Chapter Three: The Cornucopia-Immortal of the Ming Dynasty(Immortal Follower of the Clouds)

Liaochen bought a battered old bowl, purchasing it for two taels of silver from a young beggar who was close to death. The beggar had acquired the bowl from an elderly beggar who had passed away; no one could say how many years it had been used for begging, but it had always served that purpose. Two taels of silver might not seem much, yet to an ordinary person, it was a considerable sum—enough for the beggar to live on for a year. That silver, then, would surely save the child’s life.

Back at the inn, Liaochen examined the broken bowl carefully, turning it over and over until every detail was committed to memory. Only then did he gently set it down, close his eyes, and contemplate for a moment. He took from his robe a silver ingot and a gold one.

On the wall of the inn room hung a poster of the God of Wealth, Marshal Zhao, smiling broadly as he held the Treasure Basin.

Liaochen gazed at the Treasure Basin in Marshal Zhao’s hands for a long time before acting. He grasped the silver ingot, blew softly upon it, and instantly the silver melted into liquid. With a flick of his finger, the silver flowed into the broken bowl, coating the inside in a thick layer of gleaming white metal. He then repeated the process with the gold ingot, plating the outside of the bowl in resplendent gold. The bowl was utterly transformed: within, it shone with silver light; outside, it dazzled with golden brilliance—a garish, ostentatious air radiated from it. Satisfied, Liaochen produced a "borrowed" small carving knife, and with deft care, began to engrave an array inside the silver-plated bowl.

The array itself was simple—a formation to gather and concentrate the element of gold among the five elements. But for it to actually produce gold and silver out of thin air was no easy feat. The condensation of gold from elemental energy is something nature accomplishes over countless years; Liaochen intended to make it happen in a single night.

He carved and erased, again and again, laboring deep into the night before he was finally satisfied. He lifted the first magical artifact he had ever crafted with his own hands, a sense of achievement filling his heart. Then he glanced at the poster of Marshal Zhao and his Treasure Basin, stepped forward, and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, venerable one. Please do not take offense at my presumption." With that, he reached out toward the image of the Treasure Basin. With a sweep of his hand, he cast a ball of light onto the newly forged bowl. Instantly, the bowl shimmered with fluctuating radiance that took some time to settle.

Now, the Treasure Basin in Marshal Zhao’s portrait had vanished, the space empty—indeed, even the God of Wealth could be left empty-handed. Liaochen’s bowl, however, now looked exactly like the vanished Treasure Basin. Satisfied with its weight, he closed his eyes and intoned a spell. Then he tossed the bowl out the window, and it soared into the night sky as a streak of golden light. Clapping his hands, Liaochen began to sing cheerfully:

"I once saw, in Nanjing, jade trees and orioles at dawn,
Qinhuai’s pavilions, early blossoms drawn.
Who could know how quickly all would melt away?
Saw red mansions rise, saw guests at grand feasts stay,
Saw those towers crumble into dust and clay.
Upon these mossy eaves and jade-green tiles,
I’ve slept through the years in a roguish style,
Fifty years of rise and fall, I’ve watched them all.
That lane for black-robed nobles holds no Wang,
At Lake Mochou, phantoms wail long.
Phoenix Terrace now dreams of owls and crows,
Old haunts lost, forgotten as time flows.
If maps can be redrawn, let me lament lost Jiangnan,
And sing these mournful notes till my voice is gone."

When his song ended, Liaochen settled into meditation and rest.

Meanwhile, the Treasure Basin, like a meteor streaking across the sky, flew dozens of miles before crashing into the yard of Wang Rencai’s home with a resounding bang. The entire family was jolted awake and rushed out to find a huge crater in their courtyard. In it, something was glowing. Bravest among them, Wang Rencai approached and peered in. There, shining golden, was a basin. Coming closer, he gasped—was this not the very Treasure Basin of the God of Wealth?

The Wang family gathered around the basin all night, unable to sleep—nervous, excited, curious, and full of anticipation. As dawn approached, the basin began to tremble, startling them. Soon, the trembling ceased, and within the basin lay three large ingots: one of gold, two of silver.

"The Treasure Basin is real!" The family was beside themselves with joy. The God of Wealth had sent them the Treasure Basin; how could their family not prosper?

They bought land, purchased shops, built tall houses, and hosted a grand feast for all the neighbors—the Wang family had suddenly become rich beyond imagination.

Indeed, wealth poured into the Wang household. Yet as Master Wang grew richer, he became gaunt, hiding away in his rooms day and night, never taking his eyes off the Treasure Basin for fear it would vanish.

Months later, a rumor began to spread throughout the region: Wang Rencai had inherited the legendary Treasure Basin of Shen Wansan, which explained his sudden windfall. As is the nature of strange tales, it was repeated with ever-growing enthusiasm and soon reached the ears of both officials and the eunuch Li Desan, overseer of the mines in Hubei.

At first, the officials were skeptical. After all, anyone familiar with Shen Wansan’s story knew there was no such Treasure Basin—the founding emperor had simply chosen to slaughter a fattened lamb. The records made that clear. But Li Desan believed the story and took action, sending spies to verify the rumor. If it was true, he would soon rise to great power.

