Chapter Sixteen: Borrowing Wishes from All Beings to Pray for Sweet Rain

Early the next morning, just outside the county seat of Shanyang, a tall altar had been erected, its platform bristling with the banners of the Twenty-four Celestial Generals of the Thunder Division. Upon the central altar were a bowl of clear water, two ritual talismans, and the rest—Liaochen’s personal ritual implements, long nurtured by his own spiritual practice, far superior to anything purchased elsewhere.

At the hour of Chen, with the auspicious deity presiding in the southeast, Liaochen ascended the platform. Yunhua, carrying the peachwood ritual sword, accompanied him, standing by his side atop the high altar. Gazing over the sea of heads below, Yunhua showed not a trace of fear, which surprised Liaochen greatly. It seemed his eldest disciple was indeed exceptional, though he could not know that Yunhua’s heart held only excitement, not a thought for fear.

On the high platform, Liaochen faced southeast and bowed deeply—paying homage to the auspicious deity for a smooth outcome, and to the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea, hoping to leave a good impression upon that ancient lord.

His bows complete, Liaochen did not immediately begin the ritual. Instead, he calmly wrote two talismans: one to be presented to the Lord Lao of the Supreme Purity, the other to the Emperor of the Profound Origin, beseeching them to dispatch the true gods of the Thunder Division to bestow sweet rain.

With the talismans finished, Liaochen stood silently upon the altar, eyes closed in contemplation. After a moment, his eyes snapped open, sharp and shining. He shouted in a thunderous voice, “Let the ritual petition reach the heavens—let all living beings kneel in supplication!” His words resounded like thunder, crashing in the ears of the multitude. Startled and awed, the crowd fell to their knees, led by the county magistrate and his officials, praying fervently to the heavens.

Only then did Liaochen receive the peachwood sword from Yunhua, ignited the flame of spirit within his mind, and silently recited the rain prayer thrice. Then, lifting the first talisman with the peachwood sword, he began the formal petition to the Supreme Lord Lao:

“Supreme, infinite Great Dao, Jade Purity, Golden Coffer, Sacred Register, Mysterious Origin, Purple Mansion, chosen among the immortals, inheritor of the Eastern Blossom, expounder of the teachings, orthodox scion of Dragon Gate, disciple of the True Man Lü Chunyang, your humble servant, trembling with awe, bows his head a hundred times and submits this petition in humility and sincerity. I, unworthy and ignorant, have rashly undertaken this duty, unversed in the causes of the weather, yet have sworn to strive for the welfare of the people, wishing to repay but a fraction of the benevolence bestowed. I now submit this from the altar established in Shanyang County, Shangcheng Prefecture, Northern Shaanxi Province…”

When the first talisman was burned, the smoke rose in blue wisps, but instead of ascending straight to the heavens, it scattered in the wind. Liaochen’s heart grew heavy—why would the Grand Patriarch refuse to accept his offering?

Nevertheless, the ritual, once begun, could not be interrupted. He took up the second talisman and made his petition to the Emperor of the Profound Origin, pleading for mercy and salvation for the suffering multitudes.

This talisman, too, burned away, yet its smoke also failed to reach the heavens. Liaochen’s face turned ashen, his heart sinking—he had known this calamity must carry a weight of karmic consequence, but he had not expected the obstacle to be so grave!

Seeing that Liaochen, after burning the talismans, made no further movement, the crowd began to murmur. Among those kneeling in front, a few with some knowledge of ritual matters saw the blue smoke dissipate and realized that their hopes might once again come to nothing. Their hearts filled with despair. Three years of drought—was it truly the fate of these lands to perish?

The longer Liaochen remained motionless, the louder grew the whispers, and the crowd became restive. Yunhua, anxious, saw her master lost in thought and quietly tugged his sleeve. Startled back to himself, Liaochen thought, “Great opportunity must entail great karma. I should have known. Why fear divine retribution or karmic consequence? The Way of Immortals itself is to defy the heavens. If the heavens have sent me, there must be a way to resolve this disaster.”

