Two muffled claps of thunder rumbled outside, and the sky beyond the window plunged into darkness in an instant. Noon had turned as black as eight or nine at night, as if half the day had capsized. Fortunately, the restaurant buzzed with diners, their chatter filling the air. Flicking on the lights eased the heavy pressure a little, keeping it from bearing down quite so crushingly on their shoulders, stifling their breath.
Yang Baibai didn’t bother scrutinizing the words. He just glanced at the grimy napkin. “How much did he charge you?”
Ye Chan: “…598.”
Hadn’t it been 388 a moment ago?
Catching Sister Gu’s lifted gaze, Ye Chan’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, that master said our fates are unusual—pretty complicated. Needs a thorough calculation, so it’s pricier.” She raised a hand to cut off Yang Baibai’s incoming sarcasm. “Don’t think I’m an idiot. He nailed a few things, that’s why I bought it.”
“Hmph.” Yang Baibai scoffed. “Guy didn’t even bother setting up a proper bureau. Just running his steel mouth to scam folks. Real experts are thin on the ground these days. The stone-cold fakes are the big names, while the ones who actually study the craft get treated like fools. Whatever he spits out, heh, take it for what it’s worth. Call it tuition for a hard lesson.”
From his tone, he was dead certain the man was a jianghu fraud.
Truth be told, Gu Xianwang was inclined to agree. That fate verse was like a horoscope—you could always twist it to fit your life. Vague enough to cover anything. She’d watched him for a while, and this “Master Xiao Sanxiao” struck her as eccentric in his habits but short on real talent.
“So what did he see in you?”
“Uh…” Ye Chan clearly suspected she’d been duped but hated to admit it. She fidgeted half a minute before mumbling, “He said my destiny is ‘manifest in the name.'”
Gu Xianwang: “That’s it?”
Ye Chan: “Yup.”
That explained why she’d only brought back the napkin. Plenty of words on it made the price seem less outrageous—at least it splashed a few drops of value.
Yang Baibai let out a couple of cold laughs, snatched the napkin to wipe his mouth, and stood. “I’m out. You two chow down. Maybe it’ll sharpen those brains.”
He shot a glare at the God Stick and stalked back to his room.
Ye Chan was mortified. The worst of it? She suspected her big bro had hooked her up with the wrong guy. Sure, he matched “craftsman” and “doing fieldwork in Shaanxi,” but he’d stared at those texts stone-faced—no flicker of recognition. He clearly hadn’t understood a word, let alone absorbed the rich cultural heritage and weight behind them. How could someone like that know ancient scripts?
Still, no panic. She’d used her bro’s sponsorship cash—no real loss. Just a tad humiliating.
She turned and caught the old man tilting his chin at her, grinning from ear to ear like he expected her back soon.
Ye Chan’s neck went rigid—damn it, infuriating. Why had she fallen for this clown? What kind of master packed only a jar of pickled veggies and chili sauce? And who dove straight into reading grand destinies? That was spilling heavenly secrets—you were supposed to go blind for it!
Yet his eyes looked sharper than hers.
As she shoveled food into her mouth to soothe her wounded pride, rain lashed slantwise against the window. The storm that had been brewing finally unleashed in a roaring downpour.
The village electricity ran on rickety strung lines—voltage went haywire in weather like this. Amid the flickering lights, Gu Xianwang felt a chill crawl up her spine, like a razor-sharp gaze lancing toward her. She whipped around—only the old man sat there, pouring his own drink.
This guy was seriously odd.
He wouldn’t touch the boiled water, hauling his own three-talents bowl and a separate teapot. No dishes ordered, just pickled veggies with his tea dregs—and he seemed perfectly content.
Had she imagined it?
“Did he check your notebook and say nothing at all?”
Ye Chan had ordered a lotus-leaf bun, stuffing it with green-chili pork strips and chunks of sheep’s blood, chomping away. “Mmph, not quite. He muttered some weird stuff I couldn’t parse. All mystical nonsense: ‘Sand sifting in water, rain swaying in the fog, man walks his own road, seek not Heaven’s Gate.’ Or words to that effect—ow, hang on, this isn’t some curse, is it?”
