Chapter 14: Xuanyuan Temple

As she drew nearer to Abyss City, the number of wandering Daoists on the road increased. At first, most of them wore wooden swords at their waists; soon after, she saw some with swords of black iron, and by the city gates, she even spotted one or two carrying jade swords. Judging by the amount of spiritual jade used, it seemed that wooden swords were the lowest grade, black iron swords a step above, and jade swords the rarest and most precious. How curious, she thought—wouldn’t a jade sword shatter at the slightest clash in a duel?

She restrained her urge to ask, fearing that her ignorance would make her look foolish.

Lost in thought, she was startled when the caravan halted outside the city gate and a servant called out, “Young Master of the Cheng family, we’ve arrived at Abyss City!”

Lingyu leapt down from the cargo wagon and beheld the imposing city gate. Compared to places like Yin City or Fan City—third-rate towns at best—Abyss City’s grandeur far outstripped them. The walls were at least twice as high, built from neatly cut blue stone blocks, and the characters for “Abyss City” atop the gate were written in a bold, flowing script, exuding a sense of refinement.

Noticing Lingyu’s wide-eyed astonishment, the servant chuckled. “The first time I came to Abyss City, I was stunned too! This place’s grandeur puts not only Yin City to shame, but even Sheng Prefecture and Lin’an can’t compare. It’s almost on par with the capital.”

Lingyu’s face radiated admiration. “It truly is worthy of being under Xuan Yuan Monastery’s domain.”

The servant asked, “Young Master, now that we’re here, do you know where to go to find your relatives?”

Lingyu nodded. “My father told me—my uncle is at Xuan Yuan Monastery.”

“Oh, so your uncle is an Immortal Master at Xuan Yuan Monastery!” The servant’s face filled with reverence. “In that case, there’s no need for us to meddle further. Abyss City is under the monastery’s jurisdiction. Just tell the gate official, and they’ll escort you directly to Xuan Yuan Monastery.”

“Is that so?” Lingyu craned her neck for a look. At the gate, officials were stationed to collect the city tax, register travelers, issue entry permits, and maintain strict order.

She noticed that commoners paid an entrance tax and went through a lax registration, but Daoists were exempt from the tax—though their registration was exceedingly strict: names, ages, origins, masters—all were recorded, and an artist even sketched their likeness and took fingerprints.

While she was watching, the servant returned with the caravan master.

“Young Master Cheng.” The caravan master, a shrewd yet genial man in his thirties, greeted her with a polite clasp of his hands.

Lingyu quickly returned the gesture. “Master Qi, thank you for taking care of me these past days.” When she’d first joined the caravan, he had been cordial but nothing more; after all, as the master of a large trading caravan, he had little reason to show special courtesy to a lone child seeking relatives. His change in attitude now was clearly due to her earlier mention of having an uncle at Xuan Yuan Monastery.

Qi smiled. “You’re too kind, Young Master Cheng. It was nothing.” After a brief pause, he continued, “Since you know where to find your relatives, we won’t interfere further. Our caravan will be staying at the Yongfu Inn. If you can’t find your uncle, or run into trouble, come to the inn and find us. After all, fate brought us together on this journey.”

“Thank you, Master Qi. I’ll be sure to remember your kindness,” Lingyu responded with practiced politeness.

Qi nodded with a smile. “Let’s consider it the planting of a good seed.” To him, a few kind words cost nothing; if Lingyu failed to find her uncle, at worst he’d bring her back—one more mouth in a large caravan made little difference. But if she truly did have connections at Xuan Yuan Monastery, today’s favor could bring unexpected rewards in the future.

Lingyu gave it no further thought—after all, her supposed uncle was a fabrication.

Their turn arrived quickly. Master Qi led his staff through the gate, showing their travel documents, paying the city tax, and having their wagons inspected before entering the city.

Lingyu followed close behind.

The gate official glanced at her, taking her for an ordinary child. “Do you have a travel permit?”

Lingyu shook her head. Only adults could obtain such documents. Abyss City issued its own permits, regardless of age, but she had never been here, so she didn’t have one.

Seeing the official reach for a blank permit to start registering her, Lingyu hurriedly said, “Sir, I have been sent by my master to Xuan Yuan Monastery. I was wondering—”

At these words, the official paused. “You’re a Daoist acolyte? Do you have certification from your monastery? Who is your master? What’s your purpose at Xuan Yuan Monastery?” He rattled off four questions in quick succession.

Acolytes weren’t full Daoists and didn’t have the official ordination certificate, but most temples issued other forms of identification. Once a novice was formally inducted by a master, they would receive their ordination certificate. Lingyu had none of these, as Xuanchenzi had been posing as a wandering Daoist; where could she get such proof?

“Sir, my master took me as a disciple while traveling, so I have no certificate. However, I do have my master’s ordination document.” She produced a dark gold document belonging to her master, Xuanchenzi.

The official took it, opened it, and was visibly startled. He fixed Lingyu with a piercing stare, as if trying to see through her.

After a long moment, the official said, “Child, you know that falsely claiming an ordination certificate is a punishable offense?” Clearly, he suspected her of trying her luck with a found document.

