Looking over the hand-copied edition of The Legend of the White Snake, Ding Songyan fell silent for a long while, then sighed to himself:
“The demoness said she'd help me copy it, and she really did copy it...
“Why be so true to your word, a demoness of the Juesheng Dao? Isn't deception what you mainly cultivate?
“You've been acting just like some stalker. When I was doing storytelling outside Dangkang Temple, you were probably lurking somewhere nearby, listening in secret...”
When Ding Songyan flipped to the end, he discovered that Ji Hanyi had actually made some changes to those three songs, adding playable musical notation—qin tablature, pipa scores, and the like.
“Pretty talented, all around...” Ding Songyan sucked his teeth, set down this copy of The Legend of the White Snake, and dug out The Esoteric Classic of Mountains and Seas that he'd hidden away again in the pile of books.
By the light of the lit oil lamp, he quickly found the description he wanted:
“Taowu: shaped like a tiger with a dog's fur, a human face and tiger's claws, fangs and a tiger's tail. Its tail is one zhang and eight chi long. Fierce and unruly. Eating it turns ferocity into growing evil, grants mastery of schemes and deception, makes one never retreat in battle, resonates with Heaven and Earth, and foreknows future events.”
“‘Resonating with Heaven and Earth’ means being moved by Heaven and answering Earth? ‘Future events’ means events yet to come? Then ‘foreknowing future events’ really is a talent for the path of divination... Did the demoness make me swear an oath and spare my life because she'd seen certain scenes of the future?” Fresh conjectures about what had happened earlier rose in Ding Songyan's mind.
What astonished him even more was the “mastery of schemes and deception” trait:
“‘Illusion-breaking,’ hiding outward abnormalities, deceiving others, deceiving oneself, deceiving Heaven and Earth—all of them seem to be refined applications of these four characters. Pair it with ‘resonating with Heaven and Earth,’ and you get ‘imprinting one's own heart upon the Heaven Heart, and pouring the Heaven Heart into the human heart’...
“Brother Youyang really was right—simply using a trait is too crude and blunt, not refined enough. Every one of my traits has great potential to be dug out and developed.
“Once I've mastered the various fundamentals of the Xiaoming Sect's martial arts, I can try to forge divine arts, one after another, drawn from my own traits.
“Is this opening up my own martial path, founding a school of my own?”
At that thought, Ding Songyan abruptly lit up with excitement, and even felt his chest swell with ambition.
This really was fascinating!
Ding Songyan had always been the sort who loved to mull things over and study them. Even after his business took off, he'd wondered whether to go back to the ivory tower and do some research he actually loved. Now, with a chance to open his own martial path and leave his name for a hundred generations, how could he not be thrilled to the point of restlessness?
In this life, with the internet cut off, a man had to find himself something to do beyond eating, drinking, and enjoying himself—and preferably something he was genuinely interested in!
Once he'd calmed a little, Ding Songyan turned again to the Zhenling Sect's inheritance:
“Shebishu: a beast's body, a human face, a dog's ears, and two green snakes for earrings. To eat it grants summoning spirits and commanding ghosts, taking Nature as one's model, aiding Heaven and supporting Earth, and the imperishable essence-soul.”
“Mm. The ‘Useless Divine Art’ was extended from those two traits—‘summoning spirits and commanding ghosts’ and ‘the imperishable essence-soul.’” The more Ding Songyan saw, the more he felt that this book, The Esoteric Classic of Mountains and Seas, was beyond price.
After studying earnestly for a good while, he put the book away, picked up the copy of The Legend of the White Snake written in Ji Hanyi's own hand, dug out his writing implements, stepped out of the west wing, and set everything he was carrying on the square table.
He nudged up the lamp wick, and once the light had brightened considerably, Ding Songyan sat down, took up his brush, and prepared to copy The Legend of the White Snake through once.
He'd already promised to sell the story script to the storytellers' guild so his fellow tellers could all perform it, and he meant to make good on that in earnest. But if he sold the copy written in Ji Hanyi's own hand and the demoness later caught sight of it, whoever held it would very likely be putting his own life in danger. Unwilling to drag others into it, Ding Songyan had no choice but to put himself to this trouble once more.
