Chapter 160 – Everyone’s Dao (End)

“Is the one you seek inside that pavilion?”

The grass was slick with rain, dripping from each blade and pressed beneath his shoes. The Daoist, following behind the qilin beast, stepped out from the forest and cast a glance at the distant pavilion.

“Judging from the display, it seems to be a house of high rank.”

Walking ahead with the reins in hand, Lu Liangsheng tilted his bamboo hat slightly to the side, and gave a faint “Mm” in reply.

“The Yang clan of Chang’an. Their patriarch holds the post of Prime Minister in court, his power blotting out the sky with one hand.”

The Daoist swallowed his words, shook his head, and turned to leave, stepping away through the veil of rain.

“A household like that, coming all this way to seek you out—they must have a great request. Go and talk with them. I’ll forage for some game nearby to replenish myself. This past month or two has been nothing but traveling—our bodies have grown thin; we must make up for it.”

Lu Liangsheng smiled faintly, but did not reply. With the tacit understanding born of years of companionship, neither would quibble over a few words. He simply led the qilin beast straight toward the pavilion.

The awe-inspiring creature followed docilely at the scholar’s side, its amber tiger-like eyes occasionally flicking toward the pavilion, sending shivers through the heart. The figure of Lu Liangsheng, clad in a straw raincoat and a bamboo hat, walking within the leaden curtain of rain, was like a mysterious ink painting come alive.

Gulp…

Inside the pavilion, the gathered guards swallowed nervously, their eyes fixed upon the approaching man and beast. Their hands, slick with sweat, tightened on their sword hilts. When Yang Su waved for them to stand down and withdraw, a collective sigh of relief seemed to escape.

“This man is Lu Liangsheng?”

Yang Jian’s first shock at beholding the qilin gradually calmed. As one who stood at the pinnacle of power in the court, he had his own boldness and presence. With a wave, he dismissed the guards to the outer pavilion.

“A true immortal among men—he must be greeted in person!”

Flinging wide his sleeves, he stepped forth ahead of the others, clasped his hands, and bowed toward the man and beast walking out from the rain.

“Yang Jian of Chang’an pays respects to Mister Lu!”

At his side, Yang Su’s eyes were filled with dread as he looked upon the qilin towering over human height, and upon Lu Liangsheng, unseen for half a month.

…Damn it. How long has it been? And already he’s entered the Golden Core stage.

The thought flashed across his mind. When his clansman bowed, he too clasped his hands to salute. “Su greets Daoist Friend Lu.”

Lu Liangsheng released the reins, returned their bows, and then extended his hand toward the pavilion.

“You two have come from afar. Let us enter the pavilion together, sit, and speak.”

As for the temperament of this Mister Lu before him, Yang Jian had already learned a little along the road from his younger cousin’s mouth. Seeing him now, it was indeed as described. Inwardly, he thanked the Emperor of Southern Chen down to the ancestors of eight generations past.

Haha… A man with such a divine beast at his side, profound in the Dao, and yet well-versed in the classics—if Heaven does not intend him to be used, then surely it has preserved him for me, Yang Jian, to fulfill the destiny of an emperor!

So thinking, his hand did not linger. He made a gesture of invitation.

Lu Liangsheng nodded, turned slightly, and patted the qilin beast by its muzzle.

“Go amuse yourself nearby.”

Hoo~~

The qilin snorted out a blast of breath, lowered its dragon-like head with a knowing nod. This sight once more left the brothers Yang Jian and Yang Su filled with awe—for who had ever truly seen the legendary auspicious beast? Outside the pavilion, several guards who stood close by were splattered in the face with rain shaken from its leonine mane, yet not one dared so much as twitch.

…But, could rain cast off by such a divine beast carry with it blessings? The guards’ eyes flickered, and they subtly leaned their bodies forward a little, as if hoping to receive more.

The qilin paced off into the curtain of rain, circling idly. Within the pavilion, the three men sat down. Yang Su, reluctant, finally withdrew his gaze from the beast outside, and turned to Lu Liangsheng, who was just removing his bamboo hat. Bowing with clasped hands, he was the first to speak:

“Daoist Friend Lu, do you still recall the matter you and I spoke of half a month ago?”

“Of course I remember.”

Lu Liangsheng’s tone was calm, his gaze falling upon Yang Jian’s face across from him. “And what is it the Prime Minister wishes to ask?”

