Chapter 7: Daoist Jixin

By the time the boat reached the pier, Qin Sang had heard quite a bit about the Daoist Jixin from the old man.

The Qingyang Temple on Mount Cuiming had been prosperous in its early days, but it had gradually fallen into decay. The Daoists in the temple left one after another, leaving only a few old ones who eventually passed away from old age.

With no one to maintain it, the temple became increasingly dilapidated and overgrown with weeds. If not for Daoist Jixin, the Qingyang Temple would have been nothing but broken walls and ruins within a few years.

What people praised most about Daoist Jixin was not his status as the temple master, but his benevolent heart.

After he and a young apprentice took over the Qingyang Temple, he did not seek incense offerings. Instead, he went up the mountain every day to gather herbs, providing medicine and treatment to the poor.

Whether someone suffered from bruises, fractures, or colds and fevers, as long as they came to him, Daoist Jixin would treat them with care. His medical skills might not have been the best, but his fees were very low.

If someone truly had no money, they could put it on credit, and even if they didn't pay it back for three or five years, he would never ask for it. His reputation gradually spread, and combined with his status as the master of Qingyang Temple, he earned the title of "Living Immortal."

The old man moored the boat at the pier and, while helping Qin Sang off, advised him: "Brother Qin, your leg injury isn't serious; the Living Immortal will surely be able to treat you. However, Mount Cuiming is between the City of Three Witches and the ferry crossing. It’s ten miles from here, and you’ll have to walk the mountain path. You should hire a cart. I happen to know a few drivers who guarantee fair prices..."

Qin Sang declined the old man's kindness. Under the old man's disappointed gaze, he leaned on his wooden staff and limped into the crowd.

Walking among the people, hearing accents from all over the country, Qin Sang thought to himself that the City of Three Witches truly lived up to its reputation.

Hampered by his leg injury, Qin Sang stopped frequently, and he actually heard an accent from his hometown. He looked over and saw several people dressed in silk directing laborers to load cargo onto a boat.

Watching them finish loading the boat and sail away from the riverbank, Qin Sang ultimately said nothing. He turned away resolutely and walked into a restaurant.

After eating delicious river fish and seafood, Qin Sang sat on the second floor, feeling the river breeze. He held a teacup, gazing out at the vast river and the busy crowds outside, lost in thought for a while.

"Innkeeper, bill please!"

Qin Sang took out a piece of broken silver. Watching the shopkeeper weigh it on a small scale, he took the copper coins given in change and asked, "Excuse me, shopkeeper, I want to go to the City of Three Witches. Do you know where I can hire a carriage?"

The shopkeeper looked Qin Sang over and pointed outside, "Go straight west along this street. At the end, there are a dozen carriage firms clustered together. They are all legitimate businesses, and there are plenty of carriages going to the City of Three Witches and the major ferry crossings."

Perhaps because Qin Sang had eaten a lot, the shopkeeper kindly reminded him, "In this day and age... it’s best not to travel alone, young master. Find a few people to hire a carriage together; it’ll be cheaper."

From the first port to the City of Three Witches, the terrain rises steadily. All the major ferry crossings use this road to enter the city. There were many travelers on the road, and since it was wide and flat, the carriage ride wasn't too bumpy.

Qin Sang got off at the foot of Mount Cuiming. Looking up at the high mountain before him, the path up looked a bit treacherous. With his injured leg, he felt a bit apprehensive.

The mountains on both sides of the Wuling River rose and fell, and Mount Cuiming was just one peak in this long mountain range, not particularly conspicuous among the others.

However, Mount Cuiming had a unique spiritual charm. Amidst the dense forests on the mountain, the upturned eaves of temples and pavilions occasionally peeked out. Now and then, the long, resonant sound of a bell echoed through the woods, clearing one's mind.

Qin Sang had heard several legends about spirits and monsters on Mount Cuiming from the carriage driver. He didn't know if these temples and Daoist shrines had chosen Mount Cuiming because of these legends, or if the legends only came to be after they arrived.

