Chapter Twenty-Six: Mists Upon Mists (Part Two)

That little Daoist child was around ten years of age, blessed with handsome eyebrows and clear eyes. Although his hair was covered in dust and one of his boots had a hole in it, he still gave off an adorably naive impression. In particular, the sight of him trying hard to press his hands against his stomach to quiet the rumbling of his hunger, completely to no avail, made one feel both amused and deeply sympathetic.

"What is your name? Get on the cart, Uncle will take you to get something to eat!" Zhang Qian was an ordinary mortal, so naturally, he could not bear to see such a fine, pretty child starved to this degree. He smiled and extended a hand, inviting the little Daoist.

However, the little Daoist felt that he had brought shame upon his master. He raised a hand to wipe away his tears and shook his head vigorously. "We ate this morning, but we were running too fast just now and the wind got into my belly. I'm not going. I want to stay with my Master. Master said, we Mohist disciples would rather stand facing the wind and freeze to death than bow our heads and starve!"

Hearing this, Zhang Qian found the child all the more sensible and pitiful. He turned his head to glare at Luo Huaizu, who was by now blushing with embarrassment and at a loss for where to hide, and commanded in a low voice, "Get on the cart as well, and don't starve the child! We'll talk about everything else later!"

"Get on the cart?" Luo Huaizu had not expected that all his elaborate words of persuasion, both soft and hard, had been less effective than a few gurgling noises from his apprentice's stomach. For a moment, he could hardly believe his ears. However, upon seeing that Zhang Qian had already jumped down from the cart and was gently holding the little Daoist's hand, he quickly shook his head, cupped his fists, and bowed. "Many thanks, Senior Brother Zhang. Back in the day, the Qi-Mohists and Qin-Mohists were considered branches of the same family..."

"Get on the cart and stop chattering. Matters of the older generation can be discussed another time." Zhang Qian glared fiercely at the man and gave a stern, impatient instruction.

"Ah, yes, yes! Senior Brother, please go first, please go first." Luo Huaizu had long since been so hungry that his chest was stuck to his back. While offering polite retorts, he eagerly scrambled onto the carriage. Then he hauled the little Daoist up after him as if afraid that if he were any slower, Zhang Qian might go back on his word.

Zhang Qian felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Once he vaulted onto the carriage himself, he immediately instructed Zhang Gui to drive the horses straight to his own estate. Along the way, casual conversation was inevitable to soothe the little Daoist's emotions and, incidentally, to ask Luo Huaizu why he and his disciple had ended up in such a wretched state.

After some probing, Luo Huaizu had already discovered that Zhang Qian did not take the Mohist Juzi Token seriously at all. Therefore, he no longer dared to put on airs. Hesitating slightly, he began to pour out his grievances in a low voice. "Senior Brother, you have no idea. In this day and age, it is the world of Confucian scholars, and the Mohists can barely move an inch. That the Emperor promoted you to Registrar of the Directorate for Palace Buildings is an unprecedented stroke of good fortune for the Mohists in decades. Word spread rapidly throughout the pugilistic world, and everyone knows of it. At the time, your junior brother was idling about in Qingzhou, so I thought of bringing my young disciple to the capital to catch a glimpse of Senior Brother's magnificent demeanor. Who could have imagined that expenses on the road would be so exorbitant, and the rules of the Qi-Mohist sect forbid using martial arts to bully others..."

As it turned out, this fellow had heard in the Qingzhou region that a Qin-Mohist disciple had become an official, so he wanted to use his possession of the Juzi Token to try his luck in the capital as well. Unexpectedly, he underestimated the travel expenses and had spent all his travel funds by the time he reached Luoyang. Consequently, he had been forced to rely on serving as a caravan guard along the way or telling fortunes just to keep half-fed.

Having finally arrived in the capital without finding any convenient connections, he imitated the Confucian scholars and went about submitting literary scrolls everywhere. The outcome was entirely predictable. Not a single person appreciated his scholarship and viewpoints; instead, he met with one cold shoulder after another, and due to a "slight" verbal misunderstanding, he was almost beaten half to death by the vicious servants of some high-ranking official.

Driven to despair, early this morning the man had no choice but to bring his apprentice to the Zhang Family Estate to seek refuge with his senior Qin-Mohist brother, Zhang Qian. To his surprise, the stewards and housekeepers of the Zhang residence refused to let him through the gates. No matter how much evidence of his identity he produced or how many polite words he spoke, the other party firmly believed he was a swindler and ordered him to leave the Zhang family's land immediately with his apprentice. Otherwise, they threatened to hand him over to the authorities and beat him to death without mercy.

"Senior Brother, your estate is truly vast! I originally thought it was just a courtyard, but who would have expected that all the fields and land for several miles around are registered under your name!" Speaking of the attitude of the Zhang estate's steward toward him, Luo Huaizu's grievance immediately flared up again, making his eyes burn with anger as he stiffened his neck and muttered complaints under his breath.

"The territory is not small, but not much of it can be put to good use yet. Once we drain the stagnant water this year, we should be able to plant a few mu of sorghum next year." Feigning misunderstanding of Luo Huaizu's subtext, Zhang Qian smiled and steered the conversation elsewhere.

Judging by the ridiculous manner in which this fellow had whipped out a weighing pole upon their very first meeting and demanded he kowtow, Zhang Qian could well imagine how much restraint Steward Ren Quan had exercised to keep from ordering the estate guards to swarm forward and beat him to the ground. Even if he himself had been present at the time, he would never have allowed such a person inside to stir up trouble within the estate.

However, since he was now back, and the little Daoist was endearing and naive, allowing the master and disciple to come inside for a meal was acceptable. As for whether they could stay the night after eating, that would depend entirely on Luo Huaizu's subsequent behavior.

