Shen Hui followed his master into the flower hall on the east side.
The room wasn't large, and its furnishings were simple.
There was a wooden bed, a narrow table, a few chairs, and a copper brazier in the corner. The coals burned brightly, filling the room with warmth.
The Old Taoist sat down beside the bed, took the long, slender case off his back, and leaned it against the headboard.
Shen Hui poured him a cup of tea and handed it over. The Old Taoist took a sip and set it down.
"Go on, then. What else have you been hiding from me?"
Shen Hui hesitated briefly, then made up his mind.
There was no point trying to hide it. His master might be getting on in years, but his eyes were still sharp.
He decided to be honest. "Master, this disciple has learned every spell in the Lesser Five Elements Art."
The Old Taoist's eyes widened. The teacup in his hand stopped in midair. "All five?"
"Sharp Metal, Nurturing Wood, Controlling Water, and Transforming Earth are all still at the beginner stage. They're nowhere near as advanced as my fire technique," Shen Hui answered honestly.
The Old Taoist looked at him, his gaze complicated.
He studied Shen Hui from head to toe for quite some time, then suddenly asked, "That Sharp Metal energy you used last night—it traveled along the Zhongchong meridian?"
Shen Hui was taken aback. He lowered his eyes to look at his hand, then nodded. "Yes."
"Zhongchong connects to the pericardium. The Sharp Metal energy suits that meridian well," the Old Taoist murmured to himself.
Then he asked, "And have you reached Mid Qi Refining now, opening the meridians throughout your body?"
Shen Hui hesitated, but nodded all the same. "I broke through two days before coming down the mountain."
The Old Taoist sat dumbfounded for a long while, not even noticing that the tea in his hand had gone cold.
After a long time, he finally nodded slowly and said only, "That's good."
With that, he set down the teacup and lay down on the bed, still fully clothed.
"I'm going to sleep," the Old Taoist said.
Shen Hui was a little surprised.
He'd thought his master would meditate instead of sleep. So why had he simply gone straight to bed?
He glanced at the Old Taoist. The old man lay with his back to him, wrapped in the quilt without moving. Shen Hui couldn't tell whether he was asleep.
He didn't dare ask. After blowing out the lamp, he went to the main room, sat cross-legged, and began his usual meditation.
The room was very quiet. The only sound was the occasional pop of the coals in the copper brazier.
The Old Taoist did turn over rather frequently, though. The bed creaked through half the night, and only in the small hours did it finally fall quiet.
Shen Hui thought his master was getting on in years. Perhaps sleeping somewhere unfamiliar made it hard for him to settle, or perhaps old people simply didn't sleep very well...
Nothing happened through the night.
At dawn the next day, Shen Hui finished his practice, got up, and went out to fetch water.
There was a well in the back courtyard of the post station, its rim filmed with thin ice. He drew a bucket, carried it back to the room with a wooden basin, and set it down.
That Old Taoist really was something.
At the Temple, he never liked being waited on. He always dressed and ate by himself.
Whenever a disciple tried to curry favor by helping him, he waved them away, saying things like, "I'm not some cripple who can't walk. I don't need anyone waiting on me."
But as soon as he left the mountain and entered the mortal world, it was as if he'd become a different person. He immediately put on airs.
When Shen Hui pushed open the door, the Old Taoist was still sprawled on the bed, his eyes half open and his expression bleary with sleep.
He said nothing when he saw Shen Hui. He only slowly held out his hand. His meaning couldn't have been clearer—he was waiting to be waited on.
Shen Hui didn't say a word. He conjured a ball of flame over the basin to warm the water until it was neither hot nor cold, then dipped the towel in it, wrung it out, and offered it with both hands.
Only then did the Old Taoist slowly sit up. He took the towel and carefully wiped his face, then his hands, rubbing each finger one by one as if some dreadful filth clung to them.
When he was done, he draped the towel over the edge of the basin and said nothing.
Shen Hui went to fetch water for rinsing his mouth and waited on him while he rinsed.
By the time he'd finished getting ready, nearly half an hour had passed.
The post station master sent someone to ask when they wanted breakfast. Before Shen Hui could answer, the Old Taoist spoke first, coolly uttering two words: "No rush."
The messenger stood in the doorway, unsure whether to come or go, and looked to Shen Hui.
Shen Hui gave a slight shake of his head, signaling him to leave for now.
Only then did the Old Taoist slowly get out of bed and stroll to the window. He pushed it open, looked at the sky, and murmured to himself, "A fine day today."
Shen Hui acknowledged him, but said nothing more.
He'd figured out the Old Taoist's temperament.
When they were out and about, he always acted like this. He barely paid any attention to people who spoke to him, as though he had to act aloof to seem like an immortal sage.
After helping the other man finish getting ready, the two of them went to the front hall for breakfast.
The moment Shen Hui stepped through the door, his eyes lit up.
The few plain side dishes from the night before were gone. The table was packed with all kinds of food—sweet and savory dishes, hot porridge and cold platters, sixteen varieties in all, crammed onto a large round table until there wasn't a gap to be seen.
A middle-aged man in a blue-green official robe was standing nearby, bent at the waist. When he saw them enter, he hurried over with a broad smile. "The Daoist has arrived! Please, have a seat. Please!"
Shen Hui glanced at his clothes.
He wore a green robe without a silver belt, and his headcloth was plain. He was probably the post station master, an official of Principal Ninth Rank.
Yet this court official of Principal Ninth Rank was acting no differently from an inn's servant, running himself ragged at Scholar Li's beck and call.
"This porridge is cold. Bring me a fresh, hot bowl."
Scholar Li sat with one leg crossed over the other and pointed the tip of his chopsticks at the bowl before him, speaking as casually as if he were ordering his own servant around.
The post station master hurriedly agreed, picked up the bowl with both hands, and carried it away.
"These side dishes are too salty, too. Bring me another plate."
"Yes, yes, of course."
Shen Hui frowned but said nothing. He sat down beside his master.
He wasn't very hungry, so he served himself less than half a bowl of porridge and slowly ate a couple of bites of the side dishes.
His gaze happened to pass over Scholar Li.
The other man had changed into clean clothes today, and his hair had been neatly combed again. He'd returned to his usual haughty manner from the day before.
Several plates were already piled up in front of the scholar. He'd tasted only one bite of each before pushing it aside, complaining that one dish was too salty, another too bland, this one too cold, that one too hot. He never stopped grumbling.
Monk Faming sat across from him with his eyelids lowered, drinking only the bowl of porridge in front of him. He paid no heed to anything around him.
Shen Hui looked away, then glanced at the Old Taoist.
The old man drank his porridge slowly, taking the better part of a quarter hour to finish one bowl. He did seem rather fond of the pickled radish, though, helping himself to several bites in a row.
Shen Hui silently pushed the dish of radish closer to his master.