Chapter Twenty-Three: Unrest in the City

The twenty-second day of the seventh lunar month—Festival of the God of Wealth.

Unusually, Song Mu was not reciting texts in the courtyard at dawn. Instead, together with Mistress Zhu and little Yaya Song Mingwei, he busied himself gathering belongings and set out early toward Chenghuang Temple Street in the west of the city.

Today was the Festival of the God of Wealth. Song Mu did not entirely understand the customs here: why did people not worship at home, but flock to the Chenghuang Temple so early in the morning? The traditions of this world were curious indeed. Even in an age when scholars could attain sainthood, the common folk still revered Buddha and Tao. These were ancient customs, passed down since before the stars fell, and had been faithfully preserved by generations.

But when Song Mu arrived at Chenghuang Temple Street and beheld the bustling throngs, the countless vendors, the stalls overflowing with poultry, fish, and meats, the acrobats and opera singers, and the ceaseless cries of hawkers vying for business, he finally understood why the Festival of the God of Wealth was held as a temple fair. This street, Chenghuang Temple Street, was a rare grand marketplace in ancient times. Anyone could set up a stall by the roadside and ply their trade—what could be more fitting for a festival honoring wealth?

When Mistress Zhu brought Song Mu, it was only dawn, yet the street was already teeming. Mistress Zhu seized Yaya’s hand and beckoned Song Mu to follow her toward the temple.

Today, Mistress Zhu had come to fulfill a vow. The previous month, after Song Mu was brought home in a coma, she had come alone to the Chenghuang Temple to pray for his recovery. Now that Song Mu was full of life, his literary talent unique and brilliant, she was convinced this was due to the temple’s blessing.

As for Song Mu, who did not speak of spirits and monsters, he was here simply to join the festivities and dispel his recent gloom.

It had been a month since he arrived in this world, and he had more or less integrated into society. With the support of ancient texts, he cultivated his scholarly spirit and honed his mental focus each day. Though he had yet to condense his literary power or spiritual energy, he felt his body growing stronger and more vigorous by the day.

Song Mu even had a premonition: if he could compose a worthy essay during the county examination, he might break through the threshold of a novice scholar and achieve the rank of xiucai.

Yet, his knowledge of the classics was still lacking. The essays he sent to Scholar Sun and Tutor Xun in recent days had not been well received. The county exam required proficiency in the classics, poetry, and policy essays; his grasp of the classics and policy still needed refinement.

Both Scholar Sun and Tutor Xun said his arguments in the classics were detailed but not sharply focused; his policy essays, while imaginative, sometimes strayed into unorthodoxy and wild flights of fancy.

Song Mu knew his ideas were simply too advanced for the times, but such faults could only be corrected gradually.

Fortunately, there was still time before the exam; all was not yet lost.

With these thoughts, Song Mu arrived with Mistress Zhu at the entrance to the Chenghuang Temple. Here too, crowds thronged, and countless townsfolk jostled to offer incense.

Early risers could not hope to plant the very first stick of incense, but enthusiasm was undiminished.

Song Mu followed Mistress Zhu into the press of bodies. Seeing the crowd so tightly packed, Mistress Zhu grew even more determined, instructing Song Mu to watch over Yaya while she, leveraging her ample frame, forged ahead.

Song Mu hesitated, stopping in his tracks. Yaya clung desperately to his sleeve, her small face showing apprehension amid the crush.

“Come, Yaya, let’s go have some meat buns,” Song Mu said, taking her hand with a smile.

“But big brother, mother told us to wait,” Yaya replied, uncertain and shy. The little girl, usually under Mistress Zhu’s strict discipline, was timid by nature.

Song Mu simply smiled, leading her to a nearby bun stall.

“Auntie will see us as soon as she comes out. Come, sit down—you’ve been wanting a bun for ages, haven’t you?”

He sat Yaya at a spot by the stall and waved for the proprietor.

“Shopkeeper, four meat buns and two bowls of rice gruel, please.”

Yaya, perched on her stool, looked about curiously, but the aroma of the buns soon captivated her. She squinted contentedly and swung her legs as she ate.

Song Mu picked up a bun, but just then, hushed voices drifted from the next table.

“Boss, we can’t do business anymore. The officials are watching the roads into Shiyang County too closely—constables everywhere, asking questions.”

“Strange, isn’t it? Shiyang’s such a small place—why is it suddenly so tense? Yesterday, when we entered the city, the soldiers even checked our blood.”

