Chapter 41: The Sage of Ge Bamboo

Liao Chen realized that being "unaffected by the mundane world" did not refer solely to immortals; it also applied to fools who were out of touch with common affairs.

Because Liao Chen had never truly grasped the severity of the copper shortage during the Ming dynasty or the vast quantity he required, it was only when he visited Xuanguang Temple to inquire about copper procurement that he understood how difficult it was to acquire enough copper—even with the court’s permission, it was nearly impossible. He returned to his secluded abode with several thousand pounds of copper, but after refining, only a few dozen pounds remained—insufficient even for a single pillar.

Resigned, Liao Chen abandoned the plan to purchase more copper. It wasn’t a matter of money; twenty pounds simply could not meet his needs. Preparing to set out again, he decided to journey south of the colorful clouds to see if he might find sufficient copper there. If not, his only option would be to travel overseas. Reports suggested that copper mines were abundant in the Eastern Sea lands, and the Monkey Kingdom seemed to possess a fair share as well. With effort, he might be able to gather what he needed. But before that, Liao Chen was eager to visit a certain extraordinary individual, whose time to achieve enlightenment was drawing near.

As Liao Chen prepared to depart, Yun Lingzi insisted on accompanying him. Liao Chen politely declined, but Yun Lingzi persisted. After several rounds of refusal and insistence, Liao Chen reluctantly entrusted the guardianship of his abode to a fox and a monkey. Whether the dwelling would still exist upon his and Yun Hua’s return was uncertain.

Because Yun Lingzi could not be exposed to sunlight, she could only hide within a puppet during the daytime. Unable to resist her threats and temptations, Liao Chen agreed to travel by night so that Yun Lingzi could enjoy the passing scenery. Though he wondered what could be seen in the pitch-black darkness, Yun Lingzi was unconcerned. Having heard Yun Hua describe the days spent roaming mountains and rivers with their master, she was deeply envious. Even the fox had followed their master to many places. How could she remain without such experiences alongside her master?

Liao Chen flew with Yun Lingzi from Sichuan into Guizhou, stopping on a desolate mountain about ten miles from Longchang Post Station. Seeing the wilderness and emptiness, he seized the night to command his servants to carve stone, fell trees, and level the ridge. By midnight, a small temple appeared on the once barren hill. Looking at the temple, which bore a faint resemblance to one from his memory, Liao Chen sighed deeply. He carefully took a small, worn plaque from his cosmic pouch and hung it over the temple’s main gate.

“Master, don’t we already have a Xuanguang Temple? Why is there another one here?” Yun Lingzi asked, eyeing the inscription.

“That is the current Xuanguang Temple; this one is the old Xuanguang Temple,” Liao Chen replied without waiting to see if she understood, then strode inside.

“Master, what are we doing here?” Yun Lingzi followed him in, curious.

“To meet a sage—a sage who bends bamboo,” Liao Chen answered enigmatically, leaving Yun Lingzi puzzled and disgruntled. She snorted and retreated to her puppet, deciding to ignore her strange master for the day.

Unaware that someone was thinking of him, the bamboo-bending sage remained engrossed in his solitude. With few travelers passing through Longchang Post Station, Wang Shouren spent the past year either repairing his house—only to have it torn down by locals—or sitting idly outside the station, lost in thought.

One morning, as Wang Shouren stood at the station’s entrance, contemplating how much longer he must endure this life, a Taoist approached from the mountain path.

Clad in a green robe and purple crown, with a pale, clean-shaven face and carrying a peachwood sword on his back, the Taoist was dressed in a simple Daoist manner. Yet there was a peculiar aura about him, as if untouched by the mundane world, exuding an ethereal grace. He stepped forward with the morning light and suddenly appeared before Wang Shouren, bowing deeply and greeting, “Blessings from the Boundless Heaven.”

