"Look at your brows, they're all furrowed up like the character '川' (river)."

Gu Qing'e stopped, extended her jade-like finger, and pointed to his forehead.

"And he kept reading it aloud. My dad said that a person who truly understands a book doesn't read it aloud."

"Because there's already a voice in his head reading it to himself."

Chen Zhuo was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.

It wasn't because her words were funny, but because they were so familiar.

Ten years later, when his junior sister Gu Qing'e taught him literature, she said almost the exact same thing:

"Your brows are furrowed so tightly, relax. A scholar's demeanor isn't meant to be tense, but rather to flow freely."

At that time, he thought it was his junior sister's own teaching style.

I only realized now that it was inherited from Song Zhiyuan.

It can only be said that they are truly of the same lineage.

"Okay." Chen Zhuo closed the book and frankly admitted, "I really didn't understand it very well."

"What don't you understand?"

Chen Zhuo turned the pages of the book and opened to the section on "Spatial Folds":

"Only after perception can one use literary energy to intervene in space."

Space is like water, not a smooth, mirror-like surface. Water flows around rocks, plunges over cliffs, gathers in depressions, and disperses on slopes. Space is the same.

"In silent contemplation, thoughts connect with a thousand years; in quiet emotion, vision extends ten thousand miles."

"This is not an exaggeration, but a high-level application of the principles of space. To connect with the past and present is to understand the flatness of space; to see across vast distances is to understand the folding of space."

"Beginners don't need to aim too high; they can start with 'spatial folds.'"

What is spatial folding?

"Fold a distance of one foot to half a foot; stretch a distance of half a foot to one foot. This is not changing the physical object, but changing the density of space."

"For example, when viewing mountains: the actual distance between distant and nearby mountains is ten li, but when you are full of literary talent, you can use the literary technique of 'viewing' in conjunction with spatial perception to compress this ten li distance into one li in your perception."

"The mountain is still there, but the space between you and the mountain has been folded."

"When the Peng bird migrates to the Southern Ocean, it stirs up the water for three thousand miles and rises up on the whirlwind for ninety thousand miles."

"The reason why the roc can migrate to the Southern Ocean is not only due to the power of its wings, but also to its use of the folds in the space between heaven and earth."

"The rising air currents in space are also the outward manifestation of spatial folds."

"This is the second realm of the Way of Space."

Pointing to a spot, he said:

"It says here, 'Fold a one-foot distance into half a foot.' I understand the literal meaning, but I don't know how to do it. How does literary style affect space?"

Gu Qing'e leaned over for a look, then looked up at him with an expression that said, "You don't even understand this?"

Chen Zhuo felt a little guilty under her gaze.

It's embarrassing for a scholar like him to be looked at like that by a girl who's only ten years old.

But there's a saying that goes, "Among three people walking together, there must be one who can teach me." Therefore, a disciple is not necessarily inferior to his teacher, nor is a teacher necessarily more virtuous than his disciple.

So he didn't have much of a psychological burden.

Fortunately, Gu Qing'e didn't mock him for too long.

She tilted her head and thought for a moment, then took a blank sheet of Xuan paper from the bookshelf and laid it on the table.

"Look."

She picked up a pen and drew a line on the paper.

"This is you."

Then a small circle was drawn at one end of the line, and a larger circle was drawn at the other end.

"This is where you need to go."

She measured the distance between the two points with her fingers: "You have to walk this far to get here, right?"

Chen Zhuo nodded.

"Then try this method."

Gu Qing'e gently folded up both ends of the Xuan paper, bringing the two dots closer together.

She didn't fold it, but simply let the paper bend slightly, forming a soft arc.

"See? The road is still the same road, and the paper is still the same paper. But you bent it, and the distance between the two points became shorter."

Chen Zhuo stared at the crooked piece of paper, lost in thought.

"Space itself is soft."

Gu Qing'e's tone suddenly became serious, no longer like a little girl, but more like a little teacher, "It's just that most people can't feel its softness."

"If you treat it like a piece of iron, it's a wall. If you treat it like a piece of paper, it can be bent."

She released her grip, and the paper sprang back to its original position.

"Literary energy is like your fingers. You must first use literary energy to feel the texture of space before you can bend it."

Chen Zhu remained silent for a long while.

Then he asked a question: "How do I touch it?"

Gu Qing'e raised her head, seemingly wanting to say something, but hesitated for a moment.

Her fingers unconsciously touched a small cloth bag hanging from her waist. The movement was subtle, but Chen Zhuo noticed it.

"You..." She bit her lip, "Can you feel the movement in the air? Not the wind, but something even finer than the wind."

Upon hearing Gu Qing'e's words, Chen Zhuo closed his eyes and slowly released his literary energy.

At first, he could only feel the breeze outside the window, the airflow brought by the flickering candlelight on the table, and the faint scent of soap on Gu Qing'e.

But gradually, beyond these ordinary scents, he vaguely sensed something else.

Like an undercurrent beneath the surface of water, it exists silently.

He tried to grasp it, but he always fell just short.

"Here."

A small hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Chen Zhuo opened his eyes and saw that Gu Qing'e had walked up to him at some point.

She pulled Chen Zhuo's hand and pressed his fingers onto the table.

Gu Qing'e's small hands were icy cold, but upon closer inspection, they felt very soft.

"Don't use your eyes to see, use your hands to feel. Space is not for looking at, it's for touching. Look."

Her fingers, following Chen Zhuo's fingers, slowly moved along the edge of the table.

The movements were slow, as slow as if one were sketching a fragile antique.

"This is the fold of space. There is space above the table, and there is space beside the table."

"But they are different. This corner is where space turns."

Chen Zhuo held his breath.

In his perception of literary style, there was indeed a strange "sense of boundary" where his fingertips touched.

It's like two equally transparent crystals joined together. Although you can't tell the difference with the naked eye, you can feel the almost imperceptible seam when you touch it with your finger.

"I touched it."