Although Zhang Yuxu also thought it was possible that his master had enemies of that sort, he wasn’t certain. At the very least, in his ten years on Longhu Mountain, he had never encountered anyone described as a grudge-bearer.

The presiding Zhenren of Longhu Mountain was a figure of genuine virtue and renown — not merely because of his position, but because of who he was as a person.

By the time of Zhang Yuxu’s master, the lineage had reached the fifteenth generation of presiding Zhenren. Every generation had commanded great respect.

But without question, Zhang Yuxu’s master was the most revered of them all. When ordinary people throughout the land spoke of Longhu Mountain having a Zhenren, they invariably meant this generation’s presiding Zhenren.

Before this presiding Zhenren’s time, Longhu Mountain’s disciples essentially never came down from the mountain. The Great Chu was at peace, and the people’s lives, while not easy, were at least manageable.

The Daoist monks of Longhu Mountain spent their days on the mountain contemplating nature — they accepted no incense offerings, took no patronage, grew their own food, raised their own animals, and sought no involvement with the world.

But when the presiding Zhenren’s generation came, the world changed.

Dachu fell into chaos, and the people’s lives grew ever more difficult. And so the presiding Zhenren resolved that every year, he would send disciples down the mountain to use their skills to help people.

The tasks assigned to these disciples varied. Some were sent specifically to heal the sick — their medical skills were exceptional. Others were sent to protect the innocent and punish wrongdoers — their martial arts were formidable. Still others were commanded to travel and bring orphaned children back up the mountain to be taken in, taught to read, to conduct themselves with integrity, and to carry on Longhu Mountain’s Daoist teachings.

Yet none of these disciples, for all their work, could be called Longhu Mountain’s worldly walker.

The general population — and even people like Peng Shiqi, who had their own Daoist background — considered any disciple sent down the mountain from Longhu Mountain to be a worldly walker. But the work these disciples did was not what a worldly walker did.

A worldly walker from Longhu Mountain was, in truth, only one person. And that person’s single purpose was to find a worthy lord to serve — and bring about a genuine salvation of the realm.

If what this worldly walker truly intended became widely known, not even the court would permit Longhu Mountain to stand. So naturally it was a matter of the strictest secrecy.

The presiding Zhenren had once said: no matter how many people we heal each year, we cannot save the age. What saves the age is not a Daoist — it is a worthy ruler.

And so the true worldly walker sent down from Longhu Mountain was the finest disciple the sect had to offer — the most accomplished across every measure.

Which made it difficult to reconcile with Zhang Yuxu as he appeared: young, unremarkable in bearing, dubious in conversation, and frankly of questionable intelligence from the outside.

What you see, however, is not always what is.

Li Chi looked at Zhang Yuxu, and Zhang Yuxu shook his head. “I can’t work it out.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Li Chi said. “It won’t be long before he talks on his own. Leave this question — there are other threads.”

Zhang Yuxu looked at Li Chi again, but didn’t dare stare too closely — he wanted one more look, just to confirm he’d been mistaken before.

Though Yu Chaozong was at Yanshan — nearly the northernmost point of Dachu — and Longhu Mountain was in the far southeast, separated by an enormous distance:

His master had given him this mission personally — to go to Yanshan and find Yu Chaozong to serve.

And what Zhang Yuxu could not fully comprehend was that it had not been long since the reputation of the Green-Browed Warlord Yu Chaozong had reached Longhu Mountain, and yet his master had apparently already calculated this man’s fate.

He didn’t understand it — but he trusted implicitly that his master’s calculations were never wrong.

The presiding Zhenren had once told Zhang Yuxu that more than ten years ago, he had calculated that an emperor’s star had risen in the north — that Dachu’s allotted span was drawing to an end — but that the emperor’s star was hazy and unclear, difficult to pin down.

So when Zhang Yuxu looked at Li Chi’s face and saw what he saw, the only thing he could do was assume he’d made an error. His master could not be wrong.

“You’ve been very deliberately looking at me, more than a few times now.”

Just as Zhang Yuxu’s attention had begun to drift, Li Chi suddenly remarked.

Zhang Yuxu started, suddenly at a loss for how to explain himself, or what kind of lie to tell.

Li Chi saw his mild panic and smiled, leaning in to say in a low voice: “You’ve noticed, haven’t you — that in the depot, I’m the best-looking one.”

Zhang Yuxu hurried to play along with a smile. “I’ve been sneaking glances at the chief — I was actually trying to guess his age.”

Li Chi said: “Guess.”

Zhang Yuxu: “Twenty… perhaps?”

Li Chi pursed his lips and walked away.

After Li Chi left, Zhang Yuxu quietly let out a breath. He thought: if there were some way to find out Li Chi’s birth date and time, that would be ideal.

Then he remembered — Ruan Chen had mentioned earlier that the chief was an orphan taken in by the Daoist Changmei. So Changmei should know.

At that thought, Zhang Yuxu lost interest in Chedi entirely, said *you all handle it*, turned, and slipped away.

—

At the rear courtyard of the depot, Changmei the Daoist was playing chess with Zhou Huaili. The first time the two had met, both had still been in their middle years.

One had just taken up a post in Jizhou, full of energy and ready to make his mark.

The other had been wandering the jianghu alone — solitary, but free.

“To think about it,” Zhou Huaili said, studying the board, “from our first meeting to the next time we saw each other — more than ten years had passed. To be honest — when you came to my house with Li Chi, the moment I saw you, I almost thought I’d made a mistake.”

He looked up at Changmei. “When we first met, your Daoist robe was spotless, not a trace of dust, and your appearance was distinguished, your speech refined. I even said at the time: someone like you, if you were willing to go chasing after wealthy noblewomen, would live very comfortably indeed.”

