Chapter Seventeen: A Divination
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Meng Cangsheng once wished to take Wu Ning as his disciple; now, this Daoist Xiao also wants Wu Ning as his pupil.
Wu Ning was perplexed—are they truly so “hungry”?
He was unaware, but there was reason for it.
As the Buddhist saying goes, “Lay down the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha instantly.” Buddhism speaks of all living beings: so long as one turns toward goodness, even devils may join its ranks, thus disciples of Buddhism are spread across the world.
There were so many that, beginning from the Wei-Jin and Northern and Southern Dynasties, a strict government review was required before one could enter the monastic order; otherwise, everyone would become monks and no one would pay taxes.
Daoism, on the other hand, emphasizes self-cultivation and non-action—a lofty pursuit, to put it plainly, playing one’s own game. So, despite countless emperors throughout history seeking longevity and honoring Daoism as the state religion, Daoism has never reached the grand scale of “the 480 temples of the Southern Dynasties.”
Nor is Daoism as accessible as Buddhism; its threshold is notoriously high. Setting aside those who deceive and muddle through, the true Daoist masters are invariably “all-rounders.”
Not only must they understand yin and yang and the principles of the Book of Changes, but also excel in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, medicine, pharmacology, classics, history, dragon-seeking, and physiognomy—these are required disciplines.
Medicine, fate, divination, and physiognomy are foundational; the renowned Daoists in history were all figures who could read the stars above, comprehend the earth below, hold the world in a teacup, and contain the cosmos within their sleeves.
Any one of these skills would take an ordinary person a lifetime to master, let alone to know and excel in them all.
A true Daoist successor must possess exceptional talent.
Thus, it is always the master who seeks out the disciple; finding someone with even a bit of aptitude is considered fortunate, and if luck fails, one may never find a worthy successor in a lifetime.
Whether Meng Cangsheng or Daoist Xiao, they have finally encountered a “rare specimen” like Wu Ning—how could they let him slip away?
...
Yet, on the other hand, while Daoist Xiao may wish it, Wu Ning has no such desire.
Daoist Xiao sees him as a marvel, but Wu Ning considers Xiao himself a marvel—albeit of a different sort.
Truth be told, Wu Ning could be counted as someone who has lived through two lifetimes; even so, surveying his past and present, glancing through history and across cultures, he could not find a Daoist more shameless, vulgar, and money-loving than Daoist Xiao.
First, look at his decrepit temple—“Temple of Seeking Immortals.”
It blatantly tells visitors: this is the place to seek immortality and cast divinations—for a fee.
Moreover, the old Daoist shamelessly claims that the Temple of Seeking Immortals has been welcoming celestial beings and enjoying incense offerings in Fangzhou since the Former Qin era.
Nonsense—such exaggeration Wu Ning could barely bring himself to ridicule.
Former Qin? Only the ignorant are fooled. Anyone with some education knows Daoism’s origins, whether the Way of Peace or Celestial Master Dao, trace back to the Han dynasty.
Laozi and Zhuangzi were put on the altar only after the Wei-Jin period, following the demonization of Daoism by Confucianism.
Pre-Qin? His “celestial lords” weren’t even born yet—where would the Temple of Seeking Immortals come from?
Furthermore, Meng Cangsheng wanted Wu Ning as his disciple, but Wu Ning managed to trick him into becoming his sworn brother. Who could have predicted, after fooling Meng the Daoist, Xiao the Daoist would appear, and he too wished to take Wu Ning as his disciple—only this time, Wu Ning couldn’t fool him.
Over the past five years, the sharp-headed old Xiao has pestered Wu Ning countless times, seizing every opportunity: “I calculate by my fingers—our fates are intertwined!”
...
Intertwined, my foot!
Wu Ning would rather become an absconding tenant than be subjected to the torment of following this money-grubbing, lecherous, shameless rogue of a Daoist.
Just look at Meng Cangsheng—how valiant and free he was, roaming the world with sword in hand after descending the mountain! Wealth and power meant nothing. In those days, Wu Ning even wished to join him in wandering the rivers and lakes.
Yet, upon returning to Changluo Mountain...
Suddenly!
He wilted immediately, cowed by Daoist Xiao’s tyrannical presence, shrinking like a timid bride, barely daring to breathe.
Wu Ning was baffled: this is a man who can kill with his sword, deliver babies with his hands, and debate philosophy with his mouth—he could make Qiu Shenji kneel and beg for mercy. How does he become a mouse before a cat when faced with Daoist Xiao?
