Chapter Four: A Golden Finger?

Since Elder Cheng had already expressed his views, the members of the Li family did not linger any longer. The yellow paper and green talismans burned to ashes, the offerings of wine on the altar were laid out, and the sheep's head and three sacrificial animals were, for ordinary farmers, already the highest standard of worship to the gods.

Wisps of blue smoke rose straight into the air. The entire process was completed without much delay. To outsiders, it appeared quite normal, yet to Li Zisheng, it was anything but ordinary. As the ritual prayers, incense, and talismans were consumed by the flames, Li Zisheng suddenly saw faint streaks of crimson light within the ancestral hall of the Li family. Originally, the hall was dominated by white radiance, but this touch of red was strikingly conspicuous, though it soon faded to near invisibility. Yet the transformation, subtle as it was, did not escape Li Zisheng’s keen eyes.

"What is this? What is this? Is it a golden finger? Could this be fate itself?" Li Zisheng was utterly bewildered. Before arriving in this grand Tang era, Li Zisheng, as a man of science, had always scoffed at such supernatural tales; though he had never tasted pork, he had seen pigs run—he’d heard others discuss such things.

"Could this be the advantage I have in this Tang dynasty?" Li Zisheng gazed excitedly at the fortune above the ancestral hall, but the moment was fleeting. Soon, the white radiance vanished from his sight. He rubbed his eyes and observed the ancestral hall once more, but the vision did not return.

Li Zisheng was not one to fret over gain or loss; if fortune favored him, so be it—if not, it was his fate. After all, this phenomenon held no practical use at present.

His brief distraction was noticed by Elder Cheng, who thought nothing of it, assuming Li Zisheng’s youth and the novelty of the ritual had simply captivated him. Elder Cheng continued his conversation with those around him.

Li Zisheng no longer focused his attention on the mysterious fate; such matters were too abstruse, and for someone with a scientific mind, it was all but unbelievable. Yet, he found it equally difficult to immerse himself in the ritual.

He fell into a quiet stupor, unnoticed by the adults. The ceremony had taken the whole day to prepare, and Li Zisheng, only seven years old, was understandably weary. Had Elder Cheng not stayed on, his grandmother, out of concern, would have urged Mrs. Wang to carry him back to the house to rest.

When the worship ended, Elder Cheng gave instructions for the preparations for the students’ gifts and departed. Under his grandmother’s urging, Mrs. Wang took Li Zisheng back to sleep.

That night, the bright moon cast its milky glow directly into Li Zisheng’s small room. He pondered the events that had just transpired.

"I’ve been in this Tang dynasty for some time now. This was my second experience of the ritual, yet why did such an anomaly occur this time and not the first?"

"Does this mean the phenomenon has nothing to do with the ritual itself?" As a modern, educated man, Li Zisheng instinctively resisted believing in such supernatural occurrences.

The first ritual and the second.

Li Zisheng carefully sorted through the differences between the two ceremonies. They were largely similar; the first had been led by the village chief, a respected figure in the region, though not as renowned as Elder Cheng, yet far from ordinary.

The only difference was that he had become Elder Cheng’s disciple. If so, perhaps the fortune he saw was only visible when it was somehow connected to himself—thus, the limitation was rather great.

It was not the golden finger he had imagined; Li Zisheng could only sigh quietly and drift into sleep.

Before dawn, Li Zisheng maintained his excellent habit of rising early. He loved nothing more than watching the sun ascend.

He ate a little dry food and headed straight for the back mountain. His family was used to this, only reminding him to dress warmly against the morning chill.

The rear mountain was not tall, but its depths were tranquil. In October, the leaves had not all fallen; scattered foliage lay on the ground. The sun had yet to rise, and the moonlight shone brightly as Li Zisheng walked along the familiar path.

Before arriving in this grand Tang, there had been a small hill behind his home—a peaceful place. Whenever Li Zisheng felt troubled, he would climb to its summit and gaze at the sunrise, clearing his heart of worries. He had brought this habit with him into the Tang dynasty, never abandoning it.

Standing atop the hill, Li Zisheng looked upon the dawn, calming his mind and breathing deeply, expelling all the stale air from his body.

The newborn sun’s rays dazzled across the sky.

"While the night still clings to a thousand mountains in darkness, the morning light bursts forth, painting the world in red."

Though he had witnessed the sunrise many times, it always left him in awe. Now, as Elder Cheng’s disciple, he felt more firmly rooted in this grand Tang, and his spirits soared.

"Excellent, excellent! What beautiful lines: While the night still clings to a thousand mountains in darkness, the morning light bursts forth, painting the world in red."

Li Zisheng did not realize there was someone nearby, so he recited the verse without restraint. While he understood his own meaning, others might interpret the poem differently.

The positive reading would see in it a young man’s grand ambition; the negative, a desire to seize the empire—a crime of treason.

Li Zisheng glanced about nervously, fearing that his words might bring trouble.

Not far away, a spirited old man with gray-white hair walked along the forest path, his gaze seeming to see straight through Li Zisheng.

Li Zisheng felt a touch of anxiety before the elder.

"The old man’s eyes are so profound."

Under that gaze, Li Zisheng felt transparent, his thoughts exposed.

"Junior greets the senior." Li Zisheng, having spent years in the business world, was adept at reading people. He could tell at once that the old man was no ordinary person and quickly paid his respects.

One does not strike a smiling face, and besides, the old man surely wouldn't take offense at a seven-year-old child.

The old man clearly did not expect such maturity from a small child, who could so quickly adjust his demeanor—his mind was almost uncanny.

"A child worth teaching, indeed," the old man silently praised.

"You, child, why do you address me as a senior? I am but a rustic villager, living out my days in peace," he said softly.

Li Zisheng noted that the old man did not mention the poem he had recited, and he wisely kept quiet.

"The bearing and spirit of a senior are plain to see, even my esteemed teacher Cheng Zhongliang is slightly less so."

"Oh, Cheng Zhongliang is your teacher?" The old man’s expression paused for a moment upon hearing the name.

Li Zisheng observed the reaction and guessed that the old man not only knew his teacher but had some entanglement with him. Yet what sort of entanglement, he could not discern.