The Village Temple Has Spirits

Great Yan's commercial economy was the most developed of all the dynasties. As a major transportation route, the Cuiyun Corridor naturally had no shortage of tea shops and inns along the way. Tea shops were especially plentiful.

Tea and water shops were necessities along the official horse road.

The farther one went toward Yizhou, the more of them there were.

These tea shops not only provided places to rest and drink water; some also offered simple food, which was better than the dry provisions travelers carried. The tea they served came in different grades, too. The worst was clear water with salt, with a little tea flavor if one was lucky. Pay a bit more, and one could drink the boiled tea sold in the cities. As for the taste, that depended on the shopkeeper's skill and conscience.

Song You had not gone far when he saw a tea shop ahead with quite a few people inside. The steam rising from the bamboo steamer was a powerful temptation to mountain travelers, so he went over and sat down. He ordered a bowl of tea and two steamed cakes before opening the money pouch the merchants had given him.

It was filled with fragments of silver, and he could not tell how much they weighed.

By a rough estimate, there seemed to be around ten taels.

Silver had only just begun to circulate widely as currency in this world, and in this dynasty. Before that, common folk rarely used silver for trade. It was quite convenient for travelers like Song You, though. For now, people still mostly used Great Yan Tongbao—copper coins—and when silver was used, it was converted into coins.

The last time he had descended the mountain, one tael of silver had converted to nearly twelve hundred coins.

He had nearly emptied the temple's savings when he left yesterday. He had brought nineteen taels of silver and more than a string of copper coins. That old Daoist would be unable to go down the mountain to buy meat for some time.

Added together, it seemed to be quite a substantial sum.

Unfortunately, Great Yan's commerce was flourishing. There were many things to buy, many places to spend money, many wealthy people, and many jobs; even the average wages were higher. Once he left the area around the temple—the mountain and the little villages and towns below—this money would not last long.

Song You had not brought much with him when he left. Everything had to be prepared along the way. Once he had too many belongings, he would probably have to buy another horse or mule.

Song You planned to buy one after reaching Yi Capital.

Although the tea-horse trade in Yizhou was controlled by the government and private transactions were forbidden by law, buying horses and mules in Yi Capital was still more affordable and offered better quality than elsewhere. He had heard that a decent southwestern horse cost only around twenty thousand coins, while mules were even cheaper.

Buying a horse or mule would not be bad...

As he pondered, the tea arrived.

It was the shop's best tea, with all sorts of odds and ends floating in it, along with two steamed cakes larger than fists. Their plain, pale-yellow dough was still steaming.

Song You took a bite of steamed cake and a sip of tea while glancing at the other customers.

Most of those sitting there were merchants and travelers. There were also some people from the martial world. They might remain silent while hurrying along the road, but once they sat down, they would make idle conversation.

Some spoke of the recent tea-horse market, some of the autumn examinations that were about to begin, and some of which temple had manifested a miracle or which stretch of mountain road had a demon. Others talked about temple fairs, while people from the martial world discussed gatherings of their own. Like this bowl of tea, it was all a chaotic jumble, sketching out one corner of the world.

Song You ate and drank slowly, listening quietly.

The tea table had been polished smooth with age, mottled sunlight filling its surface.

The tea of this era was not clear-brewed tea. The broth was thick, and with the two steamed cakes, it left Song You more or less full. He called for the shopkeeper to settle the bill.

It came to a little over ten copper coins. The tea was more expensive than the steamed cakes.

As Song You counted out the money, he casually asked, "Shopkeeper, how much farther is Yi Capital from here?"

"Nearly four hundred li. You'll have to pass through four counties."

"Four hundred li..."

By Song You's own sense of distance, a li in Great Yan was not as long as a li in his previous life. At most, it was four hundred meters. With good legs, walking a hundred and eighty li in a day would not be difficult.

"Are there any inns ahead?"

