Chapter 682: A Cold Night in Southern Art County

South of Pingzhou lay many great mountains.

In early winter, the vegetation withered, the world turned a dull yellow. Along the mountain roads came, from time to time, the jingling of mule bells, while travelers in heavy coats trudged along.

The Daoist too wore thick clothing, leaning on a bamboo staff as he walked along the mountain ridge, pausing now and then to gaze into the distance. At his side padded a cat, keeping close. Meanwhile, a swallow alighted briefly to rest.

They had just dismounted from the back of a great white crane.

“We’ve already been to all five mountains, where do we go next? Back to Yizhou,

meow

?” the cat asked as they walked.

“No rush.”

“No rush!”

“Of course not.”

“Are we waiting until next autumn,

meow

?”

“Early autumn will do.”

The Daoist spoke while his eyes roamed over the vast scenery.

Now that the five paths to heaven had all been restored, and Golden Spirit Official slain, as well as Duke of Thunder Zhou persuaded, the Celestial Emperor’s direct power no longer existed. Among the ancient deities, Fiery Sun Emperor Lord had been gravely injured and gone into seclusion, which was itself a declaration of stance. The Ancient God of Heavenly Bell had fallen. The Emperor of the Void had lent token aid, and the Daoist had not pressed him to the bitter end. Between them, a tacit understanding was reached.

Borrowing the pretext of restoring the paths to heaven, half the strength of the Heaven’s unworthy gods had already been removed. What remained chiefly were the Four Saints of the Four Directions.

It was time to depose them. That would be the true battle.

“It’s a dead end!” The calico cat dashed ahead, then turned back toward him.

“Let’s go down the mountain.”

The Daoist shifted direction, passing through the forest and heading down toward the proper mountain road below. The cat was long used to this.

The man and cat suddenly emerged from the woods onto the road.

“Ahhh!” A middle-aged merchant leading a mule was startled, leaping two steps to the side and taking a defensive stance, his face showing fright. Only when he saw it was a Daoist did he relax a little.

“Sir, are you human, or demon?”

“Of course, human.” The Daoist straightened and bowed politely. “I startled you. It was discourteous of me. Please forgive me.”

“How could you appear so suddenly from the forest, and without a sound? I thought you were bandits of the hills, or a wild dog, or a monster! You gave me quite a scare,” the merchant scolded, still shaken.

“...” The Daoist only smiled at him, then turned to glance ahead, pointing toward a temple faintly visible among the mountains.

“Is that a shrine?”

“Of course it’s a shrine,” the merchant, still irritated, replied. “Are you looking to spend the night there?”

“Does it enshrine the Duke of Thunder?”

“It is indeed a temple of the Duke of Thunder.”

“Oh?” Song You looked a little surprised, a smile tugging at his lips. “A temple dedicated solely to the Duke of Thunder?”

“Exactly so,” the merchant replied. “Pingzhou has many mountains, and many tales of gods, spirits, and demons. Nowadays the world is unsettled, monsters roam everywhere. This mountain road stretches dozens of li without a single household, naturally one must raise a Duke of Thunder’s temple here, to keep the demons of the mountains in check.”

“I see.” The Daoist nodded. That did make sense.

“Up ahead should be Southern Art County, yes?” Song You asked casually as he chatted with the merchant.

“Still twenty to thirty li to go.”

“Not too far, then.”

“Are you also bound for Southern Art County?”

“More or less.”

“If you walk quickly, you might reach it before nightfall.”

“I’ll go as fate allows.”

“Then I’d best be on my way.” The merchant glanced at this Daoist, who seemed more than ordinary, and at the striking cat at his side, with its lifted head and eyes that looked almost human.

Half in warning, half in reminder, he said: “If you cannot reach Southern Art County today, just stay the night at the Duke of Thunder’s temple up ahead, or else find some shelter nearby. This place is close to the temple, and that shrine is very efficacious. If any demon dares cause trouble nearby, the Duke of Thunder will surely strike it dead.”

“Many thanks.” The Daoist smiled lightly, keeping his pace steady and unhurried, watching as the merchant and his mule grew smaller in the distance.

About a quarter of an hour later, a temple appeared by the roadside.

Sure enough, it was a Duke of Thunder’s temple. Even the couplet inscribed on either side of the gate felt oddly familiar:

How bold of you to dare come see me; quickly turn back and do no harm!

Inside, there were a row of Duke of Thunders.

The temple was clearly of recent construction: its beams still shone with fresh red lacquer, and the images of the gods were newly made. At the very center, there was a towering and mighty statue in dark robes, radiating upright majesty. Who else could it be but Duke of Thunder Zhou?

The Daoist stepped inside, the light dimming. In his hand appeared a bundle of incense. At his side, two more figures appeared. The incense was divided into three portions; he intended to give three sticks for each.

