51. Farewell to Tiangang

Xuzhou, Song Residence.

Song Tiangang sat motionless in his study, having not slept the entire night.

All around him, sheets of paper were strewn across the floor.

At that moment, a servant entered, picked up one of the essays from the ground, and was startled to find the page densely covered in fine, elegant prose—each piece a work of art.

“My lord, your literary talent is as brilliant as ever.”

“That is far from the truth!” Song Tiangang shook his head. “For nine generations out of ten, the men of the Song family have been scholars and officials. My path was set the moment I was born. Composing essays was but a formality for me. After these many years governing Xuzhou, worn by toil and care, if I once had seven parts of talent, now only three remain.”

The servant asked, “Then why, my lord, do you spend the night writing? What weighs upon your heart?”

Song Tiangang replied, “I learned to read at three, practiced breath cultivation at five. By twelve, I had formed my foundation; three years later, I achieved the Golden Core, and after another three years, reached the Nascent Soul stage. At twenty, I journeyed to the capital to take the imperial exam, already knowing the road that lay ahead.”

“My name inscribed on the golden roll, I became a regional governor.”

“Now, at over fifty, I am the Prefect of Xuzhou. The capital is resplendent, but I may return only once every four years to report in person.”

“The Nascent Soul brings an eight-hundred-year lifespan. When that time comes, I will either become dust in the earth or ascend to divinity.”

Song Tiangang sighed, “Yet I am a son of a noble house. The Song family never cared for my desires. Even I know that, when the time comes, I will inevitably become a deity, adding yet another layer of foundation for the Songs and my descendants.”

The words he spoke now were his most private thoughts.

These days,

Song Tiangang’s heart was truly in turmoil.

He had been waiting for an opportunity.

As soon as Song Qiuye settled the refugees, and the deities could take root in the Hundred-Thousand Mountains by harnessing the gathered human spirit, he would marshal his power and seek out the mutated idol.

Then he would descend upon the Hundred-Thousand Mountains himself.

The chance to become immortal was worth the sacrifice of all he possessed.

Though the servant had grown up with him,

They were like brothers, yet there remained the distinction of master and servant.

Let alone true understanding of each other’s hearts.

The servant only joked, “My lord, you are still far from becoming a god upon earth. Besides, you might yet be transferred back to the capital. I’ve heard rumors the Buddhist Kingdom to the west has grown restless in recent years. If war breaks out, and you distinguish yourself, it would be easy to become a City God of an entire province.”

“We shall see,” Song Tiangang replied. “That was my intent as well. For cultivators who reach the Nascent Soul, there is only one path: divinity. Yet even among deities there are ranks.”

“The most common deities, like the ones Qiuye took, are the lowest—they become gods only through incense and worship, and even then, they remain bound and unfree.”

“As Prefect of Xuzhou, my word is law—what deity would dare disobey?”

“Only those granted official titles by the court, with true names and honors, are worthy of my notice. Such deities are the likes of the Water God of Hutuo River or the Mountain God of Green Ox Mountain.”

“Above that are the City Gods—a City God of a county, a City God of a province.”

“The City God of Xuzhou is my seventh great-uncle, the very one our family worships.”

“Besides this, before achieving divinity, a cultivator has another path—officialdom. A county magistrate, bearing the golden seal, wields power not much less than a City God.”

“As Prefect, and with my seventh uncle as the provincial City God, my authority in Xuzhou is absolute.”

“But all this means little to ordinary cultivators.”

“After the world changed, so long as you had talent, you could register with the government and cultivate to the Body Refinement stage, then the Breath Cultivation stage, and finally the Foundation stage. For most, that’s where the journey ends.”

“To reach the Golden Core, you must pass the government’s examination. Fail, and you must seek patronage from a noble house, serving them like a dog if you are chosen.”

“Pass, and you may cultivate to the Golden Core and even the Nascent Soul.”

“Should you overcome the Nascent Soul barrier, you may sit for the imperial exams.”

