Chapter 554: True Martial, Zhao Yanlong

Chapter 554: Zhenwu, Zhao Yanlong

On the fortune‑telling stall lay a yellow cloth, atop which rested divination tubes, turtle shells, copper coins and other implements; beside the stall a bamboo pole was planted, from which hung a banner bearing the four large characters ‘My Divination Reaches the Gods’.

The stall’s paraphernalia looked respectable enough, yet the fortune‑teller’s appearance was lamentably lacking. His burly figure strained a dingy, tattered Daoist robe to bursting, the sleeves bulging as if his muscles might rip the fabric at the slightest bend of the arm.

With a full beard covering his face, he seemed less a sage who knows heaven and earth and more a rough‑hewn wanderer who has roamed south and north.

Given such dignity, it was no surprise that nobody bothered his stall.

“Sir, are you here for character‑reading or physiognomy?”

As the street performers dazzled the crowd—smashing stones on chests, swapping heads with watermelons, breathing fire, exhaling smoke—the Daoist, still eager, withdrew his gaze and flashed Zhang Qingyu a hearty grin.

“Let’s start with palmistry.”

“No problem.”

The Daoist stretched out a fan‑sized hand, seized Zhang Qingyu’s jade‑white palm, turned it this way and that, inspected it from every angle, even lingering over the fingernails.

“Tsk, sir, your recent luck is not good at all.”

Zhang Qingyu laughed and asked, “What do you mean?”

“From the lines on your palm I see that your current situation is fraught with peril, hidden dangers lurk. Yet oddly, though your fortune ought to be declining, it has instead surged strangely vigorous and buoyant—like pouring cold water into blazing oil, it can only end in either great wealth and honor or great disaster and peril.”

“Then how might I turn misfortune into fortune?” Zhang Qingyu asked calmly.

“Difficult, very difficult.”

The burly Daoist, face grim, explained, “To be frank, I have wandered south and north for many years and have never encountered such a puzzling case as yours.”

“You merely said it’s difficult, not that it’s unsolvable, implying there must be a way, right?”

“Indeed, sir, you are no ordinary man—you hit the nail on the head! Yes, there is a method, but…”

While speaking, the Daoist furtively glanced at Zhang Qingyuan’s face, saw his calm composure, realized he was not being swayed by the patter, and swiftly shifted tactics.

“For a cultivator, the words ‘bear and endure’ are paramount. In a great prefecture like Xiangyang, your seeking me out means we have both accepted a karmic bond. Even if I now stand aside, I am still ‘stained’ by cause and ‘burdened’ by karma, unable to escape tribulation. Therefore, sir, you may rest assured—I will employ all my learning to change your fortune.”

Zhang Qingyu nodded and smiled, “Daoist, your righteousness is admirable.”

“What a slippery fish, yet it still won’t bite the hook!”

The Daoist, unable to contain his impatience, gritted his teeth and continued, “There is a way to alter your luck, but it demands a considerable price—”

“As long as the calamity can be dispelled, money is no obstacle.”

“You’ve hit the mark again, Daoist; I admire you. The real problem now lies in the word ‘money’ itself.”

The Daoist’s expression jolted; he hastily restrained his excitement, speaking calmly: “Money is wealth, which is greed—the foremost of the six desires, the root of all evil. If not purged, calamity cannot be lifted. In the realm of fate, virtue is likened to water; this ‘wealth’ is called ‘earthly filth’ in the vernacular. If not cleared, the flow is blocked, and without flow one cannot attain the state where ‘water benefits all things without contention.’ Consequently, turning ill fortune into good remains impossible.”

This mishmash of Buddhist, Daoist, and Confucian talk, cobbled together haphazardly, sounded to Zhang Qingyu utter nonsense.

Yet his face showed no contempt; solemnly he asked, “This time, Daoist, you have spoken truly. Lately I have been troubled and do not know what to do. I hope you can dispel my confusion.”

“In a word, money kills more surely than a blade.”

