Chapter 60: Writing a Book, The Old Taoist Predicts Fate

Chapter 60: Writing a Book - The Old Taoist's Divination

Nan Jinping was currently bursting with the need to vent and overflowing with inspiration, writing like they were divinely inspired. If Bing Wengu hadn’t been keeping an eye on them, they might’ve even forgotten to eat or sleep, continuing to write nonstop.

During this time, Jiang Songde once came looking for Nan Jinping, asking why they hadn’t been going to storytelling sessions. Ping An brushed him off with an excuse. Before leaving, Jiang Songde bought quite a few goodies.

Fueled by this burning need to write and relentless effort, Nan Jinping finished a 30,000-word short story in just half a month.

"Wen Gu, I’ve finished! Read it and tell me what you think of my story?" Nan Jinping was over the moon, shoving the manuscript at Bing Wengu the second they set the brush down.

"Alright, I’ll read it right away." Bing Wengu was just as eager, setting aside the half-written article they had been drafting to focus on Nan Jinping’s story.

To be honest, reading Nan Jinping’s writing was a bit of a slog. First, Nan Jinping often didn’t know how to write certain characters and substituted them with pinyin. Second, many phrases and idioms were unfamiliar or misused, leading to clunky phrasing and rough patches. Still, the overall meaning could be gleaned from context.

Despite the challenges, Bing Wengu persevered, reading through it bit by bit.

Though Nan Jinping’s short story had many flaws, they didn’t overshadow its merits. The tale itself was not only engaging but also carried a strong spirit of defiance.

The story began with a dual-gendered individual named Dong Geer succumbing to illness on a stormy night.

At first, Dong Geer didn’t realize they were dead. After their soul left their body, they thought their illness had suddenly improved. Remembering they hadn’t eaten in three days, Dong Geer went to the kitchen to find food.

The kitchen was empty—not a single grain of rice remained, not even mice visited. Then, Dong Geer’s hazy thoughts recalled that all the household’s food was locked in their daughter-in-law’s room. To cook anything, they’d need to ask her for the key.

But the thought of their daughter-in-law’s sneer filled Dong Geer with dread, and they didn’t dare approach. They even felt that, despite not eating for three days, they weren’t particularly hungry and could hold out a little longer. By morning, when their son and daughter-in-law saw them there while cooking, they’d surely realize Dong Geer had recovered and might even spare a bowl of thin rice porridge.

Dong Geer curled up in the woodshed, quietly waiting for dawn. Strangely, they no longer felt the biting cold that had once seemed to freeze their organs. Instead, their body felt light, as if all their pain had vanished.

While waiting, the Black and White Guards of the Underworld arrived to guide their soul. Oddly, the moment Dong Geer saw them, they knew they were dead.

Through the drafty walls, Dong Geer saw their lifeless body curled up on the straw in the shed, shriveled into a tiny ball—smaller even than the village chief’s big yellow dog when it curled up to sleep.

"Li Xushi, born in the third year of Dayong, died in the thirty-sixth year of Dayong. Your mortal life has ended. Come with us at once."

Dong Geer didn’t find the Black and White Guards of the Underworld frightening. In fact, they seemed decent—at least they didn’t scold or hit Dong Geer, even if their tone was icy as they ordered them to follow.

Passing by their son and daughter-in-law’s room, Dong Geer clearly heard the daughter-in-law ask, "How many days has it been? Why is that old wretch still hanging on?"

The son replied, "Not much longer. Even if the illness doesn’t kill them, that frail body will starve to death. It’s been three days without food or water..."

Dong Geer drifted farther away, unable to hear the rest.

Obediently, they followed the Black and White Guards of the Underworld into the underworld, where they stood before the Exalted Yama.

Yama thundered, "Li Xushi! Your son, Li Dalang, is a disgraceful, unfilial son, leaving you—the parent who raised him—to die of prolonged illness without care. In your final three days, he denied you food and water. In daily life, he worked you like an ox, even beating and cursing you. Now that you’re dead, will you still shield him?"

