Chapter 127: To Know the Mandate of Heaven!

Qi Wuhuo recognized the fortune-teller and was about to greet him.

But the fortune-teller’s eyes widened. A few days prior, he had gotten thoroughly drunk, and afterward, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he had a persistent feeling that the past few days were ill-suited for stepping outside. So he had holed up at home, stifled for several days, until finally, unable to bear it any longer, he brought along a jug of wine, intending to stroll about and see if the mortal world might offer any amusements. It was then he overheard someone remark, [Those who’ve left the secular world recognize neither king nor law], to which he responded with a casual “Well said.”

He was just about to enjoy the spectacle—

When he saw someone familiar.

For some reason, his very soul and spirit stirred, and the hair on his body stood on end. Then he caught sight of that peacock that had just emerged—its form looked like an ordinary peacock to the naked eye, but his spirit sensed something far more terrifying, as though he were gazing upon the Nine-Headed Lion beneath the command of the Taiyi Salvation Heavenly Venerable. Its form was different, yet that aura of a creature that could devour all things whole was faintly present.

His very spirit was on the verge of unraveling.

The fortune-teller choked on a mouthful of wine and instinctively blurted out, “Little Calf-nose!”

Then, realizing what he’d said, he clapped a hand over his mouth.

His spirit warned him again.

After three seconds of grave thought—

He turned and bolted.

Qi Wuhuo: “???”

The young Daoist never expected that this fortune-teller, whom he had met several times before and who had even helped him, would suddenly turn and flee. Though puzzled, the instinctive warning pulsing through his spirit caused him to act without thinking. He stepped forward, summoned the Primordial Qi, stirred the flowing winds, his sleeves fluttering, and in a flash, chased after him.

With one hand, he pressed down on the fortune-teller, who had yet to use any adivine abilities.

And asked: “Sir, why did you run upon seeing me?”

The fortune-teller: “………………”

Then, without the slightest change of expression, he said:

“Did I run?”

“Ha! What nonsense!”

“Which eye of yours saw me running, hmm?!”

“I merely overate today. My stomach is bloated, that’s all, so I went for a walk.”

As he said this, Qi Wuhuo heard a strange sound—like the gurgling of an empty belly in deep hunger. For a moment, things turned a little awkward. Even with the fortune-teller’s thick skin, he couldn’t quite endure the moment; his face flushed red. Compared to that old ox, he clearly lacked the same shameless fortitude.

The young Daoist let go of him and spoke gently: “As it happens, I’ve just returned from the medicine shed.”

“There’s a noodle shop up ahead. Their braised tofu is quite good.”

“If sir doesn’t mind, why not join me?”

Inside the noodle shop, the young Daoist sat down and set his medicine basket to the side. He asked the shopkeeper to bring two bowls of plain noodles and a plate of braised tofu. There were also pickled garlic cloves soaked in vinegar. Now that the Laba festival had passed, Laba garlic had become a common staple—quite appetizing and perfect for whetting the appetite. The fortune-teller tapped his chopsticks lightly against the table, staring at the young Daoist across from him, and said: “The killing intent has been stirred, Little Calf-nose…”

But before he could finish the sentence, some unknown instinct welled up inside and forced the rest of his words back down.

“Little ox… Little impressive of a brat.”

“Whom do you intend to kill?”

The young Daoist answered: “It’s not to kill.”

“Only to seek justice.”

“What kind of justice?”

“The justice for the three million four hundred thousand lives of the people of Jinzhou.”

A vein twitched at the fortune-teller’s brow. He muttered,

“Then dying once wouldn’t be enough to pay for that.”

“Even ‘that one’—whom I know to have the gentlest temper and who never gets angry—might ignite the karmic flames of ignorance upon hearing this.”

The fortune-teller shook his head and said: “In the eyes of Buddha—or to immortals, for that matter—at a certain level, when a man slays a beast to eat its flesh, or when a beast becomes a demon and devours men to live, such things are not considered evil. But there is a scripture that tells: when a horde of demons feasted on human flesh, the Buddha asked, ‘Was it to survive?’ The demon replied, ‘No, only for pleasure.’ Then the Buddha wept, raised the vajra staff, assumed a wrathful posture, and kindled the karmic flames of ignorance.”

