Chapter 120
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Spring rain had fallen for several days in a row, and a white mist stretched endlessly through the dense forest.
The old donkey flicked its bald tail cheerfully, tongue lolling as it licked at the tender grass on the ground. Perched atop its back was the Toad Daoist, clutching both of the donkey’s ears to steady himself, smacking it with his webbed hand to maintain balance.
“Didn’t I tell you not to imitate this old man? And still you do!”
From within the bookshelf, Nie Honglian hummed a cheerful little tune. From time to time, her hand would dart out with a whoosh to pluck wildflowers by the roadside. A light gust of yin wind blew through, scattering the petals, which drifted behind and landed on the dirty robe of the scholar trailing them.
Lu Liangsheng pinched a petal between his fingers and smiled faintly. His footsteps were unsteady, his body swaying as he followed along. He reached for the gourd at his waist, twisted open the wooden stopper, and tipped it back for a drink.
Only the faintest chill spread across his tongue.
“Ugh, no more wine… Looks like one gourd isn’t enough.”
He muttered to himself and gave the gourd a few more shakes, letting the last drops dribble in. But not even a single drop remained.
To outsiders, Lu Liangsheng looked every bit the drunken scholar—perhaps even a little touched in the head. But both the toad atop the donkey and the ghostly maiden knew full well: this scholar was more clear-headed than anyone. He simply drank without end to numb himself.
The tune came to a stop. Honglian drifted into the curtain of rain and looked toward Lu Liangsheng, who was stumbling along behind them.
“Young Master, hurry up.”
“Mhm, coming.”
Hearing his reply, Nie Honglian glanced worriedly at the toad perched atop the donkey’s head.
“Toad Master, will the young master always remain in such despair?”
Compared to her concern, the Toad Daoist didn’t seem the least bit worried about his disciple’s current state.
“No harm in it. You don’t understand men. Despair like this is only temporary—and for those on the path of cultivation, it’s an excellent tempering. Once he sees through it and attains clarity—hmph—things will be different. This old man passed through such a phase himself, croak.”
For a moment, his thoughts drifted to a woman he had buried on some mountain long ago.
…Once I recover my cultivation, I should go visit. So many years have passed—I wonder if she’s still there.
After a moment’s reflection, the toad tied a wild vegetable to a rope and dangled it with a wooden stick to lure the donkey forward. Then, puffing out his bulging toad eyes, he turned and shouted loudly in encouragement.
Turning back around, he shook his head with a sigh.
Sigh… this old man truly worries himself to death.
Neither ghost nor toad knew that though Lu Liangsheng had been drinking all along the journey, he had never once ceased his cultivation. As for the cultivation of the Heavens and Earth Righteous Path, it was unclear whether it had undergone some subtle change after enduring a tribulation of heavenly lightning, but it now faintly neared a bottleneck.
While flipping through the [Classic of Mountains and Seas], as his cultivation slowly advanced, he began to comprehend things from both the illustrations and the text. These insights were hard to describe, and they did not occur when reading other books.
“Could it be… only the Classic of Mountains and Seas contains such resonance?”
Shaking off the chaotic thoughts, Lu Liangsheng’s drunken, staggering steps were strangely steady—no matter how rugged the path, he moved as though treading flat ground. When he heard Honglian’s call to hurry:
“Coming!”
The scholar gave a reply, flicked his sleeve, and with a toe lightly tapping the mud-stained ground, his figure dashed forward. The moment he leapt up, he landed cross-legged atop the donkey’s back.
The donkey, unable to bear the sudden weight, trembled all over. The toad on its head reacted swiftly, clutching the donkey’s ear with a webbed hand. Then he glared back.
“You wretched disciple—croak!”
Heh-hah, heh-hah~
The old donkey, as if it understood, stuck out its tongue and brayed with a nod.
And promptly, the frog’s webbed hand came smacking down.
“Imitating this old man again!”
Honglian hid within the painting, letting out a soft laugh. Her silver-bell-like laughter echoed through the unnamed mountain pass, amidst drifting water mist. Human voices, donkey brays, the ghost maiden’s chuckles, and the Toad Daoist’s exasperated croaks all wove together in a lively procession.
By the time they emerged from the mountain range, it was already afternoon. The rain had not let up, and the sound of rushing river water could be heard from afar.
Following the road as it extended forward, one could vaguely make out travelers and merchants moving along the official path. There was likely a river crossing ahead. Not wanting to attract undue attention, Lu Liangsheng dismissed his rain-warding spell. Unfortunately, there were no oil-paper umbrellas within the bookshelf carriage—his last one had belonged to the Zhou residence.
“After getting used to the Rain-Avoiding Art, I’d nearly forgotten about paper umbrellas altogether.”
He led the old donkey through the rain just like that. Mist clung to the surface of the river, blanketing it in white haze. Such weather was ill-suited for river crossings. Several passenger boats had already lowered their ropes and tied themselves to the wooden posts at the ferry dock.
When Lu Liangsheng approached, seven people were gathered around a boatman, all chattering at once.
“I really have an urgent matter, Boatman—please, make an exception.” “…I’ve got urgent business too. Haven’t been home in three years. My wife’s given birth to a fat little boy.”
