The Young Girl's Chronicles of Demon-Slaying

Chapter 29: Compiling the Scroll

Divination is essentially the process of using the Primordial Taiji and the Eight Trigrams to deduce countless paths leading to the future and select the one most likely to occur. This path clearly exists in the future, but whether the person seeking the divination can find it is uncertain. As for how to find it, at most one can offer a few hints; otherwise, if explained too clearly, the path might vanish or become blocked. This situation applies equally to anyone involved in divination, and it is especially true for enlightened masters like Zhang Changchang—in their case, virtually no hints can be given at all. Yu Zhiqiu believed that if she were to hint even slightly to either Zhang Changchang or Liu Hongmei about the existence of this special person, that person would inevitably vanish, become impossible to find, or a situation completely opposite to what the divination predicted would occur. This was the source of her dilemma. In the blink of an eye, so many thoughts had crossed his mind. Just then, Zhang Changchang, the Daoist known as “Three Grasses,” suddenly leaped three feet into the air and shouted, “Oh no! That woman’s here! I’m out of here! You hold her off for me!” “Sure!” Yu Zhiqiu agreed readily, though whether he’d actually do it was another matter. Zhang Changchang made a hasty exit; before the word “Okay” had even finished echoing, he had already vanished in a flash. He ran fast—and in a most astonishing way. Each stride appeared to cover the same distance as a normal person’s, yet in the blink of an eye, he was already over a hundred meters away. However, only Yu Zhiqiu witnessed this astonishing scene; not a single passerby along the lakeshore noticed this astonishing sight. No sooner had Zhang Changchang left than a woman—dressed in a Taoist robe, wearing a Taoist cap, her long hair tied back, and carrying a fly-whisk—who was over thirty yet still radiated charm—came striding over briskly. Though she seemed to be walking, her pace was by no means slow. With just a single small step—appearing as if she were taking a leisurely stroll—she found herself standing right in front of Yu Zhiqiu in the blink of an eye. “Vendor, do you see that old coot over there?” This Taoist nun had a face as rosy as peach blossoms, almond-shaped eyes, and a beauty mark at the corner of her eye. With her voluptuous figure, she was truly enchanting and alluring, like a perfectly ripe peach. In the Taoist realm, Liu Hongmei—known by her Taoist name Hongye—was renowned as one of the most beautiful women. Naturally, such a beauty had no shortage of suitors in the Taoist world, all eager to become her Taoist partner. Yet she was infatuated solely with her senior brother, the Taoist Master Sancao—Zhang Changchang—and would often chase after him all over the world. It left people shaking their heads in exasperation and bewilderment; in the end, they could only attribute it to the blindness of love. In Liu Hongmei’s eyes, Yu Zhiqiu was still a junior, and almost every time he met Zhang Changchang, Liu Hongmei would appear shortly before or after. The way they addressed him—one calling him a “crooked merchant” and the other a “peddler”—sounded casual, even a bit contemptuous. But in reality, this was simply a result of the Daoist practices they cultivated, which made them take material things in stride. The fact that they could address him so casually actually meant they were on friendly terms; otherwise, even if they used formal titles, it wouldn’t necessarily indicate a close relationship. Yu Zhiqiu, who understood the reasons behind this thoroughly, naturally didn’t let a mere matter of titles bother her. She simply smiled and said, “Senior Liu, there’s really no need to push so hard sometimes. Don’t you realize that pushing too hard can make people feel pressured?” “Did that old coot tell you to say that?” Liu Hongmei asked, raising one of her slender, willow-leaf-shaped eyebrows. “No, this is just a somewhat immature thought of mine,” Yu Zhiqiu replied with a smile. “I’ll give it some thought,” Liu Hongmei said, nodding after a moment’s reflection. “In that case, please go ahead, Senior. The person you’re looking for headed east.” Yu Zhiqiu had brought together two completely opposite directions, but Liu Hongmei understood exactly what he meant. Without further comment, she simply said, “Thank you,” and continued on her way. Watching Liu Hongmei’s figure vanish in the blink of an eye, Yu Zhiqiu couldn’t help but shake his head. Both of these elders were quite easy to get along with, yet neither was one to be taken lightly. One fled while the other pursued—one using “Shrinking the Earth to an Inch,” the other using “The Ten-Zhang Stride.” Whichever of these two Daoist arts one considers, they are both profound techniques that many can only marvel at from afar. Even if one were to master them, it would be impossible to use them for actual travel due to the immense energy consumption; they can only be employed in critical moments. Yet here, these two were genuinely using them to cover distance, clearly demonstrating just how profound their cultivation was. Of course, he wasn’t exactly a slouch himself. Having met those he was meant to meet and seen those he was meant to see, Yu Zhiqiu rose from the stone chair, picked up the display rack, and, swaying as he went—accompanied by the crisp tinkling of the wind chimes hanging from the rack—made his way out. Before she even reached home, Song Jianqiu had already pushed that eccentric traveling merchant she’d met earlier to the back of her mind. Shortly after she got home, Lin Yuqin returned as well. In addition to carrying a bag of freshly bought groceries, she handed Song Jianqiu a document folder. Somewhat puzzled, she opened the folder, pulled out the papers inside, and discovered they were actually the 2015 high school entrance exam papers. “Do you want me to take it?” Seeing the exam, she immediately