Chapter 41: Return to the Common Streets

"Damn it, stop thinking about it!" Yang Rui cursed under his breath, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a worn, yellow-paged copy of the *I Ching*, flipping through it with practiced nonchalance.

The *I Ching*, revered as the "Foremost of Classics and the Source of All Schools of Thought," possesses a wisdom that flows like an underground river. It has long since permeated every facet of Chinese civilization—from architectural layouts and medical theories to musical scales, the aesthetics of painting, and even the mundane daily lives of common folk. Its essence, however, lies in the profound and exquisite arts of geomancy, Yin-Yang Bagua, and the arcane strategies of the Qimen Dunjia.

Yet, the Way of Change is deep and vast, as boundless as the sea. Many have spent their entire lives pouring over these texts, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of the tip of the iceberg. Especially when it comes to the infinitely shifting techniques of the Yin-Yang Bagua, those who can truly claim mastery today are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

But Yang Rui was different.

The Yin-Yang Bagua is said to have originated with Fuxi, one of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, who created the Early Heaven Bagua. Two thousand years later, at the end of the Shang Dynasty, King Wen of Zhou, Ji Chang, deduced the sixty-four hexagrams, wrote the hexagram judgments, and established the Later Heaven Bagua. These sixty-four hexagrams, known as the distinct hexagrams, each hold their own name and imagery. When further categorized by their Yin and Yang states—Old Yin, Old Yang, Lesser Yin, and Lesser Yang—the entire system expands to a staggering 4,096 different configurations.

To possess such a complex, profound, and unpredictable system within one's mind, and to harmonize the Early and Later Heaven arrangements, is a testament to the monstrous, singular talent Yang Rui possessed.

In truth, Yang Rui had often longed for a suitable subject to test his deep knowledge. Unfortunately, the people he encountered in reality were merely the sort whose problems could be solved by a quick palm reading or a minor adjustment to their furniture. This profound learning felt stifled, a hero with no battlefield. In desperation, he turned his sights on his landlord—treating it as a practice session while simultaneously shutting that man's mouth about the overdue rent.

As it turned out, the experiment was a stroke of unintended luck. He had genuinely helped the landlord solve a problem of some significance, leading to an unexpected windfall. If not for that, the landlord would have kicked him to the curb months ago for his half-year of unpaid rent.

The only reason he had bothered with the landlord was that he simply could not stand the man's face. It was only six months of rent! Was it really necessary to nag him like a vengeful spirit at his heels every single day? Yang Rui hadn't been entirely sure of himself; he had acted purely out of annoyance. He never expected that, through a twist of fate, the landlord would actually strike it rich. It was a classic case of an accidental success.

The direct consequence was that, while he no longer had to endure the landlord's sour expression, the man had become like a stubborn medicinal plaster that refused to be peeled off. He followed Yang Rui everywhere, shamelessly pestering him: "Master Yang, take another look for me! When can I make another fortune?" It was a hundred times more headache-inducing than the rent collection.

Although Yang Rui was no enlightened sage, he understood the principle that "defying the heavens invites a backlash." Every time the landlord came fawning for a fortune, he would mumble vaguely and change the subject. When he was truly pushed to the limit, he would just spout nonsense to get it over with. Over time, the landlord realized the "Master" wasn't as accurate as before, and his enthusiasm waned, his complexion shifting from sunny back to overcast. Yang Rui, however, couldn't have been happier—though looking at the landlord's face was unpleasant, at least his ears were finally at peace.

The landlord's name was Cao Wanri, a man nearing fifty with a rather sleazy appearance. In Yang Rui's sharp-tongued estimation: greedy, lecherous, fickle, and lazy—he possessed every flaw in the book. While Yang Rui had his own minor shortcomings, compared to Cao Wanri, he could only tip his hat in defeat and say, "I yield."

What Yang Rui found even more offensive was that a man like that had somehow managed to marry a beautiful, exquisite woman ten years his junior! Mrs. Cao was not only stunning but also gentle, virtuous, and elegant. She lacked none of the graces a woman should have; she was truly capable in the kitchen and refined in the parlor.

"Sigh, truly, the best cabbages are always..." Every time Yang Rui saw the beautiful landlady, he couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. After judging the situation, a surge of frustration followed, ending in a coarse curse: "What a damn waste!"

Perhaps this was one of the reasons Yang Rui had stayed in this dump for seven years, enduring Cao Wanri's noise and the cramped conditions. Compared to catching glimpses of a beauty like the landlady, the landlord's slights seemed insignificant. Besides, the landlady was genuinely kind to him, always remembering to sneak him a portion of whatever delicious food she cooked. This quiet warmth became a rare comfort in the noisy, vulgar world.

When he woke up, the sun was already high in the sky.

Yang Rui had barely closed his eyes last night. His room was right next to Cao Wanri's bedroom, separated by nothing but a wall. The word "next door" meant it was impossible to block out the sounds he desperately wanted to ignore.

In the middle of the night, the old bed next door hadn't stopped its creaking. Even worse, the man's heavy gasps and the woman's soft moans were intermittently woven into the mix. Yang Rui had buried his head under his quilt, but the sounds were inescapable, forcing vivid, provocative images into his mind that he couldn't suppress. At an age of surging youth, it was nothing short of torture.

"It seems this Cao Wanri isn't entirely useless," Yang Rui sighed to himself. "At least in that regard, he's still a man."

When he stepped out, the door to Cao's home was open. Glancing into the dining room, he saw Cao Wanri in his pajamas, sitting at the table, enjoying his rice porridge with leisurely, rhythmic puffs. Yan Lan was busy moving about in her apron, her graceful figure delineated in exquisite detail, especially the swell of her chest, which instantly reignited Yang Rui's memories of the previous night's intoxicating sounds. He shook his head, swallowed hard, and headed straight for the door.

If anyone else had been sitting there, he would have shamelessly begged for a meal. But with Cao Wanri across the table? It was truly nauseating.

"Xiao Yang, why are you so late today? Come over and have something to eat!" Yan Lan's charming voice rang out from behind him.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Yang Rui demurred, though his feet moved without hesitation. He turned, walked into the living room, and sat directly across from Cao Wanri. His gaze swept over Yan Lan with lightning speed. "I'm always causing you trouble, Sister Lan, I feel terrible!"

Before the words were even out, he was seated, grabbing a fried dough stick and biting into it without the slightest bit of reserve.

"Slow down, no one is going to take it from you!" Yan Lan chided playfully, ladling a bowl of porridge and placing it in front of him. "Do you think you can hide those little tricks of yours from me?" She then sat down with her own bowl.

Yang Rui chuckled, ignoring the fiery glare from Cao Wanri, and ate with even more gusto, intentionally slurping his porridge loudly.