Chapter Forty-Six: Visitors from the Mountain

The Lanting fruit was ripe, now showing two distinct forms, each differing in appearance. One tree bore plump, crimson fruits, much larger than usual, while the other produced a strange variety—its size unchanged, but shaped like an eggplant.

To prevent another incident like the greedy deer before, Chen Yu raised the fences around both the medicinal field and the vegetable garden. He ventured into the mountains to cut bamboo, weaving it into a sturdy fence that encircled the area tightly, leaving no chance for mishap.

Besides this, he decisively picked all the mature Lanting fruits, placing every single one into a basket so that not a single red fruit remained. The same went for the remaining green vegetable sprouts—he harvested the last surviving seedling.

Now, only the Yuanling root remained unripe in the medicinal field. Chen Yu calculated; he had transplanted the second batch on the twenty-third of the third month, and now, on the fourth day of the fourth month, more than ten days had passed. Judging by previous experience, they would fully mature in three to four days, ready to be pulled up and split open to absorb their spiritual energy.

As for what followed, it was the same as always. Driven by curiosity, he swiftly began his experiments. The vegetable sprouts had already been fed to the rooster, so he would have to observe for a while. What remained to be tested was the Lanting fruit in his hands.

With a sense of partnership, and after a simple test on an earthworm, Chen Yu mixed the leftover pulp with rice grains and fed it as a special treat to a single hen.

The initial experiment at least proved that the round Lanting fruit did not cause violent side effects in the short term. As for the rest, he would have to wait and see how the pair in the woodshed fared.

Seeing the “red eggplant” left in the basket, he returned it without catching the final hen. The chicks were still too young and needed their mother.

Speaking of which, Chen Yu had recently been considering fencing off a patch of land behind the Daoist temple to set up a proper enclosure, so he could let the chicks roam free. Keeping them cooped up in the cramped chicken shed was far from ideal.

In truth, if not for the many snakes and insects in the mountains, and the occasional wild beast, he would have opened the shed doors and let the chickens roam as they pleased.

“For now, the chicks are small and the shed suffices, but later they must be free-ranged.” Once the chicks grew to the size of the rooster, he would be much more at ease.

His experiments proceeded methodically. Chen Yu tidied up the odds and ends in front of him, then took out the bamboo tube containing Reed Ginseng Paste, scooped a spoonful, and ate it.

It was sweet and creamy, reminiscent of black sesame paste. Reed Ginseng Paste did not keep well, so he had taken to having a taste whenever he had nothing else to do. In just over a day, nearly half the paste was gone.

After his adventure in the mountain stream, Chen Yu realized that while Reed Ginseng was plentiful in the mountains, it was truly difficult to find. In the future, it would be better to buy it at the foot of the mountain if possible.

Yet, with both sowing and the cultivation of grain and medicinal seedlings occupying his time, and with limited funds, unless he sold all the herbs he had previously gathered, he would not be able to buy much at all.

“If there’s time, I’ll wander the mountain streams again. If not, I'll have to go down to the market.”

Of course, as he estimated, the paste would last at least another two or three days. Besides, although Reed Ginseng Paste had mild side effects, long-term use was not ideal, so he need not worry about this matter for the next ten days or so.

Wait, I still have the Purging Herb!

He suddenly recalled the Purging Herb, which aided in detoxification and had proven remarkably effective. After several doses, he felt much lighter, and even after using both Cloud-Dispersing Powder and Reed Ginseng Paste, he had accumulated little toxicity.

The Purging Herb could expel more than just residual toxins from the digestive tract; even those deeply lodged in the internal organs could be cleared with repeated use.

With this in mind, even if Chen Yu ate the Reed Ginseng Paste daily without pause, the minimal toxicity would likely never accumulate in his body.

“Yet the paste isn’t very tolerant to repeated use,” he reflected.

With medicine, beyond the toxicity of the herbs themselves, there was also the issue of the body building tolerance to excessive dosage.

The reason Chen Yu chose Reed Ginseng Paste was precisely because its effects lasted a long time—far longer than the old Daoist’s liver-tonics left in the temple. It remained effective for a year or more of continuous use.

In the end, the real issue was the lack of Reed Ginseng…

He had thought that, though not as valuable as Snow Velvet, Reed Ginseng would be easier to find—his predecessor had gathered quite a bit, after all. Yet, searching the mountain stream high and low, he found only one plant, enough to make just a few days’ worth of paste.

“Perhaps it was just bad luck. I’ll try again in the future.”

As he pondered, a sudden commotion came from down the mountain path.

“May I ask if Daoist Chen Yu of Cloud Crane Temple is present?”

...

Jiang Qin’an stood before the temple, surveying the building with curiosity. He wore a dark blue Daoist robe, the sleeves embroidered with flying clouds, over a pale blue garment. His sword brows framed eyes shining with spirit.

On his back was a long sword, his waist girded with a white sash, and atop his head sat a Daoist cap.

Sea Cloud Temple was one of the few Daoist establishments in Shiya County, and as the second senior brother and a student of nearly ten years, Jiang Qin’an was well aware of the state of local temples.

Some had risen on auspicious winds; others had fallen from the clouds. The latter far outnumbered the former.

The Cloud Crane Temple before him was one of the fallen.

“In his day, Daoist Li was renowned for his Daoist arts and martial prowess—a name that shook Guangyong. What a pity, truly a shame.”

With a sigh, Jiang Qin’an gazed at the somber, solitary building ahead, his expression complex.

Many in Sea Cloud Temple had exchanged teachings with Daoist Li and held some acquaintance with him. Jiang Qin’an had heard his deeds and once held expectations for the Cloud Crane Temple where he resided. But seeing it now, it was as desolate and lifeless as the other decaying temples.

He recalled the registry: the current abbot of Cloud Crane Temple was a young Daoist named Chen Yu, two cycles younger than himself, with little renown. The most recent account was from a year ago, when he descended the mountain and singlehandedly fought a band of unarmed mountain bandits, sustaining injuries in the process.

It was clear enough—this new abbot’s martial skills could not compare to Daoist Li’s, and as for his mastery of the Dao… Jiang Qin’an shook his head, holding out little hope.

Another sigh escaped him, for in these tumultuous times, so many temples had fallen like Cloud Crane Temple. In the past fortnight, he had traversed more than half of Shiya County, delivering invitations, only to find that over forty percent of the registered temples were gone.

How long would these endless sorrows persist? When would peace be restored?

Just then, the sound of footsteps, growing nearer, broke Jiang Qin’an’s reverie. He looked up and was immediately struck by the sight before him.

The young man approaching wore a Daoist robe, pale as clouds and cranes drifting through mist, the dark fabric interlaced with silvery threads, ethereal and otherworldly.

He walked with calm composure, serene and unhurried. There was an air of detachment from worldly dust about him, a gentle ease in his expression, and a strange clarity in his eyes that seemed to dispel anxiety, soothing all who met his gaze.

Though he came alone, Jiang Qin’an was somehow reminded of a passage from the Daoist scriptures: “Guard the inner self with severity, the outer with tranquility.”

“A true cultivator!” he thought, impressed.

Clearing his mind of all distractions, Jiang Qin’an straightened his posture and offered a most formal Daoist salute, fingers joined at the tips, thumb tucked in.

“I am Jiang Qin’an of Sea Cloud Temple.”

“Chen Yu of Cloud Crane Temple, a pleasure to meet you, fellow Daoist.”