Chapter Thirty: The Shanty (Comments Welcome!)

At the very moment Chen Yu was hurrying back, far away in Zuofeng Fortress, thousands of miles from Shiya County, turbulent changes swept through the land, and the air was thick with the smoke of war.

That day, the Grand Qi’s commanding general, Gao Yanhong, personally led thirty thousand ironclad cavalry to the fortress gates, whip in hand, issuing a challenge.

He boasted that he would breach the city in two days, sweep clean the six northern prefectures in ten, and within a month ride the winds across the wilds, marching straight to Jianye!

In an instant, dark clouds gathered along the great river, the atmosphere turning tense. The region had already been suffering from a severe drought, and now, with the specter of war looming, countless families packed up what little they owned and fled toward Henan and Hedong.

At the same time, opportunists sought to profit amid the chaos. Sects such as the White Lotus and the Five-Peck Tao flourished in their licentious, wild rituals, spreading their followers far and wide. Rebel armies like the Qishan Volunteers and the Eight Warlords of Yunyin brazenly carved out their own domains, defying imperial authority.

Turmoil was everywhere, and the greater part of Hejian was in utter chaos.

Yet all of this had little to do with Yunhe Temple on Qingtai Mountain, a thousand miles away.

No matter how the world changed below the mountain, Chen Yu was more concerned with how to settle these little creatures in his basket.

...

Cluck, cluck—thud!

A rather scrawny hen peered nervously about her unfamiliar surroundings, immediately tucking her head down and fluffing her wings at her sides, curling into a ball in anxious stillness.

Compared to the two hens, who had shrunk themselves into tight balls, the rooster—adorned with a fiery crown and draped in a crimson general’s mantle—was far more at ease. Like a sovereign relocating his capital, he held his head high, surveying all with a sidelong glance, his talons gripping the earth as he proudly puffed out his glossy, black-red breast.

The chicks, of course, were another matter altogether. Cheeping curiously, their short legs carried them in endless circles around the two-legged giant, flitting about the courtyard.

Glancing at these new residents, Chen Yu decided it was necessary to build them a shelter against wind and rain. The rainy season would soon arrive, and should a sudden storm catch them unprepared, few of the chicks would survive.

He closed the courtyard gate, picked up a hatchet and an axe, and headed for the rear of the mountain, intending to cut some bamboo for a fence.

There had once been livestock at the temple, but the old priest, fond of wandering in his youth, had found them too much trouble to care for and dismantled the pens.

As for his former self, there was even less hope of tending chickens or ducks. For someone whose heart was set on earning renown for Yunhe’s name, such trifles were beneath notice.

Meat? Simply buy it in the town below.

Too much time and effort? Then just stay in town a while longer—an opportunity to practice chivalry, sword in hand, amidst the dust of the mortal world.

Worried about money? That concept meant nothing to his predecessor: gold and silver come and go; why fret over such things?

One could say he lived freely and unrestrained—so much so, he ultimately freed himself right into the grave.

Chen Yu sighed, dispelling these idle thoughts, and turned his focus to the present.

He had never woven a bamboo fence before, but he’d watched his grandfather do it back home in his previous life. The memory was hazy—he wasn’t sure if he could imitate it well enough.

He chopped down the bamboo, stripped off the branches, split them with a crosswise cut, peeled them into strips, and soaked them in water...

—

Then, weaving the strips together as one would braid hair, he started the framework. Estimating the width, it was just over ten feet.

“Not enough.”

Even with half the enclosure up against the wall, there wasn’t enough fencing. He had no choice but to return to the mountain and cut another batch.

Gripping the knife between his fingers, he deftly slid it down the bamboo, peeling off a long strip.

Soon, the fresh bamboo strips were woven into the fence as well, and at last, after two rounds, the width sufficed.

In the courtyard, the twenty-foot length of fencing lay flat on the ground, the closely woven bamboo strips crisscrossing in sturdy fashion, the result both solid and pleasing to the eye.

