Prefect's Visit

Monsters and spirits needed a certain level of cultivation if they wished to take human form.

But cultivation alone was not enough. It was not simply a matter of having sufficient cultivation and naturally being able to transform; they also needed a touch of opportunity, a touch of providence, a touch of spiritual wonder.

That final little bit was rather mysterious when spoken of. Some spirits passed this hurdle naturally, without even knowing how it had happened. Others endured countless hardships, searching high and low, yet never found it. Or perhaps, just when they had given up, during some utterly ordinary day and night, it would suddenly come to pass. Song You had read many such stories in the Daoist temple's books.

Taking form could not be accomplished overnight.

Song You had seen transformed monsters several times, their cultivation ranging from high to low, but he had never witnessed the process of transformation itself. According to the storytellers, it could take either a long time or a short one, so he often stayed home to watch her.

Cold Dew passed, then Frost's Descent.

The weather turned from cool to cold.

Three Flower Cat remained a cat. Once the weather cooled, she was always curled up somewhere warm; otherwise, she would burrow into the stove's firebox. Every time he lit the fire to cook, it felt like seeking an audience deep in the mountains—he first had to lean close to the opening and politely ask whether Three Flower Lady was within. Otherwise, he had to bend down and peer into the firebox in search of her, and more often than not, their eyes met.

Whenever she emerged, she was inevitably blackened with soot.

If he said she was dirty, she would answer in a soft voice, sounding both earnest and unconcerned:

"I merely got some dust on me."

Song You generally did not press the matter.

Before he knew it, the season had come when every breath turned white.

One afternoon.

North Tile Yard, Cloud Talk Shed.

North Tile Yard was the Tile House Song You often visited. Of the seven or eight Tile Houses in Yi Capital, North Tile Yard was considered one of the larger ones, with more than a dozen performance halls of various sizes inside. Cloud Talk Shed was the name of one such hall, jointly run by Old Mr. Zhang, Cheng Wulang, and others, where they made their living by the art of speech.

Old Mr. Zhang usually told stories in the afternoon, and sometimes another gentleman came to recount history. At night, Cheng Wulang's troupe performed comic banter, somewhat like crosstalk, all for a bit of amusement.

The halls were built in a style modeled after the stages of temples: enclosed on all sides and roofed over, like sheds, which was why many performance halls were named "shed." Inside were generally tiered audience seats, rising layer by layer from the inner rows outward, called waist sheds. Entry required payment, and different seats cost different amounts. They were already highly professional venues for performances.

But once the weather turned cold, many people no longer wished to leave home. Song You paid the regular price yet got a fairly good seat.

He ordered a pot of hot tea and held it in his hands for warmth.

Old Mr. Zhang took the stage right on time.

He was still telling the tale of that great northern war from several years ago, with General Chen Ziyi as its protagonist.

It was a serial.

No one had yet written this war into a book, but storytellers had gathered all sorts of scattered information, mixed in their own wild fabrications, and fashioned it into a tale. Compared with stories adapted from proper novels and historical romances, such tales lacked completeness, smoothness, and plausibility. Yet people were deeply interested in stories whose every aspect felt close enough to their own lives. Storytellers like Old Mr. Zhang, who had seized the initiative, could make no small profit from them as well.

Song You had missed several earlier sessions and lost quite a bit of the story. Now, as he listened to the storyteller recount the later events, he relied on what came before and after to imagine the missing parts, trying hard to piece them together.

Next door was Hibiscus Shed, where they sang ballads.

Storytelling on one side and singing on the other—both performed by professionals, every voice loud and clear. The two sounds rose and fell in turns, sometimes battling right beside one's ears, sometimes blending together surprisingly well.

"That Chen Ziyi, alone with a single spear, fought until his whole body was drenched in blood, until everything he saw turned red! And what do you think happened in the end? Amid ten thousand troops, he rescued his commander once more, frightening the northern soldiers out of their wits! As they say: blood stained his battle robe, soaking through his armor crimson; who in this age dared contend with him? Chen Ziyi possessed not only martial skill, but a body full of courage!"

Song You heard a quiet laugh beside him.

He turned and saw a refined-looking scholar.

He appeared to be around fifty. His skin was excellent, silver frosted his temples, and his beard was groomed without a hair out of place. To still wear a flowered hairpin at his age was truly elegant and dashing; he was likely some noted man of letters.

