Chapter Seven: Hidden Motives Behind Righteous Causes

Each night, Liaochen would fetch water at midnight. During the day, he sat in meditation, quietly waiting for news from the county magistrate.

But more than half a month slipped by. News finally arrived from the magistrate: matters had not gone well, for some, driven by personal gain, had obstructed progress.

In the office of the Shaanxi Provincial Governor, officials of every rank were gathered. The magistrate of Shanyang was red in the face with anger, while across from him, a seventh-rank civil official smirked with satisfaction. This was Mao Minxin, the Censor of Northern Shaanxi, a so-called upright official of the “clean current” faction. Though low in rank, his power was great, for he held the authority to report directly and impeach wrongdoing. For half a month, these two had been locked in argument within the provincial governor’s hall. The magistrate of Shanyang was so incensed he felt as if his chest would burst and blood would spill from his mouth. He had to admit, he was no match for such sharp-tongued officials.

“Governor, esteemed colleagues, the disaster rages like a fire. The people’s lives hang by a thread. As stewards of the emperor’s will, how can we bear to watch our people suffer such hardship?” The magistrate of Shanyang spoke weakly, hoping for support from others.

“How do we know you have not colluded with these so-called sorcerers, or been deceived by them? As a learned man, you speak of ghosts and spirits, shaming the court and disgracing the scholar-officials! Do you wish all under heaven to mock the officials of Northern Shaanxi?” Mao the Censor struck at the heart of the matter: for all the talk, it was reputation, risk, and personal honor that truly mattered!

“To be mindful of the people’s welfare—would that be a laughingstock?” the magistrate of Shanyang erupted. “Why don’t you go outside the city and see for yourself what has become of the people? The three prefectures and seventeen counties of Northern Shaanxi have become hell on earth!”

“Nonsense! I shall impeach you. As an imperial official you care not for the emperor’s grace, but instead peddle superstitious talk. With a wise and virtuous emperor on the throne, aided by such able ministers, how can there be a hell on earth? Or do you wish to drag all your colleagues into your schemes?” Mao the Censor clearly saw what was at stake: no matter the arguments, nothing trumped one’s own future and reputation.

“You... you...” The magistrate of Shanyang was shaking with fury. As he was about to retort, his face suddenly flushed, blood spurted from his lips, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed unconscious. Chaos erupted in the governor’s hall. The governor ordered men to carry the magistrate out and fetch a physician, and it was half an hour before he returned to the main hall.

“Master Mao, you have gone too far,” the governor said, seeing his subordinate so aggrieved for the people that he spat blood. He could not help but feel some distaste for this so-called upright censor. If it were truly for the court’s greater good, so be it, but everyone knew Mao had used the disaster to buy up vast lands at laughably low prices. Once the crisis passed, he would own thousands of fertile acres. Who among those present was truly clean? None wished to cast the first stone. They pretended ignorance, but now it seemed Mao was not yet satisfied, determined to press on.

As the governor spoke, the hall buzzed with murmurs. Clearly, he had touched a nerve. Perhaps all had bought land during the famine, but such greed, so heedless of the people’s lives, was too much. Many began to feel sympathy for their blood-spitting colleague. Mao, however, showed not a trace of shame. “For the rectitude of heaven and earth, for the peace of the people, how can we, as scholars, allow demons and charlatans to run amok? The sages said: speak not of monsters, violence, or spirits. When disaster strikes, one should cultivate virtue and self-restraint to be in harmony with heaven’s will. If a few priests could work miracles and bring peace to the world, what need would there be for us, the learned officials?”

No one replied. Mao, seeing the silence, was only more pleased.

When news spread that the magistrate had collapsed from rage, Shanyang was in uproar. Mao’s ancestors for eight generations were cursed by the people. Outside the city, the refugees grew restless and agitated. The acting assistant county magistrate was alarmed and rushed to visit Liaochen, hoping the immortal would help calm the populace.

Liaochen, of course, did not refuse. Outside the city, he promised he would set out for the provincial capital at dawn to persuade the governor on the magistrate’s behalf. The people, hearing this, believed that the immortal’s powers would surely bring success, and soon settled down.