"Heading toward Yi Capital, the nearest carriage inn is sixty li away. With good walking speed, you can make it there." The shopkeeper took the money from his hand. Since he had watched Song You count it, he no longer counted it himself, simply tucking it away. "But there are two temples along the way, both empty. If you ask me, that carriage inn may not be any better for sleeping than the temples."

"I see."

Many temples in this era accepted travelers for overnight stays, especially Buddhist temples. They served highly practical functions and were far from being limited to the simple act of worshiping Buddha and burning incense.

But an empty temple by the roadside...

Song You glanced at the two tables of martial artists beside him.

They should be the first ones to choose it, right?

After thanking the shopkeeper, Song You continued on his way.

Gradually, the sun passed the third watch of the day. The weather was as fine as yesterday's, and beneath the sunlight, the Cuiyun Corridor was breathtakingly beautiful.

With the leisure to appreciate it, walking through the place was actually a pleasure.

Song You followed behind several porters for a stretch, walking as quickly as they did. With someone leading the way, walking required far less mental and physical effort.

Sometimes, when he followed them to a stream or mountain spring beside the ancient road and saw them scoop up water with their hands, he would do the same. Sometimes, when they stopped to rest, he would use his Daoist robes as an excuse to exchange a few words with them, asking how far the road extended and listening to the customs and dialects of other places. All of it counted as a harvest.

In the afternoon, the sunlight continued to scorch, and the cicadas shrilled noisily. There was no sign that heavy rain and fog had fallen yesterday, let alone that ghosts had once appeared in the thick mist.

When Song You stopped to rest, he could not help himself and dozed off for a while.

When he woke, the group of dark, gaunt porters had long since disappeared. Only the empty ancient road of blue stone remained, with patches of light beneath the trees. A string of small pits ran down the middle of the stone slabs, extending deep into the ancient road beneath the shade. That was the direction the porters had taken, but the road's end could not be seen.

Song You had no choice but to shoulder his pack and follow the little pits, walking alone once more.

He had seen it just now—

The porters had leaned on bamboo and wooden staffs. As though following an inherited tradition, each time they planted their staffs, they placed them precisely into those pits. It seemed they shared more than merely the road with their porter forebears from centuries ago—even the lengths of their strides were the same.

A thousand years of water dripping through stone had created these indelible marks upon the road. Was that not a form of inheritance as well?

As he walked, every stone slab beneath his feet and every ancient cypress seemed a witness to time. As Song You's gaze flickered, he again recalled what his master had said the day before yesterday:

"Do you think sitting in meditation, regulating your breathing, reading, and practicing in these mountains counts as cultivation?"

Song You knew at once that she wanted him to descend the mountain.

That old Daoist had once traveled across the great rivers and mountains and roamed the four seas in her youth, which was how she had acquired her considerable cultivation. She had never believed that sitting in an empty room counted as cultivation. Moreover, Song You had long known that every generation of Fulong Temple's disciples had to descend the mountain and travel. Sometimes their journeys were long, sometimes short, but there had never been an exception.

Sure enough, he soon heard her say:

"You should go down the mountain. Travel across its rivers, mountains, lakes, and seas. See the affairs of the world and the lives of its people. You may seek out famous mountains and immortal masters, or encounter demons and ghosts by chance. Go and see the real world that you cannot see from the mountain. Along that journey of ten thousand li, you will find your cultivation—and perhaps you will also find something that interests you."

"So she knew all along..."

Then he would descend the mountain. Song You also wanted to see how many interesting things this world held beyond its demons, ghosts, and gods.

Before he knew it, dusk had arrived.

Song You stopped before a small temple beside the road. He shook out his pack, then looked up at the couplet flanking the temple gate and could not help murmuring it aloud:

"Who does not walk this road?

"Whatever that thing is, I advise you not to do it!"

This was a village temple built by a nearby village. It consisted of a single room, inside which all sorts of gods were enshrined—figures from both Buddhism and Daoism, as well as local deities, who were generally people of virtue and renown transformed after death. The name of each deity was written behind its statue, and some even had records of their lives.

