Chapter 21: First Meeting with Wang Daoxuan

The special odor in the small courtyard was highly mixed.

It carried the incense scent of a land god shrine, a warmth like a solid rock, a strange earthy stench, and even a chilling chill reminiscent of the Three Talismans for Subduing Demons…

It gave the impression of being a general store.

These scents were faint, clearly indicating that even if these were items from the Daoist sects, they were not of good quality.

But this proved the man was an insider!

Li Yan’s anger turned to delight; seeing the courtyard gate wide open, he stepped inside.

The courtyard was small but meticulously clean: on the left grew a jujube tree, on the right stood a stone trough with a fish tank, where several small red fish swam merrily.

In the northwest corner hung a Bagua mirror; in the center stood a stone pedestal.

The entire courtyard gave off a refreshing, tranquil feeling.

Li Yan glanced once, and his mind was already clear.

The jujube wood represented wood, the fish tank water, the Bagua bronze mirror metal, the central stone pedestal earth to stabilize the dwelling—clearly arranged according to the Five Elements for a yang dwelling feng shui, yet missing fire.

Li Yan turned his head to survey, a smile tugging at his lips.

That spot was the kitchen, where the Kitchen God was worshipped—wasn’t that fire?

The main house of the courtyard also had its door wide open, revealing an altar table with offerings and a statue.

The statue depicted a three-eyed Daoist, holding a long sword, his robe embroidered with sun, moon, stars, and the Four Symbols: Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise—garish and ornate.

On the spirit tablet was inscribed: “The Seat of the Manifest Power of Xuan Qi, Chen Tianjun.”

Li Yan did not recognize the name, but he could sense the incense aura clinging to it—similar to that of a land shrine, faint yet more solemn.

Inside the room, a middle-aged Daoist sat upright before a low table.

The Daoist was naturally Wang Daoxuan; his attire was peculiar—he wore a plain black robe with a white short tunic, the back embroidered with Bagua symbols, a square cap on his head, and black cloth shoes with embroidered auspicious clouds.

This outfit was expensive, though washed pale, still clean.

Most striking was his appearance: slender and vigorous, with a black beard hanging to his chest, clear features, and gentle eyes—though not truly transcendent, he inspired immediate goodwill.

The Daoist held a wolf-hair brush, writing and sketching on a sheet of paper.

Opposite him sat a young man, evidently a scholar, his face etched with bitterness, brows heavy with sorrow.

Li Yan saw at a glance that this was a character-reading session.

This trade was regarded as part of the Gold Gate within the Jianghu.

The Gold Gate was the foremost of the Eight Gates, primarily consisting of nine types: fortune-telling, physiognomy, character-reading, spirit-writing, scrying, spirit-traveling, astrology, Daoist priestcraft, and Duan Gong. Hence the saying: “Nine Gold, Eighteen Skin, Seventy-Two Odd Trades.”

It was called the foremost gate because its practitioners excelled at reading expressions and were eloquent, with countless tricks. Mastering the Gold Gate’s methods allowed one to easily grasp the other eight gates.

For instance, Gold Gate techniques could be directly applied to the Skin Gate of medicine and herb sales—“Gold modifies Skin, in a morning.”

Moreover, this trade consisted of a mixture of frauds and genuine Daoist adepts; thus, Jianghu people typically treated them with courtesy.

Even the Lan Family Bandits had Eight Things They Would Not Rob, one of which was the Gold Gate.

Seeing the man was in business, Li Yan remained silent, standing outside the door.

Wang Daoxuan clearly noticed him but ignored him, setting down his brush, picking up the paper covered in writing, studying it carefully, then stroking his beard as the young man watched anxiously:

“You gave the character ‘jin.’ Jin is the world’s treasure, man’s burden; refined long, it becomes fine.”

“Judging from your birth chart, you were carefree in youth, but these past years have brought hardship, your family’s fortune declined…”

“Moreover, your recent wealth has been poor, and petty people are scheming against you…”

“Yes, yes, yes! Master is right!”

The young man nodded eagerly, full of admiration.

Li Yan watched, silently amused.

He had witnessed certain things himself, sparking interest in Daoist arts, yet he doubted fate-reading—even if fate existed, he didn’t believe mortals could glimpse the future.

Besides, he hadn’t sensed any special aura.

His father had once described this method as “tying the horse post”—meaning to firmly bind the guest before drawing him into the trap.

The young man before him was frail, hands without calluses, clothes worn but once fine—clearly a scholar fallen from privilege.

Who, if thriving, would idle away time consulting oracles?

The young man chose the character “jin”—no need to break it down; anyone could tell he was desperate for money.

As for petty people—who doesn’t have a few lurking behind them?

Li Yan saw through it but said nothing.