“To kill for survival is not a sin—it is a sorrow.”

“But to kill out of selfish desire…”

“Even the Buddha would take on his wrathful form, transform into the Wrathful Vajra King, and strike down demons and evildoers.”

The fortune-teller popped a clove of Laba garlic into his mouth, and his face wrinkled up. He hadn’t been able to eat this stuff before, but now he refused to let it go.

Still, he found it hard to get used to, so he continued:

“But little fellow, when the intent to kill arises, you must learn to conceal it. Otherwise, it will be easily perceived by others.”

“For one who cultivates the Dao, if the Three Essences are intact, things are still manageable. But the level you’ve stepped into—[Reversing the Three to Return to Two]—means your Primordial Qi and Primordial Spirit already carry distinct traits. They can be very easy to detect.”

He gave an example and said:

“It’s like ink falling into a pool of water—when it comes to the resonance of your Primordial Qi, anyone who practices divination or augury would not overlook it.”

“That is why it’s all the more important to learn some techniques in the arts of divination and forecasting. Not to seek fortune or opportunity, but at the very least—enough for self-preservation.”

The young Daoist murmured in confusion: “Divination?”

The fortune-teller, just in the middle of tossing a peanut into his mouth with his chopsticks, froze. He blinked at the young Daoist across from him and said, “You… you’ve already cultivated to the point of manifesting Innate One Qi. That alone qualifies you as a Daoist Master. In any city, so long as you can prove your identity, the local magistrate would assist you in establishing a Daoist temple.”

“And you don’t know divination?”

The young Daoist shook his head.

“Not even the Mandate of Heaven?”

Another shake of the head.

“Ziwei Doushu? Great and Lesser Liuren? Qimen Dunjia?”

“No…”

“Face reading?”

“The Ma Yi lineage’s street methods—surely you’ve learned some?”

“At least a little? Even a scrap?”

The young Daoist still shook his head.

Tantai Xuan had only ever mentioned it in passing, but wasn’t versed in it.

As for his teacher, he had never brought it up at all.

The fortune-teller sat there stunned. Then, suddenly slammed his chopsticks down on the table with a thud, shouting in anger: “What kind of teacher is this?! Who raises disciples like this, just letting them run wild like weeds?! Old Ox Nose, I’ve already—cough, cough, cough—”

Mid-sentence, the fortune-teller didn’t even realize that what he said came entirely from instinct—his inner nature acting before conscious thought. He had just thrown a peanut into his mouth and nearly choked himself to death. He hacked and coughed for a good while.

Only after considerable effort did he manage to swallow it down. Then he muttered, “Forget it, forget it, let’s not speak of him.”

“Let’s not speak of him.”

“These are all fundamentals for any cultivator. The so-called arts of ‘seeking fortune and avoiding calamity’, the methods of evading disaster and misfortune—these, too, are part of Daoist cultivation traditions. Just like [slaying outer demons], [subduing inner devils], [refining external elixirs], [cultivating the inner landscape], or [performing altar rites and ritual practices]—they are all considered disciplines within the broader Daoist system. Most people choose a single direction in which to specialize, but they still maintain exposure to the rest. You—ai—are truly an unqualified cultivator.”

“Damn it. Why do I have to be the one laying the foundation for you?”

He took a sip of tea. Once the bowls of noodles were brought to the table, the surrounding currents of Qi were sealed—as if reality itself had fallen away, and they had entered a different world altogether.

The fortune-teller paused in thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you know what the [Dao] is?”

Qi Wuhuo nodded. The fortune-teller raised his hand and stroked an imaginary beard, murmuring as if to himself: “Of course. You should know. That question didn’t even need to be asked.”

Though even he could not explain why, in the depths of his heart, he was certain—this young man’s pursuit of the [Dao] surpassed that of the average Daoist by at least an entire realm.

And then he began to explain: “According to Daoist understanding, all things under Heaven are born of that singular origin—the [Dao].”

“From the Dao comes One, and from One to the myriad things.”

“There is even a more extreme perspective, which holds that from the beginning to the very end, the unfolding of all things is already complete.”

