Capítulo 126: Banquete Noturno na Mansão Real

“Kyoto, as expected, the waters are deep indeed.”

At dusk, Jiang Lin sat at a small street stall, watching the crowds ebb and flow. The stall, which sold flat-bread dumplings, was run by an elderly couple. As Jiang Lin ate, he weighed the coins in his pocket; the few remaining coppers would be gone once he finished his meal.

He had spent the entire day wandering through Kyoto. He had only managed to visit two marketplaces, and although he had gained nothing of substance, he had witnessed the extravagance and the stark contrasts of the capital. In other regions, there were still rules—to varying degrees—that practitioners of the Dao could not reveal their powers in public, but not in Kyoto.

Jiang Lin had clearly seen two street-side fortune tellers arguing; one claimed his I Ching methods were passed down directly from the legendary Mai Yi, while the other insisted he was a disciple of the Celestial Masters’ Mansion. Both had thought the other was bluffing, but when they revealed their true foundations, they were both, in fact, authentic. And that was merely a glimpse of the reality.

Elsewhere, one might not say the ground was paved with gold, but it was not far off. Jiang Lin had seen a man visit a brothel in the middle of the day, lavishly spending a hundred thousand coins just to wake his favorite courtesan so she would sing a single tune. He had also seen two laborers arguing heatedly with a stall owner over a single copper coin.

In Kyoto, wealth and power were inextricably linked. Practitioners serving as house retainers were everywhere, and more than half of them were genuine cultivators with legitimate lineages and solid foundations. In any other place, this would have been unthinkable.

*Plop.*

A steaming bowl of dumplings, sprinkled with chili flakes, was placed on Jiang Lin’s table. Following the bowl, a figure sat down directly across from him. Jiang Lin did not move, and the newcomer did not conceal his presence, openly allowing Jiang Lin to probe him.

“The taste here is decent, though the chili is not quite authentic. To save costs, the owner doesn’t use the good peppers from the Sichuan region.” The man picked up a spoon, ate one, and set it down.

Jiang Lin finished his own dumplings and looked up. The man wore a tasseled hat and theatrical robes, his face painted in the style of a young male lead in an opera. He looked like an actor who had stepped right off the stage, coming to eat before even removing his makeup.

“If you don't like it, you can give it to me,” Jiang Lin said, reaching out.

“Oh, no.” The man blocked him with a smile. “Daoist, you are a man of the cloth; why so casual? Did I ever say I didn’t like it?”

“On the contrary, I like it very much. I happen to enjoy this lack of authenticity.” Saying this, and ignoring the heat, he picked up the bowl and gulped down the entire serving of dumplings like a thirsty ox.

“I thought I was hungry enough, but it seems you are even hungrier than I am.” Jiang Lin marveled, finishing the last drop of soup in his own bowl. On the table sat two bowls as clean as if they had been licked by dogs.

“It seems the Daoist did not eat his fill?” the actor asked with a smile. The greasepaint on his face seemed to smile along with him, giving him an inexplicably illusory quality—as if he were not a living person, but a wax figure.

“Indeed, I am not full.” Jiang Lin nodded honestly, looking at the actor. “People say that all cultivation belongs to the three schools of Confucianism, Buddhism, and the Dao. But beyond those three, there are the myriad folk arts and the three hundred and sixty trades, all of which can lead to cultivation.”

“I wonder, what path do you practice? A theater performer who remains in full makeup year-round is a rare sight.”

There is a saying that there are three thousand Great Daos and eight hundred minor paths, but these are mere figures of speech; the Great Daos are far more than three thousand, and the minor paths far exceed eight hundred. The man before him practiced one of these minor paths, though Jiang Lin did not know which one.

“Daoist, you speak too seriously. I am but a common actor. I wear makeup year-round simply because my audience is always present.” The actor bowed with a smile. “I am Bai Hua. It is an honor to meet Daoist Xuan Ying.”

Jiang Lin narrowed his eyes and laughed. “I was wondering who had summoned three Night-Roaming Gods to follow those three earlier. So, it was you.”

“Not following them, but following my Princess,” Bai Hua said cheerfully. “And it wasn’t a summoning, but a performance.”

Jiang Lin smiled as well. “You’re just going to reveal your method like that?”

“Nuoxi ritual makeup to entertain the gods—I have only seen it in ancient texts. I did not expect to find someone actually practicing it.”

Bai Hua returned the smile. “No matter how rare my path is, it is still just a minor one. It has few practitioners because this path is in decline. Unlike you, Daoist—a master of a prestigious sect, yet the only one left in the world. That is what is truly rare.”

