The Situation, Part One

In the alleyway, Zhang Rongfang watched Xiao Qingying and the other woman leave until their backs had completely vanished from sight before turning away.

Along the way, he occasionally encountered Cultivation Disciples dressed in Light Blue Daoist Robes with White Shirts thrown over them.

Each time, he had to stop, stand aside to clear the way, and lower his head in salute.

Within Qinghe Temple, disciples were divided into Cultivation Disciples and Servant Disciples.

Strictly speaking, Servant Disciples were temporary workers who could be dismissed at any time.

Cultivation Disciples were different, however, and thus the rules of etiquette concerning them were exceedingly strict.

For any breach of manners, the light punishment was facing the wall in reflection while doing the most grueling labor; the heavy punishment was dozens of staff strikes, or even being beaten to death and thrown down the mountain.

Zhang Rongfang soon arrived at the Laundry Room and began sorting through bucket after bucket of dirty clothes sent over, together with the dozen or so other servants.

Clothes, Daoist Crowns, Flats, High Boots, belts, and more—all the things that needed cleaning were dumped here in one heap.

After toiling hard all day, he finally finished work at nearly half past ten that night.

The moment it ended, Zhang Rongfang wasted no time. With the money tucked against his chest, he headed straight for the Daoist Registry Management Room.

Not long after, he emerged from the management room. The Silver Pouch on him had shriveled completely flat, and of the Two Liang Silver he had saved up for so long, only a tiny bit remained.

Letting out a breath of relief, he looked into the distance ahead.

At night, Qinghe Temple was lit everywhere by oil lamps and candlelight.

From the direction of the three great halls and the Daoist grounds came the faint sound of scriptures still being chanted. They were not the voices of Daoists, but of devout Incense Guests staying in the temple to recite scriptures.

They were chanting the Limitless Heart Sutra.

Zhang Rongfang followed the Pebble Path toward the Disciple Dormitory Area at the very back.

The thudding evening drum drifted over from afar, waxing and waning with the wind.

Carried along with the wind was also the scent of some kind of roasted meat.

Zhang Rongfang swallowed unconsciously. The little Black Steamed Bun he had eaten in the dining hall that afternoon had not even been enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.

A Servant Disciple's meals consisted of two Black Steamed Buns per meal, a dish of assorted Pickles, and a bowl of Egg Drop Soup so thin one could see the bottom at a glance.

Each steamed bun was only half the size of a fist. It was barely enough for someone who did not move around, but for Servant Disciples like them, who had to perform hard labor, it was nowhere near enough.

Passing a Cliff Cloud Platform, Zhang Rongfang paused and cast a sidelong glance down from it.

Black clouds blanketed the foot of the mountain. Above, the crescent moon spilled its clear radiance, while the distant mountains stood silent and still, with only the wind howling through them.

Two distinguished guests draped in Sable Fur also stood in the corner on the right side of the platform, speaking quietly. It was impossible to tell whether they were admiring the moon or sharing their hearts.

By the light of the Dao Palace, Zhang Rongfang took a look. The brown fur of the Sable Fur coats reflected the light faintly, glossy and sleek.

He had always thought sable fur was purple. Now that he saw it, he could not make out even a trace of purple.

"What are you standing here for? Don't disturb the Laymen!" A squad of Patrolling Daoists passing behind him rebuked him in low voices.

The man leading them was tall and powerfully built, his face covered in black Whiskers. He carried a lantern in one hand and a Long Staff in the other.

From afar, he resembled a Mountain Tiger crossing the hills, his gaze blazing and his bearing formidable.

Zhang Rongfang sighed inwardly. Servant Disciples truly had no rights. On the surface, however, he hastily lowered his head in salute. The proper rites could not be neglected.

"Yes. I'm heading back right away," he replied.

That tall, burly Daoist's Daoist Title was Qi Shan. He was the Cultivation Disciple leading the patrol during this time period.

Zhang Rongfang had seen him several times and had a particularly deep impression of him.

The man stood over two meters tall, with a thick waist, broad shoulders, and powerful, muscular limbs. During sparring on the Daoist grounds, he had once fought three men alone and still held the upper hand.

