Mastery Through Diligence Could Reach Gods and Ghosts

The next day.

The air in the shack was stale and damp, thick with the smells of sweat, feet, and moldy straw.

The fire in the charcoal brazier had long since gone out. Only a few dark-red embers remained, barely holding on to the last of its warmth.

Xu Chun lay sprawled on a straw mat near the back, snoring loud enough to shake the roof and smacking his lips now and then.

Uncle Jin was curled up in a heap of ragged cotton wadding, his body rising and falling with each breath.

Qin Geng got up as quietly as he could.

No rooster crowed.

In Tianjin, where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold—especially in the shack district—no one kept a living alarm clock. It would probably be stolen within days.

He pulled his jacket tighter, took the half of last night's cold flatbread from inside his clothes and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he pushed his brand-new rickshaw out of the shack without a sound.

The wheels rolled over the packed dirt with the faintest rustle.

Outside, the sky was still black as ink, with only a scattering of stars.

Though the sun had yet to show itself, Ping'an County Town was far from silent.

Orange lamplight already shone through many of the paper-covered windows along the street.

In the Great Xin Dynasty, ordinary people kept a peculiar schedule: they slept in two stretches.

Once darkness fell, most families blew out their lamps and went to bed to save oil money—unless they could afford a night at a pleasure house or a long stay in a teahouse. That was their first sleep.

Around the middle of the night, near the hour of the tiger, they would wake, having slept their fill.

This was what people called "sitting up at midnight."

In wealthy households with children meant for scholarship, the children were roused to recite the classics while the night was quiet and their minds were clear;

in humble homes, husbands and wives talked over the family finances beneath the covers, or gave their children a scolding;

and those with a taste for such things gathered a few friends, took lanterns out for a stroll, and had a late-night snack.

The bustle of midnight could last one or two two-hour watches.

Only when drowsiness returned did everyone go back to bed for a second sleep, lasting until broad daylight.

Qin Geng had no such luxury.

He was a Carriage Driver, a poor wretch who traded muscle for food.

Qin Geng's hours followed copper coins, not the sun.

At this hour, the busiest people on the streets, apart from the night watchmen, were the breakfast vendors.

White steam billowed from bamboo steamers. Oil bubbled around frying dough sticks, and their fragrance drifted far on the chilly morning breeze.

Pulling his rickshaw, Qin Geng headed briskly for the South City Gate.

The South City Gate stood wide open, its two heavy iron-clad wooden doors looming quietly in the darkness.

The gate was brightly lit and thronged with people.

Farmers carried vegetables into town on shoulder poles; porters pushed wheelbarrows of goods; traveling merchants with bedding rolls on their backs prepared to set off.

The sight of the open gate stirred a sigh in Qin Geng.

When he was little, people had not been free to come and go through it.

Back when the Great Xin Dynasty still cared about appearances, anyone entering or leaving had to pay a "city wall levy." Two rows of savage-looking Great Xin soldiers stood at the gate with long guns.

In those days, the gate would not open before the third quarter of the hour of the rabbit, when dawn had properly broken.

Even if people froze or starved to death outside, the gate opened only when the rules said it could.

Then the foreigners' iron ships and powerful cannons blasted open Tianjin's doors, and they carved out a concession in a new district.

Ever since, the gates of old Tianjin and several surrounding county towns had been like tigers without teeth. They had never closed again.

Great Xin soldiers were still there, but they wore baggy uniforms and dozed beneath the city walls with guns in their arms. No one cared who came or went.

Qin Geng stopped his rickshaw beside a busy breakfast stall.

The vendor was a bald, fat man, stirring the dough fritters bobbing in his oil pan with a pair of long chopsticks.

"Boss, two bowls of tofu pudding, extra sauce, and ten big dough fritters!"

Qin Geng let go of the handles and planted himself on a bench with a commanding air.

"Coming right up!"

The vendor answered by reflex, his hands still moving as he called out his usual line. "That'll be ten copper coins—"

Halfway through, he turned to look and froze.

He had assumed anyone with that kind of appetite had to be a burly dockworker who carried heavy sacks, or perhaps a blacksmith or carpenter accustomed to hard labor.

But the person before him was hardly imposing. He was even a little thin, and still just a teenage boy.

"Little brother, ten fritters and two bowls of tofu pudding? Can you really finish all that?"

The vendor offered the warning out of kindness.

"Don't worry. I can."

