Chapter Forty-Three: Monkey Tricks, the Art of Guiding Stars

“Brother Wang, did everything go smoothly on the road?”

Shushu had heard from Old Shen that her senior brother had been assassinated by someone from the Luban School. Was the assassin finally caught?

Meeting again, Han Shushu’s address of “senior brother” sounded much more natural. Without elders around, she was noticeably livelier, and as soon as their two boats drew close, she began chirping away, expressing concern for his recent experiences.

Yesterday, Shen Yuting had already spoken separately with “River-Turning Mouse” Han Zezhang and “Misty Tower General” Huang Yuanzhou, revealing some information and advising them to prepare in advance.

The leaders of the civilian faction were in complete accord. After experiencing the assassination orchestrated by the gentry, although they managed to turn the tables, they had to admit that the enemy’s covert attacks were hard to guard against. Their own “weaknesses” remaining at Moon Harbor were no longer safe.

There’s only so much one can guard—no thief can be watched for a thousand days. Even with their protection, mistakes were inevitable. As both Wang Cheng and Han Shushu had acquired sufficient skills, it was the perfect time for them to team up and leave for a while.

When leaving, Shen Yuting was even prepared to submit a memorial on Wang Cheng’s behalf ahead of schedule. As long as he fulfilled the requirements for “Pure Yang Life Fire” and burned an incense stick, his master could immediately open the altar and perform the rites.

With the “Craftsman’s Silver” talisman, a prized artifact of the water division, there was no need to borrow another talisman from the sect. By wearing and nurturing it, offering to it throughout the seasons, Wang Cheng had a chance to open another lineage on his own.

If truly pressed, he could even skip the “White Water Gentleman” ritual and resort to the desperate act of “selling offices”—but such a choice would significantly affect Wang Cheng’s future path, and would only be used in dire circumstances.

Now, the two of them—second-generation “young friends”—departing Moon Harbor together, had become much closer, united by necessity.

Wang Cheng clasped his fists toward Han Shushu, speaking lightly:

“Thank you for your concern, junior sister. The assassin was crushed to dust by my master long ago. If he hadn’t died so swiftly, the mastermind behind the hired killer wouldn’t have gotten away.”

As he provocatively mentioned the gentry faction’s secret orchestrator, he quietly observed the young man among her attendants—the one with a monkey perched on his shoulder.

Yet he found nothing unusual in his expression.

For this journey, to allow Han Shushu to independently perform a salvage ritual, neither boat carried an official officer.

That young man with the monkey wasn’t an officer either.

Wang Cheng’s special attention wasn’t due to any suspicious behavior. Instead, looking at him was like observing the “Pearl Diver Girl” Ah Xiao or his master Shen Yuting—very little information could be gleaned.

“Rare Commodity: Hou Yong, eighth-grade talisman student in the Pure Yang Life Fire realm, deputy leader of the salvage boat ‘Han Xingfa,’ reserve earth division officer, monkey handler.”

Even without the Universal Sea Token, one could tell these details; all monkey handlers had to raise a monkey from infancy before receiving their talisman ranks.

Many warships raised a dozen or so, especially to serve as “gunpowder monkeys,” transporting explosives.

Those without resources used ordinary monkeys; those with means sought rare breeds or even spirit monkeys with awakened intelligence.

It was unclear to which category his monkey with a golden circlet belonged.

The reason for this could be either his own lack of power, or that the other possessed a superior talisman or artifact adept at concealment.

Since Hou Yong was clearly only an eighth-grade talisman student, it could only be the latter.

“But everyone has secrets. You can’t judge someone’s depth or intentions just because they have secrets you can’t see. That would be rather hypocritical.”

Wang Cheng merely kept an extra eye on this monkey handler and stopped staring, turning instead to Han Shushu:

“Junior sister Han, my master gave me an extra route chart. Let me handle the journey to the sunken ship. With the ‘Zhang Fushun’ as the lead boat, just follow behind us.”

Han Shushu patted her ordinary chest, relieved:

“Then it’s all up to you, senior brother Wang.”

Wang Cheng nodded, climbed to the highest point at the stern of the fishing boat, and took from his cloak pocket a set of Star-Tracking Boards.

The Star-Tracking Boards, used for the star-tracking technique, consisted of twelve ebony squares of varying sizes.

The largest was the twelve-finger board, the smallest the one-finger board, each decreasing by one finger’s width—about two centimeters.

