Chapter Sixty-Two: An Acquaintance

Chapter One delivered. Please continue to recommend, and let’s see how far Strange Tales can climb on the weekly recommendation list!

Traveling through time and space to such a fantastical, bizarre world, Chen Jianchen could not afford to be anything but cautious. In all matters, he had to think carefully, and think deeply.

—Based on what he understood so far, the Buddhist sect had waned within the Tian Tong Dynasty, while the Daoist order continued to develop steadily. Perhaps, in the eyes of the emperor, a certain balance had been lost, prompting him to deploy some political means.

This was entirely normal.

It wasn’t that the emperor feared the Daoist order might rebel and threaten his own rule. In truth, throughout history, the teachings of Dao and Buddhism had never been mainstream, never the royal way.

Firstly, both sects were difficult to enter; true disciples were extremely rare, like phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

Secondly, even after entry, cultivation was harder still. Daoist cultivation encompassed six great realms: Opening the Mind, Yin Spirit, Golden Core, Nascent Soul, Dharma Manifestation, and Human Immortal. The Buddhist path, meanwhile, had the Nine Transformations: Mortal Body, Skin Body, Flesh Body, Bone Body, Heart Body, Essence Body, Dharma Body, True Body, and Golden Body!

Unless one reached the highest realm—Human Immortal for Daoists or Ninth Transformation Golden Body for Buddhists—both sects shared a common weakness: fear and avoidance of vital energy!

All humans possess vital energy; the stronger the body, the more vigorous the spirit, the purer the faith, the more abundant the vital energy.

Among humans, none have more robust vital energy than soldiers—disciplined, tempered by the carnage of the battlefield, their blood and spirit burn the brightest.

Soldiers are the foundation of dynastic rule, the power upon which it most relies.

The Tian Tong Dynasty, established for nearly a thousand years, commanded an elite force of one hundred thousand, known as the “Black Shirt Guards.” Their signature attire was black, embroidered with straight bamboo on the sleeves.

A cluster of upright bamboo was stitched onto their sleeves, serving as a distinctive mark; their clothing was pitch-black, deep as ink, exuding a pressure as heavy as a mountain.

Every Black Shirt Guard was chosen through countless trials, their hands stained with untold blood, emitting a killing aura and flamboyant vital energy.

Each was like a blazing torch, warding off ghosts and spirits, who dared not approach. For disciples of both Dao and Buddhism, unless their cultivation reached the highest realm, facing the Black Shirt Guards, they dared not let their spirits leave their bodies to cast spells; if they did, their souls would be reduced to ashes before they could even approach.

Therefore, with such a powerful army at his disposal, the emperor had nothing to fear; his political maneuvers were merely dictated by necessity.

It seemed that the recently enthroned Emperor Zhengming was far from simple.

...

At this moment, Wang Fu suggested, “Liuxian, the weather is so fine today, let’s go out for a walk. You’re always cooped up in your room—aren’t you afraid of stifling yourself?”

Chen Jianchen pondered for a moment, agreed, took some coins, and went out with Wang Fu.

He had been residing in Jiangzhou City for some time, but had never truly wandered or observed it. Now was a good opportunity.

But when Chen Jianchen voiced this thought, Wang Fu shook his head like a rattle drum, adamantly refusing, “What’s so interesting about Jiangzhou? It’s just streets, houses, and people. We should go to Bird Strolling Tower, and see Mr. Zhuge instead.”

Seeing Wang Fu’s excitement, it was clear that visiting Mr. Zhuge was merely an excuse; “bird strolling” was his real intention.

Chen Jianchen knew that Zhuge Wolong had already departed. When he gifted Chen Jianchen the “Stone Dream Chronicle,” he had mentioned he would leave the next day to continue wandering. At his age, it was a little worrying, but everyone has their own ambitions and it’s not right to interfere.

Seeing Chen Jianchen uninterested in reading, Wang Fu continued to persuade, “Liuxian, I know you have reservations, but Bird Strolling Tower is full of fun things, not as debauched as you imagine. For instance, there’s a refined performer named Lady Lu, only fourteen, charming and graceful, adept in music, chess, painting—she’s truly remarkable. Even more incredible, she’s said to possess a miraculous acupuncture skill.”

Chen Jianchen replied coolly, “If she’s so remarkable, how could she end up as a performer in a brothel?”

—This so-called ‘refined performer’ may claim to sell art rather than body, but once favored by powerful patrons, she’d have no say in her fate.

Wang Fu responded, “I heard Lady Lu once came from a wealthy family, but her fortunes declined, her parents died young, and her estate was seized by powerful men. With no means to resist, she ended up at Bird Strolling Tower.”

Chen Jianchen uttered a soft “oh.”

Wang Fu urged, “Liuxian, will you go or not? I hear Lady Lu will perform ‘Ba Tune’ today—a rare opportunity, even money can’t buy it.”

Chen Jianchen smiled, “I’m not used to such things; you go ahead.”

Hearing this, Wang Fu was disappointed, but said no more, and left on his own. Chen Jianchen, meanwhile, began to wander Jiangzhou City, aimlessly, observing the city’s structure and local customs.

Wait—that’s the bearded man from the drifting boat the other day!

While glancing about, Chen Jianchen suddenly spotted, across the street in a tavern, a tall, imposing man drinking alone.

On that outing, Chen Jianchen had seen a boat drifting down Jian River, with a man standing at the bow, impressive in bearing, his iron-like beard leaving a deep impression. He regretted not meeting him then, and now, by chance, saw him here, prompting him to approach.

The man occupied a table by himself, with only a simple dish, but two large jars of fine wine before him. His attire was unchanged from that day, most striking was the enormous sword case strapped tightly to his back—a tangible air of grim resolve.

Chen Jianchen approached and bowed, “I am Chen Jianchen. May I have the honor of sharing a drink with you?”

The man glanced up, coldly replying, “I never drink with strangers.”

Chen Jianchen chuckled, and sat down with ease. “First time strangers, second time friends, isn’t it?”

His words made the man raise an eyebrow, scrutinizing Chen Jianchen, still blunt, “Judging by your dress, you must be a scholar. Why so forward?”

Chen Jianchen signaled the waiter for a few good dishes, smiling, “Scholars are people too. Seeing your heroic demeanor, I wish to make your acquaintance. The opportunity is rare; though I came uninvited, my sincerity is clear.”

The man smiled, “You are refreshingly direct, unburdened by social niceties.”

Chen Jianchen replied earnestly, “Too much etiquette only breeds hypocrisy—not something scholars should endorse.”

The man finally laughed, seeming to accept Chen Jianchen’s approach. “I am a Qin native, surname Yan, courtesy name Red Knight.”