Chapter 68: Destiny Foretold by the Divine Calculator—A Place That Does Not Exist

Marriage is ordained by fate, and if fate is hard to defy, human intentions are even harder.

“Elder, you said that Zhang Lang was born to fulfill a destiny. What exactly does that mean?” Zhao Yue-shu asked, puzzled.

“What does it mean? A hundred years ago, an ancestor of the Zhang family harbored evil intentions and interrupted your father, Lord of the Mountain, in his cultivation. The Zhang family’s hidden virtue was depleted, and by the time it reached Zhang Xiao-guang’s generation, the family line should have ended. Yet the Heavenly Way is not without mercy; thus, Zhang Xiao-guang was born to resolve these old debts,” the Lame Daoist replied unhurriedly.

Zhao Yue-shu, still confused, pressed further, “If that’s the case, why did you say Zhang Lang has the fate of a short life?”

At her words, Zhang Xiao-guang quickly looked up and listened intently.

The Lame Daoist glanced at Zhang Xiao-guang and answered slowly, “Since he is here to resolve past grievances, and those debts remain unsettled, the Zhang family’s virtue is exhausted and can no longer shield its descendants. Do you think the temple builders who once conspired with the Zhang ancestor against Lord of the Mountain and the Golden Sands—those who were slaughtered by you and the Shadow Demon—would rest in peace? Might they not seek revenge against the Zhang family’s descendants?”

As he spoke, the Lame Daoist gave Zhang Xiao-guang a meaningful look and asked gravely, “I see you suffer not only from lung disease, but you are also plagued by nightmares, aren’t you?”

Zhang Xiao-guang’s face turned pale, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He asked in disbelief, “Daoist, how do you know I often have nightmares?”

In his fear, Zhang Xiao-guang did not notice that he had shifted from calling the Lame Daoist a ‘bandit’ to respectfully addressing him as ‘Daoist’.

“If you act with a clear conscience, you need not fear ghosts at your door. The sins of your ancestor are merely being repaid through you,” the Lame Daoist said, his expression growing solemn. “In fact, these are not nightmares at all, but the vengeful spirits of those slaughtered temple builders coming to claim your life.”

Hearing this, Zhang Xiao-guang was terrified, his eyes rolling back as he nearly collapsed.

“Don’t be overly anxious. Everything in this world has a way to be resolved,” the Lame Daoist continued, drinking his wine, a tone of hidden meaning in his words.

“What way is there to resolve it? Please enlighten me, Daoist,” Zhang Xiao-guang asked eagerly, as if clutching at the last straw.

“Seek not the answer elsewhere; above your head, the gods bear witness. What you perceive as distant is actually at hand,” the Lame Daoist said, glancing purposefully at Zhao Yue-shu, who stood beside Zhang Xiao-guang.

Even if Zhang Xiao-guang were a fool, he would have understood the Lame Daoist’s meaning, let alone as someone who had passed the provincial exams.

“Daoist, are you saying that my path to salvation lies with my beloved?” Zhang Xiao-guang asked.

The Lame Daoist did not equivocate. He nodded gravely. “Exactly. Since you are the one destined to resolve this old case, it must be settled through you.”

With that, the Lame Daoist suddenly pointed his wine gourd at Zhang Xiao-guang and Zhao Yue-shu. “Let me ask you: Are you two truly devoted to each other, willing to weather life’s hardships and grow old together?”

At these words, Zhao Yue-shu blushed and lowered her head, but she was still far bolder than most women of the world. After a moment, she nodded.

Zhang Xiao-guang, too, hesitated no longer. Having endured all he had, he was much matured.

“Since my beloved and I have already bowed before the altar, we should honor each other and spend our lives together,” Zhang Xiao-guang declared, gripping Zhao Yue-shu’s hand resolutely.

“Excellent, excellent! A scholar matched with a beauty—this old affair can finally be put to rest,” the Lame Daoist laughed heartily, clapping his hands.

“What do you mean by this, Daoist?” Zhang Xiao-guang asked, puzzled.

The Lame Daoist cleared his throat and said, “Your short life comes from vengeful spirits seeking retribution. But your wife is no ordinary woman; to her, dealing with a few century-old ghosts is a trifle. As long as you cherish her, you will have nothing to fear for the rest of your life.”