The Daoist shook his head sagely, “If you are willing to relinquish the fleeting glory and riches like passing clouds, you will naturally avoid the myriad perils that chase wealth and find a sliver of safety even in dire straits.”

“So I should resign my post as Supervisor and retreat into the cavern‑heaven to preserve my life.”

Zhang Qingyu withdrew his hand from the stall, slipped it into his sleeve, and gazed at the dazed Daoist, smiling, “Is that what you mean? Junior Brother Yanglong.”

In an instant the bustling street fell silent; performers lowered their acts, onlookers ceased their applause, vendors stopped hawking, playing children quieted their laughter, and all the townsfolk, ceasing their tasks, turned their eyes toward Zhang Qingyu.

Zhang Qingyu regarded it all with indifference, sitting quietly on the bench.

As if a veil had been lifted, doubt cleared from the Daoist’s eyes and gave way to clarity.

“Yanglong, I did not expect the Supervisor’s august presence; please forgive my oversight, Supervisor.”

Having awakened from his role‑play, Yanglong rose to his full height and bowed before Zhang Qingyu.

“No matter; you are still in the cycle of rebirth, so you would not recognize me. Conversely, I came uninvited, linking myself into your cavern‑heaven without permission—please do not hold it against me, Junior Brother.”

Zhang Qingyu gestured for Yanglong to sit.

“The Hall of the Mystic Altar is tasked with patrolling the Dragon‑Tiger disciples; it may enter any disciple’s Yellow‑Heaven cavern at will, per sect regulation, so how could I blame the Supervisor?”

Yanglong repeatedly said he dared not, then, after sitting respectfully, asked, “I do not know why the Supervisor seeks me; is there some urgent matter?”

“Nothing urgent. I merely heard from the Office of Dharma Seals that your strength has been recovering slowly, so I came to see if there is anything I can do to help.”

Zhang Qingyu said sternly, “Could it be that the Office of Dharma Seals is deliberately obstructing you, palming off inferior dao foundations to put you off?”

“You have worried the Supervisor needlessly. No one is hindering me; it is simply that my innate aptitude is too dull, I cannot adapt to the new dao foundation, and thus my strength has not returned.”

Yanglong hurriedly replied, “Please rest assured, Supervisor—if you grant me three days in the mortal world, at most five, once I have regained basic spell‑casting ability I will descend the mountain at once to report for duty in Shangrao County.”

“Rest easy, I am not here to urge you down the mountain.”

Zhang Qingyu smiled, “I see you threw yourself into the role just now; the only pity is that you kept your original form. Not shedding the mortal coil will weaken the tempering effect considerably.”

“The Supervisor’s instruction is noted; I will pay heed henceforth.”

Yanglong paused, his face flashing with apprehension, and said anxiously, “Just now, while telling your fortune, I surely uttered some nonsensical rubbish; Supervisor, please do not take it to heart.”

“I actually think your reading was quite accurate, not far from my present predicament.”

Zhang Qingyu laughed heartily, “Renouncing wealth and avoiding peril—there is deep meaning in that.”

“Those are merely the tricks of jianghu charlatans, not to be taken seriously.” Yanglong waved his hands dismissively.

“Jianghu patter—what sort of gate is that? Junior Brother, do tell, I’m curious.” Zhang Qingyu asked with interest.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the other party showed no intention of leaving; instead he tossed out random, bewildering topics with a hammer‑and‑anvil manner, his conduct utterly at odds with Yanglong’s impression, leaving him puzzled as to what Zhang Qingyu truly intended.

“Someone like the Supervisor, who holds a seat among the earthly immortals, is already a veritable deity in the myths of the Great Ming; thus in dream‑reincarnation one would scarcely imagine experiencing the guise of a fortune‑teller, that flamboyant jianghu imposture, and ignorance of such low‑brow tricks is quite normal.”

