Chapter 95: Under Zhongnan Mountain, the Medicine King Temple

Left Censor Lu Kang!

More precisely, add a “former” before it.

This man is Zhou Pan’s backer.

Li Yan even suggested to Zhang Shi that they kill the old man.

This man is a notorious corrupt official of Guanzhong; black hands like Zhou Pan are far from rare, and he nearly fooled them with his pious facade.

Seeing their strange expressions, Lu Kang assumed they were startled by his status, and shook his head slightly: “No need to be concerned, I’ve resigned my post and returned home—I’m no longer Left Censor.”

“Oh, sorry to disturb you.”

Li Yan and the other two glanced at him, then turned and walked back inside.

Lu Kang was clearly surprised by their reaction.

The middle-aged guard Feng Ping whispered beside him: “Master, these are mere rough Jianghu types, ignorant of etiquette—ignore them.”

Lu Kang looked up at the sky and nodded: “Looks like this rain will end sooner than expected. Let’s set off now—we’ll rest at the Zhongnan Official Relay Station, then take my wife and daughter up the mountain to offer incense.”

“Yes, Master.”

Guard Feng Ping bowed respectfully, then made arrangements; soon the party departed from the abandoned house.

“Pfft!”

After they left, Sha Li Fei finally burst into a mocking laugh: “This old bastard—putting on airs even after falling from power! Disgusting!”

Wang Daoxuan chuckled softly and shook his head: “I studied his face—his forehead is full, his lower face solid, his eyes clear and sharp—clearly a sign of wealth and benevolence. Yet he’s a master of deceit disguised as loyalty.”

“Truly, one cannot judge a man by his appearance…”

They were targeting Zhou Pan, so they’d gathered some intelligence on Lu Kang.

This Left Censor came from a humble background, spent half his life in officialdom, and was infamous for his greed and ruthlessness; in a short time, the Lu family became one of the most prominent clans in Shangluo.

The key is, he’s slippery as an eel—involved in many scandals, yet always escapes cleanly, washing off every trace of dirt. Otherwise, how could the powerful Li family be so troubled?

Had fortune favored him, he’d have become Provincial Administration Commissioner of Shanzhou.

Sha Li Fei’s eyes darted, and he grinned: “This old devil’s been in office for years, amassed a fortune, and angered the new Provincial Administration Commissioner—he’s a fat lamb.”

“Kill him, and we get both money and the reputation of upholding Heaven’s justice. The outlaws will flock to us.”

“Then we’d better keep our distance—don’t want to get splattered with blood!”

Li Yan smiled: “Makes sense. With this Lord Lu drawing attention, we can pass Niubeiliang safely and reach Fengyang sooner.”

“We wait two hours before moving.”

With a plan in place, everyone grew even more relaxed.

By the time the hour of Si arrived, the sky cleared completely, and they set off in their cart.

After descending the slope and turning several bends, the road grew treacherous.

This ancient Qin-Chu road was old; some stone slabs had shattered and mixed with mud, leaving deep potholes after the rain, and the entire stretch was uphill—horses often slipped.

At this point, the bearers proved their skill.

They carried heavy poles with ropes on their shoulders, lining both sides of the cart, coordinating perfectly—pushing, shifting steps, seemingly stepping left and right alternately, yet the heavy coffin remained perfectly level.

Even over the roughest patches, it stayed steady.

“Impressive skill!”

Li Yan couldn’t help but cheer.

Wang Daoxuan smiled: “Of course. There’s a saying: funeral rites have ten, eight bearers and two materials.”

“In this trade, the best are in the capital—they say they train to carry the imperial coffin with seventy-two men, lifting a single massive dragonwood beam with a bowl of water on top, practicing until not a single drop spills, no matter how rough the terrain!”

“That place is called Jixiang Hall.”

The head bearer, Yue Bala, grinned sheepishly: “Their craft is far superior to ours—they even have ranks: Mu, Qi, Huang, Gen, Fu—not just skilled, but many have ties to the Daoist sects.”

He lowered his voice mysteriously: “I once heard a rumor—over ten years ago, a great drought struck the north, the Yellow River dried up, then the earth trembled and unearthed a stone dragon coffin. Strange omens appeared, and many died.”

