Chapter 19: The Old Fortune Teller’s Inner Energy

Having discovered the existence of Scholarly Qi, Zhang Kai naturally felt no rush to leave. He lingered another day, pulling Cheng Aimin into various discussions and studies, until they finally confirmed one thing.

The New Gods were not only new in their divine positions, but even their power system was entirely different. In the past, gods such as the Earth Gods, Mountain Spirits, and River Deities could intervene in any matter within their jurisdiction. This granted them excessive power, and since their strength grew with the incense offerings of mortals, they could not help but exploit mankind in countless ways—bestowing blessings, issuing threats, inflicting persecution, and using terror to squeeze worship from the people.

But the New Gods followed a different path. They no longer derived power from incense and offerings; instead, their strength was drawn from specific professions. For instance, the God of Confucians, as the deity of academies, was tasked with safeguarding schools and caring for students. Yet this was merely duty, an assigned role, from which no additional power could be gained. To grow stronger, the deity had to pursue learning and enlightenment.

This was the origin of Scholarly Qi. Cheng Aimin, hailing from a long line of scholars and having taught for decades while reading thousands of books and practicing what he preached, already possessed profound knowledge in his heart. As soon as he ascended to godhood, the Scholarly Qi naturally arose—this became the very foundation of his power, upright and repelling evil, sending demons and monsters fleeing.

Moreover, as long as Cheng Aimin persisted in study and never forgot his roots, the accumulation of knowledge and experience would slowly augment his Scholarly Qi, and in time, his divine rank might well rise. Yet no matter how far Cheng Aimin advanced, his existence could never bring harm to the people. According to what Zhang Kai discerned from the Divine Registry, he could immediately strip any god of their position if they went astray, leaving them no chance of recovery.

This revelation allowed Zhang Kai to understand much more about the Divine Registry. In this end-of-law era, though the world could be reshaped and a new age of cultivation rebuilt, the structure was different now. The process of bestowing divinity seemed aligned with the progress of humanity itself, preventing the old imbalance where gods grew unchecked and became tyrannical. In other words, the Divine Registry was no longer the original. It had become more like a bureau, and the gods were merely civil servants muddling through their days.

Perhaps this was one reason the Divine Registry could be used now, Zhang Kai mused, feeling a weight lift from his heart. At least the gods he appointed would have little chance to do evil, and should it occur, he could stop them at any time. This left him with no further concerns, and his understanding of how to confer godhood grew clearer.

Having unraveled these matters, Zhang Kai took his leave. After all, appointing a god required a divine position; without one, even if he met a suitable candidate, he could do nothing. Without the power to bestow divinity, there would be no increase in spiritual energy, and without that, he could not attain immortality.

The path of cultivation is long and arduous; I must persevere.

Departing, Zhang Kai returned once more to Mount Wudang. The world is vast and the land boundless. Divine positions are not things that stand out; to search aimlessly would be like looking for a needle in a haystack—time-consuming, with little chance of success. Therefore, Zhang Kai decided to try his luck at Wudang, hoping to stumble upon some discarded divine positions left behind by the immortals of old.

Yet, upon seeing Mount Wudang again, Zhang Kai was taken aback. As a world-renowned tourist destination, Wudang was always crowded, but now the numbers were simply staggering. Gazing out, he saw a sea of people, swarming like ants—at least ten times more than before.

Damn, all riding my coattails, he thought, shaking his head. Too bad there’s no way to charge a spokesperson’s fee.

Muttering to himself, Zhang Kai strolled forward. He had not gone far when his steps faltered—he had spotted a familiar face: the old fortune-teller of Wudang.

At the moment, the old man was reading the palm of a young woman dressed in traditional Han clothing. His expression shifted rapidly, making the young woman increasingly anxious until she could not help but ask what was wrong.

“Not good, not good,” the old fortune-teller intoned. “There’s a break in your lifeline, which means you’ll encounter a romantic calamity. Though not fatal, it may hurt you deeply and could cause you to miss out on your destined fortune.”

The young woman’s face changed; she seemed to recall something and asked nervously, “Master, what should I do?”

The old fortune-teller smiled, “Don’t panic. The calamity is faint and not insurmountable, though it will be tricky to resolve.” With that, he looked at her expectantly.

She caught on immediately, showing no doubt as she asked, “How much?”

“Daoists do not covet wealth,” the old man replied calmly, “pay as you wish.”

The young woman hesitated, baring her teeth, but quickly scanned a code with her phone.

“Alipay received, two thousand yuan,” a soft voice sounded from the old man’s person—barely audible to anyone, but Zhang Kai caught it.

The fortune-teller’s face showed satisfaction as he finally spoke: “Let me offer you two lines—‘Fleeting encounters must end one day; do not mistake a promise for true affection.’ Reflect well on this, and you will gain much.”

The young woman instantly blanched, staring at the old man in shock, as if she could not believe his uncanny insight. She looked flustered and, without another word, hurried off—straight down the mountain.

Zhang Kai watched this scene unfold with amusement and walked over smiling. “Business is good, old man—you’re eating tofu and making money, must feel great.”

The old fortune-teller spared him a glance. “I make my living by my skill. Rich second-generation types like you can’t understand.”

Zhang Kai nodded, “Hustling is indeed a valuable skill.”

“I don’t like that tone. What makes you think I’m hustling people?” The old man eyed Zhang Kai with displeasure.

Zhang Kai jerked his chin toward a young man, anxious and calling out as he chased after the Han-dressed woman. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The old fortune-teller grinned, “Not bad, you just arrived and already picked up on that. From my words alone you could tell that’s a pretty boy living off her. Tsk, these days, the nouveau riche are sharp.”

“For the last time, I’m a self-made man, not a rich heir. My wealth is earned with my own hands—believe it or not,” Zhang Kai replied with a smile.

“Alright, alright, self-made young man. So what brings you back to Wudang? Business troubles resolved? How much did you make this time? Come, let me envy you a little,” the old fortune-teller said, his smile sly as his eyes narrowed, a glint flashing within.

But then his expression froze.

Zhang Kai sensed something amiss, shock rising in his heart.

What the—True Qi fluctuation! This old man actually has cultivation? Wasn’t he just a regular elder before?

Could it be due to the resurgence of spiritual energy? But it’s only been a few days! Is this old man really such a prodigy?

Though amazed, Zhang Kai maintained a calm exterior. “Didn’t make anything, actually lost five million. But the problem’s solved. Old man, I see the mountain’s livelier than ever—any new immortal phenomena?”

“Nothing of the sort, just the effect of publicity. More people, more profit for me. Say, interested in a drink? I’ve got some century-old wild Wudang tea I don’t share with just anyone.” The old fortune-teller’s smile was genial, but his eyes seemed to bore into Zhang Kai, as if searching for something hidden.

Zhang Kai felt uneasy under the gaze, inwardly muttering.

Why is this old guy suddenly so enthusiastic? There’s something off about his look—has he discovered something about me?