“Become a protégé of the Son of Heaven, hone your skills in the capital for years, and you might then be appointed a magistrate.”

“With luck and merit, plus the right connections, you might even be enfeoffed as a Mountain or Water God.”

“But none of this is what I now seek.”

‘Fate is not ours to command; we only awaken from our great dream when the end is near.’

Song Tiangang let out a long sigh.

This, at last, was the desire of his heart.

To become immortal! To transcend!

Just then, noticing the servant still standing by, Song Tiangang frowned, “Is there something else?”

“It’s about Miss Qiuye,” the servant replied.

Song Tiangang’s brow furrowed. “Have the migrants and deities she requested not yet departed?”

“They have, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

“If it were only deities and cultivators, that would be simple, but there are several thousand migrants. They must be escorted the whole way; we can’t possibly put them all in a Human Seed Bag. If we did, most would likely die before we reached our destination.”

Song Tiangang understood perfectly.

“She should be on her way back to the residence by now, shouldn’t she?”

“Miss Qiuye has not returned.” The servant shook his head. “She said she wishes to stay a few more days, and also requests more deities be sent.”

“How many?”

“One hundred.”

“Absurd!” Even Song Tiangang’s cultivation of serenity could not suppress his anger. “Though the Hundred-Thousand Mountains are full of strange and evil things, I am well aware that over the years, many childless folk have fled there for refuge, some even taking their patron deities with them.”

“One deity can protect a single village.”

“I gave her a hundred, and now she asks for another hundred. What, has she chosen a demon’s lair?”

“Calm yourself, my lord,” the servant said. “Miss Qiuye is not the sort to make unreasonable demands. She must have her reasons. It is, after all, the Hundred-Thousand Mountains. Not only are there monsters, but also disasters. One cannot be too cautious.”

“Give her fifty more,” Song Tiangang said, waving away the subject.

A hundred and fifty deities would be enough to ensure a safe retreat, even in disaster.

“My lord…”

“What now? Does she want more?”

“N-no, nothing more.” The servant shook his head and withdrew.

Song Tiangang was already angered; another word, and Miss Qiuye would be scolded upon her return. As the go-between, the servant wisely kept silent.

Leaving the study, the servant mused to himself, bewildered, “Miss Qiuye wants two mountains of copper coins, which is no easy task, but she also asks for hawthorn seeds and syrup. Could she be craving candied hawthorn fruit?”

“But I distinctly remember that Miss Qiuye never ate such common folk’s snacks.”

“Oh well, the copper coin mountains can’t be arranged quickly. If I did manage it, my lord would be even angrier. The other items, I’ll simply have someone deliver.”

…

At that very moment,

In another grand mansion in Xuzhou City—

Pavilions and towers, bridges arching over flowing streams.

Beauties clustered like clouds, fine wine flowing freely.

This was the residence of Wang Taiyu, Grand Preceptor of the Great Kang Dynasty.

“Beauty, beauty!” Wang Taiyu, blindfolded, hair white as snow, his face lined with wrinkles, stretched out his hands, sniffing the air as if to follow the scent.

Around him, the city’s elite lounged and reclined, each with a beauty in his arms.

“Ah! I’ve caught a beauty!” Wang Taiyu laughed heartily as he grabbed a scantily-clad woman, who giggled, waved her silk scarf, and slipped away from his embrace.

He took no offense.

Pulling off his blindfold, he took a deep breath, savoring the fragrance.

“Delightful! Truly delightful!”

“Ha ha, Grand Preceptor, you are a man of taste! Allow me to toast you!”

“And me as well—cheers to the Grand Preceptor!”

The assembled elites raised their cups, beauties nestled at their sides.

“Excellent! Good wine and fair maidens—let us drink deep!”

Wang Taiyu drained his cup, spilling drops of crystal wine down his robe. He tore open his garment, baring his chest like a wild reveler.

“A man of boundless capacity!”

