Chapter Fifty-Two: Spring Rain Chills the Heart Everywhere (Second Update, Please Subscribe)

Zhong Ming could not tell whether Zhang Daozhen was deliberately trying to deceive him or if, as he claimed, a great catastrophe was truly at hand.

In any case, with the lives of every soul in Muddy Village hanging in the balance, the matter struck directly at Zhong Ming’s weakness. He was a man of sharp tongue and a heart of stone, but when it came to those dear to him, he cared with an unwavering intensity.

Perhaps it was two lifetimes of solitude that made him cherish every bond—no matter how humble, even the neighborly ties with these villagers.

Zhang Daozhen sipped his tea, and instead of answering the question, he smiled. “Layman Zhong, I’ve neither harmed your life nor those of your kin. Why must you look at me as if we are mortal enemies?”

Zhong Ming sneered coldly. “If I wanted to borrow your life, would you still greet me with a smile?”

“I would. Should you ever wish it, I would lend my life to you, Layman Zhong,” replied Zhang Daozhen.

But his words were met only by Zhong Ming’s icy stare and a mocking curl of the lips.

Zhang Daozhen forced a laugh. He had hoped things would not become so strained between them. But it seemed that unless he proved himself with genuine favor, Zhong Ming would show him no courtesy.

Seeing Zhong Ming remain silent, Zhang Daozhen could only explain, “This is a calamity upon the borderlands, not just Muddy Village. The whole frontier will suffer. I imagine you noticed last night’s rain was strange. That was no ordinary rain but a Corpse-qi Rain, conjured by sorcery. The rainclouds were formed of accumulated corpse-qi, and each drop carried its poison.

You know corpse-qi is harmful—ordinary folk who come into contact with it fall ill or lose their minds. But that is not its most dangerous trait.”

The old priest paused deliberately, forcing Zhong Ming’s impatience. Zhong Ming clasped his hands and asked, “Pray tell, Master Zhang, what is the gravest danger of corpse-qi?”

Zhang Daozhen smiled mysteriously. “It raises the dead.”

Zhong Ming’s eye twitched. He had suspected as much, but hope clung to his words. “What do you mean, raises the dead?”

“It means that the corpse-qi, seeping through the soil with the rain, reanimates any corpses harboring resentment. The dead return to the world of the living, seeking vengeance.

Once revived by corpse-qi, corpses are drawn to the breath of the living, attacking and devouring flesh and blood to ease the hatred within. A corpse will not rest until it has sated itself on the vital force of ten living beings.”

Here, Zhang Daozhen flicked his sleeve and pointed toward the wild burial mound. “I have investigated that graveyard—it is filled with corpses who died unjustly. After tonight, no fewer than ten thousand corpses will claw their way from the earth and march upon the border city.

The region is barren. The only concentration of people is in the city itself, so the corpse tide will be drawn there, trampling through Muddy Village on the way.”

The old priest’s reasoning was sound. Muddy Village was the nearest settlement to the burial mound; if the dead truly rose, the village would be the first to suffer.

But the old priest’s words were a murky mix of truth and lies. A man so old and cunning, Zhong Ming could not tell fact from fiction.

So he turned to the young priest, Zhang Nianchen. “Tell me, young priest, is your master speaking the truth?”

The boy was guileless, his emotions writ plain across his face—a stark contrast to the old fox. Zhong Ming could not outwit the master, but he could see through the apprentice.

Caught off guard, Zhang Nianchen scratched his cheek and nodded earnestly, “Yes, yes, my master does not lie about such things. The raising of the dead is real!”

Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Zhong Ming finally believed.

But Zhang Nianchen’s face grew troubled, and he whispered, “Please, Layman Zhong, do not agree to lend your life. My master is not telling the truth when he says it will not harm you.”

Such blunt words made Zhang Daozhen click his tongue in exasperation, but Zhong Ming only laughed. “Master Zhang, it seems even your apprentice cannot stand your lies.”

Zhang Daozhen explained sheepishly, “At first, the method I discussed with my pupil did indeed cost lives. But since you, Layman Zhong, are not one for self-sacrifice, I will not insist. Second best, then—I ask only to borrow your fate, not alter it, to grant my student a slim chance at life.”

Zhong Ming said nothing, his lips curled in a cold smile. Inwardly, he thought: You wily priest, dressing up your words with talk of self-sacrifice, when all you want is to fool a fool into extending your apprentice’s destiny.

When the young priest heard this, he was overjoyed. “Master, is such a method truly possible?”

Zhang Daozhen nodded. “When have I ever lied to you, my child?”

It was true. Though he earned his keep reading fortunes and tricking wealthy patrons, he never deceived his own apprentice. As he once said: “If I speak falsehoods, I will not let the retribution taint my student.”

Zhang Nianchen was delighted. He turned to Zhong Ming. “Rest assured, Layman Zhong. My master never lies to me. If he says it won’t harm you, then it will not!”

Moved by the youth’s sincerity, Zhong Ming hesitated only a moment before saying, “Master Zhang, if you truly mean no harm to me, I will agree.”

Zhang Nianchen was ecstatic, bowing repeatedly. “Thank you, Layman Zhong! With your great kindness, your fortunes will surely flourish, and your wishes will come true!”

Given the chance to survive, who would choose death? Zhang Nianchen’s fate was peculiar—he was doomed not to live past eighteen, claimed by heaven itself. Now, with hope before him, the handsome youth in his tattered robe could scarcely contain his joy.

Only in the face of death does one truly cherish life.

Zhong Ming raised his teacup without a trace of a smile, waving off their gratitude. To him, this was a bargain, not charity.

