Chapter Fifty: The Passing Taoist

To master the art of geomancy, one must be able to discern the flow of the earth’s veins, to mark the points for thunder and fire, to stir the grass and alarm the serpent—this is known as driving the mountain and chasing the dragon.

Fortunately, this was but a minor spiritual vein, and thus the arrangement was not difficult. With the booming of a few fireworks, the ground trembled, and all at once, from the site of the spiritual pool, spirit water gushed forth like a fountain.

“It’s done!”

Wang Zhenling’s face was alight with joy. Not just anything could be used to collect such spirit water—at the very least, objects of metal or iron were entirely unsuitable. The best vessels were those made of jade, yet such items were rare, especially those of large size.

Luckily, Wang Zhenling had prepared in advance and brought a few large yellow-skinned gourds. Being products of wood and grass, and having been treated with a concoction from the external Thunderfire Manual, these gourds could hold spiritual water for a short while.

And so, Wang Zhenling quickly filled one of the specially treated, sun-dried gourds with spirit water. At a glance, it seemed a single gourd could hold only a dozen or so catties, yet before even filling it, it had grown so heavy that it seemed to weigh over a hundred catties. And that was with only a third of the gourd filled. If it were to be filled to the brim, it might well weigh three to five hundred catties.

Were Wang Zhenling not accomplished in cultivation, he could not have lifted such a gourd.

“To think that even with the method of the Mountain-Driving Thunder, I’ve only managed to collect this much spirit water. It may not even be enough for a single crossing…”

Wang Zhenling felt a trace of regret, yet he understood well that though the Blackwater Pool’s spirit vein was among the finest of minor veins, it could not possibly yield much more, even if completely exhausted.

Already, the spiritual vein was damaged, diminished in grade, and unlikely to recover for decades. To press it further would ruin it entirely, and all vegetation and creatures nearby would perish, turning this place into a wasteland and inviting upon Wang Zhenling the taint of death.

This was not merely a matter of so-called karmic retribution, but the wrath of all living things at their destruction, and the malevolent energies that rise when heaven and earth fall silent.

If such energies accumulate, they become the greatest danger to any cultivator!

Thus, though Wang Zhenling had little need for that spiritual vein, he would not go so far as to drain the pond to catch fish.

“Enough. I’ll just find a few more spiritual veins, draw a portion from each, and I should be able to fill this gourd.”

At this thought, Wang Zhenling finally set aside his concerns.

Yet just as he was preparing to descend the mountain, someone suddenly sighed, “What a fine spirit vein… what fine spirit water…”

Startled, Wang Zhenling looked over and realized he had been so focused he hadn’t noticed when a Daoist, wearing a vine belt at his waist, had appeared on the slope, gazing greedily at the gourd in his hand.

Wang Zhenling knew well how irresistible a spirit vein could be to cultivators. Even a third of a gourd of spirit water was a tremendous temptation to any itinerant practitioner.

Were it not for his access to official fortune, Wang Zhenling would not have passed up such a spiritual vein himself.

But what annoyed him was that this Daoist seemed not to recognize that the place was already claimed—either that or he simply didn’t take Wang Zhenling seriously.

Of course, Wang Zhenling understood: the spiritual domain was newly established, unguarded and exposed, and it was no wonder if it drew the greed of others.

With a flicker of his primordial spirit, he appeared outside the domain and coldly called out, “And where do you come from, Daoist? Are you unaware that this place is already claimed?”

The Daoist was taken aback, clearly not here to trouble Wang Zhenling and unaware of what had happened. He seemed merely to be passing by, seized by greed at the sight of the spirit water.

Yet when he saw Wang Zhenling’s primordial spirit, his expression grew grave.

To project one’s primordial spirit without a treasure to guard it was the mark of a true adept of the out-of-body realm. Moreover, Wang Zhenling’s spirit was bolstered by the power of the official seal.

Though a hundred-stone official’s fortune was but white in color, the official power enveloped the primordial spirit in a faint white glow like armor, guarding his not-yet-solidified spirit.

At once, the Daoist suspected Wang Zhenling had attained the realm above Divine Repository—a cultivator of such attainment would surely be renowned.

Of course, the vine-belted Daoist did not realize this was not Wang Zhenling’s own ability, but the borrowed might of the county official’s seal.

He merely believed Wang Zhenling to be a true expert and dared not be disrespectful. With a solemn bow, he said, “So it is a fellow Daoist cultivating here. Forgive my intrusion. I was merely passing through and did not know the situation. I beg your pardon!”

“Oh? It is of no consequence. I have only just claimed this spirit vein and established my domain. I thought some foolhardy soul had come to seize it,” Wang Zhenling replied coolly.

The convergence of a spirit vein and the founding of a domain were matters of great import. Wang Zhenling could not possibly let the county soldiers linger here and get in the way; they were resting at a nearby waystation for the night.

Thus, he was alone on the slope.

The Daoist, seeing Wang Zhenling’s prowess, took him for a formidable cultivator and, warming up, began to speak with enthusiasm, clearly intent on currying favor.

Wang Zhenling, too, was willing to glean some intelligence about other cultivators, and soon the two found themselves in agreeable conversation.

Yet after exchanging only a few words, though Wang Zhenling’s face remained unchanged, he was inwardly roaring with alarm: “Damn it, another transmigrator!”

How could there be so many transmigrators? Was this man also a disciple of the Celestial Observatory? He certainly didn’t seem the type…

The truth was, with the official aura bolstering Wang Zhenling’s primordial spirit, any well-informed local cultivator should have recognized it. Yet this Daoist was utterly oblivious.

That alone was telling, but more so was the Daoist’s manner of speech, his habits, and numerous subtle details, all of which betrayed a deep sense of incongruity. At times, in his words or gestures, traces of another world would slip through.

When Zhenyunzi first arrived in this world, Wang Zhenling spotted him at once and knew him for a transmigrator. This one, however, must have arrived some time ago—though not so long that he had fully concealed his origins, as occasional slips still occurred.

Of course, only Wang Zhenling, himself a fellow transmigrator, could so keenly sense these flaws.