Chapter 87 – Elopement
“When I see Young Master Chou, I’m going to settle the score with him,” Lu Jing said, looking at his trimmed hair with a pained expression, almost crying. “Does he know how much I’ve sacrificed to find him! This young master’s decade of dashing looks has gone up in flames. How many fair maidens’ hearts will be broken!”
Shen Shangqing remained silent. The “Young Master Chou” they were talking about was probably that Little Martial Ancestor of Taiyi… Logically, this was very important information, but these people’s behavior hardly made one want to approach and greet them…
“A deep connection lies in the meeting of two hearts, not in the superficial appearance of the flesh,” Monk Budu advised.
“Hmm, that’s true,” Lu Jing said, relieved and rather pleased with himself. “This young master is full of poetry and prose. Why should I worry about not finding a kindred spirit?”
Shen Shangqing completely lost the desire to greet them and started walking inside…
He didn’t get away.
Monk Budu’s charcoal-covered hand grabbed his sleeve. “Is this benefactor the one receiving guests in Xuan City?”
…My new clothes!
The ones A Yu just made for me!
Shen Shangqing nearly lost his gentle and elegant demeanor, almost slapping this bald donkey’s head open—but only almost.
After all, Shen Shangqing wasn’t as slow-witted as his Dao companion. After a few sentences, he had already guessed the identities of these three oddballs. Although he had been slacking off as much as possible in the matter of the Xuan City blockade, determined to put in the least amount of effort, he had heard that recently, the young master of Medicine Valley, the Buddhist Saint of the Buddhist Sect, and the final disciple of the Ghost Valley Master had been stirring up a whole lot of trouble. But were the people secretly tailing these three troublemakers all useless?! They didn’t even try to stop them from coming to Xuan City?
Shen Shangqing took a deep breath, smiled amiably, and cupped his hands in greeting. “I am Shen Shangqing, temporarily in charge of Xuan City on behalf of Wind Flower Valley.”
“You’re Shen Shangqing?”
Lu Jing let out a sound of surprise.
“The one and only.”
Shen Shangqing’s mood improved slightly.
Lu Jing looked him up and down, took out a golden-thread cold wood fan from somewhere, and with a snap, fanned himself gracefully. “…I thought you’d be something special, but you’re just so-so.”
Shen Shangqing’s smile froze.
“Meeting you is not as good as hearing about you. Forget it,” Young Master Lu closed his fan, tapped it against his palm, and lifted his chin. “Where’s the best restaurant in Xuan City? Lead the way… Hmm, this young master is accustomed to bathing to the sound of zithers and bells. Does this Xuan City of yours have any music worth listening to?”
“…”
Shen Shangqing’s smile vanished.
If only! If only these three had slightly lower statuses, he would have slapped them into the moat! Music of zithers and bells, my ass. You deserve to go down and drink black water with the turtles!
“What are you still standing there for?” Lu Jing asked strangely. “Let’s go.”
…One must not offend a physician. The Buddhist Sect was one of the three major immortal sects, and Ghost Valley was strange and unpredictable. Shen Shangqing repeatedly reminded himself of this, suppressed the urge to strike out, and turned expressionlessly to lead them inside. He had completely given up on any idea of making small talk or probing for information… Anyway, there were plenty of people in Xuan City eager to get a hold of Martial Grand-Ancestor Chou of Taiyi’s whereabouts.
Behind him, the three second-generation heirs were talking loudly.
“…This Wind Flower Valley doesn’t govern their sect very well.”
“What great insight does Benefactor Lu have?”
“Their etiquette is terrible! Terrible! Not stopping a guest at the door is an ancient virtue. A well-governed sect, even its menial disciples, when receiving guests, would be respectful in their bows and greetings, and their words and expressions would be solemn. Look, the honored guests have arrived above the city, and not only is there no one to welcome them, but they don’t even prepare carriages. They actually make the guests walk to the pavilion themselves.”
