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The Six-Yao Divination

  • Genre: LGBTQ+
  • Author: Tommy ab
  • Chapters: 112
  • Status: Completed
  • Age Rating: 18+
  • 👁 240
  • 7.5
  • 💬 0


The narrative unfolds the story of a dilapidated and declining martial arts sect, the "Fu Yao Sect," in the jianghu, illustrating how it regains prosperity under the hands of several fellow disciples. Unlike characters in other novels who tend towards perfection, these martial brothers exhibit traits ranging from vanity, mischief, and cynicism to those who, despite a rocky start, are fortunate to have their senior brothers caring for and protecting them. The divergent personalities and temperaments lead them down different paths, yet the bond of brotherhood runs deep in their veins. For the sake of the "Fu Yao Sect," each of them holds firm convictions, allowing "Six Yao" to avoid superficial storytelling. While the author employs a playful and humorous style, the story's captivating development hides underlying emotions that are hard to overlook. Moreover, the author excels at creating atmosphere, resulting in a narrative with escalating climaxes and layered suspense. Upon finishing the tale, one realizes that it is not just about "Six Yao." It is the coming-of-age journey for these youths, the harsh trials of grounded experience, the unwavering growth in each young heart, and the emergence of a new life after enduring myriad challenges. The author's writing is both gentle and powerful, displaying a fluent and skillful style that is uniquely captivating. Set against the backdrop of ancient Daoist cultivation and infused with the mysterious elements of the Six Yao, it narrates the story of a reserved and resilient youth who, through fortuitous circumstances, embarks on the path of cultivation. The narrative accurately captures the protagonist's distinctive personality traits and portrays the gradually emerging emotional threads as opportunities unfold and relationships develop.

Chapter 1

Cheng Qian, at the tender age of ten, struggled with his stature, lagging behind his years. As the sun approached its zenith, he laboriously carried bundles of firewood from the courtyard to the main hall. The burden was hefty, requiring two trips to manage, leaving him with a sheen of sweat as he earnestly focused on kindling the fire for cooking.

In recent days, the household hosted guests, leaving his father engrossed in entertaining. Consequently, chores such as washing vegetables, cooking, and chopping firewood all fell onto Cheng Qian's young shoulders, transforming him into a short-legged whirlwind, a gust of breathless activity at every moment.

Due to his diminutive height, Cheng Qian, though able to reach the stove, found operating the large cauldron somewhat inconvenient. He resorted to using a small stool he found in the corner of the hall, beginning a culinary ritual of standing on the stool to prepare meals.

The stool, with uneven legs, was a challenge to balance on. Since the age of six, Cheng Qian had learned the art of cooking while perched on this stool. After narrowly avoiding several incidents of almost tumbling into the boiling pot and becoming a human soup, he mastered the delicate equilibrium required to coexist with the irregular stepping stones beneath his feet.

On this particular day, while standing on the stool to add water to the cauldron, his elder brother returned. Cheng's elder brother, fifteen years old, silently entered the hall with a hint of perspiration, casting a glance around before nonchalantly lifting Cheng Qian off the stool. Without uttering a word, he gently pushed him aside, saying, "I'll take care of this. You can go play."

Cheng Qian, obediently addressing him as elder brother, quietly crouched on the side, diligently working the bellows.

A complex expression flickered in his elder brother's eyes as he glanced down at Cheng Qian. The Cheng family had three sons, with Cheng Qian being the second. Until the evening before, before the arrival of the guest, Cheng Qian was still called "Second Brother."

His elder brother understood that with the current situation, the days of being called "Second Brother" were likely coming to an end. The simple nickname, along with the person it represented, was bound for a complete transformation, venturing into an unknown territory far from home.

The guest who arrived the previous afternoon was a Taoist, a self-proclaimed "True Man of Wooden Sprouts." Judging by appearances alone, this so-called True Man seemed dubious in his claim of any genuine abilities. Sporting a sparse goatee and half-open triangular eyes, he revealed delicate and slender feet beneath his drifting robe. There was no evident aura of a sage or cultivator; instead, he resembled a charlatan fortune-teller.

This wandering Taoist, having stopped by the Cheng residence for a sip of water, unexpectedly encountered Cheng Second Brother. Cheng Qian had just returned from the outskirts where an unsuccessful scholar, with eccentric requirements for payment, was teaching the children. Since the scholar refused to accept anything other than genuine gold or silver, Cheng Qian often listened in secretly.

The Taoist, with a peculiar demeanor, peered at Cheng Qian with a hand as thin as a wintry branch, neither feeling his bones nor employing any mysterious techniques. Instead, he gently stroked Cheng Qian's face, locking eyes with this imitation "bookish" child.

Whatever the True Man discerned from that gaze, after he finished, he nodded mysteriously and addressed the Cheng family with solemnity, "I see great potential in this child. In the future, he may soar to great heights, experiencing remarkable fortunes. He is no ordinary mortal."

In uttering these words, Cheng's elder brother was present, and though not well-versed in worldly matters, he found the Taoist's assertions rather fantastical. Before he could express his disdain, he noticed that his father had inexplicably taken the words to heart, leaving him with a sense of foreboding.

Cheng's family was already struggling financially. Cheng Qian's mother, after giving birth to their youngest, had been weakened and bedridden. With a lack of an able-bodied laborer and the added expense of medical care, their already meager resources were stretched even thinner.

This year's harvest prospects were grim due to months of drought. In these dire circumstances, the three brothers... it seemed they might be beyond the family's means to sustain.

Although Cheng Qian wasn't entirely unaware of his parents' intentions and his elder brother's inner turmoil, he couldn't be classified as exceptionally perceptive. He fell into the category of average awareness, his young mind grappling with the complexities of his family's situation.