“It was Jixiang Hall’s men, working with the Tai Xuan Zheng Jiao sect, who performed rituals all the way to carry the stone coffin into Wangwu Mountain and suppress it—only then did peace return…”

Wang Daoxuan looked curious: “I’ve heard whispers too, but few know anything, and all keep silent. Master Yue, do you know the truth?”

Yue Bala sighed: “We’re just ordinary folk—we know some trade taboos, but when real events happen, we can only stare helplessly. How could we know such secrets?”

“Our ancestors worship the God of Poverty—we’re bottom-tier, after all. Who’d do this if they had a choice? We barely scrape by.”

Seeing this, Wang Daoxuan quickly changed the subject, gazing at the distant mountains: “Since we’re idle, let me tell a story to pass the time.”

“The Medicine King lived in seclusion on Zhongnan Mountain. One night, an old man came seeking help, claiming to be an ancient dragon from Kunming Pond in Chang’an. Due to prolonged drought and dryness, a foreign monk had performed rituals by the pond, drawing crowds to burn incense and kneel in prayer.”

“But the monk’s true intent was evil—he sought to kill the dragon and harvest its brain to brew medicine. The Medicine King said: ‘I can save you easily, but beneath Kunming Pond lies the Dragon Palace, holding three thousand divine prescriptions. Let me borrow one to study, and I’ll free you from this peril.’”

“The dragon hesitated, saying these prescriptions came from Heaven, and the Jade Emperor forbade their transmission. But the Medicine King insisted. Desperate to live, the dragon agreed. Moments later, Kunming Pond surged violently, and the monk died of rage and shock.”

“That prescription was the Thousand Gold Formula, which later saved countless lives.”

Sha Li Fei exclaimed: “I’ve heard that one—the Medicine King subdues the dragon!”

Li Yan pondered: “I heard this tale as a child, but now it seems… odd.”

“People are all like Lord Ye who loved dragons—had there truly been a dragon in Kunming Pond, the entire Daoist world would have erupted. And that foreign monk’s methods? They reeked of treasure-hunting, just disguised as rain rituals.”

“Possibly.”

Wang Daoxuan smiled: “In ancient Chang’an, glory shone in all four directions—Daoist masters gathered from afar, even sorcerers from the Western Regions and Southern Seas came. Perhaps there’s more to it, but it’s beyond our knowledge.”

“I told this tale for another reason: we’re passing Zhongnan Mountain—we can’t climb up to pay respects or visit the sages, but at its foot stands the Medicine King Temple, with thriving incense. We should offer three sticks there.”

Li Yan nodded: “The Medicine King’s virtue is boundless—we must pay our respects.”

The cart driver, Old Meng, had already jumped down from the shaft and taken the reins himself, skillfully avoiding slippery slopes by experience. He paused, then said: “My granddaughter—I don’t know what illness she has, but she’s been mentally dull since birth. I’ll offer incense too.”

Climbing a mountain is like that—once you have a goal, walking feels lighter. Just after the hour of Shen, they reached the foot of Zhongnan Mountain.

The mountains stretched endlessly, veiled in mist and clouds, forests silent and deep, winding paths disappearing into the hills, swallowed by thick white fog.

Here, people were noticeably more numerous.

First, many incense groups arrived—not just from Guanzhong, but travelers from distant provinces, thousands of miles away.

The journey was long, exhausting; yet this was only the start—entering the mountains meant more hardship, so most chose to rest here, gathering strength before ascending to worship.

Second, all ancient Qinling trails were vital north-south corridors, lined with passes, relay stations, inns, and shops.

Here stood the Zhongnan Relay Station, surrounded by a few inns, tea houses, even shops selling incense and candles—naturally, crowds gathered.

But Li Yan felt it more deeply.

He stared at the Zhongnan range, awestruck.

He’d visited in his past life, but now, with spiritual senses, the sight was entirely different.

Wang Daoxuan had told him: any famed mountain or river, any cave-heaven or blessed land, connects below to earth veins and above to sun, moon, and stars, gathering primordial qi into a “configuration.”

!

Zhongnan Mountain was not listed among the cave-heavens or blessed lands, for it was not a single peak but a stretch of the Qinling range. Its main peak, Taibai Mountain, was the “Xuande Cave Heaven”; Cuihua Mountain was the “Western City Tai Xuan Ji Zhen Cave Heaven.”

Meaning—he had not yet reached the core zone.

