Chapter Forty-Five: Daoist Ren of the Eastern Peak Temple

Throughout history, those who were enshrined as gods were invariably esteemed ministers of the realm, individuals who had rendered great service yet were not swept along by the tides of fate. Only such people could be elevated to divinity, enjoying the incense and worship of mortals.

A righteous heart and goodness as one's companion—though childless, in death one may become divine.

This principle is simple in theory but far more difficult in practice. Though this world bears many resemblances to my previous life, in many respects it lags far behind. In my former world, from the dawn of civilization, from the time the Sage Emperor drew the eight trigrams to pass down culture, nearly ten thousand years elapsed. All theories reached maturity, civilization flourished in brilliance, and its essence became woven into the souls and daily lives of every person.

Here, so much is lacking, everything is still unrefined. Perhaps I can do something about it.

To cultivate the celestial way, one must accumulate three thousand merits.

For me, the Dao reigns supreme; merit is a matter of time. Though my path remains unclear, seeing these guards today has given me some inspiration.

I should ponder this further in the future.

Looking at Li Hualong, still kneeling before me, I could sense his thoughts. Glancing at the sky—time was slipping away—I said, “It grows late; I will not tarry here any longer.”

After considering for a moment, I pointed to the coachman who drove my carriage and addressed Li Hualong: “You may rise. There’s no need for such formality in the future. If anything arises, contact him—someone will see to it. His name is Jia Cheng. He wields an iron whip with great skill, and I often entrust him with my affairs.”

Li Hualong saw that though this man merely drove the carriage, he occupied a position closest to the young master; inevitably, he would have to deal with him in the future. He hastened to salute. “Hualong pays respects to Steward Jia.”

Jia Cheng, originally sent by the lady of the house to serve at the young master’s command, was delighted to be recognized as such. Having tasks to perform meant he still held value in the young master's eyes. Hearing Li Hualong call him “Steward,” he replied with courtesy, “No need for such words. We all serve the young master together.”

Jia Cheng then gave Li Hualong some instructions regarding matters that required attention.

Seeing that the two had finished their exchange, Shangguan Chuanyun said, “It’s getting late; we should set out.”

“Yes, young master,” all the guards replied in unison.

Shangguan Chuanyun was about to return to his carriage when he paused, remembering that there were dog and wolf demons ahead—he ought to be cautious. Since Li Hualong had come from that direction, perhaps he knew something. He asked, “Is there a shorter route to the southern lands?”

Li Hualong stepped forward. “Young master, even if you hadn’t asked, I intended to inform Steward Jia. To reach the south, you must pass through Lan Feng County, but that county is plagued by dog demons, while the Black Wolf Mountain wolves bar the way ahead. You may detour through Nanguo County. Though it is inhabited solely by the shaved-head people, there is little danger as long as you take care to cover your hair. At most, the journey will be delayed by a day.”

Shangguan Chuanyun knew well the trouble in Lan Feng County—the wild dogs’ havoc originated with the wolf demon of Black Wolf Mountain. But the “shaved-head people”—who were they? He had never heard of them and asked, “Who are these ‘shaved-head people’? Why must we cover our hair when passing through?”

Li Hualong replied after some thought, “Young master, to my knowledge, the shaved-head people only arrived in Nanguo County three years ago. It is said that a monk attained enlightenment and established a Buddhist temple there, calling himself the Mummy Buddha.

“Later, the Mummy Buddha conspired with the county magistrate. Though our bodies and hair are gifts from our parents, he forced everyone to shave their heads and become monks. Marital bonds, a law of nature, yet he commanded the people to abstain, husbands and wives to live apart. Sacrifices to ancestors, a tradition from ancient times, but the Mummy Buddha forbade honoring one’s ancestors, demanding instead that people sever all familial ties and recognize the West as their forebears. He preached abandoning wife and children, urging all to become monks.

“It is said that one may ascend to the Western Paradise after death. All who disobey are enslaved; every Daoist temple has been destroyed, every school closed. Outsiders are generally driven away, so, young master, as long as you are cautious, you should be able to pass through safely.”

Shangguan Chuanyun listened, thinking the place was utterly insane. No matter which way he went, he would have to pass through. Still, every experience was a lesson—perhaps it would be good to see such madness firsthand.

…

Having bid farewell to Li Hualong, Shangguan Chuanyun watched the column of refugees recede into the distance, feeling a moment’s emotion. He instructed Jia Cheng on two matters:

First, to supply all necessary provisions along the way for the thousands of refugees under Li Hualong’s leadership.

Second, to swiftly prepare some weapons and dispatch a few skilled military men to join them, so these refugees could quickly learn to defend themselves.

With that, Shangguan Chuanyun entered the carriage to resume his meditation and cultivation.

He knew that, ahead, there would be more than one adversary to face—the road ahead teemed with demons and monsters. He had barely traveled a hundred miles from the capital before trouble found him.

Since it had come, he would not run from it. He would find a way to resolve each problem. It was only after cultivating the Minor Elixir of Return that he could even encounter such things; ordinary people might never face even the simplest of such challenges in their entire lives.

