Chapter Sixty-Six: The Path of Righteousness

A crowd had gathered because all roads leading in and out of Guiyang had been sealed off by government troops. It seemed the authorities had finally responded, beginning to restrict the movement of the populace. Yet the plague had raged in the city for quite some time, and countless residents had already fled. What use was it to lock down the roads now? Liaocheng smirked dismissively. Officials were always like this, whether in the past or the future. After seeing it so often, one simply grew accustomed to it.

At this moment, however, the crowd’s quarrel was not about the soldiers blocking the roads, but rather about the government forcibly purchasing medicinal herbs at low prices. Whenever herbs like Bupleurum, Changshan, or mica—known treatments for malaria—were discovered, they were seized without exception. This greatly angered the traveling herb vendors, who soon began to bicker vehemently at the checkpoint. Among those who traversed these ten-thousand-li mountain ranges to trade medicine, few could be easily bullied. Most carried weapons, and many were sent by the local mountain chieftains, effectively beyond the reach of royal law. The arguments escalated, swords drawn and tension mounting, threatening to erupt into violence at any moment.

Liaocheng shook his head, preparing to leave. The government’s purchase of herbs could be seen as a public convenience. As for the merchants, they were merely desperate souls gambling on a windfall amid the plague. Moreover, many of these traders were from the Miao and Li minorities; the soldiers would not dare to overstep. Finding the official roads impassable, Liaocheng slipped into the forest, concealing his figure as he passed by. He then pressed straight toward the city, growing increasingly alarmed with each step.

The streets were filled with carts carrying coffins and ox carts hauling countless unattended corpses to the city’s mass graves on the outskirts. The sound of weeping never ceased. Upon reaching the city gates, he found that not even a guard remained.

Inside the city, every door was shut tight; aside from the vehicles transporting the dead, there was not a single pedestrian to be seen. The city resembled a ghost town.

There were no patrols by court soldiers, no doctors offering free clinics, no sign of governmental aid. Only a few pharmacies and coffin shops thrived, their entrances crowded with those seeking medicine or coffins. The rest of the pharmacies and clinics were either firmly shuttered or deserted—an odd sight indeed.

Liaocheng stopped a man clearly engaged in carting corpses outside for burial and asked, “The plague ravages the city—why has the government done nothing to care for the people?”

The corpse carrier regarded Liaocheng carefully, surprised. “Taoist, you’ve just come into the city, haven’t you? Didn’t they say no one was allowed to pass in or out?”

Liaocheng smiled lightly. “I bear a monk’s pass and have some knowledge of medicine, so I was able to enter.”

The carrier shook his head incredulously. “Don’t fool me! If you didn’t know medicine, you might have gotten in. But if you do, there’s no way they would have let you pass.”

Liaocheng was puzzled. “How so? Those who know medicine can’t get in, but those who don’t can?”

The man chuckled bitterly. “You’re an outsider, so you wouldn’t know. When the plague first broke out, the officials were terrified as families died one after another. Half the city fled, leaving only those with no connections to the court—who feared punishment—to remain. Then someone came up with a cruel plan: a checkpoint was set just outside the city to bar all outside herb vendors. All herbs were forcibly purchased by the government, who resold them. The pharmacies still open belong to officials’ families; the rest have long run out of stock. Prices for herbs have soared to the heavens. The people can only sell off their belongings cheaply or wait to die. This world is cruel to the common folk. How is it that none of these officials seem to perish alongside them?” He sighed deeply.

Realizing he may have said too much, the man glanced nervously at Liaocheng. Smiling, Liaocheng said, “I heard nothing. No need to worry.” He then produced a silver coin, handing it to the blunt man as thanks or perhaps to calm his nerves.

The carrier gratefully took his leave. Liaocheng stood alone in the empty street, his face darkening. He had never expected much from officials’ integrity, but to find such ruthless depravity in them was beyond belief—their moral baseness was simply unforgivable.

With no inns left open due to the plague, Liaocheng chose a random alley and knocked on the door of a modest but decent home.

“Boundless blessings from the Heavenly Venerable; may you enjoy kindness, fortune, and health,” he greeted with a respectful bow.

“Oh! Greetings, Taoist. What brings you here?” The door was opened by the head of the household—a man in his twenties, wearing a scholar’s cap and attire, his face haggard and eyes moist as if recently weeping.

“I am Liaocheng, a wandering monk. The plague rages within the city, and no inns remain open. I humbly request to stay the night. Might you grant me shelter?” Liaocheng asked.

“If you are not afraid of the sick within, it is no problem,” the man nodded.

“I know some medicine and may be able to help. May I ask your name and who is ill?” Liaocheng inquired.

The man’s face brightened. “I am Mo Mo—just Mo, an unfamiliar name. The one ill is my wife. I regret that she married a useless scholar like me and has suffered great misfortune. She has enjoyed no blessing, yet now lies stricken with a grave illness, and no cure exists anywhere in the city.” As he spoke, his eyes reddened again, revealing the depth of their love.

Liaocheng followed Mo Mo inside to a guest room, where his wife lay unconscious on the bed. She appeared to be in her thirties, with a refined beauty and scholarly bearing, now reduced to a fragile shadow.

Examining her carefully, Liaocheng asked, “Does your wife have a fever, with cold limbs and chills?”

Mo Mo replied anxiously, “Yes, yes. That’s exactly it. Every household has been struck. Death follows family after family. Doctors say it is a cold-heat illness. We shut ourselves in and hoped to avoid it, but misfortune still found us. Alas, my young wife suffers so. Please, Taoist, save her!”

Mo Mo’s eyes were wet with tears, and he nearly knelt in earnest supplication.

Liaocheng gently helped the desperate man up, then regarded him with a hint of amusement. “Rest assured, I will do my best. Now, please fetch a bowl of clear water for me.”

Mo Mo hurried to the kitchen and quickly returned with a bowl of water, thinking it was for Liaocheng to drink. Tentatively, he offered, “Taoist, we have some tea leaves if you wish to brew some.”

Liaocheng shook his head, setting the water on the table. He took out a talisman, lit it, and dissolved it into the water. Then he instructed, “Have your wife drink this. Her fever should subside shortly.”

“Is that all? No medicine? No pulse diagnosis?” Mo Mo, a true scholar, was skeptical. If a bowl of talisman water could cure, what need would there be for doctors?

“If you doubt, I can immediately pour it out,” Liaocheng threatened lightly.

“Wait, wait, Taoist. It’s my fault. I was wrong,” Mo Mo said quickly, his concern for his wife outweighing all else. He took the bowl, helped his wife sit up, and made her drink it all, looking at Liaocheng with hopeful eyes.

Liaocheng sighed. “You stay with your wife. I need to see more of the city. She should awaken soon as the fever breaks. You can prepare some congee for her. Don’t wait for me; I’ll return soon.”

With that, Liaocheng left the room. Looking up at the clear sky, he murmured softly, “Do no evil; good and evil will be repaid in kind. Do not be greedy; greed leads only to poverty.” He gently closed the gate behind him and headed straight toward the provincial governor’s office.