Chapter Four: Wang Fugui, Born Under an Ill-fated Star

A sliver of dawn at the edge of the sky was gradually stained with the rose hue of morning.

Whoosh—

A three-masted fishing boat, bearing the features of a dragon’s eyes, a lion’s head, winged tail, and loach-shaped hull, filled its sturdy sails and sailed toward the shore from the open sea.

At night, the land breeze blows from land to sea, and during the day, the sea breeze returns to land. Last night, when Wang Cheng was sent off on the Offering Boat, and this morning, as this fishing boat made its return journey, both benefited from favorable winds and smooth currents.

Yet this weather, so ideal that the boatmen had dreamed of it, failed to elicit any joy from the young forerunner Zhang Wu at the prow. He simply gazed at the rising sun and exhaled a deep breath.

“Dawn’s here—we’ve survived another night.”

He leapt nimbly to the bow, and with great care, peeled a yellow talisman paper from between the protruding “dragon eyes” carved into the camphor wood.

He examined the now-faded cinnabar seal on the talisman, his face filled with pained regret.

“Last night’s haunting came out of nowhere. If it weren’t for this Water Gathering Talisman from the boat’s shrine and the blessing of the Sea Goddess, we’d likely have never made it back.”

He placed the yellow talisman into a red sachet, handed it to the incense master aboard, who then reverently offered it before the shrine, blackened by years of incense smoke.

The rest of the crew shared his solemnity. Led by the incense master, more than a dozen fishermen lit incense sticks and bowed thrice to the boat’s deity enshrined at the prow.

In this world, mountains are considered yang and waters yin; rivers, lakes, and seas are never tranquil. One careless moment and one might encounter malevolent spirits. Every vessel must have a dedicated or part-time incense master to present offerings to the boat’s deity and pray for safe passage.

Here, the ancient maxim holds true: the greatest affairs of state are sacrifice and war.

On the “Zhang Fushun,” the incense master was Zhang Wen, the younger brother of the forerunner Zhang Wu. After making his silent prayers, he placed the incense in the burner before the shrine and turned to his brother.

“Brother, I haven’t sailed with you long, but I check the almanac every day, derived from the ‘Twenty-Four Rhythms’, and know its auspices and taboos by heart. How could such a haunting arise so suddenly and on such a scale?”

The sudden outbreak of evil spirits on the Eastern Sea last night had terrified them to their core; they dared not utter a word, cowering in the cabin until the sun finally rose and relief washed over them.

Zhang Wu considered his brother’s words, and, meeting the questioning gazes of his companions, replied uncertainly:

“When our father entrusted me with this boat, he spoke of many taboos not recorded in the almanac. Aside from certain days and inauspicious periods, human actions can also provoke large-scale hauntings. The most common is the annual Offering Boat—Filling the Sea’s Eye! Every June, the authorities set the date for the Offering Boat ceremony, and all fishing and merchant vessels must dock or take shelter on islands at least one day in advance. But this year, it’s clearly not yet time for the ritual—otherwise, none of us would have dared to set out.”

Zhang Wen sighed.

“Whatever the cause, after last night’s ordeal, who knows how many at sea fell victim to the evil spirits or lost their lives? Not everyone can be as lucky as we were. Wait—is that…?!”

Suddenly, he seemed to spot something, leaped to the bow and, seeing what floated in the water ahead, cried out to the others:

“Look! Someone else has suffered disaster at sea—they’re still alive! Hurry, brother, steer the boat to rescue them!”

According to the Waterfolk’s regulations, unless it gravely endangers the ship or crew, all Water Gatherers are obliged to help those in distress. Over generations, even ordinary fishermen, not just officials, have come to abide by this rule.

Had it been last night during the haunting, they would have been too terrified. But now, with the sun up and the boundaries of yin and yang clearly drawn by mountain, sea, and daybreak, what they saw was surely a living person.

Under the helmsman’s direction, the boat turned swiftly, and the crew tossed out ropes, soon hauling aboard a youth in a scholar’s blue robe, his face pale but alive.

“I am Wang Fugui. My deepest thanks for your timely rescue, brothers.”

Wang Cheng, now wearing the appearance and fate purchased from the scholar’s departed spirit, bowed deeply to them all.

Though blessed by the Sea’s Protection, and immune to drowning, paddling himself back to shore with his own hands and feet would have taken who knows how long. It must be said—encountering a fishing boat at just the right moment was truly the Sea Goddess’s blessing.

“Don’t mention it, Brother Fugui! Any of us surviving last night’s evil was the goddess’s mercy. Making a living on the water isn’t easy—who could see a man in danger and not lend a hand?”

Zhang Wu clasped his fists and laughed heartily, never suspecting anything amiss with “Wang Fugui,” and immediately imagined that he had suffered the same fate as themselves.

In truth, Wang Cheng had bought, along with the scholar’s fate and appearance, even his name and identity, down to the last detail. Even if an acquaintance checked the imperial registers, no discrepancy could be found.

The name “Wang Fugui” might sound rustic, but it was common enough to go unnoticed—ideal as a new identity for a wanted man. Coincidentally, Wang Cheng’s childhood name was also Fugui, used only by his parents, making it feel familiar.

