After a full two minutes, the Old Daoist let go, leaned back in his chair, and sipped his hot tea.
"You're fine now. You're a lucky lad, hard to kill. Why not come practice Daoism with me?"
Why did this Old Daoist try to take everyone he met as a disciple?
With a disciple like Qishan, was anyone else even worth taking on?
Wang Xiaoliang didn't want to answer. He changed the subject, which amounted to a refusal.
"Master, there's something I'd like to ask. Please enlighten me."
"Speak."
"A friend of mine disappeared out of the blue." He had decided to ask about Zhou Qiang's whereabouts before coming to Fucheng.
"I'd like to know where he went and whether he's safe."
"His birth date and time."
The Old Daoist sat up straight and looked at Wang Xiaoliang, his expression serious.
Wang Xiaoliang froze.
"What?"
"His birth date and time," Hermit Yimu repeated. "Year, month, day, hour, expressed as eight characters in heavenly stems and earthly branches."
Wang Xiaoliang opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Friends are friends, but who goes around asking for their friend's eight birth characters? I'm not a matchmaker, carrying Zhou Qiang's birth details around the world looking for a wife for him.
"I don't know."
Hermit Yimu set his cup back on the tea table. Its base touched the stone surface with a soft sound.
"Then I don't know either."
Wang Xiaoliang was at a loss for words.
This Old Daoist spoke just like his disciple: blunt and decisive, leaving no room to maneuver.
While he was wondering how to continue, Hermit Yimu spoke again.
"My disciple has a way. Ask him. Look how capable the disciple I trained is! Want to learn?"
Wang Xiaoliang ignored him and turned to Fan Qishan.
Fan Qishan