The village temple was not far from the Cuiyun Corridor, and travelers often spent the night there.

Song You had already decided to stay there tonight.

He stepped through the gate. Incense was still burning. Song You first bowed to each of the statues and said that he was sorry for the trouble, then found a corner far from the entrance. He bent down and blew away the dust on the floor before sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall.

The floor was cold and chilly, but gradually warmed beneath him.

Later, seven or eight more people arrived one after another. As Song You had guessed, almost all of them were people from the martial world, carrying sabers and swords.

They had no choice but to stay here.

Throughout the dynasties, authorities had restricted the movement of the population. Ordinarily, commoners were not allowed to travel wherever they pleased. However, those rules only worked on honest commoners. Merchants, people from the martial world, and cultivators like Song You each had their own ways around them.

Traveling merchants had legitimate reasons for being on the road and possessed travel permits. They followed routes approved by the authorities.

Some martial artists had travel permits and some did not, but they had their own methods either way. It was simply inconvenient for them to stay at inns along the way, so they had to find solutions themselves.

Fortunately, Great Yan had many temples. Whether inhabited or empty, most allowed travelers to stay overnight. One only had to avoid those Licentious Shrines and evil altars. Quite a few martial artists from the martial world, highly skilled, bold, and brimming with pride, even dared to sleep for a night in haunted abandoned temples.

The temple beside this official road was naturally legitimate.

Perhaps because they were all disliked by the authorities, or perhaps because they placed particular importance on human relationships and social etiquette, whenever these martial artists met, they would greet one another regardless of whether they knew or had even heard of each other, and soon fall into conversation. Even those with quiet dispositions would immediately return a greeting properly when approached, not daring to be the slightest bit negligent, for fear that word would spread and damage their reputations.

These people were very noisy, chatting until late into the night.

Some even came to bother Song You, but after discovering that he was not one of them, they stopped paying him any attention.

Song You was not afraid of them.

Although these martial artists looked fierce, they were particular about proper conduct. Besides, in this world, even bandits generally would not make trouble for monks or Daoists when they encountered them.

Not only that, if Song You passed a tea shop during the day and truly had no money, his chances of obtaining a bowl of coarse tea simply by virtue of his robes were quite high. These martial artists cared especially about reputation and face. If he exchanged a few pleasant words with them, there was a high probability he could even ask for a steamed cake to eat.

After this commotion continued until midnight, everyone finally went to sleep.

The mountain night was utterly quiet, disturbed only by the wind blowing against the door and the snores of the travelers from distant parts of the martial world nearby.

Unknowingly, Song You fell into a dream.

The dream was still set in this temple. The statues and layout were more or less the same, but the martial artists sprawled around him were gone. Looking carefully, one of the statues on the altar was missing as well—a relatively obscure local deity.

Instead, there was someone standing before him.

The man was dressed like a merchant, but his clothes were a riot of colors. He had an honest-looking face, cheeks red as dates, and a figure that seemed both clear and indistinct. His appearance and attire resembled those of the missing statue.

Before going to sleep, Song You had carefully examined the statues, especially the local deities. He knew this one was called Wang Shangong, a local underworld deity.

Wang Shangong had originally lived during the previous dynasty. His family had been wealthy, and when famine swept across the country, leaving corpses strewn everywhere, Wang Shangong opened his granaries and distributed grain, providing widespread relief to the starving. In the end, perhaps because he had misjudged the severity of the famine, his family's own food ran out as well, and he was starved to death. Later, the local people commemorated his virtue by building him statues and temples. After the imperial court learned of it, it even bestowed a title upon him. He was now a bona fide deity.

Before Song You could think any further, Wang Shangong bowed to him first:

"Forgive my presumption in disturbing you. I offer my respects."

"Shangong, what brings you to seek me out in the dead of night?"