Chapter 40: The Official Institution

Ever since Yun Jiao realized how much money it took to cultivate, she felt a looming financial crisis like never before. Magical tools, array flags, spirit herbs—every single one was priced in tens of taels. Even the cheapest, most common weapon for novice disciples, the peachwood sword, cost over a hundred taels of silver. High-grade artifacts? Even worse. And don’t even mention pills—luxuries reserved for the wealthy. With Qingyang Temple’s threadbare finances, they couldn’t even sniff a medicinal fragrance.

Yun Jiao herself was a spiritual physician without a cultivation meridian, so she didn’t really need these things. But the trouble was—her temple housed two money-eating beasts: an old man whose cultivation had hit a bottleneck and required resources to break through, and that gluttonous bamboo tube spirit. She couldn’t just ignore them.

Sometimes she wondered if she had stolen old people’s wallets in a past life. Why else would she always end up financially ruined whenever she crossed paths with elderly men?

Fortunately, Shao Xian was far more reliable than his father, quickly paying them with a bank note. As night fell, they stayed temporarily at Old Zhou’s home, planning to return to their temple the next day.

But lately, the Ancestor Spirit had been in some strange mood. He shut himself inside the bamboo tube and refused to emerge. Normally he would show up at least at mealtimes—sometimes to eat, sometimes to lecture them, mostly to drill Bai Yu. Now, however, he was silent and motionless, acting like an ordinary bamboo tube. Meals were tossed in by the disciples themselves, or else the food would levitate off the table and fly into the tube. That eerie sight would have shocked outsiders, so they had to invent excuses.

“Brother Bai, your bamboo tube is quite peculiar. Is it perhaps some kind of artifact?” Old Zhou finally noticed the oddity as Bai Yu poured in his third large bowl of soup. A palm-sized bamboo tube—where on earth was it all going?

Bai Yu stiffened. Damn, he’d forgotten they were at Old Zhou’s house. His face paled as he hastily deflected. “This… this is the girl’s bamboo tube.”

Yun Jiao’s hand holding her chopsticks froze. MMP!

But outwardly, her expression never changed. She nodded gravely. “Yes, it is indeed an artifact—only for storage. Since we’ll return to our temple tomorrow and the journey is long, we’re stocking up on dry rations.” She lied with perfect solemnity.

“Oh, I see.” Old Zhou nodded, no suspicion in his eyes, though the “rations” oddly looked like soup. He gazed at her with admiration. “Daoist Yun, so young and already so skilled—able to break the Hundred Ghosts Array no less. Truly impressive. May I ask, what grade of Celestial Master are you?”

“Grade?” Yun Jiao blinked, confused.

Old Zhou paused, then shook his head. “Ah, with your ability, you must have at least reached the ‘Flower’ rank.”

“Flower?” Yun Jiao turned to Bai Yu, silently demanding an explanation.

Bai Yu suddenly remembered and blurted, “Old Zhou, I… I haven’t taken her to be registered yet!”

“What?!” Old Zhou’s eyes widened in disbelief, his tone edged with rebuke. “Old Bai, that’s unfair. You mean to keep such an outstanding disciple hidden? You haven’t even brought her to the Celestial Master Hall for registration? You may not care, but if she leaves this county without being registered, an unlisted disciple practicing exorcisms could be expelled from the Daoist order. You’ll ruin her future!”

“I… I just haven’t had the chance.” Bai Yu looked guilty. He hadn’t expected the girl to learn so quickly. “I was planning to take her at the start of next year.”

Old Zhou finally nodded. “Yes, the new year is ideal. All sects bring their disciples then. She might even win a ranking.”

“What does registration mean?” Yun Jiao asked.

“The Celestial Master Register, of course.” Old Zhou explained patiently. “All Daoist disciples must go to the Celestial Master Hall, pass their examinations, and be entered in the Register. Only then can you call yourself a Celestial Master and officially take on commissions to exorcise evil. That is the orthodox recognition.”

Yun Jiao froze. So the Celestial Master Hall was basically the official certifying body—like getting licensed.

“And you two… are registered?” she asked.

Both men stiffened. Bai Yu coughed awkwardly. “Ahem… the exams are very strict, hard to pass. But since we only work locally in this county, maintaining peace here, it’s not really against the rules.”

“…” So they were both unlicensed freelancers. Black-market exorcists, essentially.

“And the grades you mentioned? The coins, the flowers?” she pressed.

“That’s the Hall’s evaluation of strength,” Old Zhou said, eager to explain.

Daoist cultivation was divided into four tiers: Heaven, Earth, Profound, and Yellow. Legend claimed that beyond Heaven lay ascension to immortality, though none had achieved that in centuries. The Hall assessed disciples’ level and conferred insignia accordingly.

• Yellow tier: measured in copper coins. Lowest was “One-Coin Master,” then Two-Coin, and so on.
• Profound tier: marked by embroidered flowers on the collar. One flower for First Rank, two for Second Rank, and so on.
• Earth tier: denoted by jade phases. A crescent moon for first level, a full moon for tenth.
• Heaven tier: currently defunct, as no one had reached it in generations.

The Celestial Master Hall managed all commissions. Any supernatural problem could be reported there. The Hall assigned tasks based on severity and disciples’ rank. Disciples could also accept jobs privately if they were capable.

Like Shao Laoye before—he could have gone to the Hall but chose to avoid notice, secretly hiring freelancers instead.

If disciples encountered major trouble, they could request aid from the Hall, which would send people to clean up afterward. That was why the blue-robed Daoist had proposed sending the ghost horde to the Hall for exorcism.

(End of Chapter)