Chapter 2: Chen Shian

Night had fallen.

The Pure Dust Temple, lively by day, regained its usual tranquility. Since the master’s departure, the silence seemed even deeper.

The last wisp of incense smoke trembled and faded away. The perpetual lamp on the altar flickered, casting its uncertain glow on the yellowed account book and the letter left behind by the master in Chen Shian’s hands.

The young man sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, surrounded only by the sounds of insects and the mountain wind, reading page after page.

[At the east end of the village, Liu Lin: delivered ten catties and eight taels of pork in the twelfth lunar month…]

[Pharmacy at the west end of town: poria, codonopsis, atractylodes, astragalus, licorice…]

A few more pages, and the records became even more trivial.

[Wang the carpenter: repaired three window lattices in the east hall…]

[Li the tiler: patched twenty tiles on the west wing…]

All familiar “creditors”—villagers from the mountain and the neighboring town. Most entries recorded goods in exchange.

Further on, the accounts became monetary.

[July 16, 2013: borrowed 6,000 yuan from Xiang Kun]

No note of the purpose, but Chen Shian could guess. That July, a torrential rain had toppled the temple’s aging west wall, and not long after the skies cleared, a new wall was built.

[…]

[March 6, 2018: borrowed 8,000 yuan from Lin Ming]

A more recent date. Chen Shian recalled that spring; nearly all the old, tattered books and worn-out stationery in the temple had been replaced.

Every sum was recorded, none explained, yet Chen Shian knew exactly where each had gone.

Most of the names were unfamiliar, but thankfully there were addresses and phone numbers—means by which to repay these debts.

For eighteen years, he’d lived side by side with his master, never suspecting there was a whole circle of acquaintances he didn’t know—old connections from a long, winding path, perhaps.

All his life, his master had seemed an eccentric, stubborn old man, but on reflection, his story was surely far from simple.

Turning further, the dates grew fresher.

[August 9, 2023]

Just last week.

[Borrowed one place from Lin Ming for academic credentials, tuition and fees for two years, 8,000 yuan]

Chen Shian hadn’t known Lin Ming, but seeing this, he could guess at Lin Ming’s identity.

He sat there dazed for a long while, a tumult of emotions rising in his chest.

Oh, master! You’ve gone on your journey, never to return, but every detail, large and small, you arranged with such care!

The thick account book chronicled a life: all for Chen Shian and this dilapidated temple. With such burdens weighing you down, could the crane under you still bear your weight?

Chen Shian lit another stick of incense, then sat down and picked up the last letter his master had left him.

For a while, he couldn’t bear to open it, as if reading it would mean the old man was truly gone.

As he hesitated, a soft “meow” sounded from outside the hall.

It was the temple’s old black cat—lazy and elusive as the master himself, often vanishing for days on end. Now, it padded onto his robe and curled into his lap.

His master was hardly a conventional one; the cat, neither, being black as coal, fat and greedy—a lump of living, purring coal.

Chen Shian had been picked up by his master, and so had the cat.

Its name, like his, contained the character “Shi”—it was called “Shi Mo.”

He wondered if his master was especially fond of that character, or simply lacked the education to think of anything better.

By years, the cat was even older than Chen Shian, though he didn’t know precisely how old. He only knew they’d both been found by the master the same year—he, still a baby on milk, the cat already full grown.

Chen Shian scratched the black cat’s chin, and it purred contentedly, closing its eyes.

He stroked its back, picking out pine needles and grass seeds—evidence of another wild adventure in the back hills.

“Did you sneak some of master’s offerings again?”

“Meow.”

“Shi Mo, Shi Mo, now it’s just you and me. In a few days, I’ll have to go down the mountain to study. Will you come?”

The black cat didn’t answer, its tail curling around his wrist, amber eyes gazing at the still-sealed letter in his hand.

Chen Shian opened the envelope.

The letter was written with a brush, the ink bleeding at the edges. The old man, with little education, had clearly labored over these ornate words.

[My disciple Shian, this letter meets you as if in person. This morning, I saw the clouds drifting west and knew my end was near. I ride the crane westward, but there are things I must entrust to you…]

The letter was both long and brief.

