Chapter 138
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[Haitang Bookhouse]
Rustle—rustle—
The sound of rain drowned out the clatter of hooves along the mountain path, and the bell at the donkey’s neck jingled softly as they traveled from north to south.
“Master, I remember this old donkey ate an egg once—seemed like it was from your cave-dwelling.”
“Your master has no desire to speak. I feel dizzy… might throw up…”
A damp mist filled the air. Lu Liangsheng led the listless old donkey down the northern mountain road, rain pouring in heavy slanted streaks that bent around the scholar’s figure and struck the surroundings instead.
Ever since they had descended from the Toad Daoist’s cave, the old donkey had seemed to regain a second youth. It had galloped for over a hundred li in one breath, and with Lu Liangsheng’s Shrinking Earth into Inches, they had covered three to four hundred li in total.
Only when the donkey was finally tired did man and toad have a chance to catch their breath. But after crossing the Great River, a summer downpour began on this side.
“To think we got this far in just two hours, Chang’an can’t be far now…”
Passing through a small grove beside the cliffside, the view suddenly opened up. Amid the lead-gray curtain of rain beyond the precipice, a long, serpentine shape could just be seen winding endlessly into the distance.
Indeed, they were not far from the capital of Northern Zhou.
“Since we’re already here, Master, why not enter Chang’an once the rain clears and have a look around?”
Lu Liangsheng withdrew his gaze, tugged at the reins, and continued forward. Not far ahead, on the side of the mountain road, stood a small pavilion.
Creaaaak…
From the compartment within the bookshelf slung over the donkey’s hindquarters came the voice of the Toad Daoist.
“…Let’s have a look. The Fire-Worshipping Sect is rooted in the North—they’re bound to have planted men within the city. Once inside, your master has a way to find them.”
“I thought the same,” Lu Liangsheng nodded.
Just then, he gave a soft “Hmm?”—a flicker of firelight had come to life in the pavilion ahead, and with it drifted the scent of roasting meat.
“Seems someone beat us to this spot to take shelter from the rain.”
So as not to startle them, he dismissed the rain-repelling spell.
Rumble—
Thunder rolled across the overcast heavens.
The torrential rain lashed down upon the pavilion, crackling as it struck, streaming off the eaves in cascading sheets. The spray rebounded off the flagstones, sending droplets into the pavilion. A black leather boot shifted slightly to avoid the splatter.
“No mood to play at idle hunts today, and Heaven has turned against me as well.”
A campfire burned within the pavilion. A youth of about fourteen, dressed in a deep crimson hunting robe with tightly bound sleeves, was roasting a skinned mountain hare over the flames.
He muttered to himself, but upon hearing the rain intermixed with the jingling of a bell, his gaze shifted toward the entrance—there, a scholar draped in a damp green robe stepped in, leading a weary old donkey.
The youth, naturally sociable, broke into a smile.
“Didn’t think this mountain storm would catch someone else too. Looks like I’m not the only one suffering out here.”
Lu Liangsheng tied the reins to a pillar, gave the donkey’s head a few pats to settle it, and took a glance at the boy—his manner was open and assured, and the horse outside wasn’t the kind an ordinary family would raise.
“Heh…”
With a faint chuckle, Lu Liangsheng sat down and stretched out his hands toward the fire to warm them.
“You don’t mind if I take a bit of warmth, do you?”
“Not at all, please make yourself at home, sir.”
The youth turned the roasting hare, which was nearly done. He’d evidently been here for some time. Tearing off a hind leg and raising it to his mouth, he suddenly paused, glanced across at the scholar, and with his other hand extended the skewer bearing the hare.
“Sir must’ve come a long way and likely hasn’t eaten. Why not share this with me?”
This young man was certainly generous in spirit.
“My thanks.”
Lu Liangsheng, feeling a touch of hunger himself, accepted the hare and slowly tore off a foreleg, chewing it at an unhurried pace.
The youth in the hunting robe gave him a smile, then glanced at the bookshelf hanging from the old donkey’s back, where several long swords were displayed. His eyes lit up at once. Brushing ash from his hands, he stood.
“Sir, are you fond of swordsmanship as well?”
He stepped toward the edge of the pavilion, then turned back and clasped his hands in salute. “Sir, may I take a look?”
“Go ahead.”
Receiving Lu Liangsheng’s permission, the youth eagerly ran over. The old donkey snorted roughly and glared at him with one eye, while the steed outside pawed the ground nervously, shaking its mane and trying to put some distance between them.
Clang!
A blade rang as it left its sheath. The youth deftly drew one of the long swords, and a cold gleam burst forth, so sharp it made the back of his neck prickle.
