Divine Nectar No. 57

Inside the Qian Kun Hall of Guangyang Palace atop Four Mile Mountain, the sorcerer Yang Mou lounged in satisfaction, one arm wrapped around a blushing maiden, the other holding a goblet of fine wine, eagerly awaiting news from Zhang Qian.

Suddenly, a messenger arrived with troubling tidings: Zhang Qian had been carried back by his subordinates, his face smeared with blood, clearly wounded.

“Hmph…” Yang Mou assumed Luan Yi had led his men to beat Zhang Qian for causing trouble. Enraged, he leapt to his feet, shoving the beauty aside and bellowed, “Luan Yi dares lay hands on my men? This is outrageous! Gather all the brothers in the temple, I’ll smash his temple to pieces!”

“Master, please calm yourself,” the messenger urged, adding, “There seems to be more to the story. The men who brought Zhang Qian back said there was something unusual about the beating.”

“Something unusual?” Yang Mou paused. “Then summon them here. I have questions.”

“Understood!”

Soon, several of Zhang Qian’s followers knelt in the main hall and, under Yang Mou’s interrogation, recounted in detail the events they had witnessed in the main sanctuary of the Holy Mother Church.

“What did you say? He conjured fire from his hands?” Yang Mou asked in astonishment.

The follower embellished, “Exactly so, master. I saw it clearly. Everyone saw it—he can truly spew fire from his palms, the flames leapt out a full foot long. If you doubt, Zhang Qian’s chest still bears burn marks. You may examine him.”

“Oh…” Yang Mou slumped into his grand chair, defeated. “Never expected it… Never expected Luan Yi to possess such tricks.”

One follower hesitated, then asked, “Master, or rather, sir—do you think Mister Ziqi might really be a celestial being? Otherwise, how could he breathe fire? If he’s truly divine, perhaps we should not oppose him.”

“Nonsense!” Yang Mou shouted, furious. As the leader of his sect, he’d played his share of mystic tricks, but he couldn’t fathom how Luan Yi made fire ignite from nowhere. “He knows nothing of the arts of immortals. At best, it’s sorcery and illusion.”

Though he spoke confidently, Yang Mou’s heart was troubled. The Luan family had wealth, and now their showmanship surpassed his own. If this continued, his domain would surely be lost to them. Without income, how would he survive?

With urgency, he commanded his follower, “Quick, invite Lord Sun Ru.” He reconsidered, then changed his mind: “Forget it! I’ll pay him a visit myself.” With that, he strode rapidly toward the county office in the city.

Within Licheng County, tales of the divine spectacle and grandeur of the Holy Mother Church’s inaugural ceremony spread like wildfire, growing ever more fantastic in the retelling, elevating both the Holy Mother Nuwa and Luan Yi to unparalleled heights.

As the county assistant, Sun Ru had heard much, and when Yang Mou’s name was announced at his door, he immediately guessed the purpose of the visit. Without delay, he took Yang Mou, collected three large chests of copper coins, and hurried to the residence of Lord Zhu Ying.

Upon entering, Yang Mou wasted no time, kneeling and knocking his head on the floor, begging Zhu Ying’s forgiveness for his neglect.

Seeing Yang Mou’s head bloodied from his earnest bows, Zhu Ying’s heart softened. After all, Yang Mou had served him faithfully for twenty years; it would be excessive to drive him to ruin. He declared all past offenses forgiven.

Sun Ru seized the moment to interject, “My lord! Forgiveness alone may not suffice. Now, Luan Yi’s ‘Holy Mother Church’ is causing a sensation throughout Jinan, and if things persist, Brother Yang will lose his business. He has elders above and children below—how will he survive?”

“What else can be done? A gentleman’s word is binding. I’ve already approved the temple's construction; I can hardly order it closed now!” For some reason, Zhu Ying found Sun Ru’s repeated “My lord!” increasingly irksome, responding with little patience.

“My lord!”

“Ugh…” Zhu Ying rubbed his temples instinctively as Sun Ru continued, “The Holy Mother Church must be banned. Luan Yi’s sect isn’t about profit—he gives away books and feasts for free, and they say he’ll offer free medical care to the poor. My lord, what is he after? I can say with certainty, his ambitions are not small; he will become our great adversary.”

Zhu Ying snorted, “Luan Yi is clever. He knows well that all Jinan’s armies are under my command; without troops, how could he oppose me? He won’t act foolishly.”

“My lord…”

“Enough! I’m weary.” Zhu Ying rubbed his temples again. “As for the Holy Maiden Church… The sanctuary is built, let him be. I’ll tell Luan Yi that his sect may preach only within Licheng County; the remaining sixteen counties remain under Yang Mou’s management, and the Holy Maiden Church must not intrude.”

