Chapter 117

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In the distance, chaos surged down the long street. Amidst cries of panic and alarm, even the birds flying beneath the sunlight were startled into changing course, letting out a sharp cry as they veered away, gliding past the dense, leafy phoenix trees below.

Sha sha sha—the branches and leaves of the phoenix tree rustled softly in the wind.

The Toad Daoist, dressed in a long robe, lay sprawled on a small recliner, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. At the sound of the bird’s cry, he lazily turned over, one short leg occasionally twitching in idle spasm.

He smacked his lips. Then, one bulging toad eye suddenly shot open. For a moment, he froze, as though sensing something. The very next instant—whoosh—he sat upright, his gaze fixing sharply in a particular direction.

He leapt off the recliner, folded it up in a flash, and burst into loud laughter. “Good, good! Just as this master had hoped!”

Excitedly tucking the folded chair under his arm, he dashed over to the bookshelf, stuffed it into a small cubby, then turned to glance at the wall.

“You little ghost girl, pack your things—we’re leaving!”

The painting on the wall stirred even though there was no wind.

Nie Honglian peeked her head out, blinking curiously at the toad who now had a rolled-up map strapped to his back. She tilted her head.

“Toad Master, what’s going on?”

“When your master says go, you go. Hurry and pack!”

Without another word, the Toad Daoist tightened the slanted rope across his body, climbed up onto the desk, and leapt to the window sill, letting out a sharp whistle.

From behind the side courtyard came a donkey’s bray in answer. Moments later, the old donkey, tail swishing and munching on hay, trotted over happily. It raised its long snout and snorted several gusts of hot air toward the toad perched on the window.

Hng haa, hng haa…

Even within the Min Residence, traces of chaos had begun to appear. Just outside the crescent-moon gate, a frightened servant came running past. Upon hearing the donkey’s bray, he slowed his steps, and in the corner of his eye, saw two bookshelves drifting out of the room, floating through the air and settling neatly atop the donkey’s back.

The servant halted at once, rubbing his eyes hard. But there they were—the bookshelves already secured on the donkey’s back.

“A g-ghost? There’s a haunting?!”

And in the very next second, a black shadow leapt from the window sill, landing squarely on the donkey’s head. Clutching the donkey’s ear, the toad stuck out his long tongue, letting loose a string of loud laughter, urging the old donkey into a gallop as they burst through the crescent-moon gate.

“Sweet heavens! That toad’s become a spirit!”

Upon seeing clearly the black figure, the servant let out a wail, collapsing onto the ground. In his wide eyes, that old donkey was already snorting and galloping toward the front courtyard with bookshelves strapped to its back. As it passed through the long corridor, a maid coming from the other side lost hold of her tray—soup flew, splashing a nearby guard’s face, and amid startled cries, chickens and dogs scattered in all directions, chaos trailing all the way to the main gate.

Tat tat tat!

The donkey’s hooves thundered. It crashed through the gatekeeper’s futile attempts to block it and charged excitedly down the wide street in front of the residence, mouth stretched into a grin, tongue flapping out wildly with each bound.

The Toad Daoist clutched its ear tightly, his round toad eyes glaring at the beast. With a slap of his webbed foot, he stomped down hard.

“Stop mimicking your master!”

Ah-hng~

The donkey shuddered, and the toad’s eyelids twitched along with it. A bad premonition flickered across his face.

“Not again…”

Before the word again had fully left his lips, his foot slipped off the donkey’s head. With the rope yanked taut, he swung down, dangling from the beast’s neck.

“Curse your damned ancestors…”

The toad’s webbed arms folded across his chest, wearing a look of resigned doom—I knew this would happen—as his head repeatedly knocked against the donkey’s bobbing neck.

Far off at a roadside inn, two massive footprints were still etched into the stone-paved street.

On the roof of a tall wine house, a scholar clad in long robes sat holding a wine jar. Lu Liangsheng poured the wine into his mouth, gulp by unsteady gulp, his drunken gaze fixed on the distant Jianchun Gate, whose walls now stood partially collapsed. His sleeves flapped wildly in the wind, and the breeze brushing his face brought a touch of clarity to his dulled senses.

“Liangsheng!”

He heard someone calling his name. Lu Liangsheng turned slightly. Below the eaves, Min Changwen had half his body leaning out, looking up at him.

“Minister Min, come, drink with Liangsheng.”

