Chapter 339: The Sound of Books

Clad in a crimson robe, the sinister entity accompanied Xu Fengnian. Though not exactly hiding by day and traveling by night, Xu chose remote and desolate paths heading north. This was not too far from his original intention. Having grown accustomed to the coarse sands of the desert, enduring this hardship was trivial to him. What truly reassured him was that this sinister entity, named Dan Ying, was an unparalleled master in counter-tracking. It expertly erased even the faintest traces of lingering aura that Xu himself could not detect. With such a talisman—or perhaps even a life-saving charm—accompanying him, Xu felt much more at ease. Though the creature had two faces and four arms, it no longer seemed so hideous. Occasionally, during brief stops along the way, Xu even played childish little games with it.

As Xu walked across an endless expanse of Gobi desert, he recalled the ancient records describing this place as once a mighty river three miles wide—an astonishing fact that would leave later generations in disbelief. Standing atop a piece of sun-scorched deadwood, Xu muttered to himself, “At this pace, if we head northwest for another few days, we’ll reach the Bottle Province. The person I need to meet is there, living in seclusion by the Ruoshui River. The reason I risked my life to confront Luoyang was because if I arrived too late, everything would be in vain. That old man is truly difficult to please. But thinking from his perspective, can I really blame him? After all, he once enjoyed the highest rank and glory—why should he risk his hard-earned reputation for little gain, dealing with a young upstart like me who hasn’t even grown a beard yet…”

At this, Xu instinctively rubbed his chin, chuckled, and grumbled, “So I do have stubble now.”

He used the Huang Tong sword to shave off the prickly beard. While doing so, he took stock of his current situation. There was no doubt he had entered the early stage of the Realm of the Indestructible (Diamond Body Realm). He wielded twelve flying swords, with Chaolu, Jinlou, and Tai’e already fully developed. He also carried a pair of Spring Thunder swords, and three small wooden swords called Muma Niu. In terms of weapons alone, even Xu himself found it terrifying. Such an arsenal would make any ordinary martial artist, who had never even touched a legendary weapon in their lifetime, green with envy.

The technique Qing Si from the Dao of Blades remained a stumbling block, and Xu had stubbornly refused to turn the page despite his stagnation. Fortunately, he had other techniques like Kai Shu Fu Yao and Immortal’s Caress to practice repeatedly, growing more and more proficient. When boredom struck, he would spar with Dan Ying to keep his hands warm. For nearly a month, Xu galloped like a wild horse across the land. More than once, after deep meditation, he awoke drenched in cold sweat, questioning himself: If he had to relive that high-stakes gamble at the Yellow River falls, even with all the advantages of timing, terrain, and support, would he still have the courage to attack Luoyang again?

“Where is the Princess’s Tomb?”

“What are the two thoughts, big and small?”

“A woman’s half-face makeup—no matter how beautiful one half is, if the other half resembles a ghost, you can imagine the taste of the one who chose her…”

Xu Fengnian, knowing full well that the sinister entity would not answer, actually enjoyed rambling more. As he neared Bottle Province, the vast sky and open land made him feel small and lonely. Having Dan Ying travel with him, occasionally disappearing from sight, made the journey less dull. This trip to the Northern Desert had started with trailing the Fish Dragon Gang, then came a little tag-along named Tao Manwu, followed by Lu Chen. Now, with Dan Ying, it was the easiest journey yet—Dan Ying was strong enough to take care of himself, and Xu didn’t have to worry about his life or death.

At the border of Bottle Province flowed the Ruoshui River, said to be so weak it couldn’t even float a reed. When Xu finally reached its banks, he scooped up some water to wash his face, feeling refreshed. He sensed a faint sinister aura nearby, but looking around revealed nothing. He concealed his presence and walked along the riverbank, intending to cross. He soon saw a ferry, with a raft made of oxhide approaching the opposite shore. The rumor about the river’s weakness was clearly nonsense, which greatly disappointed Xu. As he approached the ferry, he saw a pair of ragged travelers—a grandfather and grandchild. The old man wore a tattered Taoist robe with a yin-yang fish embroidered on the back, leaning on a bamboo staff, and carrying a book case like Xu. The child was sunburnt, his face dark except for two lively eyes that darted about mischievously. Clearly not a simple soul, the boy squatted at the edge of the dock, idly tossing stones into the river while waiting for the raft.

Xu confirmed that the old Taoist had no martial arts skills and stood quietly, gazing at the far shore.

The boy turned to glance at the scholar-like Xu, too timid to be impolite. He scratched his foot, where his big toe stubbornly peeked out from his straw sandal, and pleaded pitifully to his master, “Master, can I get a new pair of shoes?”