Huh? Were these things Yama mentioned true? Yes.

Dong Geer’s thoughts were foggy and distant.

"Li Xushi, do you know that shielding a criminal makes you equally guilty? You, too, will be fried in boiling oil!"

Though Dong Geer struggled to think deeply, they understood Yama’s final words clearly. Dreading the boiling oil, they quickly cried, "King Yanluo, I’ve done no wrong! In my whole life, I’ve never done a single bad thing—I didn’t even steal a single vegetable from the neighbor’s plot! I don’t deserve the boiling oil!"

Yama’s imposing presence radiated authority. "As a spouse, you were dutiful and gentle. As a parent, you were devoted and caring. As a child, you were filial to your elders. In this life, you were a good partner, a good parent, and a good child."

Dong Geer’s heart lifted by Yama’s words, but before they could smile, Yama continued, "Yet in this life, you let yourself down. That is your own affair, and I will not interfere. But your son’s unfilial conduct—will you still hide it from me?"

Dong Geer stared blankly. "I didn’t."

King Yanluo’s eyes like bronze bells glared, startling Dong Geer so much that he stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Then, King Yanluo's thunderous voice boomed in Dong Geer’s ears, “Xu Shi, have you forgotten how overjoyed your parents were the year you were born? Even when village children were given lowly names like Dog Egg or Dog Leftover, and many girls and young Shuang Er went their whole lives without proper names, they spent twenty coins to hire the village’s literate old scholar to give you the name ‘Dong.’ From then on, you were called Xu Dong.”

The name Xu Dong was like an axe splitting through thick fog, instantly slicing through the haze in Xu Dong’s mind. His thoughts became sharp again, just like in his youth, before he was married, when he was still under his parents’ care.

Back then, he was the treasure of his parents' hearts. But when did it all change? When did he start living like a beast of burden, his mind growing numb, knowing only to work day after day without a single thought?

It seemed to be the second year of his marriage. His parents suddenly fell gravely ill and passed away one after another. Then, his husband changed, showing his true vicious nature and gnawing at his flesh and blood.

Later, his husband brought home a baby boy, saying he couldn’t bear children himself and made Xu Dong raise him. From then on, it was two wolves devouring him. It hurt so much, so much.

Dong Geer covered his face and sobbed. He had suffered so much in this life.

Seeing this, King Yanluo said, “Xu Shi, are you willing now to speak of your grievances?”

“I am willing.”

Dong Geer knelt at King Yanluo’s feet and kowtowed heavily. “Your Majesty, that beast Li Silang has wronged me greatly. I no longer wish to bear his surname. I beg Your Majesty to restore my maiden name, Xu Dong.”

Dong Geer feared King Yanluo would be angry—after all, in life, such a request would have been unthinkable. A married person belonged to their husband’s family and took his surname; to do otherwise would upset the natural order.

Yet King Yanluo did not rebuke him. Instead, he seemed pleased with the request and immediately granted it.

Dong Geer began recounting his sufferings one by one: how his husband had beaten him during pregnancy, causing a miscarriage, and then, while he was still bleeding, forced him to wash clothes by the river in the dead of winter, when the river was frozen solid and had to be broken to fetch water.

At the time, Dong Geer had just miscarried and was weak. He could barely lift a pebble. After much effort, he managed to drag one to the riverbank, only to slip and nearly drowned. He was saved at the last moment by passing villagers.

Fresh from miscarriage, untreated, and plunged into freezing water—after all that, Dong Geer was left barren.

Not long after, his husband brought home a baby.

Unable to bear children himself, Dong Geer grew very fond of the child and raised him with love, bringing him up single-handedly.

Once, when the child fell ill and the village doctor couldn’t help, Dong Geer carried him through the night to the nearest town. He walked for hours, from dusk till dawn, until his feet were bloodied and blistered.