The Daoist stood before the altar, holding his incense, gazing at the Duke of Thunder’s image for a long while before giving the sticks a small shake.

“...”

Without a sound, the incense flared alight, and a thread of blue smoke rose gently from his hand.

Meanwhile, two more threads of smoke rose beside him. The Daoist’s manner was solemn as he bowed three times. These three offerings of incense should have been made three months ago. It was no fault of his that they came late.

The blame lay squarely with Lady Calico.

Her white crane always flew too high, slipping into the clouds where nothing could be seen. And it flew too fast, the scenery flashing by in a blur. From ruined temples in desolate hills all the way to Mount Wubian, they had not glimpsed a single shrine along the way. Only after sitting three months in Mount Wubian and returning again to Pingzhou, did he at last find a temple by the roadside.

Thinking of this, the Daoist placed the incense sticks into the ash-filled brazier. He then turned his head to glance to either side.

On the left, the swallow youth wore the same reverent expression, offering incense to the Duke of Thunder.

On the right, the little girl in tri-colored clothes looked solemn as well. She copied his movements, bowing three times to Duke of Thunder Zhou. Then she placed her incense into the brazier and, tilting her head ever so slightly, cast a sidelong glance at the Daoist’s actions. She was ready to mimic whatever came next.

Seeing that her Daoist made no further moves, and sensing his gaze on her, she finally turned her head all the way and met his eyes.

The girl naturally had no idea what was on his mind. And he had no inkling of the cat’s thoughts.

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s go!”

The Daoist picked up his bamboo staff and turned toward the exit.

Puff!

In an instant the girl became a calico cat, trailing behind him. The youth, too, turned back into a swallow and fluttered out of the temple.

There were only about twenty li left before they reached Southern Art County.

“Lady Calico, do you still remember the way to that inn in Southern Art County from before?”

“I don't remember.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have a superb memory?”

“Then do you remember, Daoist priest?”

“...I don’t.”

“Then you’re not smart.”

“...”

The small company soon disappeared along the mountain road, leaving behind only nine sticks of incense burning slowly on the temple altar.

All at once, the god statue within the shrine opened its eyes, face stern and majestic. Then, with a sudden inhale, the nine sticks flared bright red, consumed in an instant from tip to base. Their smoke rose like threads and streamed into the image of the Duke of Thunder at the altar’s center.

***

Following the traces of memory, the Daoist entered the city. He walked in circles a few times, asked for directions more than once, and at last arrived before an inn.

It was winter; night fell early. Now the sky was already dark, and the inn’s doors had been shut. Still, a glow of lamplight shone through the cracks, along with muffled voices from within.

The Daoist raised his lantern to light up the signboard.

Jingfu Inn.

From his pouch, a little cat’s head poked out and softly read the words for him. The Daoist lowered his gaze to look at her.

Whoosh!

The cat’s head instantly shrank back inside.

The Daoist lifted his lantern again and took a few steps to the side, illuminating the sign hanging on the inn’s flank.

“Immortal Soup Noodle.” The little cat poked her head out again and read it aloud for him.

The Daoist lowered his gaze, and she instantly shrank back.

“...”

Song You shook his head lightly and continued looking upward.

It was a rectangular shop sign, the four characters

Immortal Soup Noodle

written vertically from top to bottom. Yet perhaps because nearly every noodle shop in Southern Art County had later changed their signs to say

Immortal Soup Noodle

, such a sign alone no longer carried much weight. So the Jingfu Inn had hung up an additional, smaller board above it. It had just one word on it:

Authentic!

The cat’s voice was low, yet firm and resonant.

The Daoist glanced down, only to see her curled neatly in the pouch without sticking her head out at all. She must have already spotted the words earlier; her feline eyesight was sharp, and when the lantern had been held low she had seen them. Sensing his motion now, she simply recited them aloud.

Pat...

The Daoist gave her a light tap, then walked forward and knocked on the door.

Knock knock...

“Who is it?” A voice quickly answered from within.

“A guest,” the Daoist replied.

“...”

From within came hushed whispers, indistinct save for scraps like ‘it’s so late’ and ‘surely not.’ Then, footsteps sounded, drawing gradually toward the door.

The glow from the threshold brightened.

Creak...

With a dry groan, the inn’s main door swung open.

There stood a middle-aged man. At a glance he looked about the same age as the innkeeper from years past. He held up an oil lamp, watching the Daoist with cautious eyes, then glanced behind him.

“Sir, you’re alone?”

𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

“Yes.”

“What brings you to an inn so late?”

“I came from the north. Just barely made it in before the city gates closed, then spent some time searching for an inn,” the Daoist explained frankly, with a weary smile. “Night falls too fast in winter.”

“Isn’t that so? Winter nights are always short.” The innkeeper, reassured, stepped aside. “Please, come in quickly, sir.”

