"Maha! Maha!"

In Shen Mu's dream, one miniature Shen Mu after another wagged its head and swayed, speaking a tongue no one could understand. They had sorted through the manuscript of Heavenly Venerable Ling, each with insights of his own, and then they sat down together and fell to quarreling.

Not only quarreling — they fought, each flinging out whatever divine ability of Heavenly Venerable Ling he had grasped. A pack of little runts, hollering at the top of their lungs, all piling in to brawl.

Each of those miniature Shen Mus had his own strengths, yet not one of them could deploy the Heavenly Venerable Ling's divine abilities in full; at most, a broken fragment.

Even so, Shen Mu's dream world was battered into a shambles, dream after dream shattered.

When one dream broke, a new dream was born, and they remained trapped within Shen Mu's dreams all the same.

Of a sudden one miniature Shen Mu waved his hand, and time seemed to stand still — yet it was not time that stood still, but matter; every particle that made up matter had ceased its motion.

It seemed even Shen Mu's dream had frozen.

The many miniature Shen Mus could not stir, could not move so much as an eyeball, including the miniature Shen Mu who had cast the Stillness of Matter.

"A failure."

A vast voice came, and Shen Mu woke from the dream. The dream collapsed, and those miniature Shen Mus dispersed like wisps of smoke.

Shen Mu stretched, poured himself a cup of tea, and a host of insights from his dreaming welled up in his mind. Drinking his tea, he set those insights in order; when he set down the cup he yawned, and sank once more into deep sleep.

The dream appeared again, and once more a great many miniature Shen Mus poked their heads out, then jumped forth.

This time the miniature Shen Mus in the dream carried the knowledge Shen Mu had sorted out, and their understanding of the Immutability of Matter ran deeper and more abstruse than that of the Shen Mus in the dream before.

The many miniature Shen Mus sat together, grave of face, holding their discussion.

"Maha!"

"Guji!"

They argued with great heat, but in this debate upon the Dao their opinions diverged, and they split into many factions.

No faction could convince the others, so nothing remained but war; in the end the Guji faction routed the Maha faction and the Jigujigu faction in total victory, bound those pitiful little fellows fast, and knelt them in neat rows.

The leader of the Guji faction, a tiny Shen Mu, flung up his arm and shouted; below him a multitude answered, and the many miniature Shen Mus of the Guji faction joined forces to deploy the Immutability of Matter.

All within the dream world stood still — yet the little Shen Mus of the Guji faction could still move, and their faces split wide with delight as they showed off before the bound heretics.

Then of a sudden their divine ability seemed to undergo a strange change, and one miniature Shen Mu after another appeared to grow younger.

The little Shen Mus of the Guji faction were baffled. They were debating where the fault lay when they saw their whole company growing younger and younger, swiftly turned into a heap of bare-bottomed babes, chirping yi-ya yi-ya with the gravest of faces.

That vast voice sounded once more: "This time it failed again."

Before the voice had faded, the dream began to collapse. The bare-bottomed babes lifted their heads and wailed, and the dream dispersed like smoke.

The tea in the pot had lost its savor. Shen Mu brewed a fresh pot, and as he drank, set in order his gains and his insights.

He was the foremost man of creation divine abilities in the world today, yet even for him, comprehending the Heavenly Venerable Ling's divine ability was a road full of reversals.

Had he comprehended it step by step, in proper order, he would surely have erred as well, dying a thousand deaths like those little men in his dreams.

Fortunately he had obtained the Immeasurable Kalpa Sutra of the Great Brahma Heavenly King Buddha, entering the Dao within dreams, able by dream to deduce and derive, and out of countless deaths to seek the one correct road.

He fell asleep once more, and in that slumber the little Shen Mus' knowledge and accumulation were deeper than the last time he had entered a dream.

Yet this time the miniature Shen Mus in the dream diverged still more sharply, all but one faction to a man, none acknowledging any other.

They slaughtered until heaven and earth went dark. Plainly, the Shen Mu in slumber was more unbridled, more given to letting himself go: since he could not persuade the other, he simply annihilated him — the comportment, to the letter, of a great demon lord.

And not one great demon lord, but a whole nest of them.

Shen Mu had no choice but to divide dream from dream, forbidding them to gather together; yet through the dreams these little fellows still spoke with one another, and still judged each other heretics who must be destroyed.

They broke through dream after dream to slaughter their way to one another, and another melee erupted, another wild brawl. Of a sudden one little Shen Mu deployed the Immutability of Matter he had comprehended, and every one of them was seen to grow old at a pace visible to the naked eye.

Soon a whole crowd of Shen Mus less than a foot tall, white of hair, beards trailing to the ground, hobbled into the fray upon their canes, raising their sticks to knock at one another's heads.

Shen Mu woke again, dispersed the dream, set himself in order, and then, never yielding, entered dream once more.

Before long he woke again — another failure.

The Immeasurable Kalpa Sutra seemed to have met a problem it could not solve. The difficulty of Heavenly Venerable Ling's Immutability of Matter — was it merely monstrous? It was simply beyond solution!

Had Shen Mu comprehended it in orderly fashion, by now ten thousand years would likely have passed, and he would have died no one knows how many times!

And each death of a different fashion, every one outlandish and strange!

Again and again Shen Mu entered dream, seeking one thread of possibility amid ten thousand errors.

In this dream, of a sudden one of the miniature Shen Mus deployed a divine ability; a mystic, mystery-laden Dao sound rang out, and mist came gushing forth.

The other miniature Shen Mus were struck dumb, staring blankly at the sight.

The mist spread wider and wider, wrapping them all within; after a long while it dispersed, and on the ground remained only a heap of withered bones.

This too was a failure.

Shen Mu dispersed the dream, yet he leapt up in wonder and in joy, pacing to and fro in a ferment, unable to hide his elation.

This time it had failed as well, and yet it had let him glimpse the first light of victory.

He leapt out of the potted-plant world and came outside; walking out of the room, he saw green hills and clear waters, white clouds drifting lazy. Dragon Qilin was lying in the shade of a tree, and Yan'er was feeding him bayberries.

Shen Mu was startled. When he had entered the pot, the bayberry had only just come into flower; it had still been the season of spring.

Now the bayberries were ripe — had half a year gone by?

He cast his gaze wide, and saw the whole hillside covered in ripened wild fruit, and no one to pick it.

"I am not the cleverest man under heaven. Had I not the Immeasurable Kalpa Sutra, to comprehend this far would likely have cost me a hundred thousand years."

Shen Mu drew a few breaths of air; the air carried the fragrance of fruit.

He did not disturb Yan'er and Dragon Qilin, but went back into the room, entered the pot, and continued his comprehension.

Dragon Qilin turned his head and looked at the house. "The Cult Master has been inside a year and a half now, and still has not come out. Is Heavenly Venerable Ling's divine ability truly so hard?"