White Water Temple

The county magistrate was followed by several others, all surrounded by white qi. Fang Ming glanced from the corner of his eye and saw He Song among them. The group arrived at a place not far from the county office and went inside. It looked like an ancestral temple. After a long while, they finally came back out. Watching them, Fang Ming's eye twitched. The fortune of the deputy magistrate and the county commandant seemed to have grown a little thinner, and the others behind them were the same.

Although wisps of white qi surged in to replenish it, they couldn't make up the difference all at once. Greatly intrigued, Fang Ming called over a waiter, pointed toward the ancestral temple, and asked, "What's that place? Why did all the officials go inside?"

The waiter stared at Fang Ming in astonishment, as if he'd seen a monster, but still answered, "That's the imperial ancestral temple, where they offer sacrifices to the emperors of past dynasties. Every city has one, and the people in the local government have to worship there every day. Even commoners have to make offerings in the temple square on the first and fifteenth of each month. The curfew is lifted on those days, and they hold a temple fair and put on several days of grand opera. It's quite lively. It's much the same everywhere. How come you don't know, sir?"

Fang Ming's heart jumped. A flash of red glinted in his eyes, and the waiter's expression grew dazed. He seemed a little dizzy and shook his head before asking, "What can I do for you, sir?" He had forgotten what had just happened.

"Oh, nothing. I'm from out of town, here for a visit. I'd like to find a particularly spiritual temple to pay my respects. Do you know if there are any famous Ancestral Spirits in this city?" Fang Ming smiled and tossed him two large coins as he spoke. Delight flickered across the waiter's face as he quickly pocketed them, not even bothering with his dizziness. "As for Ancestral Spirits, there are those of the Zhou, Wu, Zheng, and Wang Four Great Families. They've been worshipped for hundreds of years, and they're quite miraculous. But those are family shrines, not places outsiders can visit. Then there's White Water Temple. I've heard the White Cloud Sword they enshrine is also quite effective, especially for driving away ghosts!"

"Oh!" That genuinely caught Fang Ming's interest. He questioned the waiter closely about its location, then sent him on his way.

After sitting a while longer, he thought of the imperial ancestral temple and connected it to the imperial blessed land He Yuqing had mentioned. A few suspicions took shape. In his previous life, how could outsiders have entered the imperial ancestral temple? They would have been punished long ago.

But in this world, the imperial blessed land was vast and consumed a great deal. Even with the emperors of past dynasties bolstering it with imperial qi, and with officials being gathered into its service, it was likely still not enough. So they had established ancestral temples throughout the land and ordered officials to worship there, gathering their fortune to replenish the blessed land. Then, on the first and fifteenth of every month, they held grand ceremonies to gather the qi of the common people and replenish it constantly, only then maintaining the blessed land and its blessings.

As for the drawback of mixing fortune, Divine Power, incense, prayer power, spiritual power, and resentment together, causing the one worshipped to become a Bound Spirit—well, the emperors of past dynasties were already bound within the imperial blessed land and unable to leave. They counted as Bound Spirits too; their cage was simply larger. When the cage was big enough, one could no longer feel confined. And the blessed land was rich in resources, so they could throw their weight around inside. They were probably enjoying themselves too much to want to leave. That was why they went to every length to maintain the blessed land, even collecting the fortune and incense of officials and commoners in the mortal world.

Mm, Great Qian's founding emperor had been far-sighted. He probably hadn't just been indulging himself; he'd also gathered fortune for his own House. Then he oversaw the dragon vein and transferred the fortune he had collected to the current emperor, hoping to prolong the dynasty's allotted years.

Thinking it through, everything fit together. A sudden melancholy came over Fang Ming. He rose to his feet and sighed again.

The founding emperor of Great Qian had been a hero of his age. Two hundred years ago, when the land was in chaos, he had risen from humble beginnings with a three-foot sword in hand. He trained elite troops, comforted the displaced, and with a single sword cut down more than ten flood dragons, subduing the land and establishing Great Qian's fortune.

