Chapter 129: The Ruins of the Imperial Palace Are Overgrown with Weeds

“Haojing?”

Upon hearing it, the Red Night Demon showed no curiosity, only furrowing her brow: “You still have dealings with those earth rats?”

“Hahaha…”

Seeing her worried expression, Madam Feng warmed slightly, covering her mouth as she laughed: “Red Sister, don’t worry—I’m no naive fool. Once bitten, twice shy. I won’t go near them again.”

She added with deep implication:

“This news concerns you.”

The Red Night Demon dismissed it with a wave of her hand: “I don’t get involved in Jianghu disputes. My path of cultivation has lost its drive. I just take odd jobs to raise my child—no matter how fine the treasure, what’s it to me?”

Madam Feng spoke calmly: “They say it’s the tomb of an ancient Zhou fangshi. First discovered by the Xunyou lineage, but when they entered, everyone died—only one escaped.”

“Many on the Dao path heard the news and sneaked there under cover of night. Some used explosives—and they actually opened the tomb, looting all the burial artifacts inside. Fights broke out over the spoils.”

“Many of these items have already reached Chang’an. The rest are manageable, but word has it someone got hold of the Zi-Wu Demon-Slaying Sword…”

“What?”

The Red Night Demon shot to her feet, face stunned, then slowly sat back down, muttering as if recalling something: “Master…”

…………

The Chang’an City God Temple is the Imperial City God Temple of Great Xuan.

An Imperial City God Temple oversees all city gods across a region of Shenzhou—it’s the highest rank, and directly sponsored by the imperial court.

The original Chang’an City God Temple was completely burned down during the wars between the previous dynasty, Daxing, and the Golden Tent Wolf Kingdom.

At the founding of Great Xuan, the founding emperor Xiao Chengyou ordered the reconstruction and repair of all city god temples, and established the Taixuan Zhengjiao as the state religion.

Thus, this Chang’an City God Temple had only been built for a hundred years.

Its location is the former Guangde Fang—the site of the Tang-era Jingzhao Prefecture—and it is vast, enshrining the first recorded City God of Shenzhou.

Like the Xianyang City God Temple, the Chang’an City God Temple is divided into two sections.

The front temple hall is open day and night; all visitors may enter to worship, and every year on the eighth day of the second lunar month, a grand temple fair is held.

But the rear palace is strictly off-limits.

Inside dwell not only the large contingent of She Ling troops of the Taixuan Zhengjiao, but also the Xuan Jisi, the Enforcement Hall, and other institutions governing the Daoist sects.

Now, worshippers stream in and out of the front hall without pause.

Even the side gate leading to the rear palace has a long line.

These people are strange in appearance: some are blind old women in black robes, others are elderly men with white hair carrying willow zithers, even monks draped in saffron robes.

They stand quietly in the snowstorm, whispering now and then.

Naturally, all are members of the Daoist sects.

Though Great Xuan favors the Daoist path, it does not reject Buddhism; Buddhist practitioners are included within the Zhengjiao, and they are issued Buddhist Certificates.

As for rogue sorcerers and shamans, all are issued Dao Certificates.

Li Yan and Wang Daoxuan were also in the line.

Since they were unsure of the Chang’an Imperial City God Temple’s situation, and seeing so many others waiting, they dared not stand out—afraid of making Luo Mingzi’s life harder—so they patiently queued.

Daoist sect members might possess any number of supernatural arts.

Perhaps fearing exposure, all remained silent; even when they spoke, it was in hushed tones, never mentioning anything important.

At that moment, a gray-robed Daoist with a long sword on his back emerged from within, his face grim.

“Brother Wu, what’s wrong?”

Someone couldn’t help asking.

“Hmph!”

The gray-robed Daoist snorted in displeasure: “I understand the court wants to regulate the Daoist sects, but why must they inspect our cultivation levels and rank us into first, second, and third classes?”

He raised the document in his hand: “See? Zhengjiao is black, Fa Mai is red, rogue sects are all white—like funeral paper!”

Those around exchanged glances, then an elder shook his head and advised: “Brother, calm down. Daoist sects naturally have high and low ranks. We only want to avoid trouble—we get no silver from the court anyway. Why care?”

“That’s true, sigh~”

The gray-robed Daoist wanted to argue, but seeing everyone’s reluctance to stir trouble, he suddenly felt drained. He shook his head: “Forget it. I cultivate for freedom, yet even within the Daoist sects, I can’t escape being controlled.”

“What nonsense about the Dao of nature, wandering freely through the world… rubbish!”

As he spoke, he shook his head and walked away, vanishing into the snowstorm…

Li Yan’s expression remained calm—he had expected this.

The court’s new policies would inevitably stir discontent.

But Great Xuan’s power was at its peak, its laws strict; no amount of grumbling could stop what it intended to do.

Unconsciously, his turn finally came.

The Xuan Jisi hadn’t gone too far—each person entered alone, so their origins remained hidden from others; hence the long queue.