“Thanks.”

The Daoist entered, satchel on one side, brocade pouch on the other, and glanced around.

The entrance opened right into the inn’s main hall.

It had been renovated since the days in his memory. The benches, floorboards, and beams looked newer, though the overall layout was about the same. Outside it seemed pitch dark now, but it was not truly late. A table of guests still sat in the hall eating, an oil lamp placed high above giving light.

The innkeeper shut the door and blew out his handheld lamp.

“We’ve still got first-class rooms, side rooms, and common bunks available. Which will you be taking?”

“A side room.”

Song You paused, thought a moment, then added, “I prefer those on the left. If the left one happens to be free, all the better.”

“Sir, you may not know, our inn has only two side rooms, one to the left and one to the right. That left room was once graced by an immortal. Many travelers who come here hoping to borrow a trace of immortal aura insist on lodging in that very room.”

The innkeeper spoke without suspicion. Perhaps he thought the Daoist’s unusual preference was normal, or perhaps he assumed the Daoist had heard the stories and was only hinting politely at wanting to stay there himself.

Then he pointed toward the table of diners in the hall and added, “But your timing is unfortunate, sir. That immortal’s room has already been taken tonight by those guests over there.”

Hearing this, Song You turned his head and glanced once more at that table of guests.

There were four of them in total. From their attire, none looked ordinary. Each had a bowl before them; it was none other than Southern Art County’s famous soup noodle.

“Then I’ll take the room on the right.”

“How many nights?”

“Just one.”

“Very well...”

The innkeeper quickly registered the Daoist’s lodging.

“Would you like something to eat? Our soup noodle is what we’re known for, it’s so good that even an immortal once praised it. That’s why it’s called

Immortal Soup Noodle

. After that, all the noodle shops in Southern Art County renamed their signs after ours. No guest leaves this inn without a bowl.” The innkeeper paused, then broke into a grin. “On a night like this, a steaming bowl of soup noodle is the finest comfort.”

“Then bring me two bowls. I’ll set down my things and come down to fetch them.”

“Two bowls?”

“Yes...”

“Of course!”

The innkeeper didn’t press further, simply agreed heartily.

The Daoist carried the oil lamp upstairs.

The so-called

side rooms

, in ordinary houses, were originally meant for storing grain. Later, they came to mean less important chambers, set farther from the main quarters. In an inn, they referred to the simpler, plainer rooms, which were less prestigious than the first-class rooms or the “official” rooms.

It was in such a side room that he had lodged more than ten years ago. It was a pity he could not stay in the same one.

“...”

The Daoist couldn’t help but shake his head with a faint smile at the thought.

Who would have imagined that the soup noodle he once casually praised would become a local legend, so much so that even the newly appointed prefect of Pingzhou was said to detour here just to taste it. Not only that, the room he once stayed in had become the

“Immortal’s Room,”

and now, even if he wished to revisit the past more completely, he couldn’t even get it for himself.

It was all rather curious.

He set down his brocade pouch and satchel, let the little cat leap out, and told her he was going downstairs to fetch the soup noodle, cautioning her not to run about the room. Then he headed back down.

The wooden stairs—perhaps repaired, perhaps not—still creaked underfoot.

Faint voices drifted up from below.

“All of Southern Art County knows of that immortal. Back then, Master Li of this very town turned from evil to good only because the Immortal both urged and chastised him. That is how he became today’s Philanthropist Li. Later I heard that this immortal worked many wonders in other places as well. He’s a remarkable being indeed. Why, even the new prefect of Pingzhou, upon taking office, makes a point to detour here. That is no lie.”

It was the innkeeper speaking to that table of guests.

“As for the immortal’s appearance? Ah, that I can’t recall clearly. I was still young then. The inn was run by my father and mother at the time. But I often heard my father say the immortal was a Daoist priest, who looked young, extraordinary in bearing, and traveled with a calico cat and a jujube-red horse. The calico cat was clever, the horse even more unusual. It needed no reins, surely it too was spirited. In many other places, there are also tales of this same immortal, always with a calico cat and a red horse. Sometimes the stories change the colors of the cat or horse, but most likely, those were their transformations.”

The innkeeper told it earnestly and fluently; no doubt he had recited the tale countless times.

But for the diners, it was their first hearing. They listened with rapt attention, eyes full of yearning, occasionally asking curious questions until the Daoist descended the stairs.

“Sir, don’t be in a hurry. Just a moment more. My wife is cooking your soup noodle, it must be pulled fresh.” The innkeeper turned, smiling warmly at the Daoist. “If you find it chilly out here, you’re welcome to wait in your room. Once it’s ready, I’ll bring it up to you myself.”

“No need.” The Daoist smiled back.

The innkeeper’s friendliness was clearly a legacy of his father’s.