Chapter 389: The Venerable's Verve
Going to the River God's shrine to offer incense took about half an hour, not too far. Chen Ping'an didn't mind, but the incense presenter felt a bit guilty, though he grew increasingly curious about the origins of this group.
When a farmer goes to the fields, he sees weeds; when a woodcutter goes up the mountain, he sees good firewood. Since one lives off the mountain or water, different trades see different things. This man, a wild cultivator of the mountains and marshes who also served as an incense presenter, saw more cultivators than others. Moreover, the Green Luan Kingdom was quite different from most of the Bottle Gourd Continent, having an extremely close relationship with the mountains. The imperial court never deliberately elevated the status of immortal sects, and amid the many frictions between the mountains and the mortal world, the Tang emperors had displayed considerable boldness and backbone. This made the people of the Green Luan Kingdom, especially wealthy households, very familiar with spirits, anomalies, and mountain essence.
Hence, the people of the Green Luan Kingdom had always held themselves in high regard.
Now, with countless scholars and aristocrats pouring into the kingdom, coupled with the nationally watched debate between Buddhism and Daoism, the Green Luan Kingdom's prominence in the southeastern part of the Bottle Gourd Continent was unparalleled.
The man's cultivation was truly shallow, only at the third realm. Occasionally, when his purse was full, he would invite two or three friends for a drink and a chat, and he found that his sense of superiority as a subject of the Green Luan Kingdom was no less than that of a Qi refiner.
This was probably a sense of homeland, of country and family.
But the man didn't dare guarantee that if he ever became an immortal of the middle five realms, he wouldn't become just like those registered immortal masters.
Yet beautiful visions were too distant; the road underfoot still had to be walked step by step, and the rice in the bowl had to be eaten bite by bite. For example, right now he needed to do his best to win over this group of outsiders.
Among the group, the young man carrying a sword and a bamboo box was undoubtedly the leader. His steps were light, his bearing solemn, likely from the ranks of registered immortal masters. But his true roots should still lie in some powerful aristocratic clan.
Moreover, his mountain cultivation hadn't started too early. The man had seen many young immortal masters from less fortunate backgrounds who, by being reborn into good circumstances, had excellent aptitudes and obtained cultivation opportunities early. They were spotted at a glance by wandering experts or cultivators from major immortal sects responsible for selecting good seedlings, and they rose to prominence overnight. But the temperaments and dispositions of such young cultivators, after they started dining on clouds and dew, carried no trace of human warmth. Every time they came down the mountain to travel and temper their Dao hearts in the mortal world, they might not be aggressive toward anyone, but they were rarely approachable. Whether facing high-ranking officials and nobles or martial heroes and gallants of the rivers and lakes, they treated everyone the same—with nothing but indifference.
The little black charcoal girl with a bamboo knife and bamboo sword suspended from her waist was probably a younger relative of the young gentleman's family. She looked quite spirited. As for the two short old men, they were likely escorts and bodyguards for the journey, sheltering them from wind and rain.
While the man was sizing them up and guessing their identities, Chen Ping'an was using the refined speech of the Indus Leaf Continent to tell Pei Qian some inside information about river gods and similar mountain and river deities.
River gods, river goddesses, and the like, though recognized by the imperial court and able to receive incense offerings from the local people, had extremely low ranks. They were equivalent to petty officials outside the mainstream bureaucracy, not listed on the golden jade registers of proper mountain and river deities. However, compared to those unorthodox shrines and licentious temples that violated ritual propriety, even large ones of the latter were more envied by the former. The latter were like castles in the air: once incense offerings ceased, they were cut off, their golden bodies decayed, and they awaited death. Moreover, they had no ladder for advancement and easily became targets for registered immortal masters to slay or wild cultivators to covet as fat prey. As for the former, like river gods and river goddesses, even if local geomantic fortunes waned and incense offerings grew scarce, as long as the imperial orthodoxy still existed and was willing to help, their divine positions could be relocated to receive incense offerings again, and their golden bodies could be repaired.
When they arrived at the River God's shrine, which covered about ten mu of land, the shrine keeper soon came out to greet them. He personally explained the River God's deeds to Chen Ping'an and his group, as well as some poems and inscriptions by literati on the walls.
On the way to the main hall to offer incense, the shrine keeper also hinted to Chen Ping'an that for just three to five snowflake coins, he could leave his handwriting on several white walls. The price depended on the location's quality, and the shrine would carefully protect these inscriptions from wind and rain for future generations to admire. He also mentioned offerings and lighting eternal lamps as good opportunities to form karmic bonds, but these were entirely up to Chen Ping'an's own wishes; the shrine would absolutely not force anything.
