Chapter 481: Side Story 32: Rebirth of a Daoist Descending the Mountain — The Si River Stops Rising

Side Story 32: Rebirth of a Daoist Descending the Mountain — The Si River Stops Rising

1

On an autumn day, Dongjingcheng was bustling with people coming and going, the market clamor loud and prosperous.

But inside Jingfu Palace, a killing silence reigned. Everyone moved softly and cautiously, afraid to disturb anything. This was because the aging Zhao Song Emperor had caught a chill; over the past few days, his condition had grown increasingly severe, to the point where he lay bedridden, spending most of each day in a daze.

When the Emperor was lucid, he summoned a group of veteran ministers into the hall. Seeing the grief and fear on their faces, Zhao Jiu coughed dryly twice and forced a smile, saying, "My beloved ministers, life and death are fated. Do not grieve. I know my own body well enough—I fear I will not recover…"

The Emperor, in fits and starts, gave many more instructions, making arrangements for matters after his death. The ministers nodded repeatedly, all shedding tears.

After a long while, the Emperor spoke again: "I am somewhat weary… Zhengfu…"

Yang Yizhong stepped forward and bowed his head: "Your old servant is here…"

The Emperor said: "Zhengfu, stay… The rest of you, withdraw."

Having said this, the Emperor closed his eyes and seemed to drift back into a daze.

After an unknown time, the Emperor coughed lightly several times.

"Zhengfu, keep me company and talk…"

Yang Yizhong could not hold back his tears. Seeing a faint flush of color gradually appear on the Emperor's face, he was even more stricken with grief. Yang Yizhong nodded to the chief eunuch nearby, who waved his hand lightly and led the palace maids and eunuchs out as well.

The Emperor stared at the flickering candle flame not far away, silent for a long time.

"I had a dream yesterday…"

The Emperor's voice floated up in the candlelight of the dark night, barely audible.

Through his tear-filled eyes, Yang Yizhong heard the Emperor continue: "Yesterday I dreamed I went to a place—another world…"

Yang Yizhong listened silently as the Emperor rambled on, describing a world different from this one.

In that world, man-made iron birds flew in the sky…

In that world, vehicles with four wheels ran on the ground, not pulled by horses, but drinking something called gasoline and running tirelessly on their own…

In that world, most men did not wear beards…

In that world, women wore less clothing than men in summer…

Yang Yizhong hesitated, then finally could not help asking: "May I ask Your Majesty, does that world have hot air balloons?"

The Emperor coughed several times, his gaze distant. "Naturally, it does…"

That night, the Emperor woke and slept, slept and woke.

The Emperor said at last: "Awake from a dream, unaware I am a guest… I… I… I wish I could return to that dream and see that world again…"

Yang Yizhong had long since been unable to speak through his sobs.

Three days later, the Zhao Song Emperor, Zhao Jiu of Cangzhou, closed his eyes forever and never opened them again.

Several months later, inside Mingdao Temple in Weizhen County, Bozhou, Huainan East Circuit of the Great Song.

Yang Yizhong, in blue robes with a wooden hairpin, stood by the Nine-Dragon Well. He had ignored the pleas of his elderly mother and all his children and grandchildren, resolving to cultivate at Mingdao Temple. His family tried in vain to dissuade him and finally sent him to Mingdao Temple in Huainan East Circuit.

From then on, there was one more old Daoist at Mingdao Temple.

Strangely, Yang Yizhong always paced unsteadily around the Nine-Dragon Well, muttering to himself, no one knew what.

Spring passed into summer, and another autumn arrived. Yang Yizhong, dressed as a Daoist, was staring blankly at the Nine-Dragon Well when suddenly the old man rubbed his eyes and thought he saw a dog lying inside the well. But his old eyes were dim, and he could not see clearly. He grabbed the railing and leaned down for a closer look…

Unexpectedly, his foot slipped, and he tumbled headfirst into the well…

After an unknown time, Yang Yizhong felt aches all over his body and realized he was still lying in the well.

He rubbed his eyes, turned over, and sat up. The Nine-Dragon Well, though called a well, was not actually deep. Yang Yizhong moved his limbs, then used both hands and feet to climb out.

Inside Mingdao Temple, tree shadows swayed and birds chirped, but not a single person was in sight.

