Chapter 3: The Yijing Jing

“Don’t get ahead of yourself with the flattery—there’s one thing I need you to promise first,” Wang Xiaoqiang said, excitement crackling in his voice. “Go ahead, Master. Within my power, I’ll do everything I can.”

The Daoist nodded. “If ever my sect is in trouble, I’d ask that you lend a hand.”

Wang Xiaoqiang blinked, stunned. He couldn’t fathom how a humble ride-share driver like him could possibly help—was he supposed to be their getaway driver? He stared at the old man for over ten seconds, then sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Master. But I’m just a nobody. My influence is nil. Please forgive me if I can’t deliver.”

The Daoist gave a slow nod. “No matter. Do what you can. That’s enough.”

Wang Xiaoqiang straightened up, solemn. “I’ll remember this. Never forget.”

The Daoist stepped back. “I’ll perform the technique only once. Watch closely.”

Then, suddenly, his whole body shot upward—his previous shifty, unimpressive look vanished instantly. A sudden surge of presence filled the air, as if the forest itself had shifted to accommodate him. The energy settled, soft and seamless, blending into the trees and grass around him. Wang Xiaoqiang’s eyes went wide. His breath caught. Every sound—the chirping birds, the buzzing insects—seemed to vanish.

The Daoist slowly lowered himself into a cross-legged position. His hands moved like a dragon dancing through rain, fluid and deliberate. There was an invisible current swirling around him, almost tangible.

Wang Xiaoqiang didn’t blink. Not even once. He watched every twitch, every shift in posture, every subtle motion of the fingers. Years of heavy lifting and relentless discipline had trained him to focus with laser precision when he needed to. Then, from somewhere beyond time and space, a distant, echoing voice whispered:

*“The essence of heaven and earth… born of all things… refine the spirit into qi… transform qi into spirit… return spirit to emptiness… merge emptiness with the Dao… cycle upon cycle…”*

The Daoist rose slowly, stepping through the stars in a strange, rhythmic pattern—then began another sequence. Each stretch, each twist, seemed to summon ancient forces: the roar of demons, the thunderous bellow of a thousand beasts. Wang Xiaoqiang trembled, as though the very soul inside him had been branded.

When the final move ended, the Daoist finished, standing tall. He’d just demonstrated both the internal and external forms of the *Yijing Jing*—a legendary martial arts system. He turned to face Wang Xiaoqiang.

But the young man stood frozen, eyes glazed, as if visions flickered behind his pupils. The Daoist stared, stunned. After a long silence, he turned and walked away without a word.

Wang Xiaoqiang remained rooted, replaying the entire performance in his mind—every movement, every breath, every nuance etched into his memory like a carving on stone.

Only when a cool breeze brushed his face did he snap back to reality. The Daoist was gone. Vanished.

He paused. Then, bowing deeply toward where the man had stood, he called out clearly:
“Thank you, Master, for teaching me the way.”

Inside, he muttered under his breath: *Internet scams are dangerous. This is nothing like the ‘Yijing Jing’ videos I’ve seen online. If you had to compare them, this was the full version. The internet ones were just a stripped-down, dumbed-down cheat sheet.*

After a moment, he turned and climbed back into his car, ready to leave. But something nagged at him. He thought and thought—then suddenly roared into the air:
“Hey, you thief of a Daoist! You didn’t pay for the ride!”

His voice boomed across the clearing, startling birds into flight.

Far down the path, the Daoist stumbled—nearly tripped—and spun around, glaring. “You little brat! Daring to insult me? Wait till I get you!” He growled, then broke into a wicked chuckle, his grin dripping with smug satisfaction. Humming a silly tune, he disappeared into the trees, looking more pleased than a man who’d just stolen a fortune.

Back in the car, Wang Xiaoqiang hadn’t gotten paid—but honestly, he didn’t feel cheated. The Daoist had given him knowledge, wisdom, a gift that in ancient times would have been worth more than gold. A teacher, a mentor—like a father or elder brother. Charging a little tuition? Totally fair.

So he grinned, glanced around, found a wide stretch of road, turned the car around, and headed back.

Less than a kilometer in, a massive yellow cow blocked the middle of the path, chewing contentedly. No herder in sight.

Wang Xiaoqiang honked. The cow didn’t budge. It kept eating, its big rear end facing the car, tail flicking lazily to swat flies. He groaned. He wasn’t going to run it over.

So he got out. Maybe he could lead it off the road.

He approached the cow’s head—only to realize: no halter. No rope. He dared not grab the horns. What if the beast decided to charge?

After a few seconds of mental wrestling, inspiration struck.

He dashed to the side of the road, yanked up a huge bundle of grass the cow was munching on, and waved it near the animal’s mouth.

The cow chewed, then turned its head, took a big bite—delicious, clearly.
*“Moo… moo… moo…”* it grunted, happy.

Wang Xiaoqiang stepped back, waving the grass. The cow looked, then went back to eating.

He stepped forward again, held the grass right by the cow’s lips. The beast lifted its head, snapped it up—*yum*.
*“Moo… moo… moo…”* louder now.

Wang Xiaoqiang retreated, waving the grass again. The cow looked up—then down. Back to grass.

Step forward. Grass near mouth. Cow bites. *Delicious.*
Retreat. Wave.
Cow looks up. Stares.

And then—eyes blinking slowly, almost human—like it was saying: *Are you serious? There’s grass right here. Why walk all the way over to you?*

Wang Xiaoqiang felt his IQ take a 10,000-point hit. He stormed back to the car, seething. The cow didn’t even glance at him. Just kept chewing. Tail flicking. Utterly indifferent.

By now, it was already 3 p.m. He’d driven all morning. Tired. Drowsy. Might as well nap. Probably the cow would finish eating and wander off. He shut the door, leaned back, and drifted off.

In his half-awake dream, the woman from his morning fantasy returned—same glowing smile, same impossible beauty. He lay slumped in the seat, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth, face lit with that goofy, dreamy grin.

Sunset crept in. Around 4 p.m., the cow’s loud *mooing* shattered the silence.

Wang Xiaoqiang jolted awake—furious.
*Why? Why does it always happen just when I’m about to get it? Not again! Damn it!*

He wasn’t a virgin anymore. His ex-girlfriend had been gone six months, but the memories of those nights still burned bright. He knew what it felt like—what it *could* feel like. And now, stuck like this? It was torture. He was getting angry. Irritable. Frustrated.

With a growl, he shoved open the door, marched to the roadside, and let loose. Relief washed over him.

He looked around. No sign of the cow.

Quickly climbed back in, started driving. It was getting dark. Home wouldn’t be until after 10. Better step on it.

He glanced at the fuel gauge.

*Oh hell.*
Less than three small marks left. Maybe 80 kilometers max. Time to refuel.

The car rolled forward, finally hitting a paved rural road. He turned on the navigation. The nearest gas station? Over 50 km back along the route, near a highway exit. The next one? Another 130 km away.

He sighed, turned the wheel, and headed toward the light of the pump.