First, it was Jianghu custom: exposing another’s trick meant destroying their livelihood, unless it was excessively egregious.

Second, this trick was nothing unusual.

In his past life, false slogans, emotional manipulation, baiting with profit to extract capital—countless methods existed; wasn’t each one a “horse-tieing post”?

The Jianghu never changes; human nature remains the same, only the form shifts. Unless something unexpected occurred, the harvest was imminent.

Sure enough, without Wang Daoxuan needing to press further, the young man sighed, frowning: “To be honest, I’m from Xingping County; my family owned a silk shop, but we were swindled and lost everything.”

“My father died of rage, my mother wept until blind, and I failed to make anything of my studies—only now do I realize, scholars are useless.”

“My wife and child suffer with me, mocked by fellow students—I can’t go on. What should I do…”

Li Yan listened, speechless.

When people suffer, they often ramble, seeking listeners.

But this young man had laid bare his entire life—any novice could easily manipulate him.

Wasn’t this a lamb walking into a tiger’s den?

Wang Daoxuan showed no haste, his expression unchanged, listening as he stroked his beard.

After the young man finished, Wang Daoxuan studied the paper again, then spoke thoughtfully: “It’s not without solution.”

!.

The young man’s eyes lit up. “Please, Master, guide me.”

Wang Daoxuan pointed to the paper: “Look at your character ‘jin.’ The ‘ren’ atop is upright and strong—this means the solution lies in ‘ren.’”

“A benefactor?”

The young man pondered. “Master means a benefactor will help me?”

Wang Daoxuan nodded slightly. “Of course there is a benefactor—but not someone else. It is yourself.”

“Me? Impossible!”

The young man looked stunned.

Wang Daoxuan stroked his beard. “Your life faces this trial, but as the saying goes: gold is never pure, no man is perfect. True gold must be refined by fire. If you endure this trial-fire, fortune will turn. You may not become rich, but you’ll live in peace.”

“Also, the ‘ren’ atop signifies petty people suppressing your fortune—avoid them, and misfortune will depart.”

A glimmer of hope rose in the young man’s eyes; he hesitated, then asked cautiously: “Master, a yin-yang diviner came to our home, telling my mother to worship a yin immortal to change fate and protect fortune…”

“Nonsense!”

Wang Daoxuan’s eyebrows shot up. “Confucius himself said: associate with the noble, avoid the petty; revere spirits but keep your distance. It’s easy to invite a god, hard to send him away. What you’re doing is no different from inviting petty people into your home.”

“If your true gold fears the fire, what’s the difference between it and rubble?”

“Cutting your own fate is beyond salvation!”

The young man flushed with shame. “Master is right—I was wrong.”

He reached into his robe, face uneasy. “The divination fee…”

Wang Daoxuan extended three fingers, calmly: “Your fortune is blocked. I dare not take much—three copper coins. The rest, if you endure the fire, come back and pay me.”

The young man’s face lit with gratitude; he bowed deeply.

“Thank you, Master.”

He pulled out three copper coins and turned to leave.

As he stepped out, his eyes had hardened with resolve.

Li Yan watched, stunned, a respect rising within him.

Spirits cannot alter fate—only the human heart can.

He saw clearly: the young man’s fate had already shifted.

This was true guidance through confusion!

Thinking this, he strode straight in, bowed first, then smiled: “Master Wang, you tied the horse post, rang the chain of bells, yet let the lamb escape—you’re smashing your own pot.”

His spring slang served two purposes: revealing his identity and commenting on the earlier scene.

Wang Daoxuan laughed heartily, rising and shaking his head. “My words can decide life or death, accumulate merit—I dare not act lightly.”

“Besides, this thin lamb yields little fat—no need to take it.”

Li Yan nodded slightly. “Master is benevolent.”

Yet Wang Daoxuan seemed not to hear his praise; he glanced at Li Yan’s sword, then out the window, sighing: “Last night I dreamed of evil ghosts clinging to me; today I saw magpies carrying flowers—I knew someone would come, but whether fortune or misfortune, I cannot divine.”

“A swordsman arrives—does someone seek my life?”

“Master, please don’t misunderstand.”

Li Yan bowed quickly. “I have a question to ask—if you can resolve my dilemma, I will repay you handsomely!”

At this moment, his spiritual powers were out of control—he had no time to think of the Lu family matter.

Wang Daoxuan secretly exhaled, stroking his beard with a smile. “Are you here to consult a divination or choose feng shui?”

Li Yan spoke gravely: “What is a Cold Altar’s Wild Soldier?”

Upon hearing this, Wang Daoxuan nearly pulled out his beard, his face changing color:

“Sir—who exactly are you?!”

(End of Chapter)