Yang Mou, hearing this, was overjoyed, bowing repeatedly: “Thank you, my lord! I shall never forget your boundless grace.” He thought to himself, sixteen counties was no small income—his wealth and status were preserved.

“My lord…”

“Withdraw!” Zhu Ying would not let Sun Ru finish, and calmly departed for his quarters.

As Zhu Ying left, Yang Mou noticed Sun Ru’s anxiety and inquired, “The matter is settled, why are you so disheartened, Assistant Sun?”

“Brother Yang, you are mistaken! The matter is far from resolved.” Sun Ru looked at Yang Mou and sighed, “Brother Yang, you’re in serious trouble!”

“What do you mean? Didn’t Lord Zhu limit the Holy Mother Church to Licheng County?”

“Yang Mou, how can you be so naïve? The people may be confined to the city, but their words cannot be stopped by walls. Lord Zhu decreed Luan Yi may only preach in Licheng, but religion is intangible—no one can prevent it from spreading to other counties, or people from other counties coming here to embrace it. The boundaries our lord has set cannot hold the Holy Mother Church. With its current momentum, you’ll soon lose half your territory. Tell me, isn’t that disaster looming?”

“Ugh…” Yang Mou panicked, rushing toward the inner chamber. “I’ll go plead with the lord again.”

“Forget it!” Sun Ru quickly pulled him back. “Our lord is stubborn; his decisions rarely change. If you persist, you’ll only earn a scolding—hardly worth it!”

“What should I do then?”

“We must make careful plans.”

Inside his chamber, Zhu Ying lay tossing and turning, increasingly uneasy. “Luan Yi claimed he built the temple for profit, yet at today’s ceremony he didn’t earn a single coin—instead he gave money away lavishly… What is his aim? Is he buying favor, planning to oppose me someday? Hiss…” Yet, upon reflection, all the military power in Jinan was in his hands; what could Luan Yi use to challenge him? Mere commoners and landlords? Ridiculous. The commoners have little power, and landlords, treasuring talent and their own lives, would never risk themselves to oppose him. So what is Luan Yi truly after?

Growing ever more uneasy, Zhu Ying sat up abruptly and ordered his servants to summon Luan Yi from the Holy Mother Church.

Two hours later, as Luan Yi appeared at Zhu Ying’s door, night had fallen. As always, Luan Yi did not arrive empty-handed. He carried a large jar in each hand, respectfully handing them to the servants, bowing, “Nephew Luan Yi greets Uncle Zhu.”

Hearing himself addressed as “uncle,” Zhu Ying felt an inexplicable comfort, and his doubts eased considerably. He relaxed, shedding his official bearing and adopting a friendlier tone, “Ziqi, you needn’t have brought gifts.”

Luan Yi smiled, replying, “It’s only proper for a junior to bring offerings when visiting an elder. Besides, it’s nothing valuable—just two jars of wine.”

“If it’s wine from Ziqi, it must be extraordinary. Bring it here, let me see.”

The servants presented the jars. Zhu Ying rolled up his sleeves and broke the seal. A rich aroma wafted immediately through the room; the wine was crystal clear, devoid of the usual turbidity found in fine spirits. Unable to resist, Zhu Ying dipped a finger and tasted it—pure and mellow, with a lingering finish.

Cradling the jar, he praised, “Excellent wine! Nephew, what is this wine? I’ve never tasted its like.”

Luan Yi smiled inwardly—how could a man of the Han dynasty have tasted distilled spirits from the future?

“Uncle, this is a new wine recently crafted at my factory using a new method. My craftsmen, building on traditional techniques, introduced purification and removal of impurities, resulting in a pure, mellow, and potent liquor with a cool clarity. The wine was finished yesterday; today I brought it for you to taste, and tomorrow it will be sold at Qifeng Pavilion.”

Zhu Ying nodded, “Ah! Wonderful. This wine will surely delight all who taste it. You have opened a new avenue for profit.”

“I wouldn’t dare call it profit—just a bit of pocket money.”

“By the way, does the wine have a name?”

“That is precisely why I am here.” Luan Yi bowed, ingratiating himself, “The wine is new and yet unnamed. I humbly request Uncle Zhu to bestow a name upon it.”

“Oh?” Zhu Ying was delighted. To leave a legacy is the ultimate pursuit for a man of his station—wealth and power he already had; what remained was a name to pass down the ages. Luan Yi had offered him such an opportunity: to name a peerless wine. Whenever people spoke of this wine, they would first think of Zhu Ying. Such everlasting fame—how could he not be pleased? “Nephew, what are you saying? There are no outsiders between us. Naming it is no trouble. Hmm… Let’s call it ‘Immortal’s Brew’!”

“Thank you, Uncle Zhu, for the name!”