“Silence!” Liaochen shouted once more, casting aside his doubts. Defying heaven, so be it! Drawing upon his deepest reserves, he no longer summoned the thunder gods but performed the steps of the Heavenly Dipper upon the altar, peachwood sword in hand, empowering his entire being. “Heaven and earth, yin and yang, transform fire into wind! Wind, arise!” he called, pointing his sword. Immediately, the parched breeze swelled into a strong wind, carrying with it a faint, moist scent. The long-suffering people felt their hopes rekindled and all eyes turned to the altar, now truly convinced of the master’s powers.

“Wind brings clouds—clouds, come!” Liaochen shouted again. The clear blue sky darkened as billowing thunderclouds gathered, soon blocking the harsh summer sun.

With the clouds assembled, Liaochen traced the pattern of the Seven Stars beneath his feet, wielded his sword, and drew a powerful stroke through the air. “Clouds, call the thunder generals; thunder, awaken the clouds; let rain fall with the thunder!” he commanded. His face grew pale, sweat pouring down in streams. Truly, to defy heaven was to toil twice for half the result.

Thunder rumbled, but still no rain fell. Seeing the pleading eyes of the people below, Liaochen gritted his teeth and pressed on. He bit his finger, smeared his blood upon the sword, summoned his last breath, and cried, “Thunder, bring the rain! Bestow the sweet dew—descend!” As his words faded, torrential rain finally poured down, raising thick clouds of dust from the parched ground. The crowd erupted in joyous cheers. Liaochen, however, grew dizzy and nearly collapsed. Yunhua rushed to support him, barely keeping him upright.

As the rain fell and the people rejoiced, Liaochen felt no joy at all. Defying heaven would surely bring its own consequence. He closed his eyes to recover and drew three copper coins from his sleeve.

The divination revealed the twenty-ninth hexagram: Repeated Abyss, Sincerity leads to success, but the image spoke: “The topmost six loses the way—calamity for three years.” Liaochen was filled with dread, his face drained of all color.

At this moment, the county magistrate and the local gentry ascended the altar to thank Liaochen for saving the county. “Master Immortal, you are truly a sage among men. We were blind to your greatness—please forgive our ignorance!” The magistrate bowed deeply, preparing to lead the crowd in thanks.

Liaochen quickly stepped forward to lift him up. “Heaven cherishes life, and those outside the world must also bear a heart for its people. Magistrate, there is no need for such formality. The rain is heavy, and I fear the people may catch cold or spread disease. Please, ask everyone to return home now.”

“Yes, yes!” The magistrate now regarded Liaochen as a living immortal and gave the order for the crowd to disperse. He then invited Liaochen and his disciple to return to the county office by carriage for a celebration.

Burdened with worry, Liaochen had no heart for festivities and politely declined, saying that as a monk, he could not join a feast, but wished to discuss important matters with the magistrate. The magistrate readily agreed.

After changing into clean clothes at the county office, the two met in the rear hall.

“Master Immortal, your profound powers have saved the county’s people. I must memorialize the emperor to request honors for you. Moreover, there is already a reward in place, and the local elders have contributed as well. Please, do not refuse,” the magistrate said, offering a large red envelope filled with money.

But Liaochen dared not accept it. He had not come for wealth, and planned to travel far with an uncertain future. To leave it for Yunhua might only invite disaster. He declined repeatedly. The magistrate, surprised, heard Liaochen continue, “This rain is but a drop in the bucket. The true cause remains unresolved; the drought is not truly ended. How could I accept a reward?”

The magistrate was stunned, his heart chilled—was there truly no hope for Shanyang County or all of Northern Shaanxi?

“Do not despair, Magistrate. Every disaster has its solution,” Liaochen offered some comfort.

“I beg the Master to instruct me!” The magistrate rose and bowed deeply.

“No need, no need,” Liaochen replied, helping him up. “I have a plan. I will depart today, and do all I can to resolve this affliction. However—” Liaochen paused.

“Please speak, Master. I will do all in my power to assist,” the magistrate promised.

“My journey ahead may be fraught with danger, and I cannot guarantee my own survival. My teacher left me but one disciple. Should I perish, it is my duty to ensure the lineage does not end with me. Our tradition traces back to Lü Chunyang of the Tang dynasty, persisting for a thousand years. I cannot let the ancestral incense die out in my hands. Therefore, I implore you, Magistrate, to petition the court: should I succeed in ending this drought, please award the reward to my disciple. I would be deeply grateful.” With this, Liaochen bowed to the magistrate.

