Chapter 345: Inspiration Succeeds Greatly

Throwing out poverty and welcoming wealth is a fairly formal occasion, but unlike major festivals like the Kitchen God Offering or Spring Festival, this day is primarily practical in nature.

According to traditional custom, starting from New Year’s Eve, households must not dispose of garbage, and this restriction lasts until the fourth day, when poverty is cast out.

The origin of this custom is lost to history, but the prevailing modern explanation is that throwing out garbage during the New Year would also discard the household’s fortune, so one must wait until a specific moment to rid oneself of both misfortune and poverty.

In essence, it’s merely a collective act of discarding household waste.

Yet due to the influence of folk custom and collective willpower, this practice gradually solidified into a fixed ritual, and Daoist cultivators also perform various rites on this day solely to prevent the discarded “poverty qi” from spreading uncontrollably and harming the local economy.

But Feng Xue naturally didn’t care much about such matters—he was studying the overnight revised edition of Xiao Lingdang’s “Xuanwu Cantongqi,” which had changed from “Tongxiu Qi” to “Cantongqi” because it was no longer merely about Xuanwu’s co-cultivation, but now involved the Threefold Cultivation of the Xuanwu Deity.

“Cantong” means both “to reference” and “the Three Methods Cultivated Together”; the word “Deity” was omitted because this divine path is mystical when viewed through Daoist eyes, martial when viewed through Wu Xiu eyes—a single “Tong” suffices to encapsulate it.

Though still a standard standing posture, Feng Xue now held a jade seal in each hand; the pre-adjusted proportions of Qi and willpower slowly stirred, merged, and flowed into his mind-sea along with his blood and Qi, refilling his emptied magical reservoir.

The newly generated magical energy offered no decisive advantage in spellcasting—its only real benefit was slightly greater controllability—but for Feng Xue’s undisciplined, lowly spirit, it still paled compared to the precise control of a Dao-initiated cultivator, and if he used spell-unit artifacts, this nimbleness would be useless anyway.

Fortunately, Feng Xue knew he sought “cultivating method,” not “combat method”; the magical energy he cultivated was not the goal, but a bridge to the next step.

Undeniably, the Wu Xiu manuals Bai Yi had found each had unique traits—some were internal arts like Cold Ice Force or Crimson Sun Force, others were heart methods guiding defensive Qi through different meridians to grant specific physical enhancements, and when combined with Feng Xue’s already comprehended Five Elements Qi and Ying-Wei Circulation system, his physical improvement was imminent.

After completing the stance practice, Feng Xue wiped the fine sweat from his forehead and looked up—he could see a dark, heavy qi churning above the city, not fierce or dangerous, but resembling the accumulated smoke from coal-burning chimneys on winter days from his childhood.

“Is this poverty qi? It’s truly impressive! But how do you handle this stuff? Where do you send it?”

Feng Xue was curious about this grand spectacle, even harboring a dangerous thought—

“What if I had Gidora swallow all this poverty qi and unleash the Dragon God’s true form—what effect would that have?”

“Don’t even think about it!” Mo Ying’s voice suddenly cut in. Feng Xue chuckled: “Naturally. If you knowingly approach poverty qi, aren’t you just begging for bad luck?”

As he spoke, he prepared to end his Qi-sight technique—but at that moment, a thick black smoke violently burst through the dark clouds, unleashing a chilling aura.

“What’s happening?”

Fortunately, Feng Xue had already shut off his Qi-sight, but even that fleeting glimpse caused his eyes to sting and his skull to buzz.

Already in a state of spiritual-physical disharmony from absorbing willpower, this sudden shock sent him crouching on the ground, tears streaming uncontrollably from his squinted eyes.

Fortunately, after recognizing the risks of absorbing willpower, Feng Xue had prepared a countermeasure—he immediately pulled a Qingxin Charm from his pocket, poured magical energy into it, and began casting it on himself nonstop.

The charm had no effect on spiritual-physical disharmony, but it effectively calmed mental shock; Feng Xue’s spirit had merely been shaken, and after casting over a dozen Qingxin Charms, he finally recovered.

“You scared me to death!” Liu Yunxi rushed out the moment she sensed his distress, sighed in relief, and reached to help him up, ready to lead him inside to rest.

But Feng Xue sharply halted her motion, frowning as he stared toward the direction where the turbid will had erupted—

“Xiao Lingdang, pull up the harbor city map—find out what’s at the location where the turbid will exploded!”

“Understood, Master.” Xiao Lingdang’s voice sounded from his smart wristwatch, and a 3D map of the harbor city materialized.

Feng Xue’s consciousness linked with Xiao Lingdang; even that fleeting impression was instantly marked on the map—

“Report, Master: the target area is near Shenshuigang in Harbor City, located on land. Here is the surrounding building and population distribution.”

Lines of text appeared beside the map; Feng Xue studied the annotations and quickly noticed something odd—

“Dragon King Temple? (Note ①)”

Actually, it was normal for ports to venerate the Dragon King; under different circumstances or locations, Feng Xue wouldn’t have thought twice—but not long ago, he’d noticed that storytellers on both Yangrenjie and Miaojie were simultaneously telling tales mocking the Dragon King!

“So those storytellers were indeed orchestrated? No, probably not—it’s more likely someone hired them specifically to tell these tales, no grand plan needed; just toss a few coins and ask them to perform a segment. For entertainers in this era, it’s common—whether it’s Nezha causing chaos in the sea or the Eight Immortals crossing the sea, if you pay enough, they’ll even spit lotus flowers or perform martial sword tales!”

Feng Xue couldn’t say he was slow to realize—it was simply that he never thought a group of storytellers could generate such an impact.

But now, looking back, he found it all too familiar—why?

“Isn’t this the Exorcism Spell?”

Feng Xue smirked; upon reflection, aside from the entertainment medium shifting from livestreaming to storytelling, this was nearly an exact replica of his actions in the He Concession.

Hearing the words “Exorcism Spell,” Liu Yunxi also realized—she gazed at the massive vortex stretching from earth to sky and frowned:

“So someone’s trying to summon a Dragon King phantom deity? But why? Surely they don’t have a seed of faith too?”

“Maybe it’s a suicide attack?”

Feng Xue recalled the water-vein willpower from the Japanese man’s mind and immediately remembered the previous divination verse—he said:

“Let’s go. Pack up. We’re leaving!”

“Wait, are we crossing again?” Liu Yunxi’s face darkened. She’d already converted her debt to equity—couldn’t she at least settle her accounts? Otherwise, if they vanished again, she’d be mistaken for a runaway bill-payer!

Hearing this, Feng Xue shook his head:

“What are you thinking? Didn’t you forget what Xiao Lingdang calculated? Rigidity breaks easily—we must cling to the righteous path! Gather our gear. We’re going to Chenghuangmiao!”

(End of Chapter)