Days later, the spies reported that the Treasure Basin might indeed be real. Li Desan, his mind racing, issued an order: "Wang Rencai and his family, ignorant villagers, are followers of the White Lotus heresy. Arrest them immediately and interrogate them harshly. All assets are to be confiscated and not touched." The local mine supervisor led a band of fierce officers straight to Wangjiawan.

By the time the rumors had spread, Wang Rencai knew trouble was coming. He dug a deep hole on a wild hillside outside the village, hid the Treasure Basin inside, and carefully erased all traces, terrified someone would find and steal it.

As the days passed, joy vanished from the Wang family, replaced by endless anxiety—the fear that one day soldiers or ruthless bandits would burst through their gates.

Indeed, one night, their door was smashed open and a troop of armed officers stormed in, swords gleaming and horses waiting outside. The entire Wang family was seized and thrown into prison carts, while their home was ransacked. There was plenty of gold and silver, but no Treasure Basin. The local commander was displeased, giving Wang Rencai a cold glare. "Where is the Treasure Basin? Speak, and spare yourself suffering. You cannot keep it." Wang Rencai, terrified and furious, shook with fear, his heart breaking at the cries of his family and the chaos in his home. Yet he clung to the hope that if the Treasure Basin was not found, they would be safe. Gritting his teeth, he insisted, "Sir, there is no Treasure Basin!" The commander sneered, "You’re courting death." The entire family was taken to the city under the watch of the Guard’s headquarters.

If there is a hell on earth, this was it. Few who entered the mine’s prison ever came out whole. The Wang family was beaten savagely; under torture, his relatives confessed, but Wang Rencai held firm, enduring floggings and fire, every cruelty imaginable. Had they not feared killing him and losing the secret, Wang Rencai would have died long before. Many times he considered surrendering the Treasure Basin for peace, but his greed for limitless gold and silver always prevailed.

Li Desan and the officials were obsessed with the Treasure Basin, each sending trusted aides to search, hoping for glory and reward. Wang’s newly built home was demolished, and officials came in wave after wave, digging up the land in their frantic search—even Wang Rencai’s married daughter was not spared.

Ten days later, Wang’s wife died. He wept bitterly. Soon after, his daughter, wracked with guilt for implicating her husband’s family, killed herself, glaring in despair at her father with her dying breath: "How could I have a father like you?"

Wang Rencai went mad, screaming and raving. When his only son died in his arms, Wang’s spirit was utterly crushed. Only then did he realize the futility of gold and silver, the Treasure Basin—nothing but the root of his family’s destruction.

At last, Wang Rencai broke completely. He no longer cared for anything; with his family dead, what use for treasure? He led Li Desan and the local officials to the hiding place, where, in the sunlight, the Treasure Basin shone golden rays for miles as countless ingots of gold and silver erupted, scattering everywhere. The soldiers went mad, Li Desan went mad, the crowd went mad. A frenzy of looting ensued, all reason lost. In the chaos, Li Desan was trampled to death. Soldiers brandished weapons, villagers wielded farm tools, and bloodshed was everywhere. Only Wang Rencai stood quietly on the hillside, unmoving, watching the madness below.

At that moment, Liaochen, deep in meditation, was struck by a sense of dread. Divining the cause, he was horrified—he was in serious trouble. Concealing his presence, he soared on his flying sword to Wangjiawan, hundreds of miles away.

This is what it means for gold and silver to blind the eye, for wealth to corrupt the heart. Human greed is a road to hell. From his vantage atop the clouds, Liaochen felt icy cold. He had miscalculated—underestimating both the power of greed and the terror of gold and silver. Below, carnage and the destruction of the Wang family lay heavy on his conscience: these, too, were his karmic debts.

Appearing before the crowd, Liaochen’s mournful song possessed a strange power. At once, the frenzy stilled; all were silent. With a wave of his sleeve, all the scattered gold and silver vanished into nothingness. He beckoned lightly, and the Treasure Basin tore itself from the grasping masses and flew into his hand.

"This is the Treasure Basin you all desire?" Holding it up, Liaochen’s words stilled the crowd, though their eyes burned with longing.

"This is nothing but a beggar’s bowl," Liaochen sighed, and with a gesture, the Treasure Basin’s dazzling aura faded, revealing a battered vessel such as beggars used for alms.

Finally, Liaochen cast a sorrowful glance at the devastated Wang Rencai atop the hill. Wang recognized him but said nothing; a flicker of awareness crossed his face, only to fade into emptiness.

With another sigh, Liaochen picked up the Treasure Basin and once again sang that mournful song:

His voice drifted across the empty plains as he strode away, disappearing in an instant. Only then did the people awaken from their trance. Wails rose—mourning their dead, their own survival, and the shattered dream that had vanished like smoke.

The events at Wangjiawan could not be concealed—greed, the helplessness of immortals, the temptation of gold and silver—all mocked the ugliness of the human heart. Months later, the Imperial Guard arrived from the capital, arresting all involved and taking them to the city for judgment.