High Yiye had basically become a ceremonial vase—pretty, upright, dignified, and functionally useless. She wanted to help the household guard who had just scalded his leg and grown a blister the size of a pigeon egg, but then she remembered Third Madam's stern advice:
"The more dignified you act, the more others will respect the Heavenly Venerable."
And so she stood there, straight-backed and solemn, guarding her dignity like an endangered treasure.
Just then, the clouds above parted, and the "majestic" face of the Heavenly Venerable appeared. A giant hand extended downward, offering something to her.
Yiye perked up. The Venerable was giving her something again. But when she looked closely, she froze.
It was… yellow.
And squishy.
And sticky.
Like a piece of food someone had sat on.
"Uhh… is this something tasty?" she asked.
Dao Xuan nearly choked.
"Eat? Again? Last time I gave you an iron plate, your first thought was also to eat it."
Her cheeks instantly flushed fire-red.
"This is medicine. Burn medicine. Take it."
Yiye brightened immediately. She had been worrying about the injured guard—now the Venerable himself had delivered divine ointment! She held out both hands excitedly.
Of course, the "little dab" of medicine on Dao Xuan's fingertip was the size of a mountain boulder in her scale. The moment it landed in her palms, she almost dropped it.
Thankfully, Third Madam—who was always hovering protectively beside the "divine envoy"—reacted fast. She caught the wobbling lump with both hands, steadying it.
Since she couldn't hear the heavenly conversation, Third Madam stared at the mysterious lump in confusion.
"What in the world is this? Why did it suddenly appear in your hands? It smells… incredibly medicinal."
"It's burn ointment from the Heavenly Venerable!" Yiye explained.
"Hurry, it's for the injured guard."
Third Madam practically vibrated with excitement.
"Divine medicine? Oh heavens, incredible, incredible! Someone bring an empty jar, quickly!"
There were jars everywhere thanks to the earlier battle—women had been lining up oil jars behind the walls—so an empty one was fetched instantly.
Third Madam solemnly placed the precious heavenly blob into the jar, sealed it with oil paper, tied it tight with rope, and assumed a posture that screamed:
"Touch this jar and I'll murder you."
"Uh… why did you seal it?" Yiye asked.
"We still need it for the guard."
Third Madam waved her off.
"Heavenly medicine must be preserved! As for that guard—just smear the leftover on your hands onto him."
Yiye looked down.
True enough—her hands were coated in goo, cold and sticky.
She walked to the injured guard with the most sacred calm she could muster.
"Don't move. The Heavenly Venerable grants you divine ointment."
The guard blinked. Then his eyes widened in horror and joy, unsure which emotion to pick. He tried to kneel but immediately regretted having only one working leg. Instead, he performed a deep bow toward the sky.
"Divine Venerable, compassionate and merciful!"
Yiye crouched and smeared what remained of the salve on her hands onto his blistered skin.
Left swipe.
Right swipe.
Another swipe.
A behind-the-hand swipe.
A bonus swipe.
Absolutely zero technique.
The guard hissed nonstop—"ss, ss, ss"—as if he were a tea kettle.
He seriously considered whether dying instantly might hurt less.
But when she finished and stood up, he blinked.
"Wait… it actually… doesn't hurt as much anymore."
The blister was still angry red, but the cooling medicine numbed the burn, leaving him sighing in relief.
"Divine ointment… incredible!"
"Lucky bastard," someone whispered.
"You got heavenly treatment."
The guard snorted.
"How about I pour a pot of boiling oil on you so you can enjoy it too?"
Nobody volunteered.
Mr. Bai pushed through the crowd.
"Your pain—truly gone?"
"A bit left, sir, but much less than before."
Mr. Bai nodded. That was all the concern a gentleman of his status needed to show. Any more would be considered emotional generosity, and he wasn't about to ruin that reputation.
He glanced toward the "Dao Xuan Heavenly Venerable Cave" at the village center, awe gleaming in his eyes.
This was no fake deity made up by cults.
No distant Daoist immortal nobody had ever seen.
This one was real.
Perhaps… he ought to visit the shrine more often.
With the crisis passed, people's minds finally had room for other thoughts.
San-shi-er dragged Mr. Bai over to Yiye.
"This is High Yiye, divine envoy and saintess of the Heavenly Venerable. All commands from on high pass through her."
Mr. Bai had long guessed, but now he bowed formally.
"A pleasure."
"And this is Bai Yuan—famous gentleman of Cheng City, beloved by the people, organizer of militias, protector of the land."
Yiye, who would've once panicked before such a scholar, now straightened her back. She represented the Heavenly Venerable. She merely nodded gracefully.
Mr. Bai glanced around the village and spoke with genuine admiration:
"This village is extraordinary—strong walls, clean water, sufficient food… in these times, this is rare indeed."
San-shi-er puffed up instantly.
"Well of course! Why else would I abandon the county seat and move here? A wise bird chooses its branch!"
Mr. Bai sighed.
"You—half-educated. Always misusing idioms and calling yourself a wild bird. The phrase should be 'a worthy minister chooses a worthy lord.'"
San-shi-er: "…"
"And that is why you'll never pass the imperial exam."
San-shi-er whispered rebelliously:
"You didn't pass either."
Mr. Bai froze as if someone had stabbed him with a calligraphy brush.
After several seconds, he sighed.
"Indeed… I am also a half-bucket of water. Of the Six Arts a gentleman must master, the art of shu—strike it out, strike it out."
San-shi-er muttered:
"'Shu' means calligraphy, not scholarship."
Mr. Bai: "…"
A long, unnerving silence.
Then Mr. Bai's face suddenly lit up with hope.
"Then add it back! No need to strike it out!"
Everyone: "…"
Dao Xuan, watching from above, couldn't help laughing.
He had thought Bai Yuan was a lofty, refined gentleman—but apparently, he was a full-time comedian.
Come to think of it… what did the "shu" in the Six Arts actually refer to?
Calligraphy?
Learning?
Dao Xuan pondered for a long time and decided:
Better just… cross it out. Cross it out.