Chapter 116

Chapter 116

The Taoist boy's smile vanished, his face changing faster than the autumn sky.

Their Qingxuan Temple practiced divination, fortune-telling, exorcism, and weather prediction—a wide array of services. But storing ashes, burning incense, clearing grudges, and building karma for the next life were not among them.

However, rules are made to be broken, as his master often said.

Before the disaster struck, Qingxuan Temple was thriving, with a steady stream of visitors and wealthy patrons paying to gild the patriarch's statue. It outshone Qingquan Temple, making it one of the premier temples in Qingzhou Prefecture.

Later, the heavens took a few swipes at Qingcheng Mountain, leaving the temple barely standing, visitors dropped to one in ten, and the mountain path was severed. Outsiders whispered that countless vengeful spirits from Xinping County were wandering the land, ghosts wailing day and night—a sight scary enough to stop a crying kid cold.

Since then, not a single visitor came, not even a strange bird; for miles around, it was all barren.

Thanks to the patriarch's protection, the temple made it through the disaster, but the fields and crops that kept it going were wiped out. Below the mountain, corpses were scattered across the fields, white banners flapped nonstop, graves were clustered everywhere, and wailing went on day and night without stopping. His master and senior brothers had descended the mountain—to perform rites for the dead, help the survivors, and find a new spot for the temple.

Two years went by, and they still hadn't come back.

A few days ago, Eighth Brother came back carrying two jars of ashes and left a message: "Master says these are meant for you, to help you find your family. Remember to burn three sticks of incense every day, and treat them with all your heart."

Eighth Brother left the two jars of ashes, sneaked off at night, hauling the patriarch's golden statue, and never came back, leaving him all alone to watch the temple.

Qing Xuan, the little Taoist, felt like he'd been ditched again.

But unlike countless times before, he didn't feel sad. In the years he'd followed his master, the old man often said he wasn't cut out for the Taoist path and would eventually leave the mountain. Unlike his eight senior brothers, who were destined to be lifelong bachelors, serving the patriarch, he was meant to have a wife, kids, and a long, smooth life. Even though he had a rough start, wandering and suffering, once he found his family, everything would go smoothly.

So those two jars of ashes were like his treasure—precious and treasured. He burned incense three times a day, morning, noon, and night, never skipping a bow, even if he forgot to eat. Even though the little girl in front of him also loved Little Tiger and had a chubby, cute face, business is business. He'd carry her up the mountain on his back if she wanted a meal at the temple, but the ashes? No way.

With that thought, he touched his face, looked at the three siblings' looks, put Little Tiger back on his shoulder, and muttered something cryptic: "I don't look like you guys."

Then he turned, grabbed the vines, kicked off, and shot up like he could fly, scrambling up the mountainside in a few quick moves.

Zhao Xiaobao, seeing him about to vanish, stomped her feet, frustrated. She ran over and looked up at him: "Brother Dao Tong, why are you running away? You haven't told me yet—are my nephew's parents' ashes at your temple?"

"How many brothers do you have, anyway?" Qing Xuan stopped mid-climb, swinging back and forth. "Are those really your relatives' ashes? Has any relative of yours lost a child? Tell me first, then I'll answer."

"I have three brothers!" Jinyu was her nephew, but Jinyu's parents weren't her relatives. Zhao Xiaobao didn't know how to answer. She glanced at her eldest brother, who shook his head, and boldly said, "None of my relatives have lost a child, but my relative's ashes are in Qingxuan Temple on Qingcheng Mountain. Brother Dao Tong, I'm Zhao Xiaobao from Wanxia Village, Tongjiang Town, Guangping County. I'm not lying! We came from far away to bring back my nephew's parents' ashes. Xiaobao can't let the refugees disrespect his parents again, or I wouldn't deserve to be Jinyu's aunt."

She looked at the precarious lone peak, fearing the ashes would be buried with the temple if it collapsed. She harbored a deep, deep fear of that year's earthquake. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

Hearing that her relatives hadn't lost a child, Qing Xuan's lively expression drooped. He gave the chubby girl below a long look, then turned and climbed to the peak without another word.

The scene at the top was unremarkable—just an ordinary temple. The main hall was intact, but the other buildings remained in ruins, unrebuilt. He was young and weak, and with his master and senior brothers gone, he'd spent the past two years clearing the rubble, sorting stones, tiles, and wood—keeping some, burning some, and using some to build a stove.

The people of Xinping County were dead or crippled. Those lucky enough to survive couldn't stay. Aside from the elderly and infirm who couldn't leave, the familiar faces had scattered to the winds—in every sense of the word.

Sitting on the cliff, he pulled a coarse grain cake from his pocket, broke off pieces for Little Tiger, fed it until it was full, then ate the rest himself.

Their Qingxuan Temple was poor. His senior brother said the temple's silver was for gilding the patriarch's statue, and the rest for charity. Every harsh winter, they'd set up two tents at the mountain's base to distribute porridge and collect discarded old clothes from wealthy families. They grew their own food and fruit to get by, and since the temple's farmland was tax-exempt, they'd managed to scrape by all these years.