The registration office was in a side courtyard.

In the snowstorm, the main door of the courtyard hall stood open; an old Daoist paged through the register, while a green-robed scribe copied entries.

The cold made them both breathe on their hands and rub them frequently.

Seeing Li Yan enter, the old Daoist smiled warmly: “Brother Daoist, please sit. No need for formalities—you’re here to register?”

Li Yan bowed slightly: “I’m here to collect my Dao Certificate. Elder Luo Mingzi said it’s ready.”

“Oh?”

The old Daoist seemed to recall something, glancing up at Li Yan: “Young master, your name is Li Yan, from Lantian, originally from Xianyang?”

Li Yan nodded: “Correct.”

The old Daoist wasted no time, rising to retrieve a black Dao Certificate from the shelf: “Already prepared. Please verify.”

“Black Dao Certificate?”

Li Yan took it, surprised.

The old Daoist smiled: “Your status is special. The Zhengjiao is merely a court-granted title—compared to yours, it’s far inferior.”

Though unspoken, Li Yan instantly understood.

He meant his identity as a Living Yin Officer.

Li Yan opened the certificate. Aside from his name and origin, nothing was written about his lineage or cultivation level.

He wondered: “What makes this black certificate different?”

The old Daoist stroked his beard and smiled: “The Zhengjiao is court-appointed, with duties to uphold the state—its certificates naturally come with many privileges.”

“First, your information won’t be easily leaked. Second, in urgent matters, you may approach local yamen authorities for discretionary action.”

“I see.”

Li Yan instantly understood—and was very pleased.

He now roughly understood the classification of certificates.

Black is supreme—considered one of their own.

Red is secondary; the court watches less closely, since Fa Mai sects have roots and temples—if they break the law, the monks may flee, but the temple stays.

White is the primary focus of local Xuan Jisi.

Having gained this advantage, Li Yan’s mood improved. He rose and bowed: “Thank you, Elder. I wish to visit Elder Luo. Could you please inform him?”

The old Daoist shook his head: “Luo Mingzi has left Chang’an on urgent business. He won’t return for some time.”

Just as my wound healed, I get a mission? Li Yan wasn’t disappointed. He nodded: “I’ll leave a letter. If Elder Luo returns, please pass it on.”

…………

Though Luo Mingzi was absent, obtaining the Dao Certificate meant one major task was complete.

Li Yan was in good spirits. After leaving, he and Wang Daoxuan wandered the streets.

“That’s the Tang-era Western Market.”

Wang Daoxuan knew Chang’an fairly well, pointing to the distant crumbling earthen wall: “In Tang times, the Western Market was famed across the land—hundreds of trades, tens of thousands of shops. Merchants from the Western Regions to the Southern Seas gathered here—it was incredibly prosperous…”

“Oh?”

Li Yan’s interest sparked: “Let’s go see it.”

He had long heard of the “Western Market of Chang’an” in his past life; he never expected it to still exist in this world—he had to see it for himself.

But Wang Daoxuan shook his head: “The Western Market is gone.”

“In Tang times, every Fang was closed off, private trade forbidden, and night curfews enforced—so all commerce was concentrated in the Western Market.”

!.

“Now, Great Xuan has abolished curfews and encourages commerce. Every Fang is filled with shops. Besides, the Western Market was ravaged by war—it’s no longer a market.”

“Then what is it now?”

“A polo field. When Chang’an was being rebuilt, the Western Market was slated for demolition, but the Governor of Shanzhou petitioned to turn it into a polo field instead.”

“Great Xuan people adore polo. Every trade has its own team, competing regularly. During temple fairs or the Lantern Festival, it’s packed…”

In the end, Li Yan still went to take a look.

But the result disappointed him—perhaps because the Winter Solstice had just passed, the yellow grass was buried under snow, and few people were around.

Yet a few passing foreigners caught his attention.

“Western Region merchants.”

Wang Daoxuan whispered: “Across the way, in Liquan Fang, is a Zoroastrian foreign temple. In Yining Fang, there’s a Nestorian temple.”

“Though the Tang dynasty fell, its fame abroad remains. Many Western merchants still choose Chang’an as their first stop. Along with their descendants, they now live entirely in these two Fangs.”

As he spoke, he suddenly chuckled: “Even among foreigners, there are Daoist sect members. I’ve heard wealthy Chang’an merchants follow this path—not only donating incense money, but calling on them when trouble arises.”

“I wonder if these foreign methods can catch our local ghosts…”

Li Yan pictured the scene and chuckled silently.

The two wandered aimlessly, unaware they had once again arrived at the former sites of the Taiji Palace and Great Ming Palace.

Alas, the once-magnificent palaces now stood as crumbling walls and broken foundations, overgrown with wild grass, where common folk farmed and herd boys grazed sheep.

Gazing out, all was desolate.

Wang Daoxuan shook his head and said, “The old palaces were long destroyed in war, but the city walls’ foundations were too hard to clear, and Chang’an had no shortage of land, so this place was left abandoned, visited only occasionally by literati nostalgic for the past.”

