The fisherman called for ten boats, sending them to a highland village by the lakeside before dawn.
This fishing village was unusual, with neat and beautiful houses with blue-tiled roofs.
In the south, where it often rained, it was normal to avoid living in houses with walls covered in mud and thatched roofs. However, the common people were poor, and bricks and tiles were expensive, usually only seen in towns. Although this fishing village was barren and many had no land, it was clearly different here.
Outside the fishing village, some small merchant caravans were already present, having been rescued by villagers rowing boats. At this moment, they were busy taking care of their goods and haggling with the villagers.
Two peasant women carried baskets covered with cloth, selling flatbread and steamed buns near the caravans.
The caravan that carter Lao Qi was part of had just arrived. The steward hesitated, reluctant to buy the buns, but two men dressed as traveling merchants had no such reservations, immediately pulling out coins to buy buns and hot water, eating heartily.
“A shared bed for the night is thirty copper coins, with a pot of hot water, but no food included.”
“A separate bed in a private room costs three hundred copper coins, with ten buns, but no meals.”
Upon hearing the villagers’ prices, the traveling merchants immediately jumped up to protest: “Last month when I was here, it wasn’t this price! It’s doubled! Have you gotten approval from Immortal Peng for this?”
The fisherman disdainfully replied, “Look at what you’re saying. In this wind and rain, as soon as it stopped, weren’t the people of our village either boiling water or rowing boats to rescue people? We haven’t slept all night, so what’s wrong with charging a bit more? Apart from Spirit Medicine Village, where else would you dare to go when floods hit?”
“Exactly, the grain shops raise their prices during the lean months of March, but you merchants are only allowed to increase prices, while we can’t ask for a bit more money?”
The caravan members were enraged but didn’t dare to curse outright due to the village’s reputation.
Carter Lao Qi, however, didn’t hold back and shouted, “Merchants make profits, but what about us poor laborers? They rowed to rescue us, so it’s only right we pay for the boat fare. But how can you charge double for a place to sleep? The money from selling goods doesn’t go into our pockets. If the caravan steward won’t pay, do we have to sleep in the grass?”
Everyone turned to look at the caravan steward with accusing eyes, as if asking why he was so stingy. The steward, a skinny old man with a goatee, wasn’t one to be easily bullied. Upon hearing this, he immediately stomped his foot and said, “I’m working for my employer, traveling through wind and rain all year, hardly ever home. The goods aren’t mine. If they get damaged or lost, I have to answer to my employer. Now that they’ve been soaked, there’s hardly enough money to cover the losses, let alone for hot meals and water.”
The crowd grew agitated, and the entrance to the village became chaotic.
Meng Qi watched coldly for a moment, about to speak when Mo Li pulled him back.
In the distance, an old man approached, surrounded by villagers.
“Everyone quiet down, disperse. Immortal Peng is here.”
“It’s Immortal Peng!”
The old man had white hair and a white beard, with kind and gentle features. He wore a robe that wasn’t quite like a Taoist robe nor a monk’s robe, in a yellow-brown color. Seeing the chaos, he sighed almost imperceptibly.
Beside him were a dozen robust men, all dressed in gray-brown short attire, holding wooden sticks.
These strongmen pushed through the crowd, shouting Immortal Peng’s name, quickly quieting the scene.
Carter Lao Qi quietly retreated into the crowd, and the old man’s gaze immediately fell on Meng Qi and Mo Li.
—Even though the two hadn’t spoken, they stood out like cranes among chickens, impossible to ignore.
“Where do you two esteemed guests come from?” the old man, called Immortal Peng, asked with a smile.
He was calm, as if he was accustomed to seeing people of high status from the outside, neither panicked nor fearful.
Usually, those pretending to be gods in the countryside were insecure, treating outsiders with extreme caution and wishing for them to leave as soon as possible.
Mo Li remained silent. Though he recalled Old Mister Qin’s old tales, those were from decades ago. How had Doctor Peng become Immortal Peng? Qin Lu, being a physician, had always been impatient with shamans who burned talismans for people to drink or with folk remedies that couldn’t cure illnesses. Much of Mo Li’s worldview came from Qin Lu. Hearing the villagers call Immortal Peng repeatedly, he was already frowning inwardly.
Meng Qi brushed the water from his tattered clothes, glanced at Mo Li, and then jokingly said, “The old gentleman is wise. Can’t you tell that my friend and I were caught in a storm, almost becoming the son-in-law of the Dragon King? Fortunately, the Dragon King didn’t fancy me, so I narrowly escaped with my life.”
Mo Li: “…”
The national teacher’s mouth, a deceiver’s trick.
Meng Qi smiled freely, saying that while he couldn’t become the son-in-law of the Dragon King of Pengze, he still had hope of becoming the son-in-law of Qimao Mountain.
