Chapter Six: Restoring the Dwelling, Lighting the Lanterns

“Brother Wealth, can you do it?”

At this moment, desperate measures were all they had left. Zhang Wen stepped aside, not truly believing that Wang Xiucai could work any miracles.

Communication between mortals and gods required the incense path.

With an official on the opposing ship casting spells to disrupt the incense, it was as though the signal between the fishing boat and its ship-god had been severed. Unless the deity manifested of its own accord, no amount of mortal supplication would avail them.

As the incense attendant on board, Zhang Wen knew well that the gods in this world, though real beyond doubt, were not omnipotent. Only with years of incense offerings and the accumulation of hidden virtue could one hope for the deity’s protection in a moment of crisis, let alone direct intervention against an official across the water.

It wasn’t that Zhang Wen looked down on Wang Xiucai; even if a properly ordained temple keeper, ritual master, altar boy, or spirit medium were present to open the altar and invite the god, the outcome was uncertain at best. For someone like Wang Cheng, who had lived his whole life on land and now clung to the divine in desperation, the act seemed superstitious—perhaps even to those already inclined toward superstition.

Yet Wang Cheng paid no heed to what others thought. He lit three sticks of incense, bowed thrice, and placed them in the censer.

He gazed at the soot-darkened statue of the Heavenly Consort and silently prayed.

Along the southeast coast, the worship of the Heavenly Consort and the Lords of the Sea were the two main maritime faiths. There were hundreds of Lords, but only one Heavenly Consort, a testament to her influence. The ship deities varied from vessel to vessel, but at least half were the Heavenly Consort or her attendant spirits.

Fortunately, for Wang Cheng, who bore the favor of the sea and the water offices, any faith would suffice. It was always easier to have powerful backers.

In the stunned silence of the crew, as Scholar Wang knelt in “devout” prayer, the idol before him trembled in response. A thunderous crack echoed in the air, as if something unseen had shattered.

The three trails of incense smoke straightened, then vanished into the space three feet above the altar.

The water-drawing talisman affixed to the bow was suddenly imbued with divine power and became responsive.

A gust of wind warped and twisted at Wang Cheng’s side, redirecting itself—the Zhang Fushun surged forward, its speed abruptly increasing, quickly widening the gap between them and the pursuing pirate ship.

The crew behind Wang Cheng was both thrilled and awestruck:

“We only prayed for a common water talisman, good for repelling a spirit or two, maybe ensuring smooth sailing. But this—this is just too...”

The mostly illiterate crew struggled for words, settling instead for fervent glances at Wang Cheng.

“If the talisman was fine, then the credit must be the scholar’s!”

“Could it be that those with scholarly merit are even favored by the gods themselves?”

No one bothered to probe deeper. In this world where strange forces abounded, any unexplainable phenomenon could be attributed to the supernatural. Stranger things happened every day across the divine lands.

Even Wang Cheng’s calm and precise command drew little surprise. In their minds, scholars were the reincarnations of the Star of Literary Attainment, said to know all under heaven without ever leaving home; that one should outshine a seasoned sailor was only natural.

As they came forward to offer their flattery, even their address changed:

“Truly, Scholar, it is thanks to your presence that the Zhang Fushun survived this trial.”

“When we return to Moon Harbor, we must treat you to a fine drink!”

But Wang Cheng was not swollen with pride. He pushed the Zhang brothers aside:

“It’s not over yet! Those sea ghosts haven’t given up—quick, fetch all the bows and arrows on board.”

At that moment, the sound of splashing came from behind; the sea ghosts on the pirate ship were leaping into the water one after another.

Like a school of fish, they drew white lines across the surface, moving over short distances even faster than the Zhang Fushun with its divine blessing.

Though not officials, the temple’s ghost soldiers had been trained in arcane military arts, granting them powers beyond the mortal realm. The same was true for sea ghosts and the Five Peaks Banner.

“Leave the helmsman. The rest, shoot freely—just hold them off for a moment, and we’ll escape.”

Wang Cheng called out, gripping a bamboo bow. He drew it to full circle.

Whistling through the air, an arrow streaked toward the leading sea ghost’s face.

Without waiting to see the result, Wang Cheng nocked and loosed again—and again...

His breath and movement were perfectly synchronized, a warm current surging inside him. His strength was astonishing; shooting a volley of arrows was as natural as eating or drinking.

Whether one followed the heavenly, earthly, or aquatic paths, the first step for any official was to “refine the dwelling and light the heart lamp”—to build up one’s body and energy until the heart lamp was lit and the life fire blazed with pure yang, thus qualifying for ordination and the efficacy of magic.

