Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fate Decided at the First Birthday, Favored by the Water Division

Third Senior Brother Zheng Qian stepped ahead to the altar and lit three specially prepared Eight-Treasure Auspicious Incense sticks, placing them one by one into the censer. As the curling blue smoke rose, the hanging yellow curtains stirred without a breeze, and Wang Cheng stood thoughtfully in the center of the loft.

He knew the custom of the "Zhua Zhou" ceremony went back ages; it was an essential rite for children just turning one year old. Wealthy families would set up a large table at the child's bedside, displaying a carefully arranged array of objects: seals, scriptures from Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, abacuses, coins, account books, jewelry, flowers, rouge, food, and toys. If it was for a girl, they would add shovels, spoons (kitchenware), scissors, rulers and other sewing tools, as well as embroidery threads and patterns.

Ordinary families, due to financial constraints, might simplify things, but the ceremony could not be omitted. Adults would carry the child over and seat them upright on the bed, offering no guidance, letting the child freely choose whatever caught their attention. What the child picked first, and then next, was taken as an omen of their interests, future, and possible career.

For example, when the famous Second Master Bao underwent the ceremony, he picked up powder and hairpins—a sign that foretold his fate.

"Fourth Junior, the induction of every official in the Third Class always uses the 'Zhua Zhou Destiny Test' to see which position in the register best suits the candidate's fate. There are thirty-six boxes in this loft, each hiding an object representing a position in this Hall. Whichever you end up with will determine your destiny."

Shen Yuting and Zheng Qian withdrew, leaving the ritual space entirely to Wang Cheng. Before leaving, they reminded him, "Stay here and gradually you'll form a resonance with one of the Zhua Zhou objects, awakening the one most fated to you. Remember, this isn't like a one-year-old unconsciously grabbing something. Here, it isn't you who chooses the object, but the object that chooses you. Subdue the object drawn to you by fate, and walk out the door to complete the rite."

With a clang, Zheng Qian shut the heavy door.

At the moment the doors closed, the bronze lamps throughout the three-story loft lit up by themselves, casting a dim, yellowish glow and making the atmosphere all the more eerie.

A chilling wind swept through the sealed room, surging through all three stories.

Wang Cheng stood in silence before the incense table, goosebumps prickling his skin. Looking around, he sensed dozens of cold eyes watching him from the shadows beyond the reach of the lamps, making his heart race with unease.

He began to suspect things might not be as simple as his master had said.

"Master! Senior Brother!" he called out twice, but no one answered, as if they had already left.

In the pavilion beside the loft, master and disciple sat leisurely, sipping tea.

Zheng Qian skimmed the foam from his teacup. "This Destiny Test doesn't consider background or learning, only heart and fate. On average, it takes three days for a resonance to form. I did it in half a day myself—that was the fastest on record after Senior Sister's three hours. Master, how long do you think our junior brother will take to draw the object?"

Shen Yuting had full confidence in Wang Cheng—and even more in his own discerning eyes. He was certain this disciple belonged in the Water-Gathering line.

"If you ask me, at most three..."

Suddenly, he turned to the loft, golden light contracting in his eyes, the unit of time on his lips changing ever more rapidly: "days... hours... quarter of an hour... mi—"

Before Zheng Qian could react, it became, "Three... two... one. Has it begun?!"

The old man shot to his feet, not even noticing when he knocked his teacup to the ground.

Inside, Wang Cheng had no idea whether he was the fastest or slowest among the disciples of the Mountain Sea Society; he only felt a slender, invisible thread at his brow, connecting him to something.

Then, a sound came from the top floor—a box opening.

Next came stealthy footsteps and the grating noise of a heavy blade scraping along the floor.

"What is that?"

Wang Cheng snapped his head up and saw a blurry figure, reeking of fish, descending the stairs. Its face was indistinct, dressed in a brown short shirt, with cracked bare feet—a typical boatman’s attire.

As it appeared, every bronze lamp in the loft shifted from orange-yellow to a greasy green.

What caught Wang Cheng's attention most was the long-handled oar-blade in its hand.

An oar-blade: a long-handled boat paddle; a shorter one is called a scull, a longer one an oar. The famed trident double-edged spear is said to have evolved from the oar-blade; remove two tips, and its ancestor was the horse-cutting sword of old.

The Water-Gatherer's external technique, "Eight-Wave Breaker Blades," began as an oar-blade art.

"It's here."

That thing moved with deceptive slowness, light as if weightless, but in just a few heartbeats, it reached the first floor.

Qi Huokeju finally saw its details:

[Malefic Spirit: Tsukumogami.
An object left unused for a century can absorb the negative wishes—or grudges—of living beings, transforming into a tsukumogami, a sentient item spirit.
Obsession: To be chosen in the Zhua Zhou.
Level: Mastery of both inner and outer techniques, equivalent to a normal candidate.]

