Fang Ming carried the drunken Wang Dazhu back to the shabby dwelling and gently laid him on the bed. After ensuring Dazhu was settled, Fang Ming stepped out into the cool evening air.
"Old Yellow, lead the way," he said.
The loyal dog wagged its tail, happily holding a bone in its mouth as it trotted ahead. Fang Ming followed closely, trusting his old companion to know exactly where to go.
Fifteen minutes later, Fang Ming found himself in a quiet park beside a small river. As he followed Old Yellow deeper into the park, he paused, his expression turning awkward.
Ahead, in a pavilion near the water, a couple's voices drifted through the stillness of the night.
"Be gentle! If someone hears us, I'll die of embarrassment."
"Relax. It's so late. Who's going to come here? And this park is so out of the way. We're at the farthest corner—no one will find us."
"You're such a pervert. Always picking weird places like this."
"Heh, and yet you still like it."
Hearing their conversation, Fang Ming immediately knew what was happening. It was one of those infamous outdoor rendezvous. Suppressing the urge to laugh, he turned to leave, searching for a quieter spot.
But before he could take a step, Old Yellow suddenly darted toward the couple and began barking loudly.
"Woof! Woof! Woof!"
The barks echoed through the park, piercing the lovers' intimate moment.
"Damn! Where did this stray dog come from?"
"Get lost, or I'll kill you!" the man shouted, panic evident in his voice.
"Forget it, let's just put our clothes on and leave. If someone hears us, we'll be in trouble," the woman urged.
Amid the sound of hurried movements and muttered curses, the couple quickly dressed and fled the scene.
"You rascal," Fang Ming said as he approached the pavilion. He looked at Old Yellow, who now sat proudly with his tongue lolling, clearly expecting praise for his "heroic" act. Fang Ming couldn't help but laugh.
Though it might have seemed like an act of mischief, Fang Ming had allowed Old Yellow to interrupt for a reason.
People seeking thrills in secluded spots like this often didn't realize the potential consequences. Such places, especially wooded areas, were rich in yin energy. Engaging in intimate acts in these environments could easily attract negative entities or disrupt the balance of one's yin and yang. At best, it could lead to illness; at worst, to misfortune.
"Alright, let's get started," Fang Ming said, ruffling Old Yellow's fur.
The dog obediently lay down a short distance away, resting his head on his paws. Fang Ming, meanwhile, seated himself cross-legged on the ground. He assumed a meditative pose: legs crossed, right hand raised with the index and middle fingers pointing upward, and left hand clenched into a fist pressed against the back of his right hand.
This posture wasn't from Taoism or Buddhism. It was the stance of a wu—a shaman.
Fang Ming had a secret, one he had never even shared with his master.
Sixteen years ago, when he was still a child, a meteor fell from the sky one night, crashing into the Taoist temple where he lived. The impact destroyed a large part of the temple, and the falling debris knocked Fang Ming unconscious.
He remained unconscious for seven days and seven nights.
To outsiders, it seemed like a deep coma. But Fang Ming knew better. During those seven days, he had been flooded with a torrent of ancient knowledge—a legacy passed down from an era long forgotten.
The Age of Chaos.
Before order was established, primordial beasts, spirits, and monsters roamed the vast wilderness. Humans were weak and primitive, often worshiping these fearsome beings as gods or serving them as slaves.
Blood soaked the rivers, and human bones paved the earth. Yet not all humans submitted. Some fled to remote lands, seeking ways to fight back.
They learned to harness fire, heal wounds, and study the heavens. These pioneers, through their courage and ingenuity, became the ancestors of a noble tradition. They were the first shamans.
Shamans were protectors of humanity, standing against oppression and carving a place for humans in a hostile world.
The knowledge Fang Ming received revealed the roots of humanity's struggle and the shamanic arts born from it.
