Chapter Ninety-Nine: Yuan Tiangang

“Are you really certain, boy, that you can grow a Buddha statue?” Trusting Yun Hao’s ability to accomplish the impossible, Hong Ren did not doubt in the slightest that Yun Hao could indeed grow a Buddha. Yun Hao looked at the old monk before him with surprise, wondering if this fellow might also be a traveler from another time.

“You’re a clever one; there’s nothing you can’t conjure up. Boy, even your grandfather isn’t as old as this humble monk here. If there’s anything unclear, speak it plainly—don’t try to pull any tricks on me!” Now that the little brat had been called out, Hong Ren was ready to drop the pretense. From his demeanor, it was clear he had no intention of playing games with Yun Hao.

“Since the master is so straightforward, I’ll be just as direct. You know there’s a ground fire in my village. Normally, in such cases, a living sacrifice is made. Throwing children into the fire pit—someone with your kindly face wouldn’t be capable of such a thing. I was hoping the master might show some leniency. Let’s just pretend nothing has happened in my village. If you want to perform rituals, that’s fine, but no throwing children in.”

Born under the red flag and raised in New China, Yun Hao detested such sacrificial rites. Were it not that he could not afford to offend the Taoist or Buddhist sects, he would have liked to emulate the old story of Ximen Bao’s reforms.

“Is that all?” Hong Ren looked at Yun Hao in astonishment, as if gazing upon an alien species.

“Yes,” Yun Hao nodded. Not throwing children was all he asked.

Hong Ren studied Yun Hao for a long while. He expected the boy to accompany his request with numerous economic demands—Yun Hao seemed to have a pathological obsession with money. Yet, surprisingly, this time he brought up none of that. It made one suspect a trick, but Yun Hao’s expression betrayed no such game. Having lived many years, Hong Ren was quite adept at reading men’s words and actions.

“You must tell me how to grow the Buddha statue!” Hong Ren considered briefly and then made a demand. Both were reasonable men; Yun Hao’s willingness to trade this knowledge meant it was a bargaining chip. Besides, Hong Ren was deeply curious about the method of growing a Buddha statue. If the Grand Buddha Temple could claim such a miracle, the number of followers would multiply exponentially.

“No problem!” Yun Hao readily agreed. In fact, Hong Ren hadn’t guessed wrong—this was exactly the condition Yun Hao intended to propose. As one grows older, one becomes shrewd; Yun Hao hadn’t believed this before, but now he truly did. The bald old monk before him was nothing less than a cunning old spirit.

The deal was mutually beneficial. Yun Hao could not challenge the powerful Buddhist sect, and the Buddhists gained a new tool for persuasion. It seemed a fair trade indeed.

Yun Hao and Li Yuanba left the Grand Buddha Temple. Seeing that it was still early, with daylight to spare, they took a carriage to the Taoist temple in Jinyang, the Laojun Temple.

In truth, this was Yun Hao’s first time dealing with Taoists in two lifetimes. Monks preferred incense and offerings, so their temples were usually built in bustling markets. Taoism, however, emphasized absorbing the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, so Taoist priests had the foresight to establish their temples in scenic spots. This led to Taoist sites being rated as top-tier tourist destinations in later generations. The Taoists made a fortune from entrance fees alone.

Wujin Mountain winds in graceful curves, its peaks layered and rolling, its vast forest creating a natural shield to the north of Yuci. Laojun Temple sat atop Wujin Mountain. Yun Hao and Li Yuanba climbed the stone steps.

At the entrance, a young Taoist greeted them, likely serving the same role as a Buddhist temple’s gatekeeper. Money makes the world go round—Yun Hao tossed a small pouch of copper coins. The young Taoist’s face immediately brightened, and he began an eloquent description of Wujin’s enchanting scenery.

Laojun Temple was modest, a compound with five courtyards arranged with ingenious design praised by many. The rear courtyards featured pavilions and towers, staggered and winding, evoking the sense of “when the road seems blocked, a new village lies ahead.” The main pavilion at the back was the tallest structure, offering panoramic views that felt like standing in a palace of jade and crystal.

The young Taoist narrated while leading the way, much like a modern tour guide. A pouch of coins could bring such hospitality—it was clear the Taoists were just as eager for money as anyone else. This bolstered Yun Hao’s confidence in the deal he sought. As long as they had needs, he had leverage. The Buddhist sect was powerful, and he dared not offend local Taoism either. Weaklings bargaining with tigers is dangerous—unless one can truly tame the beast.

Now Yun Hao had found their weakness in one word: money.

The young Taoist was also remarkably knowledgeable, weaving stories around each scenic spot with wit and eloquence. Yun Hao and Li Yuanba were left stunned as he swiftly moved from one tale to another, leaping thoughts and fitting answers so perfectly that Yun Hao regretted his own limited vocabulary.

Upon reaching the main pavilion, the Taoist suddenly grew thoughtful, gazing at the surrounding mountains with passion. He spontaneously recited:

“The Five Mountains’ rites honor the Three Dukes,
The Four Directions guard Wushan’s heart.
Fire governs the barren land’s monsters,
Heaven grants divine power to the mighty.
Clouds spout, mist conceals the hidden valley,
Though peaks soar high, none can fathom their depths.
I arrive just in time for autumn rains,
Darkness and gloom shroud the clear breeze away.”

The poem was exquisite, yet faced with Yun Hao and Li Yuanba, it was like pearls before swine.

“Good, good, good!” Yun Hao repeated thrice, while Li Yuanba applauded in celebration. But beyond “good,” Yun Hao found no words. The young Taoist looked disappointed.

“I had thought Young Master Yun of Jinyang was a hero of the age, but I see now...”

“Disappointed?” Before the Taoist could finish, Yun Hao smiled in reply.

“You’re not surprised I know you?” This time, the young Taoist was puzzled.

“Why would I be? I just came from your rivals, the Buddhists. I don’t believe you don’t have spies at their gates. I’m just wondering how long before you tell the truth. Luckily, there’s still time before nightfall. I hope after our talk, I’ll still make it home for dinner.” Yun Hao’s calm certainty stunned the Taoist.

But soon, the surprise faded. The Taoist studied Yun Hao’s solemn face and said, “Such a strange countenance. One’s features always reveal the truth, but yours... you should be dead already!”

Damn! This old Taoist was uncannily accurate. If not for King Qin Guang forcing him to reincarnate, this body would indeed be dead.

“May I ask your honorable name, Master Taoist?” Yun Hao respected capable men, even if they were mystics.

“Limitless Heavenly Venerable, Yuan Tiangang at your service!”