“Well, walking is no big deal for a cultivator. But that little Daoist Half-Diviner took a fall, and instead of reflecting on the poor construction of the city moat, no one even came to help him up… That is indeed a bit much,” Monk Budu said impartially.
“It’s only because the three of us are frugal and benevolent, with low standards for such empty formalities. If Young Master Chou were here, he would have definitely started making a fuss already.” Young Master Lu shook his head. “That guy is as picky as they come. Even to invite a golden Buddha, you need to at least build a bronze shrine. Tsk, and they think these conditions are fit to receive Young Master Chou?”
A vein throbbed on Shen Shangqing’s forehead.
Did they have any self-awareness about who they were colluding with? Did they have any idea that all the immortal sects of the Twelve Continents, along with the Kongsang Hundred Clans, had gathered together just for this “Young Master Chou” they were talking about? Did they have any idea what a secretive and terrifying existence the Witch Clan behind that Young Master Chou was? And what part of “frugal” and “benevolent” had anything to do with them?
“That’s not wrong,” Half-Diviner agreed with Lu Jing’s point. “Even if Benefactor Chou did come here, I’m afraid he wouldn’t be able to stand it for even a moment.”
Shen Shangqing had a great epiphany.
He understood how that Little Martial Ancestor of Taiyi had made so many enemies… To be able to make these three oddballs look up to him with such reverence, and to have an entire sect acting as his accomplice, he deserved to be hunted down by the whole world!
After an agonizing journey, the tallest building in Xuan City, the White Deer Tower, finally came into view.
Shen Shangqing felt as if he had been granted amnesty. He hurriedly ushered the three second-generation heirs inside and turned to leave in a hurry.
“By the way, Benefactor Shen,” Monk Budu called out, raising his voice to stop him, “this humble monk is a man of the cloth and has few requests. Just bring some water shuttle flowers and sweet dew wine.”
As soon as Lu Jing entered the restaurant, he was as comfortable as if he were back in Medicine Valley. Seeing the young ladies and female warriors casting frequent glances his way, he skillfully waved his fan, showing off his handsome and elegant side.
Half-Diviner, who was asking the manager for some clean water to wash his face, suddenly became alert. “Zen Master Budu, did you drink before flying the boat?”
Monk Budu played dumb, looking around and changing the subject. “Benefactor Lu, little Daoist, this city may be small, but it has quite a few banners, which is quite a sight… Uh…” Monk Budu’s gaze swept to the second-floor private room corridor, where a broad-bodied monk who looked like a living Maitreya was standing. He immediately waved his hand enthusiastically. “Nephew-Master Wuding—long time no see—”
The smiling Maitreya stopped smiling and silently turned his back.
“Uncle-Master Mu.”
Half-Diviner took a few steps forward and greeted the Ghost Valley group, his behavior still relatively proper.
The wrinkled and sagging Elder Mu He of Ghost Valley slowly stopped, slowly opened his eyelids, and slowly nodded at him.
The Ghost Valley disciples behind Elder Mu He bowed to Half-Diviner in a scattered manner. As the final disciple of the Ghost Valley Master and the inheritor of the Star-Pushing Plate, even if Half-Diviner didn’t succeed as the next Valley Master, he was destined to be one of the valley’s elders. Basically, all the younger generation disciples had to call him “Little Martial Uncle.”
However, Ghost Valley valued seclusion, and the valley was shrouded in mist all year round, whether by nature or by man. Everyone hid in the mist, cultivating bitterly under the pine trees, and rarely met each other. For many, this was their first time meeting the famous “Iron-Clad Predictor” of the sect.
Upon meeting him, they only felt that this Little Martial Uncle, compared to the rumors…
“Uncle-Master Mu, it’s great that you’re here too.” Half-Diviner, carrying his tattered straw hat, wearing his mismatched, worn-out Daoist robes—one foot in a broken vine shoe, the other bare—pattered over under the watchful eyes of everyone. “Alas, your nephew has had the misfortune of owing this Buddhist Saint of the Buddhist Sect thirty thousand taels of gold. Do you have any spare money, Uncle-Master?”
