Chapter 63: A New Temple in the Wilderness, Old Enemies

If Lu Qi had remained in the farewell pavilion, his mood would have only grown heavier. After the envoy sent by the noble master, three more groups arrived in succession to bid Ye Chang farewell, but all found themselves disappointed. Though Ye Chang had been granted silk and released by imperial decree, this did not dampen the expectations of those with discerning eyes for his future; on the contrary, many saw something hidden in Emperor Li Longji’s actions.

If the emperor truly resented Ye Chang, why bestow silk upon him? He could simply have expelled him from Chang’an.

Ye Chang was simply too young. If he were given high office now, in twenty years, when Li Longji passed and the crown prince ascended, Ye Chang would not yet be forty and would already be a pillar of the court. Another twenty years, and he would be under sixty, serving three reigns, his power and prestige reaching a frightening height.

Thus, Li Longji’s gift of silk and release might have been meant as a lesson, but perhaps also to leave a talent for the chancellorship to his descendants.

Ye Chang did not wish to dwell on such matters. He only hoped to return early to Xiuwu County, first to strengthen his own economic power, then to expand his influence, perhaps to shape the fate of the Tang and avoid the coming catastrophe of An Lushan’s rebellion.

He wished to avert that disaster because he did not want to live in an age of upheaval. But as for the Li Tang imperial family, he felt little reverence—Yang Fu was dead, but without the indulgence of Prince Consort Yang Hui and the protection of Princess Xianyi, how could Yang Fu alone have killed Ye Shu? His elder brother had been swept into the internecine struggles of the royal clan, and Ye Chang, seeking vengeance for his brother, slew Yang Fu, closing one chapter. As for Yang Hui, if the opportunity arose, Ye Chang would settle accounts with him as well.

If there was no opportunity, he would find a way to create one.

As for the Lady Twenty-Nine...

He touched the letter in his bosom and smiled bitterly. Lady Twenty-Nine was still unwilling to let go. Upon learning of his departure from Chang’an, she had Princess Yuzhen send him a letter, whose contents were not for outsiders.

“When we went to Chang’an, we were battered by dust and hardship; but on the return, the journey is light and easy,”

The monk beside him spoke, his words full of emotion. When they went, Ye Chang had only a few coins to his name; the monk had nothing but a bowl, staff, and robe, hurrying along, sleeping rough and eating whatever he could find. Now, on the return, they were attended by a small retinue, and most importantly, Ye Chang was no longer short of money—Li Longji’s silk had been exchanged for gold and coin, worth hundreds of strings, making him a small man of wealth.

Of course, what Ye Chang valued most were the thirty-odd pieces of calligraphy he had secured from Zhang Xu and Yan Zhenqing, treasures to be passed down through his family. Decades hence, even if he were to sell them, each would be auctioned individually.

They traveled the Yellow River waterway on the return, arriving at Wuzhi in just four days. Ye Chang was rather frustrated by the ships of the time; no wonder Jianzhen had to cross the sea seven times before succeeding. The vessels, whether in safety or speed, could not compare to later steamships, nor even to those of Song times.

It would take decades, perhaps centuries, before watertight cabins and other shipbuilding techniques ushered in a peak period in China's maritime history, but Ye Chang had no intention of waiting.

“Cui Xiuqing, how many men would you need to build a ship like this?” Upon landing, Ye Chang pointed to the craft behind them.

Cui Xiuqing was the Silla slave; purchasing such a man had been a last resort, as the Tang strictly regulated private shipbuilding and Ye Chang could scarcely find suitable craftsmen, so he had to make do with Silla men. Their shipbuilding skills, it was said, rivaled those of the Tang, much as the Xianbei’s carriage-making was renowned.

“With ample materials, ten or so men could build such a vessel in a month,” Cui Xiuqing replied cautiously.

He was around forty, with the typical angular features of Silla men. Many Silla slaves served in the Tang, most fluent in Chinese. Knowing his master’s reputation, Cui Xiuqing was careful not to offend.

