Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Haunted Abyss

(The matter of the Sanjiang rankings last week—brothers and sisters, your support was formidable. Thanks to your efforts, "Liaozhai" secured first place, the top scholar’s seat, and Nanchao is deeply grateful. However, the top spot in the Sanjiang channel will only be updated after a two-week delay, so you'll see the refresh in two weeks!)

Raindrops fell in fine threads upon the surface of the oiled-paper umbrella, then trickled down, each droplet splashing into tiny blossoms of water on the ground. The autumn wind blew, carrying with it a chill laced with a bleak killing intent that made one instinctively shrink their neck.

Chen Jianchen stood there quietly, unmoving for the time it takes to finish a cup of tea.

Suddenly!

The rat demon poked its head out of his pocket, and protested indignantly, “Master, there’s no need to hesitate any longer! I’ll go teach that arrogant rich brat a lesson—who does he think he is? To dare invite that so-called Celestial Master Zhang to deal with you—he’s courting death! Master, just say the word: should I bite his throat or gnaw away his descendants? I’ll show him the might of the Grand Burrower! Just because this rat hasn’t shown its fangs, does he think I’m afraid of cats?”

As it spoke, Little Yi bared its teeth, its tiny paws clenched into fists, presenting a comically furious air. Yet the idioms it made up for itself were somewhat awkward, adding a touch of humor to the scene.

—In truth, when it slipped into Wu Wencai’s sedan chair, it hadn’t overheard any substantial secrets. Not everyone sits muttering to themselves, blurting out all their plans—that would be too foolish.

Wu Wencai was certainly no fool.

Having gained little in the way of intelligence, Little Yi was dissatisfied, so it resorted to extraordinary means: daring to send its spirit out of its body within the sedan, transforming into a fierce ghostly apparition, and invading Wu Wencai’s soul.

Wu Wencai, being a mere mortal, his body long since hollowed out by wine and women, was terrified out of his wits. He truly believed that the gods watched from above, that his plan to invite Celestial Master Zhang against Chen Jianchen had been discovered by divine powers. In his fear, he spilled everything—things he should have said, and things he shouldn’t have.

After hearing everything, the rat demon was so indignant it nearly blew its cover on the spot, ready to turn Wu Wencai into a eunuch. However, fearing it might foil its master’s plans, it rushed back to report truthfully to Chen Jianchen; only to find Chen Jianchen listening calmly, betraying no reaction.

—Wu Wencai’s intent to invite Celestial Master Zhang against him, Chen Jianchen could more or less deduce the reason. As a scholar, with official recognition, if Wu Wencai tried to harm him through normal means, it would be difficult; hiring assassins was even less reliable and risked leaving evidence behind.

Thus, inviting this so-called Celestial Master Zhang, reputed to command ghosts and spirits, made sense.

Talk of ghosts and gods is always shrouded in mystery—few have ever seen such things with their own eyes. If Celestial Master Zhang used a small trick to scatter Chen Jianchen’s spirit, leaving him a fool or an idiot, whether his life could be saved would depend on fate.

Even listening to Celestial Master Zhang’s grandiose words, Wu Wencai himself was only half convinced. But since the man enjoyed a sterling reputation in Jiangzhou, respected by many, and had accepted a handsome payment of ten gold ingots, Wu Wencai reckoned he wouldn’t dare lie outright.

Why dirty his own hands, when a borrowed blade would do?

...

From the intelligence gathered by Little Yi, Chen Jianchen surmised that this Celestial Master Zhang was at best a half-baked cultivator—a true cultivator would hardly lust after mortal wealth and glory.

As Daoist Qingyun once said, once cultivators learned the art of transference, if they ever needed money, they could employ the Five Ghosts Transporting Method to secretly whisk away the treasures of the rich overnight, leaving no trace. Yet such acts were considered beneath true cultivators, a violation of their principles, and only used in dire necessity.

Celestial Master Zhang, taking money to do others’ bidding, was obviously second-rate at best, perhaps just a charlatan, his claims of a Dragon-Tiger Mountain lineage highly suspect.

Nevertheless, it was wise to prepare—caution is the boat that sails for ten thousand years. One must never underestimate an opponent.

Standing under the rain, Chen Jianchen pondered not so much the threat of Celestial Master Zhang, but how to deal with Wu Wencai—the former governor’s son, the only heir of a current minister, a man of significant influence. If he were eliminated, it would likely set off a chain reaction in the scholarly world; if left unchecked, he would become a lurking threat.

Against such a person, you could never predict what tricks he might play, or when he would strike.

What must be done, must be done.

Chen Jianchen had always been decisive, clean and efficient—never indecisive or hesitant. Since he cultivated righteous energy, what did he have to fear?

The "True Chapter of Triple Integrity" says: “The petty are hard to keep, drive them away; traitors are like ghosts, execute them...”

If one cannot even defend their own dignity and safety, what hope is there of cultivating one’s mind, managing one’s household, governing a country, or bringing peace to the world?

The key to righteousness is in the word “upright.” As long as one stands upright, there is nothing to fear. Of course, this “uprightness” is defined by one’s own stance, not by some principle-less “righteousness.” Without a stance, there is no difference between right and wrong—one becomes nothing but a reed in the wind.

Take last time, for instance, when he accidentally smashed the image of the Earth God—though it was an unintentional mistake, there was nothing to reproach in his conduct. “Pity the midnight guest who asks not after the living, but the spirits”—scholars should not revere ghosts and gods, but uphold the proper order, set the moral tone, and if need be, even drive out the spirits themselves.

In another world’s history, there was never a shortage of scholars who took the lead in destroying temples and idols. Because they stood upright, their minds resolute, they feared neither retribution nor slander.

In this world, even though ghosts and gods exist, they too must abide by their own laws. That Earth God came in a fury, to accuse him with underworld law for a living man’s crime—an act of overreach, a trickery of local gods pulling the wool over the eyes of their superiors.

As the saying goes: petty men are like ghosts, but the truly wicked are fiercer than ghosts.

This time, Wu Wencai’s effort to harm Chen Jianchen by proxy was, without a doubt, the act of a villain.

Perhaps Nie Xiaoqian’s involvement played a part, but Chen Jianchen believed more firmly: some troubles are inescapable, no matter how you try to avoid them.

Calamity sometimes falls from the sky; you might be sitting peacefully at home, and disaster strikes your head out of nowhere; or you might simply be walking your own road, and run into some ruffian looking for trouble.

So, cursing fate is useless in the face of adversity. One must meet it head-on.

Righteous energy is vast, pure yang and strong—it never advocates unprincipled tolerance. Not fighting back when hit, not retorting when insulted, turning the other cheek—those are the teachings of Buddhism. The "True Chapter of Triple Integrity," however, advocates “repay resentment with uprightness, virtue with virtue.”

In that instant, Chen Jianchen made up his mind. He closed his eyes, sensing the condensation of two more streams of righteous energy within. He knew his resolve had grown even firmer.

He strode home, umbrella in hand.

Little Yi asked, “Master, are you just going to let that vile wretch off? Why not storm the Chaotian Temple right now and deal with that so-called Celestial Master first!”

Chen Jianchen smiled faintly, his tone as light as clouds and wind. “No rush. If he doesn’t move, I don’t move; if he moves, I’ll move before him.”

The rat demon listened, utterly baffled. Was its master’s speech too profound, or had it simply read too few books?

A truly troublesome question indeed.

%%%%%%%%%%%%

A recommendation for a new work by a certain talented author:

Night fog breeds slaughter, the sword’s dance brings calamity.
In a rage, seas of blood are overturned, and the world becomes my enemy.

If you’re interested, please show your support!