The group of rarely-seen Ghost Valley disciples sat on pins and needles under the meaningful gazes from all directions.
This Little Martial Uncle…
Could they disown him?
The huge White Deer Tower fell strangely silent.
“Shiyi.”
Someone broke the silence. A figure in light gray appeared on the corridor of the third-floor private room. His voice was low and his tone even, filled with the calm before a storm.
Clatter.
The folding fan in Lu Jing’s hand fell to the floor.
He braced himself and looked up, forcing an awkward smile. “Ahaha, Third Brother…”
Third Master of the Medicine Valley’s Lu family, Lu Chenchuan, looked at him expressionlessly.
Without a second word, Lu Jing turned and fled for the door.
“Monk!!! Daoist!!! Help! Ahhh! Block him for me!” Lu Jing shouted at the top of his lungs as he ran.
The entire Xuan City erupted into chaos, and the clamor didn’t subside until the middle of the night.
***
The night was dark, the stars were few.
A long procession came to a halt on the flat wilderness, skillfully preparing to set up camp for the night.
The seasons in the Twelve Continents varied considerably. At this time, most of the cities in Qing Province had already entered the Miasma Moon. However, in the western part of Yong Continent, which was further inland than Qing Province, many areas were still in the Fog Moon. During the Miasma Moon, the land was shrouded in thick miasma, cutting off trade routes, and ordinary people found it difficult to travel, except for powerful figures in flying boats. The Clear Moon was the most precious time, when the miasma receded and the four wilds opened up. The “Fog Moon” in between was neither good nor bad. During the Fog Moon, although the countryside outside the cities was not as clear and bright as during the Clear Moon, the miasma was not as thick as during the Miasma Moon. Under the protection of cultivators, people could still travel between the continent’s cities.
The groups that traveled for business or migration during the Fog Moon were called “Wilderness Trekkers.”
Wilderness Wanderers were mostly migrating commoners and profit-seeking merchants. The former were impoverished and couldn’t afford the fee to use teleportation formations, while for the latter, transporting goods via teleportation formations was too costly, leaving little profit. As for flying boats and Mustard Seed Pouches, those were divine items belonging only to the noble figures of the immortal sects, having little to do with the ant-like masses.
The penniless commoners and the life-risking merchants would pool their money to hire a few reasonably skilled cultivators to escort their convoy through the wilderness. As long as they didn’t encounter a drastic change in season and the Miasma Moon didn’t arrive early, most Wilderness Wanderers could reach their destination without major incident, despite some risks.
“Time to rest the mules, time to rest the mules—”
The merchants tapped their wineskins, greeting each other.
The Wilderness Guard cultivators were busy setting up formations around the campsite. The men unfurled their bedrolls and skillfully set up tents, while the women lit bonfires, set up pots, boiled water, and threw in dried rations and wild vegetables and mushrooms collected during the day. The storyteller in the caravan used charcoal to teach the children to recognize characters by the fire. The mischievous ones secretly pulled out a few wooden branches and “dueled like great heroes.”
“You little monkeys! Are you looking for a spanking?”
A busy adult, nearly hit by a branch, scolded them half-jokingly, half-reprimandingly.
The “heroes” stuck out their tongues and sheepishly ran back to sit by the storyteller. After learning seven or eight characters, the little ones began pestering the storyteller for a story.
“Mister, mister, please continue with that Dream Return Order from last time.”
“Yes, yes, what happens after the sixth act? Young Master Qiu was ambushed after leaving the manor. Did he escape?” a teenage girl watching the fire couldn’t help but chime in.
“Alas, alas!” the storyteller sighed helplessly. “When I passed through the provincial capital last time, Mister One-Page-of-Dust had only written up to the sixth act. As for any new stories, we’ll have to wait until we reach the next city and check the Ink Script Workshop to find out. No matter how much you ask, I can’t tell you.”
“What’s an Ink Script Workshop?”
