Chapter Six: Accepting a Master

“All right, we’ve been walking for so long and still haven’t seen a soul—most likely, nothing’s wrong.” The old Taoist was panting heavily, and even with Shen Chang’an supporting him, he truly couldn’t take another step.

Shen Chang’an stopped as well. With a breath of innate energy within him, he didn’t feel particularly tired after all this distance.

“You, with such a strong body, why don’t you learn martial arts?” the old Taoist grumbled.

Shen Chang’an hung his head in silence, unable to find a place to start his explanation.

The old Taoist wasn’t one to pry, so when he saw Shen Chang’an refusing to answer, he merely shook his head and went on. “We were lucky this time. That mongrel was probably out on his own business. Otherwise, there’d have been more than one of those Exorcist Bureau officers…”

Before he could finish, Shen Chang’an interrupted, “Isn’t this just bad luck for us?”

The old Taoist paused, then forced a bitter smile. “True enough. If he’d been with his colleagues, would he have dared to attack us so recklessly?”

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Child, what are your plans for the future?”

Shen Chang’an frowned. Along this journey, he’d remained dazed and confused, knowing nothing of this world. Forget about slaying demons and monsters—just surviving felt like a challenge.

“I… I don’t know…” he murmured, his eyes full of bewilderment.

The old Taoist had planned to part ways with Shen Chang’an as soon as he stated his purpose, never to cross paths again. He hadn’t expected Shen Chang’an to answer with “I don’t know,” which caught his words in his throat.

He was a kindhearted man—had he not been, he wouldn’t have risked his life to save Shen Chang’an earlier. Seeing the boy like this, his compassion stirred anew.

“Well… forget it. If you don’t know what to do, just follow me for now.”

Shen Chang’an turned, his gaze blank as he looked at the old Taoist. After a long moment, he moved his lips and spoke slowly, “Thank you, Master.”

The old Taoist waved him off with a sigh. “We’re all people with hard lives; no need for thanks. Go gather some wood for a fire—there’s a ruined temple up ahead. We’ll rest there tonight.”

They’d been traveling since morning, now dusk was falling, and it would soon be night. They couldn’t continue wandering aimlessly.

“But… I don’t have an axe…”

All he had was a goose-feather blade, which wasn’t meant for chopping wood; he feared he’d ruin it.

The old Taoist shot him a puzzled glance. “With all that innate energy in you, you could chop wood empty-handed. What do you need an axe for?”

“Innate energy?” Shen Chang’an asked, confused.

The old Taoist frowned deeply, realizing that this young man before him seemed ignorant even of the most basic things.

…

“So, the technique I use to feed off energy—what I draw in is innate energy?”

“Of course! If it were ordinary energy, how could you go without food? Look at those martial artists—not only can’t they fast, but the more advanced their skills, the more extravagant their diet. You’re lucky, having a divine technique for feeding on energy. If word got out, people would be green with envy.”

Late at night, the two of them sat around a campfire, discussing these matters.

“Innate energy is that powerful? But when I fought earlier, I didn’t seem as strong as that Exorcist Bureau officer.”

“If you smash jade with a stone, the jade can still shatter. Does that make the stone as valuable as the jade?”

…

Through the old Taoist’s instruction, Shen Chang’an began to appreciate the value of innate energy. The ability to fast was one of the seventy-two divine abilities, but its true meaning wasn’t merely to stave off hunger—it was to be able to consume innate energy.

“To return to the origin, to transform energy into the innate, that’s what we call spiritual power. Unfortunately, you, boy, have spiritual power but no magical skills or arts. No matter how much power you have, it’s only enough to bully ordinary people.”

Shen Chang’an understood this well. Earlier, when the old Taoist asked him to chop wood, he’d assumed Shen Chang’an would at least know some basic magical skill like fetching objects from afar. But it turned out Shen Chang’an couldn’t even guide his power; it would only surge into his limbs on its own when he acted, yielding a bit of effect.

He glanced at the old Taoist, cleared his throat, and said, “So, Master, could you teach me some of your talismanic arts?”

The old Taoist gave him a sidelong look. “The teachings of Green Mound Temple are not to be handed out lightly. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘the law is not lightly taught’?”

Shen Chang’an’s enthusiasm faded; he’d only hoped for a chance. But, of course, the arts and spells that formed the foundation of a sect couldn’t be taught at whim.

Resigned, he lay down, turned his back, and prepared to sleep.

But then, the old Taoist spoke again, slowly, “Although Green Mound Temple isn’t a great or famous sect, it is recognized by the Grand Qian dynasty. A sect must have its rules; these arts can only be taught to disciples.”