His robes were made of the finest Yijin, and not a speck of dusty mud could be seen on his shoes. He was either wealthy or noble, and especially particular.

He possessed both scholarly grace and an official's bearing, neither ordinary in the slightest. Even though Song You knew little of fate and fortune, he could tell at a glance that this man was not merely extraordinary now—he would likely become even more extraordinary in the future.

A man like this ought to have been seated at the Azure Dragon Head.

That was the finest golden position.

In the performance halls and Tile Houses of the capital, the best seat was called the Golden Crossed Chair, reserved for the emperor. Below it came the Azure Dragon Head, the finest viewing area. Yi Capital had no emperor, so there was no Golden Crossed Chair. Wealthy and noble families merely paid a little extra to sit at the Azure Dragon Head, while if a high-ranking official arrived, there was no need to say anything—someone would naturally make the arrangements.

Yet this man sat beside him, with only one seat between them.

Looking around this hall again, only thirty or forty percent of the seats had been sold. There were plenty of empty spots.

Song You immediately understood.

After Old Mr. Zhang finished a segment, he drank tea and rested. Several young officials' sons sat in the nearby Azure Dragon Head seats. Young people were full of curiosity, so they asked questions about the story this way and that, and the old gentleman answered each one appropriately.

Song You sensed that the man beside him had glanced at him.

A short while later, he glanced over several more times.

Half a cup of tea later, the official finally spoke. "This old gentleman tells it well enough, but the story strays rather too far from the truth."

"Did you laugh because of that, sir?"

"You heard it?"

"Song's hearing is decent enough."

"You have seen me make a fool of myself. Yu had no intention of slighting the gentleman onstage; I merely happened to know the course of the battle at Lan Shui. Though the gap between what the gentleman says onstage and the truth is great, his version is more exciting and entertaining. I could not help thinking that Yu knows only the true course of the battle at Lan Shui, while the gentleman onstage knows the story that the people below wish to hear. I found something wonderfully amusing in that, and so I laughed softly."

Song You nodded as he listened, unable to suppress a smile.

There was indeed something quite interesting in the way this man spoke.

"Lord Yu need not explain."

"Do you often come here to listen to storytellers, sir?"

"Whenever I have the time."

"Most of the stories told in these entertainment halls are false."

"Stories may be true or false, but of all things that exist in this world, which is wholly false? Truth need not contain falsehood, yet falsehood must contain truth."

"Oh? Please enlighten me."

"Didn't Lord Yu say so earlier? Lord Yu knows the true Battle of Lan Shui, while the storyteller onstage knows what the people below the stage wish to hear. Each has its own use. If Lord Yu considers what the storyteller knows to be shallower than what Lord Yu knows, that is not wrong either."

"So that's how it is..."

Prefect Yu frowned, deep in thought.

Once he understood, his eyes lit up. He found it so wonderfully apt that he nearly clapped his hands in delight.

He had originally thought Mister Song had come to Cloud Talk Shed to hear about that northern war from several years ago. But that was not the case. What this gentleman truly listened for was the preferences and pursuits of ordinary people—or perhaps their yearnings.

In other words, what the storyteller onstage knew was what the people below wished to hear.

The story might have been false, yet that fact was undoubtedly true.

Prefect Yu silently praised the insight. And for someone who had specifically come to make this acquaintance, what delighted him even more was that he had thought of the same thing earlier. Wasn't that a case of great minds thinking alike without prior consultation?

"My surname is Yu, given name He, courtesy name Jianbai. I am originally from Changjing. May I ask your honored name?"

"If Lord Yu does not know Song, why did you come looking for Song?"

Prefect Yu was stunned for a moment.

Yet he was not embarrassed. After a brief consideration, he had an answer and instead asked, "And how does sir know Yu came here looking for you?"

Song You merely pointed to the rows of chairs ahead. "If Lord Yu had only come to hear the storytelling, you should be sitting over there."

"I see."

It was much the same as he had guessed.

