Chapter 3

In the alley, Zhang Rongfang watched Xiao Qingying and the other person leave, until he could no longer see their backs, then he turned and left.

On the way, he frequently encountered disciples wearing light blue robes and white shirts.

Each time, he would stop, stand to the side to let them pass, and bow his head in greeting.

In the Qinghe Palace, disciples were divided into cultivation disciples and labor disciples.

Strictly speaking, labor disciples were considered temporary workers and could be dismissed at any time.

However, cultivation disciples were different, so the rules of etiquette were very strict.

If there was any breach of etiquette, the punishment could range from standing against the wall in reflection and doing the hardest labor, to being beaten with sticks, or even being beaten to death and thrown down the mountain.

Zhang Rongfang quickly arrived at the laundry room and began working with the other dozen or so labor disciples, sorting through the buckets of dirty clothes that were brought in.

Clothes, Daoist caps, flat shoes, high boots, belts, and other items that needed cleaning were all thrown into the laundry room.

After a hard day's work, it was almost half past ten in the evening before they finally finished.

As soon as they finished, Zhang Rongfang did not stop. He took the money he had tucked in his chest and headed straight for the registry office.

Not long after, he came out of the registry office, his money pouch now completely empty. The two taels of silver he had saved for a long time were now almost gone.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he looked ahead.

At night, the Qinghe Palace was lit with oil lamps and candles everywhere.

From the three main halls and the Daoist practice grounds, faint chanting could still be heard. It was not the voices of the Daoists but those of devout pilgrims who stayed overnight to chant.

They were reciting the Infinite Heart Sutra.

Zhang Rongfang followed the pebbled path to the back, where the disciples' dormitories were located.

The sound of the evening drum drifted over from a distance, varying in strength with the wind.

Along with the wind, the smell of some kind of roasted meat wafted over.

Zhang Rongfang couldn't help but swallow, the black steamed buns he had eaten in the afternoon were not enough to fill his stomach.

The labor disciples' meals consisted of two black steamed buns, a dish of mixed pickles, and a bowl of egg drop soup that was so thin you could see the bottom of the bowl.

Each bun was only about half the size of a fist. For someone who didn't move much, it might be enough, but for labor disciples like them, it was far from sufficient.

Passing a cliffside terrace, Zhang Rongfang paused and glanced down from the terrace.

Below, a black cloud covered the mountain, while the crescent moon cast a clear light. The distant mountains were silent, with only the wind howling through them.

Two nobles, draped in sable fur, stood in the corner of the terrace, whispering to each other, either admiring the moon or having a heart-to-heart conversation.

Zhang Rongfang looked at them by the light of the palace lamps. The brown fur of the sable coats shimmered slightly in the light, smooth and glossy.

He had always thought sable fur was purple, but now he couldn't see any hint of purple.

"What are you doing here? Don't disturb the laymen!" a group of patrolling Daoists passing by scolded him in a low voice.

The leader of the group was tall and strong, with a full beard, holding a lantern in one hand and a long stick in the other.

From a distance, he looked like a tiger crossing the mountain, his gaze sharp and imposing.

Zhang Rongfang sighed inwardly. Labor disciples had no rights...

On the surface, he quickly bowed his head in greeting, not wanting to lose his manners.

"Yes, I'll go back right away," he replied.

The tall Daoist was named Qishan and was the leader of the patrol for this time slot.

Zhang Rongfang had seen him several times and had a deep impression of him.

This person was over two meters tall, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with strong limbs. He had once practiced in the Daoist hall and could take on three opponents at once and still have the upper hand.

Qishan nodded, watching Zhang Rongfang quickly head towards the labor disciples' dormitories before turning his gaze and continuing his patrol.

Time passed quickly, and another half month went by.

During this half month, Zhang Rongfang went back and forth between the laundry room, the practice hall, the cafeteria, and the dormitories every day.

The dry and oil-free meals he ate every day left him feeling no signs of accumulating attribute points.

He knew that each time he accumulated attributes, he could feel a slight warmth gathering inside his body.

But once the consumption was too high, this warmth would noticeably weaken.

Over the past ten days, Zhang Rongfang had to wash large buckets of clothes every day, which was extremely physically demanding.

He realized he needed to find a way to change this situation.

But there was some good news. After sending the money, his name was not on the list of labor disciples who were to be dismissed.

This made Zhang Rongfang feel relieved.

The Daoist registry was highly valued in Dalin. If he could advance, his treatment would be much better.

As time passed, another half month went by.

The Qinghe Palace had just seen off a group of noble guests who had come for a tea party and began the annual selection and evaluation of new cultivation disciples.

Zhang Rongfang saw that his attribute points had not increased at all, still at 0, and realized he couldn't waste his time like this anymore.

But for the moment, he had no good ideas.

* * *

* * *

* * *

April 1183.

Zhang Rongfang carried two buckets of clothes and walked along the mountain path towards the drying field at the back of the mountain.

The sky was just beginning to brighten. The Qinghe Palace was rectangular in shape, and the drying field at the back was next to the mountain forest and stone walls, located outside the palace walls.

Apart from the Daoists who came to dry clothes, no one else usually came here.

The surroundings were barren trees and pale white rock piles.

Zhang Rongfang walked a few steps and rested a bit, partly because the path was difficult, and partly because the fog in the mountains was thick, making it hard to see ahead.

