Chapter 1: Seeking the Dragon

Though distant, Yongzhou has long been a land where tigers lie hidden and dragons coiled.

According to the “Tang History: Gazetteer of Yongzhou,” Yongzhou is “where mountains are strange and waters swift, producing many extraordinary individuals.”

Folk tales say: barren mountains and cruel waters breed cunning folk.

Yongzhou, Feng Yuanjun, Ye County.

Ye County lies backed by Min Mountain and faces Tonghe River; steep ridges divide this small county into fragments. Though the mountains are not tall, they are perilously sharp—some villages lie only a few dozen li apart, yet separated by a single ridge, so villagers rarely meet in their lifetimes.

Two figures appeared on the winding mountain path: a young scholar and his servant, seemingly twelve or thirteen years old. The scholar’s robe, though clean, was faded from washing, and discreet patches hid in unnoticeable places. Though he looked impoverished, his face was refined and pale, his posture straight and proud—bearing the dignity of a scholar.

The master and servant appeared to stroll leisurely; the scholar occasionally paused to gaze around, as if admiring the scenery. Yet their pace, though slow in appearance, was swift in truth—in no time they had climbed from mid-mountain to the summit, leaving behind the several li of path that normally took half an hour to traverse.

Standing atop the summit, the surrounding dozens of li lay plainly before them. The scholar surveyed the rolling mountains and the small valley below, sighing: “Had I not come here myself, how could I have known that clouds and winds have already gathered here? I prepared ten years to seek the dragon—and already in the first year, I find a harvest.”

The servant also studied the terrain, puzzled: “This place is a remote backwater, with shallow waters and barren peaks—barely enough for a minor fortune. How could there be a true dragon?”

The scholar pointed to the small valley ahead: “That is the Dragon Pool. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it.”

“Such a tiny Dragon Pool—how large could the dragon be?”

The scholar replied coolly: “Others seek dragons to serve them, greedy for the glory of aiding a dragon. The truly great seek to awaken and transform dragons. I am different—I merely borrow this dragon, use it, then discard it. Size matters not.”

The scholar pointed toward the small town in the valley: “The clouds and winds have only just begun to gather; the heavenly mechanism has not yet stirred. Thus, the dragon’s aura must be buried deep. Finding it will take effort. Let us first go to that town.”

The scholar took a step—and suddenly stood several zhang away. In no time, he descended the mountain and walked onto the path leading to the town.

Less than two li from the town stood a large mansion, surrounded by green stone walls, over ten feet high, with tall corner towers where retainers stood holding clubs. As the scholar and his servant passed the gate, they saw a steward in servant’s garb, accompanied by several retainers, handing out coins to passersby.

The steward spotted the scholar, his eyes brightening, and bowed: “Sir, where do you come from? May I ask your name?”

The scholar returned the bow: “I am Zhang Sheng, traveling the world to pursue learning, and happen to pass by your estate. Is there some joyous occasion here?”

The steward replied: “My master’s surname is Wei. Who in the county does not know Master Wei Youcai, the great benefactor? Today, my master’s fourth wife is in labor, so he ordered me to distribute coins to passersby to invite good fortune. You’ve arrived at the perfect moment—someone, bring the tray!”

A retainer stepped forward with a tray of copper coins. The steward shoved him aside: “Don’t you see this is a scholar?”

The steward called another retainer, who brought a lacquered tray bearing brush, ink, and a money pouch. The steward lifted the pouch and offered it. Zhang Sheng weighed it in his hand—the pouch contained loose silver, a full liang.

“Why this?” Zhang Sheng did not take the pouch. He had clearly seen the steward give others only a few copper coins.

The steward said: “My master holds scholars in the highest regard. You clearly possess great talent—your gift must be different. Please name the child: one name for a boy, one for a girl.”

The steward was thin and gaunt, with a shrewd, sly appearance, yet spoke in refined tones, as if he had some scholarly learning.

Zhang Sheng gazed toward the mansion; deep in his pupils, a clear light flashed. He took brush and paper and wrote a single character: “Yuan.” “It means ‘the dragon lies in the abyss.’ The young master’s fortune is profound—he deserves this character.”

The steward stared at the bold, swirling character, sensing its excellence but unable to say why. He turned it this way and that, seeing no hidden meaning. Then Zhang Sheng set down the brush and left with his servant.

The steward called out: “Sir, wait! You haven’t given the girl’s name yet!”

Zhang Sheng did not turn back: “Master Wei has accumulated virtue—this child will be a son.”

The steward was about to speak further, but the crowd of beggars, impatient, surged forward. He glanced at Zhang Sheng’s retreating back and, for some reason, dared not press further. He left the retainers to handle the crowd and carefully carried the scroll into the mansion.

