Chapter 121

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A white mist rose over the river’s surface, and gentle waves rippled outward with a hush. As the oar sliced through the water, the small, nimble sailboat glided silently, cutting through the thick veil of fog.

The great river was wide, though not so vast as the open sea. As the sailboat drifted steadily onward, it had already reached midstream.

The current grew swifter, waves crashing against one another and striking the hull. The boat rocked with each impact, especially at the bow and along the windward side facing against the current. From time to time, the prow lifted and tilted, prompting the crew to furl the sail. Fog and rain made haste ill-advised.

The old boatman, trousers rolled up and barefoot, stood at the bow. With each sway of the vessel, his stance subtly shifted to maintain balance. In his hand, the punting pole now served as a probe, testing for hidden reefs below.

“Esteemed guests, best hold on tight. Wouldn’t want any of you falling into the river—not in this thick fog. Can’t say it’s easy fishing folks out on a day like this.”

Lu Liangsheng sat near the stern, leaning against the cabin wall, where the rocking was less severe and hardly noticeable. His old mule, bound by a stone-binding technique, knelt firmly on the deck, unmoved no matter how the boat swayed.

The boatman’s son, manning the oars, was drenched in sweat.

“Damn it—is the boat heavier, or has my strength gone soft? Why’s it so hard to row today?”

The seven other passengers seated toward the front of the boat were all ordinary folk. Three travelers, holding umbrellas, clung to the railing with pale faces—likely seasick. The remaining four were scholars, standing in a circle, arms interlinked, managing to keep their balance somewhat better. They murmured quietly among themselves.

“Could what the boatman said be true?” “Hard to say…”

“We are men of learning—sworn to aid the people in times of peril. How could we be frightened by a mere fish demon!”

“Brother speaks well. The four of us swore an oath to uphold justice and aid a worthy sovereign in restoring peace to the realm. How can we cower before some fish demon? Look at that scholar over there—reek of wine, disheveled and unkempt. We mustn’t allow ourselves to fall to such depravity.”

Among them, the youngest scholar suddenly spoke up.

“Hmm? Now that you mention it, that man does look familiar. I think I’ve seen him somewhere before…”

Over by the cabin wall, Lu Liangsheng had his eyes closed but clearly heard every word they said. The scent of wine clung to him; his robes and hair were damp and clinging to his body. From the moment he boarded, the other seven had eyed him with clear disdain, choosing to keep their distance.

That suited him just fine—no need for conversation.

Since setting out, Lu Liangsheng had only spoken with the fat monk once. The rest of the time, he had exchanged words solely with his master and the ghost woman.

As Toad Daoist once said: those who sail through life without hardship suffer deeper wounds when they finally face adversity. But if they can overcome it, they’ll emerge all the more vigorous and full of life.

And at this moment, that was precisely the state Lu Liangsheng was in.

A pale white mist blanketed the river’s surface. Beneath the dark, inky waters, a cluster of silvery bubbles churned upward.

Pop.

The surface broke gently, releasing a soft ripple that spread outward in silence.

Suddenly, Lu Liangsheng, leaning against the cabin wall, opened his eyes just a sliver. Atop the mule’s head, the toad curled upon it also narrowed its eyes.

“It’s not a fish demon, what a pity.”

Just then—a thud rang out.

“Oi! A carp just jumped aboard!”

Near the deck, not far from the three traveling merchants, a large carp was flopping about, its tail slapping the planks with a wet flap flap. One of them quickly caught it with both hands, gripping it by the gills and lifting it up.

“Boatman, you got a pot or stove on this boat? Let’s all have a taste of some fish soup!”

“Haha! Must be the River Dragon King feeling sorry for our rough journey, gifting us a little good fortune!” Another man laughed as he eyed the carp.

The four scholars came over, curiosity piqued as they peered over the side of the boat into the water. Living in the south, they rarely heard of fish leaping onto boats unprovoked.

One of the bolder scholars leaned out so far, half his body dangled beyond the railing.

“Who knows, maybe there’s more.”

At the bow, the boatman had just stowed away his probing pole and turned his head, unease showing in his expression. He called to the man holding the fish.

“Throw it back! This isn’t right. It’s always us fishermen who offer respect to the river lord—when did they start sending gifts in return? That’s courting trouble! Toss it over, and quickly—we’re near the ferry landing. Don’t stir up misfortune!”