Additionally, there was a small ivory square, with four corners notched; the lengths of these notches were one-quarter, one-half, three-quarters, and one-eighth of the smallest board’s side.

Its function was equivalent to a Western sextant, though much more cumbersome to use.

After a brief test, Wang Cheng held an eight-finger Star-Tracking Board, observing the North Star with his arm fully extended, eyes fixed on the night sky.

He aligned the upper edge of the ebony board with the North Star, the lower edge with the horizon. For measurements less than one finger, the ivory “notch” was used for compensation.

By determining the altitude of the North Star and calculating the latitude, he could plot the course between his current location and the destination.

Long before the compass was invented, water division officers in the Divine Land used the star-tracking technique to read the heavens and traverse the seas, seeking overseas elixirs for emperors.

Nowadays, after decades of development in Eastern and Western navigation, maritime positioning was no longer difficult.

Wang Cheng slid his fingertip across the “Route Chart,” calculating with his fingers, combining star-tracking data with the chart for navigation.

The unit of measurement used in Da Zhao’s maritime navigation was the “Geng,” different from the modern “knot” or “nautical mile.”

It was a maritime time unit; typically, a day and night were divided into ten Geng, and at standard speed, each Geng covered about sixty li.

Thus, the “Route Chart” was also called the “Geng Log,” marking the number of Gengs from start to destination.

The recorded Geng count theoretically indicated the time it took at standard speed from point A to point B, but in practice, errors occurred. The boat master had to measure the ship’s actual speed and recalculate...

When pressed, humans can do anything—except math.

Brothers may betray you, women deceive you, money tempt you, life trouble you, but mathematics never will; what you don’t know, you simply don’t know.

Star-tracking was no different. Those who couldn’t do it watched Wang Cheng’s operations as if reading a heavenly script—no amount of instruction would help. For instance: Lady Han Shushu, pretending to understand, nodding continuously, while her mind was utterly blank.

In less than a quarter of an hour, Wang Cheng finished his calculations.

“‘Jia-Mao’ points northeast. At standard speed, one Geng is sixty li, so eight Geng is four hundred eighty li. When the angles between Polaris, the Regal Banner, and the three Lion Stars and the sea horizon are eleven fingers, one finger, and one and a half fingers respectively, that’s the location of the sunken porcelain ship! Setting out from here, it’ll take about a day.”

He called out across the water:

“Junior sister Han, follow us.”

Seeing Wang Cheng easily plot the course, Han Shushu openly admired his skill:

“My only flaw is a poor sense of direction. If I could learn the secret ‘Oceanic Star-Tracking Technique’ from Prince Jing, my uncle would never worry about me getting lost again.”

Others on her boat looked at Wang Cheng with respect. On the sea, the boat master able to bring everyone home held a revered position.

What Wang Cheng had used was merely the simplest star-tracking technique, requiring no heart lamp, no spiritual response—experienced sailors could master it.

Yet among the three secret arts in the “Tailwind Escort Navigation Canon,” there was one called “Oceanic Star-Tracking Technique.”

At its heights, it could center on the Purple Micro Enclosure, Grand Enclosure, and Heavenly Market Enclosure, drawing on celestial forces, its power unfathomable.

It could even summon stars from beyond, turning the battlefield into a stage for a chosen one—a true prodigy!

Among all the secret techniques cultivated by the thirty-six water division officers, it was first-rate.

Even Wang Cheng, the favored son, had only learned its rudiments due to his current realm; others could hardly hope to master it.

But he was in no hurry.

“Once I receive my talisman rank, I’ll burn incense and submit a request to Old Wang; when I’ve mastered the full version, I’ll return... munching as I go.”

He waved at Zhang Wu, and the “Zhang Fushun” began to turn.

The crew rotated shifts, never resting, heading northeast for a day and a night. By the evening of the second day, they reached the destination marked on the route chart.

The sea was indeed safe on this journey; no evil spirits blocked the way.

Shen Yuting’s “Six-Line Golden Coin Divination” had proven accurate: the sunken ship laden with blue-and-white porcelain from the previous dynasty lay quietly here.

The Universal Sea Token had also provided precise information from the minute scratches on the salvaged porcelain.

In the glow of the setting sun, Wang Cheng immediately spotted the underwater kelp forest, several meters deep, just beyond the intertidal zone of a deserted isle.

Within, enormous jet-black sea urchins moved in and out.

Wang Cheng’s heart settled, his pupils reflecting the golden-red sunset.

“The legion of ten-thousand sea treasures—the monkey-brain sea urchins... found at last!”