Chapter 6: When the Fake Monk Met the True Charlatan

When Zhang Chi finally awoke from his drunken stupor, it was already sunset on the following day. Santong, who had been waiting impatiently at his side, immediately exclaimed upon seeing Zhang Chi wake, “Brother Zhang, you’ve slept a whole day and night! Hurry up, let’s head out of the city.”

“What about Dao Yuan and Dao Xuan, those two monks?” Zhang Chi’s head was still spinning, and upon opening his eyes and seeing only Santong, he tapped his head in confusion.

“They’ve already left the city,” Santong replied. “The Great Prosperity Trading Company’s caravan is setting out at dawn. Their party has already gathered and set up camp outside the city, just waiting for the night to pass. We still have time; as long as we get there tonight, it’ll be fine. I’ve already asked about the route. The caravan is camped just south of the city, not far, and there’s only one main road—easy to find.”

Zhang Chi was deeply moved. Before he crossed over, he’d never walked so much in his life, let alone over mountains and rough paths for days on end. His legs felt as if they were filled with lead. After drinking yesterday, he’d slept an entire day and night at the Great Prosperity Trading Company.

“Good brother, let’s set out together,” he said, patting Santong on the shoulder.

The southern city gate was not far, and the two of them arrived quickly. Just as they were about to leave the city, an old man dressed as a Taoist priest stepped forward, blocking their way. “You both seem in a hurry, likely bound for a long journey. Why not have your fortune told to see if your path will be lucky or ill?”

A swindler, Zhang Chi thought immediately. He’d encountered plenty of such tricksters before he crossed over. Without saying a word, he tugged Santong along, heading straight for the gate.

But the Taoist hurried after them, grabbing Zhang Chi’s sleeve. “Don’t go yet, gentlemen! Let me read your fortune, help you avoid misfortune—if it’s not accurate, you don’t need to pay.”

Zhang Chi had seen tricks a hundred times more sophisticated than this before he crossed over, but he couldn’t easily get rid of the old man. Exasperated, he turned to Santong and asked, “Do you have any money?”

Santong shook his head dumbly. “None.”

Spreading his hands, Zhang Chi told the old Taoist, “You see? We really don’t have any money.”

He started toward the gate again, but the Taoist caught his sleeve once more. “No money, no problem. If my reading works, you don’t have to pay either.”

It was the first time Zhang Chi had seen a Taoist so shamelessly insistent on reading a monk’s fortune. He said, “I truly have no money.”

“I truly don’t want your money,” the Taoist replied doggedly.

“Well, then, a reading can do no harm,” Santong said, his love for a bargain showing itself. But when he saw Zhang Chi glare at him, he realized his mistake and fell silent. Yet what Zhang Chi said next left him sweating.

“Since that’s the case, a reading will do no harm,” Zhang Chi smiled at the Taoist after glaring at Santong.

The Taoist led Zhang Chi to a roadside stall with a sign reading “Fortune Telling: Luck or Misfortune.” He spread out a sheet of paper and handed Zhang Chi a brush. “Please write a character.”

Zhang Chi saw it was a character-reading fortune. Though he was well-versed in classical literature, he had no skill with a brush. He scrawled out the character for “Chi” in his name, the result wobbly and awkward. The old Taoist studied it for a while, stroking his beard and smiling. “The character ‘Chi’ suggests travel. You both are heading far, are you not?”

“Chi means horse,” he continued, breaking the character down into its components. “Your journey will indeed be connected with horses—everything you encounter, everyone you meet, will relate to horses. However…” He paused, smiling but saying no more.

Zhang Chi was amused. Of course, if you’re traveling far, you’ll need horses or carriages. Still, he pressed, “However, what?”

“However, your writing is rather unsightly, especially the ‘horse’ part on the left. It’s lifeless—a dead horse, so to speak. It won’t last long, which means there will be bumps on your journey. I fear things may not go smoothly for you both.”

Hearing “may not go smoothly,” Zhang Chi was certain the next line would be about needing to spend money to avoid disaster. He’d seen this routine countless times before he crossed over. He found it remarkable that people here were just as clever.

He became even more convinced this Taoist was a charlatan.

Sure enough, the old Taoist said, “To be honest, your journey will be fraught with danger. But if you’re willing to part with some money, I can ensure your safety.”

