Chapter 580: Return to Yidu Once More

It was the third year of the Da'an era, the height of summer.

The scenery along the roadside had changed greatly.

The vast, clean expanses of the Western Regions and Xingzhou had given way to narrower, more cluttered terrain. Small hills dotted the landscape in every direction, each one uniquely shaped. Unlike in the Western Regions and Xingzhou, where one could see the distant horizon at a glance, here, such a view was rare. And yet, there were few truly large mountains.

The roadside vegetation was lush and overgrown. Unlike the bald highland grasslands common in Xingzhou, or the orderly alpine forests of the Western Regions, this area was wild and diverse. All manner of weeds and trees tangled together in unrestrained profusion, all in full summer bloom. Occasionally, small flowers blossomed among them, or wild fruits ripened on the branches.

The official roads, however, were clearly in better repair than those in the Western Regions, and noticeably more bustling than in Xingzhou. In Xingzhou, there were times when no roads could be found at all, and even when there were, one might walk for days without seeing another soul—just endless grasslands and open skies.

But here, camels were nowhere to be seen.

Transport was mainly handled by the short-statured southwestern horses, donkeys, and mules, with goods largely consisting of tea. Thus, this path was called the

Chama Road

[1].

After over half a year of travel, the Daoist and his party had now passed through Xingzhou and entered Yizhou.

Walking along the mountain paths, the messy hills and dense vegetation often blocked the line of sight. One couldn’t see the people ahead or behind, unlike in the Western Regions and Xingzhou, where a person could be spotted from far away—though catching up might take an entire day.

Here, fellow travelers were often less than a li away, and still not visible. One could only judge they weren’t alone by the sound of bells echoing through the hills ahead and behind, or by the shouts of people urging on their horses and mules.

“Let’s rest for a bit,” the Daoist said.

He chose an ancient tree and walked over to it.

Beneath the tree was a patch of cleared ground—obviously more open than the surrounding area. Fallen leaves had been swept aside, the dust wiped clean. Clearly, many travelers had used it as a resting spot before.

They unloaded the horse’s packs and sat on the clearing. When the Daoist leaned back, his shoulders rested comfortably against the tree trunk.

During the journey, everything had felt fine, but the moment they stopped, he realized just how busy this road truly was.

From both sides came an unending stream of bells and shouting. The sounds approached and then faded again, over and over. Countless people passed before them. Each time a group noticed the Daoist and his companions resting under the tree, they would look their way in idle curiosity—some even discussing them quietly with their companions.

The Daoist sat resting without closing his eyes, meeting their gazes one by one. In a daze, it felt as though he were back on the Jinyang Road more than ten years ago, seeing those same kinds of merchants pass him by.

Though this tree wasn’t a cypress, the way the sunlight filtered through its leaves in scattered dapples, shifting and flickering with the breeze, gave him the same feeling as that summer long ago.

He wondered—how were those people now?

Those wandering merchants and porters who once crossed paths with him on the Jinyang Road—were they still in this world? Thirteen years had passed... did they still have the strength to travel this road?

Ding ding ding ding...

The ringing of mule bells pulled him from his memories.

Lady Calico sat beside him, poised and upright, her tail curled around her tiny feet. She too watched the passing travelers with a solemn expression, as if deep in thought—though who knew what was going through a cat’s head?

“Lady Calico.”

“Mm?”

“Go fetch some wild fruit, will you?”

“Alright!”

The cat sat primly without moving. Only after the porter ahead had passed did she step forward a couple of paces, peek around at the roadside, glancing left and right to make sure no one was around.

Then she transformed back into human form, pulled a bowl of wild fruit from her embroidered pouch, carried it back to the Daoist, and placed it in his hands. Then, in a flash, she shifted back into a cat and sat down again to lick her paw, as if nothing had happened.

Ding ding ding...

Another caravan passed by, leading donkeys laden with large bundles of goods.

