Chapter 70: Willing to Lend a Helping Hand

Some days had passed since the Mid-Autumn Festival. The weather had turned cool, and the roadsides were thick with fallen leaves. Wolong Valley was vast, yet the staff was somewhat lacking, so only the main roads were kept clear, while the rest of the grounds were left to nature.

Kuncangnu Wuguli stood at the gate with his hands on his hips, his large round eyes fixed on the two men at the entrance.

He was an honest and simple soul; ever since he had come to Ye Chang’s place, with meat to eat daily, ample rice, and work that was not too taxing, his loyalty had been unwavering. His main duties, aside from sweeping the paths, were to guard the stockade gate at the valley’s entrance and announce any visitors.

Today, however, this fellow’s manners left much to be desired. Before he could even make an announcement, the visitor began shouting and causing a commotion. The man reeked of alcohol and was accompanied by another awkward-looking individual whose purpose or origin was unclear.

Ye Chang, dressed in Daoist robes, emerged slowly. Upon seeing the raucous guest, he paused in surprise before breaking into a smile. “Jiao Sui, what brings you here?”

Indeed, it was Jiao Sui. It had been more than two months since they parted ways in Chang’an, and his sudden appearance was cause for astonishment.

Jiao Sui, with his signature large wine gourd slung over his back, grinned broadly. “Chang’an has grown dull, and there’s no one left to pay for my drinks. Hearing you were pardoned and sent home, I reckoned you might have some fine wine here, so I’ve come to bother you—just keep my cup filled and I’ll be content.”

When sober, Jiao Sui was a man of few words; but once he’d had as little as two cups of yellow wine, he became a torrent of chatter and debate. He and Ye Chang had their share of disagreements at first, but Jiao Sui, being easygoing, never held a grudge. Back in Chang’an, aside from Yan Zhenqing, Jiao Sui was the one who often accompanied Ye Chang on his wanderings.

“How is everything in Chang’an?” Ye Chang hurried forward to greet him.

“He Gong has already resigned and petitioned His Majesty to let him become a Daoist. He’s probably already set out—you should expect him soon. He said he would come here in search of immortals and the Way,” Jiao Sui replied, unstrapping his pack and rummaging through a pile of worn clothes before finally producing what he sought: “Here’s a letter from He Gong, another from Zhang Gong, ah, and one from Han Gong—he was quite cross when I left, saying you’d tricked him. Oh, and this—some noble lady somehow got wind of your situation and sent this for you. There were two bolts of silk as well, but I spent them on the road in your stead, as I had no travel money.”

At this, Jiao Sui laughed heartily, showing not the slightest embarrassment.

Ye Chang, of course, would not quarrel over two bolts of silk, but it was odd for Lady Chong to send him silk for no reason, so he asked, “What is the silk for?”

“The person she sent said the letter explains it. I have no idea,” Jiao Sui replied.

Jiao Sui had brought quite a few letters. Besides the ones already mentioned, there was also one from Xiao Bailang—who, it turned out, had been invited by Wang Zhongsi’s envoy to promote football matches in the army, leaving the capital’s league affairs temporarily in the hands of Jia Mao’er. Jia Mao’er’s own letter was full of humble words about the football league.

There were also letters entrusted by Yan Zhenqing, and those from Zhang Xu and Yan Zhenqing alike, which Ye Chang was determined to preserve with care.

As Ye Chang joyfully collected the letters, Jiao Sui slapped his forehead. “Ah! I almost forgot—something happened on the road. Eleventh Lord, I know you’re warm-hearted and capable, unlike me, who is useless wherever I go, so I took the liberty of bringing you a matter to handle.”

Ye Chang was taken aback. Jiao Sui turned to the man beside him and said, “This is Lord Ye the Eleventh. Didn’t you say you’d heard of his reputation? Why aren’t you bowing and begging for help?”

The man immediately knelt before Ye Chang, his voice full of misery. “I am Chen Qianli from Wuzhi. I have long heard that Lord Ye was enlightened by the immortals, his wisdom unmatched—first bringing water by the Rainbow Canal, then resolving cases like a Bodhisattva. I have a grave injustice that needs redressing and beg your assistance!”

Ye Chang felt a headache coming on. He shot Jiao Sui a glance—this fellow was always causing trouble. He’d brought him trouble in Chang’an, and now he was doing so again.