He lowered his voice: “But I’ve heard this is where Chang’an’s Ghost Market lies—where martial artists fence stolen goods and Daoist sect members trade heavenly treasures and earthly gems.”

“The location is hidden and shifts frequently; without a guide, you’d never find your way in.”

Li Yan’s heart stirred: “Master, are you building your three-story tower in need of heavenly treasures and earthly gems?”

Wang Daoxuan nodded: “Yes. Once settled, I’ll see if I can find a Treasure-Hider to assist. If not, I’ll have to seek them at the Black Market. The City God Temple has some too, but the True Orthodox Daoist Sect charges exorbitantly.”

Li Yan smiled: “You could contact Zhao the Donkey—he’s a Treasure-Hider himself and knows the ins and outs.”

“That kid said he saved enough money to marry a wife—wonder if he’s found one yet…”

…………

Chang’an was vast; before Li Yan and Wang Daoxuan had visited many places, night had fallen by the time they returned to the inn.

Amid the night’s snowfall and wind, lanterns blazed brilliantly, making Chang’an gleam even more dazzling.

“Oh my, you’re finally back!”

Sha Lifei waited in the inn’s main hall; upon seeing them, he burst into complaints: “What’s so great about those lousy places? I wanted to take you for a good meal, but by now there won’t be a single seat left.”

“Where?” Wang Daoxuan asked quickly.

“Huā’è Tower in Pingkang Alley!”

Sha Lifei’s eyes sparkled with longing: “They say it’s the culinary holy land of Chang’an, gathering masters from north and south. Old Sha has craved it for years, but my purse was too thin.”

“Now that I’ve got money, I’m finally going to fulfill this wish!”

“Oh, Huā’è Tower…”

Wang Daoxuan clearly knew the place and nodded: “No problem. We’ll find a chance to go early another day.”

That was just how the trio was.

Li Yan and Wang Daoxuan were focused on seeking the Dao and cultivation; Sha Lifei, though greedy for wealth, was the type who burned through money the moment he had it.

The moment he heard of something delicious or entertaining, he’d charge straight ahead.

Li Yan naturally had no objections; he glanced upstairs and asked curiously, “Where’s Hong Jie? Still drinking with Boss Feng?”

“She left in the afternoon.”

Sha Lifei replied: “Said she had some business to attend to, told us to rest early, and that she’d take Li Yan tomorrow to meet his master.”

“Did you find a house yet?”

“Don’t even mention it. Do the people of Chang’an not know money is precious? They’re asking three thousand taels for a few shabby courtyards—I’d be a fool to buy.”

“If worse comes to worst, we’ll just rent long-term—preferably somewhere quiet.”

“Hmm, let’s wait a bit. I’ve asked my contacts at the realty agency to keep an eye out. If nothing turns up, we’ll go long-term…”

The three chatted as they returned to the courtyard, casually asking the innboy to bring some oil-poured noodles and drinks.

After dinner, Sha Lifei returned to his room and snored loudly, while Wang Daoxuan and Li Yan each went to their own rooms.

One studied ritual texts; the other practiced hand seals and incantations, then at midnight, they cultivated their spirit.

They knew: to establish themselves among Chang’an’s Daoist sects, they needed real skills—nothing less would do…

…………

The next day, the light snow finally ceased.

The three rose early, but waited until the sun was high before Hong Yecha hurried over, her face weathered, her body still cold with winter’s chill.

“Hong Jie, what happened?”

Noticing Hong Yecha’s exhaustion, Li Yan asked at once.

“Nothing,” Hong Yecha shook her head slightly. “Just gathering intelligence. Let’s go—I’ve already checked on the way; Master Li is on duty today.”

Seeing she didn’t wish to elaborate, the three didn’t press further.

Yong’an Alley was not far from Lanling Alley; after leaving the inn, less than the time it took for one stick of incense to burn passed before they reached Zhuque Street.

Zhuque Street, also called Tian Street—“The heavenly street’s light rain moistens like cream”—refers to this very road. In Tang times, it was over a hundred meters wide; now that the neighborhood walls are gone, it appears even broader.

The street bustled with traffic: camel and horse caravans delivering goods, sedan chairs of the wealthy—yet despite the bustle, movement flowed smoothly, never congested.

Along the street, all manner of martial itinerants had set up stalls.

Fortune-tellers of the Golden Gate, medicine sellers of the Skin Gate, performers and illusionists of the Colorful Gate, vendors of strength pills from the Stinking Hang… Truly, the Three Teachings and Nine Streams converged here.

With other business to attend to, they paid no attention to the details, crossed Zhuque Street, and arrived at Lanling Alley on the other side.

Lanling Alley faced Zhuque Street directly—prime real estate—and as far as the eye could see, it was lined with teahouses and restaurants.

“There,” Hong Yecha pointed ahead.

Li Yan looked and saw a clinic named Renxin Tang, packed tightly with a crowd…

(End of Chapter)