Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Wuyue Treasure—Is Anyone There? Immortal? Demon?

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“What is this…? Is it because I’ve successfully undergone the ritual and advanced to the seventh rank, so the restrictions on the Sea-Talisman Coin have loosened further for me?”

Wang Cheng had known from the start that the Sea-Talisman Coin contained a world within its central hole; looking through one side, he could cleverly use it as a trading platform, bartering rare treasures. But from the other side, all he could ever see was a hazy blur—vast pavilions and towers, winding bridges over flowing water, yet nothing distinct or tangible, completely out of reach.

This time, however, it felt as if he had stepped into thin air, his entire being falling right into the coin’s eye. Wang Cheng glanced down at his own translucent form, constructed with the Sea’s Evil-Banishing Talisman as its core, and confirmed that only his consciousness could enter for now.

“It’s just like before, when I used the coin as a storage talisman—I couldn’t stash living creatures in here. My flesh-and-blood body still can’t get in. Still, this is a promising beginning; fully mastering this treasure is now within sight.”

He looked around. At last, the world inside the coin’s eye lay open before him.

He found that this miniature world conformed to the ancient rule of round heaven and square earth, matching the shape of the coin: a square plot of land, bordered by a sky so blue it seemed within arm’s reach. Only a small area nearby remained well-preserved: arched bridges over streams, elegant pavilions, all encircling a treasury of magical assets.

Within the treasury were the various magical items he’d stored here—gold and silver, enchanted incense, the Mind-Calming Golden Hoop, a hand cannon, the turtle-headed demon relic... and the malevolent spirit that had long ago been sucked in—the Silver Chang, “No Silver Buried Here.”

The latter shrank back in fear when Wang Cheng glanced its way.

Now that Wang Cheng had achieved the ritual and advanced in rank, it meant he could continue purchasing life spans from others, increasing his own “bone-weight” without worrying about the imbalance of yin and yang. For now, the meager “three taels and a coin” still left him uneasy; even if he schemed and struggled to reclaim his ancestral inheritance, fate might still elude his grasp.

There was no rush to buy a new life; the outer ritual was not yet complete. He could wait.

Leaving that small, well-kept area, he found himself surrounded by dilapidated palaces—collapsed columns, sagging eaves, rampant weeds. Once, these must have been meticulously tended, but now they’d lain abandoned for countless years.

After a thorough search, he found nothing of value but a few dull glazed tiles.

“How odd. Not a single character inside these palaces. Just what is the origin of the Sea-Talisman Coin?”

Wang Cheng had always believed this treasure must have an extraordinary history—at least on the level of a “national treasure”—but he could never fathom which legend or myth it was anchored to.

It wasn’t until he reached the very center of the coin’s eye that he discovered a scene not yet fallen into ruin.

There, a clear, shimmering lake spread out, and in its center floated a brand-new black-canopied boat. At the little table in the boat’s heart, something was laid out.

A single ray of daylight shone overhead, illuminating the boat in a gentle halo.

With such an obvious sign, even a fool would know that this must be the true core of the coin’s miniature world.

Cautiously, Wang Cheng stepped onto the boat, walking on the surface of the water. On the table sat a pristine ledger, with one column labeled “Income” and the other “Expenses.”

He leafed through it carefully; every thick page was blank, save for the first, where under “Income,” a delicate line of handwriting read—

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“Hello? Is anyone there? Immortal? Monster?”

Wang Cheng’s heart gave a tremendous jolt when he saw these words, followed by an irrepressible surge of joy.

This was his first time entering the coin’s eye; he certainly hadn’t written in this ledger, nor did his handwriting possess such finesse. Besides, the tone of the writing was clearly bewildered, suggesting the writer was just as lost as he had once been—not the original owner of the coin.

“So, the one who wrote in this ledger can only be the owner of the other half of the Mountain Ghost Coin—the Five-Peak Talisman! The mysterious thief who stole half my golden cheat—at last, I’ve found you!”

Wang Cheng distinctly remembered: when he found the Mountain Ghost Coin on the shore, it was whole. The front depicted a mountain ghost, a thunder incantation, and the four characters for “Five-Peak Talisman”; the back showed ocean waves, a golden toad, and the words “Sea-Talisman Coin.” But after his spiritual awakening, he had inexplicably been left with only half—the Five-Peak Talisman had vanished.

For months, he’d been too busy securing his place in the world to search for the missing half; yet now, two blessings had come at once—not only had he completed the ritual and advanced in rank, but he’d also found a clue to the Five-Peak Talisman.

Even with only half of the Sea-Talisman Coin, its world-defying power was clear. If he could reunite the two halves, who knew how high he might soar?

