Chapter Forty-Two: Setting Sail! The Sacrifice of Three Creatures, the Devil’s Wind

Wang Cheng was still unaware that his new identity had already become a thorn in someone else’s side, a fresh wave of trouble rising before the previous one had even settled.

He finally breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the straw man burned to ashes.

He himself felt a lingering fear—after all, his own birth date and Eight Characters had once fallen into the hands of a carpenter skilled in the Luban arts. Had he not altered his fate and increased his weight of bones, it would have been no more difficult for someone to harm him than what Shen Yuting had just done.

Turning back, he bowed deeply to Shen Yuting.

“Disciple thanks Master for ridding me of a grave threat.”

This master was truly beyond reproach—gentle with his own, ruthless with his enemies, filling Wang Cheng with a profound sense of security.

Shen Yuting waved his hand dismissively, utterly unconcerned. “That man was no small threat; he bore the cultivation of a third-grade adept. This ritual only did away with him and his direct bloodline. I couldn’t trace his fate to wipe out all those he taught, his magical descendants. Cough, cough…”

He began coughing again before finishing his words; the burden of this ritual was clearly not light for him.

“Master!” Wang Cheng hurried to support him.

Their relationship had grown closer of late, and now, in Wang Cheng’s insight, the precious app “Priceless Curios” revealed one more line than before: “Plagued by chronic illness, strength greatly diminished...”

Though he always told Wang Cheng to call for him at the first sign of danger, it was now obvious his health no longer suited him for ritual combat.

Shen Yuting saw the worry in Wang Cheng’s eyes but simply waved it off. “It’s an old ailment. Won’t be dying anytime soon. Now, tell me—who do you think hired the killer?”

As a Hall Officer of the Direct Years Hall, he possessed all the hallmarks of a true leader—living by open strategy and defending himself with cunning, upholding righteousness in conduct, deft in action, Buddha in his heart, a blade in his hand.

One must treat enemies as a storm would sweep away fallen leaves—without mercy!

Wang Cheng did not stand on ceremony. “I’ve spent the past few years studying in the provincial city and have only been back in Yuegang for a few days. Only those gentry and magnate families who clashed with me recently have motive. But the Luban disciple who acted was clearly unconnected to them—they would never risk letting a Hall Officer like you catch them out. However…”

After a brief hesitation, feeling the time was ripe now that he was familiar with his master, he recounted the ambush he and the “Zhang Fushun” had suffered at the Jiulong River estuary.

“We actually captured a sea ghost at the time, named… Pu Shoucheng!”

Shen Yuting did not react immediately. Instead, he silently drew out three old copper coins and used the signature “Six Lines Golden Coin Divination” to verify the intelligence.

After a moment, his expression grew grave. “I’ve long known someone was sealing off the coast in the days after Prince Jinghai sent off the King’s Boat, but I never suspected the low-profile Pu clan. Adding your information, my Six Lines Divination can all but confirm: Pu Shouying is indeed involved! You must leave this matter alone. As a precaution, you should go into hiding for a while—go complete the ritual with Han Shushu.”

He added, “I’ll speak to Han Zezhang. You and Shushu set out ahead of time—leave Yuegang tomorrow.”

Shen Yuting, the Hall Officer, clearly had chosen a side, no longer even bothering with a facade of neutrality. To kill for protection, to sever karma rather than to expand business—true benevolence knows no taboos!

The clique of powerful gentry trying to monopolize maritime smuggling had, in this Water Division Hall Officer’s eyes, already become the common enemy of all thirty-six halls of the Water Division.

Now, with the burdens of the Southern and Eastern Seas’ thirty-six halls partly on his shoulders, few were more qualified than him to invoke the words: “all the people under heaven.”

…

Whoosh—

As the sun set, a northern wind, carrying the bitter chill of the frontier, howled from the northernmost Shanhai Pass all the way down to Qiongzhou in the south.

On the thirteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the thirty-ninth year of Shaozhi, the “Zhang Fushun” set sail once again, now fully armed.

Wang Cheng, a saber at his waist and draped in a bearskin cloak sponsored by his master, stood on the aft deck like a straight, unwavering spear.

“Helmsman, winch hands—right side, close-haul on a windward tack!”

“Aye, chief!”

The winch hands together turned the deck capstan, using ropes and spars to unfurl the three stiff sails on the fore, main, and aft masts, adjusting the angle to best catch the wind.

