"There's no water in the well. For drinking, washing clothes, and watering the vegetable patch, you have to haul water all the way up. The stone steps are steep and slick—dreadfully hard to walk on."
Mingyue pouted, his tone full of complaint, his small eyes stealing glances at Qin Sang.
Sensing what the boy was after, Qin Sang gave a faint smile. "From now on, Junior Brother, you can handle the laundry and cooking. Leave the heavy chores to Senior Brother."
"Really?!"
Mingyue leaped up, clapping his hands in delight. "Though that'll have to wait until your leg heals up, Senior Brother."
Children truly were easy to win over; in an instant, Mingyue grew much warmer toward Qin Sang.
Qin Sang looked around and pointed toward the rear row of rooms. "May I choose a room to stay in over there?"
He harbored secrets he could reveal to no one, and he wanted to keep his distance from Daoist Priest Jixin to avoid discovery.
"Of course you can," Mingyue said. "Master was just telling me to tidy up those rooms anyway. People used to come up the mountain seeking lodging, but they all moved away over time. Now more and more disaster refugees are coming from the north. Master said that as the weather turns colder, we should open up the rooms to shelter some of those with nowhere to go and help them survive the winter. Some of the temples on the mountain have already started doing it. Master says we don't demand merit, but we must perform good deeds."
Qin Sang picked a room in the northeast corner. Dust lay thick over the floor, and cobwebs crisscrossed the corners.
It was actually a suite of three adjoining rooms partitioned by bamboo screens. The two inner rooms both held weathered bamboo beds. Qin Sang chose the outermost room, where the setting sun shone straight through the window. Gazing out, one could catch a distant glimpse of the river winding through the mountain ranges—a splendid view.
***
Dinner consisted of greens, pickled vegetables, and steamed cornmeal buns. After eating and drinking the herbal medicine Mingyue had brewed for him, the two went up together to clean the room. They replaced the bed with fresh bamboo slats, laid out the bedding, and bustled about until late into the night.
With no clock, Qin Sang had no idea what hour it was. Seeing Mingyue yawn repeatedly, he urged the boy to go back and rest.
Having finally found someone to talk to, Mingyue was reluctant to leave. "Senior Brother, I'll boil a kettle of water so you can wash up."
Qin Sang ran through a set of Tiger-Subduing Long Fist, washed himself clean, and listened carefully for a while. Hearing that both Daoist Priest Jixin and Mingyue had fallen asleep, he carefully shut the door and window. By the pale sliver of moonlight, he drew out the items he carried to examine them.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he laid them out in a row: the money pouch, the seven-colored brocade pouch, the sheepskin parchment, the wooden sword, the Yanluo Banner, and the book.
Unable to make heads or tails of the brocade pouch and the parchment, he set them aside for now.
Taking up the ebony sword in one hand, Qin Sang frowned. He truly could not fathom how this tiny wooden sword had expanded into a flying sword.
*Did it require a blood offering?*
The thought had been turning in his mind for half the day. Steeling himself, he used a sharp sliver of bamboo to slice open his fingertip and let a drop of fresh blood fall onto the ebony sword.
Ignoring the sting in his finger, Qin Sang watched the sword with eager anticipation. Yet the blood merely landed on the polished blade and slid straight off its smooth surface.
Qin Sang could only watch helplessly as the drop struck the floor and smeared into the dust.
Refusing to give up, he picked up the Yanluo Banner and tried the same trick again, eventually testing both the brocade pouch and the sheepskin as well. Not a single one elicited the slightest reaction.
Cursing under his breath, Qin Sang picked up the book.
*Nether Scripture*—three prominent characters stood at the head of the text. It was only a dozen or so pages thin, yet every line was obscure and abstruse, riddled with characters he did not recognize. Qin Sang skimmed through to the end and found a section titled *Yanluo Banner* on the final two pages, its contents equally incomprehensible.
At the very least, this book was connected to the Yanluo Banner.
The man in black had used the banner to perish together with the youth; it was undoubtedly an artifact of immortals!
