Seeking an Old Friend on Qingcheng Mountain

Qingcheng Mountain lay more than a hundred and several dozen li away.

The roads around Yizhou City were well developed, with many main routes. There was even an official road leading to Qingcheng Mountain.

In his previous life, such a distance would likely have taken less than an hour. But in these times, even with the strongest legs, it was difficult to arrive within a single day. An official road was indeed a convenience for travelers; otherwise, they would have to spend even more time searching for mountain paths and wrestling with them.

To arrive early, one had to set out early.

Song You had already begun packing his luggage.

Just then, there came another knock at the door.

"Knock, knock, knock..."

Song You went to open it again. Constable Luo stood outside.

"Greetings, sir."

Song You was somewhat surprised and lowered his gaze.

"Squad Leader, this is...?"

"The persimmons back home ripened. Yesterday, my family had someone bring some over. They don't look like much, but they're very sweet. There were a little too many, though, and my family couldn't finish them all, so I brought some for you to try as well." Constable Luo carried a woven bamboo basket filled with lantern-like persimmons. "It isn't much, just enough for a taste. I hope you won't find it too little."

This constable truly knew how to speak.

How could Song You possibly refuse?

So he accepted the bamboo basket and picked out the little lanterns one by one, arranging them on the stone table.

As Three Flower Lady leaned close to sniff them again and again, Song You handed the empty basket back to Constable Luo and said after some thought, "Thank you, Constable Luo. However, there is another matter in which I would like to ask for your help."

"Please, sir, speak freely!"

"Yesterday, I had the good fortune to make Prefect Yu's acquaintance at the Tile House. The prefect gave me ink sticks and a felt mat alike. It would be impolite to refuse, yet I am ashamed to accept without returning the favor. After much consideration, I wish to give the prefect a painting in return. But I am in a hurry to visit old friends from my sect on Qingcheng Mountain, so it would be inconvenient for me to go myself. I recall that you pass the prefectural residence every day on your way to work, Squad Leader, so I would like to ask you to do me this favor and deliver it along the way."

"Prefect Yu!"

Constable Luo was immediately startled.

That was the chief official of an entire prefecture, a great regional authority.

Yizhou was a major prefecture even within Great Yan. Its jurisdiction was equivalent to that of two or three ordinary prefectures, its economy was prosperous, and its culture flourished to the utmost. The Prefect of Yizhou carried several times more weight than other prefects.

But Prefect Yu was more than that.

Prefect Yu was highly renowned, with both literary fame and an excellent official reputation. His appointment as Prefect of Yizhou this time had in fact been a demotion. Compared to such a great figure, he was merely a minor constable, and one whose position had been handed down through his family. Even simply becoming familiar to the prefect would likely bring him no small benefit.

How was this asking him to help deliver a gift?

This was clearly a blessing the gentleman was bestowing upon him.

"I will certainly deliver it!"

Constable Luo hurriedly reached out and accepted the rolled paper.

What "on the way to work"? He would make a special trip!

"Thank you, Squad Leader."

"I should be the one thanking you, sir."

Constable Luo carefully held the paper roll as he left.

Song You stood in the doorway, watching Constable Luo's departing back, and could not help sinking into thought, motionless.

It seemed he was becoming entangled in more and more things.

Song You had never wanted too many ties with others, though the reason was difficult to put into words. Yet unexpectedly, after living in the city for two or three months, even though he had kept a low profile and rarely gone out, his connections with others had only grown deeper, as though it were impossible to avoid.

Just like asking Constable Luo for help today—

Song You had not wanted to do this, yet he had not wanted not to do it either. There was truly a contradiction in that. And this contradiction was worth savoring, worth pondering.

After turning it over and over in his mind, he found only one answer.

Perhaps that way of thinking had been wrong from the start.

Traveling the world after descending the mountain meant forming ties with people. Or rather, part of its meaning came precisely from that.

"Taoist priest, are you dead?"

"Not yet."

"Oh."

Three Flower Lady had been watching him for quite some time, and she let out a breath of relief.

"Why would you say that?"

"Three Flower Lady saw you weren't moving."

"I was only thinking."

"Thinking."

"Let's go too."

"Let's go too."

"..."

Song You still had a few stray thoughts in his mind, but he picked up his luggage and letter, took Three Flower Lady with him, and headed out of the city.

As he walked, he thought. The more he thought, the clearer it became.

Once he had seen through it all, his whole body felt refreshed.

Only then did he notice that someone had planted osmanthus trees somewhere, their fragrance drifting through half the city.

The road ahead was not much longer.

Qingcheng Mountain was truly a famed Daoist mountain not only in Yizhou, but throughout the southwestern region of Great Yan. Yet Qingcheng Mountain was enormous and renowned, and many recluses had come here to build temples or thatched huts for cultivation. Though these recluses varied in their Dao attainment and cultivation—indeed, most possessed neither, and were merely quiet cultivators who admired the Dao—the mountain truly had a great many temples.