Ah, yes—Dong Geer only had a pair of completely inadequate straw sandals at home. They wore through soon after leaving the village, and he had to walk the rest of the way barefoot.

He saved the child with his own blood, yet following his father’s example, the boy grew up to treat Dong Geer just as poorly, beating and scolding him at every turn.

Dong Geer worked like a beast of burden in that household his whole life. Then he fell ill—just a slight chill, really, something a few coins could have cured.

But his son refused to call a doctor, letting it worsen into a grave illness. In the end, no one knew whether he died of sickness or starvation.

Dong Geer sobbed, “The house they live in now was mine, left to me by my parents. That beast didn’t even have a home when he married me. And the ten taels of silver my parents left me—they took it all. Yet they treated me like this, wouldn’t even spare a few coins for medicine. Even the village pigs ate better. I don’t even know how I survived all these years.”

King Yanluo asked, “Xu Dong, the Li family has indeed wronged you. Now, I shall see justice done for you. You may have vengeance, and there are two paths for you to choose from.”

Hearing that vengeance was possible, Xu Dong felt a surge of relief.

King Yanluo continued, “The first path: you reincarnate and marry Li Silang again. This time, you will be the man, and he the Shuang Er. You may inflict upon him all that he did to you.”

Xu Dong immediately cried out, “I’d rather die than be married to that beast again!”

“Very well. The second path: I shall grant you the power to turn back time, sending you back to before your marriage. You may make a different choice. However, this method has one flaw—Li Silang will not face divine retribution. If you wish to punish him, you must do so yourself, and you must not harm the innocent.”

Xu Dong looked lost. “But I’m only a Shuang Er. How can I punish him?”

Yama, who had been quite amiable until now, suddenly grew furious, "By your tone, it seems you look down upon Shuang Er!"

Dong Geer replied, "People say Shuang Er are born of original sin."

"Outrageous!" Yama roared in anger. "Who spread such nonsense? Once I find out, I'll have their tongue cut out!"

After calming down, Yama continued, "I am Shuang Er myself. There is no difference between Shuang Er and other genders."

Xu Dong gaped to learn that such a powerful figure as Yama was a Shuang Er, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Yama explained, "In the beginning, this world had no Shuang Er—only men and women. Later, two celestial lords fell in love. Though they risked their lives together for countless millennia, they lamented not having a child of their own.

During the great war between immortals and demons, these two lords narrowly defeated the demons and saved all living beings.

The Way of Heaven, moved by their virtue, asked what they desired. Their only wish was to have a child together. Thus, the Way of Heaven granted one of them the ability to conceive, giving birth to the Shuang Er gender.

This celestial Shuang Er, seeing many same-sex couples in the mortal world who longed for children but could not bear them, in compassion bestowed the third gender upon humanity.

And so, the Shuang Er came to be.

Yet not everyone could be chosen to become a Shuang Er. Only those with good character, wisdom, and filial piety were selected.

Therefore, Shuang Er are not some original sin—they are children blessed by the celestial lords."

Bing Wengu marveled at this. He never expected Nan Jinping had already grasped using divine narratives to reshape fate.

Clearly, his history teachings had taken root. When teaching history, Bing Wengu had explained how emperors throughout dynasties justified their revolts by claiming heaven's chosen status through supernatural narratives.

Now, Nan Jinping had cleverly applied this, giving Shuang Er a noble origin story.

His husband was remarkably sharp, understanding with just a pointer and surpassing countless others in wit.

Bing Wengu first read through the entire story to understand its essence and Nan Jinping’s intended message before setting brush to paper.

He replaced any characters Nan Jinping couldn’t write and refined awkward phrasing, making slight refinements to the text.

Overall, he didn’t change much. Nan Jinping’s story was excellent and needed only stylistic polish—Such handwritten tale-books favored brevity and clarity over ornate prose. The compelling story itself could overshadow such minor flaws.

Since the revisions were minimal, Bing Wengu finished within three days.