Each time, the senior disciples in the laundry room told him that monkeys might come out of the mountains to steal clothes, so he had to be extra careful.

When drying clothes, someone had to watch over them. This time, Zhang Rongfang was lucky to get this relatively easy job.

The two buckets of clothes weighed about sixty pounds, and he had to carry at least fifteen buckets back and forth, which was only part of the robes.

Heaving a deep breath, Zhang Rongfang wiped the sweat from his forehead and prepared to continue.

At that moment, a faint voice came from the fog on his left.

"....She didn't come, what's going on? Did she suspect you before?" a young man's voice said in a low tone.

"I don't know... I don't think so. She talked to me last night..." a woman's voice replied, somewhat frightened.

"Regardless, this time when we go to town to buy supplies, you are responsible for creating an opportunity. Put this thing in her gourd before we leave..." the man's voice said as low as possible.

Zhang Rongfang's heart raced. He had heard others talking privately before, but this time... it seemed to be a problem.

In the palace, because of the wind, once the wind was favorable, voices from tens of meters away could be heard even if they were lowered.

The people involved often didn't notice.

Zhang Rongfang immediately stopped and slowly backed away.

Since no one usually came here, if he was discovered, the consequences could be dire.

He then heard some more instructions.

He didn't want to get involved, nor did he have the ability to do so. But just as he was about to turn and leave, a name suddenly caught his attention.

Xiao Qingying!

Zhang Rongfang stopped, his eyes flickering.

After a moment, he continued to back away a bit, then deliberately hummed a Daoist scripture and carried the clothes forward.

The voices drifted away, and when he reached the previous spot, he indeed heard no more talking.

Clearly, the two people who were having a secret conversation had heard him approaching and left early.

Zhang Rongfang continued on his way, thinking to himself.

He didn't know who the speakers were, but he remembered their voices. They mentioned drugging Xiao Qingying during a trip to town, so she would likely be targeted on one of these trips.

If he could find out when she was going to town, he could secretly warn her.

After warning her, if something happened, he could repay the favor Xiao Qingying had done for him before, and perhaps...

Zhang Rongfang's expression remained calm. He went to the drying field as usual and, with another disciple, hung all the clothes on the lines, stretching and patting them neatly.

He didn't go to warn her immediately but continued to watch over the drying field. He ate the dry black steamed buns he had brought for lunch and didn't leave until the sun set in the afternoon.

After a busy day, he finished his evening practice just as the evening drum was about to sound.

Zhang Rongfang quickly got up from the practice hall and walked towards Xiao Rong, who was about to leave.

Xiao Rong was responsible for the practice of all the labor disciples and held a higher position than ordinary cultivation disciples, equivalent to an official in the Qinghe Palace, only below the palace master, the supervisor, and the hall masters.

He was also Xiao Qingying's biological father.

Xiao Rong had a full beard and always carried a wine gourd, but it rarely contained much wine.

He was rumored to be a real drunkard, but he was rarely seen drinking.

At that moment, Xiao Rong saw a labor disciple approaching him from the practice hall, walking quickly, and paused to wait.

"Is there something?" he asked.

Zhang Rongfang first bowed, then stood up and said, "Disciple Zhang Rongfang, greeting Master Mingguang."

"Speak, the drum is about to sound," Xiao Rong said, his temper mild and without any prejudice against labor disciples.

His Daoist name was Mingguang, and he had an official title of Master, so he was respectfully called Master Mingguang.

"Here's what happened. Today, when I went to the back mountain to dry clothes..." Zhang Rongfang did not hide anything and recounted everything he had heard.

As for the judgment, he believed Xiao Rong could make his own.

As he spoke, Xiao Rong's initially relaxed expression gradually became serious.

When Zhang Rongfang finished, he thought for a moment, glanced around at the already dispersed labor disciples, and waved his hand.

"Are you sure you didn't hear wrong?"

"Absolutely sure!" Zhang Rongfang nodded firmly.

"If you heard the voices again, could you recognize them?" Xiao Rong asked.

"I think I can, but I'm not entirely sure," Zhang Rongfang nodded.

Xiao Rong looked thoughtful, then carefully examined the disciple who had brought the message.

"This is a serious matter. Think carefully. If you falsely accuse other disciples, you will receive fifty strokes, and with your body, you might not survive," he said again.

"Disciple dares not lie," Zhang Rongfang said solemnly. "Actually, Senior Sister Xiao Qingying once helped me in an alley near the Xuanxin Hall. I have always remembered it. If this matter involved someone else, I would not have dared to come forward, but hearing that it involved Senior Sister Xiao, I could not bear to stand by."

Zhang Rongfang's expression was sincere and straightforward. Whether in his past life or now, he had always been a person who clearly distinguished right from wrong and repaid kindness.

So his words came from the heart, spoken with determination.

Hearing this, Xiao Rong's eyes softened. Labor disciples were not of high quality, and it was rare to find someone like the one in front of him, who spoke clearly, thought logically, and had a sense of righteousness.

Most labor disciples were sent by families from nearby towns to occupy a Daoist registry spot.

Many had been trained in how to serve before they came, but few could read and write, speak clearly, and think logically.

In this era, not everyone had the opportunity to read and write, even if wealthy farmers and merchants had the money, they might not have the time or energy.

Let alone someone with such a sense of righteousness...