Chapter 31: Calling rain
Translator's note: My apologies for the delay in updates; with my schedule lately, my old update regimen for this novel (Tuesdays/Thursdays) doesn't work as well as it once did; as a result, I'll be shifting to weekend releases. I'll get the next chapter up later today, and then start on posting chapters on weekends in the future.
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Under the scorching, burning sun, the dog days were like a stove; the entire day, the world was withered and yellowed by the formless fiery broil, the knifelike sunlight seeming to cut each cun of the air open. But beneath the wild growth, outside of Zichang, a simple and crude, yet solemnly dignified altar was set up. Qin Anhe still wore that pure white Daoist's attire, her black hair fastened high by a simple wooden hairpin, and she sat upright in the centre of the altar. Before her was a great, bronze ding[1] filled to the brim with clear water; within the ding's water floated a few yellow talisman papers. Black smoke rose in coils from the burning incense and candles, and round into a mass along with the oppressive atmosphere.
A bit further away, beneath the shade of the trees, a group of raggedly-clothed commoners were gathered; each of them were sallow and gaunt, their lips dry and cracked. Their gazes, each without prior agreement, solidified on Qin Anhe, the expectancy in their gazes carrying some concern. It wasn't clear who mumbled, "This little girl, can she truly call rain down?"
Of course, Qin Anhe couldn't hear this; she only closed her eyes, her entire figure placed beneath the sunlight. Suddenly, she drew a deep breath, her hands forming a series of complex seals, chanting cryptic words under her breath. There wasn't a single breath of wind anywhere, but atop the water in the copper ding before her, ripples suddenly formed. Immediately after, the talismans in the water grew aflame, the blaze rising suddenly, beginning to ignite the drapery around the altar. Some of the commoners were curious, and they took a step towards the altar.
Only once the talismans in the water burnt up did Qin Anhe slowly let out the muddied breaths in her belly out, raising her head towards the heavens. But the skies seemed to have no intent to let out a drop of rain. The scorching sun still hung high in the skies, the arid air seeming to cause her to disappear entirely. In the eyes of the common people, a greater amount of despair appeared, merely saying that this young daozhang didn't have any abilities either.
A bit later, the skies were still the same. The questioning sounds from the surroundings made their way to Qin Anhe's ears, disrupting the slight wanness of her complexion. She furrowed her brows and rose, gazing at the entirely burnt up talismans in the ding for a while. Suddenly, she raised a hand, as if having come to some decision. She bit her fingers open, and forced a few drops of vital blood into the ding.
The traces of the blood disappeared into the water; Qin Anhe sat back down in the place she had just sat. Qin Anhe chanted incantations more rapidly, and her hands formed the seals even more quickly. The absent-mindedness made her seem as if she'd been born as a conductor, and all things followed the direction of her motions. The bronze ding began to shake along with her actions, letting out a heavy buzzing sound; the surface of the water began to surge in great waves, striking against the walls of the ding one after the next. Suddenly, a strange phenomena arose; in the skies, which hadn't had a trace of clouds, thick layers of dark clouds inexplicably appeared. These black clouds seemed to have been drawn there by some sort of force, racing directly towards the altar.
It wasn't clear who let out a sound of alarm first. This cry of alarm seemed to have opened some sort of gate, and the commoners, who had been crowded under the shade, rushed towards the altar, striving to be first and fearing to be last. They were halted by the guards, and so simply fell to their knees, their hands clasped and making worship towards Qin Anhe. Their complexions were still sallow, their lips just as dry and cracked as before, but there was a previously absent joy visible on their faces.
But the dark clouds suddenly came to a standstill, puff after puff of black cloud circling around the altar, neither moving nor loosing rain. It was as if they'd been halted by some sort of unseen hand.
Qin Anhe's face was even paler than before, bean-sized beads of sweat slipping down her forehead, and the speed of the seals her hands made not only didn't decrease, but actually grew. Suddenly, the fire in the ding rose once more, and the stagnant, dark clouds began to move along with it once more. Ear-splitting thunder suddenly sounded, and the rain began to fall from the vault of the sky in torrents. For a moment, the commoners cheered excitedly, ceaselessly kowtowing in thanks towards Qin Anhe. But Qin Anhe only sluggishly opened her eyes, the smile that appeared on her lips somewhat relieved.