Since all present were trusted men, Yang Jian naturally would not beat around the bush. Yet he still had to choose his words carefully, lest he appear too abrupt before such a master.

His fingertip tapped lightly as he pondered for a moment. Then he raised his eyes.

“Mister Lu may not know. I hold the office of Left Prime Minister of Northern Zhou. Outwardly, it seems to command vast authority, yet I tread as though upon thin ice. The late Emperor Yuwen Yun was not only suspicious but also often neglected state affairs, ruling with harsh punishments that drove the people’s hearts to despair and estrangement. Now the young emperor sits on the throne, but the realm of Northern Zhou totters on the brink—warlords and vassal kings everywhere stir with restless ambition. I wish to ask Mister Lu: can this realm ever again know peace?”

Lu Liangsheng narrowed his eyes, staring fixedly at Yang Jian’s face without a flicker.

At his side, Yang Su added, “Daoist Friend Lu, my elder cousin governs with leniency, simplifying harsh decrees, and practices frugality himself.”

“I can see that.”

The art of observing qi and appearance cannot reveal the past or future, but in a man’s features, one may glimpse the shape of fortune to come. Lu Liangsheng pressed both hands upon his knees, his voice rising and falling without the slightest shift.

“…When a ruler is without benevolence, there will always be one to replace him, to restore benevolent governance to the people. The Dao of Heaven turns in ceaseless cycle, never once erring. Though I have not seen this Emperor of Northern Zhou, yet along the road I have observed the common people living in peace and plenty—this is proof enough of the Prime Minister’s capability.”

Praise is sweet to any ear, but it was not the phrase Yang Jian most longed to hear. His lips pressed tight, and he leaned forward slightly, speaking each word with weight.

“Mister Lu, then may I take a step further?”

The rain fell in torrents between Heaven and Earth, the pavilion eaves weaving a curtain of water. Within, silence lingered for a time.

Lu Liangsheng neither nodded nor shook his head. He spoke plainly, without concealment.

“Prime Minister, you carry the bearing of an emperor.”

Yang Su instantly clenched his fists, his body trembling with excitement. Though his expression remained outwardly calm, the corners of his lips could not help but curve into a smile as he looked upon his kinsman. At that moment, Lu Liangsheng rose and walked to the pavilion’s edge, gazing into the leaden rain curtain. Yet within, his heart stirred, recalling that youth he had once encountered outside the outskirts of Chang’an—upon that youth also faintly rested the aura of imperial dragon-qi.

Could it be that in days to come, that youth too could become emperor? If I were to tell this Prime Minister, it might bring calamity upon the youth, even implicating his entire clan in death. Yet if I remain silent, perhaps in the future chaos will arise, and countless lives will be lost.

But then he thought again—this too was the working of Heaven’s Dao. If he were to reveal the youth’s fate, would that not count as divulging the secrets of Heaven? Would he then incur Heavenly punishment?

After all, Heavenly punishment was not the same as a tribulation.

It could very well harm his own fortune, making the path of cultivation perilous and uncertain.

Enough. This is the matter of their imperial house. What business has an outsider like me to think so far?

Turning back, Lu Liangsheng clasped his hands toward Yang Jian and Yang Su. “Since the matter of our agreement is fulfilled, I shall take my leave.”

“Daoist Friend Lu, wait!”

Yang Su quickly rose and spoke, his eyes ceaselessly signaling toward his elder cousin.

The latter nodded in understanding and stood as well.

“Mister Lu, pray wait a moment—Jian has words yet unsaid.”

At the pavilion’s edge, Lu Liangsheng halted his steps. The falling rain slid over the crown of his head, dripping down to the ground by his feet. Looking at Yang Jian, he shook his head.

“I know what the Prime Minister wishes to speak, but such intentions, I dare not accept.”

With a flick of his hand, the bamboo hat within the pavilion flew into his grasp. He set it upon his head, and after taking two steps into the rain, Yang Jian rushed out after him.

“Mister Lu! You are versed in the classics, with a heart to care for the lives of the people—will you cast it all aside so easily?”

Ahead, the figure within the rain quivered ever so slightly.

Yang Jian drew a deep breath, wiped the water from his face, and his voice rang clear as he pressed on:

“In Chang’an, I once missed the chance to meet Mister Lu, and thought it a lifelong regret. Now that I have seen you, how could I, Yang Jian, let you slip away so easily, like that muddle-headed Southern Chen emperor?”

