Daoist temples and shrines in the Divine Land are built with purpose.
Perched on lofty mountain peaks or tucked deep in river valleys, far from human paths, they signal a quest for the Great Dao, free from worldly ties…
Halfway up a mountain, they straddle the line between mortal and immortal realms…
At the mountain's base, they're rooted in the bustle of human life, forging broad connections…
In cities, they thrive on incense and the energy of crowds.
So, city temples are usually surrounded by thriving markets, pulsing with life.
West City, near the Goddess Temple's old street.
Shops line both sides here, but unlike the City God Temple area, packed with incense sellers and shops for weddings or funerals, this street is a craftsmen's hub.
Leatherworkers, goldsmiths, carpenters, stonemasons—just the trades, with shops specializing in everything from horse tack to shadow puppets, furniture to instruments for performers.
A few White Ape Gang toughs hustled through.
Unlike the Iron Blade Gang, Yuan Qu, raised in a brothel and used to flash, cared about style. His crew wore matching black tunics, martial boots, and thick leather belts.
Each was a hulking figure, their group radiating menace.
Locals, catching sight of them, shrank back in fear, clearing the way.
Soon, they reached a tucked-away shop.
Outside hung rows of puppets, dressed in theatrical costumes with painted faces—heroes, heroines, warriors, elders, clowns—each startlingly lifelike.
This was a puppet-crafting shop.
Puppet plays, or "small plays," trace back to the Han dynasty and peaked in the Tang, when even an emperor wrote: Carved wood, pulled by strings, mimics an old man, wrinkled skin and white hair, true to life.
Called "small" because they're performed on a tiny stage, with a curtain hiding the puppeteers below, who weave tales of joy and sorrow with nimble hands and voices.
Xianyang's puppet plays were famous.
Just two or three people could perform at village fairs, so the trade was popular, and puppet shops were common.
Inside the old shop, a middle-aged man carved a puppet.
In white robes, with long black hair loose, narrow eyes, and a cool demeanor, his slender, strong fingers worked as wood shavings fell with each knife stroke.
Something about him felt out of place in the worn shop.
Even with footsteps approaching, he stayed locked in, ignoring the world.
The White Ape Gang men didn't dare step inside, standing at the door, bowing in unison, hands clasped respectfully. "Master Chen, our boss needs your help."
The white-robed man didn't look up, still carving.
"My items?"
"Don't worry, Master Chen. One's still missing, but the boss says daytime's too busy. They'll be at your place tonight."
…
Two hours later, at the Yuan residence.
Unlike Zheng Heibei of the Iron Blade Gang, Yuan Qu, now rich, went all out. He bought a grand estate, built a courtyard, and lived like a high-rolling gentry.
Maybe because he grew up dirt-poor, he leaned hard into luxury.
"Young Master Zhou, this way!"
At the gate, a man led the way with deference.
Behind him was a young man, tall and straight, with bold brows, big eyes, and a square-jawed face, dressed in a brocade robe, a jade ring glinting on his finger.
His eyes burned with a fierce, tiger-like energy.
Inside, Yuan Qu greeted him with a grin. "Zhou Bai, you're a tough guy to get here. Got Master's true skills and now you're too big for your Uncle Yuan?"
It was Zhou Bai, the Zhou family's rising star.
"Don't kid, Uncle."
Zhou Bai, clearly annoyed, gave a quick bow and scanned the place, shaking his head. "Your garden's looking fancier, Uncle. Big Uncle said if you didn't waste time on this stuff, your skills wouldn't be stuck."
"Hahaha…"
Yuan Qu just laughed, unbothered. "I'm old, not like you young bucks charging ahead. If I hear you make waves in the martial world, I'm good."
Zhou Bai shrugged. "So, why'd you call me?"
"You'll see."
Yuan Qu flashed a sly grin and led him into the hall.
Inside, a big macaque crouched on a chair, neck chained, ripping into a live chicken, blood dripping down its jaw.
It looked almost human, but its eyes gleamed with wild ferocity.
On another chair sat a white-robed middle-aged man, long black hair loose, face cold, fiddling with prayer beads, eyes shut in calm.
He barely flicked a glance at them.
Yuan Qu jumped to introduce. "Zhou Bai, this is Master Chen Fakui, a top adept from the Nine Origins Sect's ritual lineage."
"Greetings, Master Chen."
Zhou Bai's heart skipped, and he bowed deeply.
In the martial world, the Golden Sect led, the Mysterious Sect stood apart.
The Supreme Mysterious Orthodox Sect, the state religion, dealt with nobles and officials. For martial folks like them, the closest they got was local ritual lineages.
