Chapter Ten: In the End, Good and Evil Reap Their Just Rewards

Meanwhile, Imperial Censor Mao stood in the grand hall, upright and resolute, meeting Daoist Liaochan’s words with unflinching composure. Yet, as he stepped out of the Viceroy’s yamen, cold sweat drenched his body beneath his robes. He knew his own affairs well enough; a beheading would not be too severe. But which official in the imperial court was any different? None could afford to have such matters exposed. Only after this thought did he feel marginally at ease.

In the days that followed, Lord Mao seemed occupied with other matters and seldom attended the council meetings. Seizing the opportunity, Liaochan and the Viceroy successfully persuaded the remaining officials to sign a joint petition requesting the imperial edict for divine investiture, and the results were promising. When news spread that the imperial envoy had arrived and Mao had been arrested by the Embroidered Guards, the remaining officials, gripped by terror, no longer needed convincing.

When Censor Mao was being shackled and taken to the capital, Liaochan deliberately waited for the prisoner cart at the pavilion thirty miles outside the city.

The prisoner cart had departed in the morning and, by the time it reached the thirty-mile pavilion, it was nearly noon. From afar, a great column of Embroidered Guards approached, clad in flying fish uniforms, sabers at their waists, astride tall steeds. In the center of the formation was the prisoner cart, and Mao was unmistakably inside—disheveled, covered in dust, bearing the marks of vengeance from the townsfolk he had wronged.

As the procession drew near, Liaochan rose and stood respectfully by the roadside. The guards, noticing a Daoist standing by the path, were about to shout a rebuke when a sharp voice rang out from the group, “Might this be the Virtuous Daoist in person?” The guard who had been poised to shout immediately swallowed his words, beads of cold sweat forming as he thought, “Thank goodness I held my tongue.”

“It is I,” Liaochan replied, bowing with hands folded. “You all have endured much hardship. I have prepared simple wine for you to wash away the dust of your journey.”

“We wouldn’t dare accept such honor,” the guards replied as they dismounted. From the group emerged a man of slightly plump stature and fair complexion—were it not for the absence of facial hair, he might have been mistaken for a wealthy merchant. “I have long heard of the Daoist’s great renown,” he said, “but never had the fortune to meet you. I had searched for you in Xi’an, but not a single official there knew of your whereabouts. I thought it was fate that we would never meet. Yet here, outside the city, we cross paths—truly, I am thrice blessed.”

Seeing that this eunuch had ridden all the way from the capital alongside the Embroidered Guards, Liaochan regarded him with newfound respect. In these times, even healthy civil officials seldom traveled a thousand miles on horseback, let alone a eunuch.

“Greetings, Master Eunuch,” Liaochan said, ready to make a request and unwilling to show disrespect. “May I ask your honored name?”

“I dare not claim honor. I am Liu Jin,” the eunuch replied. At this, Liaochan started—he was indeed a famous figure.

“It is a pleasure, an honor long awaited,” Liaochan said hastily.

“Too kind, too kind,” Liu Jin replied, thinking to himself that he was but a mere attendant, dispatched to this distant hardship post for indulging the crown prince too much. What reputation could he possibly have? He did not realize that Liaochan’s words were genuinely meant.

The two made their way to the pavilion and sat. With a sweep of his sleeve, Liaochan caused several wine flasks to appear on the once-bare stone table. “I live in the mountains, with few resources for hospitality,” Liaochan explained. “Once, I rescued a troupe of clever monkeys, who, in return, gifted me with their autumn-gathered fruits, aged into wine over many years in hollowed tree trunks. With scarce opportunity, I exchanged food for their rare brew. Alas, in ten years, those monkeys produced but a few dozen catties of wine. The brew is rustic, but novel enough to taste. I can only offer you a sample.”

“Is this the famed Monkey Wine?” Liu Jin asked, intrigued. “Such a thing is rarely seen—I had always thought it mere legend. Today I am truly privileged.”

Liaochan set aside three flasks for the Embroidered Guards, while he and Liu Jin kept three for themselves.

“Tis indeed the legendary supreme brew,” Liu Jin sighed after a sip. To meet a living legend and taste the fabled Monkey Wine—this journey was well worth it.

“There is wine, but no dishes. May I ask, Master Eunuch, what foods you favor?” Liaochan inquired.

“I was born to a humble family, poverty my lot. I entered the palace as a last resort, and have not tasted delicacies since. If I could wish for anything, it would be the buckwheat noodles with fish roe my mother once took me to eat in town when I was a child. I have never forgotten their taste,” Liu Jin replied, his eyes reddening.

“Please wait,” Liaochan said, tapping his fingers on the stone table, closing his eyes and murmuring softly. Soon, several plates of buckwheat noodles with fish roe, along with oil peaches and crisp lotus root, appeared on the table. Smiling, Liaochan said, “I am no native of Shaanxi and know little of your hometown’s fare. I simply bought what I could where the crowds were thick—please, do not disdain my choices.”