An iron bird roared past overhead, above Yang Yizhong.

2

The autumn wind rustled, the sun warm and slanting. In the afternoon, inside a certain classical garden in Bozhou, Huaixi, light and shadow interwove, the air crisp and pleasant.

Yet such beautiful scenery, being a weekday afternoon, was appreciated by few. In fact, this scenic garden, themed around Daoist culture, had only a single backpacker who had bought a ticket to enter. He sat on a bench, a book covering his face, tilting his head back and dozing.

"Rustle… thud!"

Suddenly, as the autumn wind gusted sharply, a thin book titled *The Gains and Losses of Chinese Dynastic Politics* slid from the young male tourist's face onto the ground, and the wind swept it several steps away. The man woke at once, instinctively checking his backpack on the bench. After confirming nothing was missing, he looked for his book.

But just then, an elderly Daoist dragging a large broom appeared from nowhere. He bent down to pick up the book from the ground, then, still dragging the broom, sat down on the bench and casually flipped through it… The autumn wind blew in gusts; blue robes, wooden hairpin, hoary face and white hair—the young man, just awakened, was startled.

However, when the young man looked more closely and caught sight of the XL tag on the back of the Daoist's collar below his hair bun, he relaxed, then secretly laughed at himself for being overly suspicious.

It turned out this place was Woyang, Bozhou, reputed to be the hometown of Laozi. The garden was built leaning against the Laozi Temple, so encountering a Daoist was nothing unusual.

"It's rare these days to see a young person seriously reading a book." After roughly flipping through a few pages—perhaps because he couldn't see clearly or simply couldn't understand—the old Daoist quickly handed the book back over the backpack, speaking with a thick Huaixi accent. "Actually, governance has always been the same throughout history. Grasp the general idea, and the specifics are useless. You've chosen the right book."

"Thanks… um… Reverend." The young man took the book back casually but stumbled over the form of address. "Just showing off on the train. I don't really read it."

"Quite modest." The old Daoist, encouraged by the reply, grew more talkative. "Where are you from, young man? How old? What brings you to our Laozi Temple?"

"Local, twenty-one." The young man spoke casually, his Mandarin gradually taking on a bit of a local Huaixi accent. "Just graduated from university and started working. Came home to take care of some business. Leaving by train tonight. I knew it was quiet here, so I came to kill time."

"Twenty-one is good!" The old Daoist sighed with feeling. "Young! You know, our Woyang is Laozi's hometown. The Laozi Temple has a long history. But unfortunately, few locals come, and even fewer young people. It's rare to find you…"

Before he finished, the young man couldn't help laughing: "Reverend, I'm a local. You can fool outsiders with that line, but why fool me? Everyone knows Laozi's real hometown is Luyi next door. Ours is fake, right?"

The old Daoist became even more embarrassed, his face turning red, but he just waved his hand repeatedly and said nothing.

The young man, probably bored, didn't let him off and pressed on: "What do you mean, Reverend? Ours is real and Luyi's is fake? Their Laozi Temple has layers from the Han to the Tang to the Song, endless cultural relics, and iron pillars at the gate a thousand years old…"

"I'm not saying Luyi is fake." The old Daoist replied awkwardly, hugging his broom. "But our Woyang might not be fake either… The two places are so close. In ancient times, Luyi always belonged to Bozhou, and Woyang is a county newly built less than a hundred years ago. Why be so particular?"

The young man suddenly laughed in understanding: "That makes sense. Both are on the Guohe River. Maybe when Laozi was alive, they were one family."

"Exactly!" The old Daoist finally relaxed. "Truth and falsehood in history are meaningless. When we say Laozi's hometown, we mean the birthplace of Li Er. Luyi can be the site of successive generations of sacrifices. Both are real. Why call the other fake?"

The young man nodded perfunctorily, but inwardly he was dismissive… Frankly, who the hell cared where Laozi was born? The dispute over Laozi's hometown was clearly about tourism resources and local cultural confidence. The old Daoist might have some twisted logic, but the two local governments certainly wouldn't agree! And the Luyi government, with its wealth of genuine cultural relics, definitely wouldn't!

