Chapter 62: The Great Plague

While Yunhua was enjoying a rare moment of "maternal love" with the Empress Dowager in the palace, Liaochen was already busy, sweating profusely.

In the third year of the Zhengde reign, a great plague struck Guizhou. Between twenty and thirty percent of the population perished; white funeral banners blotted out the sun, and the cries of mourning filled every home. The entire city was a scene of desolation and misery. Panic gripped the populace, leading many to flee, which threatened to spread the epidemic further afield.

Even Wang Shouren had fallen ill—whether from sheer fury or contagion, it was unclear. Longchang was remote, and apart from the occasional traveling physician, there were no doctors to be found. The local Miao people usually turned to village shamans rather than physicians when sick, but one would sooner seek out the venerable Master Liaochen than a shaman. As a recognized immortal, Liaochen was the obvious choice. Thus, the disciples who should have been studying at the Longchang Academy were accompanied by a few postal clerks as they carried the ailing Wang Shouren into Xuanguang Temple.

The "Five Arts" of Daoism are Mountain, Medicine, Destiny, Physiognomy, and Divination. The Mountain art is the most difficult. Medicine, Destiny, Physiognomy, and Divination are all means to save the world and ferry souls across, essential for attaining three thousand merits and propagating the Dao. Liaochen cast a cursory glance at the unconscious Wang Shouren before summoning his disciples, instructing them to diagnose him one by one and record their findings on paper. After reviewing their work, he sighed deeply, abandoning all hope—the time had been too short, and mastery was far from easy.

Since medicine was not an option, he had to rely on the Mountain art. Talisman water was a form of this art. Liaochen produced a talisman and said, "In the past, our Daoist masters saved countless people with talisman water, which led to the great prosperity of our faith today. For common miasmas, dysentery, the intrusion of evil spirits, disharmony of yin and yang, or insufficiency of vital energy, talisman water can be used as a remedy. Beyond that, one must not use it indiscriminately, lest it delay proper treatment and invite trouble. Remember this well!" With a flick of his wrist, the talisman ignited without a breeze. Liaochen then conjured a bowl of clear water and placed the burning talisman into it.

"What power manifests this miracle? It departs not from the spirit, breath, and essence within. When essence and breath dwell, the spirit remains; ten thousand demons and monsters turn to dust." Having chanted the incantation, Liaochen fed the prepared water to Wang Shouren. Within moments, Wang coughed violently and slowly regained consciousness. Squinting at Liaochen, he asked, "How did I end up here?"

"Your men and my disciples brought you. Had they waited any longer, it would have been dire. I might have had to visit the underworld to summon your soul," Liaochen joked. He touched Wang's forehead and checked his pulse before adding, "At least you are recovering. How did you manage to harbor such resentment that it manifested as physical illness, allowing evil to invade your body and render you unconscious?"

"Alas, only today do I realize that reading the classics of the sages does not guarantee one can be a good official or a good man!" Wang Shouren sighed heavily. The plague had claimed many lives, and the city was draped in mourning. Yet, the local officials, terrified by the epidemic and dissatisfied with their remote posting in this land of mixed Han and Miao populations, had abandoned their posts and fled. With the officials setting such an example, the townspeople fled in panic, causing the plague to spread uncontrollably. As a minor postal official, Wang had witnessed the moral decay of his colleagues, shattering his belief that those who studied the classics would naturally possess integrity and shame. The disillusionment had made him ill.

"Haha, and what does reading classics have to do with one's character?" Liaochen laughed, dismissing Wang's pride. Throughout history, many scholars have been faithless; while not universal, it proves that literacy and character are not necessarily linked.

"Alas," Wang sighed, abandoning the debate. "Master Liaochen, as the Protector of the Ming Dynasty, why not open the gates of salvation and descend the mountain to cleanse Guizhou of this plague? It would be a great accumulation of merit."

Liaochen clapped his hands and laughed. "That is precisely my intent. I have twenty disciples here who are also your half-students. Could you lead them down the mountain to distribute talisman water and save the people?"

Wang was taken aback—why should he lead the disciples? Yet, knowing Liaochen’s profound cultivation and understanding that the ways of heaven were beyond a layman’s grasp, he assumed Liaochen had his reasons. He nodded, if only to fulfill his duty to the court and benefit the people.

"Very well. You may depart tomorrow. I leave everything to you. Rest now; though you have recovered, you need peace," Liaochen said, bowing before leading his disciples out.

In the Great Hall of the Three Pure Ones, the disciples sat on meditation cushions to hear their master's final instruction. Liaochen spoke sternly, "We of the Mysterious Gate save ourselves and others. A kind heart is essential, and sincerity is the foundation. The Way of Heaven is impartial, favoring only the virtuous. Goodness brings prosperity; if it does not, the ancestors have left behind accumulated ill-fortune, which will eventually be exhausted. Evil brings destruction; if it does not, the ancestors have left behind merit, which will eventually be depleted. You must perform three thousand acts of merit. Tomorrow, as you descend, be sincere and upright. Do not covet fine food, wealth, power, or beauty. Build connections and propagate the Dao. Should you betray these principles, there is nowhere to hide under the Way of Heaven, and I shall cleanse the gate myself." His voice resonated like thunder in their ears, an effect of his spiritual power that ensured they would never forget.

"We shall remember and dare not disobey," the disciples vowed. Liaochen nodded. "I possess the art of *Zhuyu* to heal the mind and talisman water to heal the body. Tomorrow, you must understand the virtue of a healer and the way of a Daoist." He handed out talismans and a book. "Study these tonight. My third senior disciple will supervise you. Those who do not master them by tomorrow will stay to chant scriptures and draw one hundred talismans each. As for the art of *Zhuyu*, it is easy to learn but hard to master; study it well." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.

The next day, Liaochen sent Wang Shouren and his twenty "pandas" from Xuanguang Temple down the mountain. He returned to his inner chamber to calculate the source of the plague and the karmic causes behind it. The ways of heaven are difficult to measure, and causality is complex. Even with Liaochen's profound skills, it took from dawn until midnight to reach a conclusion.

"Alas! It seems I must descend the mountain myself. I shall have no peace," he sighed. Turning to his attendant, he added, "I may be gone for a long time. See that you guard the gate well, do you understand?"