On March 19th, before boarding his ship to depart Hamburg, Lieutenant Colonel Dan returned once more to see the "Liuyun Guan" under construction. Arriving in the vicinity, he found the abandoned church beside the temple swarming with German workers. They had erected towering scaffolds and were dismantling the structure from the top down; the roof was already entirely gone.

Cranes continuously lowered bricks and other materials to the ground, where merchants were already haggling over their quality and price with the demolition crews. In the adjacent open space, trucks and handcarts waited to haul the salvaged masonry away as soon as a deal was struck.

Dan watched for a while, finding the bustling activity a stark contrast to the desolate silence of his meeting there two days prior. He walked to the entrance of the Liuyun Guan and stopped. The great doors stood wide open, and dozens of Germans dressed in Daoist robes hurried in and out.

For a moment, Dan felt his worldview waver. A sense of profound doubt welled up within him. Was China, having conquered Europe militarily, now seeking to conquer it through religion?

With this question in mind, he entered the temple. The interior lacked the cavernous, vaulted ceilings of European cathedrals, consisting instead of low-rise buildings that radiated an Eastern elegance.

Several Daoist acolytes were receiving guests. While most spoke only German, a few were fluent in French or English to accommodate foreign visitors like Dan.

An acolyte briefed Dan and the other English-speaking guests on the temple's internal structure. The main hall was dedicated to the portraits of the Three Pure Ones: the Celestial Worthy of the Primordial Beginning, the Celestial Worthy of the Numinous Treasure, and the Celestial Worthy of the Way and Its Virtue.

The rear courtyard served as the residence for the priests. On the site of the church being dismantled, a complex would be built for the priests to preside over cultural exchanges, intellectual study, and various services including marriage blessings, wealth rituals, and geomancy consultations.

It was clear that these acolytes had been rigorously trained; their delivery was smooth and their answers practiced.

Through their interactions, Dan grasped several key points. The Liuyun Guan itself was a religious structure, a place for the priests to reside, meditate, and honor their ancestors.

The planned complex, however, was not a religious building, but a social space for interaction between the priests and the public. In Germany, at least, it fell within the commercial category.

As for the essence of Daoism, the acolytes' answers left Dan staggered. Unlike mainstream religions that posited a subjective, personal God, Daoism viewed the essence of the world as the "Dao"—a non-subjective Way. The Three Pure Ones were thus not gods in the Western sense, but "Ancestral Masters"—pioneers in the pursuit of the Dao.

"...From the Daoist perspective, every individual is a product of the Dao," the acolyte explained. "Whether you believe in the Dao or in another religion, you remain part of it. The Great Way possesses no subjective opinion of you." The German boy's voice was melodic, making even the harsh German language sound comfortable.

The English-speaking visitors were left speechless. Dan finally asked, "What is it that one seeks to cultivate through Daoism?"

"One cultivates the 'Dao Heart.' Once reached a certain level, the way one perceives the world changes completely. A single event is viewed differently by a practitioner—much as a primary student uses arithmetic, a secondary student uses algebra, and a university student uses calculus. They all face the same problem, but their means of resolution are different."

The explanation resonated with Dan. He was skilled in mathematics and could indeed utilize calculus for military calculations—a rarity among an American populace that often struggled even with standard English.

That a simple acolyte could speak such words intrigued him. He wondered at the level of the men who had trained them.

Having toured the grounds, the final step was the presentation of gifts. The group was led before a Chinese Daoist with a topknot, dressed in deep blue robes. He was introduced as Priest Changxin, and he offered small tokens to the visitors.

Dan had studied some Chinese culture. When it was his turn, instead of accepting the gift, he clasped his hands in a traditional bow. "Good day."

Changxin noted that the foreigner’s posture was imprecise, yet that he knew the gesture at all was impressive. He returned the greeting with a Daoist salute and spoke in Chinese: "Limitless Celestial Worthy, this benefactor..." He then switched to English. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"I have heard that China possesses the art of divining the future," Dan replied. "I would ask the Master to perform a divination for me."

