“The immortal sponges grow only in the deepest caves of Mount Kunlun,” Master Wei’s words echoed through the candlelit chamber. His apprentice, Young Liu, sat cross-legged on a worn meditation cushion, hanging on every word.

“But Master, why must we harvest these particular sponges?” Liu’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Surely there are easier paths to immortality?”

Wei stroked his long white beard, a habit developed over centuries of contemplation. “The common folk believe cultivation is about gaining power, but true immortality comes from understanding the lowest and humblest of beings.”

Through the paper windows, they could hear the bustling streets of the mortal world below their mountain sanctuary. Merchants hawked their wares, children played, and the endless cycle of life continued, oblivious to the profound conversation taking place above.

“These sponges,” Wei continued, “have existed since the formation of the world itself. They filter the very essence of creation through their being. To understand them is to understand the Dao itself.”

Liu frowned. “But the caves… they say no cultivator has returned from the deepest chambers.”

“Indeed.” Wei’s eyes took on a distant look. “I attempted the journey myself, five hundred years ago. I failed, as did my master before me, and his master before him.”

The young apprentice stood, determination written across his features. “Then I shall succeed where others have failed. For your teachings, Master, and for the Dao.”

Wei watched his student depart with a mixture of pride and sadness. He had seen this scene play out countless times across countless lives. Each time, the faces changed, but the story remained the same.

In the depths of Mount Kunlun, Liu encountered challenges that tested not just his cultivation, but his very understanding of existence. The darkness was absolute, broken only by the soft bioluminescence of the immortal sponges that clung to the cave walls.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” A voice emerged from the darkness – familiar yet impossible.

Liu turned to find himself face to face with… himself. Or rather, countless versions of himself, each at different stages of cultivation, each having made this same journey.

“We are all you,” they spoke in unison. “Every failure, every success, every attempt to reach immortality through understanding these humble creatures.”

The young cultivator finally understood. The sponges weren’t merely tools for cultivation – they were mirrors reflecting the eternal cycle of seeking enlightenment. Each failure was not an end, but a beginning, a chance to try again with new wisdom.

“So this is the true meaning of immortality,” Liu whispered, as his consciousness began to merge with his other selves. “Not to transcend the cycle, but to understand its perfect necessity.”

Back in the candlelit chamber, Master Wei opened his eyes as a new apprentice entered, bowing deeply.

“Master, I wish to learn about the immortal sponges of Mount Kunlun.”

Wei smiled, stroking his beard. The cycle continued, as it always had, as it always would. Each attempt brought them all one step closer to true understanding.

“The immortal sponges grow only in the deepest caves of Mount Kunlun,” he began again, his words echoing through time itself.