Upon awakening, Fang Ming considered sharing this with his Taoist master. But his master spoke first, offering cryptic advice:
"Every individual has their destiny and their burden to bear. The Three Pure Ones cannot accept you as their disciple. Your path lies beyond Taoism. As for your revelation, do not share it with me. Your journey is your own to navigate."
At the time, Fang Ming didn't fully understand those words. But over the years, their meaning became clear. The knowledge he had gained marked him as something beyond a Taoist disciple. He was a shaman.
Shamanism and Taoism.
Through his studies, Fang Ming discovered an astonishing connection: many Taoist rituals and techniques had roots in shamanic practices. Compared to Taoist methods, shamanic techniques were often simpler yet more potent.
The realization that Taoism had evolved from shamanism filled Fang Ming with a sense of awe. It was a testament to the ancient lineage of the shamanic arts.
Under the moonlit sky, Fang Ming closed his eyes and began his meditation. Shamanic cultivation required the power of the stars—a mysterious force he could sense but not fully explain.
According to the teachings in his mind, each person was connected to a specific star. Finding and linking to that star was the first step to becoming a true shaman. Without this connection, one could only be a shaman's apprentice.
Years of training had yet to reveal his star. Even so, he had never given up. Though he couldn't yet wield shamanic powers, his Taoist techniques worked seamlessly, enhanced by his deep understanding of the underlying principles.
In his mind's eye, the night sky unfolded—a vast sea of stars. Among them was a particularly bright, crimson star: the Wolf Star (Tanlang). It was larger and more dazzling than the others, but Fang Ming dared not approach it.
Six years ago, his curiosity had led him to attempt contact with the Wolf Star. The result was disastrous—months of debilitating fatigue. Only his master's herbal remedies had saved him from permanent harm.
Since then, Fang Ming avoided the larger stars, focusing instead on his search for the one destined to guide him.
As he meditated, Old Yellow lay nearby, lazily observing his master. Suddenly, the dog's demeanor changed. He stood up, his body tense, and his eyes locked onto a patch of grass by the riverbank.
A faint rustling sound emerged. From the shadows, a snake slithered into view. It paused, meeting Old Yellow's gaze, before retreating into the underbrush. The dog relaxed, returning to his spot with a satisfied huff.
Elsewhere.
In the affluent Huating Yipin district, Liang Qiong handed her husband, Ye Ming, a silver talisman.
"Where did you get this? You've never believed in this sort of thing," Ye Ming asked, inspecting the charm.
"A friend brought it back from a trip. She said it's from a famous Taoist temple. It's just a token of goodwill—wearing it won't hurt you," Liang Qiong replied, carefully concealing the truth about its origins.
As Ye Ming put the charm around his neck, he sighed. "Speaking of Taoist temples, I still think about that old master from Miaohe Village. He was the real deal. And that cheeky little boy—what a character."
Liang Qiong's face froze momentarily, her expression turning uneasy. "Alright, enough reminiscing. Let's go to bed."
"Fair enough. I have an early meeting tomorrow," Ye Ming said, letting the topic drop. Still, as he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts lingered on the boy from years past.
Waterwood University Dormitory.
Under the soft glow of her reading lamp, a young woman sat with a book in hand. Her delicate features were serene, her focus unwavering as she read the ancient pages of the I Ching.
"Hey, Ziyu," one of her roommates teased. "If people found out our school's top beauty and star student was obsessed with ancient superstitions, jaws would drop!"
Another chimed in, "Right? Everyone's into astrology these days. Who even studies the I Ching anymore?"
Ziyu looked up briefly, her calm demeanor unshaken. Her voice, soft and melodic, carried a hint of detachment as she replied, "It's just a hobby."
Her roommates laughed, trading lighthearted jokes. But as Ziyu returned to her book, her thoughts drifted to a distant memory—a boy in a Taoist robe and a promise made under the setting sun.
"Am I your wife now, Taoist brother?"
"Yes."
Her lips curled into a faint smile as she closed her book.