Chapter Forty-Four: Sowing

The world’s bustling throng exists solely for profit. The masses scramble ceaselessly, driven by gain. If a single man claims he speaks not of profit, perhaps he is truly a gentleman. But if a great many declare the same, then surely they are but a multitude of hypocrites. In the hands of the scholar-officials of the Ming dynasty, it became nothing more than a hollow facade. Outwardly they appeared solemn and upright, yet within, there was not a trace of patriotic intent—only private interests.

Liao Chen now worries deeply for the Ming, all in the hope that China shall never again suffer a downfall like that following the Battle of Yashan.

He does not realize how his tireless efforts to enrich Wang Yangming’s “School of Mind” philosophy will turn out. At least, the later claims about benefits to the state, the people, and individuals have finally shattered the longstanding banner Wang Shouren upheld: “A gentleman does not speak of profit.” Lost in a fog of confusion, Wang Yangming himself scarcely knew how he departed this world, his mind clouded and bewildered. In a hazy moment, he seemed to hear Immortal Liao Chen beseeching him to establish an academy, to enlighten the distant tribes so that their hearts turn toward this teaching, and thus secure an unparalleled merit for the Ming. Dazed, Wang Yangming could not say whether he agreed or not; but the very next day, Immortal Liao Chen brought him over twenty Miao youths to assist in their initial instruction.

The manifestation of spirit, the unveiling of enlightenment—this was a sacred duty for scholars. Yet in these times, genuine scholars were scarce, and the common folk were largely illiterate, let alone the Miao people in remote lands. But to enter the Way, one must read the Taoist canon; this was the bare minimum. So, half out of necessity and half out of compulsion, Liao Chen entrusted these twenty-plus prospective disciples to Wang Yangming. He even earnestly invited nearby Miao villagers to help build a bamboo hall as a makeshift school. Remarkably, in the eyes of the Miao, Liao Chen was almost a living deity, a stark contrast to how Wang Shouren was regarded. Word spread through the neighboring villages, and soon a crowd arrived, bringing their own tools and provisions to aid in constructing the academy.

Liao Chen hoped that beyond literacy, these disciples would learn some Confucian classics, making it easier for them to travel and spread the teaching later without being suppressed by the scholar-officials. Moreover, what he intended to teach these young people was not immortal cultivation or magic but his own compiled Daoist scriptures, medicine and divination, geomancy, exorcisms, talismanic martial arts, breathing techniques, and Daoist rituals. None of this concerned personal cultivation; rather, it was essential for carrying the Way far and wide, traversing forests, swamps, and dangerous lands. They were the first seeds he planted, the foundation for the future flourishing of Daoism. That was why he chose these relatively simple Miao youths: their identity would make it easier to preach among the borderlands without being rejected, and they were hardy. Unlike the Han, who practiced faith with an eye on profit, only sincere and virtuous missionaries could win the trust and conversions of the people.

Liao Chen also recruited a few destitute mountain folk, clothed them in Daoist robes, taught them some basic rituals and taboos, then set them to menial tasks, leaving temple affairs behind. His days passed in discourse with Wang Shouren or teaching disciples; at times, he plunged deep into the mountains, vanishing for days into the mist. The responsibility for instructing the disciples’ lessons fell to Yun Lingzi, a senior sister whose name struck fear into the hearts of many youths. Thus, at night, the temple echoed with lamentations.

Possessing the internal elixir of a silver carp spirit, Liao Chen began searching widely for herbs suitable for alchemical refinement. The vast, sparsely inhabited mountains of Yunnan and Guizhou were perfect places to seek rare spiritual herbs. He also took the opportunity to visit various mountain villages, spreading the Way and cultivating believers.

By his status, Liao Chen did not meddle in village affairs, usually only helping with medical consultations. If needed, he taught basic knowledge. When a village encountered problems beyond the local shamans’ powers, Liao Chen would assist. This caused some disgruntlement among Miao shamans, though some sought his guidance on religious knowledge or sacrificial rites. Not wishing to provoke conflict with these deeply rooted shamans, he kept a cautious distance, waiting for the right moment—when the Miao would willingly embrace the faith.

Meanwhile, as Liao Chen awaited this opportunity, his chief disciple Yun Hua traveled the land. A young girl accompanied by a white-furred fox “pet” journeyed the jianghu, naturally attracting the attention of rogues and bandits who thought her an easy mark. Yet every would-be thief or lecherous scoundrel became a stepping stone for Yun Hua’s growing renown. After a series of lessons, the name “Fairy Yun Hua” gained modest fame across the jianghu. At least among the wandering knights, scoundrels, and forest bandits along her path, it was known that the young girl with the fox was not to be provoked. The authorities, unusually, turned a deaf ear, focusing instead on cracking down on local ruffians who showed her undue respect—fearing the consequences of offending this young lady. Few commoners had even heard of the Protector Saint of Qingcheng Mountain, and fewer had met his disciples. But in official circles, secrets do not stay hidden. Soon, the identity of this wandering girl spread through the bureaucracy. The learned men, self-styled paragons of virtue, would not deign to entertain a mere girl, but they preferred to keep her at arm’s length, lest future reports to the Empress Dowager or Emperor reveal rampant disorder under their watch. After an initial period of encountering villains, the rest of Yun Hua’s journey passed uneventfully, much to her frustration. Unaware of the reasons behind her newfound safety, she sought out more remote paths in hopes of finding new challengers. It must be said, long days on the road had honed her courage.

In a ruined mountain temple, the night had grown deep. Yun Hua and her fox companion Yun Huzi, clearly having missed any lodging, were forced to spend yet another night alone in this wild, deserted place. Confident in her Daoist powers yet with no chance to wield them, Yun Hua was not much afraid of demons or ghosts—after all, wasn’t her junior sister a ghost herself?

A roaring campfire blazed. Yun Hua seldom ate without appetite, but with the fox to care for, meals were necessary. The fox, needing three meals a day, was either truly hungry or simply greedy. Remarkably, although Yun Huzi had entered the Way earlier than Yun Hua, the fox refused to eat raw meat—a curious quirk for a fox. Just as the meat began to sizzle over the flames, a sudden fierce wind burst forth outside, flinging open the dilapidated temple door. The blazing fire flickered violently under the gust. Yun Hua sprang to her feet. Yun Huzi, who had been drooling over the meat, immediately tensed, white fur bristling as it stared anxiously beyond the door.

This wind was unnatural—biting cold and capricious, rising and falling abruptly. Neither Yun Hua nor Yun Huzi doubted it was no mere natural breeze.