“Certainly, certainly!” The magistrate dared not accept the bow and quickly agreed.

Liaochen observed him for a moment and said, “I see your father’s fate ended early; you lost him young, yet your virtue persists and your children’s fate is strong. At present, you have a son and a daughter. In your youth, you had early success but failed at the provincial exam, casting a shadow over your career. Yet now, having saved the people, your fortune is rising, and you will be promoted to high office in time.”

The magistrate was delighted, convinced by the accuracy of Liaochen’s augury—today’s events and this prediction of a future as a provincial governor dispelled years of disappointment and frustration in this remote, disaster-stricken post.

Liaochen produced a jade talisman. “I have here a Talisman of Fortune, blessed by the Three Stars of Happiness, Rank, and Longevity. It will smooth your path. I cannot promise you the highest office, but you will surely hold a ministerial post.” The magistrate accepted it with great care, knowing that since he had once failed to enter the Hanlin Academy, any further advancement would be a blessing. He offered profuse thanks, then waited for Liaochen’s true request, knowing such a gift would not be given for nothing.

“Ha, I am about to leave, but worry for my disciple. She is still young and, without protection, may face danger. After I depart, please assign someone to escort her back to Xuanguang Monastery atop Mount Jing in her home county. I also ask you to look after her henceforth. I am deeply grateful,” Liaochen said with a bow.

“Of course, of course! I could not possibly neglect your request,” the magistrate replied at once. Having witnessed Liaochen’s power, and knowing the benefit of such a connection, he would do all he could. Who could say when he might need the help of an immortal? And even if not, having such a patron was a rare blessing.

Back in the county office’s guest quarters, Yunhua was already waiting at a table.

“Master, is there something troubling you?” Yunhua’s innate intuition as a woman moved Liaochen. She was still so young, yet her gifts were remarkable.

Liaochen pulled up a chair, facing south. “You have followed me for half a year. Today, I officially accept you as my disciple. You must inherit our tradition, expand and uphold it, never betray your master or ancestors, never abuse your power, never bully the weak, and always uphold the teachings of the Three Pure Ones…” Yunhua listened closely, then knelt and bowed three times, calling him “Master” sweetly, thus formally entering the sect. In truth, the Daoist rite of initiation was much more complex, but urgent times called for expedience.

“Today I will set out on a long journey and cannot take you with me. I have asked the magistrate to send you back to the monastery. As my chief disciple, you must follow the monastic rules. When I return, I will teach you further.” Liaochen told her.

“But Master, why are you leaving me? I don’t want you to go!” Yunhua cried anxiously.

“When the master speaks, a disciple must not interrupt. Where are your manners?” Liaochen reprimanded her. Yunhua fell silent, though her lips quivered with grievance.

“When you return to the monastery, close the gates and remain secluded. I have asked the magistrate to find several maidservants to accompany you, lest you be frightened alone in the mountains. There will also be a household stationed below the mountain to deliver provisions regularly. Should anything arise, you may write to the local magistrate—he will look after you. There are Daoist scriptures in the monastery; study them diligently, even at night. Among your companions will be someone literate who can teach you to read. If any of them have a heart for the Way, you may accept them as outer disciples at your discretion.”

Having finished, Liaochen handed her a bundle. “Here is the monastery’s deed, the sect’s token, and some sundries. Keep them safe and show them to no one lightly. Behind the monastery are the ancestral tombs; you must honor them on the Double Ninth and during Qingming. Here is a letter with further instructions—do not let outsiders see it. Open it only when you can read, after returning to the monastery. This is the master’s command; you must not disobey.”

Without looking again at Yunhua, whose tears fell in streams, Liaochen forced himself to leave the room, suppressing his own sorrow.

Neither slept that night. The next morning, when Yunhua went to find her master, he was already gone.

The sun had not yet fully risen. Liaochen left a letter for the magistrate, then disappeared from sight. Taking his flying sword, he ascended into the sky, leaving the people of Shanyang to wonder at the immortal’s mysterious departure.

A few hours later, several carriages and guards set out from the county seat, heading toward Mount Jing.