Yanglong’s expression remained unchanged as he smiled and explained, “Those Daoists who set up stalls in the bustling market to tell fortunes—nine out of ten, perhaps nine and a half, have never learned proper Daoist arts; they rely solely on a sharp tongue to swindle. Those who come for a reading are usually people who have met misfortune: women mostly bear resentment, men mostly infatuation; even an upright, blameless person, if out of sorts, can be labeled ‘ominous’ to some extent. Hence fortune‑telling is less about divination and more about extraction—draw out the client’s hidden fears and you can cow the ordinary folk.”

“But if the client truly bears calamity, how is it dispelled?”

“By spending money. As the saying goes, ‘lose wealth to avert disaster’; once he has lost his money, he believes he has escaped the calamity.”

Zhang Qingyu frowned, “But if others discover they have been duped, would they not come knocking to demand redress?”

Yanglong lifted the stall with one hand, chuckling, “Fortune‑tellers often boast of loving to ‘wander the four directions,’ not out of compassion for the world’s suffering, but to make a quick getaway.”

“Interesting.”

Zhang Qingyu clapped his hands and laughed.

“Nevertheless, after the Emperor Yizong codified the twelve ranks of the three teachings and nine streams, this trade virtually vanished—its only fault being that it brought disrepute to the Daoist and Yin‑Yang orders.”

“What reputation remains for the Yin‑Yang order? It is nothing but a crowd of street‑rats that everyone shouts at to drive away.”

Zhang Qingyu wondered, “Then, Junior Brother, how did you come to experience this identity in the Yellow‑Heaven dream?”

“My authority is limited; I cannot linger long in the sect’s caverns for rebirth, so I employed a little cleverness, shaping my own cavern‑heaven into this form, hoping to hone my will at any moment and accumulate a bit more time. Only after it solidified did I realize I had gone astray, and I could only insert fitting roles according to the cavern’s current state.”

Yanglong flushed with shame, “Supervisor, please do not think ill of me—aside from this fortune‑teller, I have also tried my hand as the conjuring street performer.”

“The construction of your cavern‑heaven is truly ingenious.”

Zhang Qingyu surveyed the scene; the frozen crowd resumed motion, the halted bustle flowed once more.

“Are they all Yellow‑Heaven ghosts?”

"Inspector's discerning gaze—nothing more than a petty trick."

"Such a construction method had been attempted by new-school cultivators before, but they all abandoned it due to the enormous cost."

Zhang Qingyu turned his head toward Yang Long, speaking calmly: "So you're betraying your own side just to sustain this cave-heaven?"

Boom!

A bolt of lightning tore across the sky above the ancient city, and a damp cold wind swept through the streets.

Merriment and laughter suddenly turned into panicked shouts; the crowd scattered wildly, seeking shelter from the impending downpour.

"Inspector, where do you get that from?" Yang Long replied, his tone stiff, forcing a smile.

"The affair in Shangrao County—you've been terribly careless."

Zhang Qingyu idly turned a tortoise-shell fragment on the stall, smiling softly: "With your wit and ability, you should know the Xuantan Hall will sooner or later notice the trail of Daoist Wu—they're all devotees of Longhu Mountain, using spirit-apertures crafted by the Fa Zheng Bureau; once you've linked to them, the trace isn't easily erased."

Zhang Qingyu asked, "I'm curious—what exactly is your relationship with Chen Qisheng? Worth risking so much to leak information to him?"

"No wonder I ended up playing the fortune-teller today—it seems the calamity is aimed at me."

By now, Yang Long saw no need to keep up the pretense; he lifted his head, rubbed his furrowed brows, and said with a laugh, "He and I are sworn brothers."

"Calling a traitor your brother— that's where you've gone wrong, Yang Long."

Zhang Qingyu's tone grew cold: "Do you realize how much loss your actions have caused the sect? The Grand Ancestor Celestial Master is furious; if he learned you too had turned traitor, even a painless death would be a luxury."

"Your courage, Inspector, is no small matter either."

