Chapter Seventeen: Entering the Temple of the Supreme Lord

The imposing presence of the Left Garrison’s mounted archers left a deep impression on Feng Xiaobao—magnificent indeed, these Tang cavalrymen. In the age of Emperor Taizong and Gaozong, the army of the Great Tang was still a mighty force! (Even though, at times, bandits dug trenches in their path, forcing even the emperor to pay passage fees. There was a saying that when officials petitioned Emperor Gaozong for strict laws and a thorough crackdown on the highwaymen, he, ever benevolent, replied that if the people had turned to banditry, the fault lay first with those who governed. The rulers should cultivate virtue before punishing bandits. Thanks to this, the bandits escaped a calamity; otherwise, with the might of the imperial apparatus, how could banditry have flourished?)

At first, he was unsettled by the many corpses, but after a while, he grew accustomed—even passing calmly by heaps of bodies. His composure caught the attention of Xuanqing, Kang Caien, and Tang Zhiyu, who exchanged meaningful glances as they observed him.

With the crisis resolved, the swordsmen, recognizing the official troops, devoted themselves to tending their own wounded and cleaning the battlefield, harboring no particular fondness for the government despite being rescued by them.

Kang Caien invited Xuanqing to meet the officers, while Feng Xiaobao, not yet of any standing, merely watched from the side. He saw Kang Caien greet a knight with a clasped fist, saying, “Thank you, Captain Liu, for your timely rescue. Our gratitude is boundless and will surely be repaid!”

The officer, just past thirty, with a short mustache and an air of shrewd strength, dismounted and saluted. “They are bandits, and we are the law. Fighting them is our duty—no need for thanks.”

“Allow me to make introductions,” Kang Caien continued. “This is Captain Liu Fucheng, Officer of Merit of the Left Garrison, holding the seventh rank.”

“And this is Daoist Master Xuanqing, disciple of the esteemed Court Astrologer Li.”

As soon as he heard Xuanqing’s name, the captain, originally somewhat aloof, broke into a broad smile. “So it’s Daoist Master Xuanqing! What an honor!”

A stroke of fortune—he had both rescued a wealthy merchant and the disciple of the renowned Li Chunfeng. His intervention was well worth the effort.

Owing a debt of gratitude, Xuanqing could only thank him profusely, the threads of fate thus tied, to be repaid another day.

After some polite exchanges, Liu Fucheng, mindful of appearances, did not linger and soon took his leave.

Behind them, the caravan gradually arrived, swept the battlefield, and set up camp. Though many had just fallen here, and the place was freshly cleansed, Kang Caien, accustomed to such scenes, saw no need to move, especially as dusk approached.

Guo Luquan came to report the battle’s toll: “We suffered forty-two casualties—thirty-four dead, five maimed, only three unharmed.”

Those bandits were ruthless and precise, their weapons aimed for the kill. Only three men were fortunate, and of the eighty swordsmen, half were lost.

Listening closely, Feng Xiaobao gained a deeper understanding of the brutality of cold steel combat.

“But!” Guo Luquan, well-versed in life and death, mourned their losses but took grim satisfaction in the greater toll exacted upon the bandits. “We cut down sixty-nine of their riders, and forty-two more were felled by the official troops—one hundred and eleven dead in all!”

No prisoners were taken; the wounded were finished off without mercy—once the battle began, no quarter was given.

As previously agreed with Kang Caien, those who fought were to receive bonuses; families of the dead would be compensated, and bounties were awarded based on the number of bandits slain. The government also provided rewards, on top of whatever spoils—horses, silver, and gold—were gathered from the field. This single engagement brought Guo Luquan a profit of several hundred thousand coins—not a small sum, especially along the Silk Road.

Someone nearby, a trusted inspector sent by Kang Caien, nodded in agreement with Guo Luquan’s account. Kang Caien made note of the numbers, to settle accounts in Luoyang.

Even if funds were available, they would not be distributed immediately—who could say the swordsmen wouldn’t simply disappear with their pay, or refuse to fight if more bandits appeared? Kang Caien was well-acquainted with their mindset, but his reputation for fairness reassured them; no one doubted he would pay his debts.

...

In the days that followed, their journey was untroubled. Their victory had won them renown, and the remnants of the bandits, grievously wounded, dared not attack again.

All along the way, Feng Xiaobao noticed many bandits by the roadside—some well-armed horsemen, others local ruffians moonlighting as highwaymen. Yet none dared to trouble the Sogdian merchant caravan, not only because of the fearsome swordsmen but also due to the escort of elite imperial troops.

Bandits rarely robbed the official army; when the military passed by, they still had to pay passage, but there would be no direct attack. Only a fool would pick a fight with government forces; instead, the bandits dug trenches and made nuisances of themselves. (Before setting out, Kang Caien had paid passage fees to several underworld chiefs—only Li the Pockmarked had broken the rules out of greed.)

Free from the menace of bandits, they soon reached Luoyang.

Eastern Capital Luoyang—its walls were sturdy, banners fluttered in the breeze. Though not yet the equal of Chang’an, it was impressive nonetheless.

Within the city, the crowds flowed like schools of fish, and carriages rolled endlessly along. The streets, though not as wide and grand as Chang’an’s Vermilion Bird Avenue, were orderly and dignified; the homes were laid out in neat wards, like a chessboard. The Luo River ran through the center, dividing the city north and south. North of the river lay twenty-eight wards and one market; south, eighty-one wards and two markets.

The Sogdian caravan, large and accompanied by swordsmen, could not enter the city. They unloaded their goods at a manor outside the walls, and Feng Xiaobao and Xuanqing took their leave of Kang Caien and the swordsmen.

