Chapter Eight: Radiant Clouds

Chen Yu of Yun’e Monastery greets all fellow Daoists.

“Changyu Hall, Zhao Shuwen.”

“Fengyun Monastery, Cheng Qing.”

“Camel Rock Mountain, Luo Shoudao.”

As the words fell, the group exchanged smiles. In the next instant, they all pinched their fingers, held their breath, and intoned a praise:

Blessings and longevity to the Heavenly Lord!

With the formalities complete, all present were officially registered Daoists noted in the annals, and since they were all from the same prefecture of Guangyong, there was little stiffness between them; their manner was open and easy.

“Yunhe Monastery? Is that the one on Qingtai Mountain in Shiya County?”

As origins were mentioned, someone recalled and looked at Chen Yu with some surprise. “If you’re from Yunhe Monastery, why isn’t Elder Qinghe here?”

At these words, Chen Yu sighed. “My master, the venerable elder, rode the crane to immortality in the middle of last year. Now, I alone tend to the monastery.”

At this, the group let out a series of sighs, long and short. Clearly, the old Daoist had been well known in Guangyong, but news did not travel swiftly, so none of them had heard of his passing until now.

“With Elder Qinghe’s ascension, Guangyong Prefecture loses yet another profound scholar of the Dao.”

After their laments, a few more words were exchanged, and the four entered through the courtyard gate.

At this moment, Chen Yu realized that none of these men were from Shiya County, and that this Chengyu Court was not reserved solely for Daoist groups from within Shiya.

“This grand assembly was organized by the abbot of Zhengyuan Monastery, with assistance from famous Daoist sects in Shiya, Quwu, and other counties. Together, they spent a hefty sum to acquire this grand courtyard from the brokers.”

The three took turns explaining, gradually revealing the inside story, which finally made Chen Yu understand the situation. Haiyun Monastery was only one of the organizers, lacking the means and resources for such an undertaking; most of it depended on Zhengyuan Monastery, which was known as the foremost temple in Guangyong.

“No wonder. I thought this courtyard was much too large for just Shiya County—it could never be filled.”

Walking through the courtyard, Chen Yu noticed a great number of Daoists moving about. Some were meditating, some debating the Dao, some sparring in martial arts, and Chen Yu even saw a group gathered around a pile of jars and bottles in the corner, gesturing and discussing animatedly.

“Daoist Luo, who are those people?” Chen Yu asked, puzzled, as they seemed to be haggling more than debating doctrine.

It was quite the marketplace atmosphere.

“Oh, those are Daoists who, during their travels to vanquish evil, often encounter grave-robbers. What you see there are magical implements seized from such people. This is a rare gathering—Daoists from all over Guangyong have come, and anything strange or curious in their possession has been brought out. If you’re interested, you might pick out a couple of items yourself.”

The Daoist, his hair in a topknot, spoke cheerfully and, with good intentions, added, “Don’t worry, they’ve all been properly purified and cleansed of miasma—not freshly unearthed funerary objects.”

Purified and cleansed: in other words, these items had been ritually exorcized. Though Chen Yu was unsure how effective these rituals truly were, it was clear that most Daoists put their faith in them.

They believed that, having undergone these rites, the objects before them were no longer tainted grave goods, but righteous magical implements.

Moreover, anything openly displayed at the assembly was almost certainly an orthodox Daoist relic, handed down from ancient sects, so there was little cause for concern.

Unlike ordinary families, Daoist sects rarely used gold or silver in burial; instead, they buried talismans, medicinal herbs, lead, and mercury.

Even the grave-robbers were reluctant to bother with such tombs.

Thus, many Daoist implements lay buried in dust for centuries, their lineages cut off and forgotten.

This was why groups of Daoists clustered together, intrigued by these aged relics—everyone revered the ancient and scorned the new. After all, who could say that among these artifacts was not a treasure once wielded by one of the Daoist Saints?

There were four great sages of the Dao, revered by the world as Daoist Saints and Heavenly Lords. The most recent of these passed away only four centuries ago—said to be an incarnation of the Daoist patriarch, who descended to the mortal realm for training.

During his decades in the world, he left behind many writings, one of which Chen Yu had once read devotedly day and night.

The Classic of the Long Wind.

That master, known in the Daoist community as Mingxia, was also called the Supreme Jade Primal Heavenly Lord of the Mysterious Origin, or the Limitless One, a title extolling the mysteries.

Of course, these honors were granted by later generations; whether he was truly a Heavenly Lord incarnate, no one could say.

In the courtyard, Chen Yu looked to the two other Daoists by his side, one tall and one short; both nodded, evidently already familiar with the scene and unfazed.

Of the four, Chen Yu alone was the latest arrival, and the least acquainted with the subtle customs of the Daoist world.

His predecessor had not cared for such matters, preferring to roam the land.

“There are elders from my sect here; I’ll take my leave for now,” he said.

The other three were not as solitary as Chen Yu. Such a grand event was seldom seen, especially in the remote region of Western Prefecture. Any disciple with potential was brought along, even if they had to be dragged to Pingcheng for the experience.

The group, all of similar age and temperament, chatted happily and agreed to meet again after the assembly.

Chen Yu presented his invitation, following a servant’s directions to his own quarters—a bamboo cottage set around an artificial hill.

There were several more such cottages nearby, all rather small, clearly hastily constructed.

He did not mind; Pingcheng was expensive, and with the grand assembly underway and visitors from every direction, every inn and guesthouse was full. From what his fellow Daoists said, even the cheapest woodshed now cost over two taels of silver.

Per night!

“Thankfully, we were arranged ahead of time; otherwise, many Daoists would have had to sleep in the streets.”

Some sects had brought many disciples, often five or six together.

After tidying up and placing his bundle by the bedside, Chen Yu did not meditate but chose to go out and mingle with the other Daoists.

He wandered the grounds, finally pausing at noon, his hands now holding a seal, a roll of ancient beast hide, and a tarnished bronze mirror.

All were purchased from the magical implement market he had seen earlier. It was not out of some naive hope—he had already tested them by focusing his spiritual power on his eyes, almost pressing his face to the items, but nothing had happened.

Either something was wrong with him, or these were simply ordinary items of unusual design and some antiquity.

As for why he had bought them, the reasons were simple: first, they were inexpensive—the three together cost barely a tael of silver.

Second, it served as a memento of this journey to the grand assembly.

“I’ll offer the seal to the old Daoist when I return—it’s from the Longqing era of the Great Zhao, quite old, and since the old master loves seals, he’ll surely be pleased.”

The beast hide, decorated with intricate patterns, intrigued him; it was said to come from a tribe in Liqu.

“It will do as a collectible,” Chen Yu thought, putting it away. As for visiting that tribe, he dismissed the idea—Li Qu bordered Tuofang, the two most remote prefectures of the West, full of rugged mountains, wild rivers, and untamed peoples.

Besides, he simply liked the patterns.

No other reason.

The bronze mirror too was tucked away in his cloth bag. After a cleaning, it could still be used. Originally it had hung as a ward against evil over the entrance of some monastery. He thought his own temple lacked such a thing, and an ordinary bronze mirror was too plain—when the sun hit it, it would glare.

So he chose this antique, green with verdigris.

Perfectly suitable.