“I heard it’s because there was a demon incident in the city before. Now they’ve locked everything down, inspecting all outsiders.”

Three men in coarse garb spoke quietly, their belts bulging, several carrying poles beside them. As they ate bread and drank gruel, the one dressed most tidily frowned and said in a low voice, “Let’s just finish this run. They say only Shiyang is so strict. Once we’re out, there’s nothing to fear.”

The others nodded and fell silent. Song Mu wrinkled his nose, catching an unusual scent.

These were likely not true villains, but from their appearance, whatever they were transporting was of questionable origin.

Song Mu made a mental note. He was surprised: was Shiyang County really checking everyone at the roads and gates? Was this about what happened last time?

His mind flashed back to that day in the dungeon, unease creeping over him. The sight of Lu Jue’s possession was still vivid. When he absorbed that scholarly energy, what had Ouyang Hong and Jin Changwu discussed? Perhaps they had extracted some secret from Lu Jue’s mind, prompting these new security measures.

Could it mean that something major was about to happen in Shiyang County?

The thought startled Song Mu—it seemed almost unbelievable.

“Big brother, you should eat too,” Yaya said, seeing him holding a bun but not eating.

A meal of meat buns was the height of happiness for her. Times were hard at home; even with the occasional bit of fat, there were few days with such treats.

Song Mu shook off his thoughts and nodded with a smile. By now, the three men had finished eating, paid, and departed, heading toward the west gate, their loads in tow.

Song Mu glanced briefly after them, said nothing, and urged Yaya to eat.

Soon, Mistress Zhu emerged from the temple, anxious when she did not immediately see them. Spotting them at the distant stall, she hurried over.

“Mu, why did you bring Yaya here? I couldn’t find you inside—I thought you’d been pushed out!”

“Auntie, we couldn’t get through, so we came out here. Please sit and eat something,” Song Mu said with a smile.

Yaya handed her a bun, her eyes squinting with delight. “Mom, have a meat bun—they’re delicious.”

Mistress Zhu’s face tightened at the sight of the meat bun, but she hid her distress, taking the bun without eating and fishing in her pocket for money.

“I’ll pay for this. Once we’re done, we can stroll the fair and buy some things,” she said.

Song Mu quickly waved her off. “No need, Auntie—I already paid.”

Though the Song family was poor, Song Mu attended the county school daily and needed spending money. His second uncle’s recent work paid better, and he had given Song Mu a little extra. Apart from daily expenses, Song Mu saved what he could.

Mistress Zhu was briefly stunned but said nothing. She slipped the bun into her basket and watched Song Mu and Yaya finish eating.

Song Mu understood that she was saving it for his second uncle and said nothing more.

After eating, the three left the stall, intending to buy some daily necessities. Suddenly, a scream pierced the busy market.

Song Mu looked up to see a man, his body ablaze, stagger out from a stall, the crowd rushing to smother the flames.

Relieved that it seemed only a minor accident, Song Mu’s relief was short-lived. From the midst of those trying to help came an even more bloodcurdling scream.

The crowd erupted in panic, surging away in all directions.

Mistress Zhu, quick-witted, grabbed Yaya and called for Song Mu to follow her toward an alley.

Song Mu turned to look and his eyes widened in shock.

In the chaos, the burning man had thrown himself atop another person, mouth gaping wide as he bit into the other’s throat.

The screams came from the victim, who struggled desperately, but the burning attacker was relentless.

A squad of soldiers rushed forward, but elsewhere in the panicked crowd, new screams rang out.

Song Mu looked over to see a man violently assaulting an old man, roaring like a beast.

A demon!

There were demons in the city again!

Song Mu was deeply shaken. He immediately turned to Mistress Zhu. “Auntie, take Yaya home—go quickly!”

Mistress Zhu scooped up Yaya and looked at Song Mu. “Mu, come with us!”

Song Mu glanced at the man no one dared approach, then at the old man beneath him, now barely clinging to life.

The soldiers were still some distance away; the city’s scholarly protectors had not yet arrived. Gritting his teeth, Song Mu reached into his book satchel for paper and brush.

“I’ll be right there. Auntie, you and Yaya go first!”

Pressing himself against the wall, he began to write a poem for the Festival of Pure Brightness.

“The body is the bodhi tree… Do not let it gather dust.”

…