“Chief, should we apply a Water-Taking Talisman?” asked Zhang Wu, the first mate, striding over with a three-barrel musket and a pole saber slung across his back, brimming with confidence.

“No need for now. There’s been little evil presence lately; we can save the talismans until the New Year.”

Wang Cheng held a brass spyglass in hand, eyes shining. From his vantage, the land was ablaze with light, the myriad household lamps flowing into the sea like a river of stars.

This warmth dispelled much of the ancient chill of the vast ocean. All manner of lurking sea specters instinctively avoided the coastline, migrating deeper into the sea.

After drinking Laba porridge, the year’s end was near; time to bid the old farewell and welcome the new.

Across the realm, wealthy gentry, merchants, and clans organized dragon and lion dances, god processions, and festivals. The coastal streets and alleys were gradually filled with festivities.

With people’s will full of hope and negative emotions at their lowest, the furnaces of positive qi at every city and village expanded, pressing into the vast ocean.

Coupled with the recent King’s Boat ceremony, which had cast countless evil spirits into the East Sea’s abyss, this was now the safest time for most inland and coastal waters.

Farmers celebrated on land, but for the boat-dwelling Dan people, fishermen, and many Water Division officers, the sea was home. Their ships were their houses—wherever they sailed, there was home, and wherever the New Year found them, it was all the same.

Better to seize this rare window of safety and make a fortune!

“Master says our senior brother and second senior sister, who haven’t returned, are still away on official business and will likely miss New Year. For Han Shushu’s ritual, the ‘Water’s Belly Freezes’ phase comes on the twentieth, and I’ll probably not make it back in time. We’ll just have to see if we can gather after the New Year.”

Wang Cheng’s gaze drifted back to the newly replaced lionhead board at the prow and the offering table. He signaled to Zhang Wen, the incense master, who had returned to his old trade: “Has it been twelve hours since we made the three-animal offering?”

Yesterday, as soon as Zhang Wen returned to the ship, he set a new lionhead board at the bow and began the three-animal offering.

In ritual practice, offerings of three animals and fruits were standard. Ox, sheep, and pig are the “great three”; pig, fish, and chicken the “small three.”

Wang Cheng worried that the grade of the animals might affect the quality of the unsealed lionhead board. Since there was no need to skimp, he used the great three.

Zhang Wen produced an elegant brass pocket watch from his sleeve, flipped it open, and glanced at the dial. “Chief, just half a quarter-hour left.”

Everyone waited in silence. When the time came, they gathered on the deck, following Wang Cheng to burn incense and worship.

First bow: the wind rose.

The already howling north wind suddenly grew fiercer, whirling madly around the Zhang Fushun.

Second bow: the lion roared.

It was as if the legendary roar of tigers and leopards resounded in everyone’s hearts, leaving the less stalwart trembling in their boots.

Third bow: the clouds lifted, the rain ceased.

All the strange phenomena vanished, but the unicorn lion depicted on the lionhead board at the prow now seemed uncannily vivid and alive, as if it might leap down at a word.

Wang Cheng quickly scanned it with “Priceless Curios” and was delighted to discover that thanks to the great three-animal offering, he had activated two abilities of the lionhead board.

Majesty:
“A fixed ability—when the enemy looks upon the lionhead board in battle, they cannot help but feel fear, their strength falters, and the chance of making mistakes greatly increases.”

Ghostwind:
“On the sea, water-takers call the unpredictable whirlwind a ghostwind. Once per day, within a hundred-meter radius, you can actively summon a ghostwind lasting half an hour and control its direction at will. To activate, the chief must light the heart lantern, or invoke the ship’s spirit.”

Wang Cheng felt an itch of anticipation, eager to test the effect. Just as a new ship must undergo sea trials, so too must new spiritual items and equipment be repeatedly tested to ensure confidence in battle.

At that moment, the lookout atop the mainmast suddenly shouted: “Chief, there’s a ship ahead. They’ve sent the agreed signal.”

Wang Cheng peered into the night. The lanterns on the other ship flashed the prearranged pattern: three short, three long, three short.

“Signal back! Respond!”

The Zhang Fushun replied in kind, slowly drawing near.

They had left Yuegang decisively that day, unshadowed, and agreed by incense to rendezvous with Han Shushu in these outer waters.

As the two vessels drew close, Wang Cheng saw on the aft deck a petite figure in a snow-white fox fur cloak—Han Shushu, her face timid.

But when he noticed among her crew a young man with a monkey perched on his shoulder, Wang Cheng’s gaze sharpened ever so slightly.