Chapter Nine: Wang Cheng, the Talisman Apprentice; Ashao, the Pearl Gatherer

“The Heart Lamp is finally lit!”

Wang Cheng felt a throbbing between his brows, as if a third eye had opened, even without using the coin-eye of the Four Seas Treasure. His senses sharpened to an extraordinary degree—the world before him appeared vividly alive, and even in dim light, he could make out every detail on the shore. The sea breezes, each carrying its own unique saline tang, became easily distinguishable by scent alone. By the sound of the wind whistling past his ears, he could judge both its speed and direction with perfect clarity.

All five senses, the channels of both inner and outer interaction, had risen by a marked degree. Wang Cheng had no doubt that, should he find himself on a battlefield drenched in gunfire, the chance of being struck by a stray bullet would be far lower than for a mere mortal whose Heart Lamp remained unlit.

Soon, the ever-strengthening pure white light of his heart radiated outward, its glow faintly visible across his skin. From this point forward, he no longer needed to rely on the power of the Ship God; he could wield the many talismans painted in advance by the official clerks—one foot had stepped through the doorway of the Divine Path.

Now, looking through the coin-eye of the Four Seas Treasure, he could at last see with perfect clarity the dual destinies entwined upon himself—one as the Heir of the Sea-Pacifying Prince, "Wang Cheng," and one as the malevolent spirit "Wang Fugui." The latter clung to his shadow; a single thought could set it writhing, as if it were alive.

The ancient texts said: "The shadow is the companion of the body; it follows one's form, inseparable from it." With his Heart Lamp lit, transcending the mundane, he could now actively wield the borrowed life and appearance bought from the evil spirit, granting him far greater flexibility.

It was as if Wang Cheng now simultaneously possessed both a living, yang body and a ghostly, yin body—thanks to the karmic entanglement of the Water-Gathering Divine Ritual for sending off the Ship King, the foundation of this yin body was anything but ordinary.

A mingled joy and regret flashed across his face.

“The Four Seas Treasure truly is a wonder beyond imagining—reversing fate is as easy as eating or drinking. Yet the weight of a yin ghost’s bones is far lighter than that of the living. The night I purchased Wang Fugui’s fate, my bone weight only rose from two taels and eight qian to three taels and one qian:

‘Busy seeking hardship, when will clouds part and sunlight break through? Rarely does ancestral foundation allow a home; by middle age, food and clothing will no longer be a worry.’

Barely enough to live as an ordinary man. But it’s still far from enough—the supreme bone weight of seven taels and two qian, the innate fate of an emperor, is a distant dream.”

Moreover, Wang Cheng sensed that before officially taking his place as an appointed official, it would be unwise to perform another such fate-exchange. With the breakthrough confirmed, he rose slowly to his feet, stretching his creaking limbs.

Though the subtle changes since lighting his Heart Lamp were profound, his body had not undergone any physical refinement—his strength remained unchanged. He was still mortal. At best, his explosive power, control, and balance had improved, allowing him to attempt feats previously impossible.

Such was the cultivation of a Divine Officer. The body was but a temporary dwelling; the true foundation lay in the three souls, seven spirits, and the divine essence within.

Though Wang Cheng retained many theories from his previous life—"cultivating both nature and fate," or "cultivating nature without fate, the soul will never attain sainthood"—he had only just entered the path. How could he dare question a system of cultivation refined over millennia, let alone possess the ability to challenge it?

Only when he one day reached the summit and replaced his father as the Sea-Pacifying Prince, the greatest Water-Gatherer, would he have the right to probe the mysteries behind this system.

He deftly packed up his fishing gear and, taking advantage of the last rays of sunlight, steered his boat homeward. Already, he was calculating his next steps:

“I was born in the Year of the Dragon, benefiting from the four great zodiac signs—Ox, Tiger, Dragon, and Horse—and born on the fifteenth day of the tenth lunar month, the Lower Prime Festival: a fate as solid as iron.

Moreover, I have practiced inner cultivation since childhood, working tirelessly on the Dragon Breathing Technique, in accordance with the twenty-four solar terms. Finally, at sixteen, I have lit my Heart Lamp and become eligible to be inducted as a registered disciple.

Next, I must catch more of the coveted Hundred-Thousand Sea Treasures and earn more money. I must strive to perfect my heart’s light by the first pentad of the Rain Water solar term next year, achieving the state of pure-yang life-fire. Within that brief five-day window, I must perform the Divine Ritual and secure my official induction.

Otherwise, if I wish to become a Water-Class Officer like my father—the White Water Gentleman—I’ll have to wait another year. This step cannot be delayed.”

At this thought, a trace of worry appeared on Wang Cheng’s face.