It could double as a chance to learn his characters and practice them, too!
The moment the brush tip touched down, Ding Songyan felt that this time was somehow different from before.
He seemed to see exactly where each stroke ought to fall, to know precisely how much distance to keep between one stroke and the next.
Add to that the force control and fine precision of a Dharma Realm grandmaster, and the characters he wrote came out perfectly natural. Though they held no striking beauty, every stroke was just right—add a hair and it turned too fat, shave a hair and too thin; nudge it left and too cramped, tilt it right and too slanted.
“Upright and dignified, leaning neither one way nor the other.” After finishing a page, Ding Songyan scrutinized it for a full twenty breaths and gave himself this appraisal.
He had never expected that there was a “Dao” to be found in writing as well, and that his own “Derivation of the Way and Virtue” had already merged into his divine intent—so that, besides being invoked at will, it could also be set off without his meaning to.
“Worthy of being the most ancient of Heavenly Emperors.” Ding Songyan lost count of how many times he'd praised Hundun's remains.
After that, his copying sped along. He'd expected to finish two rounds in two shichen; in the end he wrote a full five rounds, nearly half the whole.
After he heard the night watchman's clapper once more, Ding Songyan did not tidy the table—he only dropped the door bar and lay back down on the bed.
His copying of The Legend of the White Snake had also been a way of waiting, to see whether his master would come for him and take him to meet an Exalted One or a great grandmaster. That would be another trial. By now it was deep in the night, and it had still not happened. Ding Songyan judged it likely would not come after all, so he slept soundly, and when he woke it was already morning. Outside, a night-soil cart had pulled up, its driver calling out things like “Collecting night soil!”
Casting a glance over the bare, empty courtyard, Ding Songyan carried his night-soil bucket out, feeling at once relaxed and a little wistful.
After he'd cleaned himself up, he scooped half a dustpan of coal, lit the stove, and set the wok to heat.
Then he fished an egg out of the main room's cupboard, cracked it deftly, and tipped it into a bowl. He added a pinch of fine salt and used his chopsticks to break up the yolk, blending it into the white.
By the time he'd done this the wok was hot. Ding Songyan scooped in a small spoonful of lard and watched it melt fast, sizzling away. Right after, he poured the beaten egg into the oil and quickly stir-fried it with an iron spatula into little curds, and a rich fragrance drifted up.
Ding Songyan drew a deep breath, then unhurriedly tipped the leftover rice from yesterday noon into the wok, stir-frying it together with the egg curds into one. Just before taking it off the heat, he lavishly scattered in a handful of chopped scallion, flecking the white and yellow with green.
“Looks the part!” Ding Songyan praised himself with a grin.
He dished up a bowl of egg fried rice, fetched a bit of pickled vegetables, and tucked in from the far side of the square table, relaxed and content. Grand dishes might be beyond him, but he'd spent years knocking about out in the world, and throwing together a simple meal was no trouble at all.
The scent of egg, of rice, of scallion—all of it richly savory, as if it had turned into a tangible flavor that stirred up Ding Songyan's mouth. Together with the appetite-sharpening pickles, it left him thoroughly satisfied.
“Second Brother Ding!” Xu Chang'an's figure appeared at the half-open courtyard gate.
“Had your breakfast?” Ding Songyan asked with a smile.
“Not yet. I'll just grab a mantou or something in a bit.” Xu Chang'an sidled into the courtyard.
“There's still rice in the wok. Serve yourself.” Ding Songyan tipped his chin toward the iron wok.
Saying nothing, Xu Chang'an found a bowl, filled it, and sat down at Ding Songyan's side. Several times he opened his mouth as if to speak, only to find he didn't know how.
Ding Songyan, having just put the last grain of rice in his mouth, glanced at him and asked with a smile, “You've seen the wanted notice?”
“Yeah.” Xu Chang'an wore the dazed look of a man still dreaming. “How could Sister Qingyan turn out to be the demoness from the ‘Jianghu Beauty Ranking’...”
