Changmei the Daoist saw Zhang Yuxu’s gesture, and his eyes slowly opened wider — until the light in them seemed almost about to spill out.

Someone like Changmei could not be dismissed so simply as a jianghu fraud. If one had to use a single word to describe him, the word would be: diviner.

In all his years of wandering the jianghu, Changmei had honed the art of reading people and situations to its very limit.

Zhang Yuxu’s true abilities certainly far surpassed Changmei’s in every respect — whether in martial arts or in the secret methods of the Daoist tradition. Yet in this contest, Zhang Yuxu had no advantage over Changmei whatsoever. The gap lay entirely in experience.

To put it another way: this moment marked the beginning of another kind of cultivation for Zhang Yuxu.

For even the phrase *three concealments, three reversals, three ascensions* that Changmei had used was a lure — meant to draw out what Zhang Yuxu was thinking. Because the three concealments, three reversals, three ascensions did not describe a person at all. They described a dragon king.

The phrase came from a story, and a Daoist one at that.

In a mythological tradition of the Great Chu, the dragon destined to become the Dragon King had to survive three concealments, three reversals, and three ascensions — enduring all of that ordeal and tempering — before finally becoming a true sovereign.

In this legend, the young dragon was different from birth. And because it was different, the very first thing it had to learn was to conceal the dragon’s nature — for if it could not conceal itself, the other dragons would destroy it.

The three concealments referred to three moments of insight the dragon king experienced in its youth, until in the final concealment, it dissolved into neither form nor nature, able to appear and disappear at will. These three concealments were: concealing form, concealing nature, and the dissolution beyond all concealment.

The three reversals described three great ordeals the dragon king endured from its earliest days — three devastating upheavals before it finally achieved its sovereign dominion.

The three ascensions were, in truth, the final reversal: it was said that just as the great dragon was on the verge of claiming its throne, some great event would occur three times over, each time delaying its ascension.

This story came from a volume called *The Mountain and Sea Cipher*, composed by a Daoist sage at the end of the Zhou dynasty, and was counted one of the three great esoteric texts of the Daoist tradition.

The Daoist philosophy contained within it had at one point been adopted by Dachu’s founding emperor as a guiding principle of statecraft — and from that adoption came the early golden age of Dachu. The founding emperor of Dachu had once said that this book was not about a dragon king, nor about mythological creatures. It was about the human heart.

As a disciple of Longhu Mountain, Zhang Yuxu had naturally read *The Mountain and Sea Cipher*. So Changmei had used the three concealments, three reversals, three ascensions as a stepping stone — drawing out what lay in Zhang Yuxu’s mind.

Though Zhang Yuxu had not stated it plainly, holding up the number nine was enough.

Changmei had his answer, and was deeply satisfied.

Zhang Yuxu was now feeling some guilty remorse. He had written Changmei off as unremarkable a moment ago.

Now he thought again: Changmei’s art of reading faces must be well beyond his own — perhaps approaching his master’s level.

“Martial Uncle.”

Zhang Yuxu lowered his voice. “I won’t conceal it from you, Martial Uncle: I have come down the mountain by my master’s command, as a worldly walker, precisely to find a worthy lord to serve — to relieve the suffering of the people, correct what is disordered, and open an age of peace.”

He kept his voice barely above a whisper. “My master says that more than ten years ago, he calculated that the emperor’s star was rising in the north — hazy and unclear. Then Yu Chaozong’s name reached Longhu Mountain, and my master cast a hexagram from it and calculated that Yu Chaozong bore the mandate of an emperor. So he commanded me to come north and serve Yu Chaozong.”

Changmei let out a long breath. “Since you’ve spoken so openly, let me tell you something as well. You may not yet know — Li Chi is the third-in-command of the Yanshan Camp, and has sworn brotherhood with Yu Chaozong as his elder.”

Zhang Yuxu’s eyes flew wide open.

“Then the two of them…”

He looked at Changmei. “Martial Uncle, those two…”

“That is precisely what worries me,” Changmei said. “By all appearances, Yu Chaozong trusts Li Chi completely, and Li Chi has pledged himself to serve Yu Chaozong. And yet I always fear some problem will arise between them.”

He asked Zhang Yuxu: “Could you cast a reading for Li Chi? The secret methods of Longhu Mountain are far beyond what I have learned.”

Zhang Yuxu said: “I tried earlier using the birth date you gave me — I couldn’t read anything meaningful from it. Not even a modest fortune.”

He crouched down and began writing and sketching on the ground. “Let me try casting from Li Chi’s name.”

The true art of character-reading was nothing so shallow as it appeared. The character had to be broken down and analyzed, its elements mapped against the five phases. Having a birth date as a supplement would make things more accurate — but neither of them knew Li Chi’s birth date, so he could only work from the name alone.

After some time, faint beads of sweat had appeared on Zhang Yuxu’s forehead.

He looked up at Changmei, his eyes full of bewilderment and confusion — and even a kind of self-doubt.

“Martial Uncle — this name yields no reading of an emperor’s mandate. Not even a modest fortune. From this name, the picture is of a life largely spent in wandering and hardship, constantly shadowed by blood and conflict — with no great achievement in the end.”

Changmei’s expression shifted. His face had already begun to go slightly pale.

Without thinking, he said: “Then cast one for Yu Chaozong.”

Zhang Yuxu nodded, wrote out Yu Chaozong’s name on the ground, mapped it against the cardinal directions and the transformations of the five phases, ran countless calculations — then looked at Changmei with a face that had gone somewhat pale, and spoke two words.

“Emperor’s mandate.”

Changmei’s shoulders gave a faint tremor. He thought: so I was reaching too far after all.