“From the origin of Dao to its final dissolution—this is called a Kalpa, the greatest unit of cosmic time.”

“Below that are cycles such as Yuan, Hui, Yun, Shi, Year, Month, and Day.”

“In that most radical and fervent belief, the adherents hold that from the birth of the Dao to the annihilation of the Kalpa, every living being, every moment that passes, is already written. Thus, if one’s spiritual essence can touch even the barest edge of the Great Dao’s origin, then from antiquity to the present—and even the future—one could see it all clearly. The secrets of Heaven and Earth would become as transparent as water.”

“Because once one reaches the level of the Dao, the concept of time ceases to exist.”

“It is the so-called [neither above nor below, neither beginning nor end], the same as the Buddhist saying that the Buddha [comes from nowhere, and goes to nowhere].”

“Past, present, and future—your entire life becomes a scroll of painting, which you may view in full.”

“One who masters calculation and augury may perceive both what has passed and what is yet to come.”

“This—this is what the [Divination Path] calls its highest realm.”

The fortune-teller stirred his plain noodles, voicing aloud the ultimate mystery of the diviner’s path. Then he said with a faint, dismissive snort:

“If you ask me—”

“It’s all nonsense!”

“Hmph. Speaking so loftily while ignorant of the Dao. They see the [Dao] as something absolute, the highest and most weighty thing, yet they overlook the weight of [all things]. If it were truly as they say, then why would the Dao need to evolve at all? What they say sounds lofty, sounds profound, but it’s nothing more than carving a boat to seek a sword, wishing that the world remains unchanged, that a single principle and fixed form might encompass all. It’s just lazy wishful thinking!”

“If you ask me, the will of the Dao—the Heavenly Mechanism—is not a scroll painting, but a flowing river.”

“Capable of change. Capable of transformation.”

With his chopsticks, the fortune-teller pointed out through the doorway.

There, beyond, flowed the great river that wound through the entire Central Province(Zhongzhou) prefectural city. The look on his face was calm as he said: “Though its source and mouth may be predetermined, though one day it may meet its annihilation, still—across countless waves, boundless waters surge unceasing. There are hidden currents, whirlpools, and spring waters merging into the river. Within it lies infinite change. How could it ever be rigid or fixed?”

“Hence, it is called the Book of [Changes]—the Yi Jing.”

“Yi—for [change].”

“And divination, augury—it divides things into two types: those that have already happened and thus are fixed, and those that are yet to occur and therefore remain unfixed.”

“The former is easy to divine.”

“Like knowing what someone ate today, or what they did yesterday.”

“To see things already determined—it’s not difficult.”

“But to divine what someone will do tomorrow, or in the days to come—that is a much harder matter.”

The fortune-teller took another bite of noodles, then slowly said: “The so-called art of divination—regardless of its outward expression—is, at its core, about using things like the stars or tortoiseshells as mediums, using your own primordial spirit and spiritual nature to momentarily brush against the current of the Dao’s Heavenly Mechanism. Only then might you receive a response and from that response, seek out the answer you wish to know, and interpret it. This is what is called [explaining the hexagram].”

“So in the future, when you act, be sure to conceal your spirit well.”

“Be like a fish swimming into the deep sea—leave not a ripple.”

“How could anyone stepping through the water possibly find you?”

“That is called [Concealment(Zang)].”

Although the fortune-teller did not explain the true method of practice, he did speak a little about the core principles. He continued: “Precisely because of this, those who are mighty and peerless can, with but a single thought, obscure the entire [River of Heavenly Secrets]. No one may peer into it. This is what is known as veiling the heavenly secrets. However, those capable of such means are but a rare few in all the world.” 

“Heavenly secrets are unfathomable—yet I may conceal them with a single thought. How terrifying that is, it is a realm beyond imagining.”

“Below that, there exist things known as [Qi-Fate Fixing] artifacts.”

“Such items can momentarily suppress the flow of fate, as though freezing a segment of that river’s current, rendering it unchanging and immune to outside interference.”

“If you ever come across one, you must certainly seize it.”

Then he gave a warning to Qi Wuhuo: “Even if you do not possess such an item, it is best that you constantly conceal your spiritual nature.”

