A Mortal's Top Priority

Jiang She calculated the time.

He extended an invitation: "I'm going to visit the Deer Mountain God, to settle accounts with that fraud Zhang Zhenmei and put those past trifles to rest. Would you be willing to come with me?"

These past days, the mountain god had helped him greatly. Partly it was due to that stick of incense, but also because of the god's own nature—he was a benevolent deity by nature, happy to aid others.

It was time for him to help the mountain god sever that karmic bond.

Li Bai set down the wine flask he'd been filling, took a drink, his whole body reeking of alcohol, sitting in a loose half-lotus posture.

His mind wandered without obstruction, free and unrestrained.

He had returned to his former uninhibited, lofty, and expansive scholar's air.

He laughed.

"That is exactly my wish."

The two finished the jug of wine, cups empty, and left together.

Not long after Jiang She departed, the courtyard fell silent.

The afternoon sun once again baked the yard. Sounds from the neighboring streets drifted in—a husband and wife fighting, a child wailing. An old woman muttered to herself, and a man suddenly spat out harsh words.

In the distance, a vendor's cry was faintly audible.

"Fresh, hot steamed cakes, three coppers apiece—"

A bird perched on a branch, cocked its head, and plucked an especially fat bug from under a leaf, gulped it down in two bites.

Half an hour later.

Yuan Danqiu brushed the dust from his robes and stumbled in from outside, looking disheveled.

He cursed under his breath: "That ruffian's no good—how dare he throw punches, nearly hit me. Isn't it just a neighbor's tree growing over his own wall? Sweep it up now and then, what's the big deal? Had to resort to violence?"

Then he called out.

"Mr. Jiang—"

"Taibai—"

"Huh? Not here?"

He looked around, couldn't find anyone in the rooms, asked the servant sleeping in the south chamber, and learned the two had left half an hour ago.

Yuan Danqiu muttered to himself for a while, vented his grievances, shook off the lingering fright of nearly being hit by a hoe, and gulped down two bowls of well water to cool his temper.

He noticed a paper booklet spread on the courtyard table, faintly as if there were words on it.

He walked over, picked it up, and glanced at it.

Yuan Danqiu froze.

A sheet of white paper lay flat before him.

"Just now I thought I saw something written on it... Is my eyesight playing tricks?" Yuan Danqiu rubbed his eyes, looked left and right, flipped it front and back, examined it several times, nearly pinching the paper apart to check.

Truly, there wasn't a single word on it.

He looked up, frowning.

Suddenly he noticed the empty space above the table, where many branches and leaves let light filter through the gaps.

In that moment, understanding dawned.

Yuan Danqiu realized: "Ah, it must be the shadow of the tree."

Yuan Danqiu didn't think much of it. He gave it a cursory glance, felt the tree's shadow cast on the paper had a certain stark beauty, and returned to his room. Recalling the gains from his recent visit with a friend, he found a notebook, already half-filled with writing.

Yuan Danqiu casually flipped to the back, found a blank page, ground ink, dipped his brush, gathered his sleeves, and recited as he wrote.

He said:

"Lead is the White Tiger, mercury is the Azure Dragon."

"Yin and Yang restrain each other, water and fire achieve harmony... Ah, lead is the kidney-water primal essence, mercury is the heart-fire primordial spirit. Thus they restrain and harmonize..."

"Marvelous!"

"Let me go to the pharmacy for some alchemical ingredients, fire up a furnace with this method, and later let Young Master Jiang see my pill-making skill, hahaha..."

Once he entered the room.

The branches slanted, casting green shadows. The faint traces of ink on the table's rattan paper flickered and reappeared.

The brush and ink still lay on the table, just as they had been before Jiang She left.

The stream on Lumen Mountain flowed as ever.

Standing at the foot of the mountain, gazing at the lush green slopes under the dazzling sun, Jiang She recalled that the last rain in Xiangyang had fallen eight days ago—the downpour that had driven him to take shelter in the mountain shrine.

He also remembered the porter.

