Chapter 51 : Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Past Events

Old Man Yao had lived a long life, claiming to have seen great storms, but he’d never seen the art of turning boiling water into ice.

From the rafter, the crow watched for a while, then couldn’t resist flying to the counter to inspect closely.

Dark Cloud tried to pounce, but the crow casually flicked it away with a wing.

Old Man Yao looked up at me: “What’s the principle behind this?”

I was stumped.

In a saturated solution, as temperature drops, solubility decreases, and crystals precipitate.

To me, it was a simple sentence, but explaining it to someone from the Ning Dynasty would require starting from far, far back.

Old Man Yao toyed with the tiny crystal. How could boiling water turn into ice? Yet it wasn’t cold to the touch.

“Kid, what is this stuff?” Old Man Yao asked, puzzled.

I smiled: “It’s what you just called—vigorous and domineering.”

Old Man Yao grew more confused: “Where’d you learn this alchemical art? Huangshan? Laojun Mountain? Those Daoists don’t share such things… Maybe Wuji Mountain or Taiji Mountain?”

I stayed silent, unable to explain where I’d learned it.

Old Man Yao scoffed: “Fine, don’t tell me… Just answer this: how powerful is this thing?”

I thought for a moment, conservatively: “…It’s not finished yet, but once done, it could probably destroy a building.”

Old Man Yao stroked his beard, choosing his words carefully: “Our path, though called ‘Dragon Swallower,’ must be pursued gradually, not rushed. Once you master medicine, plenty of officials will call you to their deathbeds. Don’t be greedy for quick gains—greed leads to loss.”

I understood. Master worried I’d go mad, using this to kill Ning Dynasty officials for icy currents…

I quickly said: “Master, I’m not trying to speed up my cultivation. It’s for self-defense.”

“Oh…” Old Man Yao nodded, lying back on his bamboo chair: “Good. Carry on.”

In the main hall, an old man lounged on a chair, a young man worked with rolled-up sleeves, a crow and cat chased playfully—it was peaceful.

I suddenly said: “Master, thank you.”

“Thank me?” Old Man Yao raised an eyebrow: “Six taels of silver drove you crazy? Don’t go nuts at midnight—the money’s mine, no emotional tricks.”

I smiled: “Master, ‘In the chaos of creation, yin and yang begin to interact, birthing difficulty amid danger, Water-Thunder Tun.’ How do you interpret this hexagram?”

That was the hexagram Old Man Yao divined before I went to Evening Star Courtyard.

Old Man Yao rocked on his chair, eyes closed, saying after a long pause: “New opportunities arise in desperation. Those who draw this hexagram live by facing death.”

I nodded: “So, that night at Evening Star Courtyard, you weren’t afraid of danger—you divined I’d gain icy currents there.”

Old Man Yao didn’t answer.

I continued: “You say to steer clear of danger, but that night at Zhou Chengyi’s mansion, you came to save me.”

And this Master, cold-faced but warm-hearted, wouldn’t have let Liang Gou’er stay to teach me saber if he truly didn’t care.

The clinic was calm and serene. The crow looked at me, its eyes seeming to approve.

But Old Man Yao said: “That’s all your wild guesses. Don’t overthink at your age.”

I said earnestly: “No matter what you say, thank you.”

“Thank me for what? Just don’t hate me later,” Old Man Yao said wearily.

“Hate you?”

Old Man Yao chuckled: “You think giving you a cultivation path is a blessing? When young, everyone thinks superhuman power makes you a martial world hero. But what’s a cultivation path? It’s a curse and cage trapping Enforcers.”

I fell silent.

Old Man Yao sighed: “With a cultivation path, masters guard against disciples, fathers against sons, brothers against brothers, tearing families apart. Is Liang Gou’er happy? If he were, he wouldn’t need to drink… And you should worry about what happens if you meet another Enforcer on the Mountain Lord path.”

I muttered: “You didn’t say you’d killed them all before passing it to me, leaving me with aftereffects…”

Old Man Yao glared: “Blaming me now? Fine, give me ten thousand taels, and I’ll kill him for you!”

I changed the subject: “How many Mountain Lords are out there, Master?”

Old Man Yao mused: “How many furnaces can you ignite with one ginseng now?”

“Two.”

Old Man Yao, eyes closed on the chair, said lightly: “Easy to calculate. Before you become a Mountain Lord, I could ignite three furnaces with one ginseng… So, there’s likely just one other Mountain Lord out there. After I die, you’ll ignite three furnaces per ginseng. Kill the other Mountain Lord, and you’ll ignite six. Tempted?”

So, the number of practitioners directly affected cultivation progress.

At that, Old Man Yao sat up, eyeing me warily: “You’re not making this domineering thing to use against me, are you?!”

I laughed and cried: “What’re you thinking? I’d never betray you, don’t worry.”