It is because one possesses such abilities that one encounters such troubles—or rather, it is by acting thus that one attains such power. Virtue and position must be matched. It is a simple truth: to be emperor requires undertaking the deeds of an emperor, else one cannot hold the throne. Do the deeds, and the position will follow.

Cultivation is the same. The way of the sword immortal is one of purity and opposition to all evil and demonic paths—thus, those who walk it are natural enemies to such beings.

Since he had encountered them, he must face them; otherwise, other calamities would arise. In life, who does not face disasters and hardships—how much more so for those who seek immortality?

By now, dusk had fallen. The carriage rolled along the cobbled highway, two horses ambling leisurely on the road. To the west, the sun neared the horizon. On either side stretched long-abandoned fields, overgrown with wild grasses of varying heights. All around was emptiness, save for the occasional rabbit leaping from the brush or a flock of pheasants bursting from cover.

If there were people here, it would be a scene of pastoral delight.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped with a creak. Outside, Commander Wu called, “Young master, we are nearly at Mount East Peak. Shall we head for Lan Feng County or Nanguo County?”

Commander Wu, skilled and fearless, had never known fear—and now, knowing his master was no ordinary man, he was more unrestrained than ever.

Shangguan Chuanyun emerged from meditation, lifted the curtain, and was struck by the scene before him.

Not far ahead stood a mountain—not tall, but shrouded in mist, the sound of water murmuring, like a fairyland. On its ridge sat a dilapidated Daoist temple, appearing as if it had grown from the very rock, so harmonious was its presence.

The setting sun cast golden light over the mountain, adding a layer of mystery. With the surrounding abandoned fields, if there were people, it would be a scene of earthly beauty.

But there was no sign of life; only the mountain itself seemed vibrant.

He asked, “What mountain is this?”

Commander Wu steadied his horse and replied, “This is Mount East Peak. A hundred years ago, it was the site of the Celestial Emperor of the East’s Daoist court in the Central Lands. Later, the emperor went to the wilds to fight demons, and the mountain fell into ruin. So, which way shall we go?”

Shangguan Chuanyun did not answer immediately. But he found the mountain pleasing and said, “Ah, this mountain is fine. We shall rest here for the night.”

Seeing the others were puzzled, he continued, “We must go to Lan Feng County, and Nanguo County as well. For now, we’ll camp here. Even by land, we should be able to catch up with my father’s army of ten thousand, traveling by water.”

“Yes, young master,” Commander Wu replied, waving his hand at the others. “Forward! To East Peak!”

In ancient times, Mount East Peak was one of the foundations on which humanity stood, called the Ancestral Mountain of the Eastern Lands. Five thousand years ago, the Celestial Emperor of the East led the people forth from this mountain, purging the wilds of monsters and securing space for humankind. Since then, East Peak became a symbol of imperial authority, and every emperor, upon ascending the throne, would first perform rites to heaven at this mountain.

Later, only a change of dynasty would occasion such rites. By now, it was likely long forgotten.

The carriage reached the foot of the mountain, where a few dilapidated Daoist courtyards still stood, so worn that they seemed ready to collapse at any moment. Shangguan Chuanyun ordered the men to make camp and prepare a fire for cooking.

After a moment’s thought, sensing something was missing, he asked Jia Cheng for two hummingbirds. The Jia family’s merchant house used many methods for communication—couriers for long distances, carrier pigeons, short-range “clothing cats,” or hummingbirds. There were also signal arrows, fireworks, musical instruments, and more. The hummingbird, being small and easy to conceal, worked well for short distances.

After giving instructions, Shangguan Chuanyun set off alone up the stone steps, striding swiftly toward the Daoist temple halfway up the mountain, the only place with a faint sign of life.

The temple, called East Peak Shrine, was dedicated to the Celestial Emperor of the East and human sages. Thousands of years ago, the abbot of East Peak Shrine held great prestige and power—even the emperor would defer to him.

Now, in the ancestral hall of East Peak Shrine sat two people: one, a middle-aged Daoist in his thirties, his robe patched in places; the other, a young monk with a shining bald head, ruddy-cheeked and well-fed, his right forefinger missing.

The two sat in silence.

Now the shrine was kept by only one Daoist, known only by his surname, Ren—called Daoist Ren. He once had several disciples. Each day he would collect the morning’s purple qi, watch the mountains and stars, and live at ease. On occasion, he would divine fortunes, interpret omens, or perform rituals, making a modest living.

But since the emergence of the so-called Mummy Buddha in Nanguo, who forcibly cut off the incense to the temple, his disciples, seeing no future here, shaved their heads, joined the Mummy Buddha, seized a nearby hill, and began “saving all beings.”

Deprived of his last meager income and abandoned by his disciples, Daoist Ren did not curse his fate. Instead, he tilled a few plots of land and grew enough grain to survive.

But today, one of his former disciples—now bald, well-fed, and missing a finger—came to inform him he must move out, for they wished to build a Ten Thousand Buddhas Temple on East Peak to worship the myriad Buddhas.

Negotiations failed—Daoist Ren simply refused to listen to such heresy, unwilling to betray his ancestral faith. And so, the standoff continued.