The incense presenter's expression was slightly awkward, and he didn't get involved. The shrine keeper gave him several looks to prompt him to put in a good word, but the man still couldn't bring himself to speak. Although he was doing a job beneath the status of a Qi refiner, he was probably too honest by nature to say flattering things, so he simply pretended not to see the shrine keeper's glances.
Chen Ping'an gave Pei Qian and Zhu Lian three sticks of incense each, but not Shi Rou, since she was a female ghost dwelling in a transcendent's abandoned shell, and he was afraid it might clash.
After offering incense, the shrine keeper felt that squeezing out a bit more oil money probably wasn't going to happen. Still, he didn't let his face sour too much; he was mostly regretful. He remained courteous and even invited Chen Ping'an's group to his private quarters for a cup of clear tea. The incense presenter, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up, joining the shrine keeper in inviting Chen Ping'an for tea. He said that although river water had never been good for brewing tea, the water drawn from the river beside the shrine had great significance, containing some water essence that could benefit the body.
The shrine keeper was a little annoyed. As they walked through the corridor, while Chen Ping'an's group was admiring the stone inscriptions and rubbings, the shrine keeper hung back a step and secretly kicked the man, who seemed to be leaning quite far outward.
The man seemed used to it and just chuckled.
Chen Ping'an politely declined the shrine keeper's invitation for tea but instead asked Pei Qian, "Do you want to write something on the wall?"
Pei Qian shook her head vigorously.
Three or five snowflake coins! This shrine keeper might as well be robbing people outright. Converted to silver, that amount could crush her to death. She didn't want her master to spend that money. The wooden kite she bought from the paper-kite shop in the county town was only eight taels!
But Chen Ping'an turned to the old shrine keeper and smiled. "Please pick a wall for us that's relatively inconspicuous, the kind for three snowflake coins. The two of us will write a few lines. Is there a requirement for how much we can write?"
Pei Qian almost dropped her walking staff. She grabbed Chen Ping'an's sleeve, her little head shaking like a rattle-drum.
The shrine keeper quickly said, "If it's not one of our best geomantic spots, for three snowflake coins, you can write all over an entire wall, young master—no problem."
Then the shrine keeper hurried ahead, telling the man to have someone in the shrine prepare the finest brush and ink.
The group stopped at the veranda in the fourth courtyard. While waiting for the brush and ink to be brought, the shrine keeper wore a slightly smug expression. He pointed to a scholar's poem on a nearby wall and boasted, "Although this spot is in the back and not very conspicuous, it's actually a geomantic treasure spot of our shrine. To be honest, I only brought you here because I felt a connection with you, young master. Over there is the calligraphy of our retired Vice Minister Liu of the Green Luan Kingdom. This old vice minister is truly a renowned scholar of our kingdom, a great Confucian master beyond doubt. His running script—I'm sure you can already see the skill and maturity in it, young master, so I don't need to say more."
Chen Ping'an nodded. "The brushwork is forceful, the bones old and vigorous."
This wasn't Chen Ping'an pretending to be refined; he had indeed seen a lot of good calligraphy.
For instance, Li Xisheng, Cui Dongshan, Zhong Kui.
The shrine keeper gave a thumbs-up. "Young master is a connoisseur with excellent taste."
Chen Ping'an felt a bit guilty.
It was much the same as learning chess. When it came to calligraphy, Chen Ping'an's talent was truly ordinary. Going further back, he had no talent for porcelain-making or clay-throwing either.
Pei Qian was even more nervous. The money was definitely going to be spent, so she might as well write something. If no one stopped her, she would even cover the floor of this River God shrine with writing, and even the statue of the River God himself, just to feel she'd gotten her money's worth. But with her handwriting, which Zhu Lian the old cook had mocked as "earthworm crawls and chicken scratches," being so blatantly left on the wall, she was afraid of disgracing her master.
The man, along with a young boy the shrine had taken in, brought over the brush, ink, and inkstone.
