Chapter Forty: The Guardian Deity

During the Spring Festival, aside from the official festivities, the common folk also celebrated with great enthusiasm.

Feng Xiaobao ran a small pharmacy. Though modest in size, business was good, and with strong backing, he had gained recognition from the Southern Market’s pharmaceutical trade guild and was invited to participate in the “Passing of the Banquet.”

This was a local custom of Luoyang: after New Year’s Day (during the Spring Festival), each trade would take turns hosting feasts, inviting peers for food and drink—a tradition called “Passing of the Banquet.” In simpler terms, it was a round of banquets among business owners from various trades. Today at your place, tomorrow at mine—the tables were lavishly set, and everyone ate and drank to their heart’s content.

To be invited, one needed the acknowledgment of fellow tradesmen and sufficient wealth. If someone treated you generously and you reciprocated with a meager spread, you’d lose face; things had to be equitable.

In China, bonds are often deepened over wine and meals. Traditional treats and drinks like sticky toffees, cypress-leaf wine, and Tusu wine were prepared. By custom, the elders drank after the young, but as Xiaobao was the youngest, everyone would egg him on, urging him to drink heartily.

“Deep feelings, bottom up!” Feng Xiaobao never refused, draining every cup—one after another—prompting shouts of admiration. The crowd marveled at his drinking prowess, while Xiaobao thought to himself, “Such weak wine is barely sweeter than syrup!”

Distilled spirits, known as “burnt wine,” did exist in the Tang dynasty, but they weren’t widespread, nor were they particularly strong. For someone like Feng Xiaobao, who had survived many an ordeal with stronger liquor, the wine here was child’s play.

Just as Wukong bullied demons, so too did Xiaobao “bully” the Tang folk with his drinking.

His unhesitating toasts and forthright manner won him high regard; a person’s drinking style reflected their character. Among those present were three leading drug merchants—Hu, Wang Yanliang, and Fang Shuo—each leaving him their personal card, bearing their name and address. With these, he could call on them directly for business, and mentioning their names would immediately command respect.

This marked Feng Xiaobao’s entry into the upper echelons of the pharmaceutical trade. Previously, when he and his father ran a small shop in a county town, they were never invited to such events—being outsiders and minor merchants, they were never taken seriously by their peers.

Apart from guild feasts, there were also gatherings among friends, known as “Passing the Seat,” or the “Year’s Wine” and “Spring Wine.” Families prepared ample food and drink to host relatives and friends, seizing any excuse to celebrate.

Feng Xiaobao attended banquets at the homes of Huang Qilang (the pharmacy’s major shareholder) and Gao Balian (the big creditor), then feasted at the Cheng and Yang households before setting out with Yang Chengxian for some leisure (Cheng Boxi had already returned to the Duke’s mansion in Chang’an).

With spring’s arrival, all of Luoyang seemed to spill into the streets—outings, visits, laughter, and greetings filled the bustling avenues. Every restaurant was packed, and the citizens of the Great Tang reveled in culinary delights.

At the Temple of the Supreme Lord, pilgrims thronged in, incense smoke curled in abundance, and the sounds of drums and gongs filled the air. It was livelier than most temples because this was the ancestral shrine of the Third Prince Nezha, and featured the performance of the “Thunderbolt Third Prince” dance.

The three performers—Feng Xiaobao, Yang Chengxian, and Huang Shanbao—were all young and energetic, sharing a strong camaraderie. Together, they danced the “Thunderbolt Third Prince” for the crowds.

Yang Chengxian, though the son of a high official, never put on airs before Feng Xiaobao, and got along equally well with Huang Shanbao, the merchant’s son. (Cheng Boxi, too, was much the same.)

None of them considered dancing beneath their dignity; the Tang people loved to dance, and those who danced well attracted many admirers. Following Feng Xiaobao’s lead in the Thunderbolt Third Prince dance, Yang’s fame outshone even his father’s rank.

“What? You’re the son of the General of the Left Guard? Who cares?”

“Oh, you’re a dancer of the Thunderbolt Third Prince at the Supreme Lord’s Temple? My apologies for not recognizing you!”

Feng Xiaobao, Yang Chengxian, and Huang Shanbao threw themselves into the dance with gusto. Their splendid costumes and extraordinary moves drew huge crowds of Daoist devotees. The elderly were delighted, the middle-aged confident, and the young so inspired they wanted to join in. The temple was nearly bursting at the seams, incense offerings for the day reaching a thousand strings of cash. The collecting Daoist’s hands were sore from counting!

The temple had expanded its staff; originally, only Daoist Xuanqing resided there, but now three more itinerant Daoists had joined.

Round figures, resplendent embroidered costumes, fluttering banners on their backs—under the heavy bass of the music, the Nezha dancers spun and leapt, treading the Seven Stars’ steps. They were endearing and brought joy to all. Their performance surpassed all other temples and left the Buddhist monasteries far behind!