At the thought that this volume was almost certainly a cultivation manual, excitement flared hot in Qin Sang's chest. Yet he also recognized that even if it were a true path of cultivation, he had to understand it first. Otherwise, if he suffered Qi deviation, he would not even know how he died.
And to understand it, he first had to learn the characters. It seemed he truly needed to settle down and study scriptures at Qingyang Temple for a time.
This mountain temple was exceedingly serene, and food and drink were provided. Staying was no hardship, and he could take the opportunity to sort through his chaotic thoughts.
Though he had inherited Qin Sanwa's memories, he possessed no deep, bone-deep affection for the boy's family. Besides, his parents surely believed he had perished at the hands of the bandits.
Perhaps it was better not to see them. He could make it up to them if the opportunity arose in the future.
He had no desire to return to Wang Family Village. Even if he could not seek immortality, he refused to remain trapped in such a place, living out a mediocre life.
Had he not witnessed a flying sword with his own eyes, Qin Sang would have lived just as he had in his past life, chasing nothing beyond wealth, pleasure, power, fame, and fortune. Aboard the ship, he surely would have racked his brains scheming for advantage rather than disembarking so readily.
Bai Jianglan had said immortals were difficult to find, yet this *Nether Scripture* gave Qin Sang hope. Perhaps fortune truly favored him…
Lost in tangled thoughts, he fell asleep without knowing what hour it was. He slept dreamlessly through the night until the chirping of birds woke him the next morning. Daylight had already broken across the sky.
Qin Sang hurriedly rose, tidied himself, and hobbled down on his crutch. Just as he reached the back door of Qingyang Hall, he heard the chanting of scriptures and the steady rhythm of a wooden fish within.
Treading softly inside, he saw Daoist Priest Jixin and Mingyue performing their morning rites before the altar table. Three people seeking medical care had already arrived in the hall, along with a lay devotee who chanted along with Daoist Priest Jixin.
Not daring to disturb them, Qin Sang caught Mingyue glancing his way with an exaggerated wink and a nudge of his chin, gesturing for him to head around front.
Understanding the hint, Qin Sang nodded to the patients and made his way to the woodshed in the courtyard. There on the stove sat a bowl of mixed-grain porridge kept warm for him.
He splashed his face with water, wolfed down the porridge, and began the busy day.
With Qin Sang's assistance, the burden on the master and disciple eased considerably.
Knowing nothing of medicine, Qin Sang sat behind the desk, helping transcribe records and grind medicinal herbs.
The old Daoist diagnosed ailments, wrote prescriptions, drew talismans, interpreted divination lots, cast hexagrams, and chanted prayers for blessings—a man of all talents.
Mingyue received patients and pilgrims, boiled water, dispensed herbs, and cooked meals, keeping just as busy.
Before they knew it, evening approached. After seeing off the last patient, Mingyue barred the temple gates, and the three divided the work of cleaning the messy hall.
"Today is the seventh," the old Daoist said after studying the almanac for a long while and flipping through a few pages of the ledger. "Tomorrow I must go down the mountain to perform two small rituals. You two will stay behind to watch over the temple."
Saying so, Daoist Priest Jixin rose and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. "On the ninth and tenth, I will travel to Mount Huanghuang to gather herbs. If patients come up the mountain, Mingyue can treat minor ailments. For anything uncertain, tell them to return on the eleventh. Go prepare dinner. After eating, we will hold evening rites."
"Yes, Master."
Qin Sang followed Mingyue outside and noticed a hint of disappointment on the boy's face. After asking, he learned that Daoist Priest Jixin went up the mountain every month to gather herbs. Mount Huanghuang, where he was heading this time, lay deep within the mountain range—a precipitous peak home to many rare medicinal plants.
Beyond treating illnesses and saving lives, whenever an auspicious day arrived, households would invite Daoist Priest Jixin down the mountain to perform Daoist rituals.
This line of work earned decent money, though he could hardly compete with the Buddhist monks and larger temples further ahead. Usually, whenever there was a ritual, Daoist Priest Jixin would take Mingyue along to broaden his horizons.
Qin Sang knew that Daoist Priest Jixin still did not fully trust him.
Chapter 9