"Husband, take a look at my transcription. I smoothed some rough passages—see if it still conveys your intent. If anything differs, let me know, and I’ll revise it."

Nan Jinping took the draft and reread it, finding many characters he didn't know. Still, it didn’t hinder his reading. As he continued, he became acutely aware of the difference between his writing and Bing Wengu’s. "Wen Gu, your polished version reads much better than mine."

Bing Wengu shook his head. "Don’t worry about it. You just need more practice. With time and more vocabulary, you’ll write just as well. Husband, I’ve had a decade's head start in studies—can’t I know a few more words than you?"

Nan Jinping laughed. That was true. After all, the story remained his own—Bing Wengu hadn’t altered the plot at all. With more study he'd catch up.

"I’ll show this to Ping’an." Nan Jinping didn’t dare share his writing with other family members, but Ping’an, a servant, wouldn’t mock him even if it was poorly written.

"Go ahead. If Ping’an knows quality, I’m sure he’ll praise it endlessly."

"Ping’an, I wrote a short story. Read it and tell me what you think?" Ping’an was helping in the kitchen when Nan Jinping called for him, immediately setting aside his tasks.

He always remembered Bing Wengu’s words when he first arrived: his sole duty was loyalty to Nan Jinping. That meant prioritizing Nan Jinping’s needs above all else.

"Of course, I’ll read it now." As the young master’s attendant, Ping’an’s literary skills might not extend to composing essays or poetry, but he was literate enough.

The thirty-thousand-word story wasn’t long. Ping’an read attentively and finished quickly.

"My lord, this story you've written is simply amazing—far more captivating than any storybooks I've ever read before." Ping'an wasn't flattering Nan Jinping; he genuinely meant it.

At the same time, Ping'an was inwardly astonished that Nan Jinping could produce such a tale.

Having spent these days working closely with Bing Silang and Eldest Brother, neither of whom hid anything from him, Ping'an had already learned the full picture of his employers' background.

Both of the household's heads were originally farmers who toiled in the fields. The young lord, of course, was no surprise—having studied the classics for over a decade, anything was possible for him.

What truly stunned Ping'an, however, was Nan Jinping. After only half a year of studying under Bing Wengu, he could already write such an enthralling story.

This was the first time Nan Jinping had been praised by someone other than Bing Wengu, and his face turned red with pride.

"I’ll show it to Eldest Brother and Si Lang next."

Though Eldest Brother and Bing Silang had learned quite a few characters, many still eluded them, making their reading somewhat slow. Whenever they stumbled upon an unfamiliar word, Nan Jinping would patiently explain it.

After finishing the story, Eldest Brother could hardly believe his little one had written it. "Jin Geer, did you really write this?"

Nan Jinping nodded. "Yes, I’ve been staying in these past days, working on it."

To his surprise, tears welled up in Eldest Brother's eyes. Startled, Nan Jinping asked, "Eldest Brother, even if my writing is terrible, surely it’s not bad enough to make you cry?"

"It’s not bad at all—on the contrary, it’s brilliant." Eldest Brother wiped his tears, his eyes red. "Jin Geer, I never imagined you’d one day be able to write a book."

For the Nan family, reading and writing had once been as distant as the clouds in the sky—something they knew existed but could never touch.

Yet now, not only could Nan Jinping read and write, but he could also write stories. In the eyes of the Nan family, those who could write books were like the Literary Star incarnate—erudite scholars. Who would have thought that one day, their own Jin Geer would become such a figure?

Eldest Brother wept from joy—and happiness. Happiness that his once-unfortunate little one had finally found happiness, having married well. If not for Bing Wengu’s sincere love and care, how could Jin Geer have produced such a masterpiece in just half a year?

"I must write to Father and Mother and tell them—our Jin Geer can write now!" With that, Eldest Brother dropped what he was doing and hurried off.

