Chapter Thirty-Four: Fascinating Yet Dark-Hearted, Disciples Resemble Their Master

"Fine, fine, fine. One breath ago, I was the most cherished disciple, and now, just one breath later, you don't love me anymore? So that's what kind of master you are—"

Bang!

Once adored as a sweet child, Zheng Qian had fallen to the rank of Madam Niu. Before he could lament the ever-turning tide of new replacing old, Shen Yuting booted him straight into the loft.

One or two tsukumogami were manageable, four or five posed no great threat. But with thirty-six all at once, even as a seventh-rank official, he stood no chance. All he could do was hurry to snuff out the incense and end this ritual of fate.

Zheng Qian had barely adjusted to the dim light in the loft when he saw Wang Cheng surrounded by a host of tsukumogami, yet not the least bit flustered. Calmly, Wang Cheng fished out a tube-shaped bronze ox, little bigger than a whistle.

Zheng Qian paused, recognizing the familiar shape.

"Isn't that the blowpipe used with the Soul-Returning Incense at the crow of the fifth watch?"

He recalled his master possessing a similar bronze ox, battered smooth and glossy from years of use, nearly lacquered over. His junior's was still new.

His guess was spot on. After Wang Cheng had outwitted Xue Da and his gang last time, he’d tasted the power of the Soul-Returning Incense. Naturally, he had no intention of reforming; instead, he sought to broaden its use.

This tubular bronze ox was an implement from the Water-Gathering Sect’s "Incense Manual," used for the "blow" technique. In the dead of night or amidst battle, one could aim it at a maiden’s boudoir—well, at an enemy—give it a blow, count to three: "Fall! Fall! Fall!" and the opponent would collapse, incapacitated.

In addition to restocking his supply of sleeping powders, he’d also crafted a batch of ghost-slaying pills for evil spirits:

"Three ounces of tiger skull, one ounce of finely ground realgar, one ounce of dehaired podophyllum, one ounce of peeled aconite, one ounce of peeled and seeded soap pod, one ounce of amomum, one ounce of deheaded veratrum."

All pulverized, mixed with honey, rolled into pills the size of apricot pits, used to treat heat sickness, epidemic, corpses, and evil spirits.

Burn one pill at the four corners of a room for heat sickness; burn one at the bedside for livestock plague; burn one in the nostrils for madness, evil spirits, delirium, wandering, and confusion.

Inside the bronze ox was the ghost-slaying powder, not yet made into pills.

Before the tsukumogami could fully encircle him, Wang Cheng raised the bronze ox and blew hard.

Years of practicing the Dragon Breathing Technique had given him astonishing lung capacity. A surge of crimson smoke erupted, splitting into countless red threads.

Sizzle—!

The closest tsukumogami, the pole-knife "Whitewater Man" and the coin-sword "Chamberlain," recoiled as if doused in acid, shrieking and stumbling back.

Wang Cheng seized the moment, darted forward, and in a flash, decapitated both.

The other tsukumogami recoiled in horror. After years of presiding over the ritual, none had witnessed such unscrupulous cunning.

Yet Wang Cheng stood righteous:

"Naive! If man cannot wield tools, how are we different from beasts? If you hesitate, how can you ever become the new sun of Water-Gatherers?"

Snatching up the fallen pole-knife and coin-sword, he dashed out the door, brushing past the third senior brother as he was kicked inside.

Zheng Qian: …

I have something not entirely proper to say—should I say it or not?

---

Wang Cheng, trusting his senior brother implicitly, leapt outside and handed the two ritual objects to Shen Yuting, solemnly declaring,

"Master, your disciple has fulfilled his duty, retrieving two ritual objects by his own skill."

The old man paid no heed to his third disciple, who was dodging tsukumogami and scrambling to extinguish incense. His eyes were fixed solely on his fourth.

He wholeheartedly approved Wang Cheng’s claim of "own skill":

"Excellent! You show a third of your master’s former style.

Your three senior siblings are well-learned, but lack the ruthless, unrestrained ways needed for true mastery. At last, my legacy has a worthy successor."

He sized up the tall, spirited Wang Cheng, especially the bronze ox still clutched in his hand.

Pulling from his own breast a golden bronze ox, a bit larger but constructed identically.

Wang Cheng, uncertain at first whether the master was praising him, found surety upon seeing the bronze ox.

His master was no pedant.