His voice paused for a moment, then continued: “Mister Lu, if you must go, I cannot stop you. But then the people of the realm will have lost a worthy sage. Since you have said that I may achieve the destiny of an emperor, I ask that you give the matter some thought.”

As he spoke, Yang Jian raised his hands and bowed deeply, kneeling in the rain.

“Jian will never let Mister Lu down!”

Within the downpour, the gathered guards gazed at the motionless figure beyond the curtain of rain, yet they did not know that Lu Liangsheng’s own heart was in great turmoil. After a long while, he exhaled, tilting his bamboo hat, turning his face slightly, and looked back at the Prime Minister bowing in the rain.

He went forward and helped him up.

“I naturally trust the Prime Minister. Yet that path may not be easy to walk. I still have urgent matters that call me back to Southern Chen—it is no easy thing for me to linger further. I must now take my leave.”

He clasped his hands and bowed once more. From the rain ahead, the qilin beast, as though sensing its master’s departure, came trotting over on light hooves, following at his side as they took the road southward toward the great river.

“Sigh…”

Yang Jian watched the man and beast recede into the rain, slowly closed his eyes, and let out a long breath.

“Truly an immortal among men—far removed from the dust of the mortal world.”

“Elder brother, that may not be so.”

Yang Su stepped forward. He had overheard the exchange between Lu Liangsheng and his cousin, and especially that final remark. From it, he could more or less guess the truth. In recent times, he too had inquired into matters of Southern Chen, and now those suspicions seemed confirmed.

“In my view, Lu Liangsheng wavered somewhat in his heart, yet still chose to leave. Likely, it concerns his teacher.”

“Oh?”

Yang Jian turned his head: “Could it be that famed scholar of Southern Chen, Lord Shuhua?”

“Yes. I have heard that he was killed by that muddle-headed emperor.”

“Hahahaha—!”

At the side, Yang Jian laughed loudly, shaking free the wet sleeves of his robe. He turned, mounted his warhorse with a tug on the reins, and laughed again: “Such a grand gift—how could I not repay it in kind? Pass down the order: send the Emperor of Southern Chen some grain and gold. Once we return to Chang’an to accomplish great deeds, then…”

He narrowed his eyes, gazing into the leaden heavens. “Then, we march upon Chen!”

With a snap of the whip, Yang Jian wheeled his horse about, bellowed, “Hyah!” and spurred the steed into a wild gallop through the rain. Yang Su and the guards hastened to follow, and before long, they all vanished into the curtain of water.

Between Heaven and Earth, the air was thick with mist. Along a narrow, muddy country road, the qilin beast pressed one deep, one shallow hoofprint into the mire. The Toad Daoist lay sprawled across his disciple’s shoulder, hiding beneath the bamboo hat, feeling the damp chill of the world.

By now, he was fully awake. He had heard clearly the words exchanged in the pavilion.

“Why did you not agree to that man? Was it all for your teacher’s sake?”

“Not entirely.”

Lu Liangsheng’s gaze swept across the mist-veiled mountains in the distance, the fields and villages blurred by the rain. Here and there, farmers in straw hats and rain capes dug at the ridges of their paddies, striving to drain the water.

He watched for a while, then spoke softly:

“Master, the letter from my teacher allowed me to grasp a certain truth. In this world, every man has his own road to walk. Just like Yang Jian just now—he has the visage of an emperor. Though the way may be fraught with hardship, in the end he will roar like a dragon that shakes the heavens.”

“And take, for instance, Li Suian, whom I chanced upon. I taught him the art of sword control. Perhaps he will no longer remain a mere inn-hand in a country tavern. Perhaps he will carve out a broader path of his own…”

The rain, falling in lines that bound Heaven and Earth, drifted past the clouds. In a small village by the official road at the border of Huaiyi Prefecture, a youth sat upon the threshold, wooden sword in his arms, gazing up at the boundless clear sky.

Before long, a bundle landed at his feet. Startled, he turned his head, only to see his aunt standing there with hands on hips, pointing outside.

“This afternoon a merchant caravan is bound for Southern Chen. Off with you! Day in and day out, it’s either sword practice or staring into space—you’ve driven all the customers away.”

“Auntie…” The youth rose, clutching his wooden sword.

“Go on, off with you! Inside there’s some broken silver, and a few days’ rations!”

The woman impatiently waved him away, driving him out the door. Then she turned toward the kitchen, quietly wiping away the trace of a tear at the corner of her eye.