Pei Qian grew even more tense. She quickly leaned her walking staff against the wall, took off her shoulder bag, and pulled out a book, planning to copy some beautiful sentences from it. She had a good memory and knew the contents by heart, but right now her little head was completely blank—she couldn't recall a single line. Zhu Lian was gloating on the side, sneering and mocking her, saying that after all this time reading books and copying characters, it was all for nothing—she hadn't gotten a single word into her belly. The sages' books remained the sages', and the little idiot was still a little idiot. Pei Qian had no time to deal with this old cook with his wicked heart. She flipped through the book noisily, but no matter how much she searched, nothing felt good enough. If she wrote it on the wall, she would embarrass herself terribly.
Pei Qian closed the book, her face full of misery, and said to Chen Ping'an, "Master, don't you have a lot of bamboo slips with writing on them? Lend me a few lines, okay? I don't know what to write!"
Chen Ping'an had already taken the brush, intending to write some lines of poetry or prose he admired. Seeing Pei Qian's pitiful state, he suppressed a smile and handed the brush to her. "Just write what you think is the most reasonable sentence from the books. If you really can't think of anything, just write whatever comes to mind. Don't be so nervous—it's just like copying texts at home."
Seeing Chen Ping'an's smile, Pei Qian felt a little reassured. She took a deep breath, accepted the brush, then lifted her head to look at the stark white wall. It felt terrifying. Her gaze kept dropping, and finally she crouched down. She was actually planning to write at the base of the wall? There were no ghosts or monsters she was afraid of, nor the presence of Cui Dongshan, who always kept her in check. Pei Qian cowering like this was a rare sight—like the sun rising in the west.
Chen Ping'an remembered something from his youth. He and Liu Xianyang, along with the little snot-nosed brat Gu Can, had once gone to that small temple to write on the walls with charcoal. Liu Xianyang and Gu Can had competed with other names and thought up countless schemes. In the end, they stole a ladder from a household, carried it all the way out of town, crossed the stone arch bridge to the small temple, set up the ladder, and wrote their names at the highest point on the temple wall. Liu Xianyang had stolen the ladder from a house on Ridgeline Dragon Lane, and Gu Can had stolen the charcoal from his own home. Chen Ping'an had held the ladder steady. Liu Xianyang's name was written the biggest. Gu Can didn't know how to write, so Chen Ping'an had written for him. The character "Can"—Chen Ping'an had learned how to write it from his neighbor Zhi Gui.
So Chen Ping'an smiled, grabbed her ear, and lifted her up. Then he crouched down and let her sit on his neck. "Write it at the highest point—no one will see it anyway."
Pei Qian, brush in hand, sat on Chen Ping'an's neck, scratching her head, hesitant to write for a long time. Chen Ping'an didn't urge her.
Zhu Lian smirked. "Great Heroine Pei, just write something like 'Iron-boned, yet a weathervane; trimming sails, a loss-making asset.' That would be fitting and true. It's the same as in the chivalric tales I gave you, where the heroes, after slaying villains, all yell, 'So-and-so is here!' It will surely make your name spread far and wide, shaking the martial arts world. By the time we reach the capital of the Green Luan Kingdom, everyone might salute you and call you 'Heroine Pei.' Wouldn't that be a fine story?"
Pei Qian turned her head, her little face scrunched up. "Zhu Lian, if you keep this up, I'll—I'll cry right in front of you!"
Chen Ping'an kicked Zhu Lian, laughing and scolding, "No respect for your age, always bullying Pei Qian."
Zhu Lian laughed heartily. "The young master has spoken, so this old servant will spare her. But this brat gorges herself until she's round as a ball and still complains about everything—this old servant can't stand it."
Shi Rou couldn't stand this old-and-young pair.
For instance, when they occasionally left the main road, trekking through mountains and rivers and passing remote villages, if a stray dog barked at them, this girl Pei Qian would grab her walking staff, dash over, and unleash a crazed sword technique, kicking up dust, running faster than the dog.
The old lecher Zhu Lian would be bored enough to help the girl block and intercept the dog, which would be cowering with its tail between its legs. Then Pei Qian would crouch down, press the dog's head, and glare at it. "Little brother, what's the big idea? Still growling? Apologize to Heroine Pei right now, or I'll smack your dog head..."
Then the villagers and children would see them, curse and yell as they ran over, and Chen Ping'an would lead the group to flee.
Shi Rou didn't understand. Was this fun?
But that usually serious fellow Chen Ping'an seemed to... enjoy running away, didn't he?
Never mind that child Pei Qian—you, one being the teacher of a great demon like Cui Dongshan and the other a grandmaster of the distant travel martial realm—aren't you embarrassed?