Jiang Lin chuckled. “It seems you have someone backing you.”

Bai Hua stood up. “I do serve as a retainer, shamelessly accepting a salary. I have come here with no ill intent.” He gave a wry smile. “Daoist, would you mind putting away that Shenxiao Orthodox Law? I find myself quite terrified when faced with such a technique.”

An ordinary person would not see it, but Bai Hua felt it with absolute clarity. From the moment he sat down, the energy around him had become “heavy.” The young Daoist across from him had already laid down the Shenxiao vital energy through every word spoken; at a single command, five thunders would descend upon him.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jiang Lin said, shaking his head with a smile.

“Daoist, you must know that my method is naturally countered by someone of your standing. Appearing before you with malicious intent would be no different from seeking death.” Bai Hua smiled bitterly. “My path is merely to borrow incense to entertain the gods, inviting a fraction of the deities' mortal-world willpower. But you…”

“Then let’s get to the point. You’ve followed me all day. Surely you didn't just want to watch me eat dumplings?”

***

Jiang Lin had no intention of dispersing his Shenxiao energy. This fellow was hiding something. The method of Nuoxi makeup could not be as humble as he claimed. To be precise, even among the minor paths, this one was closest to the demonic. If the entertainment of gods were carried to the extreme, the deity would become inseparable from the actor, thinking of them day and night. Who, then, was the master and who was the servant? If one thought deeply, it was chillingly bizarre.

“Of course, I have a purpose.” Bai Hua produced an invitation from his sleeve, gilded and silvered, and exceptionally luxurious. “My master invites you to the estate for a chat.” After a pause, he added, “Everything you desire—mountain delicacies, seafood, exquisite feasts—will all be provided.”

Jiang Lin opened the invitation and glanced at it. “So, the Princess I encountered today is the daughter of the Prince of Qin?”

“And the only heir of my master.” Bai Hua added, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw Jiang Lin stow the invitation and stand up. Every practitioner, whether of the righteous or demonic paths, feared facing a Black Law Master directly. He had been terrified the entire time. “Beyond the delicacies of the mortal world, my master has specifically ordered a West Lake vinegar fish prepared for you, hoping to ease your homesickness… Daoist, why have you sat back down?”

Bai Hua was stunned, watching Jiang Lin stand and then immediately sit back down. Jiang Lin looked at him seriously and said, word by word: “No. West Lake vinegar fish.”

***

Shortly after, at the Prince of Qin’s estate in the Xijing Ward, Jiang Lin looked at the gilded characters reading “Imperial-Built Qin Prince Estate” and turned to Bai Hua.

“Brother Bai Hua, why did your master choose ‘Qin’ as his princely title?” This title was not considered auspicious for the Great Zhou. Although this world’s Zhou did not align with the one in Jiang Lin’s memory, the region had previously been under the Tang Dynasty. The man behind the Xuanwu Gate Incident had also been a Prince of Qin. Was the current Emperor not wary of this?

“The Daoist may not be aware,” Bai Hua said as he led Jiang Lin into the estate. “The current Emperor is wise and powerful, a truly sagacious ruler.”

Jiang Lin realized, “So the current Emperor is not concerned by these things?”

“No.” Bai Hua smiled enigmatically. “The Prince of Qin, the Prince of Zhao, even the Prince of Qi and the Prince of Han are all in the capital, while other princes with two-character titles, like the Prince of Song, are sent to govern their own territories.”

Jiang Lin blinked, muttering, “What a roundabout way of doing things.”

“Indeed.” Bai Hua chuckled and dropped the subject, leading Jiang Lin past the spirit wall and into the main hall.

Inside, a man was waiting. He wore a simple hempen Daoist robe, appearing completely unconstrained. Dressed so casually, he showed no sign of the formalities usually reserved for guests, acting more as if he were hosting a junior of his own household.

“I, Zhou Shouchen, welcome the Daoist.” The Prince of Qin walked forward with a smile, bowing first. His demeanor was disarming.

“Blessings of the Infinite Daoist.” Jiang Lin returned the gesture. “I am Jiang Xuan Ying. It is an honor to meet your Highness.”

The Prince of Qin nodded, surveying Jiang Lin from head to toe. “Excellent. In all my years, I have seen countless people, but you, Daoist, are the first I have met who is so detached from the world.”

“You are too kind, your Highness.”

The Prince of Qin clapped his hands three times. “Enough pleasantries. I said I would treat you to a meal, so it shall be a real meal, without any empty formalities. Please, Daoist.”

With that, four men—each a practitioner with genuine vital energy—brought in a massive table. The Prince of Qin treated them like mere servants. Jiang Lin narrowed his eyes; the waters of this royal household were even deeper than he had imagined.

