Art of Magic

Jiang She had settled in these past few days at a courtyard Li Bai had purchased, sharing the residence with Yuan Danqiu.

He had originally intended to rent a small yard for himself for a month or two—he still had some silver on hand, enough to cover expenses, and if it ran short, he could always earn more. But Li Bai absolutely refused to hear of it.

If he pushed back any further, he feared Li Bai might simply buy him a house outright.

And so he stayed here.

Xiangyang was a fine place, unlike Shu where sunlight was scarce. At noon, the sun beat down almost scorchingly, bleaching the stone seats and paving slabs a dry white, driving everyone to take refuge in the shade of the trees. By evening, it cooled down again.

Because a divine being dwelt here.

A clear breeze came of its own accord.

Divine light concealed within.

Jiang She sat beneath a tree, a sheet of paper spread across the wooden table, dipping his brush in ink as he wrote.

As he wrote, he pondered the sights and sounds of these past few days.

Ten years in seclusion, rarely interacting with others—now that he had come down the mountain and begun moving among people, the human affairs, the spirits and ghosts and demons and cultivators, the street-side tales of these few days had already proven richer than the entire decade before.

Perhaps he should have come out for a walk long ago.

He had heard that eight hundred years ago, a mortal saved a white deer, and a Mountain God made a pact with that man. In Jiang She's impression, that era was already history.

To men of the Tang like Li Bai and Meng Haoran, those were also ancient people.

Future generations looking back at the present would be just as the present looked back at the past.

When Jiang She wrote, he made no sound.

A bird fluttered in from over the courtyard wall, shaking its feathers, apparently mistaking him for part of the tree or perhaps a wooden post, and perched on his shoulder.

Its goose-yellow head tilted, revealing two tiny, bean-like eyes, and it rolled against his clothing, scratching an itch.

Jiang She's movements grew even lighter, his brushstrokes slower and gentler.

Afraid to startle it.

On the wall, a cat watched with hungry intent, head raised, rear end hoisted high, claws flexing, round eyes fixed on the bird rubbing against Jiang She's shoulder.

This was one of the neighbor's litter of cats.

He wasn't sure which household—they kept them to catch rats. Jiang She had been sitting here writing all morning, and from time to time he would see a few small cat heads poke furtively over the wall. Barely a month old, they seemed to be from the same litter and got along well, pouncing and tussling with each other, biting at each other's fur.

Today, it seemed they had come here to practice their skills.

They weren't even as big as a rat yet—Jiang She was actually worried the rats might bully them.

Fortunately, the mother cat lay not far away, tail sweeping back and forth. With the elder of the family watching over them, they probably wouldn't come to any harm.

Dappled shadows danced beneath the tree. The cat stared at the bird for a while, then heard a chirping sound from somewhere and immediately turned to look, trying to paw at the insect making the noise, tail held high, brushing against the leaves with each swish.

The bird seized the chance to flap its wings and fly away.

Jiang She studied it.

It was a tiny black cat.

Its entire coat was black, not a single stray hair visible, and it still wobbled a bit when it walked, the blue film not yet faded from its eyes—truly a very small kitten.

But its temper was fierce.

It had a certain spirit about it, was a bit larger than its siblings, with a round, fuzzy head. It blocked the other kittens, refusing to let any of them snatch its insect first.

It would probably grow up to be an excellent mouser. If someone wanted to hire it for their home, they might need to buy extra dried fish and salt.

After a while, the cat set down the poor bug, its tiny paws stretching out as it arched its back.

Suddenly.

Its fur bristled, back arching further, it hopped a few times on the wall, waiting for the other cats to pounce on it.

Jiang She watched for a moment, then continued writing.

He was quite curious about the illusions—or rather, the Eye-Obscuring Technique—used by that swindler Zhang Zhenmei.

In ancient times, a man read the Huainanzi and learned that when a mantis hid behind a leaf, it could conceal its form. He thought that if an ordinary person could obtain such a miraculous leaf, they too could hide themselves. So he picked two leaves from the mantis's perch at the village entrance and covered his eyes with them.

Returning home, he asked his wife:

"Do you see me?"