But not anymore. The earthquake destroyed not just buildings and lives, but farmland and orchards. Their fields, carved into the mountain, were crushed by boulders. Fruit trees snapped, farmland was ruined, and the very landscape shifted under the cataclysm.

After his master left, he initially went down the mountain to dig out bodies, move timber, and bury the dead, collecting food from the government-organized teams. Later, when the prefectural city fell into chaos and the government withdrew its forces from Xinping's three counties, the bodies that could be dug up were buried, the living had left, and the remaining elderly and disabled were useless. So he went down to help people farm, earning a share of grain.

He'd thought about claiming a patch of barren land to grow his own food, but the officials and farmers, seeing his youth, feared he'd ruin the seedlings and refused his request. For two years, he worked odd jobs here and there, scraping by.

This year's drought brought no water fights among the farmers below Qingcheng Mountain—too few people to fight. So he helped carry water to irrigate the fields. After a day's work, he got two cakes and returned, only to find the three siblings who'd traveled from afar.

They asked for the ashes outright.

He was troubled. His master told him to guard the ashes. The chubby girl said they were her nephew's parents' ashes. But her relatives hadn't lost a child.

He didn't know what to do. He felt the girl wasn't lying, but his master hadn't lied either...

"Meow." Just as he was at a loss, Little Tiger raised a furry paw and patted his palm.

Qing Xuan grabbed the little paw and rubbed it affectionately.

"Little Tiger, what should I do? If they really are her nephew's parents, I can't just keep them."

"Sigh, I wonder if my parents are still alive. I hope they are. I don't want them to end up as two jars of ashes—that would be too sad."

Qing Xuan propped his chin on his hand, staring into the darkening mountain below, wondering if they had left.

...

Of course, they hadn't.

Having come so far, they couldn't just leave. Zhao Dashan figured the little Taoist couldn't make such a big decision; they needed to see the temple's abbot. If they could take the ashes, great. If not, at least they'd tried. If fate allowed them to meet Jinyu again, they'd have no regrets.

With someone on the mountain, they dared not sleep on sacred ground. That night, they found a flat, open spot at the base, laid out two straw mats, ate a quick meal, and tried to sleep.

But sleep was elusive. Maybe it was psychological, but Qingcheng Mountain felt eerily cold. At night, the temperature plummeted. The day was scorching hot, but the night was freezing cold.

And the lone peak kept shedding rocks and sliding mud in the dead of night, the noise so loud they dared not sleep. The brothers, holding their little sister, moved the mats farther away, shuffling back and forth several times through the night.

The next day, before dawn, Zhao Dashan was woken by footsteps. He opened his eyes to see the little Taoist from yesterday approaching. When their eyes met, the boy quickly tossed something toward where his little sister was sleeping—so fast Zhao Dashan couldn't react—then turned and ran.

"It's a cake." Zhao Sandi picked up the cake that had landed on his sister's stomach and looked toward where the Taoist had vanished, a wave of relief washing over him. Yesterday's cold face, today's gift of food—it seemed the boy harbored no ill will after learning their purpose.

Far better than they'd expected.

"It feels so deserted. Is this temple just him, that young Taoist?" Zhao Dashan glanced at the nearby "radish hill," got up, and circled the spot where rocks had fallen the night before. He stepped back to look at the temple on the mountain, barely making out the buildings but seeing no one. He called out twice but got no response.

Though he'd never been to a temple or monastery, he figured if anyone was there, they'd come down to ask questions. But from yesterday to today, within ten miles, they'd seen no one but that little Taoist.

When Zhao Xiaobao woke and learned the cake on her belly was from Brother Dao Tong, she beamed and ate it with relish. "I knew Brother Dao Tong wasn't mad."

"Big Brother, can Xiaobao give Brother Dao Tong some fruit?" Zhao Xiaobao was a polite child. Since he'd given her a cake, she wanted to give him fruit in return. She pulled out a small basket and looked at her eldest brother expectantly, waiting for his nod to fill it.

"You can put in some red ground fruit, but not raspberries," Zhao Dashan said after a moment. Red ground fruit kept well, and they could say they'd picked it on the road. The boy was just a child, and he figured a little bribe might help them learn about the mountain's situation. If they could meet the abbot, that would be ideal.

They couldn't stay long—three days at most. If nothing came of it by then, they'd have to give up.

They'd been away for days. What was happening at home? Had the crops been harvested? Had their father convinced the villagers? And his in-laws—if his father-in-law refused to leave, his wife would cry her eyes out...

And the prefectural city—had Prince Cheng and the prefectural soldiers started fighting the refugees? Were the refugees putting up a fierce resistance?

And the refugees fleeing south—where had they reached? Would they head toward Qingzhou Prefecture?

Thinking of all these troubles, his head throbbed. He wished he could climb the mountain right now, snatch the ashes, and get the hell out.