Gu Xianwang pondered his words for a moment. There seemed to be some deeper meaning behind his refusal to seek out Heaven’s Gate.
Long Li ate a few bites in silence, then set down her chopsticks and took a sip of water. With a smile, she asked, “Want to get your money back?”
Ye Chan’s eyes lit up the moment she heard that. Convinced that Sister Long was about to stand up for her, she balled her little fists. “Yes! Yes! Wuwuwu, Sister Long, you have to back up Chan Baby! Give that Old Godstick a piece of your mind!”
“Alright.” She rose to her feet. “Wait here.”
Why was she suddenly quibbling over a hundred bucks or so? Gu Xianwang shot a sideways glance, stealing peeks at the table out of the corner of her eye.
Long Li calmly fetched two small porcelain cups from the nearby tea station and sat down across from the Master. She placed the cups upright side by side, then lifted the pot—still flecked with tea leaves—and filled them both. Neither of them exchanged a word during the process. The Master’s tea bowl cover had been resting at an angle, but once Long Li finished pouring, she reached out and straightened it with a sharp click, snapping it back into place.
The lights flickered out once more.
Yet Gu Xianwang clearly caught the old man’s pupils contracting in that instant, his eyes flashing brightly as they locked with Long Li’s.
He spoke soon after, but his voice was too soft to make out from their table. She could only vaguely read his lips: “Where do you hail from, friend?”
Whatever Long Li replied, he followed up with, “And where are you headed?”
His eyes darted about for a moment before he asked, “What sights does that Ancient Stockade hold?”
When Long Li answered, a subtle shift crossed his face. He lifted the porcelain cup facing him and drained it in one go.
After that, the old man fell utterly silent. Gu Xianwang couldn’t tell if Long Li said anything more; he simply alternated between sipping tea and refilling it, constantly fiddling with the bowl’s cover.
In the end, his expression darkened. He fished some crumpled bills from his pocket, slapped them on the table, abandoned his half-eaten meal and cooling tea, pocketed his jar of chili, and made to leave.
Long Li didn’t bother counting the money. She simply snatched it up and returned to their table.
Ye Chan swallowed the noodles bulging in her cheeks and grinned. “You really got it back?”
“Haha! That deadbeat Ye Zhen—I’ll give him an earful after dinner.” She counted out the bills and asked, “Is this guy for real? A true God Stick? He even peeked at my notebook.”
Long Li shook her head. “Nah, that’s all he had left to his name. Just scraping by for a meal. Let it slide.”
Gu Xianwang watched the old man hurry out of the restaurant. Outside, wind and rain lashed wildly; he didn’t even bother with an umbrella, striding off in haste. Hadn’t he spent his life as a God Stick haunting the jianghu crowds, taking beatings and curses in stride? So why today—just for getting called out on a phony fortune—did he suddenly care so much about saving face?
Amid the roaring downpour, the old man’s long banner suddenly listed to one side, as if he’d collided with someone. Curses followed, and moments later, four thoroughly soaked figures ducked through the door curtain—the same quartet who’d checked out that morning.
Sister A rushed over to greet them and usher them inside. The place was packed today; the only open table was the one the God Stick had just vacated.
Dripping wet, the four claimed the seats and called for a pot of hot water. Gu Xianwang overheard their chatter.
“Damn, what rotten luck. Rain holds off forever, then dumps right when it hurts. Good thing I drive like a pro, or I’d be buried under that landslide.”
Sister A asked eagerly, “What happened? Mountain road blocked?”
The young man replied, “Not the main drag—a landslide on the back path.”
“Yo, that’s rough. Glad you’re all safe.”
The one who looked like a government type chimed in, “No biggie, sis. Fry us up some spicy dishes, yeah? We’re freezing our asses off. Oh, and got any rooms free? We’ll crash another night.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll grab some towels for you to dry off.”
Gu Xianwang eyed them thoughtfully, only to meet a scrutinizing gaze from the woman in their group. Their eyes locked, neither particularly warm.
“What’s wrong?” Long Li asked.