His wife answered that she could.

So the man repeatedly took leaves and asked his wife. Growing weary and annoyed by the constant bother, one day she answered, "I don't see you."

The man was overjoyed.

He believed that a single leaf before his eyes could block even Mount Tai.

So he went to the market with a leaf covering his eyes, helped himself to goods from the stalls, and was promptly bound by the authorities and brought before the magistrate. The magistrate, upon learning the whole story, burst out laughing and released him.

The tale was amusing, but in Jiang She's view, it wasn't entirely false.

Such illusions truly existed in the world—not only capable of concealing one's form, but also of making others see whatever illusion one wished them to see, obscuring the truth.

If one's cultivation were profound and their techniques exquisite, they might indeed be able to obscure Mount Tai itself.

Jiang She pondered as he wrote. Finally setting down his brush, he read through the entire passage once, then added three more characters.

"Eye-Obscuring Technique."

He set the brush aside and looked up at the courtyard wall—the small cat heads were gone. He checked the shadowed spots among the leaves, but the mother cat was nowhere to be seen.

They must have left.

The sun had grown stronger. It was midday, when yang energy began to sink, yet the daylight was at its hottest.

Several trees were planted by the wall, casting a patch of cool shade. The fourth and fifth months were nearly the finest time of year—layers of deep and light green shimmered under the sun, stirred by the wind, almost like rippling waves of water, glinting and sparkling.

A gentle breeze blew, bringing a sense of comfort.

A cool table was set up in the courtyard, and two brooms made of bundled branches leaned against the corner.

This was a single-entry courtyard, shaped like a square. Since it was the innermost dwelling, it was somewhat larger. The north side held the master's room, while the left and right wings housed Jiang She and Yuan Danqiu. Li Bai had originally offered the main room to him, but he had declined.

Having already received so much, he would not take advantage of another's generosity.

The south side stored miscellaneous items, and two servant boys lived there as well.

Behind lay a small garden, originally meant to be a vegetable plot with a bit of farmland. But Li Bai, being generous with money and unskilled in labor, knew how to spend but nothing of farming. So he had it converted into a garden, haphazardly planting peonies, roses, crabapple blossoms, azaleas, chrysanthemums, and wintersweet, hoping to see flowers bloom in every season, each with its own charm.

There were also pomegranates, grown for eating.

Two tea trees were planted as well, waiting for him to process the leaves himself and brew his own tea.

At that time, reclusive scholars often favored coarse tea and wild fare, seeking true delight in such simplicity.

When Meng Haoran came to visit, the three of them would either sit in the courtyard enjoying the cool or retreat to the back garden, where a small pavilion had been set up—sheltered from rain and offering a fine view.

Jiang She thought for a moment.

Zhang Zhenmei's Eye-Obscuring Technique was amusing enough.

But after all, it was illusory. With a bit of cultivation, one could see through it. It could only deceive common folk and villagers.

Not truly effective.

With a few simple modifications, it could become useful.

He picked up a writing brush and studied its form.

In an instant, the brush curled up, its shape shifting. The ink in its belly colored it, and in his hand, it became a small wooden carving.

It seemed to be the shape of a cat, lifelike, with a haughty expression—somewhat like that cat on the wall, stretching out its paw to cause mischief, majestic and imposing.

Jiang She couldn't help but smile.

He placed it on the table, pressing down on the paper he had just written on.

The ink strokes of "Eye-Obscuring Technique" stretched and rearranged themselves, floating on the paper's surface.

This was to be another method entirely.

Li Bai walked in from outside, carrying a wine jug. He pushed open the door and strode in with long steps.

Seeing the room filled with stillness, he was momentarily taken aback.

Dried leaves swirled on the ground. The courtyard was cool and utterly quiet—for a moment, even the birdsong ceased.

Green shadows were lush and thick, sprinkled with fragmented light.

A man in blue robes sat beneath the tree, his body dappled with light and leaf shadows. Before him lay paper and an ink dish, as if he had just been writing.

Jiang She looked at the newcomer and waved him over.

"Taibai."

"Come here."

Not a single chapter saved in reserve—truly lamentable.