Chapter Seventy-Six: My Son Wang Cheng May Lack the Talent of Gods and Spirits, Yet His Filial Piety Is Commendable (Seeking Continued Reading)

Consciousness lightly brushed against that point of light.

A familiar figure, half-dragon and half-human, imposing and proud, instantly leapt into Wang Cheng’s vision.

He sat high upon a throne, clad in silver armor fashioned from flood dragon scales, draped in a white robe adorned with coiling dragons, gripping two bright silver dragon-headed cudgels. Behind him followed the temple’s ghostly soldiers, armored and ready, chosen from Five Peaks. Yet, his form was vague, a sign that his divine position was still unstable—it would take years to fully solidify the status of “Prince,” and gain the power to manifest in the mortal world.

If it weren’t for Wang Cheng, his direct blood kin serving as an anchor, even if there hadn’t been the recent unexpected “blood feast across the river,” this “Prince Jing” would not have been able to respond to his devotees at all.

The spectral image of Wang Zeng hurriedly spoke:

“Cheng’er, I’ve read your letter home and understand your current situation. Aside from sending you the complete secret Daoist scrolls for your protection, I’ve also left you some anonymous assets in Yue Harbor—not many, worth perhaps thirty thousand taels of silver. The token is deposited at Yu Tongshun Bank; use the agreed code to claim it. Say: ‘A tiger crouches on a perilous cliff, all beasts fall silent, watching the Northern Dipper,’ and he will reply, ‘A roc soars to the Purple Pole, a lone cloud spreads its wings towards the Southern Sea.’

This should be enough pocket money for you for a year or two. Eat well, spend freely, don’t let yourself suffer out there. You needn’t worry about the affairs of Five Peaks; even if all the external property is lost, it’s no great matter.

Your father was born under an auspicious sign, a bow star nestled in my arms. I built the Five Peaks Banner and the Eastern Sea Kingdom from nothing. Once I secure my divine seat, all that has been lost will be reclaimed!”

Here his words brimmed with fatherly affection, but suddenly the tone shifted:

“In any case, with your mere ‘two taels and eight coins’ of bone weight, there’s no need to be concerned with ancestral property. When you’ve used up these assets, just keep your head down and live quietly.

If you face difficulties—whether from the Prince’s line or the Heavenly Consort’s—pray for divine aid whenever you can. Don’t let pride hold you back; others would beg for such a chance and never get it.

I’ve already spread word among my Daoist friends: my son Wang Cheng may lack the talent for gods and spirits, but his filial piety is commendable. They all know your aptitude is a bit lacking and will look after you, so you needn’t feel any pressure.

By the way, you just passed your sixteenth birthday last October, which makes you eighteen by traditional reckoning. Marry and have children soon; the day I have a grandson in my arms is the day you unlock the next batch of assets.

I’ll also keep an eye out for you among the younger generation of my peers. Don’t worry!”

With that, the figure vanished.

This “Prince Jing” was evidently a firm believer in the philosophy of “rather than push the child, push oneself”—a true advocate for relying on one’s father’s achievements. In his eyes, his beloved son Wang Cheng was still that ordinary youth of two taels and eight coins’ bone weight, with unremarkable talent and fate.

He wasn’t worried about his son squandering wealth or seeking pleasure—only that the boy might try to prove himself.

Since he had narrowly escaped death, better to live idly, enjoy himself at the theaters and brothels, marry a host of beautiful wives and concubines to carry on the Wang family line. When old age came, his father would promote him to a minor deity, to settle comfortably into a life of incense and offerings.

Everything had long been arranged down to the last detail.

All that was left was for Wang Cheng to stand alone, confused and disheveled in the wind.

“Good heavens, I was just moved to tears a moment ago.

What does it mean to say I ‘lack the talent for gods and spirits, but excel in filial piety’? So I’m like that Sima fellow, with nothing to recommend me but filial devotion?

Truly laughable!

What does it mean to spend the thirty thousand taels, then obediently wait for you to take your divine throne and play out the ‘return of the Dragon King’? And a child-rearing fund? I haven’t even held a girl’s hand—how am I supposed to have a child?

I used to think you were sincerely loyal, leaving no contingency plans behind. Turns out you never trusted my abilities as heir to the Wang family at all, and kept all the good stuff from me!”

It took a long while before his mood settled.

What can I say? My ‘filial piety’ toward my father is a laughingstock, while his ‘love’ for me is two-faced.

I only just gained a seventh-rank official post, and before I could make my mark, my reputation is already ruined—I’m socially dead before I even set out.

It’s that sense of, “Even if you become an enemy of the world, I’ll always stand by your side. As for why you have to become an enemy of the world—don’t ask.”

“Old man, you’d better help me keep Yue Harbor and Madam Yan’s true dragon form safe. Otherwise, if ‘Nine Dragons Spitting Pearls’ is triggered, the Wang family of Waters will truly have no future.”

Wang Cheng wiped all traces of invocation from the secret temple of the Shanhai Society and returned to his small courtyard.

He hurried to study the art of Foreign Star Guidance.

The core of this practice was to draw the power of the heavens—the Three Enclosures, Four Symbols, and Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions—into the body, cultivating from the lowest to the highest tiers step by step. Each constellation had its own method of cultivation, with different materials, ritual implements, times, and ceremonies.

At the lower third rank, one could only draw on one of the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions, refining a natal star spirit.

