Chapter 34: The Master-Apprentice Ceremony

Inside the Banship Hall, the Baishi ceremony, though seemingly elaborate, had already reached its end.

The ancestral master of the monastery is called the Banship Daoist.

Lin Jue and the girl knelt on cushions before the ancestral master’s statue, their expressions solemn.

A colorful lynx lay lazily at the master’s feet, watching their actions with curiosity, yet growing bored, already yawning.

Yunhe Daoist stood at the very front.

“From today, you two are the twelfth-generation successors of Fuqiu Monastery. Though I met Qingyao first, you only formally became my disciples now. As for our connection, Lin Jue came first—so you two will rank by age: Lin Jue is the senior brother, Qingyao the junior sister.”

“Disciple understands.”

Lin Jue said calmly.

“Disciple understands.”

The girl behind him followed his lead.

Seven Daoists sat on either side.

At first glance, these seven seemed normal, but the first middle-aged Daoist on the left—the eldest brother—had mud caked all over his feet, likely just returned from digging soil; one was half-asleep; one reeked of alcohol; one tilted his head, playing with the tail of an orange cat beside him, looking even more bored than the cat on the altar.

Only Yunhe Daoist’s expression was most solemn.

“Our monastery cultivates Yin-Yang Spirit Art, walking the Yin-Yang Dao. In addition, our ancestral master left seven arts behind: alchemy, Bean Soldiers, Beast Taming and Bird Calling, medicine, spirit board, illusion arts, and Crushed Stone.”

“As our disciples traveled the world and made connections, our monastery’s arts have long since expanded far beyond these seven, yet we still uphold tradition by making these seven the core.”

“Thus, throughout our history, each generation has typically taken only eight disciples: the first, who will inherit Fuqiu Monastery, must master all seven; the other seven each specialize in—and are required to master—one of them.”

“This is an accident—I came down the mountain intending to take only one final disciple, but then I met you two.”

The old Daoist scanned them with his gaze:

“Though we break protocol, we must still honor the ancestral tradition. I am old now, my health declining, and teaching two at once is taxing. One of you must inherit the final art—Crushed Stone—under my direct instruction; the other may learn anything: seek out your senior brothers, come to me, or even learn Crushed Stone with me.”

“Is there anyone willing?”

The old Daoist asked them.

At last, the Baishi ceremony had reached a moment where they themselves must decide.

Everyone knew being personally taught by the master was better—so this “willingness” was not about volunteering to learn, but about volunteering to give up the chance.

The girl remained silent, head bowed.

Yet Lin Jue felt her eyes were secretly glancing at him.

“...”

Lin Jue couldn’t help but smile.

No wonder this girl had been so diligent and competitive since the start—always rushing to do the hard, tiring tasks alongside him. She met the master a few days before him; she likely already knew or guessed these details, and perhaps from that moment began vying to outshine this “senior brother.”

It was only natural.

Perhaps she thought his own actions—gathering firewood, lighting fires, fetching water, asking directions—were motivated by the same ambition.

Later, she had even begun competing with him.

Recalling how she often watched him, how she gritted her teeth to keep pace as he climbed, how she, stunned by his strength when he moved a boulder washed down by summer rain, gritted her own teeth and pushed with all her might to shift another stone, often exhausting herself—Lin Jue suddenly found it amusing.

What a clever little girl.

But why would he compete with her?

“Master, my junior sister is younger—please let her inherit the Crushed Stone art and your direct instruction.”

“Are you certain?”

Yunhe Daoist’s voice came from ahead.

“I’ve decided.”

Lin Jue glanced sideways.

Just then, he met the girl’s startled gaze.

She seemed utterly incredulous.

Lin Jue couldn’t help thinking—

What is this girl thinking now? Does she think I’m pretending humility to gain favor? Or is she wondering why I competed with her on the road if I was going to give up this chance?

“Good! This is the true spirit of Fuqiu Monastery!” Yunhe Daoist said. “Then choose any one of the seven arts—or another, if you wish—but you must learn one of the seven. Pick your art and find the senior brother who teaches it. If you have questions, come to me. Though I am older and have trained longer, my studies are scattered—I may not surpass your senior brothers in any single art.”

“Disciple understands.”

“Good lad,” said one senior brother—the one reeking of alcohol, as if hungover—“My Bean Soldiers can turn beans into soldiers. If you want to learn that, come see me tomorrow afternoon. If you want wine, come see me too. Don’t come in the morning—I’m still asleep.”

“If you want to learn alchemy, come find me.”

Several senior brothers spoke up, all seeming eager.

“Thank you, all my senior brothers.”

Lin Jue sincerely thanked them.

“By tradition, once you enter the Daoist path, you take a Daoist name. If it’s two characters, insert one in the middle; if three, change the middle one. We are the Spirit Art sect—seen by the Talisman and Elixir sects as a wild branch, so our rules are looser, but we still take one.”

