Forgetting

Just as Ding Songyan finished sneering in his heart, a sudden wave of lingering fear struck him. He was currently in his sea of consciousness, the confluence of all thought. Although it appeared he needed that "seed" to converse with Yan Changqing—keeping what he said aloud separate from what he thought within—he still understood far too little about this wondrous art and its intricacies. What if Yan Changqing, who had imparted this qi, could eavesdrop on his inner voice in real time? Any dangerous thoughts would have to wait until he was out of this dungeon! Pacing with his hands clasped behind his back, the gaunt-faced Yan Changqing looked at Ding Songyan and spoke in a leisurely, composed voice: "If you cannot make up your mind for now, you may think on it for another two or three days. But remember, the longer you hesitate, the narrower our window to snatch life from the jaws of death becomes. "What this old man told you yesterday was no falsehood. I truly excel in divination, and I saw long ago that you are surrounded by peril—not merely the trouble with the Zhen family. Heh heh, that strand of qi I gave you has the power to pierce delusions. It should help you see your predicament clearly and make a swift decision." The old man smiled faintly. "Are you perhaps looking for a chance to go to the county yamen or the prefectural yamen, to report this to the Yi clan or Xiaoming Sect? You can go and try. Once you have tried, you will understand: only this old man can save you, and only you can save this old man." *I really was thinking of going to the authorities... Zhen Manor shouldn't be completely unprepared for me to risk everything and lay it all out, right? How would they stop me—tailing and intercepting me? Or is this old man Yan doing this deliberately—first giving in order to take, telling me to go report to the authorities on the surface while actually using it as a threat?* Ding Songyan said neither that he would go report nor that he would not. Yan Changqing changed the subject, asking with a smile, "Do you wish to learn martial arts?" "I do." Ding Songyan wanted to see how the man intended to "entice" him. To that end, he deliberately added, "The promise Zhen Manor gave me was to find me a martial arts school and cover all the expenses." "If you lend this old man a hand, I will consider taking you as an apprentice. Even if you are unwilling to bow as my disciple, I will still teach you a secret technique," Yan Changqing's hoarse, aged voice drifted out slowly. "You are no longer that young. Disciples of great sects temper their bodies from childhood, though never beyond safe limits, until they formally begin body tempering and qi refinement at sixteen or seventeen. Within two years, success is certain. "This old man has calculated that you have just turned twenty. Starting body tempering and qi refinement at this age, even with superior martial arts, would take three to five years. One step behind means every step behind. The saying 'If not a grandmaster by forty, there is no hope for life' is not absolute, but it sums up the reality for most martial artists. "This old man's secret technique can bring your body tempering to fruition in six months, and have qi flowing through your entire body in ceaseless circulation within a year." *That 'enticement' truly is tempting...* Ding Songyan thought. *The only problem is, who knows if what you say is true, or whether that secret technique is truly so formidable? After all, if I agree to help you escape, I'll be lucky to survive six days, let alone see the cultivation results six months from now... Given your earlier show of malice, passing off a fake secret technique isn't out of the question either. Dead men can't verify the truth anyway...* After a moment's contemplation, Ding Songyan said, "This junior asks for a day to consider it." "Very well." Yan Changqing's figure gradually faded, and the misty light that had filtered into the sea of consciousness dissipated rapidly. The mist-shrouded world returned to silence, the fissure vanishing without a trace. Because of that "seed," Ding Songyan could divide his attention if he wished, or leave the sea of consciousness and rejoin his mind with a single thought. Returning to his normal state, he diligently recounted the scene where Lady White Snake revealed her true form and frightened Xu Xian to death, bringing today's storytelling session to an end. Leaving the dungeon and returning to the small pavilion, Ding Songyan had just taken off the black blindfold when he saw Mr. Yu waiting nearby. Even as his chest tightened, Mr. Yu nodded slightly and said, "Over the next few days, you may look around the various martial arts schools and choose one you like. Once you finish telling The Legend of the White Snake to that honored guest, we will make the arrangements for you." "This junior was still worrying about this last night, only to receive an answer today. I am truly indebted to you." Ding Songyan cupped his hands, delight spreading across his face. Yet a common saying flashed through his mind: *"You have the life to earn it, but not the life to spend it."* A promise that would never be honored wasn't worth a single copper coin! Leaving Zhen Manor, Ding Songyan immediately spotted Ren Youyang, clad in green robes and a small cap, waiting for him at the entrance of an alley diagonally across the street. The bruises on his face had not fully faded, and the scab at the corner of his mouth was conspicuous. Seeing Ding Songyan emerge, he let out a relieved laugh. Witnessing this, Ding Songyan felt an inexplicable warmth in his heart. He had only shared a single drink with Ren Youyang, their acquaintance barely beyond that of strangers, yet the man had helped him to such an extent. He truly possessed the spirit of the chivalrous knights of old! "How did it go?" Ren Youyang asked with a smile as Ding Songyan walked up. Ding Songyan weighed his words carefully. "They didn't mention anything." He did not understand the true relationship between Zhenling Sect and Zhen Manor or what they were doing in secret. For now, he had no intention of telling Ren Youyang about Yan Changqing, lest it put the man in a difficult spot. Of course, if pushed to a dead end, he wouldn't care so much—he'd plead for help from a passing dog if he had to. "Nothing mentioned is good news." Ren Youyang waved his hand. "No need to thank me. Go about your business. I'm off to Beili Ward to watch some variety plays." Watching Ren Youyang leave, Ding Songyan walked out of Beishui Street before realizing his stomach