In his previous life, Wang Cheng had spent over a decade as a student—never failing a course, never punished, never beaten, always held up as a model. He’d served as dorm head, class monitor, committee leader, and minister.

He was well-versed in the art of "survival," knowing to honor his teacher, yet keep his own counsel in small matters, even buttering up with skill, and occasionally using minor authority to benefit his peers.

He knew how to navigate, avoid infighting, lest his brothers brand him as a "cur."

The ways of a student ran deep!

Most crucial was to study the master’s temperament and imitate it—this was the disciple’s art.

To Wang Cheng, mastering this was hardest, but most effective.

Given his past experience, if circumstances allowed, he’d surely organize a "Soul-Returning Incense Fan Club" for his master, to show what true sycophancy looked like!

He reacted swiftly.

Grasping Shen Yuting’s hand, he exclaimed with excitement,

"Master, you understand me!"

"Fourth, you understand me too!"

"Master!"

"Fourth!"

Rarely had he met a disciple so kindred in spirit; Shen Yuting felt his secret skills would not be lost to obscurity.

When the somewhat bedraggled Zheng Qian finally gathered the ritual objects and emerged, he found the old and young pair clinging to each other like long-lost father and son, deeply moved.

They discussed everything from "A Hundred Ways to Blow Incense" to "Compound Incense’s Delayed Effect," and from "Improving the Taste of Sleeping Powder" to "The Colorless, Tasteless Second Guess"—all with impressive insight.

Meanwhile, the backdrop was a crimson sunset and splashing waves, imparting a strange, ineffable sense of déjà vu.

In the Great Zhao Dynasty, this was not uncommon. Blood heirs inherited the lineage, while law heirs inherited the tradition.

---

Among the literati, a favored disciple’s status was no less than that of a son.

Divine officials especially so—many minor offices required specific fate, zodiac, and birth chart, making father-son inheritance difficult, and finding a suitable successor harder than ascending to heaven.

A frank exchange between master and disciple drew them closer.

Shen Yuting, holding the pole-knife and coin-sword, turned to Wang Cheng:

"Fourth, our Outer Eight Gates are not imperial officials. We have no superiors, and though we could theoretically reach the first rank, advancement is rarely orderly.

The success of predecessors cannot be replicated—luck and happenstance play their part, and only one or two in a thousand rise to the upper third rank.

History’s closest Water-Gatherer to the first rank was the Prince of the Sea, who reached second rank as Whitewater Man. Even after being ennobled, he achieved the pinnacle of his profession, but still could not claim the first-rank law position.

But when quality falls short, quantity compensates—the more law positions, the closer to the Dao. Many have tried to walk a dual path; it’s not without reason.

Most fail at holding multiple offices, but I believe you may succeed.

The hardest challenge is bearing the tradition—if you can, then with study and practice, dual or even triple mastery is surely within reach."

Wang Cheng was taken aback.

The Water-Gatherer clan had always practiced only one discipline; Old Wang and his forebears never attempted dual cultivation, leaving him unsure.

He asked cautiously,

"Master, can this really work?"

Truth be told, since he realized the "commerce" of Four Seas Treasure might deeply connect with the Chamberlain’s sale of offices, he had wanted to investigate further.

Yet he could not bear to abandon the Wang family’s birthright. Hearing his master say dual cultivation was possible, he was truly tempted.

Beside him, Zheng Qian, broad-minded as ever, had already forgotten his loss of favor, beaming with pride:

"Master is born with the Supreme Noble Fate, unmatched in talent, and has himself mastered both Chamberlain and Star-Chainer.

His mastery of the Six-Line Coin Divination is second to none, the best in Moon Harbor, and he is determined to blaze a grand path for Water-Gatherers, opening new law positions.

Our senior brother, second sister, and I never truly grasped the essence; this great task may fall to you."

When at Baoshan Beacon Tower, the distance and unfamiliarity had only revealed the surface.

Who would have thought this master was so deeply hidden, already having experimented on himself?

Shen Yuting raised a hand to halt Zheng Qian’s praise, but his lifted brows betrayed his delight.

"The Whitewater Man’s omen is Rainwater’s first sign, 'Otters Sacrifice Fish.' The Chamberlain’s omen is Spring Equinox’s second sign, 'Thunder Sounds.' One month apart.

We still have time. Why not try it first?"

Thinking of his father’s halt at second rank, Wang Cheng hesitated only briefly before nodding decisively:

"Very well, let’s try!"