Xuanqing left his address at the Temple of the Supreme Lord; Kang Caien provided his contact in Luoyang (Xuanqing already had the Chang’an address). As for the swordsmen, Tang Zhiyu took note of Xuanqing’s (Feng Xiaobao’s) address, but did not reveal his own—he simply said that if anyone wished to find him, they should try a certain tavern in Chang’an, though there was no guarantee of success.

Tang Zhiyu was not being stingy; he was a man with secrets, needing to protect his family. Though they were on friendly terms, they were not yet intimate confidants. Even with close acquaintances, he rarely disclosed his home address.

...

Xuanqing led Feng Xiaobao to his temple, located in the Xiushan Ward on the south bank of the Luo River, near the South Market.

The temple was built in the traditional style, its main gate modest in size, and even during the day, the doors remained tightly shut.

Xuanqing stepped forward to knock. Before long, a hoary voice called from within, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Xuanqing!”

At once, the door opened. An elderly caretaker respectfully greeted him, “Greetings, Daoist Master Xuanqing!”

“This is Uncle Zhang—he keeps watch over the gate for us,” Xuanqing explained, then introduced Feng Xiaobao. “This is Master Feng, my good friend, who will be staying with me.”

“Of course, Daoist Master, may I ask—” The old caretaker hesitated—was it a temporary stay or something longer? If only a short visit, little preparation was needed; if a longer residence, the temple would have to open its halls and prepare for devotees.

“I am here at my master’s command to take charge of this temple,” Xuanqing replied.

“Oh!” The old caretaker bowed even lower—Xuanqing was now the abbot, disciple of Li Chunfeng, and within these walls his word was law.

Inside the gate, facing the entrance stood a stone screen engraved with an image of the Supreme Lord refining elixirs. Circling behind it, they entered the first courtyard. The main hall was dedicated to the Three Pure Ones: the Supreme Lord, the Primal Lord, and the Lord of Spiritual Treasures. Side halls honored the Spirit Officer and the God of Wealth—the former to drive out evil and ghosts, the latter to bring fortune, meeting the practical needs of the faithful. Were only the high and distant Three Pure Ones venerated, the common folk might doubt their petitions would be heard; the Spirit Officer and the God of Wealth, being closer to the people, fulfilled their worldly wishes.

The old caretaker opened each hall in turn, leading them to pay their respects.

Each hall contained clay statues. In the Hall of the Three Pure Ones, the Supreme Lord sat serenely at the center, flanked by the other two deities, all portrayed with benevolent expressions. Murals on the walls depicted celestial beings in tranquil and harmonious scenes. The Spirit Officer appeared fierce enough to frighten children, while the God of Wealth wore a kindly smile, promising prosperity. The murals in these halls depicted beloved folk tales. The statues and paintings were all finely crafted, though the colors had faded with age.

Xuanqing and Feng Xiaobao offered incense together in each hall, with the old caretaker attending. He noted with interest that they stood side by side, not with Xuanqing alone in the central position as the abbot. This small gesture immediately told the worldly-wise caretaker how he should treat Feng Xiaobao.

Having toured the halls, they returned to the main courtyard. Before the Hall of the Three Pure Ones stood a long stone incense table, barely touched with ash, as the temple was not yet open to the public. Beneath it was a brazier, ready to provide coals for worshipers.

Both the temple and its grounds were immaculate—Uncle Zhang was clearly diligent. The place, though small, was complete in every respect. In the corners stood a bell tower and a drum tower, which Feng Xiaobao left for another time—there would be plenty of opportunities to explore.

Beyond the first courtyard, through a small gate, lay the living quarters: rooms for the priests and lay believers, meditation chambers, guest rooms, a kitchen, and a dining hall—all the necessities of daily life. In the courtyard stood a well for drawing water.

After a brief introduction, Xuanqing asked with a smile, “Xiaobao, where would you like to stay?”

“The guest room will do,” Feng Xiaobao replied.

With that, Xuanqing realized, “Xiaobao is not one of us Daoists!”

But he took no offense. After all, Feng Xiaobao carried an air of auspicious destiny and was said to be a man from the future—an extraordinary person for extraordinary times. It mattered little whether he joined the Daoist order.

He smiled and said, “Very well, you take this room, and I’ll take that one.”

The guest room designated for Feng Xiaobao was the largest and finest, intended for important visitors; Xuanqing chose a lesser priest’s room for himself, but conveniently, the two rooms were close together, making it easy for them to converse.

“This won’t do!” protested Feng Xiaobao, well aware of the difference between the main and secondary rooms, but Xuanqing would not be swayed, and so it was settled.

In the rear courtyard, there were over three acres of vegetable plots, a pond of more than thirty square meters, and a dozen or more additional rooms. Such was the entirety of the Supreme Lord’s Temple.

The two retired to their respective rooms to rest. Uncle Zhang fetched water for Xuanqing to wash, and did the same for Feng Xiaobao, though the latter insisted he could manage on his own in the future.

After Xuanqing had washed, the old caretaker produced an account book—he was literate enough to keep records, and it contained the temple’s meager accounts. With no abbot, the temple had not opened its incense hall and received no visitors; its income was scant, its accounts simple and clear. After a quick review, Xuanqing wrote a note: “Uncle Zhang, take this note and collect ten thousand coins from that place, and then, as before, purchase the necessary supplies and choose an auspicious day to open the incense hall.”

He glanced at the caretaker and added, “Find two reliable young men to help around the temple in future.”

Delighted, the caretaker replied, “Yes, of course!”

He would not dare embezzle, but he could bring in his own relatives to help, giving them a livelihood. With Li Chunfeng’s reputation, who would refuse to show respect to his disciple's staff?

As for Feng Xiaobao, his room was indeed spacious, with a bedroom and sitting room—plain, but ample. “Perfect,” he thought, “I can set up a wooden training dummy right here!”