Chapter Six: Guidance

It was already near noon, yet the Tides Inn was nothing like the bustling scene of the previous day. In the main hall, only a few travelers sat scattered at tables, most of them in a hurry, clearly just stopping over before continuing their journeys.

Master was still upstairs, interpreting dreams for that merchant surnamed Zhou, so Lu Chenyuan found himself a low stool by the door. He kept an eye on the crooked “Heart-Guessing” banner, and at the same time, pulled out half a hard, cold black bread roll from his pocket. With the morning’s chill breeze for company, he took absentminded bites, chewing without much enthusiasm.

He was lost in thought when—suddenly—he heard footsteps behind him, and a familiar presence drew near.

Qian Dahai emerged from the kitchen, holding an oil-paper package, which he tossed casually into Lu Chenyuan’s arms.

Lu caught it on reflex. The parcel was still slightly warm, with a comforting weight to it.

“Stop gnawing at that lump of dead dough,” Qian Dahai grumbled impatiently. “It’ll ruin your teeth. These are leftovers from the morning’s batch—no one wanted them. It’d be a shame to throw them out, so you might as well fill your belly.”

Lu unwrapped the package, and a rich, savory aroma burst forth—it was two golden, crispy fried dough sticks.

A warmth spread in his chest. He thanked the innkeeper and, no longer polite, grabbed one and took a hearty bite.

Qian Dahai didn’t leave. He leaned against the clean edge of a nearby stove, arms folded, eyes narrowed, watching with amusement as Lu devoured the food.

When Lu had finished one stick and reached for the second, Qian Dahai spoke up in a seemingly offhand manner:

“Boy, that little trick you pulled with your foot yesterday—‘garlic under the sole’—wasn’t bad at all.”

Though his tone was low, the words struck Lu Chenyuan like a thunderclap. His jaw froze mid-chew. He looked up, alert and wary.

He had never imagined his carefully concealed maneuver would escape the innkeeper’s notice.

Qian Dahai, seeing Lu’s defensive posture, could not help but laugh, the lines on his plump face deepening with knowing amusement.

“Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just curious—where did you learn that little sleight of foot? That’s not the kind of quick wit an ordinary lad possesses.”

Lu muttered, “I’ve traveled with my master, seen a lot, and figured a few things out on my own.”

“Figured out on your own?” Qian Dahai’s smile turned sly. “That ‘figuring’ nearly cost you dearly. Did you think those men were ordinary gamblers? I could smell the stink on them from three streets away.”

“If your move had gone wrong, you wouldn’t be eating dough sticks here now—you’d be bleeding out in some dark alley.”

Qian swallowed a mouthful of his own dough stick and wiped his mouth, his interest evidently piqued.

He grabbed a clean bamboo chopstick, dipped it in water, and, lowering his voice, sketched as he spoke on the damp surface of the Eight Immortals table:

“See, that sharp-faced fellow—he’s an old hand, but he’s got a habit he can’t break.”

“Every time he’s about to use his ‘Qi Manipulation’ trick, his left pinky unconsciously twitches upward when he holds the dice cup. That’s his tell—the moment when all his energy pools in his fingertip, right before he strikes.”

He jabbed the chopstick on the table, a flash of insight in his eyes.

“Next time, don’t touch the table—that’s a crude tactic, too obvious. Instead, just carry over a pot of freshly boiled tea…”

He paused, lowering his voice further, his expression growing more conspiratorial.

“Slip a drop or two of fishy water from the kitchen into the tea.”

Lu Chenyuan felt a chill. Qian Dahai continued,

“Those who practice the dirty arts, their energy is always turbid and chaotic, but they dread filth above all. Time your move for when his defenses are down—tilt your wrist just so, and let a few drops of that scalding, fishy tea splash onto his twitching fingertip.”

With a flick of his wrist, the chopstick traced a tiny arc on the tabletop.

“Think about it—the moment his concentration peaks, his spirit focused for the trick, and suddenly he’s hit by boiling filth. What do you suppose will happen?”

Qian Dahai chuckled, a knowing glint in his smile.

“At best, his energy flow will scatter and rebound, leaving him dizzy on the spot. At worst, that turbid Qi will turn inward—he’ll need three to five days just to recover.”

“By then, his mind will be in chaos, his channels blocked. He won’t be able to cheat at dice, or even stand straight. The game broken, the man ruined, and no one the wiser to your hand in it. That, my boy, is what we call ‘removing the firewood from under the cauldron—killing without a trace.’ Do you understand?”

With that, he tossed the chopstick aside and looked at Lu Chenyuan, his air composed and faintly triumphant, as if awaiting the young man’s admiration.

Lu Chenyuan was truly astonished. He had not expected Qian Dahai to be such a master. He recalled the innkeeper’s peculiar actions by the flower vase, and his evident familiarity with the dark sects—what was this man’s true identity?

Yet none of this showed on his face. He simply swallowed the last bit of dough stick, stood, and bowed deeply to Qian Dahai.

When he looked up, his eyes held the dawning realization and appropriate humility of a young man glimpsing deeper mysteries for the first time. With heartfelt awe, he said,

“Today I finally understand just how deep these rivers and lakes truly run. Your guidance, sir, has truly saved my life.”

“If not for your warning, had I acted recklessly again, I might not even know how I died.”

He paused, as if recalling something, scratched his head, and asked casually,

“But… sir, how do you know so much about those ‘ways of the road’? You speak as if you’ve had many dealings with them.”

