Chapter Sixty-Seven: Master of Fishing, Ceremony of Ordination

Time flew by.

Before anyone knew it, the fortieth year of Shaozhi had arrived, and it was the twenty-first day of the first month, the first phase of the Rainwater solar term—“Otters Sacrifice Fish.”

At the mouth of the Nine Dragons River, the surface of the water was calm, gentle ripples radiating outward. A small boat emerged from the reeds along the riverbank.

Wang Cheng was dressed in crisp work clothes, sleeves and pant legs rolled high, a stem of grass between his lips, lounging lazily at the prow, while Zhang Wen rowed at the stern.

The newly repaired Zhang Fushun was following at a distance.

“Perfect timing, the otters are out now.”

Wang Cheng flipped upright and stretched luxuriously, spotting a cluster of furry little creatures moving about the riverbank.

They darted into the water to catch fish, but instead of eating them right away, they lined them up neatly on the shore and went back into the river for more.

When they stood upright, they could clasp their food in their little paws like humans, giving the impression of people making a ceremonial bow. It was hard not to imagine: before eating, do these otters also pay homage to heaven and earth, thanking nature for its gifts?

Indeed, this was a living demonstration of the phase response known as: “Otters Sacrifice Fish.”

Otters, also called water cats, begin fishing in the water at this phase, then arrange their catch on the shore as if offering it to the spirits.

Many fishermen in the Grand Zhao and South Sea regions take advantage of this otter behavior to help them fish.

Over time, this natural phenomenon became deeply entwined with the water brigade official known as the “White Water Man.”

After escaping from the royal ship, Wang Cheng had painstakingly established his initial crew, sought masters, and risked voyages to cultivate his life-fire to pure yang—all for this day.

In this world, one's own abilities are always paramount; nothing must take precedence over them.

Before rolling up his sleeves to work, Wang Cheng explained the secret cultivation of the White Water Man profession to Zhang Wen and the crew trailing behind:

“The promotion ritual for the White Water Man is much simpler than Han Shushu's advancement to ‘Sea Salvager.’

You imitate the otters’ fishing and sacrificial scene, form a small group of no more than three fishermen, sail into the river or sea to fish and perform the offering—all within a single day.

During the ritual, the quality and quantity of the catch, as well as the skills displayed that day, determine the grade of favor and blessing received—‘Heaven Spawns Water, Golden Toad Qi.’

The exceptionally talented may even skip two or three years of probation, and upon receiving the official tally, stand shoulder to shoulder with veteran seventh-rank officers, soon rising to the middle third rank.

To achieve the best promotion results, countless schools of thought flourish, practicing fishing skills from the very start…”

The first group revered catch above all.

They advocated using the cheapest tools and bait to obtain the highest yield, striving for ultimate cost-effectiveness and gradually honing the strongest techniques.

Unfortunately, things rarely went as hoped—their skills were actually the weakest, relying on brute force, baiting ten pounds for a three-ounce catch, bringing shame to the White Water Man profession.

Fish must surely dream of these “living gods” manifesting daily. If only they offered a pair of healthy children in exchange for robust prosperity, their breeding outpaced any fishing.

“Thank you, divine ones, for blessing us with food!”

This school, naturally, only received the most basic favor and blessing during the ritual.

The second school championed skill above all.

They loved learning and never stooped to using nets or spears—mere tools with no artistry. They preferred to study fishing methods and recipes.

Within this hierarchy, anglers ranked above mere fishermen.

All were expert anglers, unable to resist casting a line wherever there was water.

“Solitary Angler in Snow,” “East Sea Ao Fisher,” and “North Sea Whale Rider” were legendary figures in their field.

Such people belonged to the second tier in promotion—no matter how refined their technique, focusing on quality over quantity was a drawback.

The third school wanted it all.

They used any means necessary; so long as they caught fish, any tool could be wielded with finesse—only those with extraordinary talent could master their ways.

This school split into two branches: one pursued frequency, constantly catching fish for the largest haul; the other pursued intensity, targeting only the largest, highest-quality specimens.

