Chapter Four: The Resonance Between Heaven and Humanity

Although Wang Ling did not care much for these treasures, they certainly made his life far more comfortable.

His family background was quite ordinary; they owned just over a hundred mu of land. Now, with the help of the clan, they hired people to farm it, but the annual income was merely a few thousand coins.

Had this been the Ming or Qing era of his former life, owning over a hundred mu would already make him a small landlord, living quite well.

However, in this era, crop yields per mu were dismally low—barely one or two shi per mu. So, a hundred mu produced less than two hundred shi of grain. After deducting the forty percent rent for the tenant farmers, Wang Ling was left with just over a hundred shi of grain.

And that was coarse grain; after the husks were removed, only sixty or seventy shi remained.

After setting aside what he needed for himself, the surplus he could sell would bring another two or three thousand coins.

After paying taxes, if two thousand coins remained, it was considered fortunate.

This was still thanks to the powerful Wang clan, whose influence prevented the local tax collectors from being too harsh.

Even so, the one or two thousand coins left barely sufficed to support Wang Ling’s studies on the mountain.

Of course, by any measure, Wang Ling still belonged to a moderately prosperous household, able to support someone like him, freed from labor, to study and write.

For most families, such fortune was impossible.

Although Wang Ling was not greedy for the wealth the little fox brought him, it did make his days less constrained.

As time passed, the two became more accustomed to each other. The little fox grew bolder, no longer so afraid of Wang Ling. Even when absorbing energy, it drew closer to him, as if the closer it was, the richer the spiritual energy.

Eventually, it even climbed onto Wang Ling’s lap.

At first, Wang Ling did not notice, but upon awakening from his cultivation, he was startled to find something furry on his legs.

The little fox was frightened as well and dashed off with a swish.

Yet a few days later, it returned to Wang Ling’s lap.

From then on, every time Wang Ling practiced, the fox would appear promptly, treating his lap as its exclusive seat.

Later, seeing its pure white fur, spotless and immaculate, Wang Ling gave it the rather common name of “Little White.”

But the fox seemed to love the name. Whenever Wang Ling called it, the little creature would dash over at once.

With the bitter cold these days, Wang Ling had not seen Little White and thought it would not come again—yet tonight, it returned!

Wang Ling smiled gently. It was late at night and almost time to sleep.

The next day, the heavy snow finally stopped, though the cold persisted.

Wang Ling stayed inside his thatched hut, reading for pleasure. As the ancients said, “On snowy nights, behind closed doors, read forbidden books”—there was reason in it!

Of course, he mused, how much better it would be to read by lamplight, accompanied by a lovely woman?

But then he chided himself—it was still daylight, and his thoughts had wandered into such territory.

He laughed quietly at himself and returned to his reading.

He was not reading any scandalous forbidden books, but the genuine classics of the ancient sages.

Though he had no desire for officialdom, these ancient classics held their own truths.

As the dominant school of thought in this world, Confucianism contained both wisdom and power.

“Origin means the beginning, the essential righteousness. The Way is the kingly way. The king is the origin of man. When the king is righteous, the vital energy is harmonious; wind and rain arrive in season, auspicious stars appear, the yellow dragon descends...”

Reading this, Wang Ling sighed softly, “This is the doctrine of the unity of man and heaven.”

Such theories would be considered nonsense in his original world, but here, they were real.

The Son of Heaven received the mandate from the Celestial Court, ruling mountains and people on behalf of the Heavenly Emperor—not mere rhetoric!

Because of this, governments at all levels wielded immense magical power.

Even the local gods of the land and water had to obey official orders.

In this world, Confucian learning resembled a kind of theology, inherently containing power.

Or rather, in this world, Daoist arts manifest miracles, spirits play their tricks, so if Confucian learning could not demonstrate real power, how could it become the dominant school?

In short, the Confucianism of this world was truth imbued with great power.

Otherwise, it would not have become the mainstream faith of all.

Yet these teachings, like the Dao in Daoism, lacked "method" or "technique"—there was no way to wield them.

Or rather, it was not impossible to use, but the key was missing.

Only after becoming an official, with the instruments of the court and the authority to perform rituals, could one truly exercise magic.

Otherwise, possessing the Dao without the method was like having abundant inner strength but knowing no martial arts—unable to unleash any power.

The Dao governs the techniques, and while the Dao is essential, without technique, its power cannot manifest.

Conversely, technique without the Dao leads nowhere.

Lately, Wang Ling had found that the more diligently he studied, the more efficiently and rapidly he improved in nourishing his energy.

Especially since the Confucian texts of this world and Daoist methods seemed to confirm and complement each other, yielding great insights.

“It seems that in this world, the court encourages people to cultivate the Dao, but not the method,” Wang Ling mused.

From this perspective, what his cousin Wang Yue said made sense… as long as one became an official, one gained the right to perform magic!

Otherwise, however powerful, staying outside the system meant being suppressed and rejected by the myriad spirits—what good would that do?

It seemed he might have to consider becoming an official after all!

As he pondered, he heard a faint sound at the door, and a squeaking cry—a little fox darted into the room.

Wang Ling was puzzled. It was still early, not yet time for cultivation—why had Little White come?

But this time, Little White did not act as affectionate as before, instead squeaking anxiously and tugging at Wang Ling’s trouser leg, as if urging him to follow.

Wang Ling was taken aback. He noticed blood on Little White’s fur and, startled, hurried after it.

Little White ran ahead, glancing back to make sure Wang Ling was following, then led the way, squeaking constantly to hurry him along.

Wang Ling had no choice but to follow Little White down the mountain. Halfway down, they encountered a hunter.

Indeed, the man looked every bit the hunter: a knife at his waist, bow and arrows slung on his back, and a wooden pole over his shoulder bearing several animals—including two foxes, their fate uncertain.

Wang Ling immediately understood, stepped forward, clasped his hands in greeting, and said, “Brother, greetings!”

The hunter, blocked by Little White, hesitated, his hand reaching for his bow.

But seeing Wang Ling approach respectfully, he grew even more uncertain.