Chapter Forty-Eight: The Ritual Begins, Enemy Shadows Emerge

Without needing a mirror, Wang Cheng could clearly sense the three blazing fires burning atop his head and on each shoulder.

The fire above his head symbolized the protection of the divine; evil spirits and ghosts would cower before it, unable to approach. The right shoulder bore the so-called “nameless fire,” illuminating the right side of his body. People often referred to sudden anger as the nameless fire flaring up—this was that very fire. Seasoned officials of the divine path could sense this fire to see through another’s true emotions. The left shoulder’s flame mirrored the right, casting light on his left side. When the three fires burned brightly together, they merged their radiance, penetrating his inner organs and allowing Wang Cheng to perceive a faint glimmer within the darkness of his corporeal abode.

Deep within his consciousness, something seemed on the verge of being born, though it still lacked the proper tempering. He did not force it, but gently drew in and stilled the “Dragon’s Breath Technique,” then opened his eyes. For an instant, it was as if lightning had flashed through the tent, illuminating it in a sudden burst.

His gaze fell idly upon the incense in the nearby burner, and the incense began to curl upward in blue wisps.

“After lighting the lamp of my heart, I was only able to ignite talismanic papers and other objects specially refined by officials. Now, I can easily set fire to anything flammable, and I am no longer troubled by the cold of winter. As long as I remain conscious, I could sit naked in the snow and not freeze. Officials of the divine path cultivate only their nature, not their fate; their ability to shape reality with mind alone grows ever stronger as their rank increases. Even after the flesh decays, even should they die by blade or war, their spirit endures, immortal, to be enshrined as a deity or spirit by the ‘Twenty-Four Seasonal Rites.’ Once one reaches the level of the Lady of Heaven, a single thought can stir the winds and clouds—not an idle fantasy, but reality.”

The cultivation of the lower third rank consisted of: refining one’s bodily abode, lighting the heart’s lamp, and ensuring the life fire burned pure and bright. When the heart’s lamp was lit and the three fires of fortune, prosperity, and longevity shone in pure yang, it meant one was qualified to kneel before the Great Way, draw down its energy, and establish an altar to receive official investiture.

He need not wait for the Rain Water solar term—should he not mind the future impact on his path, he could burn a stick of incense for his master, Shen Yuting, and immediately be “sold” a rank and title. Of course, Wang Cheng would not resort to such measures unless absolutely necessary. He merely waited for Han Shushu to be officially appointed as a Sea Salvager, so that he could return to Moon Harbor before the “Otter’s Fish Sacrifice” and complete his own promotion ceremony.

The requirements for the “Whitewater Man” ritual were much simpler than those for the Sea Salvager, requiring no fanfare and posing little difficulty for him.

Wang Cheng leapt up from his meditation mat. Noticing a spare monkey-brain sea urchin in the water bucket beside him, he quickly dug it out and ate it. His life fire, burning with pure yang, had reached the limit of the lower third rank; unless he received official investiture, his heart’s light would not increase further. But after gathering ten monkey-brain sea urchins, he finally awakened his first true unique skill: the Inner Eye!

A surge of warmth flooded his mind, then transformed into a refreshing coolness that seemed to settle at the center of his brow, in the pineal gland, like a vestigial eye.

Pop!

It was as if an invisible eye within his brain suddenly opened, and the images in his mind appeared layered with bizarre, ghostly double exposures from different planes. A thin silver vertical mark lit up on his brow, as though a third eye had truly appeared.

Wang Cheng hurriedly closed his eyes. Even without using his sight, he found he could “observe” his surroundings through his skin, ears, nose, and tongue—even more clearly and more minutely than with his eyes. The range of this perception was considerable, easily enough to cover every corner of a sailing ship, leaving no blind spots. He even pierced through the animal-hide tent to see the world outside. Though there was no color, only black and white outlines, it was enough to anticipate any enemy and never fear a surprise attack.

“On a battlefield drenched in bullets and blood, ordinary officials—even with heightened senses—could still be killed by stray shots. They wish they could sleep with one eye open. But with this Inner Eye, even if I’m on the sea, piloting a warship and lining up for a broadside exchange, I’ll be the last one standing.”