The old Daoist continued, waving his hand to knock the lynx off the ancestral master’s statue:

“This year, the character is ‘Fang.’

“Your name is Lin Jue—your Daoist name is Lin Fangjue.

“Qingyao’s Daoist name is Liu Fangyao.

“Remember it—no one calls you by it normally, we don’t write green or blue incantations, so it’s unnecessary.”

“As for your Daoist titles, you’ll choose them yourselves—when you’re older, your cultivation has matured, your deeds, your heart, your achievements are clear to you—then choose based on them.”

The old Daoist waved his hand.

“The Baishi ceremony is over. There are two rooms—choose one each. Robes will be made for you by a tailor in town in a few days. Two meals a day—morning and evening—follow the bell. Every morning before dawn, come to Banship Hall for morning recitation. If I have other matters, or if I wish to teach you arts or doctrines, I’ll come for you. Otherwise, your eldest brother will instruct you.”

“Understood.”

“Understood!”

The girl still copied Lin Jue, but her tone was more earnest.

The old Daoist turned and walked inside.

The senior brothers did not disperse; they rose and gathered around the two new disciples, staring at them as if they were curiosities.

“Do you remember our names?”

“How old are you?”

“How did the master find and take you as disciples?”

“Quiet, quiet—don’t scare the new disciples,” said the eldest brother, Lu Wu, his expression gentle. “Ignore them. Come with me—choose your rooms.”

Fuqiu Monastery had more dormitories than guest halls, located on both sides of the monastery. The senior brothers had cleared two:

One was a proper dormitory—according to the old Daoist’s words, Fuqiu Monastery’s tradition was fixed: one master and eight disciples, so the number of dormitories was fixed. This room was noticeably finer, containing a bed, wardrobe, bookshelf, desk, chair, and hooks for hanging clothes—comfortable to live in.

The other was like a converted guest hall, holding only a bed and a makeshift eight-legged table.

“Choose for yourselves.”

The eldest brother left the choice to them.

But what was there to choose?

The junior sister looked at Lin Jue, eyes wide, lips parted—she was about to offer him the better room—when Lin Jue, book satchel on his back, walked straight into the second room.

“Alright, you take this one. But don’t rush—need any tools? Ask your sixth brother—he’ll make them for you on the spot, maybe even better than what’s in our rooms,” said the eldest brother. “Don’t worry about bothering him—he loves mortise-and-tenon carpentry; it’s his joy.”

“Just come find me.”

Said a Daoist who looked to be in his twenties.

“Thank you.”

Before the Baishi , the old Daoist had named each senior brother.

The sixth brother was Huang Shiyu, specializing in spirit board.

The second brother was Yan Xuan Yi, quiet in demeanor, specializing in alchemy; the third brother was Li Miaolin, reeking of alcohol, specializing in Bean Soldiers; the fourth brother was Hu Mengjin, specializing in Beast Taming and Bird Calling—apparently, the cloud leopard sleeping in the monastery was his friend;

The fifth brother, Jing Qi, studied medicine—no one knew how it differed from the ordinary physicians in town; the seventh brother was Le You, specializing in illusion arts;

“We’re brothers—no need for formalities.”

The eldest brother told them more about monastery rules, the Spirit Art sect, where the dining hall and kitchen were, how to address and bow to pilgrims and other Daoists, and what daily tasks they must perform. He didn’t speak long, but everything was detailed.

The other senior brothers stayed nearby, watching them—clearly, the monastery’s atmosphere was not cold.

Lin Jue, calm and composed, remembered it all.

The girl, like any child arriving at a strange place, felt uneasy and anxious, so she remembered nothing—only pretended to.

“Rest now.”

“Remember—the bell rings at night for meals.”

The senior brothers finally dispersed.

Lin Jue and the junior sister exchanged a glance, smiled faintly, then returned to their rooms.

He set his book satchel against the wall, glanced around, took out several books—including ancient texts—and placed them under his pillow; he laid his firewood axe and staff against the wall; his clothes were folded neatly beside the pillow; the remaining dried rations went on the eight-legged table. With a few personal belongings now present, the humble room felt less alien, more comforting.

What was wrong with living here?

It was far more spacious than his room in Shu Village.

Lin Jue simply lay down on the bed.

Yet his mind couldn’t help turning over thoughts.

Cultivating the Dao didn’t seem simple—there were chores here too—but still, it was infinitely better than wandering alone, terrified, searching for the path with no foundation, no home.

But according to his new master, his life had only a few years left. And Fuqiu Monastery’s tradition was: once the master died, the other disciples had to leave the mountain—no one knew what paths awaited them, except that only the eldest could stay to inherit the monastery, become its abbot, and take his own disciples to pass on Fuqiu’s arts.

So, by this calculation, he could stay on the mountain for several years.

Since you're here, make peace with it.

Lin Jue resolved to master all of Fuxiu Temple’s cultivation methods and spells within these few years.