Chapter 21: First Encounter with Wang Daoxuan
Chapter 21: First Encounter with Wang Daoxuan
The small courtyard carried an odd medley of scents.
There was the incense smoke reminiscent of village earth shrines, a warm solidity like unshakable stone, a strange earthy musk, and even traces of the icy chill associated with trinity demon-subduing coins… It felt like a cluttered bazaar.
The aromas were faint, suggesting even items from the Mystic Gate here were second-rate.
Yet this alone proved the host was no amateur.
Li Yan’s anger dissolved into curiosity. Seeing the courtyard gate wide open, he strode inside.
The yard was modest but meticulously clean. A jujube tree stood on the left, while a stone-trough fishpond occupied the right. Several crimson fish darted playfully through the water.
In the northwest corner hung a Bagua Mirror, and at the center rested a stone pedestal.
The entire space exuded a refreshing tranquility.
Li Yan’s gaze swept across the scene, instantly deciphering its design. The jujube wood represented wood, the fishpond water, the bronze Bagua Mirror symbolized metal, and the central stone pedestal anchored earth—clearly a yang dwelling arranged according to the Five Elements. Only fire remained absent.
A smirk tugged at Li Yan’s lips as he turned toward the kitchen.
Of course—the hearth enshrined there honored the Kitchen God, embodying fire.
The main house stood open as well, revealing an ancestral offering table within. A deity statue sat before it, flanked by elaborate offerings. The figure was a three-eyed Taoist holding a long sword, his robe embroidered with sun, moon, stars, and the four celestial beasts—Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise—a garish display.
The spirit tablet bore the inscription: “Chen Tianjun, Manifestor of Mystical Qi.”
Li Yan didn’t recognize the name, but he detected the faint, austere fragrance of incense clinging to it—similar to village shrine offerings, yet more imposing.
Inside, a middle-aged Taoist sat upright at a writing desk.
This was naturally Wang Daoxuan, whose attire was curiously refined. He wore a black robe with white undershirt, the back embroidered with a bagua. A square-collared cap adorned his head, and his black cloth shoes bore embroidered clouds. Though faded from washing, the ensemble remained neat and dignified.
Most striking were his features—lean yet vigorous, with a black beard cascading to his chest. His sharp, gentle eyes and composed demeanor radiated approachable charm.
The Taoist held a wolf-hair brush, sketching on parchment. Before him sat a young scholar, his face etched with bitterness and worry.
Li Yan immediately recognized the scene—Character Divination.
This practice belonged to the Golden Gate sect, the foremost of Jianghu’s Eight Trigrams. The Golden Gate encompassed nine arts: fortune-telling, physiognomy, character analysis, planchette writing, scrying, necromancy, astrology, exorcism, and shamanism. A common saying went: “Nine Golden, Eighteen Skinned, Seventy-Two Lonely Heads.”
The Golden Gate held pride of place for two reasons. First, its practitioners mastered reading expressions, persuasive rhetoric, and myriad techniques—skills that easily transferred to other sects. For instance, Golden Gate methods directly applied to the “Skinned” medical trade, summarized as: “Golden to Skinned, a morning’s shift.”
Secondly, the field teemed with charlatans masquerading as mystics. Even Jianghu cultivators treated them cautiously. Even bandits of the Lan Family sect observed the “Eight No-Loot” rules, one being: “Never rob the Golden Gate.”
Seeing the Taoist engaged, Li Yan remained silent at the threshold.
Wang Daoxuan had clearly noticed him but ignored the intrusion. Setting down his brush, he studied the parchment under the youth’s anxious gaze before stroking his beard.
“You wrote the character for ‘metal.’ Metal is worldly treasure, yet burdens the soul. True refinement comes through trial.”
“Judging your birth chart, you enjoyed ease in youth, but recent years have brought hardship and family decline…”
“Moreover, your fortune falters now, with schemers undermining you…”
“Yes, yes! Master speaks true!”
The youth nodded fervently, admiration in his eyes.