Dad rose early, big brother toiled day and night, and mom's affection shifted from elder to younger son, but she couldn't let go of Cheng Qian. In the Cheng family, though no one scolded or mistreated him, nobody paid him much attention either. Cheng Qian knew this well; he was inherently tactful, avoiding being noisy or bothersome. The most audacious thing he ever did was climb Mr. Lao Tong's big tree to listen to incomprehensible Confucian classics.

He worked diligently, considering himself a little servant, a helper, a menial laborer—just not a son. Cheng Qian never quite understood what being a son felt like.

Children are expected to be lively, talkative, and playful, but Cheng Qian, not being a son, didn't enjoy the privileges of being talkative or mischievous. He kept his thoughts to himself, and over time, unable to express himself outwardly, he turned his introspective nature inward, creating many pitted thoughts in his small heart.

Cheng Qian was well aware that his parents practically sold him. Strangely, he felt an eerie calmness as if he had anticipated this day.

As he was about to depart, his ailing mother, for the first time, got out of bed. Trembling, she called him aside and handed him a small package. Inside were a few pieces of clothes and a bundle of flatbreads made by his father the previous evening.

This money, earned through his own blood and sweat, caught Cheng Qian's attention. It was a battered copper coin. Suddenly, the indistinct and dimly colored coin tugged at Cheng Qian's otherwise indifferent heartstrings. It was like a faint scent of his mother he had just detected.

However, his father noticed the coin. A heavy cough interrupted the moment, and Cheng Qian's mother reluctantly withdrew the coin.

Cheng Qian's mother bent down and earnestly looked at him, asking with a feeble voice, "Erlang, do you know what that is?" Cheng Qian nonchalantly glanced up and replied, "An immortal everlasting lamp." This seemingly unremarkable lamp was the Cheng family's heirloom, handed down from his great-grandmother. It was a palm-sized lamp without a wick or oil. Carved on the plain black wooden base were a few lines of spells, and it could emit light on its own, illuminating a small square foot area for an extended period.

Cheng Qian couldn't fathom its purpose beyond attracting insects in the summer. Nevertheless, as long as it could be flaunted occasionally during visits from neighbors and friends, it became a treasured heirloom for rural folks like the Cheng family.

The term "immortal tool" referred to objects inscribed with spells by "cultivators," also known as "Daoists" or "true men." These objects varied widely and served different purposes, ranging from lamps that didn't require oil to unburnable paper and beds that remained warm in winter and cool in summer.

A storyteller once mentioned that in prosperous cities, houses built with "immortal bricks" could rival imperial palaces, reflecting the sunlight like glazed tiles. Wealthy families had bowls with layers of high-level spells inscribed on them—these could prevent poison and ward off illness. Even if a bowl broke, a porcelain shard fetched four taels of gold, yet they remained highly sought after.

The "immortals" or "cultivators" were elusive, and good immortal tools were even rarer, making them highly coveted by the wealthy.

Cheng Qian's mother, her back stooped, looked at him intently, and with a hint of appeasement in her voice, she asked, "Erlang, when you return after completing your studies, could you make an everlasting lamp for your mother?" Cheng Qian remained silent, merely lifting his eyelids to cast her a brief glance. In his cold and apathetic heart, he thought, "Dream on. Today, you're sending me away. Whether I succeed or fail, live or die, become a pig or a dog, I will never look back at you again."

Cheng Qian subtly withdrew his hand as his mother suddenly hesitated. This young boy had an uncanny resemblance to her elder brother.

Her elder brother had appeared like a wisp of smoke rising from their ancestral grave. Not resembling a typical rural youth, he possessed a striking appearance, and his parents sacrificed their wealth to educate him. He excelled, becoming a scholar at the age of eleven. People said their family had produced a literary star.

However, the literary star, perhaps disinterested in the mortal world, didn't live long enough to attain the status of a scholar. Before he could achieve this feat, he fell critically ill and departed from the world.

When her elder brother passed away, Cheng Qian's mother was still young, and her memories were fading. Now, reminiscing suddenly, she found that when her brother was alive, he was just like this—no matter if he was happy or furious, he always had this indifferent gaze, aloof and slightly intimidating, making it hard for people to get close.

Cheng Qian's mother unconsciously loosened her grip on his hand, and at the same time, Cheng Qian discreetly stepped back.

This was how Cheng Qian, in a gentle and silent manner, severed the mother-son connection for both of them.

Cheng Qian believed his actions were not driven by resentment; resentment was illogical. His parents had bestowed the gift of life and nurtured him. Even if their kindness was cut short, the nurturing he received balanced the scales.

He looked down at his toes, telling himself, his parents saw no value in him, and that was fine. They sold him to a triangular-eyed Daoist, and that was fine too.

Chapter 2

Cheng Qian followed Master Woodthorn on the journey. Master Woodthorn looked like a withered tree, thin with three strands of muscle supporting his head, which was covered by a precarious hat. Leading Cheng Qian with one hand, he resembled a grassy stage master leading a new apprentice.

Although Cheng Qian still had the appearance of a child, he already possessed the heart of a young man. He walked in silence, but couldn't help but look back. He saw his mother carrying a tattered basket on her back, inside of which his younger brother slept soundly. His mother's face was blurred by tears, and his father stood silently on the side, either sighing or feeling guilty, refusing to lift his head to look at him, becoming a gray, desolate shadow.

Cheng Qian, without much sentimentality, withdrew his gaze. The uncertain future stretched out like boundless darkness, but as he held the thin hand of his master, it felt as if he held a cherished Cheng family h


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