A girl with pigtails stared eagerly at the vegetables in the pot and asked in a soft voice.
“It’s a bookstore opened by the Mountain Sea Pavilion. New storybooks, new jokes, they all come from there…”
“Why do they come from there?”
“…”
The voices of the people murmured on.
A team of Wilderness Wanderers was like a flowing, extended family.
The merchant who organized this team was the head of this family. He was not young, dark-skinned and capable. Because he cherished his old mule as if it were his life, people simply called him “Old Man Luo.” Right now, Old Man Luo was leaning against his old mule, his collar half-open, drinking wine and turning the roasting meat.
A cultivator, having finished setting up the formations, came over to ask for a couple of puffs from his pipe.
Old Man Luo quickly tucked the pipe at his waist further in. “Stop eyeing my tobacco all day. This is what’s left from my southern trading days. It’s going to be a family heirloom.”
“Old Man Luo, Old Man Luo, I’m already calling you ‘dad’,” the young cultivator said with a cheeky grin. “Isn’t that an inheritance?”
“Go, go,” Old Man Luo waved his hand. “Stop making fun of this old bag of bones.”
The young cultivator squatted down beside him without a care and started digging for roasted sweet potatoes in the bonfire.
Old Man Luo took a swig of wine to ward off the night’s chill and suddenly remembered something. “Han Er, go check on those two newcomers.”
Han Er had just dug out a golden-brown roasted sweet potato. Holding it in his hand, he had just peeled it and was reluctant to put it down. He gave him a perfunctory reply, “I’ll go in a bit, in a bit.”
“Why are you dawdling? It’s their first time trekking the wilderness, they’re definitely not used to it. Go ask them if they brought any wine. The nights are cold when you’re sleeping in the wild. You can’t get through it without wine,” Old Man Luo nagged. “We Wilderness Wanderers are one family. We have to look out for each other, otherwise we won’t make it to the end.”
“You’ve said that so many times.”
Han Er was helpless. He reluctantly put down the sweet potato and stood up, walking toward the convoy.
A team of Wilderness Wanderers was always in flux. Starting from one place and heading to another, people would constantly join along the way. Sometimes two small teams would merge into one, sometimes they would encounter people in distress… According to the rules of wilderness trekking, if they met people on the road, as long as they were willing to travel together, they would not be refused. This was called “forming a bond.” A team of Wilderness Wanderers would constantly have people joining and leaving.
Coming and going, to meet is fate.
At dusk today, a few people had joined Old Man Luo’s team, among them a young couple who seemed to have never trekked the wilderness before.
A carriage at the end of the camp.
A young man in black was brushing a layer of oil onto the meat roasting over the fire, his movements skilled and fluid.
As expected, Han Er didn’t see the other person by the bonfire. It seemed they were staying in the carriage… Well, if he had a companion who looked like that, he wouldn’t want people to see them either. Han Er grumbled to himself and stopped a short distance from the bonfire, raising his voice slightly to relay Old Man Luo’s words.
The young man glanced at him and refused coldly.
Han Er had no interest in being a nuisance, so he briefly explained a few taboos of camping in the wilderness at night and left.
After he turned away, the young man raised his hand and knocked lightly on the carriage.
The carriage curtain was lifted.
A slender, beautiful hand took the perfectly warmed roasted meat.
“Do you know what we look like right now?”
Chou Bodeng held the smooth bamboo skewer in one hand and the carriage curtain in the other, looking at Shi Wuluo with a sly expression.
Shi Wuluo silently met his gaze for a moment, and the tips of his ears suddenly turned a faint red.
In the firelight, Chou Bodeng was dressed in a lotus-root-silk, front-buttoned blouse and a crimson-patterned silk skirt. His long, black hair was styled in a cloud-like bun, with a silver wagtail hairpin inserted at an angle, its tassels swaying, tiny points of light dotting the corners of his eyes and brows, making him look like a newly-wed young mistress.
“Like a young lady eloping with a poor boy who tricked her.”
Chou Bodeng’s smile was full of mirth.