Upon hearing this, Immortal Peng stroked his beard and asked thoughtfully, “May I ask, did you two swim to the shore, or were you carried by the floodwaters to the highlands by the lake?”
“Is there a problem with that?” Meng Qi asked, glancing subtly at Mo Li.
Mo Li nodded imperceptibly, signaling that there was indeed a difference.
Years ago, Old Mister Qin discovered that those who frequently walked barefoot through rice fields, marshes, riverbanks, and the reed beds by lakes often fell ill, while those in deeper waters and the center of the lake did not.
Understanding the hint, Meng Qi replied, “To be honest, old gentleman, my friend and I have never been to Pengze. In the torrential rain, we lost our sense of direction. Relying on our swimming skills, we swam for a while and, by chance, reached the shore. We have no idea where that place was.”
Immortal Peng nodded. Just then, a strongman, who had gone to investigate, returned and quietly reported the situation to Immortal Peng.
Immortal Peng raised his eyebrows and addressed the merchants, “The price of villagers’ homes, grain, and firewood is their own business, and it’s not for me to interfere. In a while, there will be medicine boiling at the village entrance. You all can drink a bowl to ward off miasma.”
One of the traveling merchants cautiously asked, “Immortal Peng, how much does a bowl of that medicine cost?”
“It’s free.” Immortal Peng, with a compassionate expression, said slowly, “Heaven has brought disaster, but merit lies in human hands. Accumulate blessings, avoid anger, and keep calm to prolong your life.”
As he spoke, he glanced around at the villagers, and half of them lowered their heads quietly.
“For decades, Spirit Medicine Village has been treating and saving lives. I hope you are not dragged into the path of hungry ghosts by past karmic debts. Do not create further karma in this life, lest you burden your future lives,” Immortal Peng said, half warning and half advising. Then, turning to Meng Qi, he cupped his hands and said, “I apologize for the behavior of these country folk. Their knowledge is shallow, they can’t even read a basketful of characters. Please, this way.”
When a seventy-year-old elder offers a formal invitation, even the county magistrate must respond politely.
After all, an elder who has lived to such an age is rarely not a local gentry. Even if they are poor, basic courtesy must be shown in respect for the elderly.
“I thank you kindly. Please, lead the way, old gentleman.”
Meng Qi casually cupped his hands in return, but nearby, some villagers glared at him, seemingly accusing him of disrespecting Immortal Peng.
Those villagers who were about to speak up were quickly pulled back by others.
Earlier, before dawn, not many had noticed Meng Qi and Mo Li during the argument between the caravan and the villagers. But now that it was early morning and Immortal Peng had personally greeted them, the villagers, who were not entirely ignorant of the world, decided to let the matter go.
Even carter Lao Qi’s caravan received some benefits. The villagers providing shelter and water were willing to lower their prices a bit, allowing the caravan members to rest.
As Mo Li walked, he observed that this fishing village was relatively prosperous. The open spaces were not used for growing vegetables but for medicinal herbs.
Every household had several large jars and pots in their courtyards, all covered tightly with black cloth.
“Are you esteemed guests from Luning County?” Immortal Peng asked proactively, still walking ahead without turning around.
Mo Li pressed Meng Qi’s arm and replied in a low voice, “No, we’re from Kuaiji County.”
Meng Qi narrowed his eyes, noting that places near the coast didn’t seem to suffer from this strange illness.
Yangzhou was vast and extremely wealthy.
The former fief of Prince Ning of Chu was in Luning County, while Prince Wu ruled over Kuaiji County. Both areas belonged to Yangzhou. In addition, Yangzhou had over a dozen other counties. After the fall of the Chu Dynasty and the establishment of the Qi Dynasty, both princes raised armies and fought for territory for seven or eight years, eventually splitting Yangzhou into two, with Prince Ning and Prince Wu each governing their part.
Prince Wu’s territory was smaller, consisting of only four counties, mostly in the north and east near the sea. However, just the revenue from salt production alone gave him a significant advantage among the three feudal lords.
Prince Ning’s territory was larger, but it was mostly mountainous and hilly, less wealthy than Prince Wu’s, and its population was smaller than Prince Jing’s, leaving him somewhat in an awkward middle position.
Unlike Jingzhou, which was fortified by natural barriers and cut off from trade with the Qi Dynasty, the lands of Prince Wu and Prince Ning were not separated by such obstacles. People could not be easily blocked, and only symbolic checkpoints were set up. Merchant caravans could take detours, hiring guards to protect against bandits. It was common for aristocratic children and scholars to travel between the two places.