Sizing it up, Chen Yu was still dissatisfied. The lower right corner was too loose, the face of the fence slightly askew.

Rubbing his nose, he tapped the inside with the back of his knife, nudging the larger holes smaller before stopping.

“It’ll do.”

It would suffice for now; he could patch it up later, or simply burn it and make a new one after some use.

There was plenty of bamboo on the mountain, ready for the taking.

“And I’ve gained a free basket, too.”

He turned over the basket that had carried the chicks, dumped out the straw, patted it clean, and set it by the courtyard wall.

Then, carrying his freshly made fence, he went outside, choosing a spot behind the woodshed. He first fixed the two ends with sticks, then tied one end of the fence with hemp rope, securing it to a post. The other end he looped with a long rope and hung over another stick.

“I’ll need to weave three more.”

Measuring the space by hand, he looked up at the sky. Two panels joined at the sides, one as a roof.

He trotted back to the courtyard, gathered the remaining bamboo strips, and wove three smaller fences. He brought them behind the temple and tied the joints tight with hemp rope.

He drove thick sticks into the ground, threading the ropes through and tilting them outward, making the shelter roomier.

He covered the top, fetched straw from the courtyard, and spread it over the roof, adding some thatch as well.

Afterward, he laid dry grass inside the shelter.

By the time everything was finished, dusk had fallen and the glow on the horizon was a faint yellow.

Back in the courtyard, the chicks were nestled against the hens, resting.

The large rooster, too, seemed tired, no longer patrolling his new domain, but squatting nearby, dozing.

“Come on, everyone, let’s see your new home.”

—

He herded the big and little chickens into the bamboo shelter behind the courtyard, feeling content as he listened to the incessant clucking of the hens. He went to the kitchen, scooped out half a bowl of millet, and scattered it on the ground.

The arrival of food instantly aroused their appetites; the flock pecked eagerly, their cries ceaseless as they bobbed their heads.

“Eat up, fill yourselves—it’s the only way I’ll get to eat, too.”

Sizing up the plump and lively group, he could almost see fat, well-fed chickens already dancing before his eyes.

A Daoist priest who spent his days not pondering scriptures, but thinking about farming and satisfying his appetite—what decorum was that?

Ah, but he was a false priest—so it made no difference.

After watching them for a while, Chen Yu stood and left.

It was getting late, time to find something for himself to eat. Chickens might be content with simple fare, but he certainly was not.

“Hm, tonight I’ll dice up some meat and cook a porridge.”

Thinking of this, he recalled the two slabs of meat he’d brought back—pheasant, a rare treat. Once the rainy season passed, he’d have to go into the mountains for some yam and angelica, perhaps, to stew a fresh pot of soup.

“A pity there’s no taro to be found in Xizhou, or I could make a taro and wine chicken.”

Taro did exist in this world, but, being poisonous if mishandled, few dared eat it, and it was mostly found in the southeast. Xizhou, deep in the Liang heartland, had little but wild marshes, making it rare indeed.

He sighed, a trace of regret lingering.

...

That night, he practiced boxing, leaping and moving with energy.

His time in the valley below brought him a deeper understanding of Yunhe’s martial techniques, but in truth, Chen Yu was not fond of fighting. Before long, his thoughts returned to cultivation.

He cared more for ‘cultivation’ than for ‘combat.’

There was a peculiar joy in slowly strengthening himself, step by step.

Combat was different; it required struggle, the risk of life and death, and only by fighting could one improve. Shadowboxing day after day only made the moves familiar; in a real fight, it would only make him hesitate. Years of empty forms could even be a hindrance.

In his view, self-defense skills were necessary and should be reviewed from time to time, but there was no need to invest too much energy in honing them.

If one were a martial prodigy, that would be another matter. But for someone of ordinary talent, like himself, it was better to know his place and keep to his path—not to split his focus.

With his thoughts thus settled, he calmed his mind.

Strength surged and coursed through his body as he continued, breath by breath, to temper his skin and muscles...