Qian Dahai laughed. “See enough, you understand. Haven’t eaten pork, but I know what a pig looks like, don’t I?”

Lu Chenyuan hastily agreed, though inwardly he thought, “You haven’t just seen pigs run—you must have raised them yourself.”

Suddenly, footsteps sounded on the stairs. His master, Si Tu, descended with unhurried grace.

Gone was any sign of yesterday’s hangover; her eyes were bright, her energy lively, and a satisfied, sly smile played at her lips—like a fox who had just raided the henhouse.

Qian Dahai hurried to greet Si Tu and Zhou Yan, his face wreathed in smiles. Bowing respectfully, he said,

“Master Zhou! Seeing you so relaxed, your mind at peace, I take it our Immortal Si Tu has lifted the heavy stone from your heart?”

“Well, that is wonderful news! Didn’t I say so? There’s no one in Zhenhai Chuan to match our Immortal Si Tu’s skills!”

He turned to Si Tu, his smile turning a touch probing.

“Immortal, how did you guide him this time? Did you see some unclean thing again?”

Si Tu gave Qian Dahai a brief, almost dismissive glance, her gaze flicking toward the table he’d just used as a prop.

“It’s nothing much,” she replied coolly. “Not some unclean thing—just a curious stray cat upstairs. But business seems good, doesn’t it, sir?”

She gestured at Lu Chenyuan with a slender finger, her smile half-amused.

“My apprentice here is rather dull. He owes much to your guidance. Don’t you think his skills have improved?”

At the word “cat,” Qian Dahai’s eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly, but he quickly masked it with an even broader grin.

He chuckled, following Si Tu’s lead.

“Hardly worth mentioning! Young Lu is clever—he grasps things quickly. I was only passing the time, teaching him a few rules of the trade.”

He paused, turning back to Si Tu with sincerity.

“Immortal, if I may speak plainly—you, with your abilities, setting up a ‘Heart-Guessing’ stall in this small town is a waste of talent.”

“Wanghai Tide is approaching, and many nobles and sect leaders are gathering here. If you’d move your business into my inn, I’d set aside the finest room for you, burn the best incense, and offer your favorite Autumn Dew White.”

“You’d only need to show your skills now and then, and the silver would flow into your pockets. Why brave the elements outside?”

Si Tu laughed, her eyes full of mischief.

“Sir, your abacus beads are about to jump into my face.”

She shook her head lazily.

“Your temple is too grand for me—this little goddess couldn’t hold it down. Besides…”

She glanced at the quiet street outside, her voice turning dreamy.

“My trade isn’t to gild the lilies of the wealthy, but to tend to the joys and sorrows of ordinary folk. Only in the busiest places can you hear the truest heartbeats. The hearts behind those high walls—guessing them is too much trouble.”

With that, she ignored Qian Dahai’s thoughtful look, grabbed the still-bewildered Lu Chenyuan, and headed for the door.

Lu Chenyuan, instead of pondering further, lowered his voice and asked,

“Master, did you really succeed?”

Si Tu shot him a sidelong look, her brow arched, pride flashing like a crane in the clouds.

“Of course. Whose deed do you think it was?”

Lu glanced behind him and saw Zhou Yan, the distinguished guest from the capital, following close. Zhou was now half a step behind Si Tu, his bearing wholly changed—gone was the composed gravity, replaced by a respectful awe, as though a humble student before a great teacher.

When Zhou Yan’s gaze met Lu Chenyuan’s, it was equally transformed—no longer aloof, but solemn and earnest.

Lu was both startled and curious, hurrying to catch up with his master, eager to ask her more.

Zhou Yan was quick to read the room. Seeing Lu draw near, he bowed deeply to Si Tu.

“Immortal, I will never forget your guidance today. Since you have other business, I won’t disturb you further. Farewell.”

He gave Lu a meaningful look, then departed.

Only when Zhou Yan had vanished out the inn’s door did Lu Chenyuan, unable to contain his amazement, sidle up to Si Tu and whisper,

“Master! What did you say to him, to leave him so awed?”

Si Tu frowned, tapped him lightly on the forehead with a slender finger, and scolded,

“Nonsense! ‘Awe’—what do you mean? I was giving him guidance, doing a good deed, and you make it sound like a street trick!”

She paused, sneered, and added,

“And I didn’t trick him. Didn’t I say? His house was troubled at night only because a curious stray cat had moved in upstairs.”

“What?” Lu Chenyuan was dumbfounded, incredulous.

“That’s all you said? Just that, and you left that shrewd capital gentleman so spooked? Isn’t he a bit too easy to fool?”

Si Tu ignored him, stretching lazily as she walked toward the door.

“The matter’s settled, and the day is still young. The street’s quiet, no business here—but across the way, the Taibai Tavern must be lively now. Come, Yuanyer, you’ll accompany me.”

She paused, turned back, and her peach-blossom eyes, in the afternoon sun, sparkled like spring water.

“And you can help your master fetch a new jug of Autumn Dew White.”

With a flick, she tossed something from her wide sleeve to Lu Chenyuan.

He caught it; it was heavy. Opening his palm, he saw a silver ingot, a full two taels, shining brightly in the sun.

Si Tu’s voice drifted to him, full of unconcealed pride and delight,

“That Lord Zhou is truly a generous man.”

Lu Chenyuan’s jaw dropped.

All day working odd jobs at the inn, he’d only earn a handful of copper coins. Two taels of silver—that was months, maybe half a year’s income for him.