Chapter 119
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Bordering the lands of the Northern Zhou, the mountains gradually grew rugged. After two days of ceaseless spring rain, a green veil now cloaked the slopes in the distance.
Beneath the leaden curtain of rain, Lu Liangsheng lay sideways across a donkey’s back, engrossed in a scroll he held in his hands. From time to time, he would flick his robe sleeves, and the falling raindrops would shift aside, swept gently away from him.
The old donkey plodded forward at a leisurely pace, the bell around its neck swaying with each step. Now and then, it lowered its head to nip at the tender blades of grass poking through the earth. Atop its head, a toad bound by a string clung to one of the donkey’s ears, eyeing the gourd swaying at the scholar’s waist. It grumbled: “This old one merely entrusted it to you for safekeeping, and you’ve gone and used it for wine?”
Rolling its bulging toad eyes, it roughly judged the time, then called out:
“Liangsheng, it’s time to eat!”
The scholar stretched lazily behind him, then deftly dismounted. Taking up the reins, he led the donkey toward a dilapidated thatched hut up ahead. Rain pattered ceaselessly upon the straw roof, and, guided by the slanted beams, it dripped through a crack on the far side, falling into the house.
Inside, the room was dark and broken tiles littered the floor. A single wooden bed, untouched by repair, lay collapsed and askew.
Last year’s great drought had driven countless souls from their homes. Some perished along the roads, while others wandered far in search of livelihood. Along their journey, they had seen life gradually return to some places, but homes like this—abandoned and forgotten—remained scattered everywhere.
Tethering the old donkey, Lu Liangsheng stepped to the doorway and cupped his fists toward the empty house.
“Passing through these lands, we seek a brief rest—may the spirits of this place grant us such favor.”
Only after uttering, “Forgive the disturbance,” did he step inside. With a sweep of his sleeve, a cold wind swept in, sending the dust and dead grass scuttling into the corners. He sat down directly upon the floor, indifferent to the filth.
Since leaving the capital, he had not changed his garments. The scent of wine still clung thickly to him—he looked every bit the disheveled wanderer-scholar.
The Toad Daoist bit into the hard, stale rations, chewed a few times, then spat them out with a loud ptoo. “How is such stuff fit to eat!”
He set the dry food aside, slung the small painting scroll on his back, and plopped down cross-legged, resting his chin in his palm as he watched the raindrops fall with a rhythmic drip-drip-drip.
“Sigh… This master suddenly finds himself missing that little Daoist…”
“Let’s make do for now, Master. This Heliang Prefecture just came out of a drought—there’s not much to eat.”
Lu Liangsheng took a bite of the flatbread, using his fingers to flip a page of the [Mountains and Seas Chronicles]. These tales of monsters and marvels had thoroughly captivated him during the journey. Ever since he’d discovered that the human ginseng recorded within truly existed, he often wondered if fate might one day let him encounter some of the other fierce beasts or spirit beasts described in the text.
Lost in the reading, he unfastened the black-patterned gourd at his waist, pried open the stopper with his teeth, and took a hearty swig of wine, then sprawled out in contentment, reaching out to grab another piece of flatbread from the ground.
“My gourd’s already been taken by you to store wine, and now you want to steal your master’s food too?”
The toad quickly leapt forward, snatching the flatbread and hugging it to his chest, turning away protectively.
Hehe.
At that sight, a soft laugh drifted from within the scroll. With the room dim and the outside world awash in rain, stepping out posed little risk.
Nie Honglian floated out from the scroll, crouching beside the scholar. She leaned forward and sniffed lightly, then fluttered her delicate hand beneath her nose several times.
“Young Master, you stink.”
“I’ll wash once we’re past this region.”
Lu Liangsheng shut the book, sat up and leaned against the wall, tapping the closed volume against his palm.
“Just remembered—I didn’t leave word for Old Sun.”
Across the room, the Toad Daoist sat cross-legged on the floor. He turned his face toward his disciple, puffed out his cheeks, then sucked them back in, squinting his bulging toad eyes as he worked at the flatbread in his mouth.
