Chapter 1284: Mortal intuition, Cultivator Intuition

Unconsciously fiddling with Bu Zhou’s crystal, casually flicking it between his fingers, Yang Qing peered at the enigmatic painting as Bu Zhou’s words replayed in his mind.

“That painting’s spirit has taken quite an interest in you.”

“A bad interest or a good one?”

“It’s not a dangerous one.”

“Whatever it is you’re investigating, it wouldn’t hurt to ask it. Who knows, I have this inkling that your interests may align.”

“Aligning interests, huh,” Yang Qing murmured thoughtfully, his gaze deepening as the painting’s lively images reflected in his eyes.

Those who couldn’t cultivate often had intuition. While it could sometimes prove invaluable—enough to save someone from doom—it was just as often unreliable. At its root, intuition was the distilled essence of experience.

Like a hunter with over a decade’s worth of skill suddenly feeling uneasy in a certain part of the forest without knowing why. That uneasiness was his intuition warning him of unseen danger, informed by something his subconscious had noticed that his conscious mind had not. And what the subconscious noticed was something ingrained into his body from years of hunting—a reflex of the mind.

Intuition didn’t exist without honed experience. The two were part and parcel of one another. Following that vein, if intuition was shaped by one’s experience, it meant it carried bias. Whatever blind spots existed in a person’s experience would also be present in their intuition—along with the same limits in their understanding.

This was what made intuition unreliable. It was informed by experience, but if that experience had fundamental gaps or flaws, those same flaws would echo through the intuition. That was why seasoned gamblers still lost, or why assassins with years of skill still ended up caught.

Intuition could be a lifesaver when it worked, but a knife in the back when it didn’t. The best way to hone it was to be exposed to as many variables as possible—or to avoid relying on it completely.

That being said, while intuition was unreliable for mortals, the case was different for cultivators. Cultivators were strongly encouraged to trust their intuition and never ignore it under any circumstances—especially the more powerful they became. The higher one climbed in the realms, the more it was emphasized that intuition should never be dismissed.

The reason was that, for mortals, intuition was tied solely to their experiences—what they had lived through, repeated over time, and the wisdom gained from it. For cultivators, it was not the same.

For cultivators, part of their intuition was indeed shaped by their own experiences, but another part came from the unseen, mysterious truths, principles, and laws of the Grand Dao—truths they might never consciously encounter, yet were in contact with nonetheless because of their cultivation realm. In other words, their realm informed their intuition, though not necessarily their understanding.

Taking himself as an example—he was a third-stage palace realm expert, yet his body and soul had access to all the profound truths and mysteries of the Grand Dao that encompassed the entirety of the palace realm. His body and soul were unconsciously connected to them, while the fraction he could consciously access was the portion that his third-stage palace realm cultivation base allowed him access while the rest remained inaccessible.

Improving through the stages was essentially a process of letting his mind catch up to what his body and soul were already exposed to by transforming what was in the unconscious side of things into conscious comprehension.

While he could not directly use what he was unconsciously connected to, there were occasions—under certain conditions—when that hidden awareness would bleed into his conscious mind. This was where epiphanies, moments of enlightenment, and intuition were born. The higher he climbed in the realms, the deeper those truths and secrets he had unconscious access to became, and the easier it was to continuously and vaguely sense them.

So, those words Bu Zhou had given him in passing—though they seemed casual and vague—Yang Qing held them in the highest regard. These were intuitive words spoken by a peak-stage domain expert. At that level, the truths, mysteries, and secrets one had conscious access to were bound to be vast and profound.

But what about the things he was unconsciously aware of? At Bu Zhou’s level, that likely meant profound mysteries and truths that those in the soul formation realm could consciously access— this meant secrets far more profound and esoteric.

Karma, fate, destiny—these esoteric aspects of the Grand Dao were things only those in the higher realms were privy to. All soul formation experts had some measure of understanding of such concepts without necessarily cultivating them. Why? Because their higher plane of awareness and the parts of the Grand Dao they could access allowed them to perceive such things.

What Bu Zhou had said, casual as it sounded, was more than likely influenced by the Grand Dao. He must have sensed something. Even if he could not fully articulate what it was, the fact that he sensed it at all was proof enough that there was a thread worth following.

The only question that remained now was how he was going to grasp it. Fate provided opportunities, but whether they materialized into something meaningful depended on the actions a person took when those opportunities arose.

Yang Qing mulled over this for quite some time, his attention drifting between the bustling street below, the new set of dishes now laid across his table, and the painting. He wasn’t concerned that the painting’s spirit would notice his stare. Just as he couldn’t sense its presence—only feeling the vaguest impression that it was there—it couldn’t tell that he was pensively observing its body, all thanks to Senior Bu Zhou’s mist.

The mist worked with intent. It would obscure whatever Yang Qing wanted hidden. If he didn’t want the spirit to know he was watching it, the mist would do so subtly, creating imperceptible blind spots where observing his actions was concerned. It didn’t erase his presence, only the specific actions he wished to conceal.