Daoist Qi Shan nodded. Only after watching Zhang Rongfang hurry toward the Servant Disciple dormitories did he shift his gaze away and continue patrolling.

In the blink of an eye, another half month passed.

During those half months, Zhang Rongfang went back and forth each day between the Laundry Room, the Daoist grounds, the dining hall, and the Disciple Dormitory Area.

The dry, oil-free food he ate every day left him unable to sense even the slightest sign of accumulating Attribute Points.

Whenever he accumulated attributes, he could feel threads of warmth gathering within his body.

But once his exertion became excessive, that accumulating warmth would noticeably weaken.

For more than ten days, Zhang Rongfang had washed bucket after bucket of clothing every day, draining an enormous amount of stamina.

In his heart, he understood that he had to find a way to escape this state.

But it was not all bad news. After he had paid the money, his name was absent from the second round of Servant Disciples being eliminated and sent down the mountain.

This allowed Zhang Rongfang to breathe a sigh of relief.

The Daoist Registry was highly valued in Great Ling. If he could rise high enough in the future, his treatment would become far better.

Day after day passed, and in the blink of an eye, another half month went by.

Qinghe Temple sent off a batch of distinguished guests who had come for a Tea Party, then began the new annual round of the Cultivation Disciple Selection Examination.

Looking at the Attribute Panel, where his Attribute Points remained at 0 without the slightest increase, Zhang Rongfang understood more and more clearly that he could not keep wasting time like this.

Yet for the moment, he had no good solution in mind.

...1183, fourth month.

Zhang Rongfang carried two buckets of clothes on a shoulder pole as he followed the mountain path toward the drying grounds in the Back Mountain.

Dawn had barely broken. Qinghe Temple was laid out in a rectangular formation, and the drying grounds at the very back bordered the forest and stone cliffs, located beyond the walls of the Dao Palace.

Aside from Daoists who came here to dry clothes, almost no one else visited this place.

All around were bare, leafless woods and heaps of deathly pale rocks.

Zhang Rongfang took a few steps, then rested a few times. On one hand, the path here was difficult to walk; on the other, the mountain fog was thick at this time, making it hard to see ahead.

He had heard the senior brothers and sisters in the Laundry Room say that at times like this, mountain monkeys might come out to steal clothes.

So he had to be especially careful.

Whenever clothes were hung out to dry, someone had to stand guard. Zhang Rongfang had been lucky this time to get this relatively leisurely job.

The two buckets of clothing weighed sixty jin. He had to carry at least fifteen buckets back and forth, and that was only part of the robes.

After taking a deep breath, Zhang Rongfang wiped the sweat from his forehead and prepared to press onward.

Just then, faint voices drifted from the fog to his front left.

"...She didn't come. What happened? Did she become suspicious of you before?" a young man asked in a lowered voice.

"I don't know. I don't think so. She was even talking heart-to-heart with me last night..." another woman answered anxiously.

"No matter what, when we go into town to purchase supplies this time, you're responsible for creating an opportunity. Put this thing into her gourd before we set out," the man said as quietly as he could.

Zhang Rongfang's Heart Shivered. It was not the first time he had overheard others talking in private, but this time... something seemed wrong.

In the Dao Palace, the wind was strong. Once it blew in the right direction, even voices lowered from more than ten meters away could be heard to some extent.

The people involved often did not notice.

Zhang Rongfang immediately stood still, then slowly backed away.

There was usually no one here. Since they were secretly discussing something like this, if they discovered him, the Consequences would likely be grim.

After that, he heard further instructions in scattered fragments.

He did not want to meddle in such matters, nor did he have the ability to. But just as he turned to leave, a name suddenly drilled into his ears.

Xiao Qingying! Zhang Rongfang stopped dead, his Eyes Flickered with uncertainty.

After a pause, he retreated a little farther, then deliberately hummed a Daoist Scripture as he carried the clothes forward.

His voice drifted far ahead. Soon, when he reached the spot where he had been before, he truly could no longer hear anyone speaking.

Clearly, the two people having that secret discussion had heard him approaching and left in advance.

As Zhang Rongfang continued on, he calculated inwardly.

He did not know who the speakers were, but he had memorized their voices. Besides, they had mentioned drugging someone during a trip into town to purchase supplies. It appeared Xiao Qingying would be plotted against on one such trip into town.