The old Taoist glared, “You think your body is so delicate? You just got new shoes and walked only three hundred miles—already asking for more? I told you not to jump around so much, but you wouldn’t listen!”

The boy whined, “I even wove the shoes myself!”

The old Taoist, perhaps not wanting to scold too harshly in front of a stranger, tried to deflect with a lesson, “When Heaven bestows a great responsibility upon a person, it must first weary their bones and starve their flesh.”

This only made matters worse. At the mention of hunger, the boy’s stomach growled loudly. The old Taoist turned his back to Xu, pretending not to notice. The boy, familiar with his master’s temper, could only endure the hunger with a roll of his eyes.

The oxhide raft returned to the dock. The old Taoist carefully inquired about the fare. In the Northern Desert, Taoism had been flourishing for twenty years, and Taoists were highly respected, even feared. However, the ferryman saw that this one didn’t look like an official Taoist recorded in the imperial registry, so he dared to charge, though he lowered the price and didn’t charge per person. The old Taoist reached into his sleeve to check his money pouch—enough to cross the river—and sighed in relief. Then he gave Xu a meaningful glance and told the ferryman that the three of them would travel together, offering Xu a small favor. The ferryman understood but didn’t want to expose the arrangement, choosing instead to go along with it.

As they boarded the raft, Xu nodded to the old Taoist, who lightly shook his sleeve, indicating that it was a small matter. The Ruoshui River was not as turbulent as the Yellow River; its waters were calm and clear. The boy, mischievous as ever, leaned over the edge of the raft, trying to scoop up water. Suddenly, he screamed and stumbled backward, nearly knocking the old Taoist into the river. The ferryman glared angrily—this trip barely earned him a few coins, and an accident would only bring trouble. The boy trembled, pointing at the river, stuttering, “There’s a water ghost!”

The old Taoist, annoyed by the boy’s chatter, scolded loudly, “A gentleman does not speak of ghosts and strange things!”

The old man spouted Confucian classics, and if not for his Taoist robe, he would seem like a narrow-minded village teacher. The boy, frightened but defiant, turned red with anger, “It really was a water ghost! Wearing a bright red robe, and it was a female ghost!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Xu caught a glimpse of the red robe swimming like a crimson carp near the raft, then it vanished, sticking to the bottom of the raft. The old Taoist clearly didn’t believe the boy’s frantic claims and shouted, “Silence!”

The boy, furious, kicked the raft, fortunately unnoticed by the ferryman, who might have raised the fare otherwise.

Upon reaching the shore, Xu was the first to toss some silver coins to the ferryman. The old Taoist was taken aback but smiled appreciatively, not pretending to refuse. The dark-skinned boy, still shaken by the red-robed ghost, was the first to leap off the raft, only to fall flat on his face, causing the old Taoist to sigh in exasperation.

As the three walked onto the simple dock, the old Taoist felt a sense of kinship with Xu, both being southerners meeting in a foreign land. He bowed respectfully, “This humble Daoist is the abbot of Yan Yang Temple, known by the secular name Luo Pingyang. You may call me by my lay name.”

Xu Fengnian returned the bow with equal respect, “It is an honor to meet Abbot Luo. I am Xu Qi.”

In Taoism, as in Buddhism, there are grand monasteries, especially in the Northern Desert where the Daoist sects grew powerful, gradually overshadowing the three major religions. Typically, an abbot is a high-ranking figure in a temple, requiring both virtue and mastery of rituals and exorcism. However, Xu could tell from the old man’s attire that he was likely the abbot of a small, obscure temple, where even the name might not be well known. Such an abbot might not even have the influence of a simple guestmaster in a grand temple. Xu, carrying a book case and dressed modestly but neatly, with a refined and scholarly demeanor, clearly outshone the old Taoist in presence. No wonder the old man was eager to make his acquaintance.

As expected, there was a small tavern near the dock. The boy exclaimed joyfully, “Master, there’s a wine sign!”

A wine sign is a bundle of straw tied to a pole, commonly used by small taverns to attract customers. The old Taoist, with little money to spare, would have been content with just water if it were just him and his apprentice. But since the young gentleman had paid for the ferry, it would be too shameless to let him pay again for wine and food. Yet if he had to pay himself, a few bowls of wine might leave him unable to attend the grand Daoist ceremony in the Moral Sect.

Xu understood the social nuances and immediately said, “After walking half a day, nearly a hundred miles, I’m starving. If Abbot Luo doesn’t mind, why not join me for a bite? I also have some interest in the teachings of Laozi, though I only know bits and pieces. I would be grateful if Abbot Luo could offer some guidance.”

The old Taoist smiled, “It is a good thing that Master Xu seeks the Dao.”

