Chapter 7: Silent Heart Daoist

The Mortal World

By the time the boat reached the dock, Qin Sang had heard the old man recount many stories about Daoist Jixin.

Qingyang Temple on Cuiming Mountain was initially prosperous, but later gradually declined. The Daoists in the temple left one after another, until only a few old Daoists remained, who also gradually aged and died. With no one to repair the temple, it became increasingly dilapidated and overgrown with weeds. If not for Daoist Jixin, within a few years, Qingyang Temple would have been nothing but crumbling walls and ruins.

What Daoist Jixin was most renowned for was not his status as the temple master, but his benevolent and righteous heart. After he took over Qingyang Temple with a young apprentice, he did not seek offerings. Instead, he went up the mountain daily to gather medicinal herbs and dispensed medicine to treat the poor. Whether someone suffered from injuries, colds, or heat-related illnesses, as long as they sought help at the temple, Daoist Jixin would diligently diagnose and treat them. His medical skills might not have been exceptional, but his consultation fees were very low. If someone truly had no money, they could pay on credit; even if they didn't repay after three to five years, he wouldn't demand it. His reputation gradually spread, and coupled with his status as the master of Qingyang Temple, he earned the title of "Living Immortal."

The old man stopped the boat in front of the dock. While helping Qin Sang disembark, he advised, "Brother Qin's leg injury isn't severe. The Living Immortal will surely be able to treat you. However, Cuiming Mountain is halfway between Sanwu City and the ferry crossing. It's a ten-li walk from here, and you'll have to go through mountain paths. Brother Qin will need to hire a carriage. I happen to know a few coachmen who guarantee fair prices..."

Qin Sang declined the old man's kind offer. Under the old man's disappointed gaze, he leaned on his wooden stick and limped into the crowd.

Walking among the crowd, he heard accents from all corners of the land. Qin Sang thought to himself that Sanwu City truly lived up to its reputation. Affected by his leg injury, Qin Sang walked intermittently, and he actually heard a familiar accent from his hometown. He looked over and saw several people dressed in silk directing laborers to load goods onto a boat by the shore. Watching them finish loading the boat and steer it away from the riverbank, Qin Sang ultimately said nothing. He resolutely turned and entered a tavern.

After enjoying the fresh river fish and other delicacies, Qin Sang sat on the second floor, enjoying the river breeze. Holding a teacup, he gazed out the window at the vast river surface and the bustling people. He remained lost in thought for a while.

"Shopkeeper, the bill!"

Qin Sang took out a piece of silver, watched the shopkeeper weigh it with a steelyard, and, holding the change in copper coins, asked, "Excuse me, shopkeeper, I'd like to go to Sanwu City. Could you tell me where I can hire a carriage?"

The shopkeeper glanced at Qin Sang and pointed outside, "Go straight west along this street. At the end, there are a dozen carriage businesses clustered together. They are all legitimate establishments, and many carriages go to Sanwu City and the major ferry crossings." Perhaps because Qin Sang had ordered a substantial meal, the shopkeeper kindly reminded him, "In these times... it's best not to travel alone, young master. Find a few people to hire a carriage together; it will also be cheaper."

From the first intersection to Sanwu City, the terrain gradually ascended. All major ferry crossings used this road to enter the city. There were many travelers on the road, and the road was wide and smooth, so the carriage ride was not particularly bumpy. Qin Sang got off the carriage at the foot of Cuiming Mountain. He looked up at the towering mountain before him. The path up the mountain looked a bit perilous, and with his leg still not fully mobile, he felt a touch of apprehension.

Rolling mountains stretched along both banks of Wuling River. Cuiming Mountain was just one peak in this long mountain range, and not particularly conspicuous among the other peaks. However, Cuiming Mountain possessed a unique spiritual charm and allure. Amidst the dense forests on the mountain, the upturned eaves and corners of temples and pavilions occasionally emerged, and sometimes, the prolonged ringing of bells echoed through the woods, calming the heart. Qin Sang heard several legends about spirits and enchantments on Cuiming Mountain from the coachman. He wondered if these temples and Daoist temples had chosen Cuiming Mountain because of the legends, or if the legends only arose after their arrival.

