Daoist Jixin

When the boat reached the dock, Qin Sang had also heard the old boatman tell quite a few stories about Daoist Jixin.

Green Goat Temple on Cuiming Mountain had flourished in its early days, but later declined by the day. The Daoists in the temple left one after another, leaving only a few old Daoists behind, who gradually died of old age as well.

With no one to repair the temple, it became ever more dilapidated, weeds growing rampant. If not for Daoist Jixin, within a few years Green Goat Temple would have been reduced to nothing but broken walls and crumbling ruins.

What people praised most about Daoist Jixin was not his status as the temple master, but his benevolent and righteous heart.

After taking over Green Goat Temple with a young disciple, he did not seek incense offerings. Instead, he climbed the mountain every day to gather herbs, dispensing medicine and treating the poor.

Whether someone had suffered bruises and sprains, wind-cold, dampness, or heat, so long as they came to his door, Daoist Jixin treated them with care. His medical skills might not have been exceptional, but his fees were very low.

If they truly had no money, they could put it on account. Even if they failed to repay him for three or five years, he never went to collect. His reputation gradually spread, and coupled with his identity as the master of Green Goat Temple, he earned the title of Living Immortal.

The old boatman moored the boat before the dock and helped Qin Sang ashore as he advised him, "Brother Qin, your leg injury is not serious. The Living Immortal will surely be able to treat it. But Cuiming Mountain lies between Three Witches City and the ferry crossing. It is ten li from here, and you still have to take mountain roads. Brother Qin, you should hire a carriage. This old fellow happens to know a few drivers and can guarantee a fair price..."

Qin Sang declined the old man's kind offer. Under the old man's disappointed gaze, he leaned on his wooden stick and limped into the crowd.

Walking amid the crowd and hearing accents from every corner of the land, Qin Sang thought to himself that Three Witches City truly lived up to its reputation.

Affected by his leg injury, Qin Sang walked and rested by turns. He really did hear an accent from his hometown. Looking over, he saw several people dressed in silk directing laborers to load cargo onto a boat by the shore.

He watched helplessly as they loaded an entire boat of goods and sailed away from the riverbank. In the end, Qin Sang said nothing. He resolutely turned and entered a tavern.

After eating fresh river fish and seafood, Qin Sang sat on the second floor, letting the river breeze wash over him. Holding a teacup, he gazed at the vast river beyond the window and the bustling multitude of people, lost in thought for a while.

"Shopkeeper, the bill!"

Qin Sang took out a bit of silver and watched the shopkeeper weigh it on a scale. Pinching the returned copper coins in his hand, he asked, "Sorry for the trouble, Shopkeeper. I wish to go to Three Witches City. Where might I hire a carriage?"

The shopkeeper sized Qin Sang up and pointed outside. "Go straight west along this street. At the end, there are more than a dozen carriage firms crowded together. They are all legitimate businesses, and there are plenty of carriages going to Three Witches City and the major ferry crossings."

Perhaps because Qin Sang had ordered so much food, the shopkeeper kindly reminded him, "In times like these... Young Master, it would be best not to travel alone. Find a few people to share a carriage with, and it will be cheaper too."

From the first crossing to Three Witches City, the terrain rose steadily. Travelers from several major ferry crossings all had to take this road into the city. There were quite a few pedestrians along the way, and the road was broad and level, so the carriage ride was not too bumpy.

Qin Sang got out of the carriage at the foot of Cuiming Mountain. Looking up at the towering peak before him, he saw that the mountain path appeared somewhat dangerous. His legs were not nimble to begin with, and fear rose in his heart.

Mountains rose and fell along both banks of the Wuling River. Cuiming Mountain was merely one peak in this long mountain range, not particularly conspicuous among the surrounding peaks.

Yet Cuiming Mountain possessed a unique spiritual grace and charm. Amid the thick forests on the mountain, the upturned eaves of temples and pavilions occasionally emerged from the cover of trees. From time to time, the long peal of a bell echoed through the woods, clearing the heart and mind.

Qin Sang had heard several tales from the driver about spirits and demons in Cuiming Mountain. He did not know whether those temples and Daoist shrines had chosen Cuiming Mountain because of such legends, or whether the legends only arose after they arrived.