There was no need to guess—just as Wang Cheng had expected, the oar-blade drawn by resonance represented the "Whitewater Man."

Buzz—

A cold flash split the air—a blade struck down at his head.

Wang Cheng gripped his waist-hung saber but did not draw it, instead dodging swiftly with a twist on his toes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to block—it was that he couldn’t.

All military saber masters claim they can break a spear with a single blade, but in battle, every one of them carries a spear.

Short weapons must exert twelve-tenths of effort to match eight-tenths of a long weapon’s power—a truth as old as time.

"Good thing this is a private duel—there’s room to maneuver. On a battlefield, short weapons are useless, at best a secondary tool. Who would be so foolish as to pit a saber against an oar-blade?"

The edge scraped his cheek and struck the floor. In that instant, Wang Cheng caught the old, heavy scent of dried blood.

Sparks flew as the blade rebounded; with a sweep, Wang Cheng’s saber finally flashed from its scabbard, both hands bracing it before him.

Clang!

With clever force, he used the impact to spring away, feet tapping up the thick loft pillars, vaulting overhead as the tsukumogami pursued.

In the instant they passed, his long saber turned to a streak of silver, slicing toward its head.

Lesser spirits are rarely intelligent, acting only on instinct and obsession. Even if this spirit rivaled a candidate in strength, in a sudden clash, humans usually prevailed.

This was why all sects trusted the Destiny Test using spirits.

In midair, Wang Cheng shouted,

"Die!"

His blade was about to take the tsukumogami’s head when—silent as a shadow—a fat hand wielding a verdigris-stained coin-sword thrust at his back.

Wang Cheng dared not press the attack; he swung his saber to block.

With nowhere to brace himself in midair, the powerful blow sent him crashing to the floor, where he tumbled and sprang up again.

Now he saw a second tsukumogami behind him—this one also had a blurred face, was plump, dressed in a silk merchant’s robe, and held the coin-sword representing the "Steward" position.

But it didn’t end there.

A fierce wind howled around Wang Cheng, grinding his eyes shut as a cacophony of boxes opening thundered above. In the shifting shadows, who knew how many tsukumogami were crawling out?

The Astronomer’s compass, the Corpse-Fisher’s hook, the Merchant’s abacus, the Peddler’s carrying pole… all descended the stairs in a crowd.

Even the red mandarin duck bodice of the "West Lake Boatwoman" and the sharkskin diving jacket of the "Pearl Diver" joined the fray—a scene so astonishing, so chaotic, that order itself seemed to collapse.

Wang Cheng’s throat went dry, but suddenly he understood.

This was the blessing his "Prince" lineage—the firstborn direct descendant of the sea god’s faith—had randomly received: not only was he forever protected from drowning by the Sea’s favor, but all thirty-six Water Office positions watched over him, making mastery of their unique skills and arts doubly effective.

No matter which position he chose, a brilliant future awaited.

The key was, not every direct descendant of the sea god received this treatment—it was random, not universal. He’d never heard of anyone else with such fortune.

By now, Zheng Qian was already peering through the door crack, eyes wide.

"How can this be so fast? So many? Junior Brother is fated for all thirty-six Water Office positions? Unheard of!"

In fact, not only young Zheng Qian, but even Shen Yuting in his long life had never seen anything like this.

Usually, a mortal’s fate couldn’t possibly bear the weight of several office lineages. Human energy is limited; excelling in one field is hard enough, let alone many.

Plenty had tried to juggle multiple roles in history; few ever succeeded.

The greatest Water-Gatherer, the Sea-Pacifying Prince Wang Zeng, was only ever a humble "Whitewater Man," yet with his popular office and the family’s "Fair Winds Guide to Navigation," he was nearly invincible in the East Sea. Had he not rashly gone ashore and been ambushed, none could have killed him at sea.

So, more office positions was not necessarily better—only the one that suited you best was ideal.

But!

For them, as "Stewards" who could "sell offices and titles," this meant everything.

Seeing their little junior brother attracting a scramble from all thirty-six office spirits, it was clear: whatever Water Office skill he wielded in the future, he would not be inferior to any specialist.

The side-effects of cultivation on him would also be less than for others—he could be a versatile part-timer without difficulty.

The old man’s heart swelled with uncontrollable joy.

"Fourth is born for this Water-Gathering calling—thank you, Lady Heavenly Consort, for blessing my line!"

But then his face darkened and he shouted urgently, "Quick, Zheng Qian, snuff out the incense and get him out! If my precious disciple loses a single hair, I’ll break your legs!"