Immortal Peng was not surprised upon hearing this and simply smiled, saying, “The southeast is a land of scenic beauty, home to the Three Wu Capitals, and Hangzhou has been prosperous since ancient times. I have long heard of it. Judging by your accents, your ancestors were northerners.”
“That’s right. We followed Prince Wu to his fief and settled in Kuaiji,” Meng Qi agreed.
His accent was still that of the old Chu dialect, which only those who had accompanied the princes south could have. The local aristocrats in the south spoke a form of official language influenced by regional dialects, which did not sound like this.
Wearing Chu garments, following Chu customs, and speaking in Chu dialect was something only the most conservative and nostalgic people would persist in doing.
The official systems of the three princes were a complete mess, having been entirely changed, and the aristocracy didn’t care who sat on the throne as long as their family’s prosperity endured.
This created a peculiar situation. The feudal lords and the high-ranking officials of Jingzhou and Yangzhou claimed allegiance to the Chu Dynasty, but in reality, they had drastically altered the land taxes and military strategies originally promoted by the Chu. The aristocrats, while publicly loyal to one prince, secretly sent their children to serve other princes, placing bets on all three sides. If it weren’t for the strict laws of the Qi Dynasty and the troubles caused by the Jinyiwei, they might have even sought a foothold north of the Yangtze River.
Opportunists naturally existed, but there were also hardliners who stuck to their principles, mostly scholars.
These scholars cursed the Qi and insulted the Lu clan, firmly declaring they would never bow to the usurper. Some of them praised different princes, believing one of them would reunite the empire and restore the glory of Chu, but most ridiculed the three feudal lords with bitter cynicism, wallowing in sorrow and mourning day after day.
Though they wouldn’t eat, they would always drink, gathering to drink together. When drunk, they would write poems and essays, lamenting the state of politics, weeping, and cursing.
It didn’t matter whether they were scholars from Jingzhou or literati from Yangzhou—so long as they mourned for Chu and cursed the government, they quickly became kindred spirits.
These scholars, from aristocratic backgrounds, didn’t want to stay home or enter officialdom, so they wandered the land.
Immortal Peng assumed that Meng Qi and Mo Li were of this kind.
—In their forties, they would have been around twenty when Chu fell. Married by now, they would have been eager to achieve something great. Perhaps they had even passed the Chu civil service exam.
Then, overnight, everything changed, and their lives became worse by the day.
The three feudal lords, whom they had pinned their hopes on to cross the river, suppress the rebellion, and defeat the Qi, had all proven disappointing. They only vied for power in the south, pursuing selfish ambitions. With families to care for, these men were dragged down by responsibilities and could only swallow their grievances or drift aimlessly, meeting with friends, getting drunk, and sobbing in each other’s arms.
Immortal Peng’s expression remained indifferent, and he showed no intention of continuing the conversation with Meng Qi. After a while, they stopped in front of a large house with blue tiles. Immortal Peng solemnly gestured and said, “Please, come in.”
“After you, old gentleman.”
Meng Qi responded casually with polite words.
Some of the strongmen followed them inside, while others stayed outside on guard.
As soon as they entered the house, someone brought them two sets of clean clothes, which looked like Daoist robes, made from fine cloth.
“This is a poor village with nothing special. Please excuse us,” Immortal Peng said.
“Not at all. We are already deeply grateful for your help, old gentleman.”
Meng Qi spoke with some sincerity, as the clothes were offered free of charge.
Judging by the situation, it seemed Immortal Peng wasn’t going to charge them for tea or lodging either.
The two exchanged a glance and simultaneously declined the help of the young servants, heading to the side room to change clothes.
The side room was filled with the scent of burning mugwort, and several pouches filled with herbal powder hung from the window.
“Insect-repelling herbs,” Mo Li sniffed, adding, “The remaining ones are for clearing the mind.”
These were common remedies in the southern regions, nothing out of the ordinary.
Meng Qi had already changed into the fine cloth robe, which was different from Immortal Peng’s; it had no embroidery, and the undergarments were simple as well. Many southern scholars wore Daoist robes, not because they were monks, but because it was convenient, cool, and a way to express their indifference to officialdom.
Although Meng Qi didn’t know the subtleties behind these customs, after all the twists and turns, his only concern about clothing was that it should be clean and not fade.
He had almost lost all patience with it.
Heaven knew how many sets of clothes he had “lost” along this journey. The fabrics he personally picked out at high prices never even made it onto his body. If he didn’t know that witchcraft was pure nonsense, Master Meng might have suspected that someone had cursed him to never stay clothed.
But it seemed like these incidents always happened after he met the doctor, especially as their relationship grew closer, and the clothes disappeared even faster. Could it be—this was fate?
Author’s Note:
Fate: I didn’t do it. I don’t exist. Don’t make things up.