“This… If you’ve suffered an injustice, you should go to the authorities. I am but a commoner, with no power or influence. I can do nothing for you.”

Ye Chang was warm-hearted, but that didn’t mean he took on every problem. Jiao Sui looked a bit embarrassed—he had thought it a trivial matter for Ye Chang, not expecting such a prompt refusal without even asking for details.

But ever straightforward, Jiao Sui quickly got over his embarrassment, pulling Ye Chang aside. “Eleventh Lord, I was wrong to take this on. But the situation is too maddening—Chen Qianli’s plight is truly pitiable.”

“I’m not the authorities. Even if I pity him, what can I do?” Ye Chang replied.

“Just listen to me,” Jiao Sui pleaded, smiling sheepishly. “Eleventh Lord, I promise this won’t happen again.”

After hearing Jiao Sui’s account, Ye Chang finally understood. The root of this matter, in fact, lay with him. In the twenty-first year of the Kaiyuan era, Chen Qianli, much like Ye Chang’s own brother Ye Shu, was conscripted into service—not as a soldier, but to transport provisions to Fanyang. Before leaving, his family had five oxen, one bull and four cows, which he entrusted to his uncle’s care. But after reaching the frontier, war broke out, and his one year of service was repeatedly extended—until nine years had passed.

When he finally returned home, he went to reclaim his oxen, only to find his uncle would return only three old and decrepit beasts. In fact, over the nine years, those five oxen had multiplied to thirty-seven, and his uncle, profiting greatly, had become one of the wealthiest men in Wuzhi. Chen Qianli, outraged, tried to reason with his uncle, only to be beaten and thrown out. He took his case to the authorities, but with no witnesses or evidence, he was beaten again and driven away.

“He served on the frontier, as you once said yourself, to protect his country and home. A hero sheds blood for the state—how can we let him shed tears upon returning? To bleed is one thing; to weep at home is intolerable!” Jiao Sui’s expression turned solemn. “Eleventh Lord, you may not match me in small matters, but I have always respected you for your unwavering righteousness. Others might shy from such trouble, but not you—you will always extend a helping hand!”

Faced with such high praise, Ye Chang could only smile wryly.

The very words he’d once used to persuade Jiao Sui were now being used against him—what a bitter taste that was.

“All right, enough, Jiao Sui… This really is a troublesome matter. If it were just a few coins or men, I could help, but this is beyond my means.”

“Eleventh Lord, your wisdom is unrivaled. In Chang’an, you made waves in just two months—don’t be so modest. Others may not know your abilities, but I do. Didn’t you once say you wanted to run a winery? If you help this man, I’ll come work as your winery manager. How about it?”

Jiao Sui was a man of great ambition, but had never found the right opportunity. Even his friends, like Li Shizhi and He Zhizhang, could not promote him. Ye Chang believed Jiao Sui, like Li Bai, lacked practical administrative experience, and had once suggested he run a winery to gain it—but Jiao Sui had refused. Now that he brought it up again, Ye Chang considered it. In truth, he did need someone to oversee brewing—not only for profit, but because he needed alcohol for medical use.

Alcohol, after all, was a necessary and easily produced medicinal substance.

“I do have an idea, but I can’t manage alone—I’ll need your help as well.” Though he’d made up his mind, Ye Chang wasn’t about to let Jiao Sui off lightly. This troublemaker needed a lesson. “Are you willing?”

“Of course, I’ll do everything I can!”

“In that case, you’ll need to shave your head,” Ye Chang replied with a smile.

“What?” Jiao Sui was taken aback. He looked around doubtfully, suspecting Ye Chang was deliberately making things difficult, and pointed at the two bald men nearby, “Aren’t they both bald? Why not use them?”

“Their heads are theirs, but yours is more useful.”

“How can one head differ from another?”

“Of course they differ. Is a big head the same as a small one? In any case, let me borrow your bald head. Will you do it or not? If yes, I’ll handle this matter. If not, I’ll take no further interest.”

Jiao Sui had no choice. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Ye the Eleventh, don’t you trick me!”

Ye Chang thought, “Who else should I trick if not you?” but assured him otherwise.

