Chapter Thirteen: A Summons from the Mountain?

“Who’s calling me?” Chen Jin replied.

He spoke in the local dialect, for this was also Xialu County, and Chen Jin was familiar with the Xialu dialect. He felt no awkwardness speaking it.

“Master, it’s me, it’s me.” A middle-aged man with a receding hairline and missing teeth squeezed in front of Chen Jin.

His attire was that of the indigenous people of Xialu, which Chen Jin recognized from the memorial hall. After the founding of the nation, the Grand Progenitor decreed that all peoples were to be called Han; anyone standing on the land of China was Han. Even those from islands in the Province of Yingzhou, conquered after the founding, were stripped of their distinct identity and declared Han. The official language became Han speech and script. There were initial protests, but the Grand Progenitor dispatched troops to quash dissent.

Memorial halls still existed, and it was through one that Chen Jin had learned about these ancient costumes.

Looking at the man before him, Chen Jin quickly recalled Wang Gou Dan’s memories, which contained information about this person.

His surname was Lan, given name Gaoda, from a family at the foot of Gaoping Mountain. He had aged elders above, children below, and seven brothers in the middle—making his household one of the largest in the area. More hands meant more labor, more labor meant more fields could be cultivated, and so they were considered a big family.

A month ago, Wang Gou Dan had performed a ritual for him and earned a little spending money; otherwise, Chen Jin would have inherited a corpse crawling with maggots.

“Is there something you need?” Chen Jin asked with a practiced air.

This posture was Wang Gou Dan’s usual manner, one of the tricks Wang Erhu had taught him for making a living.

Chen Jin doubted such airs would earn much; without real skill, one could not survive. But Chen Jin had brought true abilities with him—his meditative state, his strengthened body—so he was no longer the clumsy Wang Gou Dan. If Wang Erhu could see him now, he would surely deem him a rare genius in the Dao.

Yet Chen Jin had not come to this world to pursue Wang Erhu’s Dao. He sought the resources of cultivation—items like Vital Energy Orbs—and, ideally, would acquire true Daoist arts.

Now, he realized the main character might be Ge Hong. The Black Book had hinted at it, and the era gave further clues; moreover, he knew Gaoping Mountain would one day be renamed Ge Hong Mountain.

As Chen Jin pondered Ge Hong, the Black Book stirred.

The page, once inscribed with “With the vastness of heaven and earth, all things seem small; with the smallness of all things, heaven and earth seem vast,” now changed, its content transformed.

Ge Hong Destroys the Plague Demon (In Progress)

Mission: Assist Ge Hong in refining pills to destroy the Plague Demon (No penalty, rewards vary)

Page 1 of 3

Obtained: None

“Assist Ge Hong in refining pills to destroy the Plague Demon? Such a fortunate task?” Chen Jin’s interest was piqued as he read the page.

Ge Hong refining pills on Ge Hong Mountain was a matter of legend; history recorded no such event, only a brief mention in Xialu County’s chronicles. The legend said Ge Hong, hearing of abundant cinnabar and herbs on Gaoping Mountain, brought his disciples to refine pills and heal the locals, but there was no mention of any plague demon.

Yet, since the Black Book issued the task, there was no doubt. With someone like Ge Hong, a legendary cultivator, it was bound to be a sure victory.

“Master? Master…” Lan Gaoda’s voice sounded again in Chen Jin’s ear.

“Hm? What is it now?” Chen Jin returned to himself and asked.

“Master, this concerns my ancestors. Last month, didn’t my forebear visit me in a dream? You interpreted it and held a ritual to honor them. But last night, they came again, calling my name. I was so frightened I rushed up the mountain to find you. Please, Master, hold another ritual for my family.” Lan Gaoda explained the situation to Chen Jin.

Chen Jin found it odd. Normally, Lan Gaoda should suspect Wang Gou Dan of a false ritual and demand compensation, perhaps even curse him. Why was he instead pleading for another ritual?

If the villagers were truly so gullible, Wang Gou Dan would not have been destitute.

There was surely something amiss, and Chen Jin resolved to be cautious.

“What did they say to you? Tell me everything,” Chen Jin said carefully, refraining from boldly proclaiming he would lead the way to banish evil.

Lan Gaoda’s face showed no unusual emotion, only lingering anxiety, but he recounted his dream to Chen Jin.

The dream was simple: his ancestors said it was cold underground, cold underground, and asked Lan Gaoda to come down and warm them.

Lan Gaoda must have been terrified by the request to “come down and warm them,” prompting him to hurry up the mountain.

“Where is your ancestral tomb?” Chen Jin asked.

In ancient times, there were no public cemeteries, but families had their own burial grounds, making rituals easier.

“Over there,” Lan Gaoda pointed to the other side of Gaoping Mountain.

“Over there?!” Chen Jin frowned at the direction.

Page 2 of 3

“Is something wrong?” Lan Gaoda asked nervously, seeing Chen Jin’s expression.

“The tomb faces away from the sun, which is cold; a stream passes by, which is damp. This is a chilly abode. Look at the shape of the mountain—it resembles a sharp sword, hanging over your ancestral tomb. Your ancestors are not only cold, but their chests ache. Did your forebear clutch his chest last night?” Chen Jin paused, then spoke.

“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. My ancestor did clutch his chest. You’re truly skilled, truly remarkable,” Lan Gaoda exclaimed, quick to praise after brief thought.

Chen Jin’s words were part truth, part fabrication; he knew nothing of geomancy but improvised based on the landscape. How Lan Gaoda recalled his ancestor clutching his chest was a question only he could answer.

“Is there any way to resolve this?” Lan Gaoda asked anxiously.

“…This is a difficult case. Take me to your home so I can have a look,” Chen Jin said after pondering, putting on a troubled air.

“Certainly, certainly…” Lan Gaoda replied eagerly.

And so Chen Jin followed Lan Gaoda down Gaoping Mountain.

He carried nothing with him, descending alone. His small temple contained only earth and thatch, and a portrait of the Three Pure Ones—nothing else. He was, by necessity, alone.

Crossing terraced fields on the mountain’s slopes, Chen Jin accompanied Lan Gaoda to his home.

It was a spacious courtyard, befitting a household of many.

But upon arrival, Chen Jin sensed something amiss.

There were mourning banners inside and outside the house—someone had died.

And Lan Gaoda, whom Chen Jin had been following, was nowhere to be seen.

…

Page 3 of 3