Qin Sang barely managed to climb halfway up when he met a few others who were also going to Qingyang Temple for medical treatment. Only with their help did he reach the temple, which was located halfway up the back of the mountain.

Qin Sang leaned on his staff and stood still in front of the Qingyang Temple gate.

The scale of the temple was quite large. It was surrounded by a vast bamboo forest. The afternoon sun wasn't scorching; the bamboo leaves rustled, and cool breezes blew in waves.

Because the mountain was steep, even from outside the temple, one could see the layers of eaves inside. The architectural style was similar to the Daoist temples Qin Sang had seen in his previous life, but they were all severely dilapidated. Broken tiles were visible everywhere on the roof, and clumps of thatch were exposed beneath them; it was likely that few roofs didn't leak.

Standing outside, he could hear voices from within; there were quite a few people.

Qin Sang moved step by step along the bluestone steps. The stone lintel above the gate was carved with the three characters "Qingyang Temple." Two rotting wooden doors hung crookedly on either side, and the door knockers were covered in rust.

Inside the gate was a large courtyard with haystacks, a donkey pen, an ancient well, a windlass, a millstone, and a stone mortar. There were two large garden plots; the smaller one grew vegetables, and the larger one contained plants Qin Sang didn't recognize—likely medicinal herbs.

A few high steps behind the courtyard led to a main hall. It was the largest and most magnificent hall in the entire Qingyang Temple, and also the best maintained.

A wooden plaque hung on the hall with vigorous characters written on it—"Qingyang Hall." The paint on the characters was almost entirely worn away.

It didn't look like a place where an immortal would live, no matter how you looked at it.

Qin Sang sighed inwardly. Just as he was about to enter, three people pushed the door open and came out. Two ragged men were supporting a pale old woman. As they walked out, they kept turning their heads to express their gratitude, promising to bring the payment next month.

Qin Sang knew that there were real immortals in this world, so he didn't dare to be disrespectful. His expression became solemn, and he walked into Qingyang Hall on tiptoe.

The hall was empty, and the murals on the walls were peeling off in large patches, mottled and unrecognizable.

Only the three statues in the main hall were as bright as new, with exceptionally exquisite lacquer and carving work.

A stick of incense burned on the altar, with smoke curling up, filling the room with fragrance.

To the side of the altar stood a long table and two cabinets—one filled with medicine, the other with scriptures. Behind the long table, a thin, withered old Daoist sat as still as a pine, taking the pulse of an old man.

The old Daoist had white hair and a white beard, but his face didn't look aged. His eyes were particularly bright and piercing, and a long, snow-white beard hung to his chest. He truly had the air of an immortal. He wore a cyan Daoist robe that had been washed until it was somewhat faded, but it was very clean.

To his right were brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone. To his left was a medicine chest, along with strange tools like a medicine hoe, cinnabar, yellow paper, and a bamboo tube for divination sticks.

*This must be Daoist Jixin,* Qin Sang thought.

"Young master, are you here to offer incense or for medical treatment?"

Qin Sang followed the voice and saw a young Daoist, about thirteen or fourteen years old, emerging from the crowd of people waiting for treatment. The Daoist robe he wore looked a bit too large and comical on him, and he had a fair, clean face.

Remembering what the boatman had said about Daoist Jixin having an apprentice, Qin Sang smiled, "Greetings, little Daoist. My surname is Qin. I injured my leg the day before yesterday; could you please ask the Daoist to take a look?"

The young Daoist brought over a small wooden stool, "Please sit, Young Master Qin."

Qin Sang sat down as instructed. The young Daoist lifted Qin Sang's injured leg and felt the bone with his hand, saying, "Young Master Qin, your leg bone isn't broken; it might just be a hairline fracture. If you take some bone-strengthening decoction, it will heal before long. If you aren't in a hurry, you can sit and wait for my master to take a look at it for you."

Qin Sang had come specifically for the old Daoist, so he naturally agreed readily, "Thank you, little Daoist."