Chapter Twenty: Saving Someone Led to Big Trouble

Chapter 20: Saving a Life and Stirring Up Trouble

No wonder Ren Cong is so unpopular in the entire manor with that sharp tongue of his. As soon as he finished speaking, even Zhang Qian wished he could pin Ren Cong to the ground and give him a thorough beating.

His father, Ren Qiong, was so enraged his sword-like brows shot up. He raised his foot and kicked Ren Cong’s backside. “Shut up! No one will mistake you for a mute if you don’t speak!”

“Father, please calm your anger! I won’t say another word, I swear!” The plump Ren Cong could have easily dodged, but worried his father’s sudden movement would aggravate his wound, he only took a small step forward, stuck out his bottom in preparation for another kick, and pleaded loudly for mercy.

With that, his father found it hard to continue. He tapped Ren Cong’s rear with the tip of his shoe in annoyance and scolded in a low voice, “Get out of my sight! You make me angry just by being here. The Immortal Master is a man of the otherworld, how could he possibly know how to manage crops? From now on, all the common affairs of the manor are your responsibility. If you dare act as recklessly as you do at home, watch your hide!”

“It’s in good hands, I promise! Who else but me—he’s my good brother, after all!” The plump boy, relieved as if granted amnesty, agreed joyfully.

Thanks to this commotion, the transfer of the Weihe riverside estate to Zhang Qian’s name was settled for good. The conversation between the parties became much more relaxed.

“Immortal Master, you possess the miraculous skill of scraping bone to cure poison and elixirs that bring the dead back to life, yet you keep insisting you are no Immortal Master. Why is that?” After a few more words were exchanged, Ren Qiong seized on Zhang Qian’s rejection of the title and inquired sincerely.

“I truly am no Immortal Master, nor have I studied any immortal arts. Whether the Manor Lord calls me virtuous nephew or Young Zhang, it’s all the same to me.” Having just accepted an entire estate from the other party—though he still didn’t know its size or details—Zhang Qian’s goodwill toward Ren Qiong increased. Smiling, he explained openly, “As for these so-called miraculous skills, I merely assisted my fellow disciples a few times while they performed them. The elixirs are likewise made by my sect; I just happened to bring some with me this time.”

“You only assisted your fellow disciples a few times and learned such divine skills? Young Zhang, you are truly remarkable! As for my son, I fear even three years of hand-in-hand instruction wouldn’t suffice!” Ren Qiong was startled, then quickly gave a thumbs up and praised him loudly.

“How did this become about me again? Father, am I really that hopeless?” Ren Cong, suffering this undeserved blow, protested with a wounded look.

“If you were clever, you wouldn’t have spent seven years at the academy and still failed to pass even the Mingjing exam!” Clearly a true father, Ren Qiong was merciless in his critique. “Look at Young Zhang—he learned peerless skills just by watching a few times!” (Note: The Mingjing was an easier civil service exam in the Tang dynasty.)

“It’s not as if I mastered it at a glance—just the basics. The situation was urgent, so I took a risk. Luckily, Imperial Physician Sun was present and took over most of the procedure. I only started things off; the rest was left to him,” Zhang Qian felt awkward from the praise and quickly recounted the operation truthfully.

“The key is that Young Zhang knew what to do,” Ren Qiong insisted, not believing Sun’s medical skills could compare. He shook his head with a smile. “As for Imperial Physician Sun, he’s just adept from experience. It’s like two armies at war; the general’s strategy is key, while those who charge in only earn secondary merit.”

“In the end, we still relied on Imperial Physician Sun!” Zhang Qian couldn’t win the argument and could only smile in agreement.

“Of course! That he lowered himself to treat me deserves a generous thank-you!” Ren Qiong didn’t press the point, instead smiling and sipping his tea. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Your sect can make such miraculous elixirs—they must be renowned. Yet I’ve racked my brains these past days, searching both Buddhist and Daoist sects, and cannot think of a single school this proficient in medicine. Might Young Sir reveal your lineage? So that, should I pass by your sacred mountain with my caravan, I might pay my respects?”

Afraid of causing misunderstanding, he quickly added, “If it’s inconvenient, you need not say. I’m only curious.”

“It’s not inconvenient at all.” Having been pestered by plump Ren Cong for days about his origins, Zhang Qian knew he’d need to come up with something soon to avoid more trouble.

He’d already drafted several stories in his mind. Now, hearing Ren Qiong’s query, he recited the one least likely to arouse suspicion: “It may sound strange and hard to believe. My sect is neither Buddhist nor Daoist, but traces its lineage to the Mohists of the Spring and Autumn period. In the Warring States era, the Mohists split into three branches; my master’s lineage is known as Eastern Mo, not accepted by the state of Qi. Forced by circumstance, the fourth-generation Juzi Yang Sheng went alone to Qin, offering weapon forging and crossbow-making to King Hui; only then did Qin’s armies rise to dominance. After Qin unified the land, its dynasty lasted but two generations. The seventh-generation Juzi, out of gratitude to the First Emperor, refused Chu’s grain, led his disciples into the mountains, and Eastern Mo vanished from the world. Within the sect, only the Qin calendar is used; we no longer care whether the world outside is Han or Jin.”

