Chapter 59: Discussing the Way with Wang Wei

What is this thing?

Qiu Nei stared at the puppet, which had painted facial features so vivid it seemed as if it might open its eyes at any moment. The puppet’s limbs were four smaller wooden sticks, carved simply to resemble hands and feet, dressed in tiny clothes.

There was something eerie yet mystical about it.

“The Ear-Reporting God?”

Yunjiao nodded, pointing to the bag beside him, filled with money. He said, “I used to help people with boat transport. One day, I met an old gentleman who took care of me on the boat for several days. Before disembarking, seeing how hard I worked carrying loads, he gave me this.”

“He said it’s called the Ear-Reporting God and that it must be carefully tended.”

“This Ear-Reporting God can talk, so don’t take it lightly; it’s quite important!”

Is this thing really what brings good fortune?

Qiu Nei leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed intently.

“Such a blessing—if big brother didn’t use it himself, why would he tell me about it?”

Yunjiao grinned broadly, drinking his murky wine. “You think it’s easy to care for? I’ve been thinking of finding someone to help me tend it. Just so happens you showed up!”

Qiu Nei felt his heart flutter uncertainly and swallowed hard.

After a moment, he asked, “How should it be tended?”

…

The weather was fine, and Jiang She strolled through the bustling streets.

He found a lively part of town, with taverns lining the roadside and many small vendors nearby, the throng of pedestrians endless.

At this time, there was a great variety of entertainment. In a crowded spot, a man balanced a long pole on his head, atop which a young boy hung suspended in the air, supported only by the pole. The boy performed handstands and acrobatics, flipping and tumbling with astonishing agility.

It made people’s hearts race and drew gasps.

Everyone eagerly pulled out coins, tossing them into a bamboo basket.

Others performed magic tricks planting melon seeds and trees.

A street performer sowed melon seeds on the ground, then began chanting spells, moving his arms in a dance-like ritual. Soon, the seeds sprouted and grew right before the crowd’s eyes.

Flowers bloomed, fruits appeared.

The audience erupted in cheers, money raining down onto the ground.

Jiang She watched with great interest.

Yuan Danqiu asked, “Is this an illusion?”

He remembered the conmen at the Lu family’s place who claimed to turn breath into flame—actually, just illusions.

Li Bai observed carefully, his eyes now changed; as the mountain god had said, he could see through false appearances.

“It’s not an illusion,” Jiang She shook his head.

He said, “Quick eyes and quick hands—that’s what this craft is about. The performer is quite skilled.”

A cat followed along, watching the vines climbing above. It stretched out its paws, eager to catch them.

Further ahead, they came upon a street puppet show.

Yuan Danqiu’s sharp eyes spotted the tooth-puller who had shown them the house that day, speaking with the puppeteer and receiving some small clothes worn by the wooden puppets.

“Is that the tooth-puller—”

Jiang She looked up.

He saw Qiu Nei, now dressed in fresh clothes, standing sideways as he gestured to the puppeteer, reaching into his pocket, then counting out a handful of coins and handing them over.

After receiving the money, he hurried away.

Li Bai stood at the other side, facing the tooth-puller’s face. He glanced briefly, raising an eyebrow.

Did this tooth-puller skip washing this morning? There seemed to be a bit of dirt on his forehead.

While watching the puppet show, they heard a commotion from the tavern upstairs—several people chatting as they came down, their breath heavy with the smell of wine. They wore splendid garments, jade belts at their waists, and embroidered boots.

All were men of refined bearing.

They talked and laughed leisurely, clearly sons of prominent families or young officials.

Among them was a man in white, subtly surrounded by these wealthy youths, elegant and reserved, speaking little. When others joked with him, he merely nodded or replied briefly now and then.

“Mo Jie, on your day off, shall we go watch polo together?”

The man surrounded by them spoke softly:

“I still have some writings to organize; I doubt I’ll have time these days. Let’s meet another day. I will send you a jar of Jian Nan Shao Chun, the fragrant Shu wine—it will make the occasion more enjoyable.”

Someone laughed, “Five Lang still doesn’t know Mo Jie?”

“Many ladies love polo and often go in groups to watch. Mo Jie prefers peace and quiet; he’d probably avoid it altogether.”

The group burst into laughter, imagining the young ladies of Luoyang crowding carriage entrances to the Wang family estate.

Pei Di was among the crowd, watching Wang Wei’s expression gradually grow somber.