Lingyu replied guilelessly, “Sir, the certificate truly belongs to my master. Before he left, he entrusted it to me and ordered me to deliver it to Xuan Yuan Monastery.”

The official scrutinized her for a while longer but found nothing amiss. Moreover, the status listed on the document was clearly not ordinary. He softened his tone. “Leave your name here and wait a moment. Someone will come to take you to Xuan Yuan Monastery.” Matters concerning the monastery’s internal affairs were beyond his authority, so he quickly let her pass.

“Thank you, sir!” Lingyu beamed and dutifully wrote her name in the registry, then stood quietly to the side to wait.

There were about a dozen others waiting as well, some richly dressed, some plain, men and women of all ages. They glanced at her curiously but said nothing.

Before long, a Daoist in his thirties or forties, with a lazy air about him, strolled over, yawning as he went. “All these people here for Xuan Yuan Monastery?”

Seeing him, the gate official did not dare show disrespect. He bowed reverently and handed over a roll of silk. “Immortal Master Zhang, yes, that’s right.”

The Daoist named Zhang took it and glanced through. “Zhang San, father of lower court disciple Zhang Xiaosan, here to visit family. Li Si, friend of lower court disciple Zhao Er, here to visit. Wang Wu, upper court disciple… Hm, this one: Lingyu, disciple of Master Zheng Tongxuan, sent by her master to return the ordination certificate…”

He looked Lingyu up and down. “Is this her?”

The gate official quickly presented the ordination document. “Please have a look, Immortal Master Zhang.”

Zhang opened the document, his expression turning grave, then nodded. “I understand.”

The gate official let out a sigh of relief. Lingyu didn’t know why, but he did: the title of Master was not given lightly. Xuan Yuan Monastery was divided into the lower court, upper court, and inner hall; the lower and upper courts housed disciples, while the inner hall was the administrative core. Masters belonged to the inner hall. If this child was truly the disciple of a Master, she would likely be taken into the monastery—her status would soon surpass his own.

“Come with me,” Zhang said, giving Lingyu a lingering look before leading the way up onto the city wall. Once they had all followed, Zhang reached to his waist and produced a paper boat. With a mystical gesture and a breath, the boat whooshed into a real vessel, nearly twenty feet long.

Such a miraculous display left everyone dumbstruck. Zhang paid them no mind. “All aboard.”

Once everyone was on, Zhang called out, “Rise!” and the boat lifted into the air.

Lingyu clung to the rail, both nervous and excited. It was her first time flying—looking down, everyone seemed as small as ants, and the mighty Abyss City itself was now tiny and insignificant. The sensation was indescribable!

The others were much the same, some even trembling so violently their legs gave way, leaving them clutching the rail for dear life.

Zhang, however, was unfazed. He sat at the prow, fetched out a gourd and drank, humming a tune as he went.

After half an hour’s flight from Abyss City, a vast Daoist monastery appeared in view.

The monastery was not more imposing than Abyss City itself, but it radiated an innate aura—majestic, ethereal, transcendent—that compelled reverence.

Lingyu kept her eyes glued to the scene below, especially as they drew nearer. She had spent three years at Baishui Monastery, but that former number-one temple under heaven had long since fallen into ruin. Now, seeing the mountain gate of Xuan Yuan Monastery, she finally understood what it meant to be one of the Three Great Daoist Monasteries.

Palaces and pavilions stood in rows, pagodas soared into the clouds, the buildings were orderly, and the Daoists and acolytes passing by were all neatly dressed and full of spirit. Despite the density and bustle, there was not a hint of disorder—discipline was strict and order prevailed.

Lingyu was utterly entranced. So this was one of the Three Great Monasteries—it was no wonder every Daoist dreamed of becoming a disciple here.

At that moment, Zhang put away his gourd and stood, waving his sleeve. The paper boat descended and came to rest neatly outside the mountain gate.

“All off!” Zhang called.

Once everyone had disembarked, he performed another gesture, turning the boat back into paper and tucking it away.

Two acolytes approached. “Uncle Master Zhang!”

Zhang grunted, tossing them the roll of silk. “The ones here to visit friends and relatives—you take care of them.” Then, pointing to Lingyu, he said, “You, come with me!”

Lingyu started, but before she could respond, Zhang had already turned and strode ahead. She hurried after him.

They moved briskly through the monastery. Along the way, acolytes paused to greet him as “Uncle Master Zhang,” while younger Daoists addressed him as “Senior Brother Zhang.” Zhang replied in a lazy fashion—clearly, he held some standing at Xuan Yuan Monastery. Yet why would a person of such status be tasked with escorting visitors?

After about fifteen minutes, Zhang finally turned into a side hall. Lingyu jogged to catch up, breaking into a sweat.

The hall was simple—apart from an image of the Daoist Patriarch, there was only a single table, at which sat an old man with a white beard, eyes shut as if lost in thought.

“Senior Brother Gu, wake up!” Zhang bellowed.

Startled, the old man opened his eyes, patted his chest, and drawled, “Oh, it’s you, Junior Brother Zhang. What brings you here?”

“It’s something important, of course!” Zhang took out the ordination document and tossed it onto the table. “Someone’s brought back Master Tongxuan’s ordination certificate!”