Without concern for how astonished his listeners might be, Zhang Qian sipped his water and continued according to his plan. “By now, my master is the thirty-second generation of the Eastern Mo line. She is surnamed Liu, a woman of rare talent. She took me in as if I were her own child, but I’m dull and have learned but a fraction of her skill. What’s worse, a few days ago, I was sent out to gather lingzhi mushrooms as medicine. I returned empty-handed at dusk and then could not find my way back to the sect! Since entering, I’d never left the mountains, so I know nothing of the outside world. If not for your son, I’d probably have been taken as a vagrant by the authorities.”

The first part of this tale—about the origins and inheritance of Eastern Mo—was actually based on historical research by Guo Moruo and could not be more authentic. But from the fall of Qin’s second generation onward, he was making it up. After all, the Zhongnan Mountains were vast, and few Tang people had explored every corner. Even if someone tried to verify it, he could always say his master hid their location with arcane arts.

“No wonder, on the day we met, you didn’t even know what year or month it was!” Others might have doubted, but the plump boy believed him outright. Proudly clapping his hands, he exclaimed, “Father said you had a better memory than me, but I’ve never gotten lost in my life!”

“Keep quiet! No one will mistake you for a mute!” Ren Qiong glared at his “foolish” son, nearly fit to burst with anger, then turned back to Zhang Qian. “I heard from Cong’er that you’re from Hejian. Do you have any family there? Are your parents still alive?”

What’s he getting at, trying to find me a match? Zhang Qian felt uneasy at the question. He glanced at Ren Yingying, the fiery young woman kneeling beside the elegant matron, her cheeks flushed, and quickly looked away. “This will sound even harder to believe. I was separated from my parents when very young and taken in by my master. All I remember is that I’m from Hejian; the rest is a blank. Now that I can’t return to the sect, I hope to find a chance to visit Hejian. If I could find my birth parents, I’d be able to serve them in their old age and spare them a lifetime of worry.”

His parents might still be alive, but he had little hope of finding them. Without finding them, matchmaking and parental consent were impossible. As for Ren Yingying, she could marry whomever she liked—he wasn’t interested! He had no intention of playing the lovesick fool for a feisty girl.

Yet all his private thoughts came to nothing. Ren Qiong seemed to have asked only out of politeness, then expressed heartfelt sympathy. “I had no idea your background was so tragic. The Ren family’s caravans often travel to Hejian. If you’d provide portraits of your parents, I’d have my men keep an eye out. Perhaps you’ll get your wish!”

“Thank you, Manor Lord.” Zhang Qian forced a bitter smile, unable to hide a trace of sorrow. “To be honest, I don’t even remember what my parents looked like. If I search, I can only guess what I might have looked like at two or three, then post notices in Hejian asking who lost a child twenty years ago.”

“As long as you have a direction, perhaps Heaven will favor you!” Mistress Ren, her eyes reddened, offered comfort in a gentle voice.

“Next time the caravan departs for Hejian, I’ll give them the task!” Ren Qiong declared with warmth. “As for the portraits, I’ll commission a painter. There are several renowned artists in Chang’an with whom I’m acquainted.”

He paused and then ventured, “Perhaps we could even have your current likeness painted and posted in the depths of Mount Zhongnan. If your master or fellow disciples are searching for you, they might see it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“It’s unlikely—very unlikely!” Zhang Qian could not help but sigh.

He didn’t believe the same wormhole in time and space would open twice in the same place. In the twenty-first century, he had no relatives; once missing, he’d just become another unsolved case for the police, with no one left to care about whether he lived or died.

Thinking this, he felt a wave of loneliness welling up inside. He sighed again and added softly, “At first I thought I simply lost my way. Now I suspect my master found me too dull and used this as an excuse to send me away. Otherwise, my fellow disciples would have come looking for me by now!”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Young Sir. Perhaps your fellow disciples just took a different route. Posting more notices can do no harm!” Ren Qiong, ever generous, comforted him loudly.

“I must trouble you then, Manor Lord.” Zhang Qian, knowing the notices would be useless, still found no reason to refuse and bowed with a smile.

“It’s nothing—a trifling matter, barely worth mentioning!” Ren Qiong smiled and straightened himself, then said in a clear voice, “Young Sir Zhang, forgive me for being long-winded, but there is one more thing I wish to ask—though I’m unsure if I should.”

“Please ask, Manor Lord. I will answer whatever I know!” Fearing Ren Qiong had found holes in his fabricated lineage or background, Zhang Qian nodded readily, planning to patch whatever leaks he might have left.

“Then, with your permission…” Suddenly adopting a serious expression, Ren Qiong asked, “The miraculous elixirs you gifted me the other day—do you have any left? And, would you happen to know the recipe for making them?”

A gust of autumn wind swept through the window, chilling Zhang Qian to the core.