Chapter 7: It Was the Medicine King Who Touched the Sweet Spring

For many years, the Ten Directions Temple had known nothing but tranquility. The noisy commotion now filling its halls was a rarity, unseen in so long that no one could remember the last such occasion.

“Eleventh Young Master, take charge of your servant!” someone called out to Ye Chang.

“Master, this fellow has gone mad—pay him no mind. Better tell us who among us is truly blessed with fortune,” another turned to ask Chunxin.

As everyone spoke at once, Ye Chang realized he could not let Liu Gui speak recklessly now. Yet, pressed by the urgency, he had no other recourse but to mutter, “Don’t talk nonsense.”

A sly smile curled on Liu Gui’s lips.

The more Ye Chang tried to stop him, the more Liu Gui was determined to speak. All the frustration he had suffered at Ye Chang’s hands today now demanded release.

He was no gentleman who believed revenge could wait a decade; he was a petty man, and for the petty, vengeance was an all-day affair.

“I truly know who is the mortal incarnation of a star spirit. If my words are unfounded, you can settle accounts with me later… Young Master, don’t try to stop me. This concerns the lives of everyone here—you cannot stand in the way!”

With that weighty charge hanging over them, Ye Chang’s thoughts raced. Sensing the crowd’s growing impatience, he had to admit things were slipping beyond his control. Still, he reasoned, Liu Gui’s accusation would fall on someone without the ability to truly bring water. When the scheme failed, Ye Chang could step in to resolve matters, and the result would be the same. So he fell silent.

“Quiet, everyone! Let Liu Gui speak—who is the star spirit come to earth?”

The crowd hushed. Since Chunxin refused to say, they would hear Liu Gui out. If his explanation made sense, they would believe him.

“In fact, everyone knows—the one destined by the stars is none other than my Young Master, the Eleventh!” Liu Gui announced triumphantly, seeing all eyes turn to him.

Ye Chang froze in astonishment, while the abbot Chunxin’s heart skipped a beat: so the young man had prepared a backup plan, letting his own servant shoulder the fate!

The old monk couldn’t help but regret not speaking up earlier and winning favor for himself.

He did not realize, however, that though Liu Gui was nominally Ye Chang’s servant, in truth he took his orders from the Liu clan. Ye Chang had never commanded his loyalty, let alone prompted him to sing his praises.

“Me?” Ye Chang tapped his own nose in disbelief.

“Of course, the Eleventh Young Master! Who else has been struck by a shooting star lately?” Liu Gui was practically frothing with excitement. “Everyone here saw it! Who else in this world could be struck by a comet and live? If not for immense fortune and great fate, who would believe such a thing?”

At first, the crowd dismissed Liu Gui’s claim that it was Ye Chang. But as he laid out his reasoning, people began to nod despite themselves: the fellow made sense!

Of course he did—Liu Gui gloated inwardly. Hadn’t the Liu clan placed him beside Ye Chang precisely because of his quick wit?

“Now, by pinning this star-spirit business on that little wretch, he’ll have no way to bring water to the village. When he fails, he’ll earn a reputation as a fraud. Then, when I find a chance to strike, who in the Ye clan would stand up for a cheat?”

Hatching this plan, Liu Gui pressed on, raising his voice: “Eleventh Young Master is ever so modest—of course he’ll deny it. Why don’t we all beg him together?”

The crowd wavered, but seeing their hesitation, Liu Gui went all in—falling to his knees before Ye Chang.

“Even if you care nothing for the villagers, Young Master, you must save your own household!”

“Indeed, indeed! Eleventh Young Master, have pity and think of a way!”

So are charlatans made—one takes the lead, and the crowd is always more willing to believe than to doubt. The common folk will worship any god or Buddha they meet, so why not Ye Chang? They began, in earnest, to plead with him.

Ye Chang fixed Liu Gui with a look for a long moment before speaking between clenched teeth, as if suffering a toothache: “Liu Gui, you’ve put me on the rack.”

He looked utterly unwilling, while Liu Gui, with grand righteousness, wept and wailed, “If you can save the crops, I’ll accept whatever punishment you wish once we return.”

Beside them, the old monk Chunxin watched their interplay and could not help but sigh inwardly: their acting was worthy of the stage!

He did not realize Ye Chang’s pained expression was a blend of amusement and exasperation. Liu Gui, clever as he was, meant to push him to ruin, but fate had other plans—after playing a trick on Ye Chang, the heavens now turned their mischief on Liu Gui.

“Sigh… Friends, I truly have never met the Guardian Bodhisattva, nor am I any reincarnated star spirit. Since you insist, there is something… I must tell you all.”

Ye Chang feigned reluctance, drawing every eye. Chunxin again marveled at his performance, while Liu Gui sensed something amiss.

Why was Ye Chang no longer protesting with all his strength, but instead going along with it?

“That day, struck by the comet, I felt as though I dreamed. I saw a Daoist with a medicine basket on his back…”

At the word “Daoist,” Ye Chang made a point to emphasize it. The old monk’s eyes twitched, and a sense of foreboding crept in.

“The old man did say there were several springs in these mountains. He even pointed one out, telling me to lead the water down for irrigation… but the whole thing was so strange, and when I awoke, I’d forgotten most, except for the old Daoist. I’m sure I never saw the Guardian Bodhisattva.”

The solemn expression on Chunxin’s face twisted as if he had bitten into raw pepper, turning sour.

This Eleventh Young Master of the Ye family wasted no time in retaliation!

Now, everyone’s attention shifted to the spring. Though still skeptical, they were willing to follow Ye Chang in search of water. Leading the group out of the temple, Ye Chang caught the troubled gaze of the old monk, who was torn: should he hope Ye Chang found water or not, after so deftly sidestepping the Bodhisattva?