Chen Qianli, seeing the two whispering for so long, grew uneasy. He was at his wits’ end and had come only after hearing Ye Chang’s reputation in Wuzhi and Jiao Sui’s guarantee, but now, the famed Eleventh Lord Ye seemed far from the omnipotent figure of rumor.

“Master Chen, tell me the details. How many people are in your uncle’s household, and what are his habits? Tell me everything.”

Chen Qianli’s uncle was named She Li, known as Second She, and also called “Second Snake” for his sinister and stingy nature. He loved taking small advantages, even more so after acquiring his nephew’s cattle a decade ago.

After years of management, he now owned more than forty head of cattle and horses and over a hundred sheep, making him one of Wuzhi’s wealthy families. Inspecting his livestock was She Li’s daily routine, come rain or shine. On this particular day, he walked through his pens with hands clasped behind his back.

“These days, that brat hasn’t been making trouble. Hmph, no evidence at all, yet he wants to take cattle from me. Even three old beasts aren’t enough for his greed,” he muttered.

Thinking of Chen Qianli, She Li finished checking his livestock and mounted a mule to head for the cattle market in Wuzhi.

Halfway there, he saw a man leading a strong ox at a slow pace, with a bald-headed monk beside him, hands in prayer, pleading earnestly.

She Li noticed the ox was exceptionally robust and did not recognize the man leading it, so he slowed his mule and followed at a distance.

“Monk, you can say whatever you want, but I’m taking this ox to sell; how could I give it to you?” the man leading the ox said, shaking his head.

“Good sir… you… do not… understand…” the monk stammered, speaking so haltingly that he seemed especially guileless. It took a great effort to understand him. Only after a while did She Li grasp the meaning: the monk was begging alms—and wanted to take the ox!

“Impossible, impossible! This ox is my livelihood. I heard the price of oxen is high in Wuzhi, so I brought it here to sell. How can I just give it to a monk? You must be crazy from chanting scriptures. Get lost, or I’ll give you a beating!” the cattle dealer retorted.

Hearing this, the monk burst into loud tears. “Good sir… allow me to speak plainly. This ox is my father reborn… As a monk, I am devoted to filial piety and cannot bear to see him toil, only to be slaughtered in the end. Sir, of all virtues, filial piety comes first… Please, let me fulfill my filial duty—this would be a deed greater than building a nine-storied stupa…”

The monk, stammering, took a long time to finish. She Li shook his head—claiming the ox was his father and trying to take it away! By that logic, with dozens of oxen at home, he would have dozens of monk sons.

“You reasonless monk, spreading lies to trick people into giving you their cattle? Am I the fool, or are you?” The cattle dealer, furious, shoved the monk aside and continued with the ox.

The monk, desperate, grabbed the man’s arm. The cattle dealer struggled but couldn’t break free, and, seeing She Li, called out, “Sir, please judge this! This monk is being utterly shameless!”

She Li, his mind already on the ox—if he could buy it cheap, it would be a fine bargain—saw this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself and win trust. He coughed and said, “All right, all right.”

The monk, seeing someone to mediate, released his hold and began another lengthy explanation. He claimed his master had opened his spiritual eye and taught him to see past and present lives. While traveling, he realized this ox was his father in a previous life, condemned to an animal’s fate for deceiving others. He could not bear to see his father suffer and begged for the ox.

She Li sneered, “Ridiculous! Monk, you say this ox is your father—what proof do you have? With no evidence, you expect to take other people’s cattle? Who’s the fool here?”

The monk, face flushed, could only repeat, “A monk does not lie.” After much repetition, he finally added that his master had also taught him a mantra that could make living beings recall their past lives. If they didn’t believe him, he would recite it to prove the ox was his father.

“In that case, recite your mantra,” She Li said, a thought forming in his mind.

The monk replied that the mantra could only be performed in a temple, not here. The cattle dealer shook his head, protesting that he had no time for such nonsense, as he needed to get to market.

At this, She Li thought further: if the cattle dealer was delayed at the temple, by the time he reached the market the buyers would be gone, and She Li could buy the ox at a low price.

With this in mind, he smiled and said, “There’s a temple not far from here. Monk, your words are intriguing. My good man, why not accompany him? Don’t worry about selling the ox—I’ll take care of that for you when the time comes!”

Left with no choice, the cattle dealer agreed.