Li Yan stifled a smirk. Though intrigued by Mystic Gate arts, he doubted fate-reading’s validity. Even if real, he detected no special aura.
He’d learned this technique from his father—called the “Hitching Post.” First, bind the client with half-truths, then reel them in.
The youth’s frail frame and threadbare yet fine robes spoke volumes—a once-privileged scholar fallen on hard times. Who else but the desperate sought divination?
A “metal” character? Anyone could deduce his financial ruin. As for “schemers”—who didn’t have rivals?
Li Yan kept his thoughts private. In Jianghu, exposing another’s tricks was taboo unless egregious. Besides, this was no novelty.
In past lives, he’d seen similar tactics—false promises, emotional manipulation, bait-and-switch schemes. All Hitching Posts. Jianghu evolved, yet human nature remained unchanged.
Predictably, the harvest followed.
Sure enough, the youth sighed, “Forgive my candor, Master. I hail from Xingping County. My family’s silk shop was swindled, leaving us destitute. My father died of rage, my mother wept blind. My studies bore no fruit, proving the adage: ‘A scholar is useless in hardship.’ My wife and child suffer, mocked by peers… I cannot endure this life…”
Li Yan rolled his eyes. Suffering often drove people to unburden themselves recklessly. But this youth spilled every secret—naïve as a lamb among tigers.
Wang Daoxuan, however, listened unperturbed. After a pause, he lifted the parchment.
“There is a solution.”
The youth’s eyes lit. “Pray, guide me!”
Wang pointed at the character. “See how the ‘person’ radical crowns the ‘metal’? The answer lies in… yourself.”
“Me? But how?”
“You face a trial, yet as the saying goes: ‘No gold is pure, no man perfect. True gold needs fire.’ Endure this tribulation, and fortune will turn. Avoid schemers—they smother blessings. Shun them, and misfortune fades.”
Hope flickered in the youth’s eyes. He hesitated, “A Yin-Yang Diviner urged my mother to enshrine a ‘shadow immortal’ for protection…”
“Nonsense!” Wang’s brow furrowed. “Even Confucius taught: ‘Cherish virtuous men, shun schemers. Honor ghosts from afar.’ Inviting such spirits is like welcoming wolves. If your ‘gold’ fears fire, you’re mere rubble. Self-sabotage is incurable.”
The youth flushed. “Master speaks wisely. I erred.”
He fumbled his purse, hesitating. “Regarding the fee…”
Wang raised three fingers. “Your fortune is blocked. I dare not charge much—three copper coins. The rest, pay later when you’ve weathered the fire.”
Gratitude flooding his face, the youth bowed deeply and placed three coins on the desk. As he exited, his steps were steadier.
Li Yan watched, surprised. He’d seen many con artists, but this…
Gods and ghosts couldn’t alter fate—only the human heart could.
Perhaps this youth’s destiny had already shifted.
True guidance, indeed.
Stepping forward, Li Yan clasped his fists. “Master Wang, you’ve set a Hitching Post, rung the chain, yet let the lamb go. You’ve cracked your own pot.”
This “Spring Code” served dual purposes: revealing his Jianghu affiliation and commenting on the scene.
Wang laughed heartily, shaking his head. “I speak truths that sway life and death, earn virtue—not greed. This lean lamb holds little fat. Why squeeze?”
Li Yan nodded. “Master’s mercy.”
But Wang’s gaze shifted to Li Yan’s waist, then the window. “Last night I dreamed of ghosts. Today, magpies brought flowers. I knew someone would come… but whether fortune or doom, I couldn’t divine.”
“With a swordsman at my door, who seeks my life?”
“No misunderstanding!” Li Yan bowed. “I seek answers. If you solve my riddle, reward awaits!”
His Divine Abilities spiraling, he’d forgotten the Lu family matter entirely.
Wang exhaled, stroking his beard. “Fortune-telling or feng shui?”
Li Yan’s voice dropped. “What are Cold Altar Rampage Soldiers?”
Wang’s hand froze mid-stroke. His face paled.
“Who… exactly… are you?”
(End of Chapter)
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