Liu Jin was speechless, as were the Embroidered Guards outside, who had been jostling over the wine. All were awestruck by such miraculous abilities.

“Truly, the Daoist is a man of divine powers, a true immortal among mortals!” Liu Jin exclaimed, bowing low. The Embroidered Guards knelt as one behind him.

“Quickly, please rise,” Liaochan urged, helping them up. “These humble dishes are but a token. Please, everyone, taste the flavors of Master Liu’s home.” He shared the food among the guards, then continued drinking with Liu Jin. As Liu Jin tasted the noodles, tears streamed down his face. At length, he wiped his eyes and said, “Forgive me, Daoist, for making a spectacle of myself. I simply remembered my mother. I regret never having the means to honor my parents in their lifetimes—I am deeply ashamed.”

“To yearn for one’s parents is only human,” Liaochan replied solemnly. “With such a filial heart, how could I mock you?”

“My mother passed early, my father soon after. We were poor, and my parents never had a single day of comfort. The thought pains me deeply,” Liu Jin sighed.

“Do you resent them for sending you to the palace?” Liaochan asked.

“I went willingly. One year, officials sealed our home and drove us out. We wandered until we reached the capital, and I entered the palace. At least, that way, my family survived. Otherwise, we would all have starved in the streets. How could I resent my parents?” Liu Jin replied. From his sleeve, he produced a stack of silver notes. “In the palace, I wanted for nothing, and had little use for money. I have saved some. I ask you, Daoist, to perform rituals for my parents, so that in their next life, they might be born into a good family and not endure hardship again.”

Liaochan fell silent, contemplating the notorious fate of this great eunuch, whose life would end beneath four thousand blades. With a sigh, he replied, “Your filial piety is admirable. I will do as you ask.” He took only one note from the stack, returning the rest. “The means for the ritual should not entangle too much karma. This will suffice, and I will not fail in your trust.”

Liu Jin was deeply grateful. “Daoist, your kindness shall never be forgotten. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

Liaochan had been waiting for this. He sighed, “Shaanxi suffers a great drought; the people are in dire straits. I have a means of salvation, but require an imperial decree to enshrine the local deity and thus sever a seven-century chain of karmic fate. I beg you to intercede at court on my behalf.”

“I, too, am from Shaanxi,” Liu Jin replied. “Even if you did not ask, I would help. Rest assured, Daoist.”

Liaochan gazed at the parched earth beyond the pavilion. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “There is one more thing I wish you would secretly report to His Majesty. If it is too difficult, treat it as a jest.”

“Please speak freely,” Liu Jin replied, his expression grave.

“Guanzhong stretches for a thousand miles; it is the very foundation of the nation. Since the time of the Yellow Emperor through the Han and Tang, it has flourished for millennia. Now, the land is exhausted. Henceforth, the population should be moved elsewhere, trees planted in abundance, and the earth allowed to recover. The land cannot endure further farming and clearing. This disaster is but a forewarning—the dragon of the earth is spent, and Heaven sends this calamity as a sign. If things continue unchanged, in a hundred years, when the last vestiges of dynastic fortune are gone, a catastrophe may arise from here, threatening the realm itself.” Liaochan’s voice grew somber, recalling the great drought that, a century later, would nearly submerge the land.

“What of the people of Shaanxi?” Liu Jin asked.

“The Northeast, beyond the passes, remains untouched and fertile. If the people are resettled there, the Ming dynasty can endure,” Liaochan replied.

“I will report this faithfully, but the outcome is uncertain. Such a matter is no small thing. Why not accompany us to the capital and make your case in person?” Liu Jin suggested.

“I am but a wanderer, my Dao yet incomplete. This is not the time for me to enter the capital,” Liaochan declined. “But I do wish to see Censor Mao before he departs, if I may.”

“Of course, Daoist, as you please,” Liu Jin replied with a smile. Liaochan approached Mao’s cart. By now, Mao knew he would not escape death. Disregarding his disheveled state, he glared at Liaochan with venomous eyes. Liaochan sighed, “Ten years of study, a name on the Golden Roll—you were destined for a noble end. But personal greed has undone you. You treated lives as playthings, ignored the world’s suffering, and became cruel and corrupt. You resent me, but what of those who died by your hand—whom should they blame? The underworld will judge your deeds. May you reflect on your actions.”

With that, Liaochan bowed to Liu Jin and the Embroidered Guards. “My task is complete; I take my leave.” As he walked away, he sang,

“Beneath Heaven’s Way, justice prevails,
Let no one claim this world lacks fairness.
Where karma binds, great matters rest—
For those who sow evil, calamity lies in wait…”

As he sang, he walked—his pace unhurried, yet in a blink, he vanished from sight.

Mao, regaining his senses, screamed in the departing direction, “You have ruined me! Even in death, I will not let you go!”

Before the words had faded, a sharp slap landed on his face, leaving one side swollen. “The Daoist is an immortal in the flesh—what can a ghost like you possibly do?” scoffed a nearby guard.

“Truly, a man of the Dao,” marveled the crowd.

And so the tale continues…