As they walked slowly, the boy secretly studied this wealthy young man, only to receive a light tap on the head from his master before the old man turned to Xu, “The roots of the world lie in Daoism, though I am but a humble practitioner. I know a little about the Zi Wu meridian theory and the Eight Trigrams method, but I can only claim to understand the basics of cultivating qi and refining elixirs.”

Xu nodded.

The three of them sat at a greasy table outside the tavern, ordering a jar of wine and several pounds of cooked beef. In the Yangli Kingdom, private sale of beef was forbidden in many prefectures, and slaughtering cattle without permission was illegal. But in the Northern Desert, such restrictions did not exist.

The boy devoured the food greedily, ignoring his master’s disapproving looks. The old Taoist, though fond of the boy despite his many faults, gave Xu an apologetic smile. He himself was more reserved, sipping his wine slowly and tearing off small pieces of beef, savoring the rare indulgence. Xu, after removing his book case, sipped his wine leisurely. The boy looked up, speaking with his mouth full, “Master, why didn’t you recite any poetry today?”

The old Taoist chuckled, “Do you think poetry is like your hunger, never satisfied?”

Xu smiled.

After some hesitation, the old Taoist pulled out a thin book from his book case, bound with coarse paper, “This is my poetry collection. If Master Xu doesn’t mind the crude writing, you may take a look. It’s mostly simple songs, not refined, but perhaps still enjoyable.”

Xu was surprised, “I must read it carefully. Good poetry with wine—what a joy!”

Xu wiped his hands and took the book, flipping through the pages slowly. The first few poems were about longing for a beautiful maiden, and even Xu found them charming. For example: Spring swallows and nightingales, green and graceful, everything in perfect harmony.

At first, Xu still managed to sip his wine and eat some meat, but halfway through the book, he became entranced: “My heart, tempered like iron in a hundred forges; wealth and honor are but butterflies in a dream; fame and fortune, like serpents in a wine cup. In old age, with no support, the sharp wind cuts deeper, thin snow weighs heavier, and the wind threatens to topple my humble hut.” At the end of the book, the poems spoke of the suffering of the people, ending with the line, “The people suffer, and the scholar sighs.” The book was a collection of the author’s life experiences, from youthful romance to middle-aged despair, and finally to old age, filled with reflections.

Xu closed the book and praised, “This book would have delighted my second sister.”

The old Taoist was puzzled, lacking confidence, and slightly embarrassed.

Xu silently returned the book without further comment. A few years ago, he would have paid thousands of taels for such a collection.

This old Taoist, known as Jiu Wei, had long grown accustomed to failure and disappointment. He accepted the book back without sadness, content just to have had a free meal.

Xu asked, “Abbot Luo, do you know if the monk Longshu from the Two Chan Temples has gone to the Moral Sect?”

The old man shook his head, “I haven’t heard of it.”

He added with self-deprecating humor, “In the Yangli Kingdom, there are customs of Buddhist and Taoist debates, but in the Northern Desert, a Taoist discussing with a monk would be like a chicken talking to a duck.”

The Taoist slapped his thigh in frustration, “Don’t let the Moral Sect’s grand ceremony be ruined. If I go all the way for nothing, I’ll suffer greatly.”

The boy muttered, “We’re suffering already!”

The old Taoist raised his hand as if to hit him, and the boy quickly ducked.

After a satisfying meal, learning that Xu was also heading northwest to Bottle Province, the three decided to travel together. As dusk fell, with no sign of shelter, they had no choice but to sleep under the open sky.

They lit a campfire, and the tired boy quickly fell asleep.

The old Taoist couldn’t help but recite, “The foolish child knows not the cycle of fortune and ruin.”

Later, Xu asked a few basic questions about Taoism, careful not to delve too deeply, not wanting to embarrass the old Taoist.

After some hesitation, the Taoist Luo Pingyang finally asked Xu Fengnian, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say—may I speak it?”

Xu smiled, “Please, Abbot Luo, say whatever you wish.”

The Taoist took a deep breath and whispered, “In my youth, I studied the art of face reading with a master. From your appearance, I sense that someone close to you has passed away. It may be someone surnamed Song or Li. If possible, I advise you to return home.”

Xu sat in silence.

The old Taoist sighed, “Of course, my reading may not be accurate. If I have said something unfortunate, please do not take offense.”

Xu nodded slowly.

The old Taoist looked at the gentle and kind young man sitting by the fire, his lips trembling slightly. Unable to bear the sight, he turned his gaze to the distance and murmured, “The storm is treacherous, yet I ride the waves. The mountain ghosts laugh. The storm is far from me, and I am far from the storm. The stars fill the sky, and the people sleep.”

People sleep.