Chapter Twenty-Two: Mingyuan Daoist Temple

Outside the city of Origin Mirror.

A winding forest path meanders through the woods.

Clear, cold streams flow gently by.

Birdsong mingles with the hum of insects, and the faint scent of flowers drifts in the air.

“In these troubled times, with war raging everywhere, such tranquil places are truly rare,” someone remarked.

Qingyuan said, “Old Ge’s old friend must surely be a refined gentleman?”

Old Master Ge smiled, “He is indeed a man of culture, but ahead is not his residence—merely a place he stays for now.”

Qingyuan glanced around, returning the smile. “And what was this place before?”

“A Daoist temple,” replied Old Master Ge, pointing forward. “The Mingyuan Daoist Temple.”

Following his gaze, Qingyuan saw that the path ended at the foot of a mountain.

A stairway of white stone ascended in a serpentine trail. Midway up the mountainside, nestled amidst drifting clouds and mist, the temple rested—an ethereal, celestial sight.

…

“Mingyuan Daoist Temple was founded at the dawn of the Tang dynasty. In the late Tang, when war broke out, the abbot relocated the temple out of the city, settling here among the mountains to escape the turmoil. The temple has been passed down for generations ever since,” Old Master Ge explained.

Qingyuan observed the scene carefully and was quietly astonished. The temple was situated at a convergence of mountain veins, a place of spiritual potency: fair winds, clear waters—an auspicious site blessed by geomancy.

“A fine place. The one who chose this location surely understood the art of feng shui well.”

They climbed the stone steps to the temple gate. As Qingyuan walked, he silently counted—no more, no less, precisely one thousand three hundred steps.

The temple was old and simple, decorated with eaves and carved beasts, though the craftsmanship was not particularly exquisite. The main gate was open but unguarded. Only occasionally did a young Daoist appear, carrying water, and it was he who first noticed their arrival.

“Who are you?” the young Daoist asked, setting down his buckets and hurrying over to greet them with a bow.

“My surname is Ge,” Old Ge replied with a slight bow and a smile. “Is Master Yun Jing in residence?”

The youth’s eyes widened in surprise. “So you’re friends of Master Yun Jing?”

Old Ge smiled. “Yes.”

The young Daoist bowed again. “Master Yun Jing arrived earlier this year and has been staying in the temple for more than half a month. Please, let me lead the way.”

Old Master Ge nodded, and they followed him inside.

Qingyuan and his companions walked alongside.

Suddenly, Qingyuan’s gaze fell upon Shanxiao. Unlike his usual calm, Shanxiao’s steps were unsteady.

Qingyuan had some inkling of the reason and frowned. “Are you unwell?”

In a low, hoarse voice, Shanxiao replied, “This place feels so oppressive, it's hard to breathe.”

“Temples and monasteries do suppress creatures like you,” Qingyuan murmured, “but you’ve already begun to cultivate true qi—you’ve stepped onto the path of cultivation. Give it a moment to adjust, and you’ll be fine.”

Shanxiao grunted softly and fell silent.

Qingyuan looked around. From the outside, the temple seemed small, but within, it opened into several courtyards and was of considerable size. Though plain, the trees, ponds, carvings, railings, and stonework were all laid out with care, in harmony with the principles of the five elements, reflecting the deep wisdom of geomancy.

“The abbots of Mingyuan Daoist Temple have always been masters of feng shui. In the days of the great Tang, many officials of the Imperial Observatory hailed from here,” Old Ge remarked, noticing Qingyuan’s amazement. “Much of the dragon-seeking and feng shui lore used by today’s wandering practitioners comes from the Book of Shaking the Dragon, which was compiled by Mingyuan Temple in Tang times.”

Hearing this, the young Daoist ahead brightened with pride. “That’s right. My master told me that once, the Tang Emperor sought a burial site for his tomb. He summoned the imperial geomancer, who found a place and buried a coin as a marker. The Emperor then tested our founder’s skill and invited him to search as well. The founder found a secret spot of geomantic power, broke off a dead branch, and stuck it in the ground.”

He raised his brows, clearly proud. “Later, the Emperor sent men to check and found that the dead branch was planted exactly through the hole of the buried coin.”

Qingyuan looked at Old Ge.

Old Ge nodded. “I’ve heard the story; it is true.”

Qingyuan praised, “Your founder’s mastery of geomancy is truly profound.”

“Naturally,” the young Daoist laughed. “The Tang Emperor wished to make our sect the state religion, but our founder cared little for fame and fortune, so he declined.”

As they talked, they reached another courtyard.

…

“Master Yun Jing,” the young Daoist called from outside the courtyard, “you have visitors.”

“Please, come in,” a gentle voice replied, calm as a clear stream.

They entered the room.

Inside sat a man, cross-legged. He appeared to be in his forties, with a pale, beardless face, clad in simple white robes with the air of a scholar. His expression was warm, and he smiled kindly.

Beside him lay a scroll of bamboo slips.

In front of him stood a low table with tea utensils arranged upon it.

He had not come out to greet his guests—not out of rudeness, but because he was already preparing tea.

The fragrance was invigorating; a single breath cleared the mind.

Old Ge bowed deeply. “Greetings, Master Yun Jing.”

“It’s been many years,” the scholar sighed, a note of nostalgia in his tone. “I thought, after Ge Zhan’s defeat, you would have perished on the battlefield.”

Old Ge replied softly, “I was fortunate to escape with my life.”

The scholar sighed again. “If only Lord Ming had heeded my advice and withdrawn early after restoring order, he might not have become so deeply entangled.”

Qingyuan understood then: Chancellor Ge’s full name was Ge Shangming, and the “Lord Ming” mentioned referred to him. So this Yun Jing was an old acquaintance of the Chancellor? And Old Master Ge was not merely a minor official after all.

“Please, sit.”

Master Yun Jing gestured to the seats.

Old Ge and the others sat down.

Yun Jing and Old Ge exchanged memories and sighs, a sense of deep feeling between them.

Qingyuan tasted the tea. It was fragrant, with a lingering astringency that cleared the palate—a rare brew, reminding him of another extraordinary cup he had once tasted in a mountain hut.

“And who is this, may I ask?” Yun Jing looked at Qingyuan, his expression curious.

Old Ge answered, “This is Master Qingyuan, who has traveled with me and once saved both my life and Xiaoyu’s.”

At this, Yun Jing bowed. “A benevolent man. Yun Jing thanks you.”

Qingyuan returned the bow. “Old Ge is as kind as a father, and Xiaoyu is like a dear sister. There is no need for thanks for saving a life.”

After a brief exchange of courtesies, Yun Jing’s gaze fell upon Shanxiao. His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he quickly resumed his calm, polite smile. “And this one?”

Qingyuan and Old Ge exchanged a glance, hesitating before answering.

After a while, Qingyuan spoke quietly. “Gu Cang.”

This Shanxiao’s true form was that of an ape—a monkey spirit. Remove the beast radical from the word for “monkey,” and you are left with “ancient moon.” Take the middle character for the surname—Gu. As for a given name, he chose Cang, meaning “heaven.”

Hence, the name—Gu Cang.