Then, as long as he found out when she was going into town, he could secretly send word to warn her.

After delivering the warning, if something happened, he could repay the favor Xiao Qingying had shown him last time. And perhaps he could also... Zhang Rongfang's expression remained unchanged as he went to the drying grounds as usual. Together with another Disciple, he hung all the clothes from the drying poles, tugging and patting them into neat rows.

He did not immediately go to send word. Instead, he continued guarding the drying grounds, eating the Black Mantou he had brought for lunch, until the sun set that afternoon. Only then did he gather the clothes and hurry back.

After a busy day, once he had finished his evening lessons and the evening drum was about to sound—

Zhang Rongfang hurriedly rose from the Daoist grounds and walked toward Xiao Rong, who was preparing to leave.

Xiao Rong was the Daoist responsible for teaching the lessons of all Servant Disciples. His status was even higher than that of ordinary Cultivation Disciples, equivalent to a steward within Qinghe Temple. Only the Palace Master, Supervisor, and Hall Master ranked above him.

At the same time, he was Xiao Qingying's birth father.

Xiao Rong had a face full of Whiskers and always carried a wine gourd on him, though it usually contained very little alcohol.

Rumor had it that he was a true drunkard, yet few had ever seen him drink.

At this moment, Xiao Rong saw a Servant Disciple rise from the Daoist grounds and hurry toward him. Seeing the urgency of his steps, he paused to wait.

"Something the matter?"

Zhang Rongfang first clasped his fists in salute. Only after straightening from his bow did he say, "Disciple Zhang Rongfang pays respects to Mingguang Dharma Master."

"Speak. The drum will sound soon," Xiao Rong said. He had a mild temperament and held no particularly poor opinion of Servant Disciples.

His Daoist Title was also Mingguang, and he held the officially certified rank of Dharma Master, so he was generally addressed as Mingguang Dharma Master.

"It is like this. When this disciple went to the Back Mountain to dry clothes during the day..." Zhang Rongfang did not conceal the slightest detail and truthfully recounted everything he had heard.

As for how it should be judged, he trusted that Xiao Rong had his own judgment.

As Zhang Rongfang spoke bit by bit, Xiao Rong's initially careless expression gradually turned grave.

After Zhang Rongfang finished, Xiao Rong thought for a moment, glanced around at the Servant Disciples who had long since dispersed, and waved his hand.

"Are you sure you did not hear wrong?"

"I'm sure!" Zhang Rongfang nodded solemnly.

"If you heard those voices from this morning again, could you identify them?" Xiao Rong asked.

"I should be able to! But I cannot be certain," Zhang Rongfang replied with a nod.

Xiao Rong revealed a thoughtful look. Then he carefully examined the Messenger Disciple before him.

"This matter is of great importance. Think carefully. If you falsely accuse another Disciple, you will receive fifty staff strikes. With your physique, you will have little chance of surviving them," he said again.

"This disciple would not dare utter a single false word," Zhang Rongfang said solemnly. "In fact, Senior Sister Xiao Qingying once helped this disciple in the alleyway beside Profound Heart Hall. This disciple has always remembered it in his heart. Ordinarily, if this involved someone else, this disciple should not and would not rashly come forward to send word. But upon hearing that it involved Senior Sister Xiao, no matter what, this disciple did not dare bear even the slightest responsibility through inaction."

Zhang Rongfang's expression was sincere and open. Whether in his Previous Life or this one, his character had always been the same: clear in gratitude and grudges. A favor must be repaid.

Thus, these words came from the bottom of his heart, spoken with resolute certainty.

Hearing this, Xiao Rong's gaze shifted slightly with emotion. The backgrounds of Servant Disciples were not particularly good. To find one like the person before him—articulate, clear-minded, grateful, and loyal—was exceedingly rare.

Most Servant Disciples were abandoned children sent by families from nearby towns to secure a place in the Daoist Registry.

Many had received training in serving others before coming here. As for those who could read and write, speak clearly, and think lucidly, there were not many.

In these times, not everyone was qualified to read and write. Even if Wealthy Farmers and Households had the spare money, they still needed the time and energy.

Not to mention one with such gratitude and loyalty.