Chapter Fourteen: Return to the Mountain (Comments Welcome!)

"Hey, look at that woman, she's really..."
"Watch your mouth! That's the Lotus Saintess. Haven't you heard? She has an elder above her, the Voidless Matron, who's lived over a thousand years! Offend an ordinary person, and you might still have a chance, but cross either of those two, and they could snatch your life away with a single spell before night falls!"
"Hiss—Is it really that terrifying?!"

Around them, many others gathered as well, crowding behind those who looked like beggars, watching as they knelt and kowtowed, hoarse voices chanting the names of the Voidless Matron, Lotus Saintess, and other obscure titles charged with mystery.

Yet, some remained entirely indifferent.

"What’s this nonsense about a Voidless Matron living over a thousand years? That'd make her a turtle, wouldn’t it?"
"Not necessarily—what if it's true? What if she really is over a thousand?"
"I've heard of another matron, also claimed to be over a thousand years old. Different name, though—one’s called Lifeless, the other Voidless."
"All tricks to fool the gullible! Back in my day, when people spoke of the True Homeland of Emptiness and the Limitless Brightness, these young’uns were still wetting themselves and playing in the mud!"

Nearby, Chen Yu watched for a while, then turned and left.

An age of chaos approached, and with it, all manner of demons and spirits emerged from the shadows. Lifeless or Voidless, they were all charlatans, preying on the desperate under the guise of charity and rituals, winning the hearts of the downtrodden. It was only a matter of time before their schemes exploded.

Chen Yu had no wish to meddle in these affairs—though the Lotus Saintess had piqued his interest. An intriguing character.

Relying on his formidable spiritual power, he managed to see through her disguise.

And then he was shocked—well, not truly shocked, just left with mixed feelings.

"Who’d have thought? Even in this world, there are men who dress as women."

And with such convincing grace—it was eye-opening, to say the least.

...

At the grain shop, he first ordered five sacks of rice to be carried outside by the porters, then lingered for a chat.

The elderly shopkeeper, his temples frosted with grey, was a lively character, known for his upright nature and his longstanding friendship with the old Daoist. The two, it was said, had once roamed the martial world together in their youth.

Reclining in a wicker chair, tea cup in hand, the old man shared tales of recent events.

"That old Master Zhang, shameless as ever! At his age—older than even I am—he’s still taking concubines. I wonder if he’ll even be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning!"

"Taoyang? That place has been rotten for years. The county magistrate and big merchants are thick as thieves, forcing down grain prices and seizing crops. The people rebelled, but in the end, were crushed. To earn his reward, Butcher Song slaughtered a dozen villages around the county before leaving! Tragedy doesn't even begin to describe it!"

"The Lotus Saintess? Nephew, you mustn’t get involved with her—she’s a strange one! Rumor has it she’s... well, lets just say she’s involved in that quilt-sharing business." (See note 1)

As they conversed, the porters had finished moving the grain. Chen Yu then mentioned his plan to reclaim the terraced fields on the mountain, to avoid troubling the shop again in the future.

---

"Troubling? Nonsense, nephew! You’re being too polite," the old man replied with a shake of his head, though he readily supported the idea. "Farming is good—very good! I once told your master he should plant the mountain fields—so much effort going up and down all the time!"

"But what did that shameless old man do? After half a year, he hadn’t harvested more than two grains of rice, but he’d managed to cut down over a dozen baskets of weeds!"

Chen Yu could only smile wryly at these words. In his memory, it wasn’t just the old Daoist—his predecessor, as well as the previous abbot, were all hopeless at farming. He himself had to come down the mountain every month, calling it ‘worldly experience’ when in fact he just couldn’t stand the harshness of mountain life.

Back and forth like this, the temple fields had been abandoned and left fallow long ago.

At that moment, the old man continued, "Since you’re set on farming, as your elder, it’s only right I give you something to help."

He sent for a few sacks of select seeds from the storeroom.

"This is Changbai millet—plant it in summer, one harvest a season, though it’s a bit rough on the teeth."

"Spring millet—you can guess from the name, sow it in spring. The grain is fine and delicious, yields well, but it needs regular weeding. A bit delicate, that one."

He described the other varieties as well, and with a grand wave, gave them all to Chen Yu.

These were the pride of the old man’s estate, far superior to the common stock outside—higher yields, better taste, all around finer quality.

To offer them so freely now was a clear sign of his fondness for Chen Yu.

"Plant your fields, but if you ever run short of grain, just come find me."

Chen Yu didn’t stand on ceremony—he brought out his purse and paid the going rate for the rice, then accepted the sacks of seeds.

The old man understood the young man’s character well enough, and simply waved for someone to take the money inside and add it to the accounts. Then he lifted his tea cup and settled back in his chair.

"Life on the mountain is hard. You’ve managed to hold out all these years—can you still endure it?"

"It’s no trouble at all," Chen Yu replied calmly.

The old man glanced at him—the young Daoist’s expression was serene, his eyes tranquil, exuding an air of transcendence.

Relieved, the old man thought to himself that his old friend had finally made a wise decision, leaving such a worthy successor to preside over the Cloud Crane Monastery.

After a bit more idle talk, Chen Yu rose to take his leave.

As before, the old shopkeeper arranged for two porters to accompany him. The grain was too much for Chen Yu to carry alone, and it was also a matter of safety on the road.

"Uncle Liu, please accept this box of Essence-Calming Pills."

Though Old Liu and the Daoist hadn’t studied under the same master, Chen Yu still respectfully addressed him as Uncle. The pills weren’t alchemical elixirs of lead and mercury, but a kind of medicinal powder, pressed into small balls—simple to make, but rarely sold outside.

They cleared heat, nourished the blood, settled the mind, and most importantly, tasted sweet. Whether in his past or present life, Chen Yu always brought a box for the old man whenever he came down the mountain.

Old Liu accepted the sealed box without further words, set it beside him, and continued sipping his tea.

---

Only when the young Daoist’s figure had disappeared into the distance did the old man gaze wistfully toward the mountains beyond the city walls.

"Life on the mountain... how peaceful it is there..."

Serenity—free from worldly troubles.

...

"Thank you both for your hard work."

Chen Yu handed two pottery bowls of well water to the porters who’d walked all the way up the mountain.

He also gave them four hundred copper coins.

"This... Daoist, this is too much!" one of the men stammered, his face flushing. Though not especially burly, he was strong and tenacious, and had not complained once along the way. But when presented with the money, he grew flustered.

"It’s nothing—take it. Were it not for the poverty of the monastery, I’d have offered even more today."

Only by walking the mountain path does one realize how exhausting it is; Chen Yu had struggled with just one sack and felt ready to collapse. For these two, who hadn’t even trained in martial arts, it was surely even harder.

Four hundred copper coins—hardly an extravagant sum.

In the end, under Chen Yu’s insistence, they accepted the money and left the mountain smiling, one of them even thumping his chest and vowing that next time Chen Yu needed grain carried, he could call on him and he’d run even faster!

After sending them off, Chen Yu drew well water and left it in the courtyard to air—too cold otherwise, and washing with it directly could cause chills.

He was about to prepare a midday meal when he noticed something red in a corner by the wall.

Stepping closer, he paused in surprise.

Looking back, he saw that the bamboo tube attached to the pillar had somehow split open with a crack...

——————

Note—

Quilt-sharing: Refers to romantic or intimate relationships between women, also called ‘grinding the mirror.’