“Ten men, a month’s time…”

The efficiency was not high; the ship that brought them was little better than a common ferry, in Ye Chang’s eyes.

Cui Xiuqing did not know why his new master asked, so he remained silent except when spoken to.

From Wuzhi to Xiuwu was just half a day’s journey if pressed. For much of history, the two counties were one. They avoided Xiuwu’s town, taking a detour, for Ye Chang had been delayed more than two months and was eager to return home.

Along the way, as autumn harvest approached, the wheat rippled on both sides, but Ye Chang felt no joy. Much of the grain was hollow, mere husks; even if harvested, little flour could be milled.

This was inevitable. The Central Plains, after long development, had reached the limits of production with current techniques.

A few miles from Wu Ze Pond, Ye Chang noticed a new building by the official road—a simple temple, only the main hall completed, yet despite the scorching sun, many worshipers burned incense outside.

“When did a temple spring up here beside the road? Travelers from all directions…”

Ye Chang was pondering when a monk in a purple robe strode out, and the worshipers greeted him. The monk glanced at Ye Chang from afar and sneered, “Well, Ye Eleven, you’ve returned?”

It was Daoning from Shifang Temple.

He was a member of the Liu family, nephew of the current patriarch Liu Fengyin. He had taken monastic vows at Shifang Temple, not so much for spiritual pursuit as for temple property. However, as Ye Chang’s relationship with Abbot Chunxin improved, Daoning, who always sought trouble with Ye Chang, lost his standing. Ye Chang remembered that after the Bodhisattva’s case, Daoning had been expelled from Shifang Temple by Chunxin and slunk back to the Liu family, though now he appeared at this temple.

Looking at the freshly whitewashed walls, Ye Chang scratched his head. “I remember this land should belong to the Ye family?”

It was the property of the eldest branch of the third house. Daoning chuckled, “It used to be your family’s, but now it’s Liu’s. Your branch lacked ambition and even quarreled with my sister over divorce!”

Ye Chang curled his lip. His uncle from the third house had brought this on himself, repeatedly scheming against Ye Chang—even bearing responsibility for Ye Shu’s death in Chang’an. Naturally, the Liu family bore the greatest blame. After Yang Fu’s death, Ye Chang had been contemplating how to make them pay.

He had no interest in Daoning’s words, knowing there was little sense to be found. He pulled aside a worshiper, “Auntie Ma, what brings you here?”

“Praying to the Bodhisattva, naturally. Eleven, Wu Ze is a place of—what is it—outstanding people and spiritual land.” The old woman uttered a proverb, “First, you were guided by a celestial, now Master Daoning has met the Bodhisattva!”

“Hmm?” Ye Chang was surprised. Daoning met the Bodhisattva?

He did not believe it. He knew perfectly well how he himself had been “guided by a celestial,” and doubted Daoning’s claims.

Daoning saw him questioning the worshipers and grew angry, approaching, “Ye Eleven, don’t cause trouble here. This is sacred Buddhist ground; I won’t let you, a fraud, stir up mischief!”

“I’m a fraud?” Ye Chang was taken aback.

“Hmph, if you’re not a fraud, what about the monk behind you?” Daoning pointed to Shishan.

The rough monk scratched his head, bewildered. How was he and Ye Chang frauds?

Ye Chang suddenly recalled that Daoning had been Chunxin’s confidant at Shifang Temple. Even if Chunxin kept secrets, Daoning could easily surmise how the Bodhisattva had “manifested.” The later case was even harder to conceal. With a little deduction, he could uncover Ye Chang’s tricks.

Others might think Ye Chang’s wisdom was divine, but Daoning, his enemy, saw only deception.

“If you want to know about the monk, ask Abbot Chunxin at Shifang Temple. Though, Daoning, you probably can’t enter Shifang Temple anymore.”

Ye Chang tossed out the remark and ignored the tiresome monk, leading his group onward. Daoning, seeing Ye Chang summon his retinue—not just Shishan, but obvious servants, and even a strong, dark-skinned Kunlun slave—grew suspicious and stepped forward, blocking one of them, “You, who are you, why follow this fraud…”

Smack!

