Chapter 1: Seeking Immortality

Torrential rain poured down, washing the trees on the mountain into a deeper green. The curtain of rain fell like woven threads, while Lumen Mountain, shrouded in mist, seemed more ethereal and immortal than ever.

This was the place where Pang Degong had lived in seclusion during the Jin dynasty. He had brought his wife and children here to gather herbs and, after that, never returned to the world. Because a virtuous man had chosen this place for retreat, countless scholars and poets had since been drawn to it. Over the centuries, it had gathered a measure of spiritual aura that set it apart from the rest of Xiang Prefecture.

Raindrops fell from the leaves above, landing upon people without wetting their clothes.

Jiang She stood on the mountain path, gazing out at the emerald hills. The rain was dense, and misty clouds hung at the mountain’s waist, the whiteness of rain merging with the sky so that heaven and earth seemed indistinguishable.

This was the tenth year since Jiang She had crossed into this world.

Was it real?

Or merely a dream?

Surrounded by the rain-soaked green, a deep sense of solitude welled up within him.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him. As if he had already sensed it, Jiang She stepped aside to let a porter pass.

The man carried a heavy bamboo basket, a straw hat shielding his head, rain trickling ceaselessly down.

The porter, walking ahead, called out through the rain, “The rain’s coming down so hard, young master. Would you care to join me and take shelter? There’s a temple up ahead—keep this up and you’ll catch a chill!”

Jiang She looked at the man’s back, bent low under the weight of medicinal herbs.

He replied, “Very well.”

The porter wiped rain from his face and walked on, Jiang She following close behind.

“Are you here to seek out Master Pang?” the porter asked.

Jiang She smiled. “I am. How did you know?”

“There’s always folk coming by to look for him. They say Master Pang passed away years ago. Young master, what is it you all seek?” The porter’s curiosity was evident.

“What they seek, I do not truly know,” Jiang She replied. “I’m simply curious whether the ancient tales of Master Pang meeting an immortal are true. You’re a local—have you ever heard such a thing?”

“How could a common man like me know aught of immortals?” The porter, winded from the steep climb and the heavy basket, panted in the rain. “All I know is that there’s plenty of herbs up here worth money.”

Jiang She observed this.

“Let me hold an umbrella for you,” he offered.

With a subtle lift of his sleeve, the deep grooves left by the basket’s cords on the porter’s back seemed to ease.

Jiang She reached out, umbrella in hand.

“You had an umbrella all along—why didn’t you use it?” the porter asked in surprise. He’d approached because he thought the young master was braving the rain without shelter. The porter grinned. “With you shielding me from the rain, I feel a great deal lighter.”

Jiang She smiled and asked, “Is that polygonatum in your basket?”

“Indeed, polygonatum,” the porter replied as he walked on. “The rain’s too heavy—I only found one patch. Luckily, I picked some honeysuckle as well, which will fetch a good price. Once the skies clear, the days will turn hot, and the pharmacy pays well for honeysuckle—folk use it in tea to ward off the summer heat.”

As he spoke, the porter began to feel something was off. How large was this young master’s umbrella? The two of them, one ahead and one behind, were barely covered, yet not a drop of rain seemed to touch them.

Jiang She praised him, “A clever way to make ends meet. Even if you find no polygonatum, the honeysuckle will still bring income.”

Simple methods by which country folk supplement their earnings—pleased by the compliment, the porter explained even more, detailing where other herbs grew, what price they fetched at the market, how the apothecary’s clerk was sharp in his dealings... By the time they reached the temple, the porter suddenly realized how much he’d said and regretted it.

He shouldn’t have given away so many secrets to making a living.

He tried to comfort himself—this young master seemed refined and noble; surely he wouldn’t compete for a laborer’s livelihood.

“We’re here. Ah—there are others, let’s see if they’ll share some firewood.”

Jiang She nodded, noticing the porter’s twinge of regret but feigned ignorance, setting down his own bundle and finding a place to sit, brushing the rain from the porter’s basket as well.

As his palm passed over, not only did the rainwater vanish from the basket, but even the herbs within were dry. The honeysuckle, once drenched, now stood tall and fresh—as if just picked.

Such herbs would command a far better price at the pharmacy.

Inside the temple, a small group had already kindled a fire with servants in tow, all dressed in finery. Three among them were laughing and drinking.

One wore a Daoist robe, his hair streaked with gray; another was in white, in his twenties, exuding youthful vigor; the third wore indigo, more staid and seemingly in his thirties.

Their conversation was quiet, yet Jiang She heard every word clearly.

“Taibai, this man asks for firewood. Let’s spare him some,” the Daoist nudged the man in white, who reluctantly set down his cup and fetched a small bundle of kindling.

“Will this suffice?”

“It’s plenty, thank you,” the porter replied, a little intimidated by these well-dressed gentlemen.

“What brings your master here in weather like this?” the one called “Taibai” asked casually.

“He’s not my master—we’re just traveling together. That young gentleman shielded me with his umbrella, is all. He’s seeking immortals, wanting to know if Pang Degong truly met one.”

At this, “Taibai” perked up, exchanging glances with his companions.

“Also seeking immortals?” he mused.

The porter asked, “Are you gentlemen doing the same?”

“What a coincidence,” the man in white said, glancing over at Jiang She, who sat apart and was hard to make out from a distance. He nudged the Daoist, took the wine flask and a plate of food, and walked over.

“I am Li Bai, styled Taibai, from Longxi. Are you too in search of immortals?”

Jiang She looked up. The rain drummed on the eaves, and the mountains behind were a surreal, verdant haze. The light filtering through the entrance illuminated the small temple, and before him stood two people: a servant bearing wine and food, and a spirited young man in white, with a long face, dark brows nearly meeting at the temples, and eyes bright with intelligence.

So this was Li Bai.

Ten years after coming to the Tang dynasty, Jiang She was seeing, for the first time, the poet whose fame would echo for millennia.

Li Bai, in his early twenties, was still brimming with youthful passion—yet uncalled by the Emperor, not yet embroiled in rebellion. He roamed with friends in search of immortals, and on a day of heavy rain, had taken shelter in a mountain temple.

Thus, by chance, the seeker of legends from the Jin dynasty—Jiang She—encountered him.

He realized then that he truly dwelled within history, a man of ancient times himself.

With a trace of regret, Jiang She rose and smiled.

“Yes, I came seeking immortals. I heard Master Pang met one here on Lumen Mountain and wished to see if it were true. Forgive me for intruding in this rain.”

“I am Jiang She. Since you’ve brought wine, may I share a cup with you?”

“By all means,” Li Bai laughed. “We, too, are here in search of immortals. That Daoist drinking there is Yuan Danqiu, versed in Shangqing Daoist rites; the other is Meng Haoran, both dear friends of mine.”

“With such kindred spirits, why not drink together?”

Li Bai invited Jiang She and the porter to join them by the fire for wine.

He observed the young man before him—at ease in a crumbling temple, calm and distinguished, wholly unlike ordinary men. As the five sat together, Li Bai frowned, noticing something amiss.

“With rain falling so heavily outside, how is it that your clothes remain untouched?”