Chapter 7

As the boat arrived at the dock, Qin Sang also listened to the old man tell many stories about Jixin Daoist.

Initially, the Qingyang Temple on Cuiming Mountain was prosperous, but it gradually declined over time. The Taoist priests in the temple left one after another, leaving only a few elderly priests who eventually passed away.

Without anyone to maintain it, the temple became increasingly dilapidated, overgrown with weeds. If not for Jixin Daoist, the Qingyang Temple would have been reduced to ruins within a few years.

What people most admired about Jixin Daoist was not his position as the abbot, but his benevolent heart.

After he and his young disciple took over the Qingyang Temple, they did not seek offerings. Instead, they went up the mountain every day to gather herbs and treat the poor.

Whether it was injuries from falls, colds, or fevers, anyone who came seeking help would be treated with care by Jixin Daoist. His medical skills were not necessarily outstanding, but his fees were very low.

If someone truly had no money, they could keep a record, and Jixin Daoist would not ask for payment even after several years. His reputation gradually spread, and combined with his position as the abbot of the Qingyang Temple, he earned the title of "Living Immortal."

The old man docked the boat and, while helping Qin Sang disembark, advised, "Brother Qin's leg injury is not severe. The Living Immortal will surely be able to treat you. However, Cuiming Mountain is between Sangu City and the ferry, about ten miles away, and you have to walk on mountain paths. Brother Qin should hire a carriage. I know a few drivers who offer fair prices..."

Qin Sang thanked the old man for his kindness and, despite his disappointed look, limped into the crowd with a wooden stick.

Amid the crowd, he heard various dialects from all over, and Qin Sang thought to himself that Sangu City indeed lived up to its reputation.

Due to his leg injury, Qin Sang walked and stopped frequently. He eventually heard a familiar accent and looked over to see a few people in silk clothing directing laborers to load cargo onto a ship.

Watching them load the ship and sail away, Qin Sang remained silent, then turned resolutely and entered a tavern.

After enjoying fresh river fish, Qin Sang sat on the second floor, enjoying the river breeze and gazing at the vast river and the bustling crowd outside, lost in thought for a while.

"Waiter, the bill!"

Qin Sang took out a piece of silver, watched the innkeeper weigh it, and took the change in copper coins. He asked, "Could you please tell me where I can hire a carriage to go to Sangu City?"

The innkeeper glanced at Qin Sang and pointed outside, "Follow this street westward until the end, where you'll find several carriage services. They all do legitimate business, and there are plenty of carriages going to Sangu City and the major ferries."

Perhaps because Qin Sang had eaten a lot, the innkeeper kindly advised, "These days... it's best not to travel alone. Find a few people to share a carriage; it will be cheaper."

From the first intersection to Sangu City, the terrain gradually rises. All the major ferries enter the city via this road, which is wide and smooth, making the carriage ride relatively comfortable.

Qin Sang got off the carriage at the foot of Cuiming Mountain and looked up at the towering mountain. The path up the mountain looked dangerous, and with his injured leg, he felt a bit intimidated.

The Cuiming Mountain range is part of a long mountain chain, and Cuiming Mountain itself is not particularly prominent among the peaks.

However, Cuiming Mountain has its unique charm and spirit. Amid the dense forests, the eaves of temples and pavilions occasionally peek out, and the occasional long bell chimes echo through the mountains, purifying the mind.

Qin Sang heard several legends about spirits and demons on Cuiming Mountain from the driver. He wondered whether these temples and Taoist observatories were chosen because of the legends or if the legends arose after they were established.

Qin Sang struggled to climb halfway up the mountain and met a few people also going to the Qingyang Temple for medical treatment. With their help, he finally reached the temple, located halfway up the mountain on the back side.

Qin Sang leaned on his stick and stood in front of the Qingyang Temple.

The temple was indeed quite large, surrounded by extensive bamboo forests. The afternoon sun was not too intense, and the bamboo leaves rustled in the cool breeze.

Due to the steep terrain, one could see the layers of buildings inside the temple from outside. The architectural style was similar to the Taoist temples Qin Sang had seen in his previous life, but they were in a state of severe disrepair, with broken tiles and exposed thatch on the roofs, indicating that few were waterproof.

From outside, he could hear voices inside, and there were quite a few people.

Qin Sang slowly climbed the stone steps into the temple. The lintel above the door read "Qingyang Temple," and the two decayed wooden doors hung loosely on either side, with rusted door rings.

Inside was a large courtyard with hay stacks, a donkey pen, an ancient well, a pulley, a millstone, and a mortar. There were two large gardens, one for vegetables and the other for plants Qin Sang did not recognize, likely medicinal herbs.

Behind the courtyard were several high steps leading to a grand hall, the largest and most magnificent in the Qingyang Temple, and the best maintained.

A wooden plaque hung above the hall, with the bold characters "Qingyang Hall" written on it, the paint almost completely worn off.

It didn't look like a place where immortals would live.

Qin Sang sighed inwardly and was about to enter when three people came out of the hall. Two ragged men were supporting an elderly woman with a pale face, thanking the temple as they left and promising to pay the medical fees next month.

Qin Sang knew that there were real immortals in this world and did not dare to be disrespectful. He became solemn and quietly entered the Qingyang Hall.

The hall was spacious, with large sections of the wall paintings peeling off, making it hard to see what they originally depicted.

Only the three statues in the main hall were brightly colored and newly painted, with exquisite craftsmanship.

A stick of incense burned on the altar, filling the room with a fragrant aroma.

To the side of the altar was a long table, two cabinets—one for medicine and one for scriptures. Behind the table sat a gaunt old Taoist, as steady as a pine tree, taking the pulse of an elderly man.

The old Taoist had white hair and beard, a youthful face, and particularly bright, piercing eyes. A long white beard fell to his chest, giving him a truly immortal and Taoist appearance. He wore a blue Taoist robe, which had been washed until it was somewhat faded but was still clean.

On his right were writing tools, and on his left was a medicine box, along with various tools like a medicine hoe, cinnabar, yellow paper, and a divination tube.

This must be Jixin Daoist, Qin Sang thought.

"Sir, are you here to offer incense or to seek treatment?"

Qin Sang turned to see a young Taoist, about thirteen or fourteen years old, step out from the crowd of patients. His Taoist robe was a bit too large and looked somewhat comical, but he had a fair complexion.

Recalling the old man's mention of Jixin Daoist's disciple, Qin Sang smiled, "Young Daoist, greetings. My name is Qin. I injured my leg a few days ago and would like the Daoist to help me."

The young Taoist brought a small wooden stool, "Sir Qin, please sit."

Qin Sang sat down as instructed, and the young Taoist lifted his injured leg, feeling the bones and said, "Sir Qin, your leg bone is not broken, but there might be some fractures. Taking some bone-nourishing herbal decoctions should heal it in no time. If you're not in a hurry, you can wait for my master to examine you."

Qin Sang had come specifically to see the old Taoist and readily agreed, "Thank you, young Daoist."