Chapter 683: Chongxing Taoist's Gift

Lately, the Capital City had been growing crowded as autumn evenings fell. This was especially true on Yong’an Dao in the South City District. The Court was expanding the canal in the area, cutting off many streets and leaving only Yong’an Dao unobstructed.

Outside Pingwang Inn, after greeting a regular customer, Shopkeeper Qin Wang walked out the main doors under the fawning gazes of several attendants. A capable-looking middle-aged man who had been waiting outside for some time spotted him and immediately hurried over. “Shopkeeper Qin, heading out? Shall I call a sedan chair for you?”

Qin Wang paid the man no mind. After a glance around, he said arrogantly, “Fine. Be quick about it.”

“Right away!”

The middle-aged man replied, paying no mind to Qin Wang’s attitude. He gave a humble, clasped-fist bow toward Qin Wang’s profile before heading into a nearby alley. Moments later, a small sedan chair carried by two men arrived at Qin Wang’s side.

“To the Wangyue Tea House on Da Liushu Street!”

Qin Wang commanded, his face stern. One of the carriers immediately stepped forward to lift the curtain for him.

The same capable-looking middle-aged man called out in a practiced voice, “Lifting the sedan!” With that, he set off ahead to clear a path.

The sedan chair traveled along Yong’an Dao toward North City for about six kilometers before turning left onto a bustling side street. The street hosted a night market, filled mostly with tea houses and opera stages. There were also some merchants from the Northern Yunhai Grassland selling their wares at stalls.

At the entrance to the street stood an old willow tree. Legend had it that the tree was originally from the Imperial Garden, left behind when the Xia Country fell, and was later magically transplanted into the city by a passing Immortal. The top of the willow reached the height of a two-story wooden building, its hanging branches thick and lush. Standing near it, one could even catch the faint, fresh scent of foliage. The Government Office had built a wooden fence around it and performed pest control regularly.

On either side of the wooden fence was an open-air tea stall where some of the local elders liked to drink tea and chat, though young people were rarely seen there.

As the sedan passed through the streets and alleys, it was clear that interactions between people were more harmonious and kind than they had been during the Xia Dynasty. Even a common farmer from the countryside understood basic etiquette. This was the result of the teachings of “propriety” and “the innate goodness of human nature,” promoted by Jiangcun, flourishing across the Zhongzhou Continent.

His teachings, along with Liu Zixiu’s doctrine of “Central Harmony,” were currently the two largest schools of thought within the Human Dao. The Court used “propriety” and “innate goodness” to enlighten the masses, and “Central Harmony” to govern the realm. This allowed the Datong Country’s strength to grow day by day. While it couldn’t match the prosperity of the Xia Dynasty’s golden age, the common folk could live and work in peace.

Take the middle-aged man clearing the path, for example. If the sedan accidentally bumped into a pedestrian, he would politely clasp his fist in apology. The person, though annoyed, would not press the issue.

The sedan arrived at the middle of Da Liushu Street. The Wangyue Tea House, located here, was the most successful establishment on the street, largely because its storyteller had crafted countless well-loved tales.

“Shopkeeper Qin, we’ve arrived.”

After the middle-aged man’s call, the two carriers set the sedan down. The man then hurried forward to lift the curtain, but before he could speak, Qin Wang produced two pieces of broken silver. “Wait for me here,” he said.

“Right away, Manager Qin. After you.”

The middle-aged man beamed.

Qin Wang walked straight into the tea house. The main hall and the private booths on the second floor were packed, yet it wasn’t noisy. The loudest sound came from the storyteller in the center of the hall, who was vividly narrating a myth. At every emotional climax, the music of a guzheng would swell to accompany his voice.

Qin Wang merely glanced at the main hall before heading toward the staircase that led to the private rooms on the second floor. However, an attendant blocked his path.

“Mr. Liu invited me,” he said. “My surname is Wang.”

The attendant froze for a moment, then immediately clasped his fist in a salute. “This way, sir.”

As Qin Wang ascended the stairs, an imperceptible halo of light bloomed in his eyes. His entire aura changed abruptly, becoming utterly out of place in the mortal world.

A portion of Wang Ping’s consciousness had descended.

The attendant led ‘Wang Ping’ to a private room on the third floor. The atmosphere here was serene and refined, free from the worldly chaos of the main hall and the common elegance of the second-floor booths.

CREAK—

The attendant pushed open the door to a private room named ‘Qiuge’, and a distinctive scent of sandalwood immediately filled the air.

“Please, have a seat, sir. I’ll go get the proprietor now!”

“Mm.”

‘Wang Ping’ entered the room casually, sat down by the window, and pushed it open. Instantly, waves of cheers assaulted his ears—the result of the storyteller showing off his vocal talents.

He watched in silence, listening as the storyteller continued his tale.

After only a moment, footsteps sounded from outside the room.

An old man in fine robes pushed open the door and entered with slow steps. ‘Wang Ping’ did not rise to greet him, watching in silence until the man’s stooped back straightened and the frailty of old age dissipated from his form. Only then did ‘Wang Ping’ stand, clasp his fist, and say, “Greetings, Fellow Daoist.”

“There’s no need for formality, Fellow Daoist. Please, sit.”

The old man gestured for him to be seated.

After the exchange of pleasantries, they both sat. The old man then spoke. “You must have been tasked with coming here to announce the resolutions from the Second Seat’s meeting.”

‘Wang Ping’ nodded. “I only just joined the Second Seat, and I’ve already been made the Chief.”

The old man smiled, unsurprised. “They can be quite direct in their methods,” he said, “but they always insist on preserving that final shred of decorum.”

‘Wang Ping’ did not speak.