Chen Shian read it slowly, not realizing he’d gone through it three times already.

His master’s final instructions boiled down to a few things:

1. Do not let the incense in the temple go out, even if you are the only one left to offer it.
2. If you have the means, repair the temple halls, but never rebuild them anew.
3. Go down the mountain, see the vast world, and, if possible, seek an education—for a modern Taoist must know not only metaphysics but also science.
4. Unless necessary, do not disturb your master’s cultivation in the heavens.
5. Remember to repay the debts the temple owes.

[My disciple Shian, you are the one I trust most, and also the one I worry for most.]

[Now, as you descend into the world of dust and red, do not lose your true self—go and go!]

Suddenly, there was the sound of raindrops on leaves, and the black cat turned its head, yet there was no rain outside.

When he looked up, tears were streaming down the young man’s cheeks, falling onto the letter in his hand.

“You old fool, you had so little learning and yet tried to be so sentimental. I, Chen Shian, your disciple who has learned ninety-nine percent of your skills! What’s to worry about?… You win. You win!”

He put the letter away carefully, pressing it under his pillow with the account book.

Now that his master was gone, from this day forward, everything would be up to him.

For a moment, he felt lost and out of place.

But soon, Chen Shian’s thoughts fell into order.

First was the matter of inheriting the temple.

That afternoon, the clerk from the association had told him: to inherit the temple legally, he still needed a degree.

The old man had raised and taught him for just this day—no matter how run-down, the Pure Dust Temple was their home, and he couldn’t let it fall into other hands.

If he had to go out into the world anyway, he might as well take the exam and enter university.

How hard could it be? Just another errand along the journey.

And then, the debts.

From the categories in his master’s account book, it was clear how meticulously the old man kept things.

Debts of goods were debts of goods, money debts were money debts, but all were debts of kindness and obligation.

Chen Shian calculated that, over the years, they had accumulated about 108,000 yuan in debt—not a fortune, but for someone who had never made money, it was a hefty sum.

Though he’d never seen his master repay anyone over the years…

But his master was right: the debts could be repaid slowly, with a plan, but they must be repaid—on principle.

So, for now, the debts would have to wait.

His master had left him 24,000 yuan; he’d need money for his journey. It wouldn’t do to pay everything back and starve himself.

After all, he was still a long, long way from reaching the so-called state of fasting from food and living on air.

Today was already August 16th; less than half a month remained before he was due to enroll on September 1st.

He had no idea when he’d next return after leaving for his studies.

Tomorrow, he’d go to the back mountain, gather some pine needles, and weave a new fly whisk.

The temple needed repairs—first, he’d reinforce the threshold of the west wing.

After days of rain, the courtyard was overgrown and wild; the weeds needed clearing…

…

Half a month slipped by in a flash.

As Chen Shian busied himself with these tasks, the annual autumn term quietly arrived.

Early on August 31st, dressed in a new Taoist robe, Chen Shian prepared to set out for his journey down the mountain and into the world of study.

At the mountain pass, his luggage on his back, the lingering morning mist still flowed down the stone steps.

He turned for a final look at the Pure Dust Temple.

The oil lamp before the newly placed memorial flickered, incense ash drifting down like a silent wave of farewell.

“Master, I’m leaving. If you need anything, visit me in a dream.”

“…”

“I really am going!”

Chen Shian bowed to the empty hall, and, at last, walked without looking back down the mountain.

The mountain wind swept through the old pagoda tree, making the leaves rustle.

Dewy wild grass brushed damp against his robe.

His canvas bag bobbed lightly on his shoulder, from within came the purring of his cat.

The young Taoist descended step by step into the morning light.

As the mountain mist gradually dispersed, a brand-new world awaited in the distance…

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(New book release~ Please add to your library, recommend, vote, and follow~! This new novel’s theme is wandering the human world, beginning with the protagonist leaving the mountain to study. The genre remains urban daily life, with youth, romance, and growth all to come. I hope new and old readers alike will support it! My deepest thanks!)

(During the new book period, there will be two chapters updated daily, fixed at 11 a.m. and 5 p.m.!)