Chapter 60: The Master Returns to the Mountain

“You haven’t forgotten what Old Man Zhang said after all. You’re running this tavern quite well.”

Xiaoliu sighed. “It’s just a shame the Manager didn’t live to see it.”

Others might be praised me, and I would have accepted it.

But in front of this Master, I dared not take any credit.

Chen Changsheng heard his words and said, “They say the departed are with us as guardian spirits. Perhaps right now, he watches over us.”

Xiaoliu nodded. “If the Manager can see it, that would be best.”

“Mhm.”

Chen Changsheng handed over his gourd.

Xiaoliu pulled off the seal from the jar of Autumn Moon Brew. The aroma of wine filled the air.

“I need more this time,” Chen Changsheng said.

Xiaoliu replied, “Then I’ll find you another wineskin.”

Chen Changsheng shook his head. “No need. Just fill this gourd.”

Xiaoliu was puzzled but obeyed.

As he began scooping, he understood what the Master had meant.

In past years, when the Master came for wine,

this gourd filled after three dippers.

But now he had poured five dippers,

and the gourd still wasn’t full.

Xiaoliu stared, his hand trembling.

‘No wonder…’

No wonder the Master had just said, “Fill it.”

Though the Old Manager had never spoken of Mr. Chen’s origins,

Xiaoliu had guessed a little from early on.

Ever since that day when the Master cured the Old Manager’s leg pain with one bowl of wine,

he had known this man was extraordinary.

Now it seemed his guess was right.

Only after nine dippers was the gourd finally full.

Xiaoliu sighed in relief. “Master Chen, it’s full.”

Chen Changsheng nodded, then reached for silver coins to pay.

Only then did he suddenly remember:

His coins were long spent!

He‘d bought a sword from the blacksmith and emptied his pockets long ago.

Chen Changsheng felt uneasy.

He looked up at Xiaoliu. “I forgot coins when I left. May I owe you for now?”

Xiaoliu grew distressed. “What are you saying, sir? How could I take your silver? As you said—the Old Manager sees us from above. If you need wine, come anytime. For you, wine flows freely!”

Chen Changsheng grew embarrassed.

He disliked taking gifts. Besides, judging by Xiaoliu’s speech, if he tallied the debt now,

he might never get to repay it.

Chen Changsheng sighed. “You… lack Old Man Zhang’s honesty.”

Xiaoliu smiled. “Anything else, but never take coins from you.”

Mr. Chen chuckled lightly. “I don’t drink for free. If you refuse coins,

then I’ll write a poem in payment. Would that do?”

“A poem?”

Xiaoliu blinked.

“Lend me ink and brush.”

Xiaoliu finally didn’t refuse and quickly set out the brush and ink.

Soon paper, brush, inkstone were laid before them.

Chen Changsheng dipped his brush and wrote:

Wine is feast for the Mortal World,

less is possible, but never none.

Three cups set feet on Great Dao’s path,

One barrel unites us through Nature.

“Forgive this doggerel,”

Chen Changsheng set his brush down. “Composing is not my strength.”

Xiaoliu waved off the concern.

“How could Master’s writing be anything less than profound?”

Chen Changsheng made no humble remark—the poem’s rhythm clashed,

and it lacked meaningful order.

Pure whim.

Lifting the paper, Chen Changsheng smiled.

“You may hang it in the tavern if you like its simplicity.”

Xiaoliu beamed.

“Somewhere everyone can see.”

True, though poorly crafted, this poem held a subtle magic.

For any guest drinking beneath its words, their cup might taste richer,

fuller.

This poem would pay the wine debt without mention.

Xiaoliu, unaware of its might, still guarded it like treasure.

He would have it framed after noon and hung in the tavern.

“The poem settles my debt,” Chen Changsheng said. “Don’t let me keep you from business.”

“Master is leaving…?”

“I must visit some longtime friends.”

Xiaoliu had meant to insist he stay, but now he didn’t.

He walked Chen Changsheng to the tavern’s door and bowed.

“Travel steady, Master!”

Waiter stepped outside.

“Manager… who is that man? Why have I never heard of him?”

“That Master, sir…”

Xiaoliu paused, unsure how to answer.

“Just know—quickly bow, deepest respect, next time he comes.

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Any rudeness and I’ll have your hide flayed.”

Waiter jumped at the words.

This Master clearly held weight beyond ordinary men!

…

Once outside the Autumn Moon Market, Chen Changsheng didn’t linger.

He headed toward a hillside beyond the market town.

At Zhang Wudi’s resting place,

he poured out one-third of Autumn Moon Brew on the silent mound.

The grave stood alone beneath the sky—gloomy, dreary.

Chen Changsheng gazed and lightly waved two fingers.

Two pine saplings unfurled before the stone,

brightening the quiet grimness.

Not a word passed his lips.

Once done, he turned to leave.

He walked step-by-step down the hill

toward the cloud-ringed mountains where his future lay.

Moss carpeted stairwells uphill.

Time had erased the pathways.

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A few fresh footprints scattered the steps—

some recent travelers, perhaps.

“The ages weave odd patterns…”

Chen Changsheng sighed and climbed.

After each step he took, the moss beneath shriveled and vanished.

Stone slabs revealed themselves.

By the time he reached the peak,

every stair of moss was cleansed.

The mountain path stood clear from earth to sky.

At the temple gates, Tong Zhihuan and the Peach Spirit had long waited.

Tong Zhihuan bowed low, hands folded.

“Tong Zhihuan respectfully greets Master back to our sacred mountains!”

The spirit had no name, so she intoned:

“Welcome back from your wandering, Master!”

Chen Changsheng gazed at Tong Zhihuan.

“Beard grown this heavy? Nearly unrecognizable.”

Tong Zhihuan smiled thinly.

“My roads were long. Weathered beyond measure, perhaps.”

Chen Changsheng nodded.

“It seems you’ve seen much in these shadowed years.”

His gaze then rested on the peach spirit next to the scholar.

He hadn’t expected a mere peach tree to awaken so swiftly.

“Awakening innate Wood Qi in mere seasons!

Though you had Heaven’s fortune, your toil showed powerful clarity.”

He met the spirit’s now-shining eyes.

“Since your form solidifies, gift yourself your name now

before I forge something cringe-worthy.”

She tilted her head.

“Perhaps… Master could grant one?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Then from today… Tao’er.”

The peach spirit blinked.

Then—as if pierced by sudden light—she understood.

So…

…Master’s awkwardness hadn’t been false modesty.