“Meng brother,”
Wu Ning couldn’t be bothered with Daoist Xiao; he walked over to Meng Cangsheng and lowered his voice, “Why did you bring your master here as well?”
Meng Cangsheng bowed his head, furtively glancing at Daoist Xiao, and muttered, “He wanted to come—how could I stop him?!”
Nonsense, his expression made it clear: he’d been betrayed by his new big brother.
He sighed to himself, “People’s hearts are not what they used to be.”
But there was nothing to be done; the man had arrived, and even if you tried to chase him away, it wouldn’t work.
Reluctantly, he said, “Well then, thank you, Daoist Xiao.”
“That’s the spirit!” Daoist Xiao was delighted. “Between us master and disciple, why so many formalities?”
“...”
Speechless. Wu Ning had nothing left to say; the old fellow had learned to climb the social ladder as well.
...
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To invite gods and hang talismans for protection when raising the main beam is not only a rule to be followed in the Tang dynasty but remains an essential step for good fortune even in later generations.
Wu Ning, though skeptical of such rites, followed local customs and spared himself the elder’s nagging, leaving Daoist Xiao to fuss as he pleased.
First, he set up an altar and performed rituals, burned incense, made offerings; then rang bells to dispel evil, inviting the Three Pure Ones to descend and bless the house.
This step differed from later times. In the Tang dynasty, the beam was dedicated to the Three Pure Ones, whereas in later rural tradition, it’s dedicated to Jiang Ziya.
Why? Because the current Jiang Taigong is still just Jiang Taigong—he hasn’t yet held the Investiture of the Gods in one hand and the Whip of the Gods in the other, as in the Ming-era “Fengshen Yanyi.”
In Tang times, Jiang Taigong isn’t so divine; one must rely on the Three Pure Ones for help.
After over an hour’s busy work, nearly noon, Daoist Xiao finally concluded his rituals.
With others, this would be the moment to pay up. But with Wu Ning, things were different; he wouldn’t be polite to the old Daoist.
However, food was still necessary—after a morning of labor, everyone could finally sit down to eat.
“Where’s the wine?” Daoist Xiao sat down and immediately demanded drink.
“After working all morning, surely I deserve some wine, don’t I?”
Wu Ning was blunt, and Daoist Xiao was equally so.
“Would I ever deprive you of wine?” Wu Ning grumbled, bringing over a jar.
“Let’s be clear—Daoist, you’re famed for your half-immortal body; don’t go spouting wild words.”
Sitting beside the old Daoist, he poured wine for everyone and muttered, “I’ve never agreed to call you master.”
Everyone watched from the sidelines, enjoying the spectacle. Daoist Xiao was a local figure in Fangzhou, but he always clashed with Wu Ning—this scene was hardly new to those present.
“Haha!” Daoist Xiao burst out laughing.
“No matter, you don’t recognize it now; you will eventually. I calculate by my fingers—”
“Stop!”
Again? Wu Ning couldn’t take it.
“I’m telling you, drop that act!”
He pointed to the half-built earthen house behind him. “If you want to calculate, tell me how my inn’s fortune will be—will I be prosperous?”
“Inn?” Daoist Xiao shot him a sideways look.
“Heh.”
“Heh... heh?”
Wu Ning was unsettled. What sort of divination is “heh?” Didn’t Daoist Xiao know “heh” meant something else where he came from?
“You want to open an inn at the foot of the mountain? You wonder if you’ll be prosperous?” Without waiting for Wu Ning to respond, Daoist Xiao continued.
“Sure!” Wu Ning stiffened his neck. “I’ll definitely be prosperous.”
“Heh.”
Another “heh”—“You’ll be lucky to earn a penny!”
Daoist Xiao pinched his fingers and calculated rapidly, “This year is the year of Ji-chou, heavenly stem is fire; next year, Geng-yin, stem is water...”
“Jiu Lang’s birth chart: Jia-xu year, Gui-hai month, Bing-chen day, You hour—a wood element, buried in earth.”
“...”
After some calculation, he looked at Wu Ning, “According to the chart, for the next two years, not only will you lack fortune, but you’re in for financial loss. And with the tiger demon clashing with the moon, bloodshed and disaster are certain!”
“Oh?” Wu Ning raised an eyebrow, “Is there a way to resolve it?”
“...”
Daoist Xiao pondered, “Difficult...”
“But not entirely hopeless; only with the help of a benefactor can disaster be averted.”
“As expected,” Wu Ning thought, “I knew your roundabout speech would circle back.”
