Chapter 593: The Daoist and the Temple

“Why haven’t those grains been harvested?”

“Lady Calico, you may not know,” the Daoist explained to the cat as they walked, “the villagers left them there on purpose.”

“On purpose? Left for whom?”

“For the Daoist temple in the mountain, of course.”

“The Daoist temple in the mountain?”

The cat immediately looked up. When it saw the temple half-revealed in the mist atop the distant hill, its expression froze.

“That’s your temple!”

“Indeed.”

“They left it for you?”

“Exactly.”

“Why would they do that?”

“It’s an old and simple tradition,” Song You said, pausing briefly. “Daoists with true cultivation protect the peace of the land, as it should be. The villagers are poor and have little money, but simple, honest people who receive protection naturally seek ways to repay the kindness. Otherwise, their hearts would feel uneasy.

“So, after each harvest, they leave a small cluster of rice behind to be taken by those cultivating in the mountains. It counts as an offering. If a Daoist accepts the villagers’ offering, then he is bound to ensure peace in the region, just like a deity who, upon receiving incense, must fulfill his divine duties.”

“Do you actually come down to harvest it?”

“Of course.” A trace of nostalgia colored Song You’s tone. “Back when we still lived in the temple on the mountain, after every harvest season, we would go down to the fields. If we saw a patch of land with just a small bundle of rice left untouched in a corner, we’d know it was the villagers’ offering to the Daoists of the mountain. So we would go and harvest it ourselves.”

“How carefree that sounds!” the cat said, walking behind him. “So you didn’t have to work, didn’t need money, and just came down to cut a bit of rice and you’d have food!”

“Even if we didn’t come to cut it, we’d still have food.”

“Then why bother coming at all?”

“Because we must.”

It was such a beautiful custom, how could one let it die?

A faint smile appeared at the corner of the Daoist’s lips. He himself hadn’t understood it back then either.

He still remembered the first time the old Daoist from the temple brought him down the mountain to harvest rice. The old master had patiently explained everything to him. Even someone of her immense power and cultivation, capable of touching the heavens and the earth, still carried a basket on her back and brought a young child along to harvest grain from every single field left for them.

Who knew how many generations this tradition and unspoken understanding had lasted? At least a thousand years, perhaps? And who could say whether it would continue a thousand years more?

At the very least, Song You would be sure to pass it on.

Unfortunately, his old Daoist master had always been extremely lazy, so much so that she was just shy of scratching lice and eating them. In her later years, she grew even lazier.

Though she used to bring Song You down the mountain himself to harvest the grain, once she saw the boy had grown a bit and was familiar enough with the fields and roads nearby, she simply sent the crested myna to accompany him, while she stayed in the temple, leisurely waiting for the harvest to arrive at her doorstep.

“Sigh...” The Daoist couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Do people who live next to Daoist temples all end up like that?” the calico cat asked another question.

“Not every temple is like that,” Song You answered patiently. “But I’ve heard of other temples and villages with similar customs.”

“Does it have to be a very powerful temple?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then...”

The cat’s questions were endless. It wasn’t until a long while later that she finally quieted down. By that time, the group had already reached the mountainside.

The Daoist was still wearing the same robe from the day he first descended the mountain. Aside from being more faded and threadbare, it had changed little. Even his appearance hadn’t altered much, and only his expression now carried the weathering of experience and a gentler calm than before, marked by the wisdom and tenderness that came with having seen the world.

Leaning on a bamboo staff, he walked up the sloping path. The incline made him lean forward slightly as he ascended, followed by a jujube-red horse and a calico cat, slowly climbing together.

The cat’s expression remained focused and serious as she took small, deliberate steps, often pausing to glance up at the temple on the mountain, then turning back to look at the path they’d already climbed.

Now and then, she would sniff the grass and plants along the roadside, as if trying to memorize the scent of this unfamiliar land and to etch the journey into memory.

Unknowingly, they had climbed quite high.

When the cat looked up again, the temple on the mountain was already just ahead.

“...”

Just then, she stopped in her tracks, gazing at it in a daze.

Only when she saw the Daoist walk forward did she hurriedly follow.

The temple wasn’t built at the mountain’s summit, but rather on a high flat stretch of the slope, nestled against the green hills behind it. It was a very old courtyard complex.

The grounds were divided into a front and rear section, with simple and aged halls and towers. There were fewer than ten rooms in total. A mountain spring flowed past one side of the temple, forming a small stream with a long ribbon-like waterfall cascading behind it.

The sound of rushing water echoed continuously, and a graceful ancient pine tree stood at the entrance. From a distance, without clouds or mist, or viewed from a higher vantage, the temple appeared like something ethereal hidden among the green mountains.

The temple gate was plain and weathered, bearing no couplets on either side.

Only three ancient words remained above the doorway,

Hidden Dragon Temple

.

The Daoist stopped at the gate and looked up at the inscription.

“It’s been so many years...” he murmured, then raised his bamboo staff and tapped gently on the door.

Clack!

The lock opened on its own, and he pressed his bamboo staff against the door and gave it a gentle push. With a long, drawn-out

creak

, the door opened. It was a sound like an echo from the past, welcoming the Daoist home.

“Come in,” the Daoist spoke softly as he stepped inside.