With a step, Lu Liangsheng leapt down. As he dropped, he slapped the edge of the roof with a loud pa, spinning midair before landing on the second floor. The innkeeper and his workers, who had been clearing tables and chairs, cried out and clung to each other in fright, shrinking into a corner.

The scholar strode in, a tipsy smile on his face, and handed over the wine jar.

“Drink enough, and none of life’s troubles matter anymore.”

Min Changwen’s once-shaken heart slowly calmed. He looked at the young man before him, mired in dejection and drink, words rising to his lips but never spoken. In the end, he did not reach out for the wine jar.

“At this moment, you’ve stirred up quite the disaster. I fear your future in court…”

“Heh… hahaha…”

Lu Liangsheng let out a low laugh at those words. He pulled the wine jar back, tilted his head, and took another long swig. As the burning liquid slid down his throat, he staggered slightly, brushing past the High Minister.

“Does Minister truly believe the imperial court has room for a trickster like me?”

In the distance, beyond the fractured street, an old donkey came trotting their way. Hanging from its neck was a black shadow, energetically waving his webbed arm in greeting.

Lu Liangsheng drew his gaze back, turned unsteadily, and looked once more at Min Changwen.

“…I don’t think so.”

His words paused there. Then, clutching the wine jar, he cupped his hands in farewell.

“Honorable Minister—should you one day find yourself faced with a force beyond resistance, come seek me on Mount Qixia. Farewell.”

“Liangsheng!”

Min Changwen gave chase, but by the time he reached the balcony rail, the scholar had already leapt off. He looked over just in time to see the young man lying sprawled on the donkey’s back, one leg lazily hanging off as they galloped toward the city’s edge. In the blink of an eye, they were gone from sight.

“In youthful pride I knew no sorrow,

By cold-windowed toil, I grieved for the throne.

In Heliang, the people suffer unheeded,

While the foolish emperor at court toasts wine in mirth.

This day, my ties with the mundane are severed—

With wine in hand and sword at side, I seek the immortal path.”

The words of his departing verse drifted from afar. Min Changwen struck the railing hard with his palm, then slowly lowered his head with a deep sigh.

“Your Majesty… just what taboo has Lu Liangsheng broken!?”

Through winding alleys, across towering city walls, they rode on into the verdant fields stirred by a spring breeze. Only when they reached the banks of a quiet stream did they finally come to a stop.

Lu Liangsheng staggered down from the donkey’s back. Step by step, he swayed over to the water’s edge and splashed cold water onto his face.

“Master, what should I do now?”

In that moment, his voice held a rare and quiet bewilderment.

“Let me down first, won’t you…”

Still hanging from the donkey’s neck, the Toad Daoist struggled mightily with the rope, finally dropping to the ground with a loud thud. He dusted off his long coat, clasped his webbed hands behind his back, and slap-slap waddled over beside his disciple.

“I don’t know exactly what happened to you. But the road never truly ends. That’s how I’ve gotten this far. There was a time I was just as downcast as you—maybe even worse. But in the end, whether one lives as a man or a demon, the only path forward is to let go. Only when you let go can you keep going. Look at your master—don’t I seem alive and well?”

As he spoke, he patted the scroll strapped to his back. “This is the second road.”

Lu Liangsheng looked at the water shimmering with sunset’s glow, the ripples glinting like golden thread. Though there was a sorrow he could not speak, he still smiled, just a little.

“Thank you, Master, for your comfort. Looking at these waves, rising and falling, I suddenly feel… I’m not so different from them… tumbling up and down, one moment high, the next low…”

“But they never fall.” The Toad Daoist said, patting his disciple on the knee, his eyes following the water’s flow.

“Mhm. They never fall.”

At that, Lu Liangsheng picked up a stone and tossed it into the river. A single ripple spread across the surface.

“Master, let’s go. Let’s leave this place.”

The Toad Daoist exhaled deeply in relief.

…Finally talked you around. If you’d stayed mired in despair and refused to take me to Northern Zhou, I’d have had to walk there on these two legs!

Rumble… rumble…

The clamor of hooves echoed through the streets. After the chaos in the palace and city, the army had mobilized. News spread from the inner court—some demon had conjured spells, and the culprit was said to be a scholar named Lu Liangsheng. His likeness had already been sketched.

Infantry were conducting house-to-house searches in the city, while over a thousand cavalrymen fanned out across the plains, each squad chasing after anyone resembling the portrait.

“Quick! After him—!”

“Hyah!”

One unit of over a hundred riders broke off from the main road south of Tianzhi and took a shortcut through the forests and hills.