His son, the oarsman, also chimed in:

“You four gentlemen, best not lean out too far. Keep your eyes on the water, or some drowned ghost might take a liking to you as its replacement.”

Just then, amidst the rolling waves, a massive black shadow slipped beneath the surface. As distorted ripples danced above it, a long, spiked arm emerged, reaching for the silhouette of the scholar leaning over the side.

The creature’s hulking body displaced the river water with a resounding splash, the wave rocking the small sailboat in its wake.

The scholar gazing down caught a vague glimpse of something deep in the water, a formless bulk. Just as he tried to make it out clearly, the boatman’s  son’s warning echoed in his ears—“a drowned ghost looking for a replacement.”

A chill shot down his spine, and he instinctively jerked back inside the boat. The shelled black shadow burst through the surface a heartbeat too late—its grasp seizing nothing but air.

Back inside, the scholar composed himself, smoothing his robes and flicking his sleeves with practiced elegance.

“Nonsense. Ghosts and monsters—utter superstition. Where would such things come from on a day like this?”

Grrrooowwlll—

Bubbles roiled up from beneath the surface once more, and the scholar’s voice faltered. All four of them, standing by the gunwale, heard it clearly.

“What was that sound?”

“Seemed to come from the water…”

The bubbling grew more intense, like something beneath was growing restless. The four scholars, along with the three other passengers, drew closer, curiosity overtaking their earlier unease.

At that moment, the boatman at the bow shouted out: “Almost at the dock!”

The seven of them instinctively turned toward the bow, looking ahead in response to his cry.

The river wind came howling, laced with rain. The furled mast groaned softly as it twisted under the strain. In the instant the carp in the man’s hands flicked its tail, it felt like a bowstring had snapped.

Against the cabin wall, Lu Liangsheng suddenly rose to his feet—his figure vanished in a flash. With a sweep of his sleeve, the boatman cried out in alarm, “Ah!” Just as the long pole in his hands snapped, the rope tethering the boat’s bow sprang loose, whipping into the sky.

The moment Lu’s hand touched the pole, he sprang off the mast with a resounding crack. His robes flared like banners, and as the long rod filled with spiritual power, he hurled it downward from above.

Splash!

Water exploded upon impact. Spray flew across the seven onlookers, splattering their faces and clothes. In that split second, a bone-deep chill surged through them. Their skin prickled, every hair standing on end.

The bow of the boat gently bumped against the ferry dock. The soft jolt brought the boatman and the others back to their senses.

One of the men wiped the water from his face.

“What… what just happened?”

“I think I saw a white blur pass overhead…”

At that moment, someone noticed a person missing from the boat.

“Where’s that scruffy scholar?”

“Don’t tell me he fell overboard? And that mule of his is gone too!” “Could’ve been a water ghost. Damp from head to toe—that’s how those monsters show up in those strange tales, isn’t it?”

“Let’s just go! Quickly!”

Their faces turned pale. None of them dared stay aboard a moment longer. Since they’d already paid the fare, they offered hasty farewells to the bewildered boatman, grabbed their belongings, and disembarked at speed—fleeing down the dock without looking back.

The boatman stood there staring at the rod, now lying quietly on the deck. Trembling, he walked over and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

“Strange… how did it fly off like that? And the scholar… and the mule…”

Hm?

What’s this?

At one end of the long rod, there clung two feet of sticky matter—yellowish in color, with a strange odor.

The old boatman carefully dabbed a finger into it, frowning. He sniffed, then, despite himself, gave it a cautious lick.

“…Crab roe…”

Just then, from the stern, the young man walked toward him, palms together in prayer with each step. As soon as he saw the old man, he hurried over, face flushed with excitement.

“Dad—that scruffy scholar—he… that scholar…”

His voice trembled with awe, his hands flailing with exaggerated gestures. After a few moments, he finally managed to get the words out in one final breath:

“…He’s an immortal!”

From the direction of the riverbank came the faint clink clank of bells. Rain hung like lead in the air. Mist rose off the robed scholar riding his mule in the distance, blurring his figure—ethereal, dreamlike, as though he truly were a deity walking the mortal world.

Father and son stood aboard the boat, holding the long rod still fragrant with the scent of crab roe, utterly at a loss.

It took a long while before the realization sank in. And when it did—a deep and lingering regret followed.

“To think we had a great immortal in our midst and never knew…”