Chapter 4: Returning to the Tavern, Three Years Flew By

“The hardest part was coming again…”

Counting up, this was his nineteenth death. He had long grown accustomed to it.

Die a few more times and one gets used to it.

Chen Changsheng once again lost all connection to the outside world. What followed was endless darkness.

In comparison, this was the hardest to endure.

It was nothing like dreaming, because his mind remained wide awake. Like people questioning themselves endlessly in the dead of night, the fear born inside gnawed at him far more tormenting than any external hardship.

The first time Chen Changsheng existed in this ‘death’ state, he nearly went mad. Fortunately, he endured it. Later experiences made it feel increasingly familiar.

By now, he could face it with calm.

During these times of conscious existence, he often pondered philosophical questions, either reminiscing about his past life or contemplating events beyond this void.

Sometimes, to fight boredom, he tried to devise ways to break this curse—all just to keep his mind busy.

This way, another cycle passed.

…

Outside the City God Temple,

The City God paced by the entrance, occasionally glancing outward, anxiety gnawing at him.

Only when the figure of a Day Patrol emerged in his view did the City God straighten up and hurry forward to meet him.

Hong Sancai bowed respectfully. “City God.”

“What did that gentleman say?” the City God pressed anxiously.

Hong Sancai rose and reported, “City God, Mr. Chen agreed. However…”

“However what?”

“Mr. Chen said he could only attend the banquet exactly three years from today.”

Hearing this, the weight lifting off his heart made the City God sigh in relief.

“It is wonderful that he can come. Wonderful.”

A smile finally touched his face. Stroking his white beard, his earlier tension melted away.

He turned his gaze to Hong Sancai. “Well done. The previous Yin Ghost Envoy attained perfect Merit and entered Reincarnation. With his position vacant, henceforth, you shall serve as the Yin Ghost Envoy.”

Beneath the City God lay Four Divisions and Three Envoys. The Yin Ghost Envoy commanded both Day Patrols and Night Patrols, akin to a “Sheriff” back in the Yamen.

Hong Sancai promptly knelt to the ground. “Thank you for your promotion, City God!”

The City God clasped his hands behind his back. “Rise. Do your duties well from now on. Also, tell me more about this Mr. Chen. How is he?”

Understanding dawned on Hong Sancai. “As you command.”

As expected, he thought inside.

My fortune comes solely from Mr. Chen.

It seems Mr. Chen commands far greater respect than I ever imagined, to the extent that even the City God must bend backward to invite him.

This thought inevitably took him back to his days living, long talks shared across the table from Mr. Chen.

Truth told, it was just that I lacked the Immortal Fate.

Unable to grasp it, he blamed no one else.

…

Time flew swiftly; seasons turned.

Old Man Zhang still ran his tavern. That day he met Mr. Chen, he dared ask questions held back for years. Worry shadowed him many days afterward. Yet, slowly digesting the encounter, fear began to lessen.

He recalled, too, Mr. Chen’s words: truly, he should find someone to carry forward his craft. Advancing age meant no progeny, so that search would take time.

Meanwhile, Hong Sancai, once Abbot of Flowing Cloud Temple, now led groups of Day and Night Patrols. Wandering between humans and spirits, he maintained peace in Autumn Moon Market.

Speaking of which, this was a form of immortality; only, no longer human.

And Xuan Huang, left behind at the temple, became the new Abbot of Flowing Cloud Temple.

In the first year following the gentleman’s departure,

Anning County—encompassing Autumn Moon Market—suffered an unprecedented blizzard.

Just within Autumn Moon Market, over ten houses collapsed beneath mountainous snows. Worse, many never woke again after sleeping that night, frozen solid inside their dreams.

Officials and commoners together mobilized relief efforts. Conditions improved, yet many remained displaced and destitute in the blizzard’s wake.

Also that year, the Daoist Priest descended Mount Flowing Cloud. Returning, he brought five children back to the temple: four boys, one girl, all youngsters.

A new cycle began.

Hong Sancai, now a Ghost Deity, learned of this. He personally returned to the mountain once to observe.

Seeing the temple brimming with life once more brought him no small comfort.

Winter surrendered to spring.

Many perished during the cold season. Those surviving faced life renewed.

Anning County’s Civic Districts filled with beggars—folks rendered homeless by snowstorms, fortunate to escape freezing or starvation, now living hand to mouth.

Even in Autumn Moon Market’s tavern, Old Man Zhang gave refuge that spring to a young beggar.

His payment? Half a husk-cake.

Old Zhang had good eyes. The Little Beggar bore hardship without complaint. When chill winds still lingered in early spring, he accompanied the old man carrying water from the Mountain Stream outside the market—never uttering a word about fatigue.

Truly, a treasure unearthed.

After the great disaster, life gradually recovered. Anning County recovered its former tranquillity once more.

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Beneath trees around town, idlers sat chatting merrily around happenings. Teahouses buzzed noisily, everywhere packed and thriving. Over by the bridge, the noodle shop, too, came alive again.

————

In the blink of an eye, three years passed…

————

One day, the City God Temple suddenly closed its doors.

Rumor spread—a Ghost Deity visited Prefectural Magistrate in a dream. The Magistrate of Anning County came personally to Autumn Moon Market. Ordering guards, he sealed off the temple vicinity, permitting none near the City God Temple for three days.

All this, to await the arrival of a single person.

By now, the Little Beggar that Old Man Zhang had sheltered reached the age of sixteen. Wearing a felt cap, sturdy and sun-darkened, he looked every inch a tavern Xiao’er.

Taking him in, Old Zhang gave him a new name—Xiaoliu.

A pair of black cloth boots stepped inside the tavern.

The arrival placed his Wine Gourd on the counter and asked, “Autumn Moon Brew; first a pot, then fill this gourd.”

Xiaoliu eyed the large gourd offered and troubledly said, “Our customer, Autumn Moon Brew has sold much these past days. Whatever remains likely won’t fill this gourd.”

“Not enough?”

Hearing this voice, Xiaoliu looked up.

The Green-Robed Gentleman turned toward him.

Xiaoliu froze briefly. Years in Autumn Moon Market, he’d never seen anyone so refined. Even the gentleman’s face radiated pristine calm.

Finding the speaker young, Chen Changsheng inquired, “Where’s your Manager?”

Xiaoliu snapped back. “Our Manager went to purchase oil. He’ll return shortly.”

After pondering a moment, Chen Changsheng replied, “Then I shall wait a while.”

Agreeing, Xiaoliu ushered him in.

“You sit first please, sir.”

Xiaoliu asked, “Tea or wine for the gentleman?”

“Naturally wine, when in a tavern,” Chen Changsheng chuckled. “Though the gourd can’t be filled, a pot of wine—surely that remains?”

“Indeed it does.”

Xiaoliu assented quickly. “Please wait a short while, sir.”

Chen Changsheng waved permission. “Go on.”

Thus Xiaoliu went to fetch the wine.

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Chen Changsheng, meanwhile, sat and examined the tavern.

Admittedly, much had changed. Old Man Zhang had repaired the place; it definitely looked more orderly.

Xiaoliu peeked frequently toward the gentleman. With such speech and bearing, he mused, this gentleman must be extraordinary. On no account must I slight him.