Chapter 19: The Path of the Immortals Revealed Today

After his shift ended, Cheng Zhi returned home from the county office and headed straight to his study. As he pondered over the events, he dipped his brush in ink several times, feeling increasingly exhilarated.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

His wife entered and reached out to pinch his hand at the desk.

“I heard from Wang Er that today you encountered an immortal while on duty. Why did you come home and retreat to your study without telling me?”

Cheng Zhi gave a sharp sigh.

“Please, my lady, have mercy, have mercy.”

Lady Zhao relaxed her grip and glanced at the ink and brush on his desk.

“Are you writing... a rhapsody?”

After staring closely for a moment, she gently replaced the paperweight and smoothed the sheets, softly suggesting, “Perhaps it’s better to offer some reward and find someone more capable.”

Cheng Zhi lowered his head to glance at what he had written and smiled. He crumpled the draft and tossed it into the wastebasket.

Rubbing his neck, he asked, “What did Wang Er tell you?”

Lady Zhao found a chair and sat down, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“Really an immortal?”

“More real than real.”

Cheng Zhi recalled the morning’s encounter with some regret and lamented, “How I wish I could have accompanied him to cultivate the Way of immortality.”

He pulled his wife closer, took down the copy of the “Biographies of Immortals” he had been reading earlier, flipped to the fresh annotations and the inserted booklet, and handed it to her.

“I heard that when he came to the Lu family, no one noticed. He simply walked step by step, and before that, no one saw where the immortal had been. At first, his body was indistinct, only gradually becoming visible.”

County Magistrate Cheng Zhi had clearly made thorough inquiries.

He elaborated carefully.

He also speculated, “The Huainanzi says, ‘The soul is the spirit of yang, the po is the spirit of yin.’ I’ve heard that those who have achieved cultivation can sometimes have their souls leave their bodies.”

“Do you think that immortal was like that?”

Wang Erlang didn’t explain in such detail. Lady Zhao had also chanced upon this during a card game with Wang Er’s wife at the Wang residence.

At noon, they had all played a leaf game together. Lady Zhao had specially commissioned a set of jade tiles, cool and delicate to the touch, at considerable expense. At the table, the other three had set aside old grievances and comforted Lady Su, Wang Er’s wife.

Lady Zhao held a special status here as the magistrate’s wife. Her husband was the highest official in the region.

With several people missing in Xiangyang County, the county magistrate bore the brunt of responsibility. Especially since many of the missing were local gentry and wealthy families, connected by kinship and pleading on each other’s behalf, their appeals reached the magistrate himself.

Lady Su was a relative of Cheng Zhi, and Lady Zhao comforted her with patience.

She also promised to send more men to search. Wang Erlang, a lucky man, surely would come through.

As if on cue, just after she finished speaking, a servant stumbled in to report that the nineteen missing people from the Lu family had been found—still at the Lu residence, having slept for seven whole days, eating like starving ghosts reborn.

An hour later, Wang Anlan was seated at the desk, vividly recounting the tale.

He had dreamt of forty years in that sleep, sleeping the entire seven days.

The people were still alive.

An immortal…

Could such a thing really exist?

Wang Erlang added, “My brother-in-law knows a lot. He even spoke with that immortal, who said he would come to pay a personal visit another day.”

Thinking a moment, he added, “That person dislikes empty fame and asked us to simply call him ‘Sir.’”

Because of this, Lady Zhao had returned early from the Wang household and stationed a servant at the door, waiting to be informed as soon as her husband returned. But when Cheng Zhi came home, he immediately retreated to his study without a word, disappointing her long-held hope.

…

Lady Zhao pondered.

“Who can say for certain?”

“We know nothing about immortals, but just think—who would have guessed that on Deer Gate Mountain there really is a mountain god?”

Cheng Zhi nodded.

He still remembered the mountain god, with white hair and beard, not a single black hair among them. His demeanor was poised and noble.

Truly like an immortal.

Though earlier that day his advisor had told him it was impossible to be taken as an immortal’s disciple, and he had dismissed the thought, knowing such a being truly existed in Xiangyang stirred his heart deeply.

The magistrate was captivated and couldn’t help but ask:

“What do you think? When I meet this ‘Sir’ tomorrow, how should I conduct myself?”

Lady Zhao thought carefully and asked him to describe the immortal’s temperament, fingering her bracelet as she considered.

“Wang Erlang said the immortal dislikes empty fame, and you say you are the local magistrate offering thanks on behalf of the people. So you shouldn’t be overly formal.”

“In my opinion,” she continued, “treat him as you would any reclusive sage.”

“Respect comes from the heart, not the temple.”

“Speak to him as you would any esteemed figure you’ve known before.”

Lady Zhao spoke with enthusiasm and added, “Since this ‘Sir’ has wandered here, inquire if he has a place to rest, or perhaps invite him to stay at our home.”

Cheng Zhi considered this.

Lady Zhao then mentioned another matter: “Isn’t there someone else with the mountain god? Wang Er said he’s a talented man from Shu, standing beside the immortal. They must have some connection.”

“See if you can find out more, try to get a hint.”

Cheng Zhi stroked his beard.

“My lady’s advice is sound—I nearly forgot about Li Taibai. I shall give it a try.”

The magistrate welcomed his wife’s suggestion and promptly began to follow through.

---

The next day at noon.

Meng Haoran was dining with several friends at a tavern. The four sat around a table; all were scholars living nearby. Among them, Meng Haoran was closest to Lu Xiang and Zhang Zirong, known collectively as the Three Friends of Xiangyang.

Lu Xiang set down his wine cup and joked, “It’s a pity Zirong is now the magistrate of Le City and busy with official documents. Otherwise, if he knew of this, he’d likely stay all night outside the immortal’s gate, refusing to go home.”

Meng Haoran laughed.

“Such an extraordinary event must be told to him. I’ve already written a letter; once Zhang Ba replies, there will be much to see.”

Lu Xiang hailed from the illustrious Lu clan of Fanyang, quite different from the obscure Lus in Xiangyang. He had many connections.

“You’re right. I should write a letter as well,” he said between bites. “Coincidentally, Wang Mojie and I have corresponded. He’s currently in Luoyang, mingling with princes like Prince Qi and Prince Ning. Freed from his earlier exile gloom, I’ll tell him about this.”

Meng Haoran asked, “Wang Wei?”

Lu Xiang replied, “Who else goes by Wang Mojie?”

“You were there when it happened, even disappeared briefly. I nearly wrote to the Xiangzhou prefect to send men to investigate. Fortunately, it was just a grand dream, and no mountain bandits spirited you away. I’d have offended the magistrate otherwise.”

“Tell us exactly what happened,” Lu Xiang urged, curiosity shining on his face.

“I’ve lived many years and never seen a true immortal.”

The other two at the table paused mid-bite and leaned in to listen.

Xiangyang was not large; news traveled fast. After the missing returned, tales of encountering an immortal spread quickly, filling the city with whispered wonder.

Meng Haoran pondered briefly.

Setting down his chopsticks, he began:

“The Way of the Immortal—I have now seen it.”

Meeting three pairs of eager eyes, he noticed nearby diners also frozen mid-meal, clearly captivated.

Meng Haoran smiled and continued in detail:

“In my dream, I passed forty years in a land called Ancient Huaihai. Its customs differed from Tang soil. Looking up, there was no moon or stars…”

As he spoke, a diner at the next table paused, stroked his beard, and listened intently.

When Meng Haoran finished, the diner smiled and asked, “Are you the great talent of Xiangyang, Meng Haoran himself?”