A heavy slap landed on Daoning’s face, delivered by the knife-faced man, his eyes wide with rage. “Bald donkey, how dare you insult my master!”

“Mas… Master?”

“That’s right! You sneaky monk, you dare call my master a fraud? Beware, or you’ll end up before the magistrate!”

The one who struck Daoning was Cui Xiuqing. Sold to Ye Chang, he was still unfamiliar with his master, knowing only his reputation in Chang’an. Now, a country monk dared insult him—an opportunity to display loyalty.

The slap was hard, spinning Daoning half a turn and leaving a clear handprint on his face.

Ye Chang glanced back. “Xiuqing, let’s go.”

“Yes, sir!” Cui Xiuqing trotted after him, feeling he had done the right thing, and his future would be bright.

Daoning watched, his eyes full of fear and envy.

Six men, apart from the Kunlun slave, two fierce-looking foreigners—they were all Ye Chang’s servants?

And two large carts!

Wasn’t this fellow supposed to be bringing back his brother’s coffin from Chang’an? How did he spend over a month in the city and gain such wealth?

Daoning’s heart was full of envy and resentment. He wanted to rush forward and shout, but the burning pain in his face restrained him.

“Let that dog slave have his triumph for a few days… Hmph, the county magistrate won’t stay in Xiuwu forever; sooner or later he’ll be transferred, and then…”

The feud between the Liu family and Ye Chang had not ended with Ye Lian’s divorce from Liu. Liu was most hateful towards Ye Chang, and after the last incident, Liu Fengyin had suffered, Daoning was expelled from Shifang Temple.

“Just ahead is Wu Ze Pond. My house is small, and with so many people, we may be crowded; we’ll have to go to my mountain estate. Just a few more steps, and tonight I’ll cook a meal for you all to welcome you!” Ye Chang pointed to the large locust tree at the village entrance, smiling at his companions.

He spoke without distinction of rank, and others dared not respond. Only Shishan gulped loudly, “Good food, good food!”

Four or five miles, just half an hour’s walk. As they appeared in the distance, someone in the village shouted, “Cinu, Cinu, your uncle is back!”

Little Cinu sat at the root of the old locust tree, daydreaming. Hearing the call, he jumped up, but before seeing Ye Chang clearly, Chunming ran ahead.

While Ye Chang was away, Chunming and Xiang’er had been cared for by Fang, whose kindness could not match Ye Chang’s own. Chunming had longed for his return.

Cinu followed Chunming for a few steps, then thought better and turned back—to tell his mother first.

He was not very sensible, but had heard much lately. His uncle had gone to fetch his father’s coffin; his father was gone. Though he did not fully grasp life and death, he knew it was not a good thing.

Thus, when Ye Chang reached the village, he was met by Fang and others in mourning attire. Fang met him, sorrowful, and Ye Chang led her, Cinu, and the girl to the cart, letting them see the coffin, then said quietly, “Sister-in-law, take comfort. The weather is hot and the body would not keep, so I only brought the ashes.”

Fang seemed not to hear, rushing to the coffin and weeping bitterly. Her crying set Cinu and the girl off as well, all becoming tearful, and even Ye Chang could not help but shed tears.

After much comfort, their grief subsided. Those who died violently far from home, like Ye Shu, could not have their coffins brought into the village according to custom, so it was placed in a derelict temple outside for the funeral.

Fang, overcome with sorrow, left all matters to Ye Chang. Fortunately, Ye Dan was experienced in such affairs, so Ye Chang was not too busy. They kept vigil, sending the new servants to the mountain estate, while Ye Chang remained at the ruined temple.

Late at night, when all was quiet, Ye Chang forced Cinu and the girl to sleep on mats, and even Chunming and Xiang’er returned home, leaving only Ye Chang and the wan, grief-stricken Fang by the torchlight. Dressed in mourning, perhaps made more beautiful by her excessive sorrow, Fang’s presence was all the more moving.