understood what was meant. What’s meant to happen will happen. At her current age, there was no escaping it. The key question was: if she couldn’t escape it, could she find a way to shorten the process? For example, if she did well, she should be able to skip a grade, right? Skip from middle school to high school, and from high school to college; once she got to college, she’d have much more freedom. “Hmm, go ahead and do it!” Lin Yuqin said. “Let’s see how you score so I can arrange for you to attend Nan’an Affiliated High School.” After saying this and giving her some instructions, she went to the kitchen to cook, while Song Jianqiu took the thick stack of exam papers to the living room and began working on them at the coffee table. Although many people—especially older generations—might think, “How could someone who’s been to college possibly fail to solve junior high or even high school exam questions?” But in reality, if you were to take today’s middle school entrance exam papers and put them in front of a college student, while they could solve them, it would actually be quite difficult—and whether they’d score high enough to pass is anyone’s guess. As for high school exams, needless to say, many would likely be at a loss and ultimately fail. Whether you call it a decline in ability or a loss of intelligence, it’s really just a matter of specialization. After moving beyond the all-encompassing stage of high school, what college students learn and encounter is mostly related to their major. Much of what they learned in high school that isn’t relevant to their field is likely long forgotten. They might still know a little, but certainly not as well as they did in high school. When she received these exam papers, Song Jianqiu was a bit worried she wouldn’t be able to answer them. After all, it had been a year or two since she graduated from college, and she’d forgotten just about everything she was supposed to have forgotten. The thought of going back to take a junior high exam—especially a high school entrance exam—left her feeling quite uncertain. However, when she took the exam papers out of the folder and began reading the questions, she secretly breathed a sigh of relief. As she worked her way through the questions, it was as if a treasure chest had opened in her mind, and knowledge from her school days kept surfacing from the depths of her memory. Among these, the knowledge that required rote memorization—such as history and geography, or various formulas—was the first to come to mind. Next came problem-solving strategies and how to answer questions; everything was crystal clear, as if the teacher had just covered these topics, fresh as ever. Had she really become a genius? Although she was shocked deep down, she knew exactly what she was capable of. Back in her school days, while she wasn’t exactly a poor student, she certainly wasn’t a top student either. Whether in middle school, high school, or college, her grades had always been just average, and she even struggled a bit when faced with new material. This might have had something to do with the fact that, in addition to focusing on her studies, she also had to find time for part-time jobs. But in any case, if her past self had been asked to take this exam, she would have been completely at a loss and ultimately failed. Now, however, not only is knowledge long buried in the depths of her memory constantly resurfacing, but she can also grasp the meaning of the questions on the exam after just a few glances. She applies what she’s learned to synthesize the information, ultimately deriving the steps and answers. All she had to do was pick up her pen and fill in the steps that appeared in her mind—it was as simple as copying from an answer key, effortless and easy. It was just like that night when she first read the *Diamond Sutra*—she could grasp the meaning of those obscure and difficult sutras thoroughly with just a quick glance. It seemed that the reason she had become so intelligent had nothing to do with the “him” from before, but rather with this body; was this girl’s mind naturally this brilliant? Or was it a chemical reaction resulting from the combination of the two? While other thoughts swirled in her mind, her expression remained impassive. She simply kept rapidly flipping through the exam paper in her hands. For the fill-in-the-blank questions in Chinese and history, a single glance was enough to know what to write; for the math word problems, just a few extra glances were all it took to figure out the solutions. The entire process of answering the questions was so effortless and enjoyable that it was almost unimaginable. As she flipped through the test paper with a rustling sound, Lin Yuqin, who had come out occasionally to get something from the refrigerator, saw her and couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Wasn’t it a bit too much to jump straight into the high school entrance exam papers? Moreover, according to the teacher who had handed out the papers, the 2015 exam was notoriously difficult at the time—so much so that many had questioned whether its difficulty level was excessive. That’s why the difficulty level was significantly lowered for the 2016 exam; she had originally intended to get the 2016 paper, but for some reason couldn’t find it at the time, so she ended up bringing the 2015 one home instead. Now, seeing Song Jianqiu constantly flipping through the test, she must have sensed just how difficult it was, right? But if she went over and told him to stop right now, she wasn’t sure if that would undermine his self-confidence. After giving it some thought, Lin Yuqin decided to leave it alone for now. She would wait until after lunch to go over it with her daughter and see how things went. If she really couldn’t solve the problems, she’d find an excuse and tactfully switch to the 2016 exam. Having made her decision, Lin Yuqin stopped dwelling on it and focused solely on preparing lunch in the kitchen. (End of Chapter)