Gu Xianwang looked away and shook her head. “Nothing. With this storm raging, when do we gear up for the Thunder Sundial?”
Long Li smiled. “No rush. Rest up first—you need it. The Thunder Sundial only works after dark. We’ve got time.”
“Then—”
“Listen to me. Finish your meal, head back to your room, and get some solid sleep. Don’t overthink it. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
…
Gu Xianwang didn’t lack the desire to sleep. She just didn’t dare.
Since that night in Suzhou, she hadn’t closed her eyes for a full day and night.
The storm had caused the temperature in the mountain hollow to plummet. With the air conditioning humming in the room, Gu Xianwang lay on the bed, her limbs heavy as lead. Still, she forced her eyelids open and flipped through the book she’d gotten from Ye Chan.
She hadn’t had time to properly read this copy of The Red and the Black before. Now that she examined it, there were hardly any signs of use inside. Though it had been published years ago, it was impeccably preserved—almost like new. Without the train ticket tucked between its pages, Gu Xianwang never would have imagined it might have once belonged to Gu Jinnian.
But… what on earth was going on? Gu Jinnian had vanished more than twenty years ago, leaving no trace behind. He hadn’t even come back to see his own daughter once, hadn’t sent so much as a single letter—let alone any money. This destitute scholar had even saddled them with a sizable debt, one that her father had driven all the way to pay off.
They had still been at Xisha Wharf in 1985, and she herself had been born in 1987. What had happened in those intervening two years? Yang Baibai had said that Yang Liu took the Yang family’s finest Turtle Pearl yet defected to the Xiang Ling faction. Gu Xianwang hadn’t realized before that her Master had gotten his start with Xiang Ling. No wonder everyone said Treasure Spotting and Xiang Ling were sworn enemies—yet this time, Master was working alongside Xiang Ling’s people.
Could it really be that something had happened between Master and her birth mother…?
Gu Xianwang clutched the train ticket and rolled over with a long sigh. “It couldn’t be, could it?”
After all, there was a whole generation between them.
An eave extended outside the window, and rain dripped steadily from it—drip, drip, drip—in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. The sound needled her nerves. Little by little, Gu Xianwang’s eyelids drooped. She simply couldn’t stay awake any longer. Reaching into her backpack beside her, she pulled out a thin cord and bound her wrist to the bedpost, leaving about fifty centimeters of slack.
Just one hour of sleep, she told herself. Don’t keep Long Li waiting…
On the far side of the mountain, thunder crashed like a rift tearing through the sky. Lightning flickered amid the clouds, and rain battered the windowpanes. Gu Xianwang stared at the wooden lattice carved with pomegranate bats, and suddenly a poem came back to her—one someone had recited to her before bed long ago.
“Painted beams see dawn clouds flying from Nanpu, pearl curtains roll up dusk rain from West Mountain.”
Her gaze shifted. The small Ancestral Hall was packed with men: young men, middle-aged men, elderly men. Some wore robes, others shirts—as if they hailed from different eras, yet they all shared similar features. Her viewpoint was low, as though she sat in a carved wooden chair. Her position was an odd one, right in the center, with every man scrutinizing her, their eyes probing as if she were some kind of specimen.
She watched their lips moving, but the words were muffled, delayed, and distorted. Straining to decipher them, she caught fragments: “We’ve never seen an illness like this before.”
“But… she never entered the Ancient Stockade.”
“Yang Liu’s death was suspicious enough.”
“She’s transforming.”
“No, she only seems to be. Every time… it stops.”
“What’s the point of arguing now? Just say it—should we throw her out?”
“What about that Mountain Record that was sent back before?”
“It’s here. Do you really think this Mountain Record is talking about the Long Family’s…”
“At the very least, it was sent out at the cost of a life.”
Mountain Record… Mountain Record?
Gu Xianwang frowned and craned her neck, desperate to hear more.
“Abyss-Locking Scale Serpent, Golden Crow Town’s Submerged Jiao. Water clouds stir Lian Zhen, one transformation brings flying bones. Dragon Tower topples into the cold pool, Earth Owl cradles golden waves. Do not let the fleshly shell suffer in vain—ascend the steps beyond Heaven’s Gate.”