Qin Sang barely climbed halfway up before encountering several people who were also headed to Green Goat Temple seeking treatment. Only with their support did he reach Green Goat Temple, located halfway up the back mountain.

Leaning on his stick, Qin Sang stopped before the gates of Green Goat Temple.

The temple was truly not small. Vast bamboo groves surrounded it, and the afternoon sunlight was not scorching. Bamboo leaves rustled, and cool breezes came in waves.

Because the mountain was steep, he could see the layered eaves within even from outside the temple. The architecture was similar to the Daoist temples Qin Sang had seen in his previous life, but everything was badly dilapidated. Broken roof tiles lay everywhere, while clumps of thatch poked out from beneath the tiles. There were likely very few roofs that did not leak.

Even from outside, he could hear voices within. There seemed to be quite a few people inside.

Qin Sang slowly made his way in along steps piled from bluestone. The stone lintel bore the carved words "Green Goat Temple." Two rotten wooden doors hung crookedly on either side, their door rings covered in rust.

Beyond the entrance was a large courtyard containing haystacks, a donkey pen, an ancient well, a windlass, a millstone, and a stone mortar. There were two large plots of land. Vegetables grew in the smaller one, while Qin Sang did not recognize what grew in the larger one; it was probably medicinal herbs.

Several tall steps stood behind the courtyard, leading up to a grand hall. It was the largest and most magnificent hall in all of Green Goat Temple, and also the best-maintained.

A wooden plaque hung above the hall, bearing vigorous characters—Green Goat Hall. The paint on the lettering was nearly gone.

No matter how he looked at it, this was not a place where immortals lived.

Qin Sang sighed inwardly and was about to enter when three people pushed open the door and came out. Two raggedly dressed men supported a pale-faced old woman. As they walked out, they kept turning their heads to offer thanks, promising to deliver the consultation fee next month.

Qin Sang knew that immortals truly existed in this world, so he dared not harbor any disrespect. His expression naturally grew solemn as well, and he quietly entered Green Goat Hall.

The main hall was empty. Large patches of the painted murals on the walls had peeled away, leaving them mottled and stained. It was impossible to tell what had originally been painted there.

Only the three statues in the central hall remained brightly colored as if new, their lacquerwork and carving both exceptionally exquisite.

A stick of incense burned on the offering table, smoke curling upward as its fragrant scent filled the hall.

Beside the offering table stood a long table and two cabinets. One held medicine, while the other was filled with scriptures. Behind the long table sat a gaunt old Daoist, straight as a pine, taking an elderly man's pulse.

The old Daoist's hair and beard were entirely white, yet his face showed no sign of age. His eyes were especially bright, blazing with spirit. A strand of snow-white beard fell to his chest, giving him the air and bearing of an immortal. He wore a blue Daoist robe, washed until it had faded somewhat, but still very clean.

To his right were brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. To his left sat a medicine chest, along with a medicinal hoe, cinnabar, yellow paper, a divination-stick tube, and other strange tools.

He must be Daoist Jixin, Qin Sang thought.

"Young Master, are you here to offer incense or seek treatment?"

Qin Sang followed the voice and saw a young Daoist emerge from among the people waiting for treatment nearby. He was thirteen or fourteen years old. His Daoist robe looked oversized and comical on him, while his features were fair and clean.

Remembering that the old boatman had said Daoist Jixin had a disciple, Qin Sang piled a smile onto his face. "Greetings, little Daoist priest. My surname is Qin. I injured my leg the day before yesterday. Please take a look at it for me."

The young Daoist brought over a small wooden stool. "Please sit, Young Master Qin."

Qin Sang sat as instructed. The young Daoist lifted Qin Sang's injured leg and felt the bone with his hand. "Young Master Qin, your leg bone is not broken, though there may be some cracks. Brew and drink some bone-nourishing medicine, and you will recover before long. If you are not in a hurry, you can sit and wait for my master to examine you."

Qin Sang had come specifically for the old Daoist, so naturally he agreed at once. "Sorry for the trouble, little Daoist priest."