Chapter 21: Wang Cheng Savors the Aroma, The Rebellious Disciple Defies His Master

After hearing the stall owner's words, Wang Cheng and the Zhang brothers exchanged glances in silent astonishment. Especially the Zhang brothers, who had claimed twenty lives in one fell swoop the night before, were still uneasy, uncertain whether the disappearance of Xue Da and his gang had left any traces behind. Yet they had not expected these domineering fishermen to provoke no stir whatsoever, not even meriting a mention in the circulating rumors of the city.

Upon reflection, it was only natural. Xue Da's group were merely ordinary tax collectors; with the disappearance of the esteemed Water Magistrate and several tax officials taking precedence as news, the remaining tax collectors probably assumed these men had simply fled ahead of time.

“But, with so many missing—including a Water Magistrate—can this really be called an ordinary disappearance?” Others may have wondered, but Wang Cheng, who had just orchestrated Xue Da’s vanishing, had a different reaction to the phrase: Was there another expert at work? Who among his peers had pulled off such a grand scheme? This method was one he himself had used! Were they alive or dead? It was hard to say…

Still, Wang Cheng had his doubts. “A full-fledged Water Magistrate is a real imperial official of at least the sixth rank. I, as a novice with only the first flicker of the heart’s lamp, am but an apprentice. Even if I advance to a formal divine office, I’d start at seventh rank—hardly his equal. Moreover, the aura of a sixth-rank official far surpasses that of mere tax collectors. To make him vanish without a trace, and without any disturbance from his official aura—who could accomplish such a feat? The commander of the Five Peaks Banner in Yue Port surely lacks the ability.”

Wang Cheng pondered, unable to find a clue. It didn’t feel like something Huang Yuanzhou and his lot could have managed. Soon his brow relaxed. After all, this was a blessing in disguise: the missing Water Magistrate drew all the attention, leaving Xue Da forgotten. The episode of “hearing the Way in the morning and dying at dusk” was finally over. Last night’s rich gains were now truly safe!

In high spirits, Wang Cheng pulled out a piece of silver and called out to the breakfast stall owner nearby, “Bring us each a serving of whatever you have. Today I’m in a good mood—put it all on me, Young Master Wang!”

“Right away! Though my stall is small, our Xiangzhou braised noodles and tofu vermicelli are authentic. Please, have a seat!”

Yesterday, angered by the tax collectors’ tyranny; today, gloating over their misfortune—the crowd was endless. Wang Cheng’s generosity was not out of place, and the stall owner welcomed them warmly, quickly seating everyone.

Soon, large bowls of braised noodles and tofu vermicelli were served. The Zhang brothers each received tofu vermicelli: tender tofu paired with perfectly elastic vermicelli, topped with a ladle of sweet syrup or savory braised sauce—both irresistible and refreshing.

“I want sweet—add syrup!”
“I want savory—add braised sauce!”

Last night, they were brothers united in dividing spoils; today, they argued fiercely over this crucial matter of principle, neither yielding an inch.

Wang Cheng paid no mind to the pair, who, having avenged their great enmity, had regained a touch of youthful vigor. He ordered a large bowl of braised noodles, filled to the brim with ingredients.

This was Xiangzhou Prefecture, only forty li from the prefectural city, with a culinary tradition rooted in both sea and land. Many Xiangzhou people began their day with a steaming bowl of braised noodles: golden strands soaking in rich broth, accompanied by fragrant mushrooms, squid, lean pork, and more. The squid was especially fresh—caught and killed alive, tossed straight into the pot, each bite an explosion of flavor.

Wang Cheng’s memory suggested this was how it should taste. Yet when he took a hopeful mouthful, it was as tasteless as chewing wax—he could discern no flavor at all.

“What’s happening?” He glanced at the other boatmen and diners, all savoring their meals. Clearly, it wasn’t a problem with the noodles, but with himself.

Before he could use “Rare Goods Worth Keeping” to examine his condition, a powerful aroma wafted from the beach—roast chicken, braised pork, marinated beef, a medley impossible for any carnivore to resist. He turned to see—not a newly opened restaurant—but a group of men, women, and children paying respects to the souls of boatmen lost in yesterday’s tax dispute.

The rich fragrance rose from the incense smoke.

A jolt shot through Wang Cheng’s heart; he instantly understood what had happened to him. He pressed his right hand to his left, quietly feeling his own pulse—a basic skill for official cultivation: checking the ghost pulse.