That evening, as soon as darkness fell, Liaochen began his task of fetching water. He moved back and forth, filling the pools and several wells outside the city before he could rest easy.

The next morning, without bidding anyone farewell, he quietly mounted his flying sword and set off for the provincial capital.

Leaving at daybreak, he arrived outside Xi’an before breakfast. He found a deserted spot to put away his sword. The drought in Northern Shaanxi had driven many refugees to gather outside Xi’an as well. But as a great city, Xi’an was faring better than Shanyang. Liaochen passed through the refugee camp, produced his travel documents, and entered the city without difficulty. Upon learning the location of the governor’s office, he went straight there.

When Liaochen arrived, the governor was still having breakfast with his family. A servant brought in a visiting card, which bore the signature: “Daoist Adept of Virtue, Xuanguang Temple, Mount Jing, North of Daming Lake.” The governor was so shocked that his bun fell from his hand—he had actually come, and so quickly.

His wife, seeing his astonishment, asked curiously, “Who has arrived to make you so surprised?” At this, the old matron and several concubines turned with their children to look at him.

“It is the Daoist Adept of Virtue, Liaochen, who has been commended by the court,” replied the governor.

“Oh? I’ve heard that this Daoist is a living immortal. My son, you must not be discourteous—invite him in at once! I have long wished to meet him,” the old matron exclaimed, visibly excited. “Yes, yes, I too have heard he can summon wind and rain, turn stones to gold, and that outside Shanyang he conjured a pool that refilled itself overnight no matter how much water was drawn. Such marvels!” Clearly, the family was fascinated by the immortal, and all clamored for the governor to bring him in without delay. The governor had no choice but to obey, especially since his mother had spoken; a son could not go against his elder’s wishes.

In the inner hall, Liaochen and the governor sat side by side. After the servants brought tea, the governor sipped and said, “May I ask what brings the immortal here on your travels?”

“I have come because of the great drought in Northern Shaanxi,” replied Liaochen.

The governor gave no direct answer, instead asking, “I know your intention, but this is a grave matter and cannot be taken lightly. May I ask if you are truly confident?”

Liaochen smiled. “I pledge upon my own heart and head as guarantee.”

At this, the governor grew solemn. After a moment’s thought, he said, “I believe your words, but it will be necessary to convince the officials of the entire province.”

Liaochen understood. “I await your guidance.”

The governor said, “I have heard the immortal is possessed of transcendent powers—able to summon wind and rain, and travel a thousand miles in an instant. I have served in many posts, and often remember the taste of peaches from the tree at my family home. But it is a thousand miles away, and too difficult to bring any here. Right now, the peaches must be ripening at home. Can you obtain one for me?”

Liaochen realized what was being asked. A sweep of his divine sense showed that the governor’s family was waiting in the adjoining room. He knew that unless he showed some true ability, the governor would never believe him. “I can. May I ask where your family home is?” The governor only smiled, clearly making things difficult.

Liaochen paid it no mind. After studying the governor’s features and calculating the celestial patterns, he said, “Please wait a moment.” He did not leave his seat, but closed his eyes and sent his spirit forth. The governor did not disturb him, but sipped his tea and waited quietly.

Within the time it takes to finish half a cup of tea, Liaochen opened his eyes and drew several large peaches from his sleeve. “It seems one of the peach trees at your home is nearly dead,” he remarked.

The governor’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Some days prior, a letter from home had mentioned that one of the three peach trees at the front gate was dying, and nothing could save it. He picked up a peach without even washing it, took a small bite, and was so overcome that tears streamed down his face, forgetting he was not alone. Years away from home—he wept not for the peach, but for the longing in his heart.

“Please excuse me for a moment, Immortal,” he said hurriedly, grabbing the peaches and rushing to the backyard. Liaochen understood. Once the governor had left, he took another peach from his sleeve and began to eat. No wonder the governor was so attached to the peaches from home—they truly were delicious. Meanwhile, the maidservants waiting outside were so astonished that their eyes nearly popped from their heads.