Zhang Xiao-guang’s eyes brightened. He bowed deeply to the Lame Daoist and said sincerely, “Thank you for your guidance, Daoist.”

“After all the evils the Zhang family has committed, do you think they can walk away unscathed?” Until now silent, Little Lord of the Mountain suddenly spoke with a chilling voice.

“Fox-sister, have you forgotten our father?” he snapped at Zhao Yue-shu.

Her face went ashen, her eyes filled with guilt.

“That’s enough, Shadow Demon. The ill-gotten wealth of the Zhang family must be returned, and besides—” the Lame Daoist locked eyes with Little Lord of the Mountain, speaking each word with emphasis, “Besides, who said your father, Lord of the Mountain, has perished?”

The Shadow Demon was taken aback, then stammered, “F-father is still alive?”

Zhao Yue-shu and Shu Ming-li’s faces lit up with joy as they waited for the Lame Daoist’s next words.

He nodded. “That’s right. Long ago, I passed through Sheep Gut Mountain and made a hundred-year pact with you siblings. First, because of the killings you both committed—though there were reasons for your actions—I wished you to atone and cultivate for a hundred years in the Fox Immortal Temple on Sheep Gut Mountain, so that one day, with the incense of the human world, you might attain the rank of terrestrial immortals.”

Zhao Yue-shu, Shu Ming-li, and Little Lord of the Mountain exchanged glances, astonished that the Lame Daoist, whom they had always regarded as an enemy, possessed such a compassionate heart. How could they not be moved?

The Lame Daoist waved his hand and continued, “Second, from the Zhang ancestor I learned that your father, Lord of the Mountain, had revealed his thousand-year lingzhi body and was sold to the North Sea. The North Sea is far from here and teeming with monsters. I had little hope of finding him, so I could only promise you a hundred years.”

“But I am not one to break my word. Not long after, I traveled alone to the North Sea, wandering for years without finding Lord of the Mountain, but I did discover half his shattered body.”

As he spoke, the Lame Daoist drew an object from his filthy gray robe.

It was black as wood, veined like stone—a fragment of the thousand-year lingzhi mushroom.

Sensing the familiar spiritual energy, Little Lord of the Mountain, Zhao Yue-shu, and Shu Ming-li were overcome with sorrow, their eyes reddening.

“Father’s body is broken. I fear his fate is grim…” Zhao Yue-shu wept as she spoke.

The Lame Daoist shook his head. “Not necessarily. When I found this half-remnant, I was deeply troubled, but later I asked an old friend to divine the outcome. Thus I learned that Lord of the Mountain yet lives.”

Little Lord of the Mountain pressed urgently, “Are you certain?”

The Lame Daoist smiled. “My old friend is rather well-known. His name is Liu Hezi.”

“Liu Hezi? The famed Oracle of Destiny?” Jiang Wan-yi, who had been silent, suddenly asked.

While Zhao Yue-shu and Shu Ming-li, who rarely left Sheep Gut Mountain, did not know him, Little Lord of the Mountain had certainly heard of Liu Hezi.

The Oracle of Destiny, Liu Hezi, divined the heavens on Dragon Tiger Mountain thirty years ago, casting three hexagrams.

One asked the spirits.

One asked the heavens.

One asked the Dao.

After the three divinations, he said not a word, stepped on the clouds, and descended the mountain.

Since then, he’s been revered as the greatest diviner, the Oracle of Destiny.

The Lame Daoist picked his nose, looking disdainful. “That old coot is good at theatrics. Aside from divination, he can’t match me in anything else.”

No one spoke. Jiang Wan-yi studied the Lame Daoist, her curiosity deepening.

“Did Elder Liu reveal my father’s whereabouts?” Little Lord of the Mountain asked anxiously.

The Lame Daoist shook his head. “Though Old Liu divined that Lord of the Mountain still lives, he saw that he is in a strange place.”

“What kind of place?” Zhao Yue-shu asked.

The Lame Daoist scratched his head with a grimy hand. “How should I explain this? Ah, yes—it’s a place that doesn’t exist.”