Looking at the other’s naive questions—“Immortal? Monster?”—Wang Cheng hesitated only briefly before picking up the brush on the table and writing honestly under “Expenses”:

“Friend, you guessed right—I am indeed a monster. What should I call you, how old are you, and where do you live?”

He couldn’t be sure if the other party was friend or foe, so he would never rashly reveal his own information; this was an obvious attempt to get something for nothing.

Still, he couldn’t help but daydream: if the other side was naive enough to volunteer their details, wouldn’t he profit massively? With the vast resources of the Mountain and Sea Society, he could easily track down the other, whether in the Divine Land or overseas.

Never mind what he would do with that person afterward—at the very least, he would seize the initiative.

“Brother, the Mountain Ghost Coin is too dangerous for you to handle. Leave it to me.”

But after a long wait, no new words appeared in the ledger. Wang Cheng guessed that this thing only allowed written messages, with no alert mechanism. He decided to check back in a few days.

He hadn’t left empty-handed, though. Just boarding the boat, he’d learned that the Sea-Talisman Coin’s abilities had further evolved. Now, when he sold enemy corpses or offered gold, silver, or talismans to the coin, the “fortune” it granted would prioritize his most urgent need.

That meant he might find money, medicinal herbs, treasures, or even rare sea delicacies upon leaving—or, should his desire be strong enough, perhaps even a beautiful companion.

Its value had soared, its function now more attuned to the human heart.

Then, his mind stirred. His consciousness swiftly withdrew from the coin’s eye, and he opened his eyes in the real world. Only an instant had passed.

A crimson talisman, formed of wave-shaped sigils and cloud-patterned script, appeared at his brow, like a spark landing in a furnace—rapidly refining and transforming his fate.

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At the same time, as a newly minted seventh-rank Whiteshore Gentleman, Wang Cheng received the authority contained within the Sea’s Evil-Banishing Talisman, as well as the retinue of civil and military spirits befitting a minister of the Heavenly Dao.

Civil Officials: Registrar of Direct Affairs, Registrar of Healing, Left and Right Attendant Envoys, Yin-Yang Divine Judges…

Military Officials: Tiger Guard Officer, Inspector Cavalryman, Threefold Magistrate.

Beasts of Awe: Heavenly Cavalry Soldier, Heavenly Strongman, Gatherer of Qi, Collector of Ghosts…

Couriers: Scarlet-Talisman Courier, Iron-Wind Messenger, Express-Mounted Petition Scribe.

General: …

The seventh-rank official system was much like a county magistrate receiving his staff upon taking office: a team of clerks corresponding to the six ministries—Rites, Revenue, Works, Justice, Personnel, and War.

Though not a real magistrate with a true domain, the officials stationed within the talisman made the holder’s body a functional administrative unit, akin to a county seat.

If the official’s body was now “institutionalized,” it meant he had become part of the “state”—not a worldly nation, but a metaphysical one, with the Celestial Capital as its heart, the Three Officials as monarchs, mirroring the nations of the mortal realm.

His staff of spirits carried out all his functions: from this point on, he was their leader, able to exercise authority through the various departments—to protect himself, commune with the Dao, heal others, banish evil, or command malevolent spirits.

Drawing a talisman was now akin to issuing an administrative or military order; the primordial energies of heaven and earth would naturally respond.

Thus, Wang Cheng had achieved a basic unity with the Dao, entered the system, and though his flesh was still mortal, his fate had been entered into the celestial register. He was no longer ordinary.

Beneath the princely aura he wore as the Prince of the Sea’s heir, his own destiny now burned crimson, with a faint hint of azure.

His current state could only be described as “virtue insufficient for the position brings disaster”—his martial virtue lagged behind his true identity.

Once his inner and outer selves matched, even if he cast off all disguise, none would dare lay a finger on him.

Thanks to his deep foundation, he had, at the very moment of his promotion, gained the qualifications to begin cultivation at the middle three ranks.

Lower three ranks: build a spiritual dwelling, light the lamp of the heart, kindle the undying fire of fate.

Middle three ranks: refine the divine organs, supply the yin body, establish the Five-Temple God Store.

“But all that is for later. For now, I haven’t even mastered the most vital skills and arts of a seventh-rank official. Advancement can wait.”

He lifted his hand.

With a flutter of wings, the most common red-billed gull along the Great Zhao’s coast landed on his finger. A clumsy albatross came down to perch on his shoulder. Even the bald eagle that had been feigning death on deck cocked its head at him, its golden eyes filled with a look of “wisdom.”

This was the spiritual response granted to a Whiteshore Gentleman by the “Otter Sacrifices Fish” sign of the seventy-two phenological periods—Enlightenment!