He’d seen plenty of fortune-tellers like Daoist Xiao in later times—they never spoke conclusively; whatever the outcome, they always had a way to explain it. Like hell I’d believe you!
He scoffed, “Daoist’s skills aren’t deep enough.”
Daoist Xiao puffed up, “Whether accurate or not, we master and disciple can observe and see. Let’s check again next year—I have patience!”
“No need to wait for next year,” Wu Ning shook his head. “We can verify now.”
“Hm?” Daoist Xiao frowned, confused. “Now? How?”
“I’ll ask you.” Wu Ning was gleeful; the old Daoist was bound to lose.
“I have no fortune, right?”
“Right.”
“And disaster is coming, right?”
“That’s what the chart says!”
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“Only a benefactor can resolve it, correct?”
“Mm.” Daoist Xiao nodded earnestly, “And not just any benefactor—it must be someone of great renown to suppress your misfortune.”
“Oh, so did your chart reveal who my eminent benefactor is... namely, you?”
“It did not.”
“What?” Daoist Xiao was stunned.
“Me? What nonsense are you spouting?”
“It’s no nonsense.” Wu Ning confidently wore a victorious smile. “Whether my inn prospers depends entirely on whether the Daoist helps me.”
“Help... how?”
Wu Ning thought, “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
He leaned closer to Daoist Xiao’s ear, “It’s nothing major—just a matter of adjusting the timing for divination.”
“For instance: on odd days, only divine at dusk, when the sun sets and absorbs the yin energy; on even days, only divine at dawn, when the morning glow is strongest. Wouldn’t my inn get business then?”
“Ah—pfft!!”
Daoist Xiao spat blood, staring at Wu Ning in horror.
This... this scoundrel, so that’s what he’s been waiting for!
...
Odd days, divination at sunset; even days, at the rise of dawn.
These times, picked so deliberately—Daoist Xiao wasn’t foolish; a little thought made it clear what Wu Ning was plotting.
Take odd days at sunset: after the ritual, it’s already dark—where does the client go? Return to the city? The city gates are closed; how will they get home?
Even days at dawn: after the ritual, the sun is up, city gates open, people can go home.
But how did they get here?
Changluo Mountain is five miles from the city; to catch the sunrise, one must leave at the fourth watch, before dawn.
But at the fourth watch, not only the city gates but even ward gates are closed—how could they come? Unless they left the night before and waited in the mountain.
So, the question arises: if clients can’t return to the city or must leave early, where do they stay?
Wu Ning was ruthless, even providing the pitch: “At the transition of dawn and dusk, harnessing the yin and yang of heaven and earth—the divination will be more accurate!”
...
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I have a terrible headache; it’s already two o’clock in the morning as I finish writing. Your sister-in-law is asleep, so there’s no one to proofread—I’ll post again in the morning.
While I have this big feature from Qidian to help promote Cangshan’s new book, let me ramble a bit.
...
Some readers have asked why the book is called “Ao Tang,” and some mischievously wonder if it’s “Dog Tang.”
In truth, there’s no deeper meaning—those familiar with Tang dynasty history will understand.
Starting with Li Yuan: he was born into chaos, with Yang Guang above him, Wang Shichong, Dou Jiande, and the Yu family beside—he fought his way out to found the Tang dynasty.
Li Shimin killed his brothers, forced Li Yuan to abdicate, and finally claimed the throne.
Li Zhi, though not as ruthless, outlasted Li Chengqian and Li Tai to become the sole heir among Empress Zhangsun’s sons.
Next comes Wu Zetian. This woman, throughout her rise, saw so much blood and crushed so many stepping stones—her story needs no elaboration.
Then Li Xian.
Like Li Zhi, he wasn’t ruthless, and he was a bit spineless. But the truth is, in a family devoid of father-son affection, his predecessors—Li Hong, Li Xian, Wu Chengsi, and Wu Sansi—were merely stepping stones for his two ascensions.
Yet, precisely because he wasn’t ruthless and was somewhat timid, Li Xian was far less decisive than his father, mother, and grandfather; he overlooked his own brother, Li Dan.
Thus, Li Dan and his son Li Longji began repeating the ancestral cycle.
Li Xian, Lady Wei, Anle, and Taiping—all became sacrifices in their rise.
...
In Cangshan’s view, choosing a ruler is like choosing a mastiff: surviving death nine times, forged a hundred times, becoming a mastiff.
For five generations, the Li clan’s dynasty was always won by the last surviving, kin-slaying demon mastiff.
So, when I began conceiving this story, the title “Ao Tang” was set.
“Dog Tang,” so be it—we know what it means, and that’s enough.
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