The days were clear and fine now—whether he was gathering herbs on the mountain or haggling over weights with the shopkeeper at the foot of the hill, arguing over every ounce.

After watching for a while, he called out.

"Lumen Mountain Deity, please come forth for an audience."

Li Bai studied the scene; even though he had already witnessed it once at the Lu Family's, he still found it miraculous.

"The mountains and waters stretch far—at least several li away."

He asked in wonder, "How can the mountain god hear Young Master Jiang's call? Is there some subtlety I do not know?"

"There is."

Li Bai waited for a long while.

But no further words came.

He lifted his head to ask again, only to hear an aged voice.

"Sir."

The Old Deer Mountain God had arrived, unbeknownst to him.

The Old Deer Mountain God stroked his white beard and smiled as he answered Li Bai: "Young Master Li, have you ever seen an incense keeper lighting incense before a local shrine?"

"Or have you ever witnessed, in a temple or monastery, monks or Daoists burning incense and praying before a statue?"

This was a truly common sight—anyone who had visited a temple would have seen the faithful offering incense. Moreover, Li Bai had always revered Daoism and had visited many palaces and monasteries to pay respects to immortal masters and Daoist elders.

The Old Deer Mountain God saw that he was beginning to understand.

He nodded with a smile.

"The mountain god can hear human speech. The statues in temples can convey meaning, and the spirit slips before the shrine are efficacious—this is the same principle."

He said it lightly.

"All methods are connected."

Though he did not know why the gentleman kept this mortal always by his side, the Old Deer Mountain God was willing to show leniency and offer some explanations. Perhaps the gentleman had a particular fondness for talented men.

Hundreds of years ago, there was Pang Degong, the reclusive herb-gatherer of Lumen Mountain.

In his entire life, he never had such fortune—to receive a lecture from a local mountain god.

In the end, all he gained was a full span of one hundred and twenty years.

The Lumen Mountain Deity asked, "Sir, for what matter have you summoned this minor deity?"

Jiang She rose, not a speck of dust clinging to him. He gazed at the winding stream, sunlight scattering upon it like shattered gold, dazzling the eyes. For a moment, as the water flowed past, two or three fish could be dimly seen, so clear was the stream that they seemed to swim in the air, flicking their tails.

In the forest behind him, a few wild deer were faintly visible, their antlers brushing the treetops.

"This Jiang wishes to go with the mountain god to see Zhang Zhenmei."

Jiang She said, "We must make them return the money."

The mountain god rarely dealt with humans, devoting himself to quiet cultivation in the mountains, occasionally regulating the earth veins and lecturing to the spirits of the wilds, seldom appearing before mortals. In matters of human affairs, he was not as worldly as the old registrar at the county office.

"That is only right!"

"This minor deity nearly forgot—this is the foremost concern for mortals."

As they spoke.

In a certain courtyard.

Qingyu was crouched on the ground, huddled before a chest, counting coins.

All around were copper coins, strung together one by one—this was the money they had swindled alongside Zhang Zhenmei, their own savings. They only spent it on some fresh trinkets and treats at the market, never squandering it lightly on ordinary days.

Beside him, the Young Disciple was also counting his own loose coins.

The more they counted, the fewer they had. They threaded them into strings, recorded the amounts, and placed them in the chest.

Their hearts grew heavier.

The Young Disciple counted out a dozen coins, but the rest could not form a full string no matter what. The chests were all packed full; only the bundles before them were empty.

The Young Disciple's eyes kept drifting toward the official silver ingots. He reached out to touch the treasury silver, then the coin strings in the chest, his heart feeling as if someone had peeled his skin and pulled out his sinews.

A single tear splashed onto the ground.

He sniffled, finally unable to hold back his sobs.

The moment he thought of spending the rest of his life earning money and lecturing the beasts of the mountains for ten years.

He sobbed in fits and starts.

Both fearful and anxious for his own future, and only now realizing that his past joy had been wrong.

In his heart, the realization came belatedly.

No longer the ignorant, nearly thoughtless child he had been.

The moment he thought of this, fear gripped him, and his former carefree happiness vanished. All he could think was that having money was very, very good.