With the Four Seas Treasure as his auxiliary artifact, Wang Cheng naturally embraced the “all-in” approach!

He shaded his eyes, fully activating his “Rare Goods at Hand” skill, and instantly perceived the myriad lifeforms at the mouth of the Nine Dragons River.

With a casual gesture, Zhang Wen steered the boat to a particular patch of water.

Wang Cheng took up a special fishing net adorned with copper coins and talismans, cast it out, borrowed the “Turtle Head Strength,” and began wrestling with whatever lurked beneath.

“Moo… moo…”

A deep bovine bellow echoed from beneath the waves, startling Zhang Wen, who instinctively gripped his oar tighter.

Moments later, a swarm of slender salmon broke the surface with the net, among them a large and a small specimen bearing horns.

“Ten-Thousand Sea Treasures—Horned Zhe Salmon:

Migratory fish able to adapt to both seawater and freshwater, switching freely.

In winter, they move to rivers or deeper waters to overwinter; in spring, they migrate upstream for spawning.

They strengthen bones, increase vitality, and most importantly, after eating them, one gains the endurance of an old ox—curing certain unspeakable ailments.

For customers in need, they fetch fifty to a hundred percent above the usual ten-thousand-sea-treasure price.”

Wang Cheng, single in both lives and possessing pure-yang life-fire, had no need for such benefits.

Without blinking, he handed the catch to Zhang Wu, rowing another small boat behind, instructing him to store the first haul on Zhang Fushun for later offering.

He and Zhang Wen then sailed through several more channels, placing seven or eight hand-woven bamboo cages.

Each spot was a priceless treasure trove for fishing, revealed by “Rare Goods at Hand.”

They immediately turned downstream toward the shallow sea.

Catching sight of a streak of red treasure-glow in the water, Wang Cheng pulled out a sinew slingshot and a sharp harpoon tied with silk, launching it forcefully.

Whoosh!

A golden fish was pierced clean through and hauled back by the line.

Though not a ten-thousand-sea-treasure, it was a valuable golden ao—wild yellow croaker, prized among ordinary catches.

All the major restaurants paid top dollar for these, with no shortage of buyers.

As Wang Cheng was about to haul the big yellow croaker aboard, a sudden vicious wind swept overhead.

He twisted aside, narrowly avoiding a pair of gleaming golden talons.

A fierce, sharp eagle cry rang in his ears.

His mind-eye instantly caught the “bandit” swooping from the sky, intent on snatching his prize.

It was a massive raptor, golden talons and beak, white head, brown plumage, its wingspan a full ten feet.

Missing its mark, it beat its wings and circled back up in a gust.

“Is that a bald eagle? Also known as the white-headed sea eagle.

Where did it come from? The Grand Zhao coast does have such raptors—not just overseas species?”

Wang Cheng, recognizing the familiar form, shook his head, wondering if he’d mistaken it.

As he squinted to confirm, the eagle swooped again.

Wang Cheng didn’t go easy—grabbing Zhang Wen’s solid wood oar, he struck out with a move called “Cloud Dragon Snatches Claws,” knocking it down.

Tongue lolling, the bird landed on the small boat, its claws twitching.

“Boss, this bird’s huge—why not roast it for dinner?”

Zhang Wen, never having seen such a sea eagle, eyed its wings and long legs, licking his lips, convinced it would taste marvelous.

Wang Cheng pulled out a rope and securely bound the bald eagle, rejecting Zhang Wen’s wild suggestion.

“That’d be a waste. The White Water Man’s signature skill is perfect for it.”

After this brief interlude,

Wang Cheng quickly tried every fishing method he could think of—net, bamboo cage, rod, harpoon, spear, laundry pestle…

Basket after basket of rare catches were loaded onto Zhang Fushun.

Had conditions allowed, Wang Cheng would have staged an unprecedented “Left Zero, Right Fire, Thunder God Aid Me”—with a new-energy fishing rod, he'd never come up empty.

If he invented such a treasure, both skill and yield would skyrocket, leaving all White Water Man promotion rituals in history far behind.

Of course, the “Dragon King of the Jing River” might well show up for a word or two!