“You’ve got time to worry about that, yet can’t spare a thought for what we’re eating tonight? We’ve been crawling along this road—you trying to starve your master?”
Honglian drifted lazily through the air, chin in hand, bobbing here and there. She nodded slightly in agreement.
“Indeed, Young Master, since we’re traveling so slowly, are we waiting for someone? Daoist Sun, perhaps?”
Lu Liangsheng’s fingers turned the pages swiftly as the soft pattering of rain outside gradually turned to a steady downpour. He shook his head.
“No. You’ve seen him too—that monk Fajing. Since arriving in Heliang Prefecture, if he’s still here, he should be able to sense us.”
As he spoke, the female ghost in the room suddenly tilted her head, glancing toward the door. The Toad Daoist also halted his chewing. A piece of flatbread, still uncrushed, remained in his mouth as he flattened himself warily against the floor.
“Doesn’t seem like a monk.”
Outside, the sound of a horse neighing rang out, followed by the creak of a carriage shaft. A moment later, voices could be heard shouting:
“Quickly, tie up the horses and get inside—take shelter from the rain!”
“I’m coming!”
“Eh? Why is there a donkey here?”
“Probably like us—just passing through and looking for shelter.”
The sound of shuffling feet grew closer. Five men and one woman, along with a child of about seven or eight, rushed in, damp from the rain. Upon seeing a scholar sitting cross-legged on the ground reading by the wall, a middle-aged man among them offered Lu Liangsheng a brief cupped-fist salute—an apologetic gesture for the intrusion.
“I am no master of this place either, I’m also here to escape the rain. Please, make yourselves at home.”
He sat back down again, his gaze drifting over the group and resting briefly on the child. What a familiar scene this was… It brought to mind his meeting with Chen Jing—so similar in circumstance that he couldn’t help but look at the child a second time.
The child was staring back at him. One eye was brown, the other a striking blue—an unusual sight. Watching the scholar give a faint smile before lowering his head back into his book, the child instinctively tugged at his father’s sleeve and whispered:
“Father, let’s leave quickly. That man over there and that big toad, they’re kind of strange.”
The middle-aged man glanced over at Lu Liangsheng, then back at his son. His gaze grew stern.
“Tuo’er, mind your manners.”
“Okay.”
The child seemed a little dissatisfied, stealing another glance at the scholar before returning to his mother’s side. The four men, who appeared to be guards, sat around them and began chatting in hushed tones.
“We thought the journey would be easier after the drought, but we’ve barely set out and already run into a heavy rain.”
“Luckily, Madam’s maiden home isn’t far from here… just hope they weren’t affected by the disaster.”
“…Say no more.”
Judging by their accent, they were likely from Northern Zhou, here on a visit to the wife’s family.
Lu Liangsheng’s gaze swept casually across them. He himself was headed in that direction, so he considered striking up a brief conversation—perhaps to exchange pleasantries and inquire about the situation in Northern Zhou.
Just as he decided to close his book, a loud and resonant Buddhist chant echoed from the distance, rumbling like a great bell.
“My Buddha… has mercy!”
Lu Liangsheng chuckled. That booming, stumbling voice could only belong to one man. But those taking shelter nearby were startled, turning to look with uneasy expressions.
At the doorway, a rotund monk drenched in rain came lumbering in. His chest was bare beneath his soaked robes, a string of prayer beads hanging from his neck. In one hand he carried a large yellow cloth sack, and he had to turn sideways and suck in his belly just to squeeze through the entrance.
With palms pressed together, Fajing offered a solemn Buddhist greeting.
“This humble monk, Fajing, greets you, honored benefactors.”
Like Lu Liangsheng, his gaze lingered a little longer on the child beside the woman, before he strode forward and sat cross-legged across from the scholar, his round face glowing with warmth.
“Daoist Friend Lu, it has been some time. You’ve been well, I trust?”
Only then did the others realize this towering, thick-limbed monk had come to meet the unkempt scholar. One of them sat upright with a grace and aura of refinement, if tinged by the scent of wine; the other loomed large like a mountain, and when he sat, his head nearly scraped the ceiling.