This poem… she’d heard it before. Golden Crow, Submerged Jiao, Lian Zhen Star—that must be what Yang Baibai had meant by Lian Zhen.
No, she had to wake up right now. She couldn’t forget this. She had to memorize the poem and tell Long Li—
In her agitation, she tumbled from the wooden chair in the dream. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut, but the anticipated pain never came. Right—this was a dream. She was still dreaming. The raindrops felt cool against her, startlingly real. Slowly, she opened her eyes, disoriented. What old memory had she slipped into this time? Even her vision felt strange, as if the world had turned upside down. Was she just a wandering soul in this new dream?
Curiosity stirred, and the soul drifted upward. The tiled roof ahead glistened with wetness as she skimmed along at high speed. It felt like a gecko scampering across a wall—exhilarating, unbound freedom. In moments, she realized the dreamscape was the Earth Immortal Residence where they were staying: the restaurant there, the back kitchen beside it, the alley running alongside, up against the mountainside. And there…
There stood two shadowy figures.
She swam over quietly. Even with the heavy rain masking her movements, she instinctively knew not to get too close—too close, and she’d be spotted.
Crouching low along the ridge of the eaves, Gu Xianwang focused intently, tuning out the patter of rain. Beyond the wall, she could make out a man and a woman. The man sounded older, his voice agitated, while the woman stayed mostly silent, her words faint and hard to catch.
What were they arguing about?
Faintly, she picked out fragments: “Tea Bowl Formation,” “Ancient Stockade,” “thunderstorm,” “Immortal Mountain,” words like that.
Suddenly, the woman’s voice cut through clearly, achingly familiar. “What exactly does the Heavenly Book say?”
The man replied, “Quit chasin’ it. Folks who go after the Long Family or the Witch Clan never come to a good end.”
The woman said, “I’m different. This is my mission.”
The man grew more heated, his words thick with dialect, too garbled for her to follow. Then the woman murmured, “If you really want to stop those things from happening, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else. Forget it.”
Words? Writing?
She was just leaning forward for a better look when a heavy thud echoed from nearby—right by the outer wall of their room, it seemed. Drawn by the noise, Gu Xianwang quickly changed course. When she reached the spot, she found a dingy trash alley. The storm had knocked out the lights, leaving it pitch dark. Sister A stood there with a wooden club, fierce as could be beside the garbage bins. A metal trash can lay overturned in the corner, spilling household refuse everywhere, and huddled amid the pile was a man in ragged, scavenged clothes. He shielded his head on instinct.
Sister A showed no mercy. She swung that arm-thick stick down on him like he wasn’t even human. He didn’t dodge or cry out, just took it—only the dull thwacks of wood against sodden cloth and Sister A’s muttered curses filled the alley.
“Told you not to come! Told you to stay away! Don’t you come near our village! Get lost, you filthy rat! Your sister’s been dead a long time—she was a sacrifice for the Earth Immortal. Sacrifice, you hear me? Quit playin’ crazy. Wanna die? Go do it somewhere it don’t bother nobody. Get! Get outta here!”
At the word “sister,” the man finally reacted. He jerked his head up, twisting his face into a grin. She’d seen that face before—those black teeth… back in the Mist Mirage.
It was him. Him!
Ding ding ding—
The alarm shattered the silence, jolting Gu Xianwang awake.
She slapped the screen to silence it on reflex.
The room was utterly dark, no sense of time, but the nap had cleared her head nicely.
Right—that poem. She had to write it down before it slipped away.
She bolted upright, snatched her phone, and opened the notes app. The instant her finger brushed the screen, a droplet of water splattered onto her nail.
Drip. Drip.
She froze, then touched her hair.
It was wet.
Her clothes… they’d been changed? Wait, what the hell? But the cord around her wrist—
It was still there, but now tied with an extra knot.
Had she gone out?
Where?
For how long?
Who had she seen?
Had anyone seen her?
Her mind reeled. Only then did she glance at the time—the phone screen blazed midnight sharp.
Her alarm had rung dozens of times.
