Chapter 63: The Beginning of Preaching

Liaochen had sent his disciples down the mountain, yet he could not simply wash his hands of them and let go. These disciples were the seeds he had painstakingly cultivated to propagate the Taoist faith, tasked with spreading the beliefs that had accompanied the Huaxia civilization across the world. This first descent into the mortal realm—to walk amidst its various rights and wrongs, its trials and temptations—was both an attempt at universal salvation and a trial by fire, a journey to separate the gold from the dross.

After firmly suppressing Yunlingzi’s request to accompany him, Liaochen buckled on his peachwood sword, donned his familiar green robes, and pinned his hair with a wooden hairpin before descending. The distance from Xuanguang Temple to Guiyang was not great, less than a hundred miles. Liaochen traveled on foot, passing through one mountain hamlet after another. Perhaps due to the difficulty of movement in the mountains, the plague spread relatively slowly here; it was in the densely populated cities that the infection tended to spiral out of control. Liaochen inspected each village as he passed, and finding no signs of an outbreak, he would immediately press onward. By the time evening fell and Guiyang was within sight, Liaochen finally arrived at the place where the plague had taken hold.

It was a small mountain village, home to a hundred or so families tucked at the foot of the mountains. Because of its proximity to the provincial capital, it was primarily inhabited by Han Chinese clans living together. A small stream wound its way past the entrance of the village; where there was a reliable water source, people naturally gathered. As Liaochen stepped into the village, he saw white paper money scattered everywhere. Many households had hung white mourning banners above their doors. It was clear that many had already perished. There was no sign of life or movement in the village; every door was tightly shut, with families hiding inside in hopes of escaping the calamity. Unfortunately, just as Liaochen reached the third house, a heart-wrenching wail erupted from within, a sound that made one’s hair stand on end and one’s heart turn cold.

Another person had fallen ill. Liaochen hurried over and knocked on the gate, but there was no response for a long time. It was clear the family was so consumed by grief and terror that they had ignored the knocking, or perhaps they simply had no desire to engage with the outside world.

Seeing that the gate would not open, Liaochen decided to use a small measure of Taoist art. His divine sense locked onto the wooden bolt behind the door, and with a gentle flick of his left hand from the outside, the bolt made a soft "click." He gave the gate a light push, and it swung open.

"May the Supreme Tao bless you!" Liaochen offered a formal salute upon entering before taking stock of the household. It seemed that no matter where the Han people settled, they never forgot their traditions. This was a typical Southern Han courtyard, enclosed by high walls. Inside were the familiar wooden houses with blue-tiled roofs, built upon foundations of brick and stone—a stark contrast to the stilted bamboo houses of the nearby Miao mountain villages. Hearing Liaochen’s voice, the weeping stopped. A middle-aged man emerged, startled by the sight of a Taoist priest, but he quickly stepped forward to return the salute. Taoism was the source of Huaxia civilization, and all the schools of thought held the *I Ching* as a classic. Thus, there were few Han people who did not know of Taoist priests, especially near the cities. Where there were Han people, there was Taoist faith, though whether a priest was actually present was another matter.

"Greetings, Daoist Master. May I ask why you have come? A plague is raging in the area; please, you should not linger here." Having said this, he pulled out a string of copper coins. "You are traveling the world, and we are but a humble family with nothing to offer. Please do not refuse these coins. I only ask that you offer prayers for my family. This humble man thanks you."

Liaochen accepted the coins but did not leave. He sighed and said, "May the Supreme Tao bless you. I have come for two reasons: to preach the Way and to save lives. I have some knowledge of mountain arts and healing. Might you allow me to examine the patient?"

"Ah!" The middle-aged man had not expected such a request, but he did not doubt the priest. It was not strange for a Taoist to possess medical skills; was not the Medicine King himself a Taoist? He quickly invited Liaochen inside. Things had reached such a pass that any hope was better than none.

Liaochen followed the man into the side room. The patient was a small boy, perhaps five or six years old, lying in bed. He was deathly pale, shivering uncontrollably. His grandparents, mother, and sister had eyes red from crying. As the only boy in the family, his potential loss was an existential catastrophe. Seeing the priest enter, the family was briefly stunned, but the father quickly explained and cleared a path for Liaochen to examine the boy.