A figure like that had still been bound by the people's prayer power, forced to remain trapped in the blessed land. He also had to plan for his descendants, exhausting himself with worry, even resorting to drinking poison to quench his thirst. How tragic was that!

Having gathered the qi of all the people under heaven, he was naturally connected to them. If the current emperor governed with diligence and gave the people a peaceful and prosperous age, perhaps he could sever this bond. Otherwise, should chaos engulf the land and living beings be plunged into misery, the incense and fortune gathered over all these years would likely turn against them. By then, even the founding emperor of Great Qian might not escape having his soul scattered.

Fang Ming quickly rallied his spirits. Time was precious. Since he had heard most of what he needed, he might as well go to White Water Temple and investigate. If his guess was right, the temple must have ties to White Cloud Temple—perhaps it was even a branch temple. He would go and get a look at what lay beneath the surface.

Anchang County seemed to be divided into four parts, with the county office at the center. To the south were the homes of the wealthy and officials; the Four Great Families of Anchang occupied a large section. To the east were the merchants and the homes of ordinary households. To the north was the poor quarter, where the artisan households also lived. Finally, the west was home to military households and their families.

White Water Temple was in the east of the city.

As Fang Ming walked, he pondered. The temple's location alone revealed quite a lot.

First, in his previous life, Daoist temples were generally built outside the city. That wouldn't work here, with Ferocious Ghosts causing trouble. The main White Cloud Temple would naturally have nothing to fear, but a branch temple in a small county like this was probably not strong enough. And even if it could hold its own, only the farmers in the surrounding area would come to burn incense. People from elsewhere would surely be reluctant to visit. How could that do? Would they just give up on incense?

The only option was to build inside the city. The center wouldn't work either: land there was expensive, and the authorities wouldn't allow it. After all, the imperial ancestral temple was right there! How could they dare compete with the royal family for incense?

The south would have been ideal, but the officials and wealthy households understood a little about feng shui. They might worship now and then and donate some incense money, but they would never let a temple be built next to their homes. Besides, some Confucian officials were always hostile to Daoists, often submitting memorials that said things like, "The likes of Daoist priests are base and unfit to appear at court." Relations between the two sides were quite delicate.

The west belonged to the military households. The martial qi and Killing Intent there suppressed both the Divine Way and the Immortal Way.

That left only the east and north. The people in the east were relatively well-off, while the north was a poor quarter. The temple could only be built in the east.

Once Fang Ming had thought it through, he realized that if he wanted to build a temple in the city without directly clashing with White Cloud Temple, the north was the only place he could choose.

But that was a good place too. In Fang Ming's eyes, the ones who needed faith most were the very top and the very bottom of society. Those in the middle could look down at the poor and feel their own happiness, while looking up at those with more and striving to catch up. They had no need of comfort.

Those at the very top had satisfied all their material needs and could only turn to spiritual ones. Those at the very bottom had nothing at all; they would clutch even a straw if you gave them one, and their faith was the most fervent. If he established a shrine in the north, he could take firm root there—but he would have to be careful to temper his followers' fervor, or he might end up getting himself into trouble.

Along the way, Fang Ming saw pawnshops, incense shops, cloth shops, grain shops, taverns, and all kinds of street stalls. There were also peddlers carrying their wares through the streets and alleys. The city was crowded and bustling, and people's faces were ruddy. They were far better off than the country folk, nearly all of whom looked starved. No wonder so many villagers wanted to live in the city.

When he reached White Water Temple, he found that although it stood inside the city, it was still quite large. It had a main gate, a front courtyard, a main hall, a rear hall, a garden, and more, with numerous side rooms on either side.

Fang Ming entered the main hall and saw that the object enshrined in the center wasn't a person, but a sword. It had to be the White Cloud Sword the waiter had mentioned. Looking more closely, Fang Ming saw that the sword looked quite ancient. It had no scabbard, and its whole length was a pale azure, seemingly streaked with golden light. It was truly extraordinary.

