Hou Niao never left home, but he still learned something of the changes in Fufeng City from Uncle Sun.
Sure enough, Daoist Chongling had not come to Fufeng merely to resolve the backlog of local cases. He had another purpose: a section of the Qingtang River embankment in Sanjiang Prefecture would run through Fufeng City's territory, and strong local support was needed.
Building an embankment in this era was a major undertaking that drained both labor and wealth. There were no short-term benefits to be seen; one had to look to the distant future, which left ordinary people of modest means with little incentive. People were like that: when floods came, they cursed heaven and earth, yet ordinarily paid the matter no heed. This required guidance from the authorities.
In the Anhe Kingdom, the dynasty could not be called utterly rotten, but neither could it be said to serve the people wholeheartedly. Some major benevolent policies could only be spearheaded by the Daoist Sect. This, too, was fundamental to practicing the Dao.
The Daoist Sect coordinated matters, but the local authorities and gentry were the ones who actually supplied the people, labor, and money. If everyone paid lip service while resisting in secret, even the Daoist Sect would find it difficult to change the way a region operated.
That was why Chongling had insisted on dealing with both of them, despite knowing that Old Meng had had reasons for committing the murder and that Hou Niao's protection of him had not been without grounds.
Looking at the tens of millions living along both banks of the Qingtang River, they were naturally far more important than two insignificant individuals. In that sense, the calamity that had befallen Hou Niao and Old Meng was not undeserved. At the very least, they really had killed people.
Old Meng was dead, and death had ended all his troubles, leaving Hou Niao alone to face a fate entirely beyond his control. An individual had no power to resist the entire Daoist Sect. He could not even find someone capable of passing a message up the ranks.
Officials had no voice before the Daoist Sect, while his few friends within it were, in truth, just like him: unwanted by grandmother and uncle alike. His circle had determined his fate.
...Uncle Sun had spent the past few days busy outside, disposing of the Hou Household's remaining assets. He hoped to give his young master more gold and silver to take along when he set out, in case an opportunity arose to grease some palms. This was the old man's way of showing his care. He still did not quite understand the truth about the Daoist Sect. Gifts certainly helped, but gold and silver would not do. Those were two different matters.
Hou Niao never stepped beyond either the outer gate or the inner one. He had no interest in going out during his downfall and letting people ridicule him for nothing. He was a proud man, one who stood alone admiring his own fragrance, and such humiliation was what he could least endure. So he gave those people no opportunity at all.
In the study, he stared at the wooden box containing the Ginseng Worm, feeling somewhat hesitant. Should he eat it now, or keep it to present to some key figure?
He did not believe that eating it now would let him ascend to heaven in a single step. More likely, eating it would accomplish nothing; the chances of side effects were greater still.
Nor did he believe he could truly encounter a Daoist master who would let him off for a single Ginseng Worm. The Daoist Sect was not the government. Daoists were elites with beliefs.
Still unable to decide, he chose to open it and take a look. Ever since Old Meng had brought it to his door several months earlier, he had never opened the wooden box, to demonstrate the purity and nobility of his character. Well, that had been a little affected.
The wooden box was unlocked, and its material was nothing special either: ordinary mountain pagoda wood, tied securely with a grass cord. He opened it gently, and a rich medicinal fragrance rushed into his nostrils. Something resembling a cicada lay motionless at the bottom.
Ginseng Worm was not a living creature. A specialty of the Anhe Kingdom, it was a kind of growth attached to mountain ginseng, looking like a cicada clinging to it and sucking out its nutrients. In fact, it too was a plant, but its medicinal potency was even greater than that of the ginseng itself. It was a rare marvel in the cultivation world, growing more precious with age.
Hou Niao knew little about medicinal herbs, and he had never had an opportunity to deepen his knowledge in that area. Even among capable cultivators, those who could venture into pill-making were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. It required the backing of a sect; an individual could hardly achieve anything alone.
So how should he take it? Swallow it raw, or make it into pills? When should he consume it to gain the greatest benefit? What precautions were there?
He knew little of any of these details, but one thing he understood very well: chewing it up now like an ox chewing peonies would simply waste a treasure.
After carefully admiring the Ginseng Worm's details, with its rich medicinal fragrance filling his nose, he still felt it best to leave it untouched for now. Just as he was about to close the wooden box, however, he noticed a faint line of writing on its inner wall. He looked closely:
A single grain of the criminal investigator's rice weighed as heavily as Mount Sumeru. If he failed to attain the Dao in this life, he would repay it clad in fur and crowned with horns.
He sighed deeply and closed the wooden box, his state of mind gradually settling into calm. At the very least, what he had done had been acknowledged, by Old Meng and by those ordinary mortals who had quietly come at night to leave things at his door.
Their way of repaying him might have been feeble and utterly useless, but Hou Niao knew that their attitude had given him the most important thing: peace of mind.
That was enough.
...Three days later, Daoist Chongling and his party completed their task in Fufeng City. The city's gentry all expressed their wholehearted support, willing to contribute money and labor for the benefit of the world. But Chongling saw clearly that these declarations had a prerequisite: the criminal investigator Hou Niao had to be severely punished.
He had no intention of showing favoritism, either. An insignificant independent cultivator who was not a True Disciple of the Daoist Sect and had no potential to speak of was not worth it.
Amid the farewells of the city's powerful and privileged, the party of four rode away: Daoist Chongling, his two disciples, and the convicted official Hou Niao. In this world, cultivators who had not reached the realm of Profound Connection could not fly, and riding horses remained their main means of traveling long distances. Of course, whether Daoist Chongling possessed other miraculous methods was another matter.
Hou Niao's expression was calm, leaving those powerful figures who had so hoped to see panic in his eyes somewhat disappointed. Still, they had already received the Daoist Sect's assurance that this man would not escape the ordeal of the Anhe Prayer. With nine chances of death and one of survival, that was a very satisfactory outcome.
Among the crowd stood a woman holding a child a few years old. A light veil covered her face, but her figure was voluptuous and alluring.
The child's young voice rang out. "Mother, where is Father going? Doesn't he want Xing'er anymore?"
The woman's expression could not be seen, but her tone was harsh. "That damned man won't be coming back! He brought it on himself. I told him long ago not to act like some guardian of the righteous way. This is what comes of it!
"Besides, he isn't your father. Your father is actually Master Wang next door..."
She had reason to feel aggrieved. Two hundred taels of silver was no small sum, but spread over several years, if she reckoned it as payment for each occasion, it was certainly not much. It did not even match the cheapest goods in a brothel...
Even that old servant Uncle Sun had received far more than she had. Why?
The four figures gradually receded into the distance, and the crowd seeing them off slowly dispersed. All in all, this had been a successful collaboration between the Daoist Sect and the authorities, smoothly cutting out a malignant tumor from Fufeng City's officialdom. As for building the embankment, the wool would come from the sheep's own backs anyway. What did it really have to do with them?
Fufeng City returned to its normal order. The teahouses and wine shops gained another tale of a harsh official baring his neck to the law, but it became no more than a joke over tea and after meals. How many people could realize that they had lost a voice willing to speak up on their behalf?
Indeed:
Worldly affairs shifted and vanished like clouds and mist; human lives were fish and birds, rising and sinking.
Past and present held wondrous affinities in vain; who could hear the crimson strings and truly understand?