Wang Shouren hastened to return the courtesy. “Greetings, Daoist. Guizhou has never been a Daoist stronghold; it is home mostly to the Miao and other tribes. Few Daoists venture here. May I ask from where you travel and your purpose?”

“I come from Qingcheng Mountain, here to spread the Dao,” Liao Chen answered calmly.

“Qingcheng Mountain? May I ask your Daoist name?” Wang Shouren asked, feeling a vague familiarity.

“I am Liao Chen,” he replied serenely.

“Ah! Before the National Protector himself—I must admit, I failed to recognize a great mountain when I saw one!” Wang Shouren exclaimed in surprise, laughing to cover his astonishment. Known for his easygoing nature, he treated everyone as equals—from high officials to low clerks. Though amazed to encounter such a revered Daoist sage in this remote land, he felt no fear, only warmth. He invited Liao Chen inside the post station, brewed a pot of tea, and sought to learn from this Daoist master.

“Immortal, with profound powers, why come here to spread the Dao?” Wang Shouren asked with genuine curiosity.

“There are millions of people here. Why should the Dao not be taught?” Liao Chen smiled. “Our predecessors carved paths through the wilderness to open the mountains and forests. Should the younger generation covet prosperous places, fearing hardships and difficulties? Sitting on lofty clouds, debating mysteries and doctrines on paper—does this constitute spreading the Dao?”

Wang Shouren was momentarily at a loss, sensing an implied meaning in the National Protector’s words.

Liao Chen saw Wang hesitate and smiled. “In this world, matters depend only on advancing or retreating. My teachings apply to the nation and to its common people alike. Like rowing against the current, without progress, there is regression. Without the spirit of perseverance, how can one wield a sharp sword?”

“Your words are most true,” Wang Shouren laughed heartily. “I daily yearn for the bustling towns of my homeland, yet fail to realize that without hardship, I am but harboring complaints. How worldly of me!”

“Heh heh,” Liao Chen said lightly, “Great Lord Wang, a hidden dragon in the deep waters, need not rush. Yet opportunities are rare—have you ever contemplated the unity of knowledge and action?”

“Oh!” Wang Shouren replied eagerly. “Zhu Xi once said, ‘Knowledge comes first, but action is paramount.’ Does the Immortal agree?”

Liao Chen suddenly recalled that this great sage had not yet fully realized the Dao, thus unaware of the later concept of the unity of knowledge and action. He took a sip of tea, then pointed toward a large stone on the distant mountain path. “Do you know the weight of that stone?”

Wang Shouren looked carefully in the indicated direction. “Perhaps no less than a thousand pounds.”

Liao Chen shook his head. “That stone weighs more than two thousand seven hundred and twenty-five pounds. Without personally measuring it, how would you know? First comes action, then knowledge. Knowing is difficult, but doing is even harder. Whether Daoist or Confucian, the greatest fear is neither knowing nor doing—relying solely on conjecture. One must understand that empty talk leads to disaster, like Zhao Kuo. I hope you, Lord Wang, remember: do not ask the old farmer and fail to know the harvest; do not ask the woodcutter and fail to understand the forest’s depth. Do not follow the misguided ways of monks. In this world, matters cannot be decided without evidence. If you wish to know the stone’s weight, use proper instruments to measure it.”

His final words were spoken with a power that reverberated like thunder in Wang Shouren’s ears, shaking him to his core. He was overwhelmed by the clash between his past learning and present understanding, lost in thought.

After a long pause, he came back to himself, realizing the tea had cooled and the Immortal had already departed. Hastily, he grabbed a nearby clerk and asked, “When did the Immortal leave?”

The clerk replied quickly, “My lord, the Immortal left over an hour ago. But before departing, he instructed that your lordship’s contemplation not be disturbed, so I dared not interrupt. The Immortal also said that if you have leisure, you may visit a temple ten miles southwest.”

“Ten miles southwest? Isn’t that a barren mountain? Since when is there a temple there?” Wang Shouren asked, puzzled.