Zhang Daozhen only sipped his tea with a bitter smile, thinking: Foolish child, where in the world does yellow earth turn to gold? If Zhong Ming refuses, I’ll have to stake my own life to steal half a destiny for you.

A master who gives his life for his apprentice—such bonds surpass those of father and son.

This is what it means to be master and pupil.

Through broken clouds, the path opens for birds; a drawn sword points to a gathering of heroes.

If it is for my disciple, let incense burn my life away.

In the thatched cottage, the three sat in silence, each lost in thought. Only the sound of Zhong Ming drinking his tea disturbed the quiet.

At that moment, a knock came at the door. Sun Luolian’s voice called softly, “Brother Zhong, Master Zhang, are you still inside?”

The three men returned to themselves. Zhong Ming glanced at Zhang Daozhen, who, serene as ever, sipped his tea with the air of a sage, no hint of the earlier scheming.

Zhong Ming laughed coldly, a trace of disdain in his tone. “We’re here, Luolian. Come in.”

The wooden door creaked open. Sun Luolian entered, supporting Old Man Sun. The old man glanced about, and, seeing nothing amiss, chuckled awkwardly. “The master was right. When you’re weak, you must walk in the sunlight.”

Zhang Daozhen nodded with a genial smile, but his hollow, blind eyes and withered features made his smile more frightening than a weeping face.

He rose and announced, “The hour draws near. Tonight I must perform a rite to dispel the village’s misfortune. I will go and prepare what is needed.”

Zhang Nianchen explained to Old Man Sun about the hot water they had used and, a little embarrassed, began to tidy the tea things.

“I’ll see the master out. Luolian, help Old Sun back to his room,” Zhong Ming said, slipping the redwood dagger up his sleeve as he followed Zhang Daozhen outside.

Sun Luolian led Old Sun away to rest, while Zhang Nianchen busied himself with the tea set.

Zhong Ming caught up with Zhang Daozhen in the yard, where the old priest paused to look at the Immortal Stone. Remembering how the young priest had warned him not to kneel before it, Zhong Ming asked, “What would have happened if I had knelt earlier?”

Zhang Daozhen gave a half-smile, “Kneel before the Immortal Stone, and you’ll never lift your head again. Before the White Jade Palace, you could never hold your head high—no matter your strength or your magical power, you would kneel before that stone. And when you kneel, your spirit is broken.”

Zhong Ming shuddered, recalling the dread he’d felt before the stone.

The methods of the White Jade Palace were truly terrifying—no wonder they helped Emperor Tang Zhen found his dynasty.

Zhong Ming looked up. The clouds had parted, but heavy masses still loomed on the horizon. He asked, “Was this rain also the work of the White Jade Palace?”

“The immortals of White Jade Palace are exalted beings. Arriving in a new land, would they not make a show of power? Otherwise, how could they win true renown?” Zhang Daozhen’s reply was oblique, but he admitted as much.

The old priest had already said the corpse-qi was conjured by sorcery. Zhong Ming suspected all along that White Jade Palace was behind it. First the plague, then the corpse tide, then the Immortal Stone’s intimidation, and finally, the arrival of the palace’s immortals to deliver the borderlands from suffering.

After such a display, who in the borderlands would not kneel? Who would dare not honor their shrine?

Zhong Ming folded his hands behind his back, gazing at the clouds. “A cunning plan—a way to win hearts without seeming to seek fame.”

By now, Zhang Nianchen had packed the tea things and, shouldering his bundle, came out to help Zhang Daozhen down the path. The two figures rounded the fence and disappeared at the village gate.

Zhong Ming sighed and turned to check on Old Sun, but before he could go inside, Zhang Nianchen came running, breathless, pausing at the fence. “Layman Zhong, wait!”

Zhong Ming frowned. “What is it, young priest?”

Zhang Nianchen hurried up, eyes a little wild. “Layman Zhong, you haven’t paid for the medicine. My master and I must buy supplies for tonight’s ritual, but we realized we have no money.”

Zhong Ming couldn’t help but laugh. He remembered clearly how poor these two were, possessing only five coppers between them.

He pulled out two pieces of silver for the boy, but as he handed them over, he was struck by a thought and took out two more. “Let me ask you a question. If you answer correctly, all this silver is yours.”

Zhang Nianchen scratched his head, embarrassed. “I can’t accept so much, Layman Zhong.”

But his eyes were fixed on the silver. Raised by the old priest, he had seldom seen so much money.

Zhong Ming smiled. “Tell me, if I refused to lend you my fate, would you still save the people of the borderlands?”

The boy didn’t hesitate. “Of course! My master always taught me that as disciples of the Dan Ding Sect of Dragon Gate Mountain, we walk the world to heal and help. Besides, the villagers here once built a temple for us and offered incense—they must be saved all the more!”

“Your answer pleases me. The silver is yours,” Zhong Ming said, and handed it over.

Zhang Nianchen beamed. “Thank you, Layman Zhong! My master and I will return by afternoon with all the supplies.”

Zhong Ming nodded, smiling, and the boy ran off.

Watching him go, Zhong Ming thought: If I am to lend my fate to one with such a kind heart, it will not be in vain.

Then his thoughts turned to the old priest. If Zhang Daozhen could raise an apprentice so pure, perhaps he was not as bad as he seemed.

People, after all, are not wholly good or bad. Good and evil are but perspectives from different stances.

Hands behind his back, Zhong Ming looked up at the sky and murmured, “Nightfall will be the true beginning of chaos in the borderlands.”