If this fellow stopped putting on the airs of a senior uncle, stopped brandishing his "weighing pole" to make a fuss, and perhaps even accepted a sum of travel money, Zhang Qian felt it was not entirely out of the question to consider. After all, Zhang Qian still bore the moniker of a Qin-Mohist disciple and could not simply ignore other Mohist followers who came looking for help.

As for Luo Huaizu's identity as a descendant of the Qi-Mohists, Zhang Qian now believed it was at least seventy percent genuine. The reasons were simple: first, the man could fight to a draw with Wang Maozhong while suffering from hunger, meaning his martial arts training was undoubtedly systematic. Second, rather than resorting to theft or robbery despite starving, he indeed acted in accordance with the legendary conduct of Mohist disciples.

As for the remaining thirty percent possibility of a fraud, Zhang Qian could not be bothered to quibble over it. In any case, he had zero interest in the Juzi Token or the Qi-Mohists, nor did he care to be the grand senior brother of all Mohists across the realm. Practically everything concerning the Mohists in the present world had nothing to do with him.

Having made up his mind not to become overly entangled with the Mohists, the relationship between the two parties became much simpler. They could be treated entirely like distant relatives coming to freeload off a wealthy relative, or urban white-collar workers who had made a small fortune and wished to avoid being called "forgetful of their roots" by their hometown folks.

Their interactions would be courteous and the standards of hospitality would give ample face to the "distant relatives," yet the chasm between them was clearly drawn, and neither side would casually step a single inch across it.

Struggling to recall scenarios from twenty-first-century online television dramas, Zhang Qian calmly led Luo Huaizu and his disciple into his courtyard. First, he arranged for servants to take them to wash up and change. Immediately afterward, he ordered a lavish feast prepared so that the master and disciple could eat and drink their fill. Finally, holding a cup of tea, he chatted with them for a while about the local customs, folklore, and legends of various places across the Great Tang—polite enough, yet devoid of excessive warmth—before instructing the house servants to escort the two of them to designated guest rooms for rest.

Although not particularly difficult, running through an entire set of procedures like this consumed a fair amount of time and energy. When Zhang Qian finally breathed a sigh of relief and dragged his weary body back to his bedchamber, night had completely fallen. As for how to satisfy the demands of the Divine Dragon Emperor Li Xian and how to cope with the impending inspection, not a single clue had formed in his mind.

"How truly exhausting. Had I known it would be like this, I might as well have stayed a green-skinned parrot!" Dropping his weight heavily onto a chair, Zhang Qian muttered to himself in a low voice and habitually reached out to feel for tea. However, where his fingers landed, they grasped nothing! Not only was there no hot tea already prepared, but even the cup and teapot had not been prepared in advance!

"Hmm?" Zhang Qian, already accustomed to the pampered treatment of a young master provided by Zijuan, paused and instinctively knitted his brows. Just as he was about to call someone in to pour him tea, the sound of tiny, crisp coin-counting drifted into his ears: "Clink, clink, clink-clink-clink, clink-clink-clink..." Against the backdrop of the night and the candlelight, it sounded exceptionally clear.

This sound had virtually ceased to exist ever since Zhang Qian became the "Eighth-Rank Green Parrot." Hearing it abruptly today gave him a sudden, surreal sense of time flowing backward.

Frowning as he stood up, he attempted to locate the source of the sound, only to discover that Zijuan—whose goal and pleasure usually revolved around sneaking onto his bed—was currently crouching behind a massive coin chest in the outer room, shivering like a frightened sparrow.

"Clink, clink, clink-clink-clink, clink-clink-clink..." Utterly unaware that Zhang Qian had returned, and completely oblivious to his gaze, Zijuan had a pale little face as she continued stacking her previously earned tips and her recently begun wages, coin by coin, onto the floor before her. Every time she stacked ten Kaiyuan Tongbao coins, she would start a new pile, as focused as a twenty-first-century archaeologist.

"Zijuan, what is the matter with you?" Clearly noticing that both Zijuan's body and arms were trembling, a wave of protective impulse welled up in Zhang Qian's heart. He walked over to her and asked softly in a gentle tone, "Did you run into trouble? If you need money, you can draw it directly from the accounts. Whenever you save enough in the future, you can settle it all together...!"

"Young Master!" Zijuan started as if frightened, springing abruptly to her feet. Her normally lovely, large eyes were bloodshot at this moment. "I don't need money, Young Master, I don't need money. I... I was only, only terrified..."

The moment the word "terrified" left her lips, her tense body instantly went limp again. She sank helplessly to her knees and wrapped her arms around Zhang Qian's calves. "Young Master, that man surnamed Luo is no good! Drive him away, you must drive him away. I... I will give you all my money. Young Master, I will never try to seduce you again, I swear to heaven!"

As she spoke, she abruptly loosened her grip. Using her knees to support herself, she scrambled backward a few paces and raised her right hand high above her head. "Young Master, chase him away. He is a devil; no one who associates with him ever meets a good end. Zijuan is not lying to you. Zijuan can swear to heaven, if a single word of this is a lie, may I be struck by lightning!"

"What on earth is all this about?" Zhang Qian had shared a few cups of wine with Luo Huaizu that afternoon, and his reactions were slightly sluggish. He reached out to grab Zijuan's raised hand, frowning as he asked, "Stop making a fuss and get up! Did you know him before? He claims to be the leader of the Qi-Mohists, from Qingzhou..."

"Young Master, he is a demon, not a Mohist! My entire family died because of him. Young Master, Zijuan is not lying to you. You must not believe him, do not believe him! Everyone who believed him in the past has met a terrible end! Sob, sob—" Struggling and refusing to rise, Zijuan knelt on the floor and burst into bitter tears.