And once, on a riverside road, they encountered a big white goose. The old lecher egged Pei Qian on to spar with it. Pei Qian ended up running away, screaming, her bottom pecked many times. Dripping with sweat, she ran back to Chen Ping'an and sighed, "Too strong. Can't beat it." Chen Ping'an had laughed just as much as Zhu Lian then.
Shi Rou always felt she didn't fit in with these three.
Sometimes she even thought she might be better off by Cui Dongshan's side?
Now Pei Qian finally started to write. But writing on a wall was different from copying on paper. The first stroke, that horizontal line, came out crooked. Pei Qian gasped, wiped the sweat off her face, and gritted her teeth bitterly. She wrote four characters: "Heaven and Earth unite their Qi." But after writing half a sentence, she leaned back slightly—it looked hilarious, barely half as good as her usual copying. She didn't need to look at Zhu Lian to know the old cook was chuckling at her, mocking that her strokes had nothing but ghost and no spirit.
Pei Qian hesitated and just left the half-sentence aside.
She moved the brush slightly lower, dipped it in ink, and wrote, "Pei Qian and Master were here."
Done!
Pei Qian felt it was acceptable. The characters were still terrible, but the content was good.
It was just like master and apprentice. Back when Chen Ping'an was at the old sword saint Song Yushao's estate in the Comb Water Nation, he had done the same clumsy thing on the stone cliff behind the waterfall.
Chen Ping'an didn't force Pei Qian to write more. He put her down and said to Zhu Lian, "How about you write something?"
Zhu Lian rubbed his hands and chuckled, "I'd better not. It's been so many years since I've held a brush. My hand's definitely rusty. I'd make a fool of myself."
But Chen Ping'an still handed the brush to Zhu Lian.
Zhu Lian wasn't the type to be shy. He took the brush without hesitation, one hand behind his back, the other holding the brush and dipping it in ink as he pondered.
Having seen the little girl's "brushwork," the shrine keeper, the incense presenter, and even Shi Rou had no expectations for Zhu Lian. After all, the stooped old man called himself "this old servant," which meant he was a servant from a wealthy household. He might know a bit about books and be barely literate, but how good could he be?
But Chen Ping'an knew Zhu Lian's true nature.
In the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, before Zhu Lian had completely gone mad, he had been hailed as "Zhu Lian, the noble son who shames banished immortals."
Zhu Lian wrote a masterpiece poem from the Lotus Flower Blessed Land in cursive script. The piece was not long, just over a hundred characters, but every word was a gem. And the characters on the wall flowed like clouds and water, astonishing everyone.
The shrine keeper was a connoisseur. He murmured, "Gathered like mountains and peaks, scattered like wind and rain, swift like thunder and lightning, agile like hawks and falcons... Marvelous to the utmost, already reaching the realm of divine transformation. An absolute master of calligraphy, hiding his brilliance deeply."
Zhu Lian used a lot of dry, pale ink, dipping the brush very little, yet the flow of energy was tightly connected, as if it were all one breath.
Even Shi Rou had to admit... that such good calligraphy from an old lecher was an absolute disgrace to heaven and reason!
Zhu Lian handed the brush back to Chen Ping'an. "Young master, this old servant has rashly offered a brick to attract jade. Please don't laugh."
Chen Ping'an didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He thought, You, Zhu Lian, have put me on the spot.
The three from the River God shrine were all looking at him with great anticipation.
Chen Ping'an thought he would just have to disappoint them.
Zhu Lian's "brick to attract jade" was nothing of the sort. The three at the shrine were about to see what it meant to have a pearl before a stone.
Chen Ping'an had originally planned to copy a few lines from his bamboo slips as he had intended.
Zhu Lian smiled slightly. "Young master, why not write something from your own heart? You have deep thoughts and hidden valleys—why not blaze a new trail instead of always imitating the ancients?"
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment. He stood still, one hand clenched at his abdomen, the other holding the brush. He wrote in neat, formal script—nothing outstanding, just careful and proper.
After Chen Ping'an finished writing two sentences, there was utter silence.
Chen Ping'an smiled wryly and returned the brush.
The shrine keeper and the incense presenter saw them out of the River God shrine.
On the way, the shrine keeper casually brought up that old Vice Minister Liu again, sounding very worried.
