A Pawn's Passage

At this point, even Qi Xuansu himself paused in surprise.

In truth, the Fenglin Emperor holding the title of Tenmon Sect Leader was in itself an imitation of the emperors of the Central Plains.

When the Confucian School was the orthodox religion, the emphasis was on heavenly principle and the resonance between Heaven and Man, with Heaven revered as the supreme deity.

Throughout the dynasties, emperors bore two honorifics: the Sovereign of the Mortal Realm, representing secular authority, and the Son of Heaven, representing divine authority as Heaven’s chosen offspring.

The most important affairs of a nation are sacrifice and war.

The Sovereign of the Mortal Realm held dominion over war, and the Son of Heaven wielded authority over sacrifice, including rituals and divine mandates. Only the Son of Heaven could perform sacrifices to Heaven. Commoners could worship ancestors or local deities, but none dared offer rites to Heaven itself. When the Son of Heaven grew old, having his son take over the sacrificial rites was a clear sign of succession.

Both honorifics were unified. It was this divine identity that upheld the Confucian principle of the emperor being the “father of all under Heaven,” giving him supreme status and legitimacy.

But when the Daoist Order rose to dominance, it had to dismantle Confucian norms to build its own status. Though Daoism still acknowledged Heaven’s supremacy, it did not emphasize divine principle or the resonance between Heaven and Man. Thus, the title of “Son of Heaven” was effectively abolished, leaving only the secular title of emperor.

Yet divine authority could not be left vacant, so the head of the Daoist Order stepped in, assuming the role of Grand Master in place of the Son of Heaven.

This gave rise to a dual system in the Central Plains—two centers of power that balanced, collaborated, and occasionally opposed each other.

In such a structure, would the emperor of the Central Plains yearn to reclaim the title of Son of Heaven?

Of course, he would. Without the divine title, he was a crippled emperor, unfit to call the realm his own, and constantly at risk of deposition.

Thus, when the three Daoist sects vied for dominance, the Imperial Court entered the fray without hesitation. To the Quanzhen Sect and the Zhengyi Sect, the Taiping Sect’s alliance with the court was akin to letting a wolf into one’s house. The plan was doomed to backfire. Even if the Taiping Sect won with imperial backing, it would eventually clash with the throne. The Taiping Sect understood this well, so its cooperation with the court was always cautious and limited.

During the Anchor the Monkey operation, the Taiping Sect did join the fight, but not with full force. Their real motive was to dangle the Son of Heaven’s title as bait, letting the Imperial Court and the other two Daoist sects wear each other down.

The Fenglin Emperor was no different, except his case was the reverse. He truly held the divine title of Tenmon Sect Leader, but his imperial authority was shallow. While the Central Plains Emperor strove to reclaim divine legitimacy, the Fenglin Emperor desperately sought to reclaim political power.

As fate would have it, both sources of authority now rested in the hands of the Daoist Order.

Thus, the Emperor of Fenglin proposed the “Revere the Emperor, Expel the Dao” movement.

Digging deeper, it was clear the Fenglin Emperor could no longer restrain himself. He intended to reclaim what was once his. But what of the Central Plains Emperor? Even with the patience of a great nation, how much longer could he truly wait? No one could say for sure.

Having come to this realization, Qi Xuansu fell silent for a long time, lost in thought.

It was not until Lu Yuting gently called his name that Qi Xuansu snapped back to reality. He sighed. “Let’s leave that topic for now.”

Lu Yuting gave a slight nod.

Qi Xuansu turned again to Genki. “May I ask what your thoughts are, Hatamoto Genki?”

Genki replied, “What I think probably doesn’t matter. In turbulent seas, heroes reveal their true colors. I am no hero. I’m just a solitary, helpless woman, a mere drop in the ocean, left to drift with the current.”

Qi Xuansu said, “You can’t put it like that. What we call the tide of history is ultimately made up of individuals. The will of the people matters, and each person’s thoughts matter. That said, it’s also true that many people have a herd mentality, preferring to mindlessly follow the crowd. But I don’t believe you’re one of them, Hatamoto Genki.”

Genki chuckled behind her fan. “High Mage Qi, you’re quite the sweet talker.”

She paused briefly, then added, “Truth be told, words matter less than who’s saying them. If a common lad told me I wasn’t a member of the mindless masses, I’d proudly retort that I’m not. But coming from you, High Mage Qi, I’m honestly flattered. Still, I’m more curious. What kind of terms would a man of your standing offer me? Forgive my bluntness. I picked up the habit in the West.”

Qi Xuansu did not mind her frankness. “I’m no grand figure, and I can’t grant you a noble title. But if you are willing to sincerely support the Daoist Order, I can grant you the status of a Daoist Priest Kindred.”

Back when he traveled to the Western Region with Zhang Yuelu, she had issued two such titles—one fifth-rank, the other ninth-rank. Now, in the blink of an eye, Qi Xuansu himself had the authority to bestow that status, and perhaps even more legitimately than Zhang Yuelu had back then.

This was an old tactic of the Daoist Order. First, one should determine who was friend and who was foe. Then, they should gather as many friends as possible. Now that Qi Xuansu had come across such a person, he was not about to let the opportunity pass.

