Across the divine land of Shenzhou, the site chosen for any temple or shrine was never a matter of chance.
Those built atop famous peaks or deep within untamed river gorges, where human traces were few, typically signaled a devotion to the Great Dao, far removed from the red dust of mortal life.
Those built halfway up a mountain meant one foot in the mortal world, one foot among immortals.
Those erected at the foot of a mountain were for cultivating amidst the red dust, forging good ties far and wide.
And if a shrine was built within a city, it sought a steady stream of incense, thriving on bustling foot traffic.
Consequently, the districts surrounding urban shrines were almost always vibrant commercial quarters crowded with people.
West City, an old street near Niangniang Temple.
Shops stood packed along both sides of this street as well, yet unlike the area near the City God Temple, where merchants dealt in incense, candles, and ceremonial goods for weddings and funerals, most of the establishments here belonged to craftsmen.
Leatherworkers, goldsmiths, carpenters, and stonemasons were only the broad trades; from them branched an even wider variety of specialized shops—some dedicated to horse tack, others making shadow puppets, crafting furniture, or carving musical instruments for performers.
Several men of the White Ape Gang hurried down the street.
Unlike the Iron Saber Gang, Yuan Qu had knocked around brothels since childhood. Accustomed to big scenes, he cared deeply about outward flair, so his subordinates were uniformly dressed in black jackets, warrior boots, and palm-wide oxhide waist guards.
Each of them was tall, burly, and thickset, appearing even more ferocious when moving in a pack.
The common folk along the street shrank back in dread, hastily giving them a wide berth.
Before long, they arrived in front of a secluded shop.
Outside hung numerous wooden puppets, all clad in opera costumes with painted faces—the scholar, the maiden, the painted face, the elder, and the clown—each sculpted with vivid expression.
This was a workshop that crafted theatrical marionettes.
Puppet opera, also known as "little theater," traced its origins to the Han dynasty and flourished in the Tang. Even a Tang emperor had penned the verse:
*Carved of wood and drawn by strings, he plays an aged sir;*
*With chicken skin and crane-white hair, he seems almost alive.*
It was called "little" because performances took place on a compact stage curtained off below. Hidden beneath the cloth, the performers relied solely on nimble fingers and operatic skill to enact joy, sorrow, parting, and reunion within a few square feet.
Xianyang's puppet troupes were equally renowned.
With just two or three performers, a troupe could travel between village temple fairs to stage their shows. A substantial number of people worked in the craft, and shops dedicated entirely to puppet-making were common.
Inside the ancient, weathered shop, a middle-aged man sat carving a marionette.
Clad in white robes with black hair cascading over his shoulders, he had narrow eyes and an aloof, chilly expression. His fingers were long, slender, and powerful, sending curls of wood shavings fluttering down as his carving knife glided along the timber.
For reasons hard to place, his presence felt strikingly discordant with the old, worn workshop.
Even when footsteps sounded outside, he remained utterly engrossed, as though no one else existed.
The men of the White Ape Gang did not dare set foot inside. Standing before the threshold, they bowed in unison and cupped their hands respectfully. "Master Chen, our chief requests your assistance."
The white-robed man did not raise his head, continuing his carving with undisturbed focus.
"Where are the things I asked for?"
"Rest assured, Mister Chen, we are only short by one. The chief said there are too many eyes and ears during the day, so everything will be delivered to your residence tonight..."
***
Four hours later, the Yuan family estate.
Unlike Zheng Heibei of the Iron Saber Gang, once Yuan Qu amassed wealth, he adopted an entirely different posture: purchasing a sprawling estate, constructing gardens, and putting on the full airs of a grand squire.
Perhaps because he had grown up impoverished, he now embraced luxury in every way he could.
"Young Master Zhou, this way!"
Outside the main gates, a gang member led the way with deep deference.
Behind him walked a young man of upright posture, with thick eyebrows, large eyes, and square features. He wore a fine brocade robe and a long jacket, with a jade archer's ring gleaming upon his thumb.
His eyes shone with spirit, carrying a noticeable touch of youthful vigor.