Bing Silang scratched his head, feeling he ought to say something to lighten the mood. "Ge Fu, I’m not one for fancy words, but I know your story is truly gripping."

He struggled to articulate his feelings. "Some stories I’ve heard are enjoyable, with happy endings, yet somehow they leave me unsettled. But yours—reading it through, I just feel exhilarated, as if a weight has been lifted from my chest."

Nan Jinping understood immediately. This was what Bing Wengu called a "cathartic story"—revenge served cold, humbling arrogant foes, underdog triumphs, and power progression.

With such a relentless barrage of tropes, how could someone unused to such stories not be utterly enthralled? Bing Silang wasn’t just enthralled—he was completely taken with it.

"Life is short, gone in the blink of an eye. One ought to live like Dong Geer—swift justice, no regrets. That’s how life should be."

The more he reflected, the more he adored it—especially the protagonist, Dong Geer. Bing Silang was utterly captivated. "Ge Fu, could you give me this storybook? I love it so much—I’d like to reread it in my free time."

Though delighted by his enthusiasm, Nan Jinping replied, "You can make a copy for yourself. I plan to take this one to a bookseller to sell."

"Alright, I’ll borrow it from you when I have time."

Having received unanimous praise from the household, Nan Jinping clutched the book happily and skipped home, overjoyed like a carefree child.

"Wengu, let’s find a bookseller to sell my story. Eldest Brother and the others all said it’s wonderful—maybe it’ll really sell!" At this point, her expectations were modest: as long as it sold, she’d be satisfied.

"We can, but not yet." Bing Wengu explained, "Even the best wine needs promotion. You’re unknown, and though the story is well-written, it goes against conventional morals. Breaking through won’t be easy."

Nan Jinping knew the flaws in his tale. The protagonist was a *shuang'er* [androgynous character]—already unconventional.

But the story wasn’t about this *shuang'er*’s virtue, filial piety, or wifely devotion. Instead, it depicted their rebirth and ruthless payback against their former in-laws and husband, leaving them broken.

Such a plot was bound to outrage conservatives.

"In this prefectural city, the influence of a mere County Top Scholar is still too small. Wait a few more days for me. After the Prefectural Examination, if I can achieve the title of Prefectural Top Scholar, this vast city will have only one such scholar. Scarcity drives value—by then, my reputation will peak, and your book will be perfectly timed to release."

Nan Jinping nodded, "Alright."

This time, he didn’t undermine Bing Wengu’s confidence. After Bing Wengu passed as the County Top Scholar last time, Nan Jinping was completely won over. In his eyes, Bing Wengu could do anything now, and Nan Jinping had begun to admire him.

"Here are some letters from home and your parents-in-law over the past few days. You were busy writing your story then, so I didn’t disturb you. I’ve already given the ones from your elder brother and Si Lang to them. Take a look." Bing Wengu handed over his own replies, which were simple and mostly focused on guiding their studies.

Back home, the teaching was entrusted to a local scholar in town, but Bing Wengu didn’t step back entirely. Every month, he had the scholar set a test for the family to answer. The scholar would then send the answers along with the family letters.

This allowed Bing Wengu to monitor the family’s learning progress and ensure the scholar’s teachings aligned with his expectations. So far, the general direction matched his requirements, though there were small gaps. Bing Wengu wrote to the scholar to adjust the curriculum accordingly.

Nan Jinping went aside to reply to the letters, while Bing Wengu got back to studying.

Time flew by, and soon it was April—the month of the Prefectural Examination. This time, the Bing family took it especially seriously.

Last time, they hadn’t expected Bing Wengu to pass, let alone soar to first place, which had shown them his true capabilities.

Bing Silang and Nan Jinping’s elder brother put their work on hold—this went without saying. Nan Jinping woke up extra early to personally cook breakfast for Bing Wengu, even boiling eggs.

Here, boiled eggs didn’t symbolize double perfection but rather "rolling in luck"—good fortune.

