Long Tao blankly stared at the words that rang hollowly inside his mind. Undying Breath was a rather... peculiar art. He'd come across the old philosophies of existence which claimed that the barrier to immortality was one's breath, and so long as one could contain that breath within, they would never die.
From them spawned a thousand different schools that lived and died in the epochs since, with only a few surviving, the most dominant being a particular Buddhist Path. It wasn't a popular path by any means; in fact, when he had visited Su Ãn at the Valley of Temples, there were literally only three followers of that path.
It was quite obvious why: identity of the soul was not contained within a breath. It was merely a body's function--an important one, yes, and one that governed many other things, but it did not contain one's soul. Path of the Unbroken Thought was a stubborn attempt to escape the suffering through complete separation from the world. To contain one's everything into a singular breath and, upon exhaling it, simply... perish.
Master's art, of course, was nothing like that. If anything, it proved the Path itself to be kind of pointless, as it did the exact opposite of what those Buddhist were wishing for: it offered another life where, otherwise, there would only be finality.
When Long Tao first got to the Upper Realm and joined one of the sect, one of the first lessons he'd ever received was actually about holding one's breath: he was forced to find and run and swim and even fly whilst not breathing. It was meant to stimulate his latent potential and have him experience grueling nature of existence, and carve into his bones the ability to function without breathing, to contain the body's most essential instinct.
But even without that, the vast majority of Emperors could go on for days, if not weeks, without taking a breath. Going even beyond that, those ancient relics that entombed themselves literally counted their remaining lifespans by how many breaths they had left.
Old Elder of the Primordial Fist School, a now defunct sect, was said to have lived over 10 million years on a singular remaining breath.
Once again, his Master's art wasn't just rare and all-encompassing, but rather it defied reason. Nobody actually fought holding their breath; the entire point of the exercise was to simply become more aware of one's breathing and to attain complete control over it, likely to better utilize cultivation methods more so than anything else. And yet, Long Tao knew he'd have no choice now--none of them would. For this art alone, they'd have to slowly learn how to fight breathless.
Not to mention that strange talisman that gave even him the creeps; sharpened instincts of his were warning him against a lethal danger, a sensation he'd felt perhaps four times since coming back to life.
He once again glanced over at the young man who was already lost in thought, his eyes wandering about as though there was a massive book in front of him. By now, Long Tao had realized it--when his Master was like that... he was creating.
Though he'd suspected the man had been doing exactly that for years now, he still thought there was a ceremony of sorts to it. That he'd have to prepare mentally for a long time, and that he'd have to have perfect environment to achieve the Harmony of Heaven and Earth, but... no. He was sitting in a rickety, flying chariot, and was occasionally pulled out of it by the kids asking question, and would just go right back to it as though nothing happened.
Sighing, he put away the booklet.
Unlike the kids, it seemed, he immediately realized they weren't going to gain even initial mastery of that thing for a long while--months, at least, even for someone as talented as little Feng. Dai Xiu would likely take a year or two to grasp anything.
Trying to distract himself, his mind wandered to the pup that was possibly waiting at their destination. He had plans on 'collecting' him immediately once they had plundered the mine, but that thing they met inside... rattled him. Though he knew there were many people and beasts currently stronger than him--even in this, lesser world--that thing might have actually been stronger than him at his best. Which was a horrifying thought.
Long Tao had fought innumerable cultivators throughout his life; he'd won thousands of fights, and he'd lost many, too. But, by the time he'd become an Emperor, and especially by the time he'd started to slowly challenge the so-called 'Seven Pillars', he did not believe there were more than five or six creatures that were stronger than him.
Perhaps an ancient dragon, or an ancient Divine Beast, and maybe the God-Emperor.
But meeting that thing here, in some random mine... it rattled him. It signaled that the world was even vaster than he had thought. More than that, it worried him that his Master never truthfully divulged what the two of them talked about.
As such, by the time they exited the mine, he abandoned the plans to collect the pup. In fact, he abandoned ever coming back for it, as he recognized even if it could truly awaken its latent bloodline, it wouldn't be particularly strong.
What changed his mind was his Master, once again--or, well, not him, per se, but rather the little chicken that decided to follow them. Divine Phoenixes, even juvenile ones like Lu Naǒ, were proud. It was something carved into their blood and could not be taken out, no matter what.
They sought strength and perfection, and they'd never choose to follow a human out of the goodness of their heart. There was only one reason why that chicken decided to follow them: Master had the ability to aid it in cultivation. How? Long Tao had long since stopped asking that question.
But if he had the ability to aid a Divine Beast, then he likely had the ability to aid any beast. And though that pup likely didn't have the potential of a Divine Beast, the blood in its veins was... valuable.
Though his long-term goal had shifted ever since Master explained away the two behemoths, it hadn't shifted truly. The first step had always been to prevent those here trying to use those outside to change the world; despite those 'outside' being inanimate, unfeeling things, those here still had the same dreams and hopes. Like the Sages of the Abyss. Or the Heavenly Court. Or possibly even many more groups and sects that keep rising and falling so frequently he couldn't be bothered to remember their names.
There was rot beyond what even he saw in the past, and one that had to be rooted out. And, beyond what he thought before dying, he was not alone--far from it. Not just the Master, but these kids, too; one day, he had a feeling, they'd bring down the gilded walls of the Heavenly Court, and tear apart the holy facade.
And it would be one day far sooner than he believed even in his wildest dreams.