Yet even so, he sensed a pure, fierce primordial qi—clear yet majestic, towering like a giant standing between heaven and earth, pressing down with overwhelming force.

Wang Daoxuan chuckled softly: “You’ll get used to it. The Qinling is a great dragon vein—similar places abound.”

“You have the Nasal Spirit Power, so you feel it deeply. I lack such fortune—I only experienced it once, using a ritual altar.”

“Daoist cultivation isn’t just about spells and powers—just seeing this vast heaven and earth makes life worth living…”

“The Daoist is right.”

Li Yan snapped back to himself, sighed, and felt even greater longing for the cave-heavens and blessed lands.

Their funeral procession was clearly unwelcome anywhere—not even tea houses would let them near, let alone inns.

They understood. They parked the cart far off in the woods beside the road, agreed to take turns guarding it, then went to pay respects at the Medicine King Temple before continuing their journey.

Given the situation, they’d have to camp in the wilds—beyond ruined temples and abandoned houses—so long as it didn’t rain, they could travel day or night.

“Little Brother Li, look!”

Sha Li Fei suddenly pointed to the right.

That was the government relay station area.

Relay stations were among the empire’s most vital facilities, large or small.

Large stations typically included lodging, postal halls, station master’s residence, military offices, Horse God Temple, stables, storage, jail cells, and quarters for station staff, surrounded by walls and inhabited by civilians—effectively a small town.

Zhongnan Relay Station, constrained by terrain, was only a small one—but fully equipped. Beyond the courtyard wall, they could hear the neighing of warhorses in the stables.

At the station gate, the station master bowed respectfully as a group departed—it was Lu Kang’s family and his guards.

Li Yan blinked, then shook his head: “Miscalculation. Had I known they’d climb the mountain, why wait two hours?”

Since it was done, they let it go and followed Wang Daoxuan away.

“They’re heading into the mountains.”

Wang Daoxuan glanced at the path Lu Kang’s group took and shook his head: “A climb like that takes at least two days. This Lord Lu clearly isn’t in a hurry.”

“Come on—this is the path to the Medicine King Temple.”

As he said, the temple was not far—just follow the path around a bend, nestled in a mountain hollow, sizable and serene.

At this hour, pilgrims were already numerous, moving quietly, all solemn.

A young man, likely offering incense for a relative, burned incense and kowtowed, tears in his eyes, murmuring constantly: “Medicine King, my mother has been bedridden for years, growing weaker by the day—I beg you to bless her with recovery…”

Many others were like him.

The atmosphere seemed to affect Old Meng—he too blinked back tears, bowed respectfully, burned incense, and kowtowed, face filled with devotion.

Seeing this, Li Yan felt a deep pang.

Honestly, he didn’t know how much good incense did. Those who gathered divine qi in the mortal world were earth spirits—they could protect a region from evil, and that was already a blessing.

Birth, aging, sickness, death—all followed Heaven’s law. To believe a stick of incense could cure illness? Even true immortals couldn’t keep up—Heaven’s order would collapse.

All that can be done is to comfort the people's hearts.

No matter what, the Medicine King has boundless merit, saved countless lives; even in mourning, sincere worship is only proper.

Thinking of this, Li Yan took the three incense sticks, lit them, and respectfully inserted them into the incense burner. He looked again at the Medicine King’s statue: white brows kind, holding a staff and gourd, gazing down upon the mortal world, as if with a trace of pity.

Fine craftsmanship…

Such statues are all cast by Xuanmen craftsmen, then consecrated by a master to awaken their spirit, enshrined in temples for worship; over time, they absorb the power of incense offerings and gather Divine Gang.

If the carving is poor, the incense offerings will naturally be weak too.

Li Yan silently praised inwardly and prepared to kneel in worship.

He had already smelled the strong scent of incense from the statue—so many worshippers, it must have long ago gathered Divine Gang.

But at that moment, the mark on his left hand’s Gou Die suddenly grew hot.

Li Yan’s vision blurred, and another hallucination appeared:

The surrounding light dimmed; the wooden altar and incense table before him rapidly rotted away, turning to dust and vanishing, revealing an ancient, weathered stone platform.

Upon the stone platform sat an old man, dressed exactly like the Medicine King, the only difference being his face.

Yellow fur, black spots, fangs and a wide mouth, white forehead with slanted eyes.

On his forehead was a large character: “Wang”!

(End of Chapter)