Zhang Chi rolled his eyes and made to leave, but the Taoist grabbed him again, beaming. “But in light of your impassioned words yesterday—‘The Hu and Han, different lands and customs, Heaven and Earth apart, son to the west, mother to the east’—I know your heart is set on the world’s fate. I offer you, free of charge, the method to escape your coming peril.”

Zhang Chi was confused. The Taoist had addressed him as “young master,” though he was still wearing Dao Xuan’s monk robes. Why call him “young master”? Moreover, the old Taoist had quoted a line Zhang Chi had recited at the banquet yesterday, which only deepened his confusion.

The Taoist wrote four characters on the paper: “Lofty Emei.”

“This is the method to resolve the danger?” Zhang Chi asked, pointing to the phrase.

The Taoist only laughed, shaking his head. “The Buddha said: that which can be spoken is not the truth.”

That phrase—“what can be spoken is in error”—was precisely what Zhang Chi had said at the banquet yesterday, which startled him. He looked the Taoist up and down, but he was certain he had never met this strange man before. Some people have an unforgettable air about them, and this Taoist’s aura of charlatanry was so distinctive that Zhang Chi was sure he’d remember him if they’d met. They had not.

The Taoist laughed at Zhang Chi’s puzzled expression and, pointing at the four words, said, “Lofty Emei—don’t forget it, young master. In your hour of peril, it will serve you well.”

With that, he began packing up, looking ready to depart.

“It’s still early, sir. Why are you packing up?” Zhang Chi asked.

“I only do one reading a day,” the Taoist replied with a mysterious smile. “But today, I’ll give you one more—for free.”

“Still the character ‘Chi’—if you ask about romance, it means ‘riding to seek fragrance,’” the Taoist said with a sly grin. “It’s spring now, the time for seeking beauty. Flowers bloom everywhere, ripe for the picking, branches ready for planting. Though your journey may not be smooth, your luck with love is at its peak. I truly admire you.”

With that, the Taoist said no more, packed up his things, and left laughing.

Watching him go, Santong clicked his tongue and said to Zhang Chi, “He wasn’t wrong, you know. Before we left the city today, Miss Wang even came to see you. The way she looks at you is really something.”

Zhang Chi glared at him again. “Words of traveling charlatans aren’t to be trusted.”

Yet as they left the city and continued south, Zhang Chi found the Taoist’s words echoed in his mind—“Chi means horse”—and sure enough, they soon saw countless strong warhorses, numbering in the thousands.

The Eastern Jin was in the south, where horses were scarce, and they always suffered at the hands of northern cavalry. How had so many warhorses suddenly appeared south of the city? Even Santong gaped in astonishment.

Only when they saw Manager Li in the distance did Zhang Chi learn that these horses were the very cargo the Great Prosperity Trading Company was transporting.

He had never expected the company to be so wealthy, or that they would be moving thousands of warhorses to Jiankang. Horses were a precious commodity in the south; these must be worth a fortune.

Night had fallen, and the caravan was making final preparations. The cries of the warhorses echoed through the air. Zhang Chi saw a dozen or so carriages near Manager Li and guessed they were for the travelers. He walked toward them, murmuring, “They say a horse carries the spirit of a dragon. Now I see: carriages flow like water, and horses surge like dragons…”

...

As they walked, someone called out, “You two can’t go that way.” Turning, they saw a tall, imposing man standing behind them.

“Why not?” Santong asked bluntly.

“These warhorses come from the far north; they’re fierce and hard to tame. I’m afraid you might startle them and get hurt,” the man replied.

“What’s your name, brother?” Zhang Chi asked, noting the man’s military bearing.

“I am Du Ximing, head of the caravan’s guards. You two must be part of the party—why are you joining so late? Let me show you to the camp.”

The two agreed and followed Du Ximing through the caravan. As they walked, he explained, “Because we’re transporting so many horses, to prevent accidents, the young lady ordered all attendants and lighter cargo to camp separately.”

The camp was less than half a mile away. Even while still among the horses, Zhang Chi could see the tents of their group ahead. Over the sounds of whinnying, he asked, “Aren’t there horses in the south? Why go to such lengths to bring them from the far north?”