Honestly, Nan Jinping’s elder brother was at a loss for words. At first, he hadn’t thought much of Nan Jinping cooking—after all, before marriage, Nan Jinping had often cooked at home.

But just when he assumed nothing would go wrong this time, Nan Jinping fumbled for ages to even start the fire.

The elder brother was stunned. Later, Nan Jinping explained that since marrying into the Bing family, he’d never had to light a fire himself, so he’d lost the knack.

Nan Jinping insisted he’d get the hang of it after a few tries, but the elder brother didn’t dare let him continue. Considering how much Bing Wengu doted on him, even if Nan Jinping managed to cook for him today, he’d probably still feel displeased if he knew Nan Jinping had trouble starting fires.

Instead, the elder brother wrote about his younger brother’s trouble starting fires in the family letter—not to complain, but to reassure their parents that Nan Jinping was living the good life now. They didn’t need to worry anymore.

Back in the village, the Bing and Nan families were even more anxious than Bing Wengu himself. Not only did they pause their businesses, but they also made a special early trip to the town temple to pray for his success.

As Miao Shi placed incense in the burner, she turned to find the Liang couple missing. She asked Nan Jinping’s father, "Have you seen our in-laws?"

"No, they were right here when I was offering incense earlier," Nan Jinping’s father replied.

"Let’s check over there." Miao Shi headed toward a crowded area.

Only upon approaching did she realize it was where prayer tablets were placed—used for blessings, with perpetual incense and daily sutras chanted by the monks.

Looking up, Miao Shi spotted the Liang couple. She hurried over. "Why did you come here… Wait, why the red eyes? Have you been crying?"

"The smoke here is too strong. Let’s go," Liang Shi put on a smile.

"Oh, alright." As Miao Shi turned, her gaze accidentally fell on a nameless prayer tablet. "Huh, why doesn’t this one have a name?"

Liang Shi gently lowered Miao Shi’s pointing finger. "Don’t point at the tablet—it’s impolite."

Miao Shi quickly withdrew her hand and let it go, following Liang Shi out of the hall.

On the way, Miao Shi suddenly remembered something and chuckled. "You know, our son-in-law actually has closer ties to Taoism. I recall that year when a wandering Taoist stopped at your doorstep. You kindly gave him water, and he even read our son-in-law’s fortune."

Nan Jinping’s father also remembered. "Ah, yes. The Taoist said that at twenty-three, our son-in-law would face a life-or-death crossroads. If he couldn’t overcome it, that would be the end. But if he survived, he’d rise to greatness, achieving fame. Back then, the villagers didn’t believe it, but your family sent him to study because of that prediction, right?"

Thinking of those words, Liang Shi’s heart grew heavy. The villagers only knew part of it—the most critical part remained unknown to them.

The old Taoist also predicted, "After a narrow escape from the underworld, whose soul returns? Revere it, and you'll rise to great heights; spurn it, and you'll reunite in the underworld."

At the time, Liangshi was completely baffled, unable to make sense of it.

Meanwhile, Bing Wengu strolled leisurely into the examination hall, looking as if he were entering a red-light district rather than taking the Prefectural Examination.

When drawing his seat number, Bing Wengu cast a mental sweep to scan the arrangement of seats in the hall—which ones were near the toilet and which were far away. Another sweep revealed all the numbers on the sticks in the lottery tube, allowing him to pick whichever he desired.

This was how Bing Wengu had effortlessly swapped seat numbers with Zhang Ming before. Zhang Ming had never wronged him—Bing Wengu had indeed switched the numbers. But so what? There was no evidence against him.

Bing Wengu selected a number and took his seat.

Once the exam began, he withdrew his mental energy and focused solely on answering the questions.

He was already far luckier than others, with his mental energy as an aid. Using it to cheat off others during the exam would be excessive and unfair to those who had studied their hearts out.

Though Bing Wengu was no saint, he had his own principles.

The Prefectural Examination lasted three days, during which candidates ate and slept in the examination hall.