But the heavens seemed to have intentionally teased this pitiable group who hadn't seen rain in so long; the dark clouds only stayed for a brief bit, and then gradually withdrew its magnanimity. The raindrops gradually grew smaller and thinner, turning into fine lines. Falling onto the dry, cracked ground, they didn't fill those deep ravines any longer.
Qin Anhe, unable to believe it, raised her head to gaze at the skies, that bit of gratitude that had just risen in her heart suddenly blown away by the winds, only emptiness left behind. Just as she was about to inspect the copper ding once more, the burning incense and candles suddenly toppled, falling onto the drapery, which went up in roaring flames. The fierce intensity of the fire was as if the blistering heat that Boyang had accumulated over the countless days had all been pushed back and was erupting from a single place. The flames reached towards the heavens; the skies, which had been gloomy, were suddenly lit bright red. Even the dark clouds, which had been on the verge of dispersing, were painted by the blaze. The tongues of flame engulfed everything on the altar, including Qin Anhe.
She looked towards the bronze ding, whose traces had disappeared in the blaze, and looked at the prayer mat that had been beneath her, burnt to ashes. Qin Anhe's complexion changed suddenly; her mind was blank, the emotions known as terror and helplessness surrounding her along with the tongues of flame. Qin Anhe instinctively wanted to extinguish this fire, but no matter what, it was all to no avail. Tears and sweat mingled on her face, and she wanted to draw in deep breaths, but she was choked by the dust, her entire figure staggering back a few steps, until she fell, paralysed, to the ground.
Hot, so hot.
She saw she'd been encircled by the raging inferno. She'd never had this sort of moment before. From childhood, she'd been exceptionally gifted, and before, merely extending a hand to help others in their troubles, when had there ever been a time when even she had fallen into calamity?
The commoners standing about were all frightened by this scene, kneeling in place and not daring to move. Merely raising their heads, they dully looked at the leaping tongues of flame atop the altar. Even Lan Dexiang had forgotten to organise the guards into putting the flames out.
Suddenly, a figure rushed in from a distance, charging directly towards the altar, in a great flame.
Song Juguang had only travelled to the outskirts of Zichang, and had then seen this scene. To herself, she had thought that, regardless of her speed, she wouldn't be able to make it, but luckily, she hadn't come to late at all; there was still time left to save the situation. So, she hadn't even had the time to tie up her horse, and had pushed off from the saddle, leaping through the air. She opened the folding fan in her hand, and with a wave, that raging sea of flames weakened a few degrees in vigour, as if it had met a natural predator. In a few short breaths, the blazes that had wreaked havoc on the altar were thoroughly extinguished, and if not for the scorched, black area, and the faint but pervasive scent of burning in the air, no one would be able to know that this place had just been the site of a great fire.
Song Juguang unhurriedly walked over to Qin Anhe, her face utterly lacking exhaustion.
"You, I," Qin Anhe's words were somewhat stuttered, and she pointed at Song Juguang and then at herself, stupification showing on her face. She clearly hadn't forgotten Song Juguang, that person who could easily press purple marks onto her wrist. "How come you're here?" Qin Anhe asked, calming down somewhat.
Yet Song Juguang didn't have the slightest intent to pay attention to her, and merely walked to where Qin Anhe had just been sitting, and sat down. Under Qin Anhe's astonished gaze, she finished the rain-calling ceremony that she hadn't completed. Song Juguang's motions were even more succinct and nimble than Qin Anhe's had been, each gesture, each incantation a mystery within a mystery. It was as if there was a strong connection with the heavens and the earth, which could easily mobilise natural talent.
The air, which had been arid, gradually became moist once more. The dark clouds which had dispersed, under Song Juguang's calling, once more gathered, and roiled with a buzzing. The layers of clouds gew thicker and thicker; at this moment, though it was clearly daytime, it was as dark as night. Suddenly, the dusky world was abruptly lit up, the dull sound of thunder coming from the horizon, as if wanting to rip apart the entire world with its cry. Great beads of rain fell from the layers of clouds, and this time, there wasn't any longer an indication of dissipation.
The curtain of rain added a hazy layer to the altar. Song Juguang stood by the bronze ding, gazing steadily at the single, unburnt talisman. "Where did you learn from?" she suddenly asked, raising her head.
"From my shifu, of course; she's the most talented Daoist in the world." Facing the mishap of just then, Qin Anhe merely felt that her own skills weren't enough; but, when it came to her shifu, she was still incredibly proud.
"Wrong," Song Juguang said, furrowing her brows.
