Was she out of touch with the times? This was possible?
If that was the case, did that mean there were also Taoist groups? Competing in Taoist arts? DiDi for ghost-catching?
The streamer understood her shock and said excitedly from the side, "Unbelievable, right? I felt the same way at the time! When the viewers in the livestream told me about it, I thought they were messing with me!" He sighed and said, "I never thought the Taoist Sect would start answering the call to take the path of revitalizing the country through technology. Amazing!"
The middle-aged Taoist priest warmly invited her, "Young friend, after you return, you can also register an account. With your Taoist arts, making it into the top fifty on the leaderboard would be more than enough! It's just that the account verification process is rather complicated. Be patient and upload your materials, then wait for the Taoist Association to review them."
Bai Xianxian nodded with a look of mixed emotions.
After the female ghost was taken away, the temperature in the room rose considerably. The streamer added Bai Xianxian on WeChat, saying he would come to her if anything came up in the future. Bai Xianxian looked at him speechlessly and said, "Play fewer games of unknown origin. It's best if you never have a reason to come looking for me again."
Just as a hospital wouldn't say "welcome back anytime," neither would their line of work.
Bai Xianxian thought for a moment—she couldn't pass up a ready-made opportunity for publicity—and added, "If you're willing, you could help promote me in your livestream. I have an account on the paranormal forum, and my ID is Xianxianzi."
The streamer agreed without hesitation.
After leaving the streamer's house and exchanging phone numbers with the two Taoist priests, Bai Xianxian took a cab back to the hospital.
While in the car, she opened the app store, searched for Dao-le-me, and tapped download.
Bai Xianxian glanced at the download count—just over twenty thousand. Considering both Taoist priests and ordinary people, that was a fairly low number. It seemed the Taoist Association's promotional efforts weren't quite up to par.
Once the download was complete, Bai Xianxian couldn't wait to open the app.
Just like any other app, Dao-le-me had a series of permissions. Bai Xianxian agreed to them all. When she entered the interface, a black-and-white bagua symbol identical to the logo popped up, with a line of text beneath it: "The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao."
That was the first line of the Tao Te Ching.
Swiping further, she came to the introduction page for Dao-le-me.
It stated that the Dao-le-me app was jointly developed by the Taoist Association and Folk Dharma Sects, an official Taoist Sect program dedicated to promoting Taoist arts for the benefit of the people. It was trustworthy and reliable, and everyone was encouraged to use it with confidence.
In modern society, few people followed Taoism to begin with. The state-certified official Taoist sects were fine—even without business, they could take the tourism route and build their reputations. For example, Taixuan Temple and Zhenwu Temple, due to their long histories, had both been listed as protected ancient buildings.
But the Folk Dharma Sects had it rough. These hereditary Taoist lineages were inherently secretive—not only did ordinary people not know about them, many hereditary lineages hadn't even been heard of by others within the Taoist Sect.
This created a problem: for Folk Dharma Sects to conduct business was truly difficult beyond measure. The further they passed down their traditions, the harder it became, and they might just fade away entirely.
Without fame, there was no trust. After all, when ordinary people encountered problems, their first instinct was to seek out famous temples and monasteries. Even Shouyi Temple, despite being officially certified, had almost no visitors during festivals due to its lack of renown, and its incense offerings were pitifully sparse.
And whenever trouble arose, everyone flocked to Taixuan Temple all at once. But the Taoist priests at Taixuan Temple were limited in number, and sometimes multiple cases coincided, leaving them unable to handle all the rituals.
It truly was a case of the drought-stricken dying of thirst while the flooded drowned.
So under these circumstances, the Taoist Association made adjustments. Together with the Folk Dharma Sects, they jointly developed an officially certified Taoist Sect app, where all certified Taoist priests could have their names listed.
After successful certification, each person would have their own homepage. The homepage naturally contained a self-introduction: which sect they belonged to, when they converted, when they underwent Chuandu initiation, whether they had received Lu-registration, where they resided, what rituals they had participated in, what they specialized in, and how much they charged. In short, it was equivalent to a Taoist priest's resume, allowing ordinary people to make the most precise choice when placing an order.
Dao-le-me didn't assign orders through a system—customers placed orders directly—so there were categories and leaderboards. For instance, the homepage directly divided between Zhengyi and Quanzhen, official Taoist sects and Folk Dharma Sects, with a location marker in the upper left corner.
For urgent matters, one could find nearby Taoist priests in the same city. For less urgent matters, one could choose powerful high-ranking Taoists from other places, though travel expenses would need to be covered.
The most prominent feature on the homepage was the Taoist priest leaderboard.
Taoist arts, age, and rank of Lu-registration were all key factors in ranking. The higher the rank, the more powerful the priest, but correspondingly, the prices would be much higher.
Bai Xianxian tapped into the leaderboard and saw that the number one spot was held by a Taoist priest from the Celestial Master's orthodox lineage at Longhu Mountain's Celestial Master Mansion. Behind them were Taoist priests from Wudang Mountain, Taixuan Temple, and Sanqing Palace—all famous major Taoist temples within the country.
However, not all Taoist priests registered on the app. Senior masters with deep cultivation wouldn't participate in such things. Even among the top five on the leaderboard, when Bai Xianxian tapped into their homepages, their order counts were all zero.
After all, this was a platform meant for ordinary Taoist priests and Folk Dharma Sects, and the Taoist Association had thoughtfully taken that into consideration.
Ranked sixth was a Taoist master named Li Xuancheng from Tai Xuan Temple. Bai Xianxian had heard of him before—her father had mentioned him once. Apparently, he was a deacon at Tai Xuan Temple, and whenever major rituals were held there, he served as the lead officiant. His completed order count had already exceeded three hundred.
Good grief, had he taken every single supernatural case in Yunchang City?
