The old Taoist leisurely sipped the tea I offered, solidifying my fate as his apprentice.
However, my education wasn't immediately replaced with mystical teachings.
Instead, the old Taoist, with a mysterious influence I couldn't comprehend, managed to enroll me in a prestigious elementary school nearby.
My academic performance had always been mediocre, and being thrust into a high-pressure environment like this only exacerbated the situation.
My grades remained firmly planted in the lower echelons of the class, never rising above second-to-last.
The dream of leaving school behind after becoming the old Taoist's apprentice was quickly shattered.
Not only did my formal education continue, but my free time was nonexistent.
The old Taoist, in all his inscrutable wisdom, had decided on a grueling schedule.
Days were spent navigating the trials of the key school, while evenings were dedicated to the mysteries of Feng Shui and the occult.
Strangely, despite my struggles with traditional education, I found myself drawn to the Taoist's teachings.
The cryptic symbols, the ancient rituals, the talk of unseen forces - it resonated with me on a level that schoolbooks never could.
I absorbed his wisdom like a sponge, my progress surprising even Huzi, who often remarked that I had a natural affinity for it.
However, this path wasn't without its… physical challenges.
The old Taoist, for all his air of otherworldly detachment, had a very earthly way of emphasizing a point - a swift whack with his cane for every misstep.
And these weren't mere taps on the wrist. Each blow was delivered with enough force to leave me bruised and sore.
It was a painful incentive to learn quickly and effectively.
As I grew older, the teachings became more demanding.
The I Ching and the Eight Trigrams, Qimen Dunjia, Plum Blossom Divination, the River Map, the Luo Shu, the Five Elements of Heaven and Earth - each concept layered upon the last, forming a complex and intricate system of knowledge.
My martial arts training intensified, and I was introduced to the world of traditional Chinese medicine, learning about herbal remedies and ancient healing techniques.
My life had become a strange juxtaposition - modern education clashing with ancient wisdom, the physical demands of martial arts contrasting with the mental exertion of deciphering ancient texts.
It was exhausting, exhilarating, and at times, utterly bewildering.
One constant in our little courtyard was the steady stream of visitors seeking my master's help.
People from all walks of life, plagued by worries and misfortunes, hoping for a sliver of his enigmatic wisdom.
Most were turned away by Huzi, but every now and then, the old Taoist would accept a request and disappear for a few days, leaving me and Huzi to hold down the fort.
Those were my only respites, brief periods of peace in an otherwise demanding existence.
I later came to realize these absences coincided with the times I should have encountered those fateful calamities.
The three-year curse that had haunted my early life seemed to vanish into thin air.
Each time the old Taoist returned from these mysterious trips, he'd be drained, his face pale and his energy depleted.
He would seclude himself in his room for days, emerging revitalized, as if nothing had happened.
Eight years flew by in a blur of rigorous study and cryptic lessons.
Despite my less-than-stellar academic record, I found myself graduating high school, having somehow navigated the perilous journey through those hallowed halls of learning.
To this day, I remain convinced that my admission to those elite institutions - first the key elementary school, then middle school, and finally high school - was less about my academic merit and more about my master's uncanny influence.
There was a reason, I suspected, why he insisted on sending me to these top schools, but like most things about the old Taoist, his motives remained a mystery.
Upon my graduation, the prospect of attending university, a distant dream given my academic performance, was swiftly taken off the table.
My master had other plans, and like always, I was expected to follow them.
It was during this pivotal turning point in my life that the old Taoist dropped a bombshell.
He announced his impending departure on a long journey, one that could last for a year, leaving me in charge of not only the courtyard but also his clientele.
"You've been my apprentice for eight years," he declared, his voice echoing with an unfamiliar gravity. "You've learned well, and it's time you put your knowledge to the test."
He then laid out three conditions for this unexpected responsibility, and each one left me more dumbfounded than the last.
I had a sudden urge to throttle the old man with his own cane.
"Firstly," he began, his gaze unwavering, "during my absence, you are to earn a million yuan and deposit it into the account I've provided."
A million yuan? My jaw dropped.
I hadn't even seen a thousand yuan in one place since becoming his apprentice.
"Secondly," he continued, his tone brooking no argument, "your livelihood will be solely derived from the knowledge I've imparted, Feng Shui, and the occult. Any deviation will be met with... unpleasant consequences."
He punctuated this last statement with a pointed tap of his cane on the floor, the sound reverberating in the silence that followed.
"Finally, and most importantly," he concluded, his voice low and serious, "your first commission cannot take place in Yanbei. Anywhere else, but not Yanbei."
Huzi, usually unflappable, looked as stunned as I felt.
The old Taoist, oblivious to our shock, continued to pick at his nose with one hand while absentmindedly scratching his foot with the other.
The nonchalance of his actions was maddening.
"Master, you're serious about the million, right?" I finally managed, my voice a strangled whisper.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" he retorted, his voice laced with ice.
"One million yuan, not a single jiao less. Fail, and you'll regret it when I return."
"But… master, even if I robbed a bank, I couldn't make that much in a year," I protested, despair settling in my stomach like a lead weight.
"Not my problem," he shrugged, flicking a particularly large booger to the side.
"Figure it out." Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me gaping after him, a mixture of fury and disbelief bubbling inside me.
As he reached the gate, ready to disappear into the sprawling city beyond, Huzi, ever the pragmatic one, spoke up.
"Master," he called out, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'll be gone for a year... what about living expenses?"