Chapter Twelve: Lord Hu Repays His Debt

Now that the matter with Zhen Yunzi could implicate him at any time, his own safety was in constant jeopardy. Even if the cultivation method recorded in the silk scroll was powerful, Wang Ling was in no mood to practice it. Besides, he already possessed the Primordial Dragon-Tiger Grand Elixir Thunder Technique, which he doubted was inferior to the one in the silk!

Several anxious days passed in this manner, yet all remained calm and serene; nothing untoward occurred. However, just as Wang Ling began to relax, one night he suddenly heard a knock at the door. He immediately tensed, cold sweat breaking out on his back, and drew the long blade from beneath his pillow at once.

While the sword is considered the gentleman’s weapon, when it comes to true combat, the long blade is superior for hacking and slashing! With the bitter cold of night and the remote mountain setting, who could possibly be knocking at his door? Could it be the ghostly enforcers tracing him here?

Fortunately, a timely voice sounded from outside: “I am the grandfather of Xiaobai and the others. I have come tonight on their behalf to thank you for saving their lives!”

Xiaobai’s grandfather? Wasn’t that an old fox?

Wang Ling’s heart eased slightly. Still gripping his long blade, he strode to the door and opened it.

There stood an elderly man, accompanied by two attendants holding lanterns, waiting at the threshold. As Wang Ling opened the door, the old man actually saluted him, addressing him as “benefactor,” and said, “Thank you for always looking after my young grandson from the Hu family, and for saving them the last time. Your kindness to my family is as great as creating us anew; I cannot thank you enough!”

It seemed this truly was Xiaobai’s grandfather. Wang Ling let out a small sigh of relief and smiled. “On such a cold night, you’ve troubled yourself to come—there’s really no need. Please, come inside so we can talk.”

The old man politely accepted the invitation and entered with pleasure, saying, “I’ve heard that you are skilled in the arts of cultivation. I have brought a treasure for you, as a token of our gratitude.”

He spoke with great courtesy and had one of his attendants present a brocade box.

Wang Ling politely declined, but the old man insisted, saying, “You did not mind that my family are of a different kind, and allowed my grandson to follow you, learning manners and the ways of cultivation. Such a great kindness—how can our meager gift ever be enough?”

With such words, Wang Ling could no longer refuse, lest it seem he considered the gift too paltry.

The two then conversed at length, discussing the Dao and the world. The old fox, having lived so long, had read many books. Though not a true scholar, he was nonetheless learned. Yet, being self-taught, a wild fox monk without a teacher, much of what he knew was only surface knowledge, lacking true understanding. In many matters, he had gone entirely astray, relying on his own suppositions.

If it were only scholarly knowledge, this would be of little consequence. But in matters of cultivation, it was the same—self-taught, rife with errors and misconceptions. The few pointers Wang Ling offered were of immense benefit to him.

This is one reason why the cultivation of such spirits and beasts proceeds so slowly: lacking teachers or accumulated knowledge, they must grope their way forward, often getting stuck at the slightest obstacle.

Though Wang Ling lived alone in the mountains, he came from the Wang clan of Danling, a family of Confucian scholars for generations. Though not boasting a unique family doctrine—a school with its own systematic theory—his background was still far superior to that of a self-taught old fox.

Thus, as the night wore on and dawn approached, and the old fox had to take his leave, he prostrated himself on the ground, performing the rites of a disciple, and declared, “Now I finally understand why the world so highly esteems the teacher and the Way!”

Wang Ling smiled faintly; he had only offered a few casual words of guidance. Moreover, though this old fox was of a different kind, his heart was sincerely set on the Dao, and his nature was fundamentally good.

One must know that when spirits and beasts cultivate, their wild natures are often hard to tame. Without proper methods, they easily stray onto dark paths—devouring humans and drinking blood, consuming souls, absorbing the vital energy of the living, and so on. Yet this old fox had never done such things, which is why Wang Ling did not hesitate to instruct him.

From then on, the old fox regarded Wang Ling as a man of great ability and instructed his three young foxes to learn diligently from him. Xiaobai and the other two foxes transformed from mischievous cubs into polite and well-mannered students. At every festival, the old fox sent gifts, and would occasionally come to seek further guidance.

But all this is another story.

After the old man left, Wang Ling suddenly sat up in bed, realizing that what had just happened was nothing more than a fleeting dream. Yet, on his table, he found a heavy brocade box.

The box itself was exquisitely crafted, wrapped in fine brocade. Wang Ling opened the wrapping, surprised; he had thought the box was carved from sandalwood or some other precious wood. But in his palm, the box was neither quite wood nor stone—somewhere between timber and jade.

It had the luster and smoothness of jade, yet the grain of wood. It was something unique.

On its surface was carved a pattern of the stars and the Northern Dipper, so exquisitely done that it was clearly an object intended for cultivators.

Wait—this jade box was not simple. The positions of the stars were not quite right.

By chance, Wang Ling noticed that several inconspicuous stars were misplaced, not where they should be. Normally, he would not have picked up on such a subtlety, but he had been studying that silk scroll Zhen Yunzi had given him.

Embroidered on that scroll was the name of the technique: “The True Method of the Hundred Deities and the Movement of the Stars in the Firmament.” Over the past two days, his mind had been uneasy, and he had not dared to cultivate at night for fear of the authorities coming for him. With nothing else to do, he often took out the scroll and studied it, comparing the star patterns on it to the night sky of this world—and found them to be exactly the same.

This both astonished him and imprinted the patterns deeply in his mind.

Most curiously, every time he examined the scroll, though it left him dizzy and lightheaded, his spirit felt subtly strengthened by the experience, even without formal cultivation. This convinced Wang Ling of the marvels contained in the scroll’s teachings.

Thus, at a glance, he could tell there was something wrong with the box’s design.

Why was this? Had the artisan made a mistake?

Upon closer inspection, Wang Ling realized there was more to it—the box’s surface was divided into tiny, movable squares. At first, he had thought these were just decorative lines, but now he saw that each square could actually slide in four directions.

He tried manipulating them and, to his astonishment, realized this was a sliding puzzle!

No, more precisely, it was a puzzle of shifting blocks, like a game of strategy.

He had thought the missing corner at the top left of the box was damage, but now he saw that it was the necessary empty space for moving the blocks; without it, the pieces would be locked in place and unable to move.