With spring just beginning, the countryside was blanketed in lush green.

At the front of the galloping troop rode a junior officer. He cracked his whip, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a donkey ambling slowly along the muddy path ahead. Draped lazily over its neck was a reclining figure.

Drawing nearer, the man’s robe became clear—it was that of a scholar.

“You there! Scholar—halt!”

He shouted fiercely and snapped his whip again, spurring his horse faster. But though he closed to within seven or eight zhang, no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn’t close the final distance. A cold shiver ran down the junior officer’s spine.

“He really is a sorcerer! I was right behind him—and in the blink of an eye, he’s ahead again!

He raised his hand.

Behind him, the cavalry readied their bows, the taut creak of drawn strings rising. Arrows were trained on the old donkey and the figure lying atop it.

On the donkey’s back, Lu Liangsheng raised his arm. A stream of wine arced from the mouth of the jar, flying into his mouth. With his other hand, he suddenly flung out a sheet of paper, upon which was drawn the sinuous shape of a serpent.

With a faint whoosh, the paper fluttered back into the golden light of dusk—and in the eyes of the pursuing cavalry, it abruptly transformed into a massive, writhing form.

Green scales. Curved fangs. Cold vertical pupils glinting with menace. Its forked tongue flickered as it coiled across the road, countless shimmering scales undulating like water as its body shifted.

“W-whoa—!”

“Watch out!”

Cries of alarm erupted among the riders. The lead troops yanked hard on their reins, panic rising as the great serpent reared its long body high into the air. Someone shouted: “It’s an illusion! Don’t be afraid—it’s just a trick!”

The next second—

The serpent thick enough to require several people to encircle its girth lunged like a bolt of lightning. Its jaws parted wide—almost grotesquely so—and in a single gulp, it swallowed the shouting officer and two nearby cavalrymen, horses and all.

Neighhh—!

The junior officer stared in utter shock as a horse’s flailing leg vanished into the serpent’s gullet. Snapping back to his senses, he dropped his bow, grabbed the reins, spun his mount around, and galloped back the way they’d come, shouting at the top of his lungs:

“Retreat!”

The rest of the cavalry were white-faced with terror. One after another, they yanked their reins to wheel around, heels digging into their horses’ flanks as they raced away in panic.

Huff, huff, huff.

After galloping for nearly two li, the junior officer glanced back and saw that the giant serpent was not in pursuit. Only then did he signal his troops to halt. They stopped to catch their breath, gasping for air. After regaining a bit of calm, he sent one rider back to report and gathered the others to return and investigate.

“Whoa.”

They retraced their path along the muddy road—but not a trace of the serpent remained. Even the scholar who had once lain atop the donkey was gone.

“Look over there! Why are there suddenly more trees?!”

A scout pointed toward the mountainside in surprise. As trained cavalry scouts, they were attuned to terrain changes. On the way in, there had only been a sparse scattering of trees by the road—but now, a few more had mysteriously appeared.

The junior officer dismounted, drew his blade, and approached. As he got closer, he seemed to hear faint groaning sounds from within.

“Cut those trees open!”

The riders jumped down, unsheathed their sabers, and hacked away. But there was no sign of wood splinters flying—because the trees were hollow. Inside, they found one of their own men, trapped but alive. Inside the other trees, it was the same—the very soldiers the serpent had “swallowed” earlier.

“Not dead, they’re alive!”

The junior officer exhaled in relief. Just as he was about to remount and resume the chase, a faint sound caught his ear. He turned his head toward the far side of the lake, across the muddy road. Somewhere in the distance, the soft chime of copper bells could be heard.

The sun dipped westward, glowing red. Across the lake, the scholar lay reclined on the old donkey’s back, wine jar resting at his side, one foot dangling lazily as it swayed with each step. He hummed a tune, newly made up, the melody blurred and meandering.

“I stumble and sway like the rolling waves,

With countless sorrows—smiled away…

Now down, now up, I waver and weave,

Yet never once do I fall…”

Wine dribbled down from the corners of his mouth, splashing across his shoulders.

“…Within this wine, I alone see the world…”

The junior officer watched that lone figure and donkey grow smaller against the glowing sky. For a moment, he forgot about the pursuit. Only when the groans of his half-conscious comrades reached his ears did he snap out of it. Clutching his blade, he rushed to the lakeshore and shouted:

“We thank you, Sir, for sparing our lives!”

Ding ding dang dang…

The setting sun flamed red, and the sound of the copper bells slowly faded into the dusk.
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