Chapter 83: The Path to Fortune

Soon, a crowd had gathered in the square. Most of them were young men with bare torsos, and the girls had their hair untied, all of them complaining noisily. It was clear they were none too pleased at being summoned out so late at night, and the teacher’s face was no more pleasant. The threat of expulsion was a harsh punishment for them, so everyone had come to the plaza.

“Let’s go, Fatty, come take a walk with me. There’s nothing more to do here. I’m in a foul mood tonight!” With a darkened expression, Song Nianqiang bowed his head and walked away. Fatty turned to the director and said, “From tonight, start clearing the school—don’t let anyone back in!” With that, he hurried after Song Nianqiang.

“Qiangzi, what’s going on?” Fatty caught up and patted Song Nianqiang on the shoulder, startling him. “What are you thinking about?” Fatty asked, puzzled. Song Nianqiang sighed and gave him a rough account of his troubles, but Fatty was at a loss for words.

He and Song Nianqiang were different. Fatty was carefree, with no burdens or family pressures, so he lived an easy life. Song Nianqiang, though, bore a weighty responsibility. It wasn’t just his family’s expectations—his master’s demands were even higher, far higher.

The old man had long since lost the hope of becoming a grandmaster ghost-hunter himself, so he had placed all his hopes on his disciple’s son, Song Nianqiang. To become a grandmaster was a mark of distinction; countless people in the ghost-hunting world aspired to that title, but how many ever succeeded? Perhaps they could be counted on one hand.

“Qiangzi, I won’t comment on this matter. I just have one question: do you feel uneasy, or can you truly say you have a clear conscience?” Fatty’s question made Song Nianqiang pause. At that moment, the bright moonlight spilled down, illuminating the road and Song Nianqiang’s face as well.

“A clear conscience?” he murmured, gazing up at the brilliant moon, still so luminous and pure. He pondered Fatty’s words, wandering absentmindedly along the path. The moon hung overhead, but his heart was sunken in the abyss.

They had deliberately chosen a secluded path, with lush vegetation on either side. Some of the plants were tinged with yellow, but their former vitality was still visible. The incessant chirping of insects filled the night air. As they walked, Song Nianqiang suddenly stopped, standing stock-still.

A bank of dark clouds drifted by at some unknown hour, veiling the moon and casting the world into darkness. Yet the clouds passed as swiftly as they had come, and within a minute, the gentle moonlight poured down once more. At that moment, Song Nianqiang’s steadfast heart was subtly shaken, as if he were turning something over in his mind.

“I have failed Jiang Ningzhi.” At last, Song Nianqiang uttered these words slowly. Fatty watched him calmly, a faint smile on his lips. “Think again. Perhaps that’s not your deepest truth.” Right then, Fatty seemed like a philosopher, expounding some wisdom to Song Nianqiang beneath the moonlight.

“Not my deepest truth?” Song Nianqiang questioned himself. His gaze flickered uncertainly. Once more he looked up at the moon. The stars’ light was faint beside the moon’s brilliance, yet they could not be ignored. Lost in thought, Song Nianqiang simply sat cross-legged on the ground, propping himself up with his hands behind him, staring into the heavens.

A shooting star streaked across the sky. For a moment, Song Nianqiang’s eyes shone, but soon they brimmed with tears. He was seized by an inexpressible feeling, unaware that at this moment he was closer than ever to the legendary, elusive Dao. Overhead, the stars gradually shifted, forming the outline of a graceful, ethereal middle-aged man.

“My son! I am glad to see you at this moment, but with your current soul power, it’s impossible for you to truly meet me. The soul-cultivation technique is my gift to you—train diligently. I believe one day we shall meet.” The voice was ethereal, as if drifting down from the heavens or rising from the depths of the abyss. At those words, Song Nianqiang was jolted awake, a new sense of resolve blooming in his heart: perfect the soul-cultivation art, and see his father.

“Whew!” He did not know where that voice had come from, but Song Nianqiang’s heart was filled with determination. “Father”—that word was so foreign to him, and yet it was this very unfamiliarity that swept away his doubts, allowing him to focus wholly on mastering the soul-cultivation technique to its utmost.

But what of Jiang Ningzhi? Was she just a fleeting passerby on his path? No! Song Nianqiang was certain: Jiang Ningzhi’s place in his heart was far from simple. And yet, at this moment, he could not clearly define what she meant to him. So be it; all must follow the dictates of fate. If she was destined for him, no matter the trials, she would become his in the end.

“Fatty, it’s been a long time since we had a proper drink together!” Rising from the ground, Song Nianqiang’s free-spirited manner had returned, so much so that even Fatty, usually the most carefree of all, was left dumbfounded. “Back to your old self so soon? Go on, get back to Mars!” Fatty had expected Song Nianqiang’s mood to take days to recover, but after a few minutes beneath the stars, he was restored—truly not of this world.

“If I don’t drink you under the table tonight, I’ll put myself under house arrest for the rest of the month!” They joked as they strode off together. As their figures disappeared from the lonely path, a middle-aged man appeared, shrouded in a thin mist. Though the fog was light, it was impossible to see through with the naked eye.

“Boss, give me a few dishes to go!” Fatty called out as soon as they reached the restaurant. It was already past eleven, but the small town was still awake; many people were out drinking, and the roadside stalls were bustling. Song Nianqiang and Fatty were regulars here, so the owner knew them well.

“Alright! I’ll have it ready right away!” The owner quickly plated the freshly cooked dishes and began preparing more for Song Nianqiang and Fatty. “You’re not eating here?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow despite the coolness of October.

“No, we’re eating at home tonight,” Song Nianqiang replied with a smile, while Fatty greeted a few familiar faces, occasionally stopping for a drink at someone else’s table. “Brother Qiang, come eat with us!” called a young man with a tattoo of an eagle on his arm—a well-known figure in the town’s underworld. To have carved out a place for himself in the town’s black market was no small feat.

Song Nianqiang had once bested this “Eagle” in a fight back in junior high, earning his respect and friendship. Whenever Song Nianqiang had trouble at school, Eagle would handle it for him, always impeccably. Song Nianqiang remembered him well.

“Eagle, what’s up? Looking for a fight?” Song Nianqiang greeted him cheerfully, then turned to the owner. “Bring the food to this table—I want to drink with my friends.” He sat down beside Eagle.

“Not bad, since when have you been on a leash?” Fatty teased, fingering the thick gold chain around Eagle’s neck.

“Come on, Fatty, don’t tease me! I made a lucky score at the black market recently. Everyone’s wearing one of these now, so I got myself one too. If you like it, I’ll give it to you!” Eagle was a burly man, open-handed and generous—qualities Song Nianqiang admired.

“I wouldn’t dare take it. Who knows, maybe one day you’d get mad and chop me up, just to get your chain back!” Fatty feigned terror, sending Song Nianqiang, Eagle, and the others into peals of laughter.

The dishes soon arrived, and Eagle ordered several cases of beer. The table was a riot of laughter, with everyone eating and drinking without restraint. After a few rounds, Song Nianqiang, arm around Eagle’s shoulders, asked, “I haven’t been keeping up with things lately—where’d you make your money?”

By now, Eagle was tipsy, but he trusted Song Nianqiang completely. He downed another beer and replied, “Ever heard of talismans? That’s what made me rich lately.”