Soon, Zhang Wen draped a blanket over him and offered a bowl of hot porridge freshly cooked that morning. Noticing the scholar’s robes, he regarded him with both envy and instinctive respect.

“Brother Fugui, you must have some scholarly rank? How did you end up adrift at sea like us fishermen?”

In this society, since the end of the pre-Qin nobility, the bureaucratic system had reigned supreme. Like Wang Zeng, the father longing for imperial recognition, everyone aspired to ascend that celestial path. Even the lowest rank of scholar exempted one from corvée labor and conferred dignity above others!

“No need for such formality, Brother Zhang. I am indeed a licentiate, but only the lowest-ranking student in the government academy, without stipend or salary—just a poor scholar. I was studying in Lianjiang Prefectural Academy, and for certain reasons, boarded a boat to return home. Last night, we unexpectedly encountered the Offering Boat, and many aboard were pulled into the river by the drowned. When I regained consciousness, I was adrift. By the way, my family is from Yue Port at the mouth of the Jiulong River, and we are military households there. If you don’t mind, please visit my home so I may properly thank you.”

Wang Cheng had planned this thoroughly. With both the authorities and the underworld seeking the “Prince of Jinghai,” he would now return home under the guise of “Wang Fugui.” He had memorized every detail of Wang Fugui’s life, and as he swam to safety, he practiced the young scholar’s mannerisms.

He had not lied to the Zhang brothers. Wang Fugui truly had been haunted and drowned earlier that night, his soul, along with many others, dragged aboard the Offering Boat. As for the reason behind his return home—

‘He got into trouble while studying in the prefectural city, which is why he so desperately sought advancement and recognition. But it doesn’t matter—he’s escaped the city now, and trouble won’t catch up anytime soon. With Wang Fugui’s appearance, fate, and name, having studied for years in the city and with few relatives left, he can easily handle a handful of unfamiliar neighbors.’

Such is the advantage of the sea: there are no witnesses. Now, with these fishermen as testimony, no one would ever connect Wang Cheng and Wang Fugui.

For a long time to come, Wang Cheng would live as Wang Fugui.

Upon hearing Wang Cheng admit to scholarly rank, Zhang Wen’s respect deepened, and he eagerly invited him to rest in the cabin. The men quickly grew familiar. Wang Cheng learned that the Zhang brothers and their crew often sold fish and bought supplies in Yue Port, forging a tenuous “hometown bond” that drew them closer.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Zhang Wen produced a well-thumbed copy of the “Annotations to the Spring and Autumn Annals” and, eyes gleaming with the thirst for knowledge, stammered his request:

“If I may be so bold as to call you Brother Wang… I have the name ‘Wen’ but no path to learning. Would you kindly instruct me during our return journey?”

Wang Cheng looked at the diligent, eager Zhang Wen, a pang of sorrow in his heart. How much this young man resembled his younger self—buried in books, desperate for a path of ascent. Yet, alas…

He quietly used the “Treasure of Four Seas” to appraise the Zhang brothers and the other crew.

A golden light flashed in his eyes, and the world turned brilliant and colorful. Black, gray, white, red, blue, purple, gold—above each person’s head floated a wisp of straight smoke. Most were the common gray or white, but the Zhang brothers’ were white tinged with red.

[Treasure: Zhang Wu, nineteen, boat-dwelling fisherman of the Dazhao underclass. Fate of Relentless Labor: Born lacking fire in his celestial stem, he works tirelessly without ever feeling strain. For him, work is freedom; the more he does, the happier and faster he grows. Worth: three thousand incense coins (a county-level talent, a worthy treasure).]

[Treasure: Zhang Wen, seventeen, boat-dwelling fisherman of the Dazhao underclass. Fortunate Fate: An ordinary life, but should he meet a noble or lucky star, he could swiftly rise in fortune. Worth: five thousand incense coins (a county-level talent, a worthy treasure).]

Now, out of danger and with these points of comparison, Wang Cheng better understood the capabilities of the “Treasure of Four Seas”:

“My own energy is blue tinged with purple—a state-level talent. The brothers’ energy is white tinged with red—a county-level talent. White, red, blue, purple must correspond to county, prefecture, state, and nation, reflecting the value of these ‘treasures.’ Then, there are their fates: Zhang Wu’s fate is that of a natural workhorse—any manager would dream of such a worker. Zhang Wen is clever and eager to learn; with the help of a noble, he might rise high. Sadly, as fishermen of low caste, like our Wang family, they cannot sit the imperial exams. No matter how learned, their path is blocked.”

Still, Wang Cheng did not cruelly shatter Zhang Wen’s dreams. He was preparing to explain the “Spring and Autumn Annals” with the solid knowledge he had gained through years of study, when he suddenly noticed the smoke above everyone’s heads turn from white to gray, then quickly from gray to black, thickening until it blotted out the sky.

Alarmed, he sprang up—just as a crewman’s panic-stricken cry came from outside:

“It’s bad, forerunner—the Sea Islet Spirits are here!”