Yang Long smiled calmly: "You must have already caught hold of my leverage, right? Not reporting to the sect, but entering my cave-heaven alone—looks like you want to strike a deal with me."

"Yang Long, you're a smart man; if you help me capture Li Jun and Chen Qisheng, you'll not only avoid fault but earn great merit for the sect. When rewards are doled out, an earth-immortal seat will be within easy reach."

Yang Long remained unmoved: "You can't even catch those people yourself, yet now you ask me to help you catch them—aren't you being overly demanding?"

"Whether it's hard or not, you know it in your heart."

Zhang Qingyu said coldly: "Yang Long, you cherish your life—don't ruin it."

"Inspector, you understand me deeply—you even know my bad habit of clinging to life."

Yang Long crossed his thick arms before him, spine straight, looking down from above with a disdainful gaze.

"There are plenty of people surnamed Zhang in the Celestial Master's mansion; naturally there are some fools. Zhang Qinglü is one, Zhang Qingsheng another. They don't know what tricks you've been up to in the Wa region, but I see it crystal clear."

Zhang Qingyu smiled: "And I know even more, and more important, secrets of yours."

"Go on, tell me—what if I really am afraid?"

Yang Long's attitude made Zhang Qingyu frown involuntarily; he lowered his voice and snapped: "Yang Long, if you don't know what's good for you, all the wandering souls of the Wudang Dao lineage in this cave-heaven will be reduced to ashes!"

Boom!

Thunder roared again, white light flashing across Yang Long's suddenly altered face.

"How could you possibly know?" Yang Long blurted out.

"Zhang Qinglü is a member of the Zhang clan, yet you toyed with him in the Wa region, clapping your hands as he died and his Dao vanished, using his life to boost yourself into the Celestial Master's mansion—that reveals a murderous heart. After Chen Qisheng defected from Longhu Mountain, he became a pure old-school Dao lineage; you aid him despite your own safety—that reveals a deceitful trace."

Zhang Qingyu stared at the silent Yang Long, sneering: "Yang Long, you put on a show of fearing death, yet you've done far too many things that defy death."

"You've indeed shown too many flaws; it seems the master was right—I truly am not cut out for the Dao."

Yang Long gave a bitter smile repeatedly, then sighed heavenward.

"Back when Wudang Mountain was uprooted root and branch, they left you lot to serve as a 'sacrificial hall,' performing the futile task of gathering bones."

Zhang Qingyu spoke solemnly: "Having hidden for all these years, you've already done more than enough for Wudang. Help me find Li Jun's hiding place, and I'll help you shed these wandering ghosts, becoming a true Longhu Mountain Dao lineage—how does that sound?"

"Why should I become a Dao lineage of your Longhu Mountain? Where do you get the gall to call my sworn brothers wandering ghosts?"

A scornful smirk curled across Yang Long's rugged visage.

Suddenly, a roaring downpour engulfed the entire ancient city of Xiangyang, and slowly, silhouettes began to appear along the streets and alleys.

Among them were peddlers, porters, fierce‑spirited jianghu folk, and honest, simple townsfolk—men and women, old and young.

Yet once they stepped into the rain, they transformed into white‑robed Daoists, the cuffs and hems embroidered with the characters “True Martial” in gold thread; though bare‑fisted and standing solemnly in the storm, they wove together a soaring aura of valiant courage and a chilling killing intent.

Crack.

Zhang Qingyu crushed the tortoise shell in his hand, his face revealing undisguised contempt.

"Zhao Yandong, do you really dare to act up before this inspector?"

As his words fell, golden heavenly light—belonging to no realm of this world—pierced the clouds.

One after another, golden‑armored divine generals descended from the heavens, halberds and spears trembling, their resonance like a tiger's roar and a dragon's chant.

"Before the Jiazi year, your five families surrounded and slaughtered Wudang. Today it's just you and me facing off alone—I'll show you how to write the two characters 'reckless act'."

The violent rain drenched the long street, where mortals and gods stood at opposite ends.

Killing cries shook the heavens.