As soon as he entered the grounds, Yuan Qu came forward to greet him with a smile. "Zhou Bai, you truly are hard to invite. Could it be that now that you have received Master's true teachings, you look down on your Uncle Yuan?"
The visitor was none other than the Zhou family's rising prodigy, Zhou Bai.
"Martial Uncle jokes."
The youth showed a trace of impatience, offering only a slight cupped-hand salute before glancing around the courtyard. He shook his head. "Martial Uncle, your garden has grown even prettier. But my uncle once said that if you weren't so obsessed with worldly indulgences, your kung fu would never have stalled at this level."
"Hahaha..."
Yuan Qu showed not the slightest anger, laughing instead. "I am old; I cannot match the fierce vigor of you youngsters. In the future, when I hear of your fame spreading across the Jianghu, I will be more than satisfied."
Zhou Bai offered no comment. "Why did Uncle Yuan summon me here?"
"Come inside and you will see."
Yuan Qu smiled enigmatically and led Zhou Bai into the main hall.
Inside, a large macaque was crouched upon a chair, an iron chain fastened around its neck. It was clutching a live chicken, tearing into it with savage bites, its muzzle slick with blood.
Though it sat somewhat like a human, wild ferocity gleamed in its eyes.
On a chair across from it sat the white-robed, middle-aged man, long black hair resting over his shoulders, his expression chilly and aloof as he fingered a string of prayer beads with eyes closed in repose.
When the two entered, he merely cast a faint glance their way.
Yuan Qu hurried to make introductions. "Zhou Bai, allow me to introduce you. This is Master Chen Fakui, an expert of the Jiuyuan Sect's dharma lineage."
"Greetings, Master Chen."
Zhou Bai felt a jolt of surprise and bowed respectfully.
Among the various branches of the Jianghu, the Gold Branch stood foremost, while the Xuanmen remained aloof from worldly matters.
The Taixuan Orthodox Sect served as the state religion, dealing primarily with high officials and titled nobility. Ordinary Jianghu folk could at most come into contact with local dharma lineages.
The Jiuyuan Sect originated from Mount Li and was an ancient lineage. Legend held that they were descendants of the artisans who built the First Emperor's Mausoleum, having inherited the lore of ancient fangshi ritualists, and they wielded immense influence across Guanzhong.
A hallmark of this dharma lineage was that all initiated disciples carried the character *Fa* within their names.
This Chen Fakui was beyond question a genuine ritualist of the lineage! Why had Yuan Qu brought him to meet a ritualist?
Puzzled, Zhou Bai turned toward the large macaque, frowning. "Uncle Yuan, why is my uncle's boxing beast here?"
There were many variations of Monkey Fist, and the Red Fist system possessed a branch of its own, though because the form was considered undignified, it was termed "Child Fist."
Zhou Pan was a master of this style. He had also studied Tongbei Monkey Fist, blending the two through relentless practice until he broke through into transformative jin.
Near Mount Zhongnan, he had captured two intelligent macaques. While observing their natural forms to hone his technique, he had actually taught boxing forms to both animals.
Zhou Pan grew fond of them, referring to them as his "boxing beasts."
After becoming head of the Divine Fist Association, his reputation spread far and wide, prompting frequent challengers to seek him out. Weary of the nuisance, Zhou Pan set a rule: anyone wishing to fight him had to beat one of his macaques first.
This was also one of the sources of his notorious reputation.
Normally, the two macaques stayed by Zhou Pan's side. Seeing one here naturally aroused Zhou Bai's suspicion.
"Naturally, I pleaded with Master to send it over," Yuan Qu said with a mild smile. "With the match at hand, you have grasped the monkey's shape, but you lack its true nimbleness and ferocity. I paid a heavy price to invite Master Chen to aid your comprehension through secret arts, and Master has already given his consent."
Zhou Bai felt an immediate wave of distaste, shaking his head. "He is nothing more than a country bumpkin. Does Martial Uncle really have so little faith in me?"
Yuan Qu chuckled. "Of course I have faith in you.
"Yet you know that old bastard Zhang Yuanshang has never gotten along with Master. If that boy were truly an easy mark, why would Zhang take the trouble to arrange this match?