Xuanqing, wearing a smile, watched the dance with two revered Daoist masters—one of whom was Chen Qingzhu, abbot of the Laozi Temple at Zhongnan Mountain (not a monastery).

This individual was of great consequence: the Laozi Temple at Zhongnan Mountain had been visited by Li Yuan, the founding emperor of the Tang, in the seventh year of his reign. The Tang imperial family bore the surname Li, as did Laozi, whom they honored as their ancestor, claiming descent and granting Daoism precedence above Confucianism, with Buddhism ranked last.

The other Daoist was equally illustrious: Zhang Botuan, an ordination master of Tianshi Dao at Mount Longhu, the birthplace of Daoism. As the officiant of rituals, his status was significant.

Watching the fervent dance and the unprecedented turnout, Chen Qingzhu nodded in praise. “The Third Prince Nezha is Daoism’s guardian deity, protector of children, and patron of travelers. His image is worshipped, incense offered, and seasonal ceremonies held—just as his story is inscribed on your temple’s spirit wall. Spread his legend far and wide!”

Zhang Botuan echoed, “Well said!”

Endorsement by these two giants meant that, from an official standpoint, this was now recognized as Nezha’s ancestral shrine. Even Xuanqing, ever reserved, felt a quiet thrill—no matter what happened in the future, he would have left his mark on Daoist history!

With a gentle clench of his fist, he said respectfully, “The Third Prince will surely safeguard the prosperity of our faith!”

Zhang Botuan took a deep breath: “Indeed, the Third Prince will guide and protect our faith!”

At these words, Xuanqing’s heart skipped a beat—he understood Zhang’s meaning.

All three Daoists possessed deep cultivation; they could not fail to perceive the current state of affairs. The hen crows at dawn, a guest star trespasses upon the Purple Tenuity—the Tang dynasty’s fate wavers, Daoism’s future is uncertain.

Yet with the Third Prince as a new force, Daoism might find a buffer.

And so it came to pass: when Empress Wu rose to power, she elevated Buddhism above all, reversing the traditional order—Buddhism first, Confucianism second, Daoism last. Daoism suffered persecution, but the harm was not severe, for the Third Prince played the peacemaker, vigorously advocating that “Buddhism, Confucianism, and Daoism are like the red lotus, white root, and green leaves of the same flower—three faiths, one family.” Let’s not fight amongst ourselves; if you’re bold, let’s head west and take on the Muslims. Leading the charge, the Third Prince on his skateboard led the masses to the Western Regions, spilling only foreign blood—never their own.

Thanks to the Third Prince’s antics, Empress Wu ultimately spared Daoism.

Otherwise, her drive for orthodoxy would likely have spelled its ruin.

For this preservation of Daoism’s vitality, credit must go to Xuanqing’s fateful encounter with the Third Prince at the Wei River outside Chang’an, thanks to the profound cultivation and insight of his master, Li Chunfeng—but that is another tale.

…

With the two great Daoist masters having formally recognized Nezha’s status, Zhang Botuan remarked, “This Thunderbolt Third Prince performance is excellent—promoting Daoist culture and tradition. After the New Year, I’ll send ten disciples here to learn!”

“I, too, will send eight,” Chen Qingzhu added. “Is that agreeable with Xiaobao?”

“Xiaobao will be delighted!” Xuanqing replied with a smile. “He’s very enthusiastic about teaching the Thunderbolt Third Prince’s sacred dance. They’ve even established a society dedicated to it. Anyone is welcome to join! There are already eight dance troupes in Luoyang and two in Chang’an, all within less than a year!”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Zhang Botuan and Chen Qingzhu responded in unison, and the matter was settled.

Xuanqing eagerly asked, “Would you care to meet Xiaobao in person?”

To his surprise, Chen Qingzhu shook his head. “No need to summon him.”

“This…” Xuanqing hesitated. Surely they should meet and build rapport?

“When he arrived, I observed him from afar. He’s not one to forget his roots; more words would be superfluous. He carries a prideful spirit, an extraordinary character—he bows to no authority, his backbone unyielding…” He lowered his voice. “Even before the emperor, he might bend his body but never his spirit!”

Xuanqing thought for a moment. “Master Chen, you have a discerning eye—I am in awe!”

Chen Qingzhu’s judgment was sharp, seeing Xiaobao’s eagle-like pride, while Xuanqing, though cultivated, had failed to notice what was right before him.

…

After dancing in the morning, other performances followed. At noon, the Supreme Lord’s Temple offered a vegetarian banquet. Feng, Yang, and Huang were all carnivores; Xiaobao, a bit more open-minded, accepted the value of vegetarian fare, but Yang Chengxian and Huang Shanbao would not be satisfied with mere greens. After enjoying the cheers and changing their clothes, they dragged Xiaobao away to the Zhaowu Tower in the Southern Market.