Qin Geng wasted no words. He counted ten copper coins, still warm from his pocket, and lined them up on the table. "I've got a long way to run. I need a full stomach."

Once he saw the money, the vendor said no more. He swiftly brought over two steaming bowls of tofu pudding, topped with thick savory sauce, cilantro, minced garlic, and a spoonful of bright-red chili oil.

Next came a bamboo tray of big dough fritters, each as long as a forearm and fried golden and crisp.

Qin Geng grabbed a spoon and slurped a generous mouthful of tofu pudding. The hot, salty richness slid down his throat and into his stomach, driving away most of the chill in his body.

With his left hand, he picked up two fritters and shoved them straight into his mouth without breaking them apart. They crunched loudly between his teeth.

Most of the other customers were having a bowl of soy milk and two flatbreads. They could not help turning to watch the Carriage Driver devour his food like a whirlwind sweeping away clouds.

"Well, I'll be."

"They say a growing boy can eat his father out of house and home. They weren't kidding!"

"That kid sure can eat."

Qin Geng paid their stares no mind.

Ever since he had unlocked the [Divine Stride] talent, his appetite had grown.

Then he had unlocked [Endless Breath], and it had grown larger still. His stomach was like a bottomless pit.

He had to go to Bell Mountain soon, a journey of sixty or seventy li. If he did not eat his fill, what would he do if he collapsed halfway there?

As he ate, Qin Geng pricked up his ears and listened to the chatter around him.

"Heard the news? Another foreign ship docked yesterday. They unloaded all sorts of strange things."

"Of course they did. This is Tianjin Guard, the gateway to the emperor's doorstep. Aside from the capital, nowhere in the Great Xin Dynasty is more prosperous."

"That's true. Shanghai might give us a run for our money, but everywhere else falls short."

Several customers in long gowns sipped tea and held forth on the affairs of the realm, wearing the distinctive pride and sense of superiority of old Tianjin natives.

Qin Geng clicked his tongue inwardly.

Prosperous, sure. But that prosperity belongs to foreigners and the rich. What does it have to do with poor wretches who pull rickshaws?

In no time, he had drained both bowls of tofu pudding to the last drop and eaten all ten fritters.

Qin Geng wiped the oil from his mouth and let out a satisfied belch. Strength had returned to his limbs.

"Time to go!"

He took up the rickshaw, passed through the city gate, and set off along the official road to Bell Mountain.

Qin Geng had no foreign-made watch, but years of pulling a rickshaw had given him a keen sense of time.

It was probably the fourth quarter of the hour of the tiger. There was still some time before the hour of the rabbit.

Beyond the town, travelers on the road gradually thinned out.

Wind rose beneath Qin Geng's feet.

Trees on either side flew backward as the dim road stretched ahead of him.

He raced all the way to Heaven-Reaching Gate at the foot of Bell Mountain, yet the sky remained a heavy, lifeless black.

Heaven-Reaching Gate was little more than a dilapidated stone archway standing alone at the foot of the mountain.

Dense woods surrounded it. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled like countless hands clapping.

Qin Geng stopped the rickshaw, found a large rock that sheltered him from the wind, and crouched beside it, hunching his neck.

For some reason, the moment he stopped, the temperature seemed to plunge.

Autumn had come, and the weather was turning bitterly cold, but this chill seemed to seep outward from the cracks in his bones. It was eerie enough to set every hair on end.

"Strange..." Qin Geng rubbed his arms and muttered inwardly. Didn't Master Zhu Xin say last night that Bell Mountain was the very tip of the Dragon Vein's tail? That its dragon energy kept the demons and ghosts away? Why does this place feel more sinister than a mass grave?

The silence was terrifying. Not even an insect chirped or a bird called.

Only the wind moaned through the gaps in Heaven-Reaching Gate's stonework, like a woman weeping softly.

For those five silver dollars, Qin Geng gritted his teeth, forced down his fear, and waited.

But he did not let down his guard.

In these troubled times, his life was his own to protect.

One hand gripped the rickshaw handles tight, and the muscles in his legs stayed taut. At the slightest stir, he was ready to pull the rickshaw and run.

Time trickled by, each second an ordeal.

Just as Qin Geng began to wonder if he had remembered the time wrong, or if the fortune-teller had played him for a fool—

"Go!"

A low, urgent shout exploded beside his ear.

It came so suddenly that Qin Geng jolted and nearly fell on his backside.