In this world, where encounters with the supernatural were as common as falling ill, even those who weren’t medical officials would eventually find use for such skills. The basic ghost pulse technique was simple—anyone could learn it. Following the principle of men left, women right, use forefinger and thumb to feel the middle finger’s knuckle for any pulse. If it jumps strongly, it means you’ve been contaminated.

The full method involved feeling the three pulses—spirit, ghost, and human—starting at the cubit pulse on the wrist, then the palm, then the middle finger’s joints. Different conditions required different remedies.

Wang Cheng’s check revealed the source of the problem: “It’s not a collision with ghosts or spiritual filth, but the evil shadow within my fate that’s stirred. Humans eat food; ghosts feed on incense! Last night, I revealed the evil shadow ‘Heir Apparent, Patroling on Heaven’s Behalf’ for only a few breaths, but it upset the balance of yin and yang within me—my shadow side briefly overwhelmed the living side. Now I’m like the dying or the ghosts, drawn to incense, repelled by normal food. Luckily, I didn’t greedily buy more fate to increase my bone weight, or it would be more than just a preference for incense. It’s not a serious problem; I’ve already lit the heart’s lamp. Eating well, practicing the ‘Dragon’s Breath Technique,’ and basking in the sun should restore balance. But the matter of finding a master cannot be delayed. The evil shadow tied to the folk ritual of sending off the King’s Boat is stronger than my living side; I must quickly find a guide and formally enter the divine ranks—that is the proper path.”

He needed to make the Rain Festival next year, using the “Otter Sacrifices Fish” of the Seventy-Two Solar Terms to formally receive his badge—still nearly two months away, but now he felt a new urgency.

“But who should I apprentice to? It seems I must use the clumsy method.”

After eating his fill, Wang Cheng sent Zhang Wu and Zhang Wen to find a suitable courtyard for settling in. In Yue Port, without an official presence, the boat people did not need to follow the rule forbidding them from living ashore.

He himself turned into a teahouse by the docks and ordered a cheap pot of tea, scanning the crowds coming and going at the port, using “Rare Goods Worth Keeping” to examine their information and worth one by one.

Of all the coastal regions in Great Zhao, Yue Port had the most water collectors; the chance of finding a renowned master here was greatest. In this era, the relationship between master and disciple was nearly as important as that of father and son; to apprentice was like a second birth, demanding utmost care. Character, skill, and allegiance all had to be considered.

Ordinary folk had no choice but to seize any opportunity to climb upward, but with “Rare Goods Worth Keeping” at his disposal, Wang Cheng was determined to find the best “rare good.”

Golden light flashed in his eyes; everything before him was shrouded in a rainbow aura:

“Wu Si, water official, ‘Corpse Fisher.’ His greatest passion is collecting fragrant corpses of beauties; with such a gift, one could easily become his disciple.”

Just the official information and trading obsession made Wang Cheng shudder. “One should at least… no, at the very least, transform first—even if you like female ghosts, corpses are simply too bizarre.” He immediately dismissed the corpse fisher.

He turned to others.

“Bao Tai, water official, ‘Muddy River Boatman,’ determined to concoct tasteless, odorless medicine and provide patrons with the best experience. Present him with a rare fragrance recipe and promise to test his medicines—sure to win his favor.”

“Guo Liang, earth official, ‘Mountain Surveyor,’ makes his living gathering swallows’ nests on cliffs. His disciples collect nests below, he pulls the rope above, and his life’s goal is to find a… disciple who can survive a fall.”

“Sun Sanping, earth official, ‘Monkey Trainer,’ loves to gift a hoop to everyone he meets. Kneel in the street and beg him for a hoop—guaranteed instant apprenticeship.”

“Autumn Thirteenth Lady, water official, ‘West Lake Boatwoman,’ famed alongside the Slender Horses of Yangzhou, the Grand Aunt of Mount Tai, and the Old Woman of Datong as one of the Four Flower Queens of the Orchid School. Any man handsome enough can be both her disciple and one of her husbands…”

From morning to afternoon, Wang Cheng’s expression grew darker.

“These officials seem impressive on the surface, but once their true obsessions are revealed, they’re all too human. Most have spent their lives mired in worldly affairs; their faults are those of mortals—greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, doubt, all poisonous. If any died and turned to evil spirits, each could be as dangerous as ten. Were it not for the ‘Direct Hall Officials’ holding each branch in check, who knows what chaos might ensue. Besides, I have no interest in becoming a ‘rebellious apprentice who challenges the master.’”