Zhaowu Tower’s name derived from the “Nine Surnames of Zhaowu”—the Sogdian families of Kang, An, Cao, Shi, Mi, Shi, He, and Mu—who had long resided in the Western Regions. Their clans maintained shops in the Southern Market, specializing in Central Asian cuisine. Their flatbreads (naan) were especially authentic, and those with lamb were the favorite of the three carnivores. The three often dined there.

The food was so popular one had to queue. The Sogdians ran their business well, had connections everywhere, and employed strongmen at the door to keep order. Seeing Xiaobao and his friends stride in without queuing and head straight upstairs, three guests by the window promptly gave up their seats for them.

Heh, knowing Zhaowu Tower’s reputation and crowd, the young masters came for enjoyment and ease. Huang Shanbao had already sent someone to reserve their spot. They ordered lamb chops and picked away at the bones at their leisure. No matter how popular the place, regular patrons who ordered the expensive dishes could never be rushed. Any earlier displeasure vanished.

They ordered a pile of lamb naan, some yogurt, and a plate of vegetables—but no wine—and began to feast.

…

The entire restaurant was abuzz: some focused on eating, others chatted over drinks, some came just for the wine, and some men’s attention was elsewhere—on the waitresses. Zhaowu Tower employed Sogdian girls as hostesses, all with high noses and deep-set eyes, many with irises other than black, their figures curvaceous and alluring. The girls were uninhibited, unbothered by the male gaze, which led to playful teasing and laughter, making the atmosphere even livelier.

Others played cards at their tables.

On New Year’s Eve, Feng Xiaobao had “invented” a game called the Princess’s Fortune. Princess Fortune herself, quick-witted, immediately summoned artisans to produce a large batch of cards in three days and nights, distributing them throughout Chang’an and Luoyang as festive gifts to everyone: from the imperial palace and the noble families to officials, scholars, and the wealthy. The gift was small, but the sentiment was great. The novel game coincided perfectly with the festive season, sparking a card-game craze in both capitals!

At a neighboring table, four Sogdians played cards as they ate. This was ordinary enough, but Xiaobao and his friends overheard them speaking in Tang dialect: “This deck is called Princess’s Fortune. Do you know how it came about?”

“How?”

“They say that on New Year’s Eve, Princess Fortune and her lover played cards and gambled on their clothes. That time, the Princess lost, right down to her last stitch!”

“Ah!”

“The Great Tang’s Princess Fortune is said to be stunning. Imagine her undressed—her lover must have been in for a treat… hahaha!”

Hearing such indecency, Xiaobao’s face turned ashen. If they were just making things up, it would be one thing—people will fantasize—but this was the truth! For such private matters to leak beyond the Princess’s residence—intolerable!

In his anger, he hurled a jug of yogurt at their table. Amid flying splinters and spilled milk, a brawl broke out!

Yang Chengxian and Huang Shanbao, loyal companions, joined in. Their fighting skills were not for show—they were meant for real fights! Three against four, and though the Sogdians were burly, they were no match for the three friends’ training. Taken by surprise, they were quickly knocked to the ground.

The scuffle ended in moments. Before anyone else could react, the four Sogdians were writhing in pain on the floor.

Seeing other Sogdians in the restaurant growing restless, Xiaobao caught his breath and called out, “Get the proprietor!”

A fat man emerged, his expression unfriendly. Xiaobao stated bluntly, “They spoke disrespectfully of our Tang princess. We taught them a lesson. Will anyone testify?”

“We will!” Several Han diners at neighboring tables stood up at once. In a contest between Han and Sogdian, they had no fear!

The owner, realizing the truth, put on a friendly face for Xiaobao, privately cursing the four Sogdians for their stupidity. This was still the Tang heartland! To gossip about a Tang princess in public—if trouble broke out, even the proprietor would be drawn in.

Thus, the owner owed Xiaobao a favor for not escalating matters to the authorities, which would have brought him much grief.

Xiaobao and friends received a free meal, while the Sogdians got a beating for nothing—and another scolding from the owner.

After the incident, the group dispersed. Xiaobao went alone to the Princess’s residence to inform her of what had happened. Princess Fortune’s face turned pale at the news.

“Investigate—immediately!”

It was soon discovered that a maidservant serving that night had a loose tongue. Fascinated by the new card game, she had unwisely shared the story with outsiders. The tale spread beyond the Princess’s residence.

Henceforth, the maidservant was never seen again.

Yet the legend of “Princess’s Fortune” would live on. Many men and women, gathering together, would play the very game once played by Feng Xiaobao and Princess Fortune…