“Grand Preceptor, another cup to you!”

“Very well, drink, drink!” Wang Taiyu downed wine after wine, his aged face flushed crimson.

“Grand Preceptor, you are drunk.”

“No matter! Let me relieve myself, and we’ll drink again!”

Wang Taiyu laughed as he stumbled away. With his cultivation, only the finest spiritual liquors could truly intoxicate him; common wine was dispelled with a thought.

But tonight, his spirits were high.

Wine did not intoxicate him; merriment did.

He staggered off.

Someone fiddled with his cup, gazing into the wine, yet did not drink. “The Grand Preceptor has kept us here for days, every day the same—are we to drink until the autumn harvest and winter sowing?”

“Oh, Li, why complain? If the Grand Preceptor is pleased, so are we. Come, let us drink!”

The nobles bantered, but none held the Grand Preceptor in their hearts.

A commoner’s son who fought his way to the Nascent Soul stage—what their own scions achieved with ease—and then, by serving the Emperor as a dog, secured the title of Grand Preceptor.

Grand Preceptor, indeed.

What of it? In the capital, which family does not have several Grand Preceptors among its ranks?

It was only because the Emperor had sent Wang Taiyu to Xuzhou to collect taxes, and out of respect for the sovereign, that they attended these gatherings.

After all, the Prefect of Xuzhou and Wang Taiyu were at odds. To ignore the Grand Preceptor would displease the Prefect, and if the Prefect was displeased, so would they be.

Even the nobles have their grievances.

They smiled knowingly and drank together.

…

Wang Taiyu, chest bare, drunkenly made his way to the latrine.

He untied his belt and relieved himself.

“Song Tiangang has relocated nearly ten thousand migrants and mobilized a hundred deities—are you certain they’re headed for the Hundred-Thousand Mountains?”

He didn’t so much as glance around, speaking as if someone were hiding in the filth beneath the latrine.

“Yes, and today he sent another fifty.”

“Excessive, excessive.” As the yellow stream flowed, Wang Taiyu’s mind cleared.

Fastening his belt, he murmured, “By imperial order, I am here to collect taxes. By rights, this should not concern me. Yet I have reviewed this year’s ledgers: recently, Song Tiangang has secretly used the seal of the Prefect to divert an unknown amount of tax revenue.”

“In this, I must intervene.”

Tax revenue meant vital energy.

Cultivators needed it, deities needed it.

Even the court needed it.

Ever since the Emperor of Great Kang paid a terrible price to acquire that idol, the tax burden had only grown, year after year, ever more severe.

Everyone knows this is like pouring oil onto a blazing fire.

One misstep, and the flames will engulf the land; the dynasty will fall.

Yet knowing is one thing; stopping is another.

No one wants to slow down—in fact, they press harder on the accelerator, urging the cart ever faster.

“Song Tiangang is my contemporary, and he has always held himself in high esteem. Little does he know I have long since studied his life in detail.”

Speaking quietly, Wang Taiyu continued, “He is not a reckless man. For him to act so suddenly, there must be extraordinary profit at stake.”

“With another fifty deities sent, have someone follow them. Not too closely—just far enough to know where they end up.”

“Yes, Grand Preceptor.”

“My son,” Wang Taiyu said earnestly, “I know you disapprove of my methods, but some things can only be done this way. Whether I do well or ill, observe and learn. When your turn comes, use your own judgment.”

“If I err, let my mistakes serve as a lesson.”

“Grand Preceptor, this is official business. Please address me by my title.”

Wang Taiyu nodded. “Very well, Left Guard, this is a weighty matter. I brought few deities from the capital. How many will you require?”

After a pause, the unseen man answered quietly, “Uncle Yang and I will be enough.”

“Excellent! Then let your Uncle Yang accompany you on this official duty. I, meanwhile, shall return to my music and wine.”

Gritting his teeth, Wang Taiyu pulled up his trousers and strode away.