Seeking Immortals

The rain poured down in sheets, washing the mountain trees an even deeper green. The curtain of rain wove a dense tapestry, and Lumen Mountain in the downpour seemed even more steeped in ethereal mist.

This was where Pang Degong had lived in seclusion during the Han dynasty, gathering herbs with his wife and children on Lumen Mountain.

He never returned.

Because a worthy man had once hidden here, it attracted countless scholars and poets. Over the centuries, it had gained an extra three parts of spiritual essence compared to other places in Xiang Prefecture.

Rainwater slipped through the gaps between mountain leaves, falling on a person without soaking their clothes.

Jiang She stood on the mountain path, gazing into the verdant expanse of the hills. The rain fell thickly, rolling up a layer of rain clouds halfway up the slope. The mist-white curtain of rain merged with the sky, making it hard to tell heaven from earth.

This was the tenth year since Jiang She had crossed over.

Was it real?

A dream?

The mountain rain and emerald haze filled his sight, and a sense of loneliness welled up from within.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him. Jiang She, as if sensing it in advance, stepped aside to let the hurrying porter pass first.

The man carried a heavy bamboo basket on his back, a straw hat on his head from which rain constantly dripped.

The porter walked ahead, shouting through the rain:

"The rain's coming down so hard, young sir, won't you come take shelter with me? There's a temple up ahead—if you keep soaking like this, you'll catch a chill!"

Jiang She looked at his back, bent deeply under the weight of medicinal herbs.

He said, "Alright."

The porter wiped the rain from his face and walked with the young gentleman, one behind the other.

"Young sir, are you going up the mountain to see Master Pang?"

Jiang She smiled. "Yes. How did you know?"

"People come looking for him now and then. I hear Master Pang died years ago. Young sir, what are you all searching for?" the porter asked curiously.

"As for what they're searching for, I'm not entirely sure."

Jiang She said, "I'm just a bit curious—whether the old books are true about Master Pang meeting an immortal. You're a local—have you ever heard of it?"

"How would I know about immortal matters?"

The porter carried his heavy basket, having walked too long on the rainy mountain path, and his breath was short. "All I know is that there are plenty of herbs on this mountain that can be sold for money."

Jiang She noticed.

"Let me hold an umbrella for you."

He lifted his hand slightly from within his sleeve, and the porter felt the tight marks pressed into his back by the hemp ropes loosen a fraction.

Jiang She reached out and held the umbrella.

"You brought an umbrella—why weren't you using it yourself?" The porter found it strange. He had only spoken up because he saw Jiang She walking in the rain without any rain gear. The porter grinned sheepishly. "With you shielding me from the rain like this, I do feel a lot lighter."

Jiang She asked with a smile:

"Is that Solomon's seal in there?"

The porter walked ahead. "It's Solomon's seal. The rain was too heavy, so I only found one piece. Luckily, I also picked some honeysuckle—that'll sell too. Once it clears up, the weather's bound to get hot. The pharmacy pays more for honeysuckle; they say it's for brewing tea to beat the heat."

As he spoke, he suddenly felt something odd.

Just how big was this young gentleman's umbrella? They were walking one behind the other, and he was only holding it up slightly to block the rain—yet it seemed like no raindrops were drifting over at all.

Jiang She praised, "Clever thinking. Even if you didn't dig up any Solomon's seal, you could still sell the honeysuckle and bring in some income for the family."

It was just a countryman's way of adding a bit of cash to his pocket. The porter felt a little proud at being praised, and he explained more, inevitably rambling about where other herbs grew on the mountain, what they could fetch at the shop down below, how the pharmacy clerk's scale was crooked, and so on... By the time they reached the temple, the porter suddenly realized he'd said too much and felt a pang of regret.

He shouldn't have revealed so many ways to make money.

He could only console himself that this young gentleman looked refined and noble—he probably wouldn't steal his mountain livelihood.

"We're here. Ah... there are people over there. I'll borrow some firewood from them."