Someone was making an offering just then. As the person bowed, Fang Ming saw incense and prayer power mingled with fortune surge toward the White Cloud Sword. Golden light flashed from the sword, grinding the incense and prayer power to pieces, though tiny specks still clung to the blade. The remaining fortune flowed into the void, as if something had drawn it away. The sword trembled, and a thread of Sword Qi attached itself to the worshipper. It was fierce and sharp, enough to drive away Ferocious Ghosts.

Fang Ming's thoughts raced, and he found the answer: the fortune must have been drawn away by the real White Cloud Sword. Thinking it over carefully, he gained a little more insight into the Daoist Sect.

The Immortal Way pursued inner tranquility and freedom, which ran completely counter to incense and prayer power. For qi refiners, such power was deadly poison; they absolutely could not let it touch them.

That was why no Daoist was offered worship. Objects, however, were different—especially treasures that suppressed the fortune of a sect.

The Daoist Sect built temples far and wide and enshrined treasures to gather fortune. When ordinary people made offerings, the incense and prayer power were ground to pieces, while the fake object that had been enshrined took the brunt of it, absorbing most of what remained. The fortune of the worshippers, however, was drawn away by the genuine treasure kept at the sect's main altar, increasing its power. In return, it bestowed a sliver of its might, keeping the worshippers safe and settling the bond between them.

So even if a trace of incense and prayer power remained and followed the trail to the genuine treasure, it would do no great harm. Compared with the fortune gained, it was negligible.

The more fortune a treasure gathered, the more powerful it naturally became. It could suppress the foundations of a sect and ensure its Daoist tradition endured.

Treasures like these were rare across the whole realm, and most were kept by the Daoist Sect.

To gauge a Daoist school's strength, one only had to look at what its subordinate temples enshrined. After all, treasures had to be put to use, and using them inevitably caused some damage. Fortune was then needed to repair them. Even if a Daoist school had secret treasures in reserve, it wouldn't have many—one at most.

He compared what the worshippers gave with what they received and found that the Daoist Sect was far less generous than he was. The protection it offered amounted to only two or three tenths of what its followers paid. Compared with his own, it was downright stingy.

If every Daoist temple in the land operated this way, then his Divine Way would have a considerable advantage. He had nothing to fear from the competition.

"Sir, why have you been standing here so long? Have you gained some insight into what our Daoist Sect enshrines?" Fang Ming was deep in thought when a voice suddenly interrupted him. He realized that he had drawn attention by entering the main hall and standing there observing without offering incense or bowing, unlike everyone else.

He came back to himself and looked at the speaker. It was an old man dressed as a Daoist, with a beard and hair as white as snow. He looked ethereal and refined, with a touch of immortal grace—quite a convincing appearance. Looking at his fortune, Fang Ming saw faint white qi in rippling waves, yet it was even weaker than Lingzhu's. He knew the man had learned only a little of the Daoist arts. At his level, he was probably an outer disciple sent to manage the temple.

Fang Ming smiled and said, "I'm Li, traveling through this region. I heard White Water Temple was quite extraordinary, so I came to pay a visit. I got a little lost in thought just now. I hope you won't take offense!"

The old Daoist made a salute and said, "Not at all. Since you're here to visit, Master Li, why not let this old Daoist show you around and explain a few things?"

"Heh... It's getting late, and I still have business to attend to. I won't impose. This is a little incense money; please accept it..." Fang Ming declined. The man might have some secret technique or treasure from his sect to protect him, and could discover something amiss.

He handed over one tael of silver as incense money. Ignoring the Daoist's startled expression, he took his leave. He had gained a great deal on this trip into the city, and had no reason to linger. He went straight out the city gate and headed for Qingxi Township.

At White Water Temple, a young acolyte asked in confusion, "Master, why did you pay such special attention to that man?"

The old Daoist smiled and said, "Though I haven't mastered the immortal arts, I know a little physiognomy. This man's features look quite ordinary, but his bearing is extraordinary. He is no creature of the pond. I merely wanted to form a good connection with him..." In his heart, though, he was a little puzzled. There was something very strange about the man, but that was not something he needed to say.

Without bothering to check whether the acolyte had understood, he swept his cloud sleeves and left.