Chapter 72: A Night’s Stay

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Chen Jianchen carried his book case and propped up the cloth canopy on the wooden frame. From a distance, he looked like a miniature sedan chair. In truth, the canopy served only basic purposes; if a strong wind or heavy rain struck, it would be useless. Mostly, it functioned as a hat—perfect for blocking the sun.

Clad in a white scholar’s robe, with a Confucian cap and his book case on his back, Chen Jianchen was the very image of a wandering scholar, unmistakably a poor one. After all, wealthy scholars never needed to bear the weight of their own books; they had servants or pages to handle such burdens, freeing themselves to stroll lightly, waving gilded fans in leisure.

For no reason, Chen Jianchen recalled the appearance of Leslie Cheung in “A Chinese Ghost Story”—the very same attire. Compared to his own travels, eating amidst the wind and sleeping under the dew, battered by the elements and in disarray, he was actually faring rather well.

He had no means of transport. The old mule had long been sold—useless now. Horses and carriages were rare luxuries, nearly impossible to obtain. So walking was his only option.

For most frail scholars, walking ten miles to study would be unbearable; after a few hundred meters, blisters would rise and exhaustion would lay them low. But Chen Jianchen was well accustomed to exercise. He strode swiftly, not feeling the least fatigue after over an hour of walking.

By noon, he saw the outline of Jingyang Village. He didn’t enter, but skirted it, heading straight for Maple Mountain.

—It was autumn again, and Maple Mountain had entered its “tourist season.” Yet the rain of the past days had hampered travel, so he didn’t encounter any poets or travelers from the city. Otherwise, with his attire, he could at least have caught a ride.

Chen Jianchen left the city for Maple Mountain, not solely to seek Yingning. The mountain’s rear stretched vast and unending; he had no idea where Yingning’s cave lay—it was like searching for a needle in the sea. More importantly, he chose this time to leave Jiangzhou to avoid the irksome Dharma Assembly.

The Jiangzhou city Dharma Assembly lasted three days. A massive stage was erected in the city square, conch shells sounded daily, and eminent monks took turns expounding scripture. Below, believers gathered in droves...

It was lively—lively to the point of vexation.

Contrast this with the Daoist pursuit of carefree wandering: Buddhism, on the other hand, flung its doors wide open to all. “Lay down the butcher’s knife, become a Buddha on the spot.” Even a blood-stained demon king, if willing to repent and lay down his blade, could attain Buddhahood.

Such openness made Buddhism’s threshold exceedingly low, almost non-existent, easily amassing a vast following. Perhaps for this reason, throughout the Tian Tong Dynasty’s history, rulers opposed Buddhism—fearing its rapid expansion might undermine the nation’s foundations.

This time, no one knew why Emperor Zhengming went against ancestral teachings and began promoting Buddhism.

Chen Jianchen, not being of the court, knew little of the countless machinations, but he sensed a brewing storm. From Daoist Master Qingyun’s words—“Where the nation declines, monsters arise”—to Nie Zhiyuan’s demotion, Chen Jianchen could infer some unusual trends.

Such trends formed the tide of the times.

Against the tide, individual strength often appeared pale and powerless.

This was the root of Chen Jianchen’s cautious conduct. He always hid his deepest thoughts, never flaunting ambitions to overturn fate.

At present, he hadn’t even gauged the changes of the weather...

Only wisdom could ensure survival.

There was no doubt—Chen Jianchen had not yet reached the supreme realm of “worrying before the world’s troubles, rejoicing after the world’s joy.” He estimated that reaching such heights would require mastery of “Establishing Virtue,” the realm described in the “Three Pillars of Authenticity.”

This called for accumulation—constant learning, self-examination, understanding, and breakthrough. Stripped of formality, the “Three Pillars of Authenticity” were much like martial arts or Daoist methods in essence, though lacking clear divisions of rank, making them even more mysterious.

At times, Chen Jianchen even doubted the true origin of the “Three Pillars of Authenticity”—perhaps it merely wore the garb of Confucianism, holding secrets yet unexplained. Maybe, to truly understand, one must reach the highest realm—Establishing Virtue, which would not perish. Then, his inner world would become clear, and the demon-banishing brush, the mysterious figure glimpsed only from behind, would reveal their true nature.

In a word, Chen Jianchen was still seeking a path suited to himself.

There is a saying, “Knowing and doing are one”—a noble ideal, but in reality, many possess knowledge without action. The limitation lies in circumstance: how can one practice charity without money? How can one act heroically without strength?

To have a heart but lack ability ultimately amounts to empty talk.

Thus, Chen Jianchen pursued the possession of power.

Power is diverse; in the mundane world, authority is a source. When facing demons, cultivators, and monsters, righteous energy is the foundation for survival.

How to combine the two organically was the problem Chen Jianchen pondered.

...

By dusk, he reached the site of his first encounter with Yingning and the wolf demon. After eating some dry rations, he found a suitable spot to spend the night. He had no fear of wild beasts—he had the rat demon.

Little Yi was the perfect protector.

Despite its small stature and unimpressive appearance, it was, after all, a demon of the Yin Spirit realm. Ordinary beasts dared not challenge a rat demon; sensing its aura, they would flee in terror.

With Little Yi, searching for Yingning seemed far more promising.

The campfire burned; Chen Jianchen, not yet sleepy, sat upright reading by firelight—he had packed several books in his case to ease the loneliness of the journey.

A man in the deep mountains, beside a fire, reading poetry—if others knew, they might call him mad.

Yet some scholars, before the imperial exams, in pursuit of focused study, would willingly live in isolation, leaving cities and villages behind to build huts in scenic hills, where they would immerse themselves in poetry and prose.

Zhuge Wolong’s “Travel Notes from the Micro Pavilion” contained many such tales; in those stories, the protagonist scholars, burning midnight oil, would encounter beautiful, kind fox spirits. After some entanglement, their studies enhanced with fragrance, they would win the beauty’s heart—a living Eastern fairy tale.

Chen Jianchen knew there was truth behind these tales. For in this Maple Mountain, there lived a gentle, endearing fox spirit—Yingning. He wondered if she would appear tonight.