Jiang She nodded, noticing the porter's faint regret. He pretended not to notice, went with the flow to find a place to sit, set down his bundle, and casually brushed the rainwater off the porter's basket.

As his palm swept over, not only the basket but even the herbs inside were left bone-dry. The damp honeysuckle stood upright again, restored to its just-picked freshness.

That way, when the pharmacy weighed it, they'd offer a much higher price.

There was another group of people in the temple, who had already lit a fire. They were attended by servants and dressed in wealth. Among them, three were chatting and drinking wine.

One wore a Daoist robe and was fairly old; one was in white robes with a sharp air, around twenty-something; one was dressed in indigo blue, more steady-looking, appearing to be about thirty.

Their voices were low, but to Jiang She's ears, they were perfectly clear.

"Taibai, this man wants to borrow a fire. Let's share some firewood with him."

The man in the Daoist robe nudged the white-robed man beside him. The latter reluctantly set down his wine cup and picked out a small basket of firewood from beside him.

"Is this enough?"

"Enough, enough." The porter felt a bit timid speaking to these wealthy people.

"The rain's coming down so hard—what business does your master have here?" the one called Taibai asked casually.

"That's not my master—we're heading the same way, and that young gentleman just shared his umbrella with me. He's off to seek immortals, wants to know if Master Pang really met one."

Hearing this, "Taibai" perked up and exchanged glances with the other two.

"Also seeking immortals?"

From the sound of it... the porter asked, "You gentlemen as well?"

"What a coincidence."

The man in white looked toward Jiang She, who was sitting at a distance—too far to make out much—so he nudged the Daoist, telling him to pass the wine jug over, then picked up the cups, plates, and snacks and walked over.

"This Humble One is Li Bai, courtesy name Taibai, from Longxi. Are you also seeking immortals?"

Jiang She looked up. The rain roared down, the mountains behind him a monstrous green, and the sky's light filtered through the eaves to illuminate the mountain shrine. Two people stood before him: one was a servant carrying wine and food, the other a spirited young man in white, with a long face, brows that swept into his temples, and bright, piercing eyes.

So this was Li Bai.

In ten years of living in the Tang Dynasty, Jiang She was meeting this poet—famous for millennia—for the first time.

At this moment, Li Bai was around twenty-something, young and brash, not yet summoned by Emperor Xuanzong, nor involved in any rebellion.

He was wandering with friends, seeking immortals and asking about the Way, and happened to take shelter from the rain in a mountain shrine one day.

He'd run into Jiang She, who was also visiting famous mountains, trying to verify whether the immortal traces from the Jin Dynasty were real.

So he was already in history, already a man of the past.

With a flicker of regret in his heart, Jiang She rose and smiled faintly.

"I am seeking immortals. I heard that Master Pang met an immortal on Lumen Mountain, so I wanted to see if it was true. The rain was too heavy—I hope I'm not intruding."

"This Humble One is Jiang She. You've brought wine with you—might I have a cup?"

"Of course."

Li Bai smiled. "We're also here seeking immortals. That Daoist drinking over there is Yuan Danqiu, who holds the Shangqing Dharma Certificate, and the other is Meng Haoran—both are my good friends."

"Since we share the same interests, why not drink together?"

Li Bai invited Jiang She and the porter to come over and warm themselves by the fire with wine.

He studied the young man before him—lounging leisurely in the dilapidated shrine, his expression calm, his bearing extraordinary, nothing like an ordinary person. The five of them sat together, and Li Bai frowned, finally sensing something off.

"The rain outside is so heavy—how is it that your clothes aren't wet at all?"

This story begins in the fourth month of 725. It takes place in the Tang Dynasty and does not alter the course of major history. It writes about folk customs, ghosts and monsters, street life, and immortal cultivation tales, featuring some Tang people I admire—poets, the Sage of Painting, great clans, imperial consorts, powerful ministers...

The overall style leans toward everyday life, an experience of Tang-era living. Part of the inspiration comes from Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang and Record of Mysterious Anomalies.

Writing isn't easy—please bookmark, comment, and keep reading (:"∠)_