“Exactly, Boatman, you see how everyone here’s got something urgent going on.”
Among the seven, four wore scholars’ robes and carried bookshelf cases. They glanced at each other helplessly.
“Told you not to rush on the road. Look at us now.” “You’re blaming me? Last time we met that fox spirit at night, it was your fault for provoking it! Ended up ruining all three of our exams!”
“Indeed. Still, I think the boatman has a point. The river’s covered in mist—it’s far too dangerous to sail.”
“…Dangerous? It’s not like we’re facing a demon! What’s there to be afraid of?!”
Amid the chattering and grumbling, Lu Liangsheng looked at the backs of the four scholars and found them oddly familiar, though he couldn’t quite place where he had seen them before. Shaking off the thought, he simply stepped forward and cupped his hands toward the old boatman.
“Boatman, I too wish to cross the river.”
At this, the three who had first spoken cried out again: “See, Old Boatman? There’s more business coming to your door!”
The old boatman, his hair already gray and white, looked at the eight gathered before him—especially the last one, a rain-drenched scholar leading a donkey. He seemed to have traveled quite a long way.
“This… friends, I must say, it truly isn’t safe to sail in such heavy mist and rain.”
He hesitated, glancing among them all. Just then, a young man—probably his son—called out from the deck of the sailboat behind him:
“Father! If we wait for the mist to clear, all the guests will go to other boats. What business will we have left? I’m still waiting to marry a wife!”
Sigh.
The boatman turned around, let out a long sigh, and waved his hand for his son to lower the gangplank. His gaze swept over the eight of them.
“All right then, everyone, come aboard.”
After stating the fare, the seven before him climbed up the wooden ladder in turn.
“Tch, had to wait for your son to speak before agreeing to sail.” “Don’t be too cautious, old man. Earning money is always a good thing.”
Lu Liangsheng came up at the end, reaching into his sleeve to draw out the agreed-upon fare. Split among eight people, it was only about forty or fifty copper coins in total, but he paid for two shares—his old donkey also took up space.
Once aboard, the boat fell mostly into silence. The four scholars huddled together and spoke in low voices, mostly about scholarly topics. As for the other three, none of them were acquainted, and each found a separate spot to sit quietly.
After a while, as the rain began to lighten, the old boatman came out from the cabin with a large bowl in hand. As he passed by the passengers, a waft of fragrant wine drifted through the air.
Lu Liangsheng caught the scent as well. He was leaning against the cabin door with his eyes half-closed, but at the smell, they opened slightly. He saw the old man standing at the bow, working something in the bowl. Amid the wine, glutinous rice grains could be seen.
One of the passengers couldn’t help but ask: “Boatman, what are you doing?”
“Offering to the waters.”
The boatman turned back and called for the young man on board to untie the ropes, while continuing to mix the rice and yellow wine in his bowl. Smiling, he explained:
“You travelers may not know, but there’s deep knowledge in these river waters. When setting sail in such weather, one must make an offering to the spirits and gods that govern the river.”
One of the scholars, seated atop his bookcase with both legs dangling over the sides, laughed and said:
“‘The Master spoke not of strange phenomena, feats of strength, rebellions, or spirits.’ We four have studied the classics thoroughly—how could we believe in such superstition?”
Beside him, his companion leaned over and whispered: “What about that fox spirit last time…”
“Shut up!”
At the bow of the boat, the old boatman flung the entire bowl into the river. A dull thump echoed from somewhere in the mist-shrouded waters ahead. He turned back with a smile.
“You scholarly types—of course you don’t believe in such things. But I’ve been sailing this river all my life. What I ought to have seen, I’ve seen; what I shouldn’t have seen, I’ve seen too.”
The idle passengers waiting for the boat to set off were intrigued by his words. Someone urged him on:
“What exactly shouldn’t you have seen in these waters?”
“…Hehe.”
The boatman chuckled and replied: “Plenty. But there’s one thing I’ll never forget for the rest of my life… When I was twenty, I went out fishing with my father…”
“…Suddenly a fierce wind swept the river, and mist rolled in thick. Then we heard a tremendous thrashing in the water. Guess what it was? A giant fish—bigger than the boat we’re riding now—burst out of the water. The wave it raised flung both me and my father straight into the river. I thought for sure we were done for, about to be eaten by some monster. But instead, the fish didn’t even look at us. It was fighting something—like it was locked in combat with someone amid the mist.”
Lu Liangsheng, eyes closed, was quietly listening. Tales of the strange and bizarre like this often turned into folktales—entertaining, at least.
The toad lying atop the donkey’s head, however, opened one eye and gave a cold snort.
“Defeated general.”
Meanwhile, the old boatman kept speaking.
“…Turned out, there was a master at work—wounded the fish demon with a spell, and afterward saved me and my father too…”
The toad shut its bulging eyes and turned its head aside.
“Two defeated generals.”
Just then, the boatman stood tall at the prow and called out: “Casting off!”
He pressed the pole into the river, and the sailboat glided over the surface, parting the misty waters as it moved forward into the heavy white fog.
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