Though Santong had been a mountain bandit for only a short while, he’d spent years on the frontier and was well acquainted with the northern nomads and their horses. He laughed, “I never thought I’d see the day Brother Zhang didn’t know something! There are horses in the south, but they’re mostly for labor, pulling carts and such. On the battlefield, they’re no match for northern horses. The northern steeds are tall, unflinching in battle, brave, powerful, able to run a thousand miles a day. They charge like thunder—southern ponies can’t compare.”

Santong loved to boast, and now that he finally knew something Zhang Chi didn’t, he went on and on.

Zhang Chi recalled that in the age of cold steel, it was always the north that unified the land, never the south. The reasons were many: mountains and fortresses in the north, flat plains in the south, but most of all, the northern people were fierce and their horses unmatched. In the age of cavalry charge, what could withstand a massed formation of horsemen?

“I never imagined the Great Prosperity Trading Company could bring so many warhorses from the northern tribes,” Zhang Chi said. For a mere trading company to have such power was astonishing.

“As the saying goes, money can move heaven. The company is backed by noble families at court. The Minister of Works spent a fortune—at least a million coins—over three years just to make this happen. This is only the first batch of horses.”

Noting the resentment in Du Ximing’s tone when he mentioned the Minister, Zhang Chi mimicked his style and said, “A man like you, Du Ximing, so commanding and capable, yet only a guard captain—such talent is wasted.”

“I’m just a refugee from the north. With my background, it’s hard to rise,” Du Ximing replied, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Perhaps not,” Zhang Chi said. “If this journey succeeds and the horses reach Jiankang, you’ll earn great merit, and surely be recognized.”

“If we make it…” Du Ximing lowered his voice. “I fear it won’t be easy.”

As they spoke, the three arrived at the camp. Zhang Chi pondered Du Ximing’s ominous words. Meanwhile, Santong, seeing the crowd, asked, “Why are there so many people in the caravan?”

“Trade between north and south is profitable, so many travel this route. Huainan is a strategic border town, a hub for goods. But the world is unsettled, with bandits everywhere. The Great Prosperity Trading Company has been trading for years and has a strong escort. The fee to join is small, but it means safety. That’s why so many merchants join.”

While Santong marveled at the company’s wealth and scale, Miss Wang came over with a smile. Du Ximing quickly bowed, addressing her respectfully as “Miss.” Zhang Chi found it amusing to see such a burly man so deferential to a delicate young lady, but he mimicked Du Ximing’s bow and greeted her as well.

Clad in monk’s robes and unfamiliar with ancient etiquette, Zhang Chi’s gesture was awkward. Miss Wang smiled gently, returning his bow. “Young master, yesterday you drank heartily and recited poetry, your name now famous in Huainan. How could I accept such a salute?”

Santong tugged Zhang Chi aside and whispered, “I told you Miss Wang fancies you! The fortune-teller at the gate said our journey would involve horses, and now here we are with these northern steeds. The Wang family must be wealthy. If Miss Wang truly likes you and you come into fortune, don’t forget your old friend!”

Zhang Chi glared at him again, but Santong, used to it, only grinned, showing his big teeth.

Just then, Zhang Chi overheard Miss Wang instructing Du Ximing, “We’re short-handed. Divide the guards into two groups: one to protect the horses, one to protect the people.”

Du Ximing replied, “Miss, we have only five hundred guards, but over three thousand strong warhorses. If we split our forces and encounter horse thieves, we may not be able to protect all the horses.”

Miss Wang nodded, but seemed unconcerned, smiling mysteriously. “Du Ximing, surely you know the tale of the old man who lost his horse.”

Du Ximing had always admired her foresight, and seeing her so confident now, he said no more and left to reassign the guards.

Zhang Chi, too, knew the story—the loss of a horse could be a blessing in disguise—but he found it strange that Miss Wang had spent so much to buy horses from the north, yet was already prepared to lose them before even setting out. What kind of business was this? He was thoroughly puzzled.

Santong, recalling the Taoist’s warning about perils ahead, grew anxious. These days, he regarded the Taoist as a prophet whose every word came true. He fretted over the “Lofty Emei” solution, but couldn’t make sense of it. Seeing Zhang Chi unconcerned, he figured there was no need to worry—after all, with so many people in the caravan, if trouble came, he wouldn’t be the only one at risk. With a clever friend by his side, why should he be anxious at all?