Chapter 43: Missions in the Southwest

Liaochen waited for three days. As dawn approached on the fourth, the Taoist scriptures he had placed before the Three Pure Ones suddenly erupted in golden light, illuminating the entire hall as if it were a palace of gold. The white pages gradually turned a brilliant golden yellow, and a vast, sacred aura emanated from between the lines, compelling one to prostrate in reverence. Liaochen knew that his revised version had finally been granted the recognition of the Three Pure Ones; a golden path to enlightenment had been paved before him.

Gently closing the book, he traced the characters for "Taoist Scripture" etched in gold and jade upon the cover. He stepped out of the temple gates with a light heart, heading deep into the mountains where countless future followers of Taoism awaited him.

One cannot deny the incomparable influence of Chinese culture on the surrounding regions. While few among the Zhuang and Miao peoples truly practiced Taoism, many worshipped the goddess Nüwa. Through millennia of continuous exchange, Han culture had come to shape not only the daily lives of these neighboring tribes but their beliefs as well. Dressed in his Taoist robes, Liaochen wandered through the mountains, practicing medicine and offering divination, his capabilities seeming boundless. To the Miao people, this Han Taoist priest was not only a figure of intimacy and awe, but his reputation as a "True Man" began to spread through every Miao village and settlement.

Liaochen traversed village after village, leaving behind a trail of legends. By the time he returned to Xuanguang Temple, more than twenty bright youths from various villages followed in his wake. They had come to learn the Way, serving as the foundation for the future propagation of Liaochen’s scriptures.

Upon stepping into the Xuanguang Temple, which he had left months ago, Liaochen found it spotless. Yunlingzi was clearly a diligent child—provided one ignored the purple clay teapot and several cups left carelessly in the courtyard.

Liaochen led the boys in paying respects to the Three Pure Ones, marking their formal entry into the fold. True initiation into the Tao would have to wait until they had mastered their studies; only after reading the entire Taoist canon and gaining a fundamental understanding of the faith would the formal initiation rites take place. The youths, naturally lively, were filled with curiosity about everything in the temple. Liaochen smiled as he recounted the origins, legends, and responsibilities of various Taoist deities. By the time dinner was finished and night had fallen, he announced he would introduce them to his senior sister, leading the group into an empty room.

"Where is Senior Sister? Why don't we see her?" The room was bare—no beds, no chairs, no furniture of any kind. There was only a shrine, upon which sat an idol of a big-headed doll.

"What a strange doll! Its head is so huge—it's so ugly!" The mountain boys, having never seen such a thing, were unsparing in their critique. Liaochen, unable to bear the sight of their impending doom, quietly retreated, locked the door from the outside, and walked far away, quite unscrupulously.

"You little brats, who are you calling ugly!" A sweet, girlish voice suddenly rang through the room, startling the boys. Then, a female ghost appeared—covered in blood, her tongue hanging out unnaturally long. Her long, blood-red fingernails scraped against each other with a chilling sound. A ghostly wind whipped up, and with the flickering candlelight, the scene was truly terrifying. The boys, whose courage was far from infinite, were frightened out of their wits, scattering in a frantic, wailing scramble. Many claim not to fear ghosts, but very few truly remain unmoved when confronted. Even those who have killed others may not be immune to this fear; it seems to be an instinct etched into human genes.

Yunlingzi was a narrow-minded sort. Lacking the magnanimity of Yunhua, her life of early hardship had made her grudge-bearing and quick to distinguish love from hate. Furthermore, telling a woman she is ugly is a slight greater than the murder of a father or the theft of a lover. Since these ignorant boys had no filter, she decided to play the part of a ghost to the fullest, employing every terrifying trope—detachable heads, bleeding eyes, and spectral wails. She didn't just use words; she used force. After knocking out the few braver boys, the rest, realizing the ghost meant business, fainted from sheer terror.

"If they are so afraid of ghosts, how will they ever become Taoists?" Yunlingzi scoffed, heading off to claim credit from her unscrupulous master. She figured that after this, the boys would at least be cured of their fear of spirits.

Excessive fright causes the soul to scatter, requiring rituals to soothe the spirit. Liaochen, however, was not one for the crude methods of village shamans. He gathered the boys, recited the Incantation of Tranquility, and prepared bowls of blessed water for them to drink upon waking. Most of these Miao youths were illiterate. While Liaochen could handle one or two, teaching a whole group was beyond his pedagogical patience. For the sake of his own peace and to ensure the boys were properly educated, he naturally thought of the great educator, Wang Yangming, who lived only ten miles away.

As if on cue, the next morning, as the boys awoke from their terror, Wang Shouren arrived on his donkey. Liaochen hurriedly fed the boys the blessed water, marveled at the Sage's timing, and rushed out to greet him.

During the months Liaochen had been away, Wang Shouren had carefully pondered the priest's words. The perspectives from a later age, while not always aligning with Confucian orthodoxy, contained a depth that traditional wisdom lacked. It was as if a window had been opened in Wang Shouren’s mind. As one of the most brilliant men of his era, his thoughts had wandered far and wide, leaving him unable to return to his idle life at the post station. He had many questions he longed to resolve, and the Taoist priest was the perfect person to consult. Yet, each time he visited, Liaochen had been deep in the mountains. Wang Shouren, however, was nothing if not persistent.

Amidst the mountain scenery, they shared tea and wine. These were no ordinary refreshments; even Wang Shouren, born into a distinguished family, found his horizons expanded. In that moment of mountain bliss, he felt a fleeting urge to abandon his official post and seek the Tao. If Liaochen had known, he might not have known how to react.

Liaochen dipped his finger into his tea and traced a single character onto the stone table: "Profit." He then waited silently for the Sage’s response.