“To hold the ritual at the proper time, I’ll need a properly consecrated Talismanic Anchor to suppress my fate and build an altar to channel the Way. I’ll also need a deeply cultivated guide to help submit the formal petition. In short, four conditions: pure-yang life-fire, the Otter’s Fish Festival, a Talismanic Anchor, and a guide—I have none of these.

My original identity is unusable; it’s best if I start afresh as Wang Fugui and formally take a master. But I’ve heard that learning the culinary arts in the city requires enduring scolding and beatings, and for each dish learned, the master must pass through that special door. At this rate, one could waste ten years and still gain nothing, yet I only have two months.

Difficult! Difficult! Difficult!”

For the moment, setting aside his many concerns, he decided to consult with the Zhang brothers about when to return to Moon Harbor, rowing his boat swiftly.

Within the perception of his heart’s light, he saw black tides of evil qi rolling from the deep sea toward the land, while in the direction of the Tanka clan’s boats, a golden-red radiance blazed, holding the tide firmly at bay.

Three make a crowd—a united front! Between the mountains and the sea, the triad of official functionaries, ghosts and local gods, and the people’s own yang spirit forge a furnace, protecting the masses from evil. Especially on the harsh sea, even with a mountain-sea curse as the first line of defense, no one could survive on their own—a single person or family simply would not suffice.

The Tanka must unite to thrive. This made them far more cohesive than their land-dwelling compatriots; unshackled by family lines, they were all brothers and sisters. Their faith in the gods was all the stronger, a devotion that could never be measured by something as trivial as eggs.

Just as Wang Cheng’s boat neared the ring of blazing light around the Tanka’s fleet, a melodious song drifted down from above:

“With no wind, the boat sails under the corner of the sail, baskets left behind waiting for the lover’s return...
At the shore they call for a little skiff, rowing out the great ship, each one stepping forward, none left behind...”

He paused mid-stroke.

‘Isn’t that a popular love song among Tanka women?’

Looking up, he saw, on a cliff carved sharp as a blade on the shore by the moored boats, a young woman no more than twenty, breathtakingly beautiful, with long flowing hair. She sat hugging her knees at the cliff’s edge, gazing blankly toward the horizon where sea and sky met, watching the wall of forbidden spells appear and vanish with the shifting of yin and yang.

She wore not ordinary clothing, but a form-fitting, blue-black sharkskin diving suit, revealing only her exquisite face and pale hands and feet.

Her waist was slender, her legs long, her hips full and rounded, making her skin appear all the whiter and her figure all the more striking. Most remarkable were her eyes—a pair of heterochromatic pupils. One was the usual brown, but the other was a brilliant blue, as beautiful as the sea itself. The brown and blue together gleamed with an exotic, uncanny allure.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen this elder sister before.’

Wang Cheng took only a brief glance, then quickly averted his eyes, adhering to the sage’s teaching of not staring at what is improper. He was just about to row past her when his mouth, of its own accord, began to sing along:

“With no wind, the boat sails under the corner of the sail, baskets left behind waiting... for the lover’s return...”

He stopped abruptly, a jolt of alarm running through him. In his excitement over lighting his Heart Lamp with the help of the Parrot-Mouthed Greenfish, he’d forgotten the fish’s passive “parrot-mimicry” side effect. It was one thing for unmarried girls or young wives to sing this fisher’s song, but for Wang Cheng—or his alter ego, the scholar Wang Fugui—to sing it...

Worse still, his voice had come out in a gentle, feminine tone.

From the cliff’s edge, the young woman’s mismatched eyes slid his way. Even without speaking, Wang Cheng felt her emotion as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud:

‘Well sung, but don’t do it again!’

He instinctively raised a hand, about to protest and salvage his dignity, but she spared him only a glance before turning away. Then, with a graceful leap, she plunged into the sea from the cliff—so elegant that not a drop was splashed. In the water, she drew a white line behind her like a mermaid, swimming in a single breath to the center of the fleet. In a flash, her figure vanished onto a ship even larger than the Zhang Fushun.

Wang Cheng watched her disappearing silhouette for a long moment, only snapping back to himself when a hand waved repeatedly before his eyes.

“Scholar, Sister Axiao has gone into the ship-shrine. Stop staring.”

It was Zhang Wen, who had rowed out to fetch him, amused by the scene he’d just witnessed.

“Scholar, Sister Axiao has...”

This time, Wang Cheng caught himself just as the parrot-mimicry threatened to take over; he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth.

He frowned slightly, gazing at the scant scraps of information his power Strange Goods for Trade had gleaned from the girl in that fleeting moment.

‘Strange Goods: Axiao? Pearl Diver of the Water Division...

Just one line? Why so little information this time? How odd!’