Chapter 632: Returning to Jingzhou to Seek Fuyun Temple Again

On the table, an oil lamp flickered, lighting up the guest room in the Daoist temple. The room was still spacious, and the bedding had just been taken out of the cupboard, carrying the faint fragrance of aged wood.

Everything felt as if it had remained the same.

The Daoist sat in the center of the room. From the bottom of Lady Calico’s brocade pouch, he pulled out a thick, stiff oil-paper package. Holding it up under the lamplight, he began to unwrap it layer by layer. The rustling sound it made echoed clearly in the quiet night, where even the distant chanting of young Daoists practicing their scriptures could be faintly heard.

Finally, a stack of paper was revealed. The paper had yellowed with age, yet the ink remained fresh. As soon as it was opened, a burst of ink fragrance wafted out.

This was the scent of Congealed Fragrance that the Daoist had collected, and it was sealed within these sheets of paper.

Rustle...

The Daoist carefully searched through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. Then he held it in his hands and examined it closely.

“

Beginning of the second month in the second year of Mingde, arrived in Anqing County, Long Commandery, Xuzhou. Coincidentally encountered a grand

jianghu

event, the Great Liujiang Gathering

...”

The Mingde era lasted eleven years in total. It was now the fourth year of Da’an, early March. Thirteen years had passed.

What was written on the page was a travel journal from back then, and his thoughts and experiences from thirteen years ago. It was, essentially, a reflection of his former self.

Now, holding the pages and reading them again, the Daoist was immersed.

Strangely, even though it was his own writing and personal experience, not every word felt familiar. Hwoever, reading it brought back a sense of memory and introspection. He would often pause, look up, and recall the past, like reliving a dream in the night.

But there were also parts that felt unfamiliar, either forgotten or written in a tone so different that it was hard to believe he had once written them. Reading those lines now gave him the feeling of facing his past self anew, as though reintroducing himself to a stranger who used to be him.

He read with great focus, often getting lost in thought.

The cat, being a naturally curious creature, couldn’t help herself. She jumped onto the table, leaned close to him, tilting her head to stare at the pages too.

The Daoist didn’t mind her presence.

“Now, you understand that the purpose of writing a travel journal is exactly this,” he said softly as he finished one page and turned to the next. “To record your current experiences on paper, so that your future self can look back, reflect, and understand how you got here.”

The cat, however, just stared intently at the paper. Her eyes flickering with thought, she said with a serious look, “When did I ever help guard you?”

“On Mati Mountain, at the Swallow Immortal Pavilion.”

“I’ve forgotten.”

“Then you’re not clever.”

“...!”

The cat abruptly turned her gaze back to him, staring intently.

“Back then, you couldn’t read yet. Otherwise, like me, you could be reading your own travel notes now, revisiting and savoring your past self.”

“Why didn’t you teach me to read and write sooner?”

“Ah, Lady Calico, that’s unfair. I said I’d teach you as soon as we left Yidu, before we even arrived here. You’re the one who didn’t want to learn.”

“Oh... right.”

“You weren’t diligent or eager to learn, and now you’re blaming me?”

“...!” The cat’s expression tightened again. She whipped her head back toward him, stared for a moment, then said, “That was the

old

Lady Calico!”

As if that version had nothing to do with the current her.

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” After answering, the cat quickly turned her head to look out the window. “It’s raining outside!”

“Indeed...” The sound of rain could now be heard.

Rain was no stranger to Anqing. Spring rain tapped on the dark gray roof tiles with a crisp, musical rhythm. It sounded clear and bright, like someone playing an instrument.

The Daoist put down the paper and quietly listened to the rain.

Another rainfall again. The paper held memories of the past, just like the rain.

***

“Daoist Master, let me lend you an umbrella.”

“Much appreciated.”

A yellow oil-paper umbrella, an old-robed Daoist Master, and a calico cat stepped out of the Daoist temple and into the misty, rainy mountains of Anqing.

The terrain around Anqing was unique, it was full of stubby little hills, shaped like bamboo shoots or jagged trees, bizarre in form. Most were too steep to climb, and few were worth climbing anyway. They were too small, with not even enough flat earth for farming. And yet, they were the places where rain and mist loved to linger most.

𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

The Daoist once again arrived at Mati Mountain and Swallow Immortal Pavilion.

Today’s rain seemed heavier than it had been all those years ago. As it fell onto the oil-paper umbrella, it made a deep, muffled sound. It was not noisy, but rather calming, soothing the heart.

The Daoist raised his umbrella and looked up. As before, a swallow was flying through the misty, rain-soaked mountains; It darted left and right, rising and dipping. It was nimble, fluid, and full of grace. It was a flash of freedom and spirit in this landscape painting of rain and fog.

“...” The Daoist walked into the Swallow Immortal Pavilion.

Swallow Immortal Pavilion was a large open space at the foot of the mountain by the river. It was paved entirely with green stone slabs. The rain had washed the slabs clean and glossy. But today, the terrace was completely empty. Gone were the crowds of martial artists that had once filled it, and not even a single passerby or loiterer remained.