Qin Sang struggled to climb halfway up, where he met several other people also heading to Qingyang Temple for medical treatment. It was only with their help that he finally reached Qingyang Temple, situated on the mountainside of the back peak.

Leaning on his stick, Qin Sang stopped in front of the gate of Qingyang Temple. The temple was indeed quite large in scale. Surrounding it were vast bamboo groves. The afternoon sun was not scorching; the bamboo leaves rustled, and cool breezes swept through. Due to the steep terrain, one could see the layers of eaves inside even from outside the temple. The architectural style was similar to the Daoist temples Qin Sang had seen in his previous life, but they were severely dilapidated. Broken tiles were scattered everywhere on the roofs, and tufts of thatch poked out from beneath the tiles. It was likely that few, if any, roofs were watertight. Standing outside, one could hear voices from within, and there seemed to be quite a few people.

Qin Sang slowly moved up the steps made of bluestone. On the stone lintel above the entrance, the three characters "Qingyang Temple" were carved. Two decaying wooden doors hung askew on either side, their doorknockers covered in rust. Upon entering, there was a large courtyard containing haystacks, a donkey pen, an old well, a windlass, a millstone, and a stone mortar. There were two large garden plots; the smaller one was planted with vegetables, and Qin Sang didn't recognize what was growing in the larger one, but he presumed they were medicinal herbs.

Behind the courtyard, a few high steps led up to a grand hall, which was the largest and most magnificent hall in all of Qingyang Temple, and also the best-maintained. On the grand hall, a wooden plaque bore the bold, strong characters "Qingyang Hall." The paint on the characters was almost completely peeled off. By no means did it look like a place where immortals would reside.

Qin Sang sighed inwardly. Just as he was about to enter, three people pushed the door open and came out. Two raggedly dressed men were supporting a pale-faced old woman. As they walked out, they repeatedly turned their heads to express their gratitude, promising to send the consultation fee next month. Qin Sang knew that immortals truly existed in this world and dared not harbor any disrespect. His expression naturally became solemn, and he quietly and cautiously stepped into Qingyang Hall.

The hall was spacious. The colorful murals on the walls had peeled off in large sections, leaving mottled patches, making it impossible to discern what was originally depicted. Only the three divine statues in the main hall were vibrant and fresh as if new; both the lacquer work and the carving were exceptionally exquisite. A stick of incense burned on the offering table, its smoke wafting gracefully, filling the room with a delicate fragrance. To the side of the offering table were a long table and two cabinets, one filled with medicines, the other with scriptures. Behind the long table, a gaunt old Daoist sat upright like a pine tree, taking an elder's pulse.

The old Daoist's hair and beard were completely white, but his face showed no signs of aging. His eyes were especially bright and piercing. A strand of his long, snow-white beard reached his chest, truly giving him an air of an immortal. He wore a blue Daoist robe, which, though faded from repeated washing, was very clean. To his right were writing brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone. To his left was a medicine chest, along with strange tools such as a medicinal hoe, cinnabar, yellow paper, and a fortune-telling stick holder. "He must be Daoist Jixin," Qin Sang thought to himself.

"Young master, have you come to offer incense or to seek treatment?"

Qin Sang looked in the direction of the voice and saw a young Daoist emerging from the crowd of waiting patients. He appeared to be thirteen or fourteen years old. His Daoist robe seemed a bit too large and comical on him, and he had a fair complexion. Remembering that the old boatman had mentioned Daoist Jixin had an apprentice, Qin Sang smiled. "Greetings, young Daoist. My name is Qin, and I injured my leg the day before yesterday. I'd like the Daoist master to take a look."

The young Daoist brought over a small wooden stool. "Please have a seat, Young Master Qin."

Qin Sang sat down as instructed. The young Daoist lifted Qin Sang's injured leg and felt the bone. He said, "Young Master Qin, your leg bone isn't broken. It might be a slight fracture. If you take some bone-nourishing herbal concoction, you should recover quickly. If you're not in a hurry, you can wait here, and my master can take a look for you."