Liaochen checked the boy's complexion and touched his forehead. His limbs were icy, his skin covered in goosebumps, and his lips and fingernails were cyanotic. After taking his pulse, he confirmed it was a classic case of cold-heat syndrome.

"So, it is the 'shaking' sickness," Liaochen remarked. His calm tone startled those around him, who immediately asked, "Is it the plague?"

Liaochen nodded. The family turned deathly pale and began to wail anew. Even if they had not seen the plague themselves, they had heard the legends—a sickness that wiped out entire villages. How could they not be consumed by despair?

"Do not despair; I can cure this," Liaochen said, fearing the noise would become unbearable.

"Master, no, Immortal Master, please save our family!" The middle-aged man, the pillar of the household, knelt before him. If it was truly the plague, flight was useless, and how could they abandon their child? The others followed suit, begging for mercy. Liaochen helped them up and ordered, "Someone, bring me a bowl of clear water."

The mother jumped up and rushed to the kitchen, returning with a large, brimming basin of water, moving with extreme care. Liaochen almost stumbled; he had asked for a bowl, not a basin—how could a young child drink so much? He took the basin, poured out most of the water, and handed it to the mother. She blushed, realizing her mistake.

Liaochen pulled out a yellow paper talisman and flicked it; it ignited spontaneously. He dissolved the ash into the water and handed it to the mother. "Give this to your child. In half a stick of incense's time, you shall see improvement."

In ancient times, using talismans alongside medicine was not uncommon, and the family did not doubt him. They lifted the child and forced him to drink.

In less than a quarter of an hour, Liaochen, fearing the boy’s body was too weak and lacking in yang energy, silently infused him with a stream of pure yang essence. With this energy protecting his internal organs, combined with the rectifying power of the talisman, the boy’s complexion turned flushed, and beads of sweat began to form. His body was purging the yin-evil, and the tremors subsided.

Liaochen checked the pulse again and let out a long breath. "The plague is gone; he will be fine. When he wakes, give him some thin rice porridge. No oily or heavy foods. In two days, he will be jumping about again."

The family collapsed to their knees, knocking their heads against the floor. Liaochen helped them up one by one. "Since I accepted your offering, we are linked by karma. The matter is settled; there is no need for this." To the family, however, he was a living immortal, a bodhisattva in the flesh—a value far greater than a string of coins. Leaving the grandparents to watch the boy, the mother and sister went to prepare porridge, while the father grabbed a kitchen knife and rushed to the chicken coop to prepare a feast for the honored guest.

Liaochen smiled and did not refuse; to decline such a sincere gesture would be unkind. There were many sick in the village, and once the boy woke, he could begin the work of distributing talisman water to heal them all.

When the scent of porridge wafted from the kitchen, the boy stirred and opened his eyes. Seeing his grandparents, he whispered, "Grandpa, Grandma, I'm hungry." To the elderly couple, these were the most beautiful words they had ever heard. They wept with joy, shouting, "The boy is awake! He’s hungry!"

As the family rejoiced, the grandmother pushed everyone aside to carefully feed her grandson. Liaochen led the father outside to the courtyard. "How many are infected in this area? Have many died?"

The man sighed. "In the four or five days since the plague began, more than ten have died in this village alone. I don't know about the surrounding areas, but they say it's hard to even buy coffins now. People are dying everywhere. Those with money have long since fled; those of us left behind can only hide in our homes and pray the plague god leaves soon."

Liaochen nodded and produced a protective talisman. "Take this. It will ward off all evil. Take it and tell the villagers and those nearby to bring the sick to the village entrance. I have come down the mountain to save lives, but I am unfamiliar with the area and must trouble you for your help."

The man took the talisman with both hands as if it were a priceless treasure. "Your mercy is vast, Immortal Master. I thank you on behalf of all the villagers." After kowtowing three times, he called out to his neighbors in the courtyard and hurried off to spread the word.