Beyond the main gate was the largest courtyard. In its center stood an incense burner, which was clearly over a thousand years old. Yet the burner was clean; it was spotless, with no trace of incense ash.

The courtyard itself was just as immaculate. There were no fallen leaves or dust, and time and the elements seemed to have left no mark. It looked as though someone had tidied up only yesterday, just in time for the Daoist’s return today.

Facing the entrance and flanking the sides stood the temple halls, housing statues of common Daoist deities. After all, this was a functioning temple. When it was open to the public, villagers from below and travelers from afar would come to offer incense.

The Daoist had relied on those offerings to sustain daily life. But within the temple, the Daoists rarely held rituals, and they didn’t chant scriptures or perform ceremonies. This courtyard was meant for the incense visitors, and the ancient burner was there for their offerings.

Only it had likely been over a decade since anyone last stepped foot in this temple.

“This way.”

The Daoist passed through the front courtyard and entered the rear. The cat, the horse, and the swallow naturally followed closely behind.

The rear of the temple was where the Daoist practiced and cultivated, and it was the heart of Hidden Dragon Temple’s ancient legacy.

“Your temple seems kind of big,” the calico cat remarked.

“It’s not really,” the Daoist replied, then paused. “But from now on, you could say it’s also your temple.”

“Mm...”

The cat closed her mouth, saying nothing more. But her tiny steps suddenly quickened with cheer.

The Daoist stopped before a certain room, removing the bundles from the horse’s back. As he did, he spoke, “Lady Calico, did you get a good look at this mountain when you arrived?”

“I did!”

“And how would you feel if this whole mountain were filled with rabbits?”

“Just this one mountain? Or the ones next to it too?”

“This one, and the neighboring ones as well,” Song You said. “As long as the mountain looks the same and isn’t farmland, then it’s part of our temple’s land. Have you decided which mountain you like?”

“It’s that big...”

The cat’s eyes widened.

She thought back to the mountain they’d passed, which was lush with fine, soft grass, all swaying in unison with the breeze. There were ancient pines too. If the mountain were filled with rabbits, she could imagine herself training and studying in this ancient temple, then curling up in the grassy hills like a blanket when tired, waking up to chase rabbits, catching one for dinner with the Daoist...

What a blissful life that would be.

“Lady Calico, you can also start thinking about where to dig your pond. Before we leave this time, we can have it ready and divert spring water into it. Then you can go down to the stream and river below the mountain, catch a few fish, and release them into the pond. Years from now, when we return, it’ll be full of fish.”

Ah, that’s right; there would be a pond, and fish too. She could even sleep beside the pond. And besides the fish and rabbits, come harvest season, she could go down the mountain to cut free grain. It’d be fun, and she’d never have to worry about starving.

The cat simply couldn’t imagine what sort of divine, immortal life this was supposed to be.

“But...” The cat hesitated with her brows furrowed, her thoughts nearly stalling. “Would the temple owner agree to all this? Wait, does your temple even have a owner anymore,

meow

?”

“Yes,” the Daoist nodded and said to her, “I’m the temple owner.”

“

Meow

!”

The cat stared straight at him. Any final hesitation in her dream vanished in an instant. Her mind burst into wild imagining again, and once it began, there was no stopping it. So many wonderful thoughts flooded her head she felt like her brain couldn’t keep up.

By this time, the Daoist had finished unloading all the bags from the horse and set them under the eaves so the tired animal could rest.

Then he said to them, “I used to live in this room. If you’re tired, you can go in and rest, or walk around and explore. Anywhere you can walk into, you’re free to enter. I’m going to the back for a bit.”

“Where are you going?”

𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

“To visit the former temple owner.”

With that, the Daoist walked away, leaning on his staff, leaving only his back in view.

A moment later...

It seemed to be behind the Daoist temple, and yet not quite; in any case, it was a stretch of gentle green mountains. The grass, fine as silk, all leaned in the same direction under the wind. The ancient pines bent low, as if unable to withstand the mountain breeze, or perhaps bowing to tend to those who slept eternally upon the mountain, or to welcome those who had come after.

The mountain was dotted with gently rising mounds. The mounds were as gentle as the mountains themselves and were covered in the same silky grass, and they were so lush they nearly concealed the stone tablets beneath.

The Daoist paid no mind to the overgrown grass, no one ever did. The people of Hidden Dragon Temple never saw the need to tend it.

He simply walked to the last two mounds and stopped, resting on his staff. After he parted the grass, two simple gravestones appeared.

One was inscribed

Grave of Daoist Tiansuan

, while the other

Grave of Daoist Duoxing

.

The inscriptions were plain. Below each, small characters marked the dates. Even the words “Hidden Dragon Temple” were nowhere to be found. The calligraphy on each stone was different, so it was likely carved at different times by different hands.

The two mounds sat very close together.

“...”

The Daoist stood silently, leaning on his staff and gazing at the last grave. Just like that day years ago, when he’d received the crested myna’s letter in the Qingtong Forest north of Yuezhou, his heart didn’t feel much grief.

He had long expected this day. Both he and the old Daoist had already come to terms with the impermanence of life and death. So sorrow was light.

What filled his heart instead was regret. He didn’t know what to say, and he gazed at the grave for a long while, and all words finally dissolved into a single sigh.

Then he looked beside the grave, where there was just enough empty space.

“...”

That was where he would be buried someday.