“You think a beauty who topples cities and kingdoms is just going to pop out of a crack in a rock?” Ding Songyan paid no mind to the fact that he himself had never doubted it either; when Xu Chang'an needed a lesson, a lesson he'd get.
“True enough.” Xu Chang'an stole a timid glance at Second Brother Ding. “Uncle Ding—no, Qiu Chen—is dead too. They found his body by the river, tens of li off.”
So in the end only the demoness and my cheap mother lived... Did the demoness's second nightmare match the ending of this whole affair? For a moment Ding Songyan was struck dumb.
Xu Chang'an couldn't help asking, “Second Brother Ding, did they abduct you and bring you here?”
“Let bygones be bygones. Isn't my egg fried rice tasty enough?” Ding Songyan had no thought of tracking down the previous owner's kin and old friends.
The truth was, his nature ran a little cold. His easy sociability, his cheer and warmth—all of it had been hammered into him by hard reality.
“Tasty.” Xu Chang'an buried his head and shoveled in rice.
A while later he looked up at Ding Songyan. “So are you still going to do storytelling outside Dangkang Temple today?”
Ding Songyan smiled. “Not anymore. I've joined the Xiaoming Sect.”
Xu Chang'an sat there dumbstruck. “Wh-when?”
“Yesterday afternoon. The Xiaoming Sect's Sect Master Tao saw that my talents were out of the ordinary and my mind quick, and took me as a disciple on the spot.” Ding Songyan dressed the truth up in grand terms to hide what had really happened.
“You—you've become the sect master's personal disciple?” Xu Chang'an's eyes went wide.
Every single time he met Second Brother Ding, the man gave him a fresh shock. Nothing like the person in his memory at all.
“Do you really think I'd lie to you?” Ding Songyan shot back with a smile.
Xu Chang'an gave him a look that said, You really would.
After a few breaths of silence, embarrassed and yet brimming with hope, Xu Chang'an said, “Second Brother Ding, come the end of the year, could you—could you put in a word for me, so I can join the Xiaoming Sect too? An ordinary disciple is fine.”
“Weren't you set on becoming a master thief? The Xiaoming Sect's techniques are probably a poor fit.” Ding Songyan simply couldn't picture someone as upright as Senior Sister Zheng Zhuxi turning master thief.
“Tch.” Xu Chang'an spoke quickly. “A man can change his mind!”
There was still some warmth between Ding Songyan and Xu Chang'an, so after weighing it he said, “When the time comes, I'll give it a try.”
If it truly came to nothing, he would take the boy on as his lab rat—no, as the founding disciple of his school, to learn those divine arts he had created. From then on the boy would call him master, and he would call the boy worthy brother, and each could keep to his own form of address.
Xu Chang'an was just about to thank him when Ding Songyan's gaze shifted to the courtyard gate.
In only two or three breaths, Tao Wenshu, wearing an iron crown and black robes, and Zheng Zhuxi, now changed into a peach-red dress, appeared there.
“This disciple greets you, Master.” Ding Songyan rose and bowed, and Xu Chang'an hurriedly left his seat too, timidly copying Second Brother Ding's every move.
“No need for such ceremony.” Tao Wenshu stepped into the courtyard, briefly taken aback when she saw Ding Songyan.
Ding Songyan then turned to Zheng Zhuxi. “Good morning, Senior Sister Zheng.”
Zheng Zhuxi smiled. “When I saw you that night, I never once imagined you'd become my own true junior brother.”
“All thanks to Master's regard.” With Senior Sister Zheng's mother—and his own master—standing right there before him, Ding Songyan did not dare let his tongue run loose.
Tao Wenshu gave a nod and produced two things. “Here is the property deed to a courtyard the Zhen family holds in Baoping Lane, and here is a secret manual the Zhen family obtained from the bandit chief Zhang Rui—a method for opening the body's apertures. Both are prizes I obtained for you.
“The rest can wait until we're back at the sect.”
Chapter 64