At this, Shen Chang’an understood at once.

He sprang up, knelt respectfully, and said, “Master, please accept your disciple Chang’an’s bow.”

The old Taoist nodded, stroking his beard. “A teachable lad. You have a keen mind. To accept you as a disciple does no dishonor to Green Mound Temple. Pity about the humble surroundings—other formalities can wait. From now on, you are my disciple.”

Shen Chang’an asked eagerly, “Master, can you teach me the arts now?”

The old Taoist’s face darkened. “You don’t even know your master’s name and you’re already asking to learn the arts?”

“Oh,” Shen Chang’an replied. “So, Master, what’s your name?”

The old Taoist answered, “I am the sixth-generation successor of Green Mound Temple. My secular name is Zhou Hui; my Taoist name is Wuyouzi.”

“Greetings, Master,” Shen Chang’an said, bowing again. Then, unable to help himself, he pressed, “So… can you teach me now?”

The old Taoist was nearly cross-eyed with exasperation. “Sleep! We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

…

Shen Chang’an’s spiritual power had come to him unearned, so he didn’t appreciate its value, but the old Taoist did. Anyone whose spiritual power generated itself was a rare prodigy; with the right teachings, such a person’s future would be limitless.

He’d previously assumed Shen Chang’an must have a sect, seeing the power within him, so he hadn’t considered taking him as a disciple. But once he realized Shen Chang’an was utterly ignorant, he understood he’d found an undiscovered gem.

A man like him, naturally, cherished talent. Green Mound Temple had few people left in his generation—if he didn’t take in two or three disciples, who would see him off when he died?

With this in mind, the old Taoist decided to make Shen Chang’an his disciple. If those grand sects knew about such a promising student, they’d fight over him; today, fortune had favored him, and the old Taoist secretly rejoiced.

Both of them, filled with anticipation, slept fitfully. When midnight came, a sudden rush of footsteps outside startled them awake.

“Master, what’s going on? Has the Exorcist Bureau tracked us down?”

Wuyouzi’s nearly healed wound almost split open again. He glared at Shen Chang’an. “Mind your tongue! Green Mound Temple isn’t some evil sect like the White Lotus; we’re registered Taoists, understand?”

Shen Chang’an thought for a moment, then nodded. “Got it. What happened during the day has nothing to do with us.”

Still seeing his master’s glare, Shen Chang’an amended, “Nothing happened at all today.”

Only then did the old Taoist look satisfied. “Good. Just keep quiet and let me handle them.”

As they spoke, the people outside arrived. From nearby, a voice called, “Who’s inside?”

Both Shen Chang’an and the old Taoist were surprised—these weren’t Exorcist Bureau officers.

The old Taoist had told Shen Chang’an earlier how the Bureau operated: if it had been them, they wouldn’t bother asking questions—they’d barge in at best, and the more violent ones wouldn’t even let you speak before arresting you. Resist, and you might pay with your life.

But these people were merely asking who was inside.

The old Taoist hesitated, then replied, “I am but a wandering Taoist, passing through and stopping here for the night.”

“A Taoist?” the voice outside was surprised, then asked, “Do you have your registration papers?”

“I do.”

With a creak, the door to the ruined temple swung open.

Several men in official garb entered, glancing around. Seeing only Wuyouzi and Shen Chang’an, they looked disappointed.

“Your papers. Let me see them.”

The old Taoist fetched two documents from his bundle and handed them over.

The officer flipped through them casually, then looked at them. “You’re Wuyou?”

The old Taoist nodded.

“And you’re Ling Xiao?”

Since the old Taoist had handed over two sets of documents, Shen Chang’an figured one must be his. When the officer questioned him, he nodded without hesitation.

After checking their papers and finding nothing amiss, the officer returned them and warned, “It’s been unsettled lately—a demon is causing trouble in the city. If you two have any skills, perhaps you could come and assist us.”

The old Taoist nodded promptly. “If I’m able, I won’t refuse.”

“In that case, we won’t disturb your rest further. Let’s go.”

Once the officials had left, the old Taoist looked at Shen Chang’an. “Chang’an, are you still sleepy?”

Shen Chang’an perked up immediately. Was his master about to go slay demons?

“Of course not! We could set out right now—”

“Precisely, we’ll leave right now. With demons in this city, it’s not safe. Come on, we mustn’t stay here.”

Shen Chang’an’s excitement froze on his face, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, until only one remained:

“Did I… choose the wrong master…?”