Old Man Yao was noncommittal: “Hearts are hidden; only you know your thoughts.”

I leaned on the counter, purifying saltpeter, pondering. My Master wasn’t as cold as he seemed, but he kept everyone at arm’s length.

“Master, did you personally…” I stopped mid-sentence, unsure if I could ask.

Old Man Yao said calmly: “You want to know if I killed my son myself? Yes. Been holding that question in, huh? Finally couldn’t resist.”

“Why did you kill him?”

Old Man Yao sneered coldly: “Because he slowed my cultivation. Imperial physicians don’t live on salaries—nobles’ fees bring hundreds of taels yearly—but can that sustain the Mountain Lord path’s costs? One less co-practitioner, less expense. So, I killed him.”

Having finished purifying the saltpeter, I wiped my hands with a cloth, tossing it on the counter: “You don’t need to scare me. If you were that kind, you wouldn’t have passed the legacy to him so early.”

…

…

Old Man Yao closed his eyes, silent for a long time: “I’ve had no wife, no son, no daughter. In the fourteenth year of Zhengde, December, returning home from the Imperial Academy, it snowed heavily. I saw a little beggar collapsed under the eaves. Still kind-hearted then, I brought him hot ginger soup from home.”

“The beggar woke and begged me to take him in. He said his parents died in corvée labor, and his uncle and aunt drove him out.”

“I was unmarried; taking in a beggar seemed odd, so I hesitated. I’d just learned divination, cast ten times—all bad omens—but thought my skill was lacking and ignored it. I decided to gamble on fate, asking his birth details.”

“Fourteenth year of Zhengde, December twelfth, third quarter of the Ox Hour,” Old Man Yao said with a sigh: “By sheer chance, born at the moment of the Mountain Lord path’s inheritance. I thought it was heaven’s will and raised him as a son.”

I stopped my work, sat cross-legged on the floor by the rocking chair, listening quietly, Dark Cloud perched on my shoulder.

Old Man Yao continued slowly: “I had no desire for immortality, so I passed him the Mountain Lord path at sixteen. His first dragon qi came from Yang Jiancheng of the Ministry of Works.”

“The boy was sharp, learning everything quickly, mastering medicine from me. The capital had many nobles; when I was overwhelmed, I sent him to diagnose. But I noticed none of the critically ill nobles he treated survived. Suspicion grew, and I investigated at night… Liu Yushi of the Censorate had emphysema, treatable, but he prescribed a toxic formula.”

“He was too clever, mastering pharmacology so well that even conflicting toxic prescriptions went unnoticed by other doctors. When people are too smart, they take shortcuts…”

“I scolded him, made him kneel in the snow for three days and nights. He cried and confessed, and I thought he repented, so I didn’t send him to the Court of Judicial Review. That leniency was a grave mistake.”

“The next year, he grew stealthier, even poisoning my food. My first crow died from his poison.”

Old Man Yao looked at the clinic’s crow: “The first stayed with me twenty-one years; this second, fifty-three.”

The crow fluttered to Old Man Yao’s shoulder, gently preening his white hair with its beak. Dark Cloud hopped to the chair’s armrest, patting his hand with a fluffy paw.

I asked curiously: “What happened after you were poisoned?”

Old Man Yao shook his head: “Don’t want to talk about it. I’m tired.”

He didn’t say what happened after the poisoning or how he killed his adopted son, as if hiding other secrets.

I suddenly recalled that night leaving Zhou’s mansion, when Old Man Yao divined to avoid a beggar. That December snow in the fourteenth year of Zhengde had chilled his heart.

A lifetime’s warmth and kindness seemed to dissolve into a sigh.

Old Man Yao opened his eyes, looking at me with weary calm, as if seeing another through me, or his younger self.

He rose slowly, heading back to his room: “Don’t worry, I won’t hinder you long, and we need no master-disciple bond.”

As he disappeared into his room, Dark Cloud meowed: “He fears you’re the next little beggar.”

I nodded: “I won’t be.”

Old Man Yao brought me to Prince Jing’s mansion, arranging for me to collect icy currents and letting Liang Gou’er teach me saber. Whatever his attitude, I wouldn’t forget what he’d done for me.

Wait.

Yunyang said Old Man Yao, revered at the Imperial Academy, suddenly came to Luocheng, settling by Prince Jing’s mansion…

Prince Jing’s mansion?!

I suddenly realized: By my guess, Old Man Yao wanted a disciple to pass the Mountain Lord path before his death.

How could he make his disciple grow quickly? By swiftly gaining icy currents.

For others, that meant relying on chance, waiting for nobles to die.

But Old Man Yao, skilled in divination, could pinpoint where calamity would strike, where icy currents could be absorbed!

His sudden resignation to come to Luocheng must mean he divined a great calamity at Prince Jing’s mansion!