Upon seeing the Daoist, all eyes turned to him. But it was merely a fleeting exchange of glances, a brief moment of passing fate.

The Daoist silently ate the wild fruit. The bowl in his hands was cold to the touch.

These fruits had been gathered a few days ago when they passed through a mountainous forest and grassland. Along the roadside, they’d found a type of wild forest strawberry growing in abundance. They were about the size of a fingertip, plump and round—not the heart-shaped ones Song You had in mind when thinking of strawberries.

Still, they were bright red, uneven in texture, with a faint fragrance. The flavor and texture were more or less the same, and the yaks in the mountains loved them.

Song You had tried a few at the time and had taken quite a liking to them.

And once Lady Calico, who adored feeding him, saw that the Daoist liked them, how could she resist? She immediately took advantage of a break in their journey, rallying pots and bowls and everything she could find, and swept clean a vast stretch of wild forest strawberries centered around their resting spot. She stored them all in her embroidered pouch with a chilling spell.

The Daoist had been eating them for days now.

Flap flap flap...

Just then, a swallow swooped down.

It remained motionless, waiting for a passing armed escort team to go by. After glancing around and seeing no one else, the swallow finally spoke. “Master, we're still about eighty li from Yidu.”

“Eighty li...”

The Daoist pressed his lips together, feeling a weariness that came from who knows where. Then he said, “If we keep walking today, we’ll arrive tomorrow. If we don’t walk today, we’ll still arrive tomorrow. Let’s just spend the night here and rest.”

The swallow didn’t reply, as yet another group of travelers approached.

This place was indeed different from the Western Regions and Xingzhou.

Whether it was the vast expanses of the Western Regions or the endless grasslands of Xingzhou, the two little demons had always been free to chat as they pleased along the way.

“Oh my! A young master!” The merchants turned to look at him, smiling kindly. Their accent was the familiar dialect of Yizhou.

The Daoist nodded in greeting in return.

“Where are you coming from, sir?”

“I'm a native of Yizhou.”

“And where are you headed?”

“To Yidu.”

“Why are you sleeping here, then?”

“Got tired.”

“It’s still early, you know. There’s a

chema

inn twenty li ahead—you can still make it.” A merchant, hands clasped behind his back as he held the mule’s reins, turned his head to look at him while walking away. His steps didn’t pause, leaving only a word of goodwill behind.

“These mountains have grown less peaceful in recent years. Best not to spend the night out here... or you might end up with demons or ghosts knocking on your door...”

He spoke for too long, or perhaps walked too fast, and by the end his voice was fading into the distance.

The Daoist had no chance to reply.

“Young Master... Demons and ghosts, huh...” Song You couldn’t help but smile.

There was a strange sense of dreamlike detachment.

The Daoist had sat there who knows how long, watching who knows how many faces pass by in fleeting encounters.

Dinner was just that bowl of wild fruit.

As night gradually fell, no campfire was lit in the mountains—but the ground bloomed with glowing motes of light. The Daoist lay beneath the tree and fell into a deep sleep. Only old memories and gentle dreams came with the wind—no demons or ghosts came calling.

A shame, really...

***

The next afternoon, just outside Yidu, at a roadside stall.

A bamboo staff, green as jade, leaned diagonally against the wooden table. Under the sunlight, it shimmered with a translucent luster, like a piece of fine jade artwork. In contrast, the table was dark with age and wear, its surface polished smooth by years of use—the contrast was striking.

The Daoist, dressed in a faded old robe, sat at the table. Across from him sat a young girl in a tri-colored outfit. A jujube-red horse without reins stood nearby, loaded with luggage, munching on some wild roadside grass. Each of them held a bowl of fresh pork wontons, slurping noisily as they ate.

The wrappers were thin, the filling made from fresh pork—seasoned only with salt and ginger. The broth was a pork bone soup, topped with a generous handful of chopped scallions.