Genki’s eyes lit up. “Really? I heard that the number of Daoist Priest Kindred titles is fixed, determined annually by the Ziwei Hall, with an extremely rigorous vetting process. They’d rather let slots go unused than hand them out carelessly.”

Li Mingshan said, “High Mage Qi is the Deputy Hall Master of Ziwei Hall. So it is entirely within his authority to issue one to you. Why would he lie to you about that?”

Qi Xuansu said nothing. Instead, he pulled out his new credentials. While the Intermediate License identified him as a third-rank Youyi Daoist master, his actual position required verification by the credential, which needed to be updated frequently.

Genki accepted the credential with both hands, examined it closely, then returned it respectfully with a notably more deferential attitude.

“You’ve already attained the third rank at your young age, which is impressive as it is. But to think you also hail from Ziwei Hall, the foremost of the Nine Halls...your future truly knows no bounds.”

Qi Xuansu stowed his credentials and asked, “So, what do you think, Hatamoto Genki?”

Genki smiled. “One is a hollow title of Shishaku, while the other is a tangible and valuable Daoist credential. Even a fool knows which to choose.”

This was not flattery. It was simply the truth.

Even if the Fenglin Emperor regained full power, the titles he bestowed only held weight within Fenglin. No one outside would acknowledge such titles. But a Daoist Priest Kindred title was another matter entirely. It would be recognized anywhere the Daoist Order held sway, even in the Western nations, where the Daoists had temples and sanctuaries. One could seek refuge or assistance there using this status.

Genki was never the type to settle. She had returned to Fenglin to escape her enemies, but if the chance arose, she longed to once again roam free as a seafaring merchant. As such, the value of a Daoist Priest Kindred title was immeasurable to her.

Qi Xuansu said, “Let’s not celebrate too early. The Daoist Priest Kindred title comes in different ranks. Once I return to the Daoist camp, I can begin the process immediately, but the exact rank still needs to be negotiated.”

There was a world of difference between a ninth-rank Daoist priest and a fourth-rank Jijiu Daoist master.

Of course, Genki understood this and asked, “What’s the highest rank you can authorize, High Mage Qi?”

Qi Xuansu answered frankly, “I’m a third-rank Deputy Hall Master, so I can issue up to a fourth-rank Daoist Priest Kindred title. If you want a first-rank Daoist Priest Kindred title, only the Grand Master can authorize that. To my knowledge, in the past two centuries, you could count the number of first-rank Daoist Priest Kindreds on one hand.”

Genki asked again, “Then what must I do to earn a fourth-rank Daoist Priest Kindred title?”

Qi Xuansu responded with a question of his own. “Is this jin’ya and ironworks truly yours? Or do they belong to the Matsue Domain?”

Genki replied, “If this place truly belonged to the Matsue Domain, why would His Majesty bother granting me the Shishaku title? I command a squad of 100 gunmen, all armed with the latest firearms. We hold the high ground, which is an ideal defensive position. Against the daimyo’s army, we may not guarantee victory on the offense, but on defense, we’re rock-solid. Besides, behind me stands Hita Castle. Surely, High Mage Qi wouldn’t just stand by and watch me perish, would you?”

Qi Xuansu smiled. “Great.”

In truth, Qi Xuansu had his own considerations. If he were to be an independent force, he would need allies, especially merchants with deep pockets. To rise through the ranks, results were necessary, and wartime achievements were not always an option. More often than not, success showed itself in other ways. As such, money was indispensable. Funds were needed even if one wanted to paint a picture of peace. That would be where merchant support came in. Even if not a great magnate, the right kind of local power could prove invaluable.

For example, Mansion Master Li Ruoshui had the powerful Li family backing her. The Second Deputy Mansion Master Shi Bingyun enjoyed the support of Prince Jin, Qin Quanyi. Thanks to such support, both could maintain their integrity while still having the means to pursue their own goals within the Imperial Capital Daoist Mansion.

Qi Xuansu had a gut feeling that Genki could not have acquired Class-C smelting technology by simple luck. Promoting her today was a strategic move to secure her as a future ally.

Although the title of Deputy Ziwei Hall Master appeared just one step below the Hall Master, the gap was significant. Qi Xuansu could not realistically expect to be promoted straight to Hall Master. A posting to the provinces was inevitable, and before that, he would need trustworthy subordinates. He had already consulted with Madam Qi and Zhang Yuelu on this, and based on their analysis, his most likely destinations were Liaodong or Lingnan—both regions that were intricately tied to Fenglin.

Of course, Qi Xuansu could lean on Madam Qi for support, as her ties to Seven Treasure Pavilion ensured abundant funding. But the Seven Treasure Pavilion was not run by her alone, and its sheer size could easily lead to them dominating him, which would be far from ideal.

There were big allies and small ones. Qi Xuansu already had plenty of the former. What he needed were the latter—those he could rely on to act precisely as he wished.

For example, if he wanted to build a charitable house for orphans and the elderly, but the local Daoist mansion had no budget for such things, he could not act against protocol or leave a paper trail. It was also not worth troubling the Seven Treasure Pavilion over something so minor. That was where a smaller, more agile supporter came in, someone who could sense his intentions and voluntarily step forward to fund such a project.

Qi Xuansu thought Genki would be a solid choice. She was a low-risk move in a game of Go. If this piece survived, great; if not, it would not be much of a loss.

After all, one could not walk far on a single leg.