was rumbling like thunder; he was ravenously hungry. He hadn't had a chance to eat anything at noon before following Ren Youyang to Zhen Manor, and his nerves had been strung so tight afterward that he hadn't noticed anything amiss. Rounding a wooden fence, Ding Songyan found a noodle stall and sat down. "A bowl of Yangchun noodles, and add a piece of bazi pork." Bazi pork was a delicacy brought from the north when the dynasty moved south. "Coming right up!" the stall owner answered heartily. Before long, a bowl of Yangchun noodles with a dark, soy-tinted broth was brought over, sprinkled with plenty of fresh green scallions and topped with a glistening, alluring piece of layered bazi pork with both lean and fat meat. It had just been scooped from the pot. "That will be eleven wen," the vendor said with an ingratiating smile. Ding Songyan untied his money pouch, paid with one five-cash coin and six single-cash coins, took up the bamboo chopsticks, picked up the bazi pork—which weighed about two or three ounces—and took a gentle bite. The rich soy sauce flavor was deep; the fat was not greasy, the lean meat was not tough, and chewing it filled his mouth with savory fragrance. Savory, attentive eating gradually eased Ding Songyan's worries and emotions, leaving him far less tense. As he sipped the last mouthfuls of noodle broth, he held the bowl, lost in thought. He went over everything in his mind, sorting through every possibility, his gaze completely vacant as though staring at nothing. After a long while, he finally wiped his mouth, set down his bowl and chopsticks, and stood up. He still planned to make a trip to the county yamen. Without going, how could he know where the problem lay? What if there was no problem at all? Asking for directions along the way, Ding Songyan finally saw the Linjiang County yamen, also located in the north of the city, after a quarter of an hour. A large spirit wall stood before the entrance of the county yamen, carved with the divine image of a beast's body with a human face, riding atop two dragons. *The fire god Zhurong... Right, the Hong clan has always claimed to be descendants of Zhurong...* Corresponding excerpts from The Esoteric Classic of Mountains and Seas naturally crossed Ding Songyan's mind: *Zhurong, God of Fire, Essence of Summer, Master of the Hearth, Assistant to the Red Emperor, Manifestation of the Sparkler.* Reining in his thoughts, Ding Songyan cautiously scanned his surroundings, trying to spot any potential pursuers or interceptors. However, most people coming and going were constables clad in black-patterned red robes or Xiaoming Sect disciples in black martial attire. *There's nothing...* Ding Songyan withdrew his gaze and carefully skirted the spirit wall, heading toward the main gates of the county yamen. Along the way, people greeted him from time to time, calling him Ding Erlang or Brother Yan. Evidently, the original owner of this body had frequently visited the county yamen to see his father, Ding Shengyi. "Erlang, what brings you here?" Wearing a four-square peace cap, Ding Shengyi was chatting with someone in a side corridor. "I happened to be passing by and came to check on Father," Ding Songyan said with a smile. The clerk across from Ding Shengyi laughed upon hearing this. "Brother Yan is as filial as ever. You're a fortunate man, Brother Shengyi!" Ding Shengyi waved his hand with a touch of smug modesty. "He still needs discipline, still needs discipline." Ding Songyan chatted with them for a few moments, took his leave, and walked out the main gate of the county yamen. The scripture inscribed on the reverse of the spirit wall outside caught his eye, and he suddenly froze. *Wait, what did I come to the county yamen for...?* Ding Songyan's brow furrowed tightly. He strained with all his might to remember, thinking so hard that sweat beaded on his forehead. Finally, he remembered: He had come to the county yamen to attempt to report to the authorities, intending to disclose that a suspicious, mysterious person was imprisoned in the dungeon of Zhen Manor! *Hiss...* In an instant, Ding Songyan was drenched in a cold sweat, gripped by extraordinary dread. *Did someone quietly strip away that part of my thoughts the moment I stepped into the county yamen?* *Does such a martial art even exist in this world?* *This seems rather similar to the technique Yan Changqing used to influence my sea of consciousness and speak directly into my thoughts...* *So, does Zhen Manor have a plant in the county yamen who alters my thoughts the moment I arrive here, or is Yan Changqing staging this whole performance himself?* *He was the one who said the county yamen had a problem, and he's also the one controlling my thoughts through that 'seed' so I can't report anything?* *I can verify this later—the people of Xiaoming Sect and the Yi clan aren't only found at the county yamen...* *If Yan Changqing really did this, the fact that Zhen Manor didn't stop me from coming to the county yamen shows that they roughly know what their 'honored guest' is capable of...* Ding Songyan came up with an excuse and returned to the county yamen to seek out Ding Shengyi. This time, he once again merely chatted with his father before leaving the county yamen without any incident. "There really is a problem..." Ding Songyan murmured silently to himself as he stood beside the spirit wall. The back of his clothes was completely soaked through. Just then, a donkey cart approached, carrying a corpse and accompanied by two constables seated aboard. "Did something happen?" a passing Xiaoming Sect disciple asked. The two constables on the cart jumped down in unison, and one of them spoke in a low voice: "It looks like he died of illness, but his internal organs are rotted as if he's been dead for two or three days, yet his face looks as though he has been dead for no more than eight hours. It's very bizarre." "This... this is very similar to what happened after Chen Yuliang of the Xiaochuan Gang died. Junior Sister Zheng has already reported it to the sect, the prefectural city, and Yanjing, but there has been no reply yet." Suppressing a wave of nausea, the Xiaoming Sect disciple inspected the corpse for a while. Nearby, hearing the name Chen Yuliang, Ding Songyan subconsciously looked toward the donkey cart, toward that corpse. A moment later, he saw a familiar yet pale face—an ordinary, thoroughly unremarkable face. It was the man who had tailed him yesterday! Ding Songyan was instantly stunned and appalled: *His internal organs rotted as if dead for two or three days?*