The midday sun bathed Shangjing City in gold. When Chen Changsheng raised his eyes, the tall city tower stood before him. Even outside its walls, he could almost hear the city’s lively clamor.

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Likely due to the war, far more soldiers stood guard on the tower than usual. Extra city gate sentries added to the tense mood.

Their ten-day journey had shrunk to just three days by traveling without rest.

Zhong Zhengyuan said, “Shangjing City looks quite grand.”

But once inside the capital, they found it worse than imagined.

Deprived of tea throughout the trek, Zhong Zhengyuan longed for it desperately. His first stop in Shangjing was a teahouse for a proper pot of tea.

Only after that first sip did he relax.

Chen Changsheng watched him and remarked, “Master Zhong treats tea like his very life.”

“Mr. Chen prizes good wine, but I only cherish tea.” Zhong Zhengyuan smiled. “As the saying goes: ten thousand miles of the mortal world flow with wine. You, a transcendent in this human realm, should savor wine. My nature leans toward clouds and mists, so tea alone moistens my spirit. Truly wondrous!”

Chen Changsheng listened without grasping why this felt “wondrous.” Perhaps the joy simply came from sipping tea.

After tasting his own cup, Chen Changsheng gazed outside. He noted, “Shangjing thrives with peace and bustle. The suffering we witnessed on our journey…feels worlds apart.”

“Here is Shangjing,” Zhong Zhengyuan replied. “The empire’s most prosperous place. Nobles occupy its streets. Unless the kingdom falls, hardship cannot touch them.”

“Now that the state approaches ruin, are they not nervous?”

“Why panic?”

Zhong Zhengyuan gave a wry smile. “In their view, if the emperor still holds Shangjing, frontier battles won’t reach here. Those inside belong to elite families. Military duties don’t fall upon them.”

Chen Changsheng murmured, “Where chaos reigns elsewhere, peace lingers here alone.”

“That peace may not last.”

After another sip, Zhong Zhengyuan added, “I wonder how you, Mr. Chen, plan to save Great Jing in just ten days.”

“If salvation is possible, one day would suffice,” Chen Changsheng said. “If impossible, no amount of time can reverse fate.”

Zhong Zhengyuan nodded silently. He trusted Mr. Chen’s judgment.

As they drank, a sharp crack echoed through the teahouse.

Clap!

Both turned toward the sound.

Onstage, the Storyteller began: “As we left off…the Stone Monkey climbed Spirit Tower Mountain and sought immortals at the Cave of Slanted Moon and Three Stars…”

Chen Changsheng froze at the words.

“This tale feels most original. Don’t you think, Mr. Chen?” Zhong Zhengyuan asked curiously after listening.

Chen Changsheng replied with a gentle smile, “Quite charming. Reminds me of an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“Yes.”

When Chen gave no detail, Zhong didn’t press, preferring the strange wonder of a stone monkey becoming an immortal. The Storyteller’s fresh descriptