Chapter 14: Problems Solvable with Money Aren

Leaving Lan’s Pharmacy, Feng Xue slung his heavy pack over his shoulders but had no intention of finding an inn to set it down; though the county seemed peacefully simple, he couldn’t shake a sense of unreality.

How to put it? It felt like watching a screenwriter who’d flunked history depict some coastal town from ancient times as prosperous and peaceful—utterly defying common sense.

So even though everything so far suggested the people of this county were simple and honest, the instinctive distrust ingrained in him toward eras resembling the Blood Bowl period made him choose to carry his belongings on his back, no matter how tired it made him.

Now that he’d met Doctor Lan, Feng Xue pondered briefly, then decided to visit the mortuary first.

First, he had a clear address: “North Gate Mortuary.” Second, “Daoist Priest” sounded more credible than “shamaness,” especially since this one bore the surname Qian.

Though Feng Xue wasn’t the type to discriminate by surname, years of watching movies and TV dramas had conditioned him to assume people surnamed Qian were greedy; add the title of Daoist Priest, and his mind automatically conjured a figure who “took money and worked hard to avert disaster.”

Problems solvable with money aren’t problems—since his transmigration, Feng Xue deepened his understanding of this saying nearly every day.

In Yingzhou, where mahjong was played with real cash, he could’ve easily become a gambling god or mahjong saint thanks to his cheat ability, amassing piles of bills—but he still chose to gamble on luck, for he knew his streak of drawing pure Nine Lotus was pure fortune, and he couldn’t guarantee it would ever happen again.

Living is about peace of mind; rather than spending every day in mahjong halls just to grind for nine more years of life, Feng Xue preferred to take the gamble.

Walking north along the street, Feng Xue soon spotted a relatively dilapidated district—not a slum, but one with far fewer people than Chengnan; only children played on the roads, presumably because the adults were at work.

“Kid, do you know where the mortuary is?”

He stopped a child who was screaming and sprinting, pulled out a fruit hard candy from his emergency sugar stash, and handed it over; the child stared at the candy, immediately pointed farther down the road, and chirped in a high-pitched voice—

“Go a bit further that way—my mom won’t let me play over there.”

“Thanks! Here, remember to peel off the wrapper!”

Feng Xue gave the candy to the child, who hesitated, then took it—but didn’t eat it, instead shoving it into his pocket.

Feng Xue didn’t ask why; he simply followed the direction the child indicated, and as the surrounding houses grew sparse, he finally saw what must be the mortuary.

It was a courtyard that looked classical at first glance, but upon closer inspection revealed brick-and-tile construction with glass windows—a “fake-ancient” structure; paired with the barren wilderness around it and the broken bricks and tiles visible in the corners, it radiated a chilling aura.

“This place is full of yin energy!”

“Alright, so it’s not an illusion.”

Hearing Bai Guang mutter suddenly, Feng Xue internally sighed and gently stroked the scale on his ring:

“You’ve been silent this whole time—I thought you’d fallen asleep!”

“You dragged me to a place like this and wonder why I’m quiet?” Bai Guang’s voice sharpened abruptly; Feng Xue had no idea which trigger he’d hit, so he cautiously asked:

“What place? The herbalist who’s an outma immortal? The gentlest White Immortal? Even your fox spirit grandmother became a protective spirit!”

“How can that be the same? That’s a hedgehog! It’s terrifying for snakes! When she looked at me, I thought I’d be eaten!” Bai Guang cried in fear; Feng Xue was speechless—how to put it…

“I just don’t get your animal fears.”

To humans, isn’t the snake the more terrifying creature between a snake and a hedgehog?

After Feng Xue said that, Bai Guang shut down again; Feng Xue was used to it by now. He paused briefly at the gate, saw no “Master knew you’d come” scene, then knocked three times on the door ring.

“Tap! Tap! Tap!”

The dull clang echoed—even in daylight, Feng Xue felt a chilling dread.

Soon, footsteps approached; resisting the urge to leap over the wall with a bird’s-eye view, Feng Xue waited quietly for a few seconds, then the heavy door creaked open on wooden hinges.

“Sir, are you…?”

The young man who opened the door wore a long robe with two pockets on the chest; the silver chain extending from his collar to one pocket suggested a pocket watch.

He was slightly handsome but carried an air of gloom—not malicious or cruel, but as if he hadn’t slept for days, yet without dark circles. Crucially, in Feng Xue’s over-the-shoulder view, this young man had only twenty years of yang life left.

The youth looked barely twenty; such a short lifespan immediately made Feng Xue question Qian Daoist’s abilities.

But then he recalled how Doctor Lan had mentioned xuan cultivation: “nourishing the spirit with blood and qi,” “spirit feedback”—so he politely said:

“Hello, I’m here to see Master Qian.”

“I’m sorry, my master is attending to a yin tomb and won’t return for a couple of days. If you have a message, I’ll pass it on.”

The youth stood at the door, offering no invitation to enter; given this was a mortuary, it made sense.

Feng Xue felt no disappointment—on the contrary, he was pleased; a young man was far easier to manipulate than a retired old Daoist.

He weighed his options internally, then said aloud:

“So you’re Master Qian’s top disciple—I’m sure you’re also a high-level xuan cultivator!”

“No, no!” The young man clearly wasn’t used to flattery; though he protested, his lips already twitched upward.

Just then, another voice came from within the courtyard—

“Brother, did Master forget something… oh, who’s this?”

A figure stepped into Feng Xue’s view; this one was two years younger, dressed in unranked Daoist acolyte robes, his gloom less intense, and his life span…

“Fifteen thousand—about forty years. Not much, but definitely not little.” Feng Xue quickly calculated, then said:

“I want to learn xuan cultivation techniques, but I have no access. I heard Master Qian is a great master—I don’t ask to become his disciple, only to be given a path to study. I’m quite wealthy; once successful, I’ll repay you handsomely!”

“Ah…?” The older youth looked startled; the younger one had already reached the door and shook his head:

“Our master isn’t here—he won’t return for two or three days. Come back then!”

“So he’s not money-driven?” Feng Xue muttered inwardly, wondering whether to invite them to the county’s finest restaurant to flaunt his wealth—when the older youth suddenly spoke up:

“What are you saying? Master said guests from afar must be treated well—look at how heavy his pack is! He traveled far; let him rest, have a drink!”

Hearing this, Feng Xue suppressed his smile, but thought inwardly—

“This might work!”

Regarding the issue of repeatedly drawing Nine Lotus.

It’s possible, but not nearly as simple as it seems. The protagonist drew it not because he cheated, but because he was lucky. Pure Nine Lotus cannot be drawn through cheating.

The probability is less than one in 220,000—meaning, out of 220,000 mahjong games, only one might yield pure Nine Lotus Lantern.

At five minutes per game (a half-round, or two circles, is about half an hour; five minutes per single game isn’t long, even with net mahjong’s burning tiles—face mahjong’s bladder games aren’t unheard of), four people playing nonstop would need over two years.

But humans can’t eat, drink, or sleep endlessly; add the need to find partners, set up games, and account for mahjong hall conditions, even one-quarter of the day spent playing is ideal. In other words, if the protagonist wanted to extend his life via Nine Lotus Lantern, he’d have to play mahjong day and night, endlessly chasing Nine Lotus—this method of extending life is worse than just dying; at least then he’d have nine years to enjoy freely.

The same applies to other curses: most lifespan curses cause rapid, immediate death, because people rarely wish “may someone die in ten years”—they wish “die now.” Thus, curses usable for life extension are rare, with uncertain triggers, making them hard to activate.

As for the protagonist drawing it in just days—it’s pure luck, and I’ve stated he prepared for failure; if he hadn’t drawn it by his self-imposed deadline, he’d have gambled on luck anyway.





(End of Chapter)