Four days prior, the Wang family’s water-drawing business was as wealthy as a nation; Wang Cheng had never lacked for teachers or resources, his foundation was solid.

Through the internal method “Dragon Breathing Technique,” he strengthened his organs and body. He was one step away from lighting the heart lamp.

Although he might have seemed as insignificant as an ant when he boarded the ship, his strength rivaled any veteran soldier.

Never mind a common bamboo bow; even the standard-issue lacquered bows of the Imperial Navy would have been as easy as drawing his own arm.

With a metallic clang, the leading sea ghost had to draw his long katana, batting away Wang Cheng’s barrage of arrows, his speed inevitably slowing.

When the other crew members, under Wang Cheng’s command, lined the rail and loosed a rain of arrows, most sea ghosts had no choice but to dive beneath the waves, unable to resume their chase.

“A dying struggle!”

Only at the rear, a leader wearing a blue ogre mask snorted coldly, then leapt, sprinting across the sea’s surface with the waves barely covering his feet.

His swordsmanship was superb; every arrow was cleaved aside, some split in two.

“A true expert!”

A ring of golden light flickered in Wang Cheng’s eyes—his “Appraising Eye” revealed the man’s secrets.

“...Exchanged five years of life for a ghostly power stolen from evil spirits—the ‘Turtle-Head Form.’ Like the ancient turtle, he can cross the waves, drawing strength from the water: a hundred-pound sea ghost wields the force of three hundred pounds! Taboo: objects of pure yang...”

Other details flashed by, but upon seeing the taboo, Wang Cheng’s spirit quickened. He put down the bamboo bow and retreated, quietly grabbing something from in front of the Heavenly Consort’s shrine.

As the opponent broke through the arrow storm and dashed across the waves toward the Zhang Fushun, the Zhang brothers lunged with their fish spears, one to each side, their attack fierce and practiced.

Both practiced the “Eight Waves Cutter,” the most common external art among water-drawers, and they had honed it well.

But the sea ghost’s blade flashed—his katana effortlessly sheared through both wooden spears.

He was about to leap aboard and unleash carnage when, unprepared, he saw a pitch-black object thrown his way. Instinctively, he slashed at it.

Crack!

With a crisp sound, the censer shattered, and the old incense ash it contained scattered into his face.

The ash was not just blinding—it was essence from the god’s altar, a pure yang substance, even more potent than a boy’s urine and precisely what could break the sea ghost’s ghostly power.

“Damn!”

The waves beneath the sea ghost’s feet lost their support; the immense strength within him vanished. With a cry, he toppled toward the sea.

If he could just wash off the ash in the water, he would recover quickly. Yet, though the pure yang effect would only last a few heartbeats, it was all the chance Wang Cheng needed.

“Take this!”

The bamboo bow, already drawn to its limit, loosed an arrow at close range, piercing the sea ghost leader’s throat with ease.

Only then did the man attempt to raise his sword, but robbed of his “Turtle-Head Form,” he was far too slow. With a splash, he fell into the sea, crimson ripples blooming in his wake.

The pursuit was at last broken, and the distance steadily widened.

Wang Cheng finally set down his bow, exhaling deeply.

“These sea ghosts are powerful, but their flaws are greater. If I can light my heart lamp and cultivate my life fire until it’s pure yang, perhaps even the three inherent fires in my body will be enough to break their ghost arts.”

Having fired the strongest arrow of his life, the vibrant current within him seemed to be reaching its limit; when he blinked, faint lightning flickered in his eyes.

Delight filled Wang Cheng’s heart—he recognized the sign. The moment of lighting the heart lamp was near; so long as he practiced diligently, the breakthrough was all but assured.

And his gains were not yet over.

From the leader’s corpse in the water, a stream of light only he could see rose and dropped into the “Four Seas Treasure” within him.

Wang Cheng saw what had entered the money-eye, and the information he received left him momentarily stunned.

Zhang Wu, oblivious to the change in him, stepped forward excitedly:

“Scholar, you truly must be the Star of Literature descended! You’re not just learned, but your skills in the six gentlemanly arts are flawless. Those crazed sea ghosts are finally behind us. We’ll take you back to Moon Harbor and sell our catch there as well.”

Wang Cheng returned to himself at these words, but to everyone’s surprise, he slowly shook his head.

“No. For the next three days, we need to find a place where the authorities can’t reach us. Do not enter any coastal city or county.”