Taking his seat, Jiang Lin watched as a stream of beautiful maidservants arrived, bearing various dishes. Each of these women was three times more beautiful than the courtesans Jiang Lin had seen at the brothel. To the Prince of Qin, beauties were but objects to be summoned at will.

“The preparations were hurried today; there are only ninety-nine dishes. I hope you will forgive the slight,” the Prince of Qin said, raising a cup of wine with a smile.

“You are too generous, your Highness,” Jiang Lin said, picking up his chopsticks.

“Ha ha ha! Please, Daoist, do not be restrained, and certainly do not be formal.” The Prince of Qin waved his sleeves. “I wore this attire to meet you to show that this is a gathering of friends. Everything is at your leisure.”

At the dining table, especially one where someone else was paying, Jiang Lin never knew the meaning of formality. Not to mention, this was the most lavish meal he had ever seen in his life. If he didn't eat it, wouldn't that be a waste of heaven's gifts?

As for the Prince’s intentions? Let him have them. A man of such vast wealth and property wasn't going to miss a single meal. Jiang Lin ate with vigor, his chopsticks moving like fluttering butterflies. At the table, the Prince and Bai Hua sat composedly, while Jiang Lin stood up from time to time to reach for dishes. Manners? Rules? What were those? He was just a rustic Daoist from the wilderness; he didn't understand such things. Regardless, Jiang Lin was enjoying himself.

The Prince of Qin sipped his wine and laughed. “I haven't seen such an appetite in a long time. It makes me want to eat more myself. Master Bai Hua, invite the Princess to join us.”

“At once.” Bai Hua departed the table.

Jiang Lin paid no attention. Soon, a figure emerged from behind the hall. She was a girl in her prime, wearing a pink dress. Without makeup or jewelry, she was as fresh as a lotus rising from the water. Her face still held the soft, youthful roundness of a young girl, adding to her charm.

As soon as Zhou Rou entered, she saw Jiang Lin—who had just filled his bowl with a mix of various dishes—devouring his food. She froze for a moment, then composed herself and approached.

“Father.”

“Ah, daughter, sit and eat.” The Prince smiled. “You’d better be quick, or I fear the Daoist will take it all.”

“Yes.” Zhou Rou hesitated, then sat beside the Prince. She ate a few bites of vegetables, but her eyes kept drifting toward the Daoist, who possessed absolutely no table manners. Everything she had learned in her dozen years of training told her this was rude and unpleasant. Yet, looking at him, the word “bold” came to mind. Had he lived a life of such poverty before? She suddenly felt a sense of pity.

By the end of the meal, Zhou Rou had eaten little, but she noticed her father’s appetite had greatly increased. He, who usually avoided meat, had actually finished half a pig’s knuckle.

“I haven't felt this full in a long time.” The Prince patted his stomach and laughed, looking at Jiang Lin. “Daoist, would you like some tea?”

“Gulping it down will suffice.” Jiang Lin smiled and stood up. Since he had enjoyed such a fine meal, he couldn't just walk away without a word.

“What a coincidence, I also prefer to drink it that way.” The Prince laughed and left the table with Jiang Lin.

Maidservants arrived to clear the remains. Jiang Lin looked back with a hint of regret. Even after a day of hunger, he couldn't eat much, and there had been ninety-nine dishes. Could he pack them up? He really wanted to ask.

The Prince and Jiang Lin sat opposite each other, with Zhou Rou to the left and Bai Hua to the right.

“Daoist, please.” The Prince took a sip of tea. “Ah, Dragon Well tea from before the Qingming Festival.”

“His Highness is correct,” Bai Hua said, sipping his Pu-erh with a smile. “It is indeed.”

Jiang Lin raised his cup and downed it in one go, just to wash down the grease. Dragon Well or not, wasn’t it just bitter water? Beside him, Zhou Rou struggled to suppress a laugh.

The Prince poured another cup for Jiang Lin. “Inviting you to the estate, Daoist, was not just for the meal. There is a small matter. Would you be willing to hear me out?”

“I am all ears.” Jiang Lin nodded. As the saying goes, having eaten someone’s food, one is indebted. Whether or not he would actually do anything was one thing; listening was another. Furthermore, the Prince was a master of this, keeping himself in a humble position. Anyone else might have already prostrated themselves in gratitude. Jiang Lin, however, felt nothing—mostly because he didn't understand the hidden implications.

The Prince spoke slowly.

“I wonder, Daoist, would you be interested in returning to secular life? I have the intention of taking you as my son-in-law.”