“But the second time I saw you, you’d aged beyond recognition. White hair, and wild and unkempt at that. Who knew when it had last been washed. Your robe was patched and patched and patched again. Not the faintest trace of how you once carried yourself.”

Changmei smiled. “When you have a child, what need is there for carrying yourself? If he has dignity, I have dignity.”

Zhou Huaili shook his head with a quiet smile. “Why did you choose to take him in at the time? I remember you used to say: the work of saving lives must be done — but if saving someone leaves you miserable and wretched, that is not the right way.”

Changmei smiled again — his already somewhat clouded eyes bright and shining.

“You don’t know this. When I first found the little one, he was just lying there, those big eyes blinking up at me. My first thought was: little fellow, don’t be afraid — I’ll find a good family to take you in.”

“I took him with me and set out to look for a family. But halfway along, the more I thought about it, the more worried I became — what if wherever I placed him, they didn’t treat him well?”

“And I thought we both might end up dead of plague anyway. So I just brought him along.”

He looked at Zhou Huaili. “Have you ever seen a child that young who wouldn’t cry even when he was hungry?”

Zhou Huaili blinked in genuine disbelief. No child that small didn’t cry when hungry — that couldn’t be right.

“He simply didn’t.”

Changmei smiled. “He seemed already very sensible from that age. I carried him while I walked — there was rarely anything proper to eat. Whatever I could give him, he ate.”

Zhou Huaili thought carefully, then wondered: could the child really have known, from that early age, that he needed to try to live?

Surely not.

“But it’s all turned out well,” Zhou Huaili said. “Look at him now. You must feel deeply satisfied — deeply proud.”

Changmei grew smug.

“Naturally. Reading and writing — I taught him. Conduct and character — I taught him too.”

Just then Zhang Yuxu came looking from the front courtyard, having had to ask several people to find this spot. No one had yet introduced them, so he didn’t know which of the two was Changmei.

He took one look: Zhou Huaili appeared to be the more venerable and scholarly of the two — wise and dignified. So he stepped quickly over to Zhou Huaili and bowed deeply. “Your disciple, Zhang Yuxu of Longhu Mountain, pays his respects, Martial Uncle.”

Zhou Huaili blinked — then caught on, and smiled, pointing at Changmei. “That is Changmei.”

Zhang Yuxu immediately felt deeply embarrassed.

Neither of the two elders was wearing a Daoist robe. Changmei was dressed in a short-hemmed work outfit, and his cloth shoes weren’t even on properly — just flopping around on his feet. He looked nothing like the figure Ruan Chen had described.

“A disciple of Longhu Mountain — remarkable indeed.”

Changmei hurried to stand. He was by no means a proper Daoist, but he knew that Longhu Mountain’s disciples came down the mountain to help the world — they were the true orthodox tradition. In front of Zhang Yuxu, he found himself oddly flustered.

Especially since Zhang Yuxu had just called him Martial Uncle — which made him feel even more unworthy.

“What brings you here?”

Changmei asked.

Zhang Yuxu said: “Your disciple has come to pay his respects, having heard that Martial Uncle was here. Also — I was just making a small wager with a senior brother from Zhongnan Mountain, each of us guessing the chief’s birth date, and I wanted to come ask Martial Uncle who was right.”

Changmei immediately told him. Zhang Yuxu mentally calculated the birth date against what he knew — and from those characters, there was simply no reading of particularly favorable fate to be found. Modest wealth would have been a stretch, let alone the nobility visible in Li Chi’s face.

“Ah…”

Changmei smiled. “I should tell you — I don’t actually know his precise birth date. What I told you is the date I found him.”

Zhang Yuxu’s heart stirred.

Changmei sensed something, and asked: “Are you looking at his face and finding something strange about it?”

Zhang Yuxu’s eyes lit up. He quickly asked: “Martial Uncle has noticed it too?”

Changmei made a sound of assent, then said: “Though he does look a bit cunning and sly on the outside, in truth he’s a very honest person.”

Zhang Yuxu felt a fresh wave of deflation.

Changmei looked at his expression, then smiled and said: “Physiognomy can only tell you so much. Reading faces is not as reliable as reading hearts.”

Zhang Yuxu nodded dutifully along. “Martial Uncle is right. The heart is what matters. Your disciple was too fixated.”

He bowed again and took his leave. It was evident he was rather disappointed in Changmei.

On the way here, Ruan Chen had said that Daoist Changmei was a man of deep cultivation — someone who truly knew the ways of Heaven.

It was now looking like that was not quite the case.

He came out of the rear courtyard feeling somewhat deflated and melancholy, found a place to sit, and fell into a daze.

After a while, footsteps approached. He turned to look — and it was Changmei.

Zhang Yuxu was disappointed in him, but still stood at once and saluted. “Martial Uncle.”

Changmei looked quickly to the left and right, then suddenly grabbed Zhang Yuxu’s sleeve and pulled him along. Before Zhang Yuxu could ask anything, he’d been dragged to a secluded spot.

Changmei’s voice was low but urgent. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you — that Li Chi’s face has a certain… excessive nobility about it?”

Zhang Yuxu felt something jolt through him.

So earlier Changmei had been playing dumb. He’d probably sensed that others were present, and didn’t want to speak plainly.

“Martial Uncle — what do you see?”

Zhang Yuxu asked at once.

Changmei was quiet for a long moment, looked once more in all directions to confirm no one was near, then said in a voice barely above a whisper: “In his face — faint but unmistakable. Three concealments, three reversals, three ascensions.”

Zhang Yuxu’s expression changed in an instant. In that moment, he understood just how remarkable this scruffy old man truly was.

Without thinking, he raised one hand and held up a number.

Nine.

—