After a moment’s thought, the old monk decided to follow the crowd.

Ye Chang led them along the mountain paths, circling for the time it takes two sticks of incense to burn, arriving at the spot he had found before. He’d dug there, filled it back in, but the water still seeped out, forming a shallow pool. Seeing this, the crowd’s skepticism lessened. Ye Chang told them to dig deeper, and soon, with many hands at work, the spring broke free—water gushed forth, not too much, but not too little either. It split into three streams, gathered in a hollow, and before long, a small pond formed. Ye Chang judged it barely enough for irrigation.

Cheers erupted, and the crowd looked at Ye Chang with newfound respect. With a single gesture, he had found water!

Liu Gui stared, dumbstruck, at the little pond. He ignored the trampling feet, scooped up a handful, and splashed it on his face.

It really was water—and not just water, but sweet, mountain spring water!

“This can’t be… Impossible… Something must be wrong!” Liu Gui muttered.

He had set out to ruin Ye Chang. If Ye Chang failed to find water, he could claim it had all been Ye Chang’s idea, exposing him as a braggart and a fraud. But Ye Chang had found water—so it was as if the pit he dug for Ye Chang had yielded up a golden ingot instead!

Worse, if word of this reached the main Liu branch…

He’d be in real trouble.

“Damn it, that brat must have set this up somehow… There must be a trick. Let me think… Where did it go wrong?”

Quick-witted as he was, Liu Gui racked his brain for a way to turn things around. But the others would wait no longer.

“Eleventh Young Master, you must have met an immortal!”

It was not unheard of in the Tang Dynasty to encounter an immortal. Even the poet Li Bai claimed in verse, “An immortal touched my head, granting me the secret of long life.” In the court, there were men like Li Chunfeng, Yuan Tiangang, and Zhang Guo—famous as immortals.

Ye Chang, however, protested with humility, “My fortune is shallow; how could I meet an immortal? Perhaps it was some celestial being, moved by the drought in Wuze Slope, who used me as a mouthpiece to guide everyone.”

“Nonsense!” Liu Gui suddenly burst out. “I know! Eleventh Young Master is always up in the mountains gathering herbs—he must have known about this spring all along! He kept silent, hoping we’d starve!”

The crowd was stunned.

Just moments ago, Liu Gui had declared Ye Chang a star-spirit; now he accused him of being a fraud bent on starving the village—all in the same breath! The dizzying reversal left everyone at a loss. Moreover, Liu Gui was Ye Chang’s servant; for a servant to slander his master was a grave crime!

Liu Gui, in a fit of anger, had cornered himself. Even if he tried to retract his words, it was clear Ye Chang would not let him off.

So he steeled himself, “Though I am Eleventh Young Master’s servant, I cannot abide such conduct. Don’t be fooled—this man is truly…”

“Heh heh!”

Ye Chang threw back his head and laughed. Liu Gui had expected rage, not laughter, and faltered.

The laughter cut him off. Ye Chang swept his gaze over the assembly, nerves tight. His last conflict with the Liu clan had been private; this was his first time facing so many in open confrontation. He knew this moment would determine whether he could stand firm in this era, whether he could bring happiness to those he cared for. He could only win—defeat was not an option.

“Just yesterday you came from the main Liu branch to serve in my household, and today you slander me with ill intent. I’ve long known our matriarch in the main branch dislikes me, wanting to drive me out so the property falls into her hands… But I didn’t expect you’d act on her orders so eagerly!”

By airing the Ye family’s dirty laundry, Ye Chang left everyone speechless. Liu Gui’s face turned ashen. Few knew the inner workings of the family, and Ye Chang’s insight was uncanny.

But to Ye Chang, who now saw through everything, the Liu matriarch’s scheming was plain as day.

He fixed Liu Gui with a cold look. “Liu Gui, you’ve been here just a day and already slander me. According to Tang law, a servant who slanders his master faces severe punishment. Do you admit your guilt?”

“I… I didn’t slander you. Every word I said is true!” Liu Gui insisted through gritted teeth.

Ye Chang’s gaze swept the crowd, pausing briefly on Chunxin. The old monk realized that if he vouched for Ye Chang now—declaring him the “star spirit” of the Bodhisattva’s prophecy—Ye Chang would be cleared. But the old monk also knew the Ye family’s power structure. The family patriarch descended from the main branch; only the main branch held real influence. If he spoke for Ye Chang, he would offend not just the Ye main branch, but also the Liu family, whose daughter was the matriarch and whose father was the Liu clan chief—a man of great status.

He would be helping only a boy, but offending two powerful families.

So the monk simply chanted “Amitabha” and looked away.

Ye Chang smiled thinly. The old monk lacked courage—no wonder the temple had fallen into such decline. But Ye Chang had never pinned his hopes on him.

He addressed the crowd, “The clan allotted me a dozen mu of land, all withering in the drought. If I’d had a solution, would I let my own crops die?”

At these words the people all nodded. “Exactly! We’re not so foolish as to wrong a good man like the Eleventh Young Master!”

Liu Gui was stunned. For all his cunning, he’d overlooked this. He now doubted his own scheme—could it be Ye Chang really had met an immortal, and not known about the spring all along?

“Whoever that immortal was, we ought to honor them with a golden statue now that we’ve found water,” Ye Chang said.

“Yes, the Eleventh Young Master is right!”

With this simple statement, he shifted everyone’s attention from Liu Gui’s accusations to the mysterious immortal who had guided him. As the words left his lips, the old monk’s heart sank with regret: why hadn’t he spoken up for the boy before?

“I know who that immortal was—it must have been the Medicine King!” someone cried.

Ye Chang’s eyes brightened, and he slapped his forehead. “Of course! How foolish of me—that immortal did resemble the Medicine King from the temple!”