"Therefore, you must not only win, but win decisively!
"If you kill Li Hu's son without breaking a sweat, Master might be so pleased that he will finally grant you leave to roam the Jianghu and make a name for yourself."
Zhou Bai's eyes lit up at the words. "Truly?"
"Would I lie to you?" Yuan Qu's smile appeared thoroughly sincere.
The ritualist Chen Fakui watched from the side with cold detachment. Seeing that Zhou Bai had agreed, he stepped forward without a word, plucked a tuft of hair from Zhou Bai and another from the macaque, wrapped each in yellow talismans, and stuffed them alternately into the mouths of the youth and the beast.
Watching the process, Zhou Bai could not help feeling a creeping chill.
A ritualist's curses were notoriously difficult to guard against. Common Jianghu lore warned that when dealing with such figures, one must never casually surrender their birth chart, nail clippings, or hair.
Had Zhou Pan not given his approval, Zhou Bai would never have allowed the man near him.
Sensing the youth's wariness, Chen Fakui paid it no mind.
He produced a rattle-drum painted with the Eight Trigrams. Shaking it rhythmically, he paced the Big Dipper steps, tossing his head so violently that his black hair whipped through the air, his eyes gradually rolling back until only the whites showed.
Incantations poured from his lips in a rapid, unintelligible murmur.
As the rattle-drum clattered, a strange change overtook Zhou Bai.
He felt the heavy, wild aura of the macaque envelop him.
The beast's aura surged into his body, causing him to twitch and shudder involuntarily. His knees slowly buckled into a crouch. Reaching back, he scratched his head, contorting his face in frantic grimaces—mirroring the macaque in every detail.
A moment later, youth and monkey began trading forms of Monkey Fist across the hall.
Every technique was vicious, every strike ruthless.
In Zhou Bai's eyes, a beastly savagery flared to life.
*Crack!*
His claw struck out, tearing deep gouges into a stout timber pillar.
The youth let out a screech of delight, bounding over the floor on hands and feet like an ape. He turned toward Yuan Qu, baring his teeth in a snarl, every fiber of his being steeped in feral malice.
"Splendid!"
Yuan Qu clapped in praise, though his eyes brimmed with mockery...
***
Before anyone realized, night had fallen.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
Along the old alley near the City God Temple, drumbeats continued to rumble.
Intermittent yet relentless, each beat crashed through the air like rolling thunder.
Wang Daoxuan walked down the bluestone street carrying a paper lantern. Turning into Wendao Hall, he looked upon Li Yan, who moved across the courtyard as if possessed, and could only shake his head gently.
Sha Lifei sat crouched upon the steps, cradling a jug of aged wine. Beside him lay an unfolded oilskin wrapper filled with boiled peanuts and braised beef.
"Daoist, care for a swig?"
Seeing Wang Daoxuan enter, Sha Lifei raised the jug and asked in an undertone.
Wang Daoxuan shook his head in refusal. "No. The Hai hour is when people settle to rest. Drinking wine stirs qi and blood into excitement, contrary to the rhythm of Heaven. If the poor Daoist drinks now, I fear I will be unable to cultivate tonight."
"Cultivate my foot..." Sha Lifei muttered. "With this drumming going on, who could sleep anyway?"
Wang Daoxuan gave a helpless smile. "I already checked with the neighbors, and none of them mind. Why must you complain?"
"I wouldn't dare complain, I'm just worried!" Sha Lifei protested quickly, shaking his head. "He's been drumming all day long without a bite of food or a drop of water, and he takes the ring the day after tomorrow! What if something goes wrong?"
Wang Daoxuan looked toward Li Yan, who was completely oblivious to his surroundings, and said thoughtfully, "This is the realm of self-forgetfulness. Young Brother Yan gave instructions beforehand, which means he knows what he is doing.
"We need only wait in peace."
That night, the common folk along the old street had initially suffered from the noise.
Yet to their surprise, the drumbeats that had felt so irritating earlier in the evening grew curiously pleasant to the ear as the night deepened.
And when they finally closed their eyes, they slept with exceptional peace...
Chapter 43