Before he could react, a dark figure burst from the dense woods beside him like a great bird and landed heavily on his rickshaw seat with a thud.

The rickshaw sank sharply under the weight.

It was the customer in the black robe and dark glasses.

"Move! Run like your life depends on it!" Shopkeeper Lu urged.

Qin Geng instinctively glanced toward the pitch-black woods where the voice had come from.

One look, and he felt as if the top of his skull were about to blow off.

Deep in the dim forest, several shadowy "people" followed them.

They wore Qing Dynasty official robes and hats with ornamental finials and feather plumes. Their faces were white as paper, their cheeks painted with blood-red rouge.

Their arms stuck straight out in front of them. Their knees were stiff, yet they sprang upright from the ground.

Thud!

Each leap carried them three or four meters.

Zo... zombies?!

"Fuck me!"

Qin Geng's soul nearly fled his body. His scalp prickled, and a chill shot from the soles of his feet straight to his head.

"Hold on tight, sir!"

He shouted through trembling lips. Forget conserving strength. Forget pacing his breathing.

Boom!

At that moment, Qin Geng felt less like a man than a wild horse.

He drove both feet into the ground, the tremendous burst of force gouging two pits in the dirt. The rickshaw shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

The wind became knives slashing across his face.

The scenery on either side blurred into streaming lines.

He had never run so fast in his life.

A few furious roars seemed to rise from the woods behind him, followed by the dull impacts of heavy things landing. Soon, he had left them far behind.

Qin Geng did not dare look back. Only one thought filled his mind: Run!

Slow down, and those zombies will tear me apart and eat me alive!

A strong taste of blood rose in his throat as his lungs strained beyond their limits.

His heart hammered as though it might smash through his breastbone and leap out of his throat.

Yet strangely, despite his frantic pace, his rickshaw remained remarkably steady.

It was as if an invisible force supported it, carrying it over the rutted official road as smoothly as level ground.

The customer on the seat had been tense as well.

But feeling that extraordinary speed and steadiness, he let out a soft sound of surprise.

He tilted his head slightly, studying the back of the young man pulling the rickshaw, then looked down at the two wheels, whose spokes were spinning too fast to make out.

"The Fire Wheel has grown again?"

Shopkeeper Lu murmured thoughtfully, then seemed to relax.

He took a bundle wrapped in yellow cloth from inside his robe and carefully lifted one corner.

In the faint dawn light, a single translucent, lotus-shaped petal was visible within, as though carved from jade.

He quickly wrapped it up again and tucked it deep into an inner pocket against his body. Then he folded his arms, closed his eyes, and leaned back in the seat to rest.

After who knew how long,

the eastern sky finally turned pale, and a sliver of dawn pierced the darkness.

The outline of Ping'an County Town appeared on the horizon.

When Qin Geng pulled the rickshaw to the entrance of Osmanthus Fragrance Studio in South City, the sky had just begun to brighten.

"Huff... huff..."

Qin Geng stopped, braced his hands on his knees, and gulped down air.

Sweat dripped from his chin onto the ground, quickly darkening a small patch of dirt.

Even with the [Endless Breath] talent supporting him, an all-out sprint over dozens of li had taken a tremendous toll on his strength.

Shopkeeper Lu stepped down at his leisure, as calm and composed as ever.

He looked at Qin Geng, who was panting like a bellows, and a faint smile touched his lips. He nodded.

"Not bad."

Those two simple words were praise of the highest order.

"You... you flatter me..."

Qin Geng straightened up and forced out a strained smile.

What was that zombie in the woods?

Why had Master Zhu Xin said there were no demons or monsters in Dragon Vein Town when he had run into a zombie himself?

What exactly did this customer do?

At that moment, a thousand—no, ten thousand—questions churned through Qin Geng's mind.

But he swallowed every last one.

Zip his lips and let the wind blow past his ears.

That was the rule. More than that, it was a charm to keep him alive.

The man's five silver dollars had bought more than Qin Geng's legs. They had bought his silence.

If he wanted to keep earning his living this way, he had to be blind, deaf, and mute.

Shopkeeper Lu seemed pleased with his attitude. He turned and went into the Rouge Shop, which had yet to open.

A short while later, he came back out with five silver dollars in his hand.

"Catch."

Shopkeeper Lu tossed them over.

Qin Geng's eyes and hands were quick. He snatched them out of the air.