Now that Diudiu had so many capable people around him, and had already shown the first signs of a sovereign’s bearing, Changmei had begun to feel that perhaps Diudiu’s fate had truly changed.

But it seemed he had been thinking too much.

He sighed — at a loss for words.

Zhang Yuxu murmured to himself: “Can it really be… that I’ve been insufficiently trained and read it wrong?”

A moment later, something occurred to him. He looked at Changmei and asked: “Is Li Chi’s name the one given to him by his parents?”

Changmei shook his head. “No. I gave him that name.”

Zhang Yuxu froze.

Changmei froze as well.

The two looked at each other. Both pairs of eyes carried something complicated.

The name was not from his parents. His birth date was unknown. Even with Longhu Mountain’s true transmission, Zhang Yuxu had absolutely nothing to work with.

The presiding Zhenren had once said: a person’s fate is half given by Heaven, and half given by their parents.

As for Li Chi — they could see nothing of what Heaven had given. They could see nothing of what his parents had given.

Zhang Yuxu shook his head helplessly. “Martial Uncle — if there were ever an opportunity to travel to the place where Li Chi was born and make inquiries, perhaps there might still be a chance of calculating it accurately.”

Changmei said with a sigh: “What is there left to find? When I found him, his parents had already died of plague. The people in that village were seven or eight in ten gone. Those who hadn’t died of plague had fled to escape it. When I left that village with Li Chi, it was already abandoned. Now more than ten years have passed — it would be impossible to find anyone. And even if someone were found, who would remember the birth date of an unrelated child?”

The two looked at each other again, the same helplessness in both their eyes.

Zhang Yuxu recalled something his master had once said: using the secret methods transmitted by Longhu Mountain, so long as you knew certain things a person was born with — a birth date, a name given by their parents — you could estimate the rough outline of their fate.

As for the current Li Chi: not one thing he had been born with was known by anyone. What was there to calculate?

From birth to now, the life he had actually lived was not the one he was meant to have. His parents died the moment he was born. He left the place of his birth. He drifted from place to place. This was not his fate — it was Changmei’s fate. He had traveled Changmei’s road.

The two stood facing each other in silence for a long time.

—

At the rear courtyard.

Xiahou Yili and the other girls sat chatting together, like a small flock of cheerful sparrows — voices low but lively, full of good spirits.

Gao Xining sat listening to Liu Yingyuan tell a story about her mother’s way of acting coy with her father. The other girls listened, rapt and delighted, occasionally laughing aloud. Their parents had been married for so many years and yet the affection between them was as fresh as newlyweds — and her mother still sometimes let slip these girlish little moments, pure and unaffected as ever.

That was what marrying the right person looked like. That was the kind of life that came from it.

“My mother’s beauty is captivating even to me,” Liu Yingyuan said with a sigh. “Imagine how my father must feel. A pity I didn’t quite take after her in looks.”

Yuan Jiabei said: “Nonsense — you’re lovely. One gesture from you and you’d have someone completely enchanted.”

Liu Yingyuan lowered her voice: “One gesture and someone’s enchanted — are you talking about a kick in the groin?”

The girls all went quiet for a moment. Then they all burst out laughing — helplessly, completely.

Gao Xining laughed until she could barely close her mouth. She looked toward Li Chi across the courtyard and thought: whatever that fellow is saying right now, it is definitely not about affairs of state.

That fellow was probably talking all kinds of nonsense at this very moment.

But of course she wouldn’t say so. The other girls all thought Li Chi was tall and capable and certainly discussing great matters — and wasn’t that lovely enough to leave as it was.

“The most enchanting person in our depot,” Gao Xining said, “would have to be the Daoist, wouldn’t it?”

The girls all went quiet again — and then laughed even harder than before, collapsing into each other, rocking back and forth.

Li Chi and Tang Pidi had just come up from the underground chamber, talking as they walked, and happened to see the scene.

“Look at them,” Tang Pidi said. “Such youth in flower — sitting there talking and laughing, all innocence and pure spirit.”

Li Chi nodded. “Whatever they’re talking about, it’s not what we talk about.”

Tang Pidi said: “A few young girls chatting — what could they be saying that’s anything like what we say… ours is just, you know…”

Li Chi said: “Just say it. Ours is filthier.”

Tang Pidi laughed out loud.

Li Chi said: “Look at those girls. What could they possibly be talking about? They’re probably saying things like: *oh, what a cute little bunny, what a cute little piggy, so adorable* — that kind of thing. Whereas us? Everything we talk about, we should be ashamed of!”

Tang Pidi said: “Stop talking nonsense. You look very righteous saying that right now, but you’re the one who’s happiest whenever we’re talking about bodily functions.”

Li Chi: “Ha ha ha ha ha…”

From a distance, the girls watched Li Chi and Tang Pidi walk by, talking and laughing.

Yuan Jiabei said in a low voice: “There are always people in this world who are different. Those two, at their age — they must be discussing affairs of state. Something must have struck them both, and they’re laughing because they’ve arrived at the same insight.”

Liu Yingyuan watched Li Chi, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “They must be speaking of the shape of the realm. They’ve thought the same thought, and so they’re laughing with such joy — two great minds meeting.”

Xiahou Yili sighed. “And then there’s us. The four of us. Sitting here talking about… groin kicks…”

They looked at each other — and dissolved into laughter again, even louder than before.

Gao Xining laughed until she couldn’t stop. She looked at Li Chi and thought: whatever that fellow is laughing about, it most certainly has nothing to do with the shape of the realm.

That fellow was probably saying something ridiculous right now.

But she would never say so. The other girls all thought Li Chi was handsome and capable and surely discussing the fate of the world — and that was such a nice thing to believe. Let them keep it.