"Heh. To meet is to share destiny. Our art allows for one divination a day, three at most. I have performed none lately, and sensing an impulse of the heart, I shall cast one for you." Changxin ordered an acolyte to bring three copper coins, a container of yarrow stalks of varying lengths, and a divination board. He handed the coins to Dan and instructed him to throw them three times. Then, he had Dan shake the bamboo container and scatter the stalks across the board.

To the Europeans, the scene was one of pure mysticism. Not only did the English-speaking group remain, but other visitors crowded around to watch the old Chinese priest. For a moment, Dan felt a surge of unease at being surrounded by strangers, particularly from behind—a soldier’s instinct.

Changxin, noting Dan’s change in expression, remained silent as he carefully studied the configuration of the stalks. He then led Dan away from the crowd and into a private room.

Closing the door, he invited Dan to sit. The scent of aged mugwort filled the air, and Dan felt his heart begin to settle. Changxin pulled out several printed pages and, seeing Dan was composed, began: "You have cast the Kun Hexagram. My own cultivation is shallow, but observing the position of the stalks, I judge that the path of your quest is difficult to discern in its sequence. However, starting from the Upper Six may be best."

He arranged the pages in order, numbered them in the corner, stapled them together, and handed them to Dan.

Dan was confused. Through questioning, he learned that Changxin was using the I Ching (Book of Changes)—a text composed thousands of years ago, not a story the priest had invented on the spot.

Each hexagram had a name and six lines of text called "Yao," followed by a final instruction on "utilizing the Yin." The I Ching posited that Yang symbolized change and Yin symbolized stillness. Yet, in reality, all things were in a state of constant flux; the environment was changing, and the self was changing. Even if one strived for immobility, stillness was merely temporary. One had to wait patiently for the opportune moment when events shifted in one's favor.

As a man of science from West Point who mastered calculus, Dan found the philosophical impact of this impersonal explanation to be profound.

Just as he was about to ask more, Changxin smiled. "Benefactor, I cast divinations on an impulse, yet I have no love for interpreting them. If you are truly interested in the Book of Changes, I have a bilingual copy I shall gift to you—let it mark the end of our shared cause and effect. We shall end here for today."

The priest rose, bowed with a "Limitless Celestial Worthy," and departed.

As Dan stood in a daze, holding the bilingual I Ching and the stapled pages, an acolyte entered politely. "Sir, the rest of your group is waiting for you outside."

Reluctantly, Dan departed. His heart was in turmoil during the return journey. Back at his quarters, he finally opened the pages. On the first sheet, the text read:

"Supreme success. Perseverance of a mare brings luck. If the superior man takes the lead, he will be lost; if he follows, he will find a master. To the southwest he will find friends; to the northeast he will lose them. Peaceful perseverance brings good fortune."

Dan frowned as he pondered. Then, a feeling like an electric current surged from his spine to his brain.

"Perseverance of a mare." On his first reading, he took it literally—he had ridden a mare. And on that day he met General Bourbon, the General had given him a mare to ride home... fulfilling "finding a master" after being "lost."

"Southwest he will find friends; northeast he will lose them." His new Confederate friends were almost all to the southwest of his home, while his old West Point classmates were clustered in the northeast, in Washington and New York.

With trembling hands, he turned to the second page:

"Upper Six: Dragons fight in the wilderness; their blood is black and yellow."

The line struck him like a physical blow. The scent of war was unmistakable. It left his skin prickling with dread.

Amidst his shock, he remembered the priest’s mention of "utilizing the Yin," which he said was important. He hurried to the final page of the thin packet. It too contained a brief Chinese text with an English translation.

The Chinese was only three characters: "Li Yong Zhen" (利永贞) — "It is advantageous to persevere forever."

The English was equally brief: "Never ever give up."

Thinking of the long and grueling war ahead, Dan felt this was a divine guidance. The war that had erupted would not be won easily; only by persevering could victory be achieved.

Feeling his doubts resolved, Dan instinctively closed his eyes and prayed in his heart: "Thank you, my God. Thank you for your guidance."