There were no elaborate techniques, no fancy culinary skills, no complex seasonings. Pork bone soup was naturally rich and savory, and with the fragrance of scallions added in, this simple bowl of wontons delivered a clean, fresh flavor that was both light and satisfying—a truly comforting meal.

The Daoist finished his last bite and looked across at the child. The child also finished her last bite and looked back at him.

The Daoist smiled, while the child looked solemn.

The Daoist picked up his bowl and drank the soup.

𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

The child, not to be outdone, followed his example. She hurriedly lifted her own bowl and began gulping down the soup loudly, all the while raising her eyes now and then to sneak peeks at him over the rim.

“Sir, the bill please.”

“Right away, sir!”

A hunched old man came over, grinning cheerfully. “Twelve wen a bowl, so two bowls come to twenty-four wen in total.”

“Twelve wen, huh...” The Daoist was momentarily lost in thought.

“What’s wrong?” the old man asked.

“I remember last time, at a different gate, it was ten wen per bowl.”

“Eh? Which gate?”

“The south gate.”

“Impossible!” the hunchbacked old man declared. “Even though I’m just a humble street vendor, I’d never dare to overcharge. The customers coming and going here are regular travelers around the city. The prices for wontons and soup noodles at each city gate are more or less the same... When did you have it there, sir?”

“Thirteen years ago.”

“Thirteen years ago?”

The old vendor looked him over carefully. Seeing that the Daoist still looked quite young, he was visibly surprised. “Then you must have been just a young lad back then. You've got a good memory.”

“...” The Daoist simply smiled, saying nothing, full of silent emotion.

“I’ve been running this stall for thirty years now,” the old man continued. “Thirteen years ago, it really

was

ten wen a bowl. Not just thirteen years ago—even five years ago, it was still ten. But the times have been rough these past few years. Just two years back, Prince Wenhan of western Yizhou rebelled. The court had to pull troops from several provinces just to put him down.

“And these days, there are often demons and ghosts roaming the mountains outside the city. I’ve run into demons coming to eat at my stall more than once, even early in the morning. Sometimes, even after I’ve packed up and I’m walking home, mountain ghosts will block the road and demand I reopen for them. With prices rising across the board... business has gotten really hard.”

He paused, then broke into a smile again. “But since you’re a cultivating Daoist, you must understand the hardships of living simply. I’d be happy to offer you a bit of good karma—just ten wen a bowl. Twenty in total.”

“Thank you.” The Daoist smiled and glanced across the table.

The young girl, with her fair and clean face set in a solemn expression, immediately pulled a handful of coins from her pouch. She counted once, then returned the extra, counted again, and finally stretched out her small hand to pass the exact amount to the vendor.

Twenty-four coins. Not a single one missing.

The vendor accepted them cheerfully with a beaming grin.

“Let’s go.” The Daoist picked up his bamboo staff and rose to his feet.

The jujube-red horse silently followed behind, while the little girl also trailed after him.

“Do you remember, Lady Calico? Thirteen years ago, when we first arrived in Yidu, we had a bowl of wontons just outside the city,” the Daoist said as he walked, a smile on his face.

“I remember. I ate the meat,” the little girl replied, also leaning on her small bamboo staff. She quickened her pace to keep up with him, her expression distant, as if recalling the past. “Was it this place?”

“No, it was outside the gate on the other side.”

“The other side...”

“Were the wontons good?”

“They were delicious!”

“Were the wontons better, or the meat filling better?”

“The meat was better!”

“I see...”

They hadn’t walked far before the city gate came into view.

The two of them and the horse stopped in their tracks, raising their heads to look.

The gate was built from blue bricks, pitted and weathered, worn by the passage of time. Guards were stationed nearby, checking those entering and leaving the city. Notices were pasted on the walls. It looked almost identical to the gate in his memory.

Above the gate hung a plaque, with one large word:

Yidu

.

1. Cha 茶 means tea, while ma 马 means horse. ☜