Chapter Forty: The Paper Crane

(New book launching, seeking member clicks, votes, all kinds of support!)

After understanding the various circumstances, Chen Jianchen had already made up his mind, though he pretended to ponder in silence. The local earth god was so suppressed that he could hardly breathe, his face swollen like pig's liver, begging for mercy without cease.

At last, Chen Jianchen spoke. “I’ll spare you this time, but if you dare commit evil again, there will be no leniency!”

The earth god desperately promised to reform and become a righteous deity from now on...

With a thought from Chen Jianchen, the enormous stone formed of his righteous energy vanished into thin air. Freed from its weight, the earth god scrambled to bow in gratitude, then fled with his head in his arms, scurrying back to his own temple.

—This earth god had possessed Mo San-niang, touching Chen Jianchen’s reverse scale. He had indeed felt the urge to kill, but upon reconsideration, felt it was not prudent—at least, the time was not yet right. For now, restraint would yield better results.

The night passed without further incident. The next morning, Chen Jianchen went to his mother's room and saw Mo San-niang’s spirits had greatly improved; she could now get up by herself, her complexion gradually regaining a hint of rosy color.

He hurried to say, “Your unworthy son has caused you suffering, Mother.”

Mo San-niang smiled. “Liuxian, it’s strange; I too dreamed last night. That earth god came to bother me again, but suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge stone flew in and pinned him down. Then it disappeared... Only then was I able to sleep soundly.”

Chen Jianchen offered no further explanation. “That’s good, then.”

Mo San-niang added, “Still, I think I should take time to offer incense to the earth god. As the saying goes: ‘Those who worship many gods are protected by them...’”

Her thinking was difficult to change, and Chen Jianchen had no desire to try; such efforts would surely be in vain. In this world, ghosts and gods were objective realities. His disbelief was not in their existence, but in devotion and faith.

It was simply a matter of conviction.

He said, “Mother, I have only taken a day’s leave from the academy. After breakfast, I must return.”

Mo San-niang felt ashamed. “Liuxian, it’s all my fault for falling ill suddenly and disturbing your studies.”

Chen Jianchen replied earnestly, “Mother, please don’t say that. Learning is important, but filial piety takes precedence. How could one neglect filial duty for the sake of study?”

Mother and son chatted a while longer. Meanwhile, Abao had prepared breakfast, and they began to eat.

The meals at Minghua Academy were generally good, but Chen Jianchen always felt they paled in comparison to Abao’s cooking. On this trip home, his appetite soared; he devoured nearly two-thirds of the dishes by himself.

His enjoyment pleased Mo San-niang, and Abao was even happier.

After the meal, Chen Jianchen gave a few words of advice to his mother and Abao, then bid farewell and returned to Jiangzhou, resuming the tranquil life of the academy.

At Minghua Academy, the main curriculum consisted of formulaic classics, but there were also lessons in prose, calligraphy, and poetry. Prose here referred to a freer style distinct from the rigid eight-legged essays; it paid no heed to rhyme or parallelism and was unbound by constraints.

Chen Jianchen was fond of these classes and listened attentively, never distracted.

Days flowed by like a quiet stream. Chen Jianchen had expected trouble from the Underworld soon, but none came. He wondered what plans they might be making. Yet, after grasping the general structure of the Underworld, his confidence grew—he was sure they wouldn’t dare make a scene.

Within the Tian Tong Dynasty, many people disregarded ghosts and gods—cultivators, for example, fell into this category. The Underworld could do nothing about them and simply ignored them.

Now that Chen Jianchen was practicing the “True Threefold Principles,” with righteous energy as his protection, he held a vital bargaining chip in his disregard for ghosts and gods.

The “True Threefold Principles” was wondrous indeed; its author unknown, yet able to craft such a resplendent work. Succinct and profound, each word was a gem, similar yet distinct from the Confucianism Chen Jianchen knew.

Since Chen Jianchen had refined a thread of righteous energy, his comprehension of the treatise deepened, but the further he delved, the more unfathomable it became, as if shrouded in mist, hiding untold secrets.

On this night, the moon was bright and stars sparse, the sky clear.

Chen Jianchen read by lamplight, immersed in a book called “Travel Notes from the Pavilion of Microcosms.”

This book, written entirely in prose, was authored by “Zhuge Wolong”—a name both familiar and grand. It recounted, in the form of travel notes, many short stories: rural tales, strange events, all told with superb style and wit, making for delightful reading.

Such miscellaneous works, like “Travel Notes from the Pavilion of Microcosms,” were third-rate books in the Tian Tong Dynasty and forbidden from public sale. But where laws exist, so do loopholes; as long as one had connections, these books circulated freely. It was said that the most famous and widely spread was a first-rate book called “Orchids, Bamboo, and Plum Blossoms,” filled with tales of romance and therefore much beloved.

“Travel Notes from the Pavilion of Microcosms” had been procured by Wang Fu, in handwritten form, but the script was neat and did not hinder reading. Chen Jianchen happened upon it and borrowed it.

Wang Fu himself had little interest in “Travel Notes from the Pavilion of Microcosms.” He was far more intrigued by “Orchids, Bamboo, and Plum Blossoms,” searching everywhere for a copy to transcribe, hoping to keep it under his pillow for constant study. Yet, he had never found a way, forever regretting his inability to glimpse the legendary book.

Chen Jianchen was engrossed in a story about a romance between a fox spirit and a poor scholar when he heard a faint, fluttering sound. Looking up, he saw a small orange-yellow paper crane flying in from the window, circling overhead. Its wings flapped deftly, lifelike, as if it were alive.

A Daoist technique!

Chen Jianchen understood instantly.

With a whisper, the paper crane descended gently onto the desk, and from its tiny mouth, it spat out a slender, folded note.

A letter delivered by paper crane?

Chen Jianchen was both surprised and delighted.

After delivering the note, the palm-sized crane made a childish nodding motion, then tapped its little head lightly on the desk, as if offering Chen Jianchen a salute. With a double flutter, it took off again, flying out the window and vanishing.

How fascinating...

Chen Jianchen was utterly intrigued. He had heard of the flying crane technique for delivering messages, yet never seen it in action—now, he witnessed it firsthand.

He calmed his excitement, picked up the note, and unfolded it.

c@.