“Sir, are all your swords this fine?”
Lu Liangsheng turned his head and, seeing the boy’s expression, simply gave a slight smile.
“Decent quality, at least.”
“How can you call this merely decent? This is practically a divine weapon!”
Reluctantly, the youth put the sword down, then reached for the Veiled Moon Sword hanging on the other side. Grasping the hilt, he found that no matter how hard he pulled, the blade refused to budge. His face flushed red with exertion.
He had studied martial arts since childhood and possessed a decent amount of strength—yet now, he couldn’t even draw a single sword. After a moment of fruitless struggle, he could only let go and turn to look at the scholar within the pavilion.
“Sir, does this sword perhaps possess some mystical properties?”
As he spoke, Lu Liangsheng casually flicked his sleeve outward. With a clang, the blade in the youth’s hand suddenly slid out halfway. Though the sword body was ancient and unadorned, the engraved drifting clouds upon its surface abruptly scattered—revealing a crescent moon beneath.
“Ah—!”
Startled, the youth let go, stumbling back two steps. He rubbed his eyes, only to see the sword floating in midair. With a soft whoosh, it sheathed itself and returned to its place on the bookshelf, hanging there as if it had never moved.
“This… this…”
He glanced at the bookshelf, then at the scholar seated in the pavilion. It took him a long moment to recover his composure. At last realizing he had encountered a man of the Way, he hurriedly ran into the pavilion and bowed with cupped hands.
“Li Yuan pays respects to the Immortal Master!”
“I am no Immortal Master—merely a wandering scholar of the wild mountains. No need for such ceremony.”
Shhhh…
The sound of rain was gradually lessening.
Within the pavilion, Lu Liangsheng tore off another rabbit leg and placed it gently into the compartment of the bookshelf by the donkey’s side. A voice came from within, audible only to him:
“Hmph. At least you still remember your Master.”
Beside the donkey, seeing the rain had mostly ceased, Lu Liangsheng made no plans to linger. He untied the reins, mounted the donkey, and clasped his hands in a parting gesture toward the youth.
“I take my leave.”
“Sir!”
Li Yuan stepped forward instinctively, but in the blink of an eye, the figure of man and donkey vanished into the misty end of the mountain path. From afar, a faint voice echoed:
“For a share of mountain hare, I return you a favor!”
Suddenly, a faint buzz stirred the air behind the youth.
Standing beside his horse, Li Yuan turned back on instinct. Upon the stone steps of the pavilion now rested a sword in its scabbard—its hilt carved into a tiger’s head, its sheath adorned with daylily blossoms. The blade lay there in quiet repose.
Not long after, the rain came to a full stop.
The youth rode home with his bow on his back and the gifted sword at his waist. There was a faint sense of loss about him as he returned to the Yang residence. By then, night had fallen. Yang Jian called him to dinner, while Yang Su—seated nearby—raised a brow.
His eyes were fixed on the long sword at the boy’s waist.
“Shude, did you happen upon something unusual today?” [TL_Note: Shude is most likely his courtesy name]
—A fated encounter?
In the well-lit main hall, Li Yuan froze for a moment upon hearing the question. Around the table, Yang Yong and Yang Guang also turned to look at him.
The youth set down his chopsticks and nodded.
“This afternoon, during the heavy rain, I met a scholar in a pavilion. I shared some of my roasted mountain hare with him, and he gave me a sword in return.”
As he spoke, he removed the weapon from his waist and cradled it reverently in both hands, slowly drawing it out.
To ordinary eyes, it was but a gleaming blade with a biting edge. But beside him, Yang Su pressed his palm against the table, leaning in slightly, his eyes narrowing.
“This is a Spiritual Sword…”
Everyone was briefly stunned. But Yang Jian—what sort of man was he? Following the lead of his clansman, he recalled the name of the southern Chen scholar whom he had heard mentioned earlier that morning. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots.
Two scholars—could they perhaps be the same person?
Before he could question Li Yuan about what that scholar looked like, Yang Su, his cousin, spoke up first:
“Shude, where exactly did you meet this scholar? Take us there.”
“But that gentleman has already departed.”
“No matter. I have a way to find him!”
Night had fallen completely. As a mounted escort assembled at the Yang residence and prepared to ride out in search of the scholar, the very man they sought had already quietly entered the city. He led an old donkey burdened with a bookshelf on its back and strolled inconspicuously into the bustling capital—blending into the lively night market.
“So this is Chang’an.”
All around, lanterns hung high, voices clamorously overlapped, and beyond the crowds of Han commoners, music from the Western Regions echoed through the air. People of all kinds and colors mingled and moved in a vibrant tide.