In the rear courtyard of the Wei mansion, a round-faced old man with long eyebrows and narrow eyes paced anxiously, beads of sweat on his brow. From the side chamber came the woman’s pained cries—she was about to give birth.

The steward entered with the scroll: “Master, a passing scholar gave the baby boy the name ‘Yuan,’ meaning ‘the dragon lies in the abyss.’ I thought the character exquisite and brought it at once.”

“Only one name?”

“He said your virtue ensures this child will be a son.”

The master beamed: “Scholars truly have sweet tongues!”

He took the still-damp scroll from the steward and studied it closely: “A fine character!”

The steward whispered: “Master, you’re holding it upside down.”

Master Wei said nothing, turned the paper over—and now it looked perfectly right.

He stared at the character, as if soaring into the sky, murmuring: “Yuan… the dragon lies in the abyss… Wei Yuan… yes. That shall be his name.”

Suddenly, Master Wei eyed the steward suspiciously: “You recognize such a complex character?”

The steward chuckled nervously: “I watched the scholar write it—I knew the top from the bottom.”

Meanwhile, Zhang Sheng and his servant walked slowly toward the town. After a stretch of path, the servant could no longer hold back: “Master, you gave him one character—and in truth, you gifted him fortune. And they repaid you with one liang of common silver? How cheap!”

Zhang Sheng weighed the pouch in his hand and smiled: “Don’t underestimate this mere one liang of common silver—it can lift a thousand worldly sorrows.”

The servant still frowned: “I say, just cast a minor spell to please the old man. Why waste your own fortune?”

Zhang Sheng said: “I happened to arrive here; the child happened to be born—this is fate with Zhang Sheng. Besides, ordinary fortune adds little: perhaps a little early wisdom, a bit stronger physique. Not worth much concern. Times have changed—fortune is no longer precious.”

The servant dared not reply further, but his face remained sullen.

Suddenly, Zhang Sheng felt a stir. He raised his left hand. Its skin was like jade, dazzlingly white, fingers slender and unfolding like night-blooming Tan , beautiful yet incongruous with his face. In his palm, a wisp of cloud rose, swirling toward a direction.

Zhang Sheng’s brows relaxed: “I’ve found the Dragon Pool’s water source!”

The cloud pointed not to the town, but behind the Wei mansion. Far off, they saw a massive ancient tree, its canopy spreading wide, shading half the rear of the Wei estate.

Zhang Sheng gathered the cloud into his palm, stepped forward, and stood beneath the tree. He looked up and nodded: “Water nourishes wood—this is the place.”

He circled the tree, then studied the mansion’s orientation, frowning slightly: “It’s still entangled with this house. If I draw the dragon’s aura, this family will suffer. So—go catch a wild pheasant. When I take the dragon’s aura, I’ll restore some fortune to them, and make the old man happy.”

The servant nodded and dashed off, returning shortly with a colorful pheasant.

Zhang Sheng had already chosen the array’s positions. He picked up several stones to form a platform, then planted branches at specific points: “The art of arrays—if one grasps their fundamental truth, they may change at will. This Qushui Heguang Array gathers heavenly mechanism and fortune—but normally requires precious materials. Here, placed over the water source, many positions need only a single object to occupy them. In truth, this is deceiving heaven and earth.”

Zhang Sheng placed a jade plate upon the platform. The jade was exquisite, etched with countless patterns, faintly glowing. After setting it down, he said to the servant: “This task is done. Our path ends here. In the past year, I’ve taught you the basics. With this foundation, you may find a sect you love and cultivate properly.”

The servant’s eyes instantly reddened. He fell to his knees: “No! I won’t go anywhere else—I want to stay with Master! I recognize only you as my teacher!”

Zhang Sheng remained unmoved: “We have no teacher-disciple fate. Do not call me Master. Your fortune is insufficient—forcing it is futile.”

The servant dared not speak further, only knelt and wept.

Zhang Sheng said: “I am about to activate the array. This is your final lesson—watch closely. You may never see this array again.”

The servant wiped his tears and stared intently.

Zhang Sheng raised his index finger to his brow, closed his eyes—and seven points of light flew from his body, sinking into the jade plate. Every pattern on the plate ignited, converging into a vortex, its center dark and bottomless, leading nowhere and everywhere.

Zhang Sheng said: “The array is complete. Wait. It will draw out the little dragon itself.”

Before he finished speaking, a wisp of black mist erupted from the vortex, swirling above the array.

The servant’s eyes widened—he hadn’t expected real fortune here, but this didn’t look like dragon aura at all. Within the black mist, something moved, but his cultivation was too low to discern it.