“I was born under the dragon sign and have practiced the Dragon Breathing Technique for years. By chance, I acquired the Green Dragon in the Sleeve sword art and the Dragon’s Legacy talisman, which shows my affinity with dragons.

My first choice is one of the seven star spirits of the Azure Dragon in the East.”

Among the seven mansions of the Azure Dragon: Horn Mansion belongs to wood, known as the Horned Flood Dragon; Neck Mansion to metal, the Golden Dragon; Root Mansion to earth, the Earth Badger; Room Mansion to the sun, the Sun Rabbit; Heart Mansion to the moon, the Moon Fox; Tail Mansion to fire, the Fire Tiger; and Winnowing Basket Mansion to water, the Water Leopard.

He could choose any one of these seven star spirits.

“Cultivation taboo: According to the ‘Five Phases Table of Elemental Nativities’ from the Four Pillars of Destiny and Eight Characters, only those of the Water fate may practice this art.

Of the six Water fates—‘Stream Water,’ ‘Great Brook Water,’ ‘Flowing Water,’ ‘Heavenly River Water,’ ‘Well Spring Water,’ and ‘Great Ocean Water’—the last two, ‘Heavenly River’ and ‘Great Ocean,’ are most suitable, though the others will suffice.

Those not of Water fate who attempt this art will be corroded by the celestial waters within three months—their bones will dissolve and their flesh will melt.”

Wang Cheng’s fate was ‘Great Ocean Water,’ so he had no problem cultivating this art.

The two star spirits that most caught his eye were the Horn Mansion and the Neck Mansion.

Horned Flood Dragon: first of the Azure Dragon’s seven, governs generals, soldiers, rain, longevity, and agriculture in the mortal world.

Golden Dragon: second of the Azure Dragon’s seven, governs pestilence, great winds, flying stones, medicines, imperial counselors, the Three Excellencies, and the ranks and salaries of officials.

The cultivation method for both was the same:

“In practice, one must obtain a shed snakeskin from a large serpent—the more spiritual, the better—and place it in a white silk pouch, then offer it at the altar of the Supreme Heavens.

Each day at the hour of the dragon, stand upon the characters for ‘Kui’ and ‘Gang,’ form the Dragon-Subduing mudra with both hands, draw a breath of eastern energy, and recite the incantation seven times:

‘Master Serpent, Master Serpent, coil and twist, thunder and fire flash, now seen, now hidden, cross the seas at will, dormant at my command. By my order!’

Then burn a Waters Talisman, and after seven days, the art is complete.

Take out the snakeskin, burn it to powder, and consume it with rootless water. You will then don the ‘Dragon Robe,’ and either the Horned Flood Dragon or the Golden Dragon will enter your body with the robe, granting the practitioner unique supernatural abilities.”

Wang Cheng was well aware that there was a “flood serpent” of the highest quality hidden here in Yue Harbor; it had likely shed many excellent skins over the years. But he dared not covet them, nor would he dare, as his father suggested, to ask Lady Yan for a gift—after all, to a flood serpent, shed skin was as intimate as an undergarment; wouldn’t that get him killed on the spot as a lecher?

He decided to collect the unregistered assets tomorrow, then seek the finest cultivation materials from the Shanhai Society and the Han family.

“The practice requires seven days, just enough to finish before the second day of the second lunar month—not a day can be wasted. I can spare at most two days searching for materials; after that, no more delays.”

...

At the same time.

In the largest Heavenly Consort Palace in Yue Harbor, side hall.

Axiao sat unchallenged in the seat of honor, a wisp of smoke twisting in her hand like a tiny serpent, her expression somewhat strange.

“So, Wang Cheng prayed for all his uncles and aunts to look after him when he worshipped the gods? Claims he’s dull-witted? Your boy’s slipperier than an eel—three months have passed and he hasn’t even shown a tail! If I catch that rascal, I’ll tan his hide first!”

At this, an older female temple attendant stepped forward respectfully.

“Madam, we can no longer commune with the honored deity in Yue Harbor. We cannot summon divine soldiers to answer prayers and protect the faithful. We’ve just confirmed: about ninety percent of the temples are tainted by blood.

Now, only by your own hand, borrowing a few of the remaining pure temples, can soldiers be summoned successfully.

Moreover, all this unclaimed incense and prayer power in the city is a hidden danger. It can’t be cleared in the short term and will inevitably fuel evil forces that disrupt the feng shui.

How we proceed rests with your command.”

Axiao—or rather, the dragon maiden Yan Yunxiao, reincarnated—dispersed the lingering message from Prince Jing. Her manner shifted from her customary cold detachment to one of grave authority.

“Years ago, Yue Harbor’s coastal fortress was abandoned for a reason. I, as a flood dragon, built the ‘Eight Directions Pavilion Bureau’ here, binding my fate to this place.

The gentry of Jiangnan think only my true form is hidden in this land’s veins? Have they never studied why Yue Harbor was abandoned in the first place?

If not for suppressing the ‘historical sediment’ here, would my human form have struggled so long to ascend, ultimately falling under another’s control?

If these short-lived mortals dare plot against me, let them try. When disaster strikes, they’ll bear the consequences.

As for me, as long as I endure, it may not be a wholly bad thing.

All you need do is protect the faithful.”

The temple attendant bowed again.

“At your command!”