It turned out that after this great Confucian of the Green Luan Kingdom had retired from office and returned to seclusion among the green hills and clear waters, at his Lion Garden—one of the ten most famous gardens in the kingdom—a strange incident had occurred at the end of last winter. A fox spirit had been causing mischief, appearing and disappearing unpredictably. It had bewitched the old vice minister's unmarried youngest daughter, turning her from a blooming young maiden into a pitiful bag of bones, all because the fox spirit, manifesting as a handsome youth, had toyed with her. The fox spirit, with deep cultivation and an unpredictable temperament, didn't kill anyone, but it was extremely learned, fluent in the teachings of the three religions. Once, in a discussion with the old vice minister, it left the nationally renowned scholar speechless. In the end, the old vice minister exhausted his family fortune, hiring many immortals from the mountains to subdue the creature at his home. But unexpectedly, whether they were old immortals of various schools, registered immortal masters, or even some notorious but highly skilled wild cultivators from the mountains and marshes, they all came and were all played for fools by the fox spirit. They either had their handy weapons stolen or their spiritual tools and treasures pilfered, and then had to beg the fox spirit on their knees to get them back.
Chen Ping'an had seen this matter in a mountain gazetteer from the Hundred Flowers Garden, an immortal inn in the county town, but he hadn't paid much attention to it. The gazetteer also mentioned the reward offered by the Lion Garden: whoever could drive away the fox spirit would receive three ancestral antiques from Old Vice Minister Liu, presented with both hands.
Near the shrine gate, the incense presenter couldn't help but remark, "Old Vice Minister Liu is a rare good and incorruptible official, with a fine family tradition. A few years ago, I had the fortune to deal with a member of the Liu clan, a young scholar. He was indeed gentle, virtuous, respectful, and deferential. This shows the rectitude of the Liu family."
The shrine keeper sighed. "No kidding. Then look at that Liu clan member serving as county magistrate nearby. In four years, he has been diligent and has done many practical things. We have all seen it with our own eyes. If the Liu scholar you met was just good at learning and family upbringing, this magistrate is truly devoted to governing and benefiting the people. Ah, I wonder how things are at the Lion Garden now. I hope they've driven away that fox spirit."
Pei Qian's hair stood on end.
She almost took out a talisman and stuck it to her forehead.
Zhu Lian's smile was meaningful.
Oh, so they wanted us to go and act on behalf of heaven?
Shi Rou naturally preferred to have as little trouble as possible.
A fox spirit that could stir up trouble in the capital region couldn't have low cultivation. If it was a great demon at the golden core earth immortal level, and Zhu Lian deliberately threw her under the bus again, choosing to stand by, would she really have to shield Chen Ping'an from knives and magic treasures when he was acting rashly?
Chen Ping'an didn't say a word the whole time. After stepping out of the gate, he clasped his hands in farewell to the shrine keeper and the others.
Then they continued on their way to the Green Luan Kingdom's capital.
Suddenly, Chen Ping'an said, "In a house of great brightness, ghosts peer into its rooms."
Zhu Lian nodded with a smile. "Exactly right."
After Chen Ping'an and his group left, and there were temporarily no incense visitors in the River God shrine.
A ethereal figure with flowing golden light, appearing as a refined scholar, walked out from the divine statue and came to the veranda of the fourth courtyard, standing beneath that wall.
The shrine keeper was flustered and admonished him earnestly, "Lord River God, incense offerings aren't abundant these days. Don't linger too long."
For mountain and river deities to manifest in their golden bodies required refined incense offerings as support. The proper mountain gods with abundant incense could afford it, but this humble River God shrine had to be thrifty.
The middle-aged scholar in the guise of the River God smiled.
He showed a long-lost expression of relief, turned his head to look at the sky, and said with elation, "My shrine is too small, the Venerable's verve is too vast. This little River God feels as if he's drunk fine wine, pleasantly tipsy. What fortune! What joy!"
The shrine keeper was perplexed, not understanding.
But he noticed that his usually sorrowful and gloomy Lord River God now had a radiant expression between his brows, and at this moment, the golden light flowing around him seemed much more condensed than before.
The shrine keeper whirled his head and looked at the wall again.
Not at that piece of cursive writing.
But at those two sentences written in neat, upright standard script.
The moon in the sky, the moon on earth, the moon on the shoulders of one carrying a book-case on a journey of learning, the moon in the eyes of one climbing high and leaning on the railing—a bamboo basket drawing water, shattering and yet round again.
The wind in the mountains, the wind by the water, the wind beneath the feet of one journeying far with a sword, the wind that stirs the pages in the sage's study—the blowing wind scatters duckweed, yet there are meetings.