Wang Wei found it rather dull. He was still pondering the things Lu Xiang had mentioned. These days, he had been moving about Luoyang but had yet to encounter the immortal-like person Lu Xiang spoke of.

Could it be that he would never meet them?

Had he truly missed his chance?

He looked disinterestedly down at the street below the pavilion, where many were watching the street performers and cheering.

Wang Wei paused, recognizing a familiar figure.

It seemed like…

someone he had seen before.

It was the group he had met by the village road just before arriving in Luoyang.

He studied them carefully, feeling a flicker in his heart. Nearby, the young men of the Yang and Cui families chatted about the polo team. He folded his hands in a respectful salute.

“I see some friends over there. I’ll go say hello; you all go on to the next tavern.”

With that, he descended from the pavilion and went into the crowd.

Cui Lang was puzzled.

“Mo Jie?”

Pei Di, standing nearby, said casually, “Let him go. Mo Jie doesn’t want to watch polo—we’ll go ourselves.”

“We’ll dine at Dong’s tavern tonight. Their wine and entertainment are the best!”

The young men paid it no mind. Mo Jie was known for his aloof nature, so no one thought much of it. They called their friends, mounted horses or climbed into carriages, and headed in a grand procession toward the bustling southern market.

Only Cui Lang, riding his horse, glanced in Wang Wei’s direction.

Mo Jie’s friend?

He had never heard of him before.

Jiang She was still watching the puppet show. The puppeteer manipulated the strings, moving his fingers and causing the wooden puppets below to act out a story of a young scholar who encountered a demon.

The demon laughed outside the window while the scholar hid inside.

The puppeteer used two different voices for question and answer, drawing laughter from the crowd.

Jiang She was watching attentively.

Suddenly, he heard a voice nearby.

“Sir, we meet again.”

Jiang She turned to see a man dressed in white, wearing a jade belt, approaching from a distant tavern, greeting him with folded hands.

The face was familiar. Jiang She’s memory was sharp; he recognized him immediately.

“So it is Lord Wang.”

Wang Wei said, “I did not expect to meet you again in Luoyang. It seems we are fated to meet.”

Li Bai also recognized him: this was the scion of the Wang family from Taiyuan, the one seeking immortals—here to find a master.

How strange to meet again.

Yuan Danqiu asked mischievously, “Lord Wang, you asked us about immortals before. Have you found any?”

Wang Wei shook his head, a trace of regret on his face.

“Not yet.”

He said, “It’s not convenient to speak here. May I invite you upstairs?”

Wang Wei’s demeanor had changed somewhat since their last meeting a few days ago. Perhaps the fruitless search for immortals had tempered his temperament. Suddenly, he wished to chat idly with these chance acquaintances.

The tea and wine scholar came back in, instinctively asking, “Lord Wang, have you forgotten something?”

“Choose a good seat, and bring fine tea.”

They sat in a well-lit spot by the window. Jiang She looked at the young man’s somewhat melancholic face and comforted him, “In this world, nine out of ten things go against one’s wishes. Don’t dwell too much on it.”

Wang Wei smiled faintly, raising his wine cup.

He gazed at the drifting clouds overhead, recalling his demotion to Cangzhou four years ago and the tedious life in Luoyang after resigning his post.

He shook his head. “You speak truly. I should not think on these things.”

He said, “I have lived in Luoyang for years. This tavern serves fine tea from Mount Mengding. The flavor is quite good; you should try it.”

“Nothing better.”

As the tea arrived, Wang Wei spoke again about his study of Daoist scriptures. He rarely saw mention of divine powers or sorcery in the texts and asked Yuan Danqiu if such things might be considered unorthodox.

Yuan Danqiu, unaware, looked to Master Jiang.

Jiang She thought for a moment, leaning back on the bench, holding his teacup lightly, and said casually, “Because magic and divine powers are not essential. They are merely byproducts of cultivation.”

“Those who follow the Great Way focus on the harmony between heaven and earth. Those who follow lesser paths emphasize magic and powers—these are called minor arts.”

“When one cultivates to a certain level, wisdom and illumination arise naturally.”

“It is not something deliberately pursued.”

Wang Wei listened intently. He vaguely sensed that this master, not dressed in Daoist robes, understood the Dao far more profoundly than the robed priests.

“You also understand the Dao?”

Few had ever asked him such a question. Jiang She smiled faintly, thought for a moment, and replied simply, “I understand a little.”