"What did you say?!" Qin Anhe, hearing this, was furious, and she was just about to begin to chase after the direction Song Juguang had left in. But how could Song Juguang allow herto catch up? Without waiting for Qin Anhe to come back to her senses, her figure was gone.
"Don't you leave!" Qin Anhe called out, but all that answered her was the mountain-toppling, sea-churning sound of rain. Suddenly, something came, tossed by the wind, and fluttered down onto her hand. Qin Anhe stared at it, and discovered it was a talisman. The traces of cinnabar atop the paper were similar to what she had drawn, but in the minor details, the differences were that of the skies and heavens reversed.
"You knew that Qin Anhe's calling for the rain would cause an incident from the start, didn't you?" In the imperial study, Jiang Changbai asked the travel-worn Song Juguang, looking at her. But before her was the closed, expedited memorial that Meng Daosheng had sent.
Song Juguang had also just returned to the capital; she'd only had the opportunity to return to her residence and change her clothes. Being questioned by Jiang Changbai like this, she actually didn't deny it, but rather carelessly nodded. Of course, she hadn't had the intent to continue explaining.
But Jiang Changbai was insistent on questioning her further. "How did you know?"
"A dream."
"I don't believe it," Jiang Changbai said, naturally able to hear that this reply of hers was perfunctory; she sighed, her tone slowing a bit as well, and said, "can you truly not tell me?"
Song Juguang blinked, and when she spoke again, she wasn't as resolute as she had been. But she still said, "The mysteries of heaven must not be revealed."
Hearing this, Jiang Changbai's brows furrowed. "You never spoke like this before, nor were you capable of that sort of supernatural or Daoist tricks; how can you now?"
"If this minister truly couldn't manage any at all, then how could I have been the late emperor's State Preceptor?"
"But in the past, you—" Jiang Changbai said, cut off by Song Juguang before she finished speaking.
"Bixia, we must speak of the present now."
The present. The two characters were like hammers striking against Jiang Changbai's mind, and her hands, hidden in her sleeves, involuntarily tightened a few degrees. That was right; the time they'd been parted was far longer than the time they'd been together. Just like Song Juguang didn't know what had happened to her in these five years, Jiang Changbai didn't know how Song Juguang had, step by step, come to the present.
Jiang Changbai decided to temporarily set this matter aside, but this was far from the only doubt in her mind. So, she asked again, "Going to Boyang now, was it merely because of this matter?"
"Merely this matter," Song Juguang replied unhesitatingly.
"There wasn't anything else?"
"There wasn't anything else."
"Then why did you come back so hastily?"
"Ah, hastily," Song Juguang said, blinking, and she laughed as if she'd suddenly thought of something. "I feared Bixia missed this minister."
But the smile she'd expected hadn't appeared on Jiang Changbai's face, just the same as ever, not the slightest emotion visible. She sighed, and said, "I wasn't done asking yet."
"This minister still answered truthfully."
For a moment, Jiang Changbai was at a loss for words, not knowing how to reply, as if her mind was filled with starch. She could only fall silent, not speaking, her gaze fixed on Song Juguang's face. After all, in the memorial Meng Daosheng had sent, this wasn't the only matter recorded. "While on the road, did you not encounter anyone else or any other matter?" Jiang Changbai said, thinking about it; she still wanted to let Song Juguang say it herself.
At this, Song Juguang finally understood. "Bixia is speaking of the beggar who was stopping horses that this minister met on the way back?"
Jiang Changbai closed her eyes gently, and nodded.
"I killed him," Song Juguang said, her vermilion lips parting lightly, yet the words she spoke were ice-cold. "It was merely a begger who had grand dreams; if Bixia hadn't mentioned it, this minister truly wouldn't have remembered."
"Why do you say so?"
"He clung to my horse's legs, not letting me pass, crying and shouting that he was called Jiang Mingyou, Prince Yu's heir. But whether Prince Yu's heir is dead or alive, I'm afraid no one under the heavens knows better than this minister." Song Juguang didn't conceal it in the slightest, speaking as if she were merely thoughtlessly grinding insects to death. Seeing Jiang Changbai not speaking, she asked once more, "Bixia, this minister has something she doesn't understand either.
"What must this minister do in order for you to be able to trust her more? Bixia, could you show this minister?"
Translator's notes:
[1]: A ding being an ancient type of serving dish with two looped handles and three or four legs.
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