But Zhang Sheng saw clearly: a strange, large bird circled slowly within the mist, with three long tail feathers, brilliantly colored, and a human face upon its head.

Seeing the bird, Zhang Sheng’s expression changed slightly. He thought inwardly: “Good—it’s only a trace of aura, not even a fragment of soul.”

He waved his hand, dispersing the black mist: “Wait a moment longer.”

Instantly, two more shadows emerged from the vortex, swirling without dissipating. Zhang Sheng stared—and saw two monstrous beasts. Their hideous forms and raging aura made it clear they were no good omen.

“Why not calamity stars or rebels?” Zhang Sheng’s face darkened as he dispelled the two shadows.

Moments passed. The array continued, yet the vortex remained still. Zhang Sheng’s brow lifted coldly: “A mere little dragon, no matter how deeply hidden—I’ll dig you out!”

He raised his finger—several more points of light pierced the array. The array blazed brightly, the vortex spinning violently.

In an instant, multiple clusters of fortune erupted from the array, dimming the surrounding light.

Zhang Sheng gazed at each: boundless pools of blood, crumbling peaks, bloodstained royal banners, broken divine weapons, a massive cauldron resting atop a mountain of corpses. He could not speak. Yet one cluster was peculiar: a long iron tube wrapped in wood, tipped with a long blade, thrust into scorched earth, with ruins stretching far beyond.

Even Zhang Sheng, ever composed, paled. This was no gathering of clouds and winds—it was a convergence of heavenly slaughter!

Before he could decide whether to continue drawing the dragon’s aura, a cold, ancient, primordial force surged from the vortex’s other side—a vast entity attempting to pierce through. But the vortex was too small; only a thread of its aura slipped through. As it appeared, the landscape around the array began to warp.

Zhang Sheng acted instantly—he drained the array’s power. With a sharp crack, the jade plate shattered, severing the entity’s passage.

The vast fortune roared in fury—but vanished with the vortex.

The array shattered, the gathered fortune dissipated, and all returned to normal. Only then did Zhang Sheng realize he was drenched in cold sweat. He did not know what that vast fortune was, only that it must never cross over. If it manifested in this world, it would not merely cause mountain collapses and land sinking.

As he prepared to leave, Zhang Sheng glanced toward the Wei mansion. In his sight, a gray-black aura now shrouded it—something unseen before. He sighed inwardly—the array had disturbed their feng shui. He could not simply walk away.

Zhang Sheng paused, then a tiny firebird emerged in his palm. It was a trace of phoenix aura, precious indeed—more than enough to restore the Wei mansion’s fortune. He told the servant to throw the pheasant toward the mansion, then pointed his finger—the firebird slipped into the bird’s body. This was borrowing an object to perform magic, stealing heavenly mechanism—a common method to alter fate and fortune.

Under this spell, the pheasant would briefly transform into a heavenly phoenix, replenishing the mansion’s lost fortune, with surplus left over. Master Wei would not only live a wealthy, virtuous life, but leave a legacy for his descendants.

The pheasant, freed, soared upward. At that moment, a dark aura erupted around it, instantly transforming it into a giant bird with three heads and black feathers.

Zhang Sheng himself froze. Even he could not identify the origin of this three-headed bird—but it had nothing to do with the heavenly phoenix.

At that instant, from within the mansion came a loud infant’s cry—the child was born.

The three-headed bird came alive. Two heads gazed downward; the third turned—and all three dark-gold eyes fixed upon Zhang Sheng.

In an instant, Zhang Sheng felt as if plunged into ice, as if facing an abyss, as if about to perish.

The three eyes struck him with three distinct shocks.

Zhang Sheng’s mind went utterly blank. All his divine arts, all his profound teachings, vanished—as if erased. Not a single word remained.

A corner of his face suddenly cracked apart, revealing another face beneath. Only one eye showed—but that eyebrow, curved like a crescent moon, sharp as a sword; that eye, bright as a star, deep as polished ink, tinged with pain—once seen, never forgotten.

The three-headed bird gazed at Zhang Sheng, then lowered its heads toward the mansion. It circled the estate once, then spread its wings and soared into the clouds, vanishing in moments.

Zhang Sheng fell silent for a moment, then said: “This place holds too many rebels. Not safe to linger.”

He turned and left with his servant. Behind them, the ancient tree still stood, its canopy vast and unchanging.

In the third year of Longwu of Great Tang, Wei Yuan was born in Ye County, Yongzhou. At his birth, Zhang Sheng performed a ritual, and auspicious signs descended from heaven.

(End of Chapter)