Bai Xianxian tapped into the leaderboard and checked the ranking rules. It said that completing just one order would get you onto the leaderboard, and then your rank would gradually rise based on the number of completed orders and your Taoist arts.
The last person on the leaderboard was already ranked over thirteen hundred, and that was only counting Taoist priests who had completed at least one order.
Next to the Taoist leaderboard, there was also a bounty board.
The cases listed there were all certified by the Taoist Association as extremely difficult and troublesome to resolve. Each case had a "claim task" button beneath it, somewhat reminiscent of the old tradition of tearing down a notice to accept a challenge. Whoever solved a bounty board case would not only be announced on the homepage, but their leaderboard ranking would also jump up significantly.
Naturally, the rewards were greater too.
However, there was no limit on how many people could claim a bounty board case—if you thought you were up for it, you went for it. If you solved it alone, the merit was all yours; if several people worked together to solve it, the reward was split evenly. It was very transparent and fair.
So those with real skill kept their eyes on the bounty board, and the moment a task was posted, they'd claim it immediately.
When Bai Xianxian tapped in, there was only one task posted.
She clicked in and read the case description. It was something that had happened in the capital—apparently, a statue of a deity in some Taoist temple there had shattered three times. The Taoist priests who went in either went mad or fell into comas. The priests at Baiyun Temple had already set up rituals to seal off the area to prevent anyone from wandering in, but they still hadn't figured out the specifics.
The capital was far away, so Bai Xianxian glanced at it briefly and backed out.
She thought for a moment, then tried searching for Bai Xiangwang's name in the search bar. Sure enough, there he was. His profile picture was a photo of her father grinning foolishly in front of a Ritual Altar, dressed in his Taoist robe and holding a wooden sword. His personal information was all laid out clearly on his page, and he'd even uploaded his Taoist priest certificate and Talisman Certification Plate.
Bai Dad wasn't expensive—his fee was set at 500. When Bai Xianxian looked at his completed order count, it was 0.
He was the kind of Taoist priest who couldn't even make it onto the leaderboard.
The competition was really fierce…
As for the two Taoist priests she'd met at the streamer's house today, Bai Xianxian found them in the latter half of the leaderboard. Their completed order counts were in the single digits, and their fees were listed at 1000. Bai Xianxian thought about the five thousand she'd received and realized it was actually quite a lot.
Fees weren't really fixed anyway—the amount shown on the app was just a reference price. The actual amount depended on the specific situation, which was pretty friendly for both parties.
By the time she reached the hospital, Bai Xianxian had thoroughly studied the app.
She even felt that this app was practically tailor-made for her at this moment!
The Taoist Sect really lived up to its name—it had solved her biggest problem right now. With Dao-le-me, why would she worry about not getting orders? Why would she worry about no one knowing who she was? Why would she worry about how to spread the Bai family's reputation?
Register! She'd register right now!
Bai Xianxian hurried to the office with her backpack, and when she pushed the door open, breathless, she even startled Chen Lin.
He glanced at her twice—sweating profusely, breathing unevenly—then silently looked away.
Bai Xianxian sat down at her workstation, a hint of excitement showing on her face. She clicked register and began uploading her information step by step.
Taoist priest certificate? Didn't have one—skip.
Chuandu initiation? Didn't have one—skip.
Talisman Certification Plate? Didn't have one—skip.
A triple-nothing Taoist priest—that was her.
Bai Xianxian sadly realized that the only thing she could upload was her profile picture.
She opened her phone's front camera, put on what she thought was a proper smile, and took a selfie. But the system said the photo didn't meet the requirements and the upload failed. She tapped in to check—apparently, the profile picture needed to be a half-body ID-style photo.
She looked around awkwardly, then spotted Chen Lin buried behind his computer. She called out to him: "Chen Lin, can you take a photo for me?"
Chen Lin slowly poked half his face out from behind the computer screen and said hesitantly, "I don't know how to take photos…"
Bai Xianxian walked over and handed him her phone: "Oh, it's simple! I'll just stand here, and you take a photo of my upper body."
Behind her was a plain white wall. No matter how she stood, she felt something was off. She asked him, "What pose do you think would look cool? Like the kind that makes me look super impressive at first glance?"
Chen Lin: "…"
Bai Xianxian wasn't really asking him anyway. She struck a few poses, full of enthusiasm: "Which one do you think is the best?"
Chen Lin: "…All of them are good."
Fine, then.
She thought about it for a moment. The CEOs in those elevator ads always looked pretty impressive, and esports teams loved this pose too—that meant it was the go-to pose for powerful big shots!
So Bai Xianxian crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her body slightly to the side, and raised her left thumb, looking dead serious as she said to Chen Lin, "Go ahead, take the photos."
Chen Lin silently took out his phone and snapped away.
Bai Xianxian directed him, "Step back a bit, and make sure the bottom of the frame lines up with my waist. Shoot from above, not from below—don't capture my double chin."
Chen Lin's eyes were wider than usual, his gaze intense. If you looked closely, the fingers holding the phone were so tense that the knuckles had turned white.
Bai Xianxian gave a thumbs-up to the left, then a thumbs-up to the right, and finally asked him, "How many did you take?"
Chen Lin said in a low voice, "A lot…"
Bai Xianxian excitedly reached out her hand, "Enough, enough, enough—let me see, I'll pick the best one!"
Chen Lin hesitated for a moment before handing the phone back to her.
Bai Xianxian took it with a beaming smile, but as she looked at it, the excitement on her face gradually froze into a stiff expression.
Chen Lin noticed her smile vanish, and his whole body tensed up. His slender fingers unconsciously began to pick at themselves. After a long moment, he heard Bai Xianxian wail, "How did you make me look like a mugshot! All that's missing is a nameplate!"