He lifted the windproof curtain and stepped out of the tent. Just as his Inner Eye had shown him, the world outside was a field of white.

Tomorrow would be the third period of Major Cold. Snow had long been falling in the north, and even in this place far from land, it was no exception. But with his vision enhanced by the Inner Eye, Wang Cheng could easily pierce a mile through the snowstorm, and even the countless drifting snowflakes seemed to slow to a crawl.

Clang!

The ring-handled saber at his waist suddenly flashed from its sheath. With a single stroke, a snowflake was neatly sliced in two, landing in his open palm and quickly melting away.

With his pure yang life fire and the awakening of the Inner Eye, his control over his body had reached the human limit, and his mastery of the blade had soared. A line of silver light danced and whirled, slicing countless hexagonal snowflakes into fine powder mid-air.

“If an ordinary person possessed the Inner Eye, even without any training in combat, just by relying on instinctive bodily control, they’d instantly become a sword master. With only a bamboo stick, they might defeat an armored soldier.”

Wang Cheng also knew that, to ordinary eyes, his skills seemed miraculous. Yet to those truly adept in close-quarters combat—Swordsmen, Bladebearers, or Marshal-Generals—his feat would be unremarkable. Their unique skills and arcane arts were forged for the age of cold steel, enough to overwhelm any technique with pure force.

The “Eight Blades of Breaking Waves,” though a reliable foundation at the lower third rank, would not suffice in battles between officials of the seventh rank and above.

“Fortunately, the skills of a Whitewater Man are not solely limited to blade and sword. As long as I’m adequate in close combat, that’s enough.”

He turned to look at the tent of the Zhang brothers nearby. Through the tent, his Inner Eye saw the two brothers burning incense and worshiping the “Craftsman’s Silver” talisman, a ritual object born of artisan’s wishes and serving as a kind of money-printing charm.

They chanted softly:

“Heaven has the Star of Wealth, earth has the Spirit of Money. Yin and yang shape creation, forging all into balance. Above and below, alike in form. I now temper and refine, the pattern clear as day... Wind drives fire, success and prosperity. Let all be accomplished as decreed.”

Their heart-lights echoed with the treasure’s radiance, their energies intermingling and tempering one another. This was the task Wang Cheng had given them after they lit their own heart-lamps. He was already prepared, once he received his own investiture, to personally guide them and all the watermen under his command.

This invaluable “Craftsman’s Silver” would serve as the foundation artifact for his branch of the watermen’s officials. His disciples would worship it morning and evening, using it to stabilize their sect’s fortune and establish the altar for future investitures.

The true identity of the Prince of Jinghai could not be revealed, and the loyal personal guards cultivated for him by the Five Peaks Banner could not yet be reclaimed. But with this lineage of ritual disciples, he would command a force bound to him by shared fate—prosperous together, suffering together. Unlike traditional personal guards tied by blood and hometown, these ritual disciples could always be replenished, even if some were lost.

Seeing that night had fallen, Wang Cheng did not disturb the Zhang brothers, but quietly returned to his tent to restore his energy.

...

The next day.

It was the first of the five days around the “Frozen Core of Water” period, the seventy-second solar term.

Wang Cheng and Han Shushu once again entered the water to begin the Sea Salvager’s promotion ritual. Wang Cheng had little to do—relying on his swimming skills, he simply checked for any hazards underwater as usual, then let Han Shushu and her helpers work together to salvage the sunken ship. With this batch of salvaged porcelain, they would set up the altar for the watermen, and the investiture ceremony was scheduled for the following morning.

This time, with nothing else demanding his attention, Wang Cheng hesitated over whether to continue searching for sea urchins when a snapper, who had long served as their guide, swam up to him urgently.

“Blub blub...” it kept bubbling, circling him as if in a hurry.

Wang Cheng instinctively followed.

At that moment, neither Wang Cheng nor Han Shushu, busy with the salvage, realized that in the thick flurries where visibility was low, a wind-driven warship from northern Yingzhou was making straight for the island. Its course was direct and unwavering; at its current speed, it would arrive within a day.

And from the main mast of this warship, a banner was flying—the Five Peaks Banner.