“Beware those cultivators who walk the path of divining and reading the heavenly secrets.”

“[Aligning one’s heart with the Heavenly Heart], seeking through one’s own spirit a glimpse of that which is desired within the vast, surging River of Heavenly Secrets—this is an exceedingly difficult thing to do. It is no different from searching for a needle in the sea. Even those with extraordinary talent require great spans of time.”

“Such people are, by nature, physically weak. If you were to discover them, your techniques would be more than enough to slay them in a few moves. But if you fail to perceive them, and they instead take notice of you, they can strike at your soul. They may shroud your nature, cloud your mind without your awareness, and in the end, drag you into disaster and death.”

“You may perish, never knowing the cause.”

“You’ll simply believe—it was your own carelessness.”

“This is what is known as the Killing Method of Heavenly Secrets.”

In the time it took to finish a single meal, the foundational principles of divination and fate-calculation had been fully discussed. The fortune-teller, having finished his bowl of noodles, set his chopsticks atop the bowl. Looking toward Qi Wuhuo, he spoke in a mild tone: “One last word of advice, little fellow.” 

“Know the Mandate of Heaven, but do not wholly believe in fate.”

“Those who calculate destiny and divine all matters often believe themselves to [be above] the mortal dust of the world.”

“They say all under Heaven may be calculated.”

“But remember this:”

“One may divine fate—but should not place faith in it.”

“When the moment comes that you place full trust in what you’ve divined, that is when you’ve already been shackled by the very thing you calculated. This is the hardship of the path of divination—it is what people call [being blinded by a single leaf], blindly believing in what one has foreseen.”

“In doing so, one loses the essence of change and transformation, and becomes nothing more than a puppet on a string.”

“Enough. There’s no need for thanks. What I’ve said is no more than the rudiments of divination and augury. As for the actual methods—this old man will not teach them to you, so don’t ask. This bit of idle talk is sufficient to answer for our brief acquaintance.” With a shake of his head, the grey-robed gentleman vanished from sight, leaving only the young Daoist sitting alone in the noodle shop.

The grey-robed man had used some divine ability to depart. Yet not long after, while drinking from a flask, he grew more and more uneasy.

Strange, strange.

Why would I suddenly start teaching that kid the ways of divination?

Even if he does suit my temper well… forging bonds without cause isn’t how I conduct myself…

It feels as if I were [atoning] for something?

Hmm? Could it be someone has acted upon me?!

Then, raising his hand to divine the matter, his expression abruptly darkened, a cold sneer curling his lips. “Hahaha, what a cunning trick! What an audacious trick!”

“Someone actually dared to seal my memories, and even implanted a suggestion into my spirit—something like ‘Keep your distance from that boy. If you can’t avoid him, then form a kind bond as recompense for past karmic offenses’. Hmph! Just who was it? Such a method—daring to tamper with my mind? Let’s see if I won’t hunt you down and teach you a lesson!”

“I’d very much like to know—who has the nerve to lay hands on my mind!”

Some time later…

The great monk, carrying his bamboo basket, arrived at his usual noodle shop—only to witness a strange scene.

He saw the grey-robed gentleman kneeling toward the east, offering incense.

His face was ashen, like the pale residue of burnt charcoal. He mumbled words no one could quite understand—phrases like, “It was me… it was me…”

The great monk raised an eyebrow and uttered a solemn Buddhist chant. The grey-robed gentleman looked up with empty eyes, caught sight of the monk, and stared blankly for a moment. Then, his expression twisted with anger as he snapped:

“Had a delightful romp with some fine ladies today. My muscles ached a bit, so I came to stretch them out! What are you looking at me for?!”

The monk was silent, then said in a calm, unhurried voice:

“This poor monk had not even asked a question.”

“Why the hurry to defend yourself?”

Qi Wuhuo rose to his feet, silently pondering the method of [Concealment] the fortune-teller had so casually pointed out. Just as he was mulling it over, he suddenly sensed something.

With a twist of his wrist, a mirror slipped into his palm.

After lying dormant for quite some time, the mirror had finally shown signs of change.

It was a message from Yun Qin.

[Wuhuo, Wuhuo! Have you prepared the sesame cakes yet?]