From the foot of the mountain to its waist, there were said to be dozens of temples, large and small.

But the place Song You intended to visit was not one of the largest, most famous, or oldest temples. It was Fuqing Palace, neither large nor small, located halfway up the rear mountain.

One could tell from the name alone that it was most likely a proper Daoist temple.

Words like "fortune" and "purity" were commonly used in Daoist names. A name like Fulong Temple, which carried none of the usual Daoist flavor, was rather unconventional. Temples like that were either so ancient that they had been named before such conventions were established, or they simply were not proper temples.

Fulong Temple had both.

Ancient, and improper.

Fuqing Palace had formed its connection with Fulong Temple in the generation of Song You's grandmaster. Back then, Song You's grandmaster had been much like Song You now, traveling the world. Not long after leaving the mountain gates, he met the man who would later become Fuqing Palace's Palace Master. After Grandmaster returned from his travels and took over Fulong Temple, Fuqing Palace's Palace Master would come to visit almost every year, often bringing disciples and students with him to exchange insights on cultivation and seek instruction in the mysteries of spells.

When the Palace Master died, his disciples came instead.

This connection endured through Song You's master's generation, and then to Song You's own. At least for now, he still remembered Fuqing Palace, and Fuqing Palace still came every year, so their bond had not yet faded.

That was why they could ask them to help deliver the letter.

These days, mountains stood high and rivers ran long. Though there was a postal system, it was not open to commoners, and messages were difficult to send. At times, a single letter truly could be worth ten thousand gold.

Yet Song You had never been to Fuqing Palace.

He would have to walk there slowly and ask for directions as he went.

Fortunately, Song You was very patient. Better still, Three Flower Lady accompanied him, so every step of the journey was clear, deeply etched in his memory, and meaningful.

Halfway there, even better things happened one after another.

First, an old man driving an ox cart saw that he was a Daoist traveling alone and gave him a ride along the way.

The ox cart had carried vegetables into the city that morning and was already tired. Its owner cared for the ox, so even with the cart empty on the return journey, he let it walk slowly—probably about as fast as Song You could have walked himself. Still, it saved him some effort.

Not long after bidding the old man farewell, he encountered a merchant caravan. They traveled much faster than the ox cart. Seeing his Daoist robes, they stopped to ask him a few questions, then gave him another ride.

He actually reached the foot of Qingcheng Mountain that very evening.

But it was already far too late to go up the mountain. Song You had no choice but to find a temple at its foot, produce his Monk Certificate to prove his identity, and respectfully explain his purpose. The temple master let him stay in a guest room for the night, and even took down some cured meat to make him a fine meal. Only the boasting and drinking during dinner were rather difficult for him to handle.

Yidu City, the prefectural residence.

Prefect Yu stood with his hands behind his back before a newly mounted painting that had just been hung up.

The painting itself was simple—

A few strokes outlined a trunk and branches, with neither beginning nor end visible. A few dots of cinnabar had been casually scattered to form red plum blossoms. Upon the tree was a cat rendered in ink wash, highly impressionistic, with nothing else in the picture.

Prefect Yu was a man of refined taste and quite accomplished in painting himself. In his view, the painting was not only simple, but its technique was utterly ordinary. Yet for some reason, it seemed to possess an indescribable charm. The cat, sketched and blurred into being with such simple strokes, was astonishingly lifelike.

The longer he looked, the more alive it seemed.

If he stared for too long, then in a moment of distraction, he would sometimes feel as though the cat had moved—turning its head to blink, or raising its head to admire the flowers. But when he fixed his eyes upon it and looked closely, it was no different from before.

This painting possessed an elegant spirit and wondrous subtlety.

Not to mention that it had been gifted by the gentleman.

Thus, that afternoon, Prefect Yu had someone mount it and hang it in his room.

Then something marvelous happened.

After Cold Dew and Frost's Descent, winter was about to begin. Not only were the city's people anxious, but the rats in the residence were anxious too. They often scampered and leaped about the house, making clattering noises through the night. Yet though he, the prefect, could govern the people of the city, he could not govern the little creatures that lived alongside him in the prefectural residence. It gave him quite a headache.

But after the painting was hung, the night was utterly quiet.

There was not a sound.

Prefect Yu had thought he had simply slept well and failed to hear them. But when he asked the person beside his pillow, then the servants, they all said the previous night had been peaceful, as though the rat lords had collectively taken the day off.

Prefect Yu found it even more astonishing in secret.

Even the Imperial Preceptor at court might not possess such ability.

It's my twenty-second birthday today, and my fingers hurt so much. Why must I, in the full bloom of youth, suffer the torment of tenosynovitis...? Taking the day off, everyone. I'm going out to have dinner with my older sisters, so there won't be an update tonight!