Besides, this Daoist wasn't a real Daoist at all—probably just a cosplaying janitor, and a lazy one at that. Otherwise? A Daoist, mouthing "Laozi" and "Li Er" without a shred of respect? Then carrying a broom in a windy garden, putting on airs—who was he fooling?

But as if sensing the young man's dismissiveness, the old Daoist started chattering again: "Young man, don't be skeptical… Our Woyang does have genuine cultural relics. The Nine-Dragon Well in Meteor Garden has been verified by experts as a Spring and Autumn period artifact, the only one of its kind. If you don't believe me, go take a look."

The young man shook his head repeatedly, then simply stood up, picked up his backpack, and made to leave... As a local, what didn't he know? The so-called Nine Dragon Well—there was one over in Luyi too—but to be honest, forget about this one in Guoyang, even the one in Luyi, who the hell knew if it had anything to do with the Dao Ancestor?

"Young man, wait a moment!" The old Daoist grew even more anxious at this, and simply stood up, leaning on his broom, and told the truth. "A dog fell into that Nine Dragon Well over there. Its leg is injured, and I can't reach it with my broom. The well is wide enough, and only about as deep as a man is tall, but at my age, if I go down, I won't be able to get back up. I'll have to trouble you, young man, to lend a hand."

The young man was momentarily speechless: "Master, why didn't you say so earlier!"

"I was afraid you wouldn't agree," the old Daoist said, also feeling embarrassed, but he directly hugged his broom and led the way. "Young people these days aren't easy to talk to. And to be honest, I didn't want to bother with this dog, but its family knows me well and often invites me for meals. Now that its family isn't around, I can't very well just leave the dog at the bottom of the well and turn a blind eye..."

Amidst the rambling words, the two of them, one behind the other, headed towards that Spring and Autumn historical site, the so-called Nine Dragon Well in Meteor Garden. When they arrived, there indeed was a well-preserved ancient well, with a pavilion built over it, bearing a plaque reading "Number One Pavilion Under Heaven"... But the old Daoist led the young man towards a secondary well off to the side.

Calling it a secondary well was just to make up the number for the legend of the Nine Dragon Well at the time of Laozi's birth—eight newly built wells, not historical sites at all, but simply made of concrete, with concrete bottoms, about two meters square and less than two meters deep... They were more like wide-mouthed concrete pits than wells.

The young man followed the old Daoist to one of these wells, leaned over to look, and sure enough, there was a small Pekingese dog lying motionless at the bottom, about the depth of a man. It only occasionally kicked its legs to show it was still alive, and around the dog lay a pile of coins and copper cash—offerings for blessings.

Seeing this, the young man just frowned slightly and was about to put down his backpack and jump down. However, as he gripped the edge of the well with both hands, for some reason, he felt an unwillingness in his heart to help with this small task, as if going down this well would mean death.

Seeing the young man so uncooperative, the old Daoist sighed, then suddenly glared angrily:

"You won't save it, and you won't leave—are you trying to fool the whole world?!"

"How does a mere dog get tied to the whole world?" The young man frowned instantly.

"Regardless, since you agreed to my words, you must at least be trustworthy, right?" The old Daoist, leaning on his broom, shouted with effort. "A young man who hesitates and lacks integrity—how will he ever step into society?!"

The young man was about to say that he had already found a job and was a member of society, but the old Daoist suddenly raised his large broom, gave a hard shove, and easily pushed the other into the well.

3

After the young man fell into the well, the old Daoist quickly gripped the edge with both hands and peered inside. But there was no trace of the young man inside the well, nor the dog—only the young man's backpack lay quietly at the bottom.

The old Daoist stared blankly at that backpack, and tears suddenly welled up in his eyes. He pressed his head to the ground, kowtowing repeatedly towards the Nine Dragon Well: "Forgive this crime, Your Majesty. This old minister deserves to be beheaded. Great Song can do without this old minister, but it cannot do without Your Majesty..."

A few days later, the old Daoist, carrying the young man's backpack on his back, stood once again before the Nine Dragon Well and bowed deeply: "Your Majesty, I entrust Great Song to Your Majesty... As for Your Majesty's parents, this old minister will go and serve them..."

Having said this, the old Daoist kowtowed a few more times towards the Nine Dragon Well, then stood up and walked down the mountain.