Within the leaden curtain of rain, Lu Liangsheng loosened the reins, letting the qilin beast follow on its own along the roadside.

“…Perhaps my comprehension is still shallow, but on the path of the Dao, there are thousands upon thousands of ways. Once one chooses a path, it must be walked to the end. Yet, Master, you once said that a stonemason, lost in the joy of carving, may one day awaken to the Dao; that a scholar, with a single heart wholly devoted to the teachings of the sages, may cultivate vast righteous qi. For them, there is but a single road, one they need not choose.”

“But I am both a scholar and skilled in painting, and today I have also formed the Golden Core. Then—upon which road should I set my feet?”

As his voice fell, on a blade of grass ringed with rainwater, a small insect clung there. Lu Liangsheng lifted it with a fingertip, setting it upon a stone, watching as it scurried quickly into a crack.

“My teacher found his own Dao… Yet I am still searching for mine. To refuse Yang Jian, that too was part of the reason. For a thousand years, the myriad beings upon this land of Huaxia have each walked their own road. Now I have to gather my teacher’s bones, I too must turn inward, and seek my own understanding.”

He rose, looking up. The rain was slackening, and between the drifting banks of cloud, a single ray of sunlight broke through.

Upon this vast land, life teemed and multiplied. In the cities, the rain had passed and the common folk stepped out of their homes into the streets. Women opened their windows and hung damp bedding to dry. Farmers took off their straw hats, sitting upon the ridges of their fields, smiling as the pooled water drained away.

In the resonant peal of an ancient bronze bell, a stonemason carved at his work, the features of a Buddha statue gradually revealed in his hands. Smiling, he received a cup of cool water from a monk of the Myriad Buddhas Temple, and drank heartily.

In that same temple, Yuwen Tuo, unwilling to shave his head, overturned a table and shouted loudly: “This temple cannot contain me!”

The burly monk, helpless, could only take him and another child with him, leading them southward.

Along a winding road, an old monk with a meditation staff walked past acre after acre of fields, entering a mountain village, chanting a Buddha’s name, accepting offerings of a humble meal. Sitting beneath the eaves of a thatched hut, he ate slowly, unhurried, caring nothing for how long the road ahead might be.

The vast city—Chang’an was still as bustling as ever. In one courtyard, Li Yuan polished the treasured sword in his hand again and again, occasionally brandishing it in the yard, dazzling swordlight flashing.

In Shunyuan County, four scholars, after deep deliberation, bid farewell to Wang Chongwen, resolving to return to Southern Chen.

…First to enter that benighted court as lowly officials and accumulate rank. When Chen falls, by surrender, they will rise to prominence.

Under the sunlight, the four shouldered their bookcases, hearts full of ambition, and set out.

South.

In a courtyard that had once seen a battle of spells, Yan Zhi clapped her hands in praise as her two-and-a-half-year-old son wrote fine characters. Her gaze shifted to the eaves, where Zhang Liancheng, emaciated like a stick of firewood, sat upon a rattan chair, forcing a gratified smile.

At the Zhou Residence, an old man held a book in one hand and a chess piece in the other, placing it upon the board. On the central wall of his study hung a framed piece of elegant calligraphy.

The fragrance of books, the scent of ink—it carried the grace of a gentleman.

At dusk, in Wang Family Village, the village chief carried a jug of yellow wine and a plate of steamed fish to the riverbank ferry crossing, where he sat cross-legged. Upon the river surface, he gazed: a boatman in a rain cloak and bamboo hat poled his craft steadily across the waters.

Beyond the capital, Tianzhi.

A figure, under the gazes of the surrounding believers, swept its robe and shattered a massive boulder, flames erupting across its whole body.

“All the spiritual objects are gone—what use are you any longer—”

The sky darkened; the last trace of the setting sun faded away.

Within Tianzhi’s imperial city, lamps flickered. In the silence of the sleeping palace, a shrill scream rang out.

The emperor sat bolt upright from his couch, his face drenched in cold sweat. Beside him, Zhang Lihua awoke in alarm, taking up a silk handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

“Has Your Majesty had another nightmare?”

Chen Shubao gazed toward the lamplight beyond the thin gauze canopy, panting for a moment before swallowing hard.

“…I dreamed again of Duke Shu Hua coming to find me…”

His words faltered. Drawing a deep breath, he went on:

“And also… also of Lu Liangsheng… he has returned.”