Only a Daoist with an umbrella, and a cat. The Daoist turned his head to look toward Mati Mountain, and a misty ring of rain still drifted over the mountain.

“

Whoosh

...”

The mist suddenly parted, revealing a pavilion.

At some unknown point, a small path had appeared on the mountain, connecting the edge of Swallow Immortal Pavilion below to a small pavilion halfway up the slope.

“Let’s go.” The Daoist began walking up the path.

Following it all the way to the pavilion, he finally closed the umbrella and propped it upside down beside a pavilion post. Then he sat down inside.

Looking down from the pavilion, he saw a fine drizzle falling over the land, mist rising from the wet ground. The light was blocked out by the rain clouds, turning both the mountains and water into deep, ink-like gray-blacks, shaded in layers of dark and light.

Along the riverbank, the willow branches were as fine as silk, swaying in the same direction under wind and rain. Countless ripples spread across the river’s surface. The whole world in this moment, veiled in cloud, fog, and rain, was blurred and dreamlike. It was truly a living painting.

In a sudden moment of reverie, Song You seemed to see the terrace below again full of martial artists, who looked like little black specks in the mist. Some were dueling in the center of the terrace: a spear swept sideways, throwing up a wall of rainwater from the ground; a sword slashed through falling rain, turning drops into scattered pearls. Their footwork twisted and turned, like a fight, yet also like a dance.

The Daoist slipped into a deep meditative state, both body and spirit immersed.

When he first came here years ago and witnessed this sight, it had been after his difficult training on Yin-Yang Mountain. Now, returning to this familiar place, he hadn’t expected to feel something entirely new.

Even the calico cat, sitting up ahead at the edge of the pavilion where the rain was just beginning to drift in, lifted her head to gaze at the scene, and at the swallow darting about wildly in the sky. Her amber-like eyes gleamed with light, and old memories surged forth. When she turned to look back at the Daoist again, it was as if she could really hear him calling out from years ago, asking her to guard him during his practice.

Only now, that voice came from long ago. She didn’t know how much time had passed.

The swallow in the sky had grown tired of flying and returned to the pavilion nestled in the mountains. It turned its head to groom its damp feathers. Though it still instinctively kept a bit of distance from the cat, the old fear was no longer there.

The calico cat stared at it, eyes flickering, also finding the scene rather curious.

“Drip-drop...”

A single raindrop fell in front of the Daoist Master, blooming like a flower upon impact. The splash reached him, bringing with it the coolness of late spring.

“...” The Daoist shivered slightly and looked up.

The Swallow Immortal, now canonized as an official deity, naturally no longer resided in Anqing. He had become increasingly popular among the common folk, with incense burning in his honor growing ever more prosperous.

Temples and statues dedicated to him stood across the land. With such busyness, who knew how long it had been since he last returned to Anqing, how long since he last came to this little pavilion?

The fact that the pavilion had fallen into disrepair and now leaked in the rain was proof enough.

These scattered raindrops seemed to be urging the Daoist:

It’s time to go.

“Let’s go...”

The Daoist stood up, picked up his oil-paper umbrella in one hand and bamboo staff in the other, and began walking back down the mountain.

Once again, there were people in the Swallow Immortal Pavilion.

From afar, they looked like two old men wearing rain capes and wide bamboo hats, carrying sickles in hand and baskets on their backs. But as they approached, it became clear they were just two half-grown boys, both barefoot, seemingly on their way across the terrace to the river.

From a distance, in the mist and rain, they gave off a feeling of weariness, but up close, it was clear: they were full of youthful energy.

The Daoist overheard them talking. “Last time’s Great Liujiang Gathering was really lively! Even more so than the one before that. The Thunderstrike Swordmaster, Shu Yifan, came too! The adults say the monsters causing trouble nearby all fled just at the mention of his name!”

“The Swordmaster, huh...”

“That’s what the

jianghu

calls him. They say he stepped into the Dao through martial arts, and that he trained so hard he became like an immortal!”

The slightly taller boy continued with an air of authority, “But he’s not the only one. I heard another great hero also stepped into the Dao through martial arts and came too, but didn’t show himself!”

“Becoming an immortal through martial arts must be crazy hard... Might as well go learn Daoist magic in a temple instead! The temple owner of the Zoujiao Temple outside the city knows real spells!”

“Then you go learn...”

“You go...”

“You go, you go...”

“Eh? Where’d this Daoist come from?”

“...”

The Daoist, holding his umbrella, passed the boys shoulder to shoulder. He turned his head to gaze quietly at their faces, just as they stared at his, each acknowledging the serendipity of this encounter.

Slowly, he walked out of the Swallow Immortal Pavilion.

***

The young Daoist who had once opened the temple gates for him had indeed been clever. But now that he was in his thirties, it no longer felt right to call him “clever“ like a child. The liveliness of his youth had matured into steadiness and wisdom. By now, he had likely inherited seven or eight parts of his master Qingyangzi’s teachings.

And yet, between him and the Qingyangzi of old... there still stood the distance of forty years of time.