The Nine Origins Sect, born on Mount Li, was an ancient order, said to descend from craftsmen of the First Emperor's tomb, inheriting sorcerers' arts, with clout across Guanzhong.
Ritual lineage disciples carried "Fa" in their names.
Chen Fakui was the real deal—an authentic ritual adept!
Why meet an adept?
Zhou Bai was puzzled, then eyed the macaque, frowning. "Uncle, why's Big Uncle's fist beast here?"
Monkey boxing had many forms, including one in the Red Fist system, though it was called "Zi Fist" for being crude.
Zhou Pan, a master, blended it with Through-the-Back Monkey Boxing, reaching Transformation Strength through relentless study.
He'd caught two sharp macaques near Mount Zhongnan, so clever they learned boxing just by watching him.
Zhou Pan doted on them, calling them fist beasts.
As president of the Divine Fist Association, his fame drew endless challengers. Fed up, he made a rule: beat the macaques, then face him.
That was part of his bad rep.
Normally, those macaques stayed glued to Zhou Pan, so seeing one here threw Zhou Bai off.
"I asked Master to send it."
Yuan Qu smirked. "With the fight coming, you've got the monkey form but not its wild edge. So, I paid big to get Master Chen to help you tap into it with secret techniques. Master signed off."
Zhou Bai bristled, shaking his head. "It's just some country kid. You don't think I can handle it, Uncle?"
"I know you can."
Yuan Qu grinned. "But Zhang Yuanshang, that old fox, never got along with Master. If that kid was a nobody, why's he stirring things up?"
"You don't just need to win—you need to dominate!"
"Crush Li Hu's son clean, and if Master's pleased, he might let you hit the martial world and make your name."
Zhou Bai's eyes sparked. "For real?"
"No lie."
Yuan Qu's smile was all sincerity.
Chen Fakui, the adept, watched coolly. When Zhou Bai agreed, he stepped up, taking a lock of hair from both Zhou Bai and the macaque, wrapping them in yellow talismans, and slipping them into their mouths.
Zhou Bai watched, uneasy.
Adepts could mess you up in ways you couldn't block. Martial world rumors warned against handing over your birth details, nails, or hair.
If Zhou Pan hadn't okayed it, Zhou Bai wouldn't have let him close.
Sensing his caution, Chen Fakui didn't care.
He pulled out a gossip-patterned rattle drum, shaking it while stepping in a ritual pattern, head swaying, black hair flying, eyes rolling back.
He chanted fast, words a blur.
As the drum rattled, Zhou Bai felt a shift.
The macaque's aura flooded around him.
It poured into him, making his body twitch and jerk. His knees bent, hands scratched his head, and he grimaced, moving just like the macaque.
Soon, man and monkey were throwing monkey boxing moves in the hall.
Each strike sharp, each punch brutal.
Zhou Bai's eyes took on a wild, beastly edge.
Crack!
A grab clawed marks into a thick wooden beam.
The kid whooped, scampering on all fours like a monkey, baring teeth at Yuan Qu, pure wildness radiating.
"Nice!"
Yuan Qu clapped, but his eyes dripped with mockery…
…
Night crept in unnoticed.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Near the City God Temple's old alley, drumbeats thundered.
On and off, each strike like a storm.
Wang Daoxuan walked the stone street with a lantern, stepping into the Inquiry Hall. Seeing Li Yan in the courtyard, lost in a manic trance, he shook his head.
Sha Lifei squatted on the steps, hugging a jug of old wine, a spread of boiled peanuts and braised beef on oilpaper nearby.
"Want a swig, Daoist?"
Spotting Wang Daoxuan, he lifted the jug, voice low.
Wang Daoxuan waved it off. "No, it's the hour of calm. Booze stirs the blood, goes against nature's rhythm. If I drink, I won't be able to cultivate later."
"Cultivate, my foot…"
Sha Lifei grumbled. "With that drumming, who's sleeping?"
Wang Daoxuan gave a wry grin. "Talked to the neighbors—they're fine with it. Why're you griping?"
"Not griping, just worried."
Sha Lifei shook his head. "He's been at it all day, no food, no water. Fight's the day after tomorrow—aren't you worried he'll crash?"
Wang Daoxuan eyed Li Yan, lost in his zone, and said thoughtfully, "He's in a state of no-self. Brother Yan gave clear orders—he knows his plan."
"We just wait."
That night, the old street's folks took a hit.
But weirdly, the drumbeats, annoying at first, turned soothing by midnight.
And that night, they slept deeper than ever…
*(End of Chapter)*