They were heavy in his palm.

He picked up each silver dollar in turn, blew hard across its edge, then swiftly held it to his ear.

Hummm—

Hummm—

Five clear, ringing hums reached his ears one after another.

A genuine smile finally spread across Qin Geng's face. He carefully tucked the five silver dollars into the cloth pouch against his skin, then patted them through his clothes.

"Lu Xingmin."

Shopkeeper Lu watched him with an unreadable smile, then suddenly introduced himself.

"I own this Rouge Shop. You can call me Shopkeeper Lu. In Ping'an County Town, I'm a man of some standing. I wouldn't pass off fake silver dollars on you."

Qin Geng froze, then hurriedly cupped his hands in a respectful salute. "Thank you, Shopkeeper Lu. You're an honorable man."

With that, he turned to leave.

"Don't you want to know what a Fire Wheel is?"

Shopkeeper Lu's voice drifted over from behind him, tinged with amusement.

Qin Geng stopped dead.

Fire Wheel.

The man had mentioned it once before, and Qin Geng thought he had vaguely heard him mutter it again on the road today.

Qin Geng swallowed. He turned to face the inscrutable man in the little round dark glasses and asked honestly:

"Shopkeeper Lu... what's a Fire Wheel?"

"Haha."

Shopkeeper Lu laughed. The morning breeze stirred his long robe, lending him something of the air of an immortal sage.

"There's an old saying in the Great Xin Dynasty: 'Master a trade through diligence, and you can commune with ghosts and gods.'"

"The three teachings and nine schools, every trade and profession—they may seem divided into high and low, noble and humble, but they're all equal for those who practice them."

"Be sincere, work hard, and put in the effort, and you can discover something that belongs to you within your trade."

Shopkeeper Lu extended a finger and pointed at Qin Geng's legs.

"In the trade, we call that 'rising a level' or 'attaining cultivation.'"

"Someone with enough insight could even make a skill of carrying night soil, make a name for himself at it."

Qin Geng stared, dumbfounded.

"You managed to run with a Fire Wheel on your own. That means you have talent. That's why I'm telling you this much."

Shopkeeper Lu went on, a hint of guidance in his voice. "Haven't you noticed? Anyone else who ran dozens of miles like you just did would already be sprawled on the ground coughing blood, if they hadn't dropped dead from exhaustion. But you?"

He pointed at Qin Geng. "We've exchanged only a few words, and already your breathing has settled and your mind has calmed. Your face isn't red, and you aren't panting. That's the wondrous effect of your level of cultivation."

"A Carriage Driver has his own gifts: speed, endurance, a steady stance, and a better foundation for martial arts than most. A fortune-teller has his own mysteries: he can seek good fortune and avoid calamity, even glimpse the workings of heaven. Even a star performer in a theater troupe, if he sings well enough, can sing with such power that ten thousand people bow and ghosts and gods alike tremble..."

"The three teachings and nine schools, every trade and profession—every path can reach the divine!"

Shopkeeper Lu's words struck Qin Geng's mind like a thunderclap.

The Book of a Hundred Trades!

Qin Geng's eyes lit up, and his heart hammered.

What Shopkeeper Lu had said matched the [Book of a Hundred Trades] in his mind exactly!

So that was it!

Pulling his cart every day, accumulating experience, and leveling up—that was cultivation!

That was "rising a level"!

If a Carriage Driver trained his trade to its peak, he too could wield divine powers. He too could become a "master"!

The [Book of a Hundred Trades] had simply given that cultivation a visible form as experience.

"Thank you for your guidance, Shopkeeper Lu!"

Qin Geng bowed deeply. This time, his gratitude came from the heart.

Shopkeeper Lu waved a hand. He clearly had no intention of taking Qin Geng as an apprentice or teaching him anything more. He merely said:

"The third of next month. Same place. Five silver dollars."

"You got it! You can count on me!"

Qin Geng straightened and nodded firmly.

Though his belly was still full of questions, Qin Geng knew when to stop.

The man had already done him an enormous favor by saying this much. Asking more would be pushing his luck.

After bidding Shopkeeper Lu farewell, Qin Geng took up his cart, his steps so light he felt he might fly.

The five silver dollars weighed heavy against his chest, while Shopkeeper Lu's words still burned warm in his mind.

Qin Geng did not stop along the way or take another fare. He pulled his cart straight to Xu Jin's Shanty in one long stretch.