He was also very fond of studying Daoist arts, so now that he had the rare chance to meet Song You, he naturally wanted him to stay a few more days. He invited him to walk the mountains, to enjoy the scenery of Anqing—the Ten Li Gallery, the spring landscapes of rivers and mountains—and along the way, he asked questions about cultivation and magic. These became the Daoists’ version of idle mountain chatter.

It was like when a scholar went out in spring, roaming the mountains and waters. Moved by the vast and wondrous scenery, he would compose poems and lyrics, drink wine, and write essays, thoroughly enjoying himself.

It was the same among Daoists. Both sides were quite happy.

But in the end, one must still part ways.

***

A few days later at Anqing county town...

Near the north gate, there was an inn, and across from it stood a meat soup shop. The tables were made of aged elm wood with a patina from years of use, and the benches were wide planks. The shopkeeper was still the same as before, though now much more aged than in the Daoist’s memory.

“Two jin of bones, one bowl of

mao'ertou

, no, make that two bowls.”

“Coming right up!”

Once again, two people sat facing each other.

Only this time, one side was the Daoist Master, and across from him sat a restless little girl.

The girl kept twisting her head around, eyes darting everywhere.

The food arrived quickly.

Large chunks of leg bones and spine bones were stewed together with equally large chunks of white radish. The meat on the bones was cooked until tender and falling off, while the radish had become nearly translucent. A thin layer of oil floated on the surface of the soup, dotted with scallion greens and whites like jade. It was simple cooking, yet it effortlessly stirred the appetite.

“Lady Calico, please help yourself.”

“Mmm!”

The little girl finally settled down. After glancing around restlessly, she turned her serious gaze to the Daoist. Suddenly acting like she hadn't just been fidgeting, she mimicked him, saying, “Daoist Master, please help yourself!”

Like the Daoist Master, she reached out with her hand, grabbed a chunk of bone, and brought it to her mouth to gnaw on.

She didn’t forget to tear off a bit of meat to feed the swallow.

After gnawing through one piece, her mouth full of savory meat, still craving more, she imitated the Daoist again: picked up a chopstick, stuck it into the radish, and brought the radish to her mouth.

The radish, having soaked up all the meat flavor, was fragrant and slightly sweet. Tasty, yes, but of course, it couldn’t compare to a big chunk of meat. So Lady Calico, holding the chopstick, looked at the swallow. Then, she looked outside, and finally fed the radish to the horse, before going back to her meat.

“I think we’ve eaten this before...” Lady Calico looked up and said to the Daoist.

“Yes...” The Daoist simply replied and kept eating.

After they finished, he paid the bill. It cost less than a hundred wen.

Outside, it was still raining.

The spring rain was as fine as silk, slanted by the wind. Mist drifted softly with the breeze. Through the city one could see distant mountains and rivers, still as breathtaking as an ink-wash painting, only the familiar faces of the past were no longer there.

The horse's hooves stepped upon the stone path and through the rainwater step by step like petals blooming, following alongside the Daoist Master and slowly leaving the city behind.

This journey took a completely different route from the last time.

But once again, it was the swallow who led the way, finding paths and seeking out mountain streams.

They passed through northern Xuzhou, bypassed Pingzhou, and headed straight for Jingzhou.

In these distant lands where imperial reach was thin, bandits flourished amid the wild grasses, and with the world in turmoil, monsters and demons appeared frequently. Now, the primary demon-slaying force had become Lady Calico and the swallow.

Before they knew it, spring had ended. Summer arrived, and the sunlight grew ever more intense.

By the fifth month of the mortal world’s calendar, the Daoist finally reached Jingzhou. Jingzhou was home to a famed mountain called Mount Zhen.

It was one of the Four Great Daoist Mountains, known alongside Qingcheng Mountain and Mount Luming of Yizhou. Mount Zhen was covered in countless temples and palaces, with reclusive cultivators in abundance. The Daoist had wanted to visit it on his last journey, but was diverted elsewhere midway.

Now, with the swallow helping to scout the way, he arrived smoothly.

Near Mount Zhen, peach trees were everywhere. They were not only covering the mountain, but also planted before and behind every home in the surrounding villages. Even the roadside was often lined with them. In the height of May’s summer, the peach trees were in full bloom and fruit-bearing, their thick foliage heavy with large, white-fleshed peaches. Even the smallest were the size of a fist; the largest were as wide as a common bowl.

As they walked, the air was filled with a tempting fragrance.

Song You paused to ask an old man working in the fields where he could buy some peaches, but was scolded for being foolish. The old man told him the peaches here were as common as wild grass, and he could pick them freely.

As he spoke, the old man even picked one and stuffed it into Song You’s arms. The Daoist smiled at this and followed suit, picking a peach for himself.

The peaches near Mount Zhen were as famous as the mountain’s Daoist temples, and they were even featured in the paintings of renowned artist, Master Dou. The locals cherished them deeply.

Song You had admired them for a long time.

Now, picking one fresh, he wiped off the fuzz, brought it to his lips, and took a bite. It was truly fragrant and sweet, as well as overflowing with juice, living up to its reputation.

Only then did he turn and set off for Fuyun Temple, to which he vaguely remembered the way.