"To be frank, Yu heard earlier of what happened at Taian Temple, and later heard that sir had rid Jinyang Road of ghosts. I could not help but admire you and wished to make your acquaintance." Prefect Yu spoke plainly. The friendship of gentlemen was light as water; literary men making friends ought to be a simple matter. "After making many inquiries, Yu heard that sir often went outside Pine Hut to listen to the qin. I waited there for several days, but regrettably never saw you. I assumed sir preferred peace and quiet and did not wish to be disturbed, so I stopped going for a time."

As he spoke, he even rose to his feet and cupped his hands in a bow to Song You.

"If Yu has disturbed you in any way, I ask sir's forgiveness. If sir favors quiet cultivation and does not wish to associate with others, Yu shall leave at once."

"I do not go to Pine Hut every day."

At this, Prefect Yu was overjoyed, though he did not show it.

"Then it seems Yu simply had no fate to meet sir at that time."

"To meet is fate."

"This place is noisy, not fit for conversation. Sir often goes to Pine Hut to listen to the qin, so you must also cherish the art. As it happens, Yu has some acquaintance with Yang Jinsheng of Pine Hut. If sir is willing, after this session ends, how about Yu inviting you to Pine Hut for a visit? I can serve as an intermediary and introduce Yang Jinsheng to you. Would that not be splendid?"

"Thank you for your kind intentions, Lord Yu." Song You declined. "However, Song merely enjoys Lord Yang's qin music and does not know what kind of man Lord Yang is. I have no interest in making his acquaintance."

"I see."

Prefect Yu paused, then sank into thought again.

"Song has a question instead."

"Please speak freely, sir."

"Since Lord Yu believed Song preferred peace and quiet and did not wish to be disturbed, why did you make a special trip to seek me out today?" Song You asked.

"To tell the truth, Yu has long yearned for the Immortal Path and immortality. These past days, I often thought of sir and lay awake through the night. Unable to restrain myself, I went to Pine Hut again a few days ago. When I did not find sir there, I came to the northern entertainment quarter today to seek you out." Prefect Yu showed a shamefaced expression. "I have caused much disturbance."

"Lord Yu sought me out because you wish to pursue the Immortal Path and immortality?"

"Yu has yearned for it for many years."

"Lord Yu truly overestimates Song." Song You could not help but laugh softly. "Song has not even caught sight of the Immortal Path and immortality. How could I possibly help Lord Yu?"

"Yu only seeks an answer."

Prefect Yu fixed Song You with a blazing gaze. "Since sir is an extraordinary man beyond the world, could you tell Yu whether there is a path to immortality in this world?"

"Song is only a mortal."

"Have you ever seen anyone attain immortality?"

"How long must one live for it to count as immortality?"

"As long as heaven and earth."

"When heaven and earth first opened, there were no people in this world yet."

"Then as long as the sun and moon?"

"When the sun and moon were first born, there were no people in this world either."

"Were there immortals or gods then?"

"I suppose not."

"Suppose?"

"Yes."

"Oh?"

Prefect Yu's eyes still widened in shock—shocked both that the gentleman's answer differed from what he had expected, and by what the gentleman had said. Yet unwilling to give up, he continued asking:

"Then what of a thousand autumns and ten thousand years?"

"Song is only a mortal man as well."

"..."

Prefect Yu could not help showing his disappointment.

Song You merely shook his head and smiled.

This man possessed remarkable scholarly bearing, and remarkable official bearing as well. Though Yizhou was vast, it likely could not contain him; the court in the capital was where he belonged. From the very first thing he had said, Song You had found him much to his liking, thinking him indeed no ordinary man—yet he was obsessed with something as illusory as the Immortal Path and eternal life.

Bang!

The storyteller's block cracked sharply.

"To speak of how Chen Ziyi rode hard through the Lan Shui River, whip raised, single-handedly saving his commander-in-chief, striking such terror into the northern soldiers that their livers and gallbladders split..."

Song You turned his head toward the front, with no intention of speaking further to Yu Jianbai.

Several young clerks ahead were flushed red with excitement, their hearts brimming with longing. They wished they could enlist at once—either to emulate General Chen Ziyi and take the field to slay enemies, or to follow General Chen Ziyi into battle. Of everyone in the pavilion, they were listening with the greatest fervor, copper coins clinking as they flew onto the stage.

Great Yan valued letters, yet also revered martial valor. No wonder it had carved out such a realm.

Even after the performance ended, he did not speak with Yu Jianbai again.