The two of them sitting face to face—it made for a most peculiar scene.
The middle-aged man recalled his son’s earlier warning. Lowering his voice, he spoke to the four guards and his wife.
“This is no place to linger. Let’s be on our way.”
They quickly packed up their things and, gathering the heterochromatic-eyed child, made their exit. Hoofbeats and the rattle of a carriage soon followed, gradually fading into the rain.
Lu Liangsheng drew his gaze back, passing over the gourd.
“Master, you saw that child just now, didn’t you?”
“Born with spiritual roots.”
The monk’s cultivation was far beyond Lu Liangsheng’s, and the moment he entered, he’d sensed the difference in the child—but he did not dwell on the matter.
He shook his head at the offered wine gourd and instead asked:
“Daoist Friend Lu, what brings you to Heliang Prefecture?”
“Nothing binding me down. Just traveling where the wind leads me, and meeting old friends along the way.” Lu Liangsheng took a small sip from the gourd, then reached into his sleeve and pulled out a pouch of dry rations—flatcakes purchased along the journey. He handed one over with a smile.
“Later, I plan to head to Northern Zhou. As the saying goes: ‘Better to walk ten thousand miles than to read ten thousand scrolls.’ What about you, Master? Still lingering in Heliang Prefecture?”
This monk was indeed free-spirited. Fajing sniffed the flatcake, as if he hadn’t eaten such food in ages, then took large, hearty bites, stuffing his mouth full and even wiping the crumbs from his lips into his mouth.
“There are still… many homeless in Heliang Prefecture. This humble monk… wanders, gathering them up… handing them over to the authorities for resettlement. If any… are willing to cultivate the Dao, I bring them back… to the Ten-Thousand Buddhas Monastery.”
Lu Liangsheng paused briefly. He had known what the monk was doing before, but he hadn’t expected that, after all this time, he was still at it.
He stood up, sleeves wide as wings, and bowed toward Fajing with clasped hands.
“Master, you are truly a man of great virtue.”
The monk pushed himself up by his knees and waved a hand, stammering modestly:
“C-c-can’t accept such praise… This humble monk merely follows Daoist Lu’s example… offering himself in service of the good.”
Just then—bonk!—his head smacked against a ceiling beam. With a creak and a crash, the slanted roof of the house gave way, thatch and bricks scattering across the floor. Outside, the old donkey brayed wildly in the rain, yanking at its reins with a loud hee-haw!
The two stood beneath the now-roofless shelter, looked at each other—and suddenly burst into laughter.
Hahaha—
—Hahahahaha!
Their hearty laughter rang out, shaking the falling rain into disarray, like silk threads stirred by wind. In the distance, those who had left in haste earlier heard the laughter and shuddered as if chilled, urging their horses on faster.
“Go, go, hurry!”
“Hyah!”
After the laughter faded, the rain resumed its vertical descent.
“Seems I won’t be able to chat with Master for long today,”
Lu Liangsheng said, swinging his sleeve to cast a water-repelling charm on the old donkey nearby. He tied the black-patterned gourd to his waist and suddenly recalled something.
“Master, when you return, I wonder if you might do me a small favor.”
“Of course!”
“You’re not even going to ask what it is?”
The monk chuckled, patting his belly and slinging the large yellow cloth bag over his shoulder.
“If it’s your matter—it could never be a wicked one.”
Lu Liangsheng smiled as well. He lifted his bookcase onto the donkey’s back, picked up his master’s belongings from the ground, and placed them in a side compartment. Turning back to Fajing, he said:
“It’s really no big thing. After you leave Heliang Prefecture, if you happen to come across Sun Yingxian, please pass along a message: I’ve gone to Northern Zhou.”
With that, he bowed in thanks and began leading the old donkey slowly into the rain curtain.
“Master, farewell.”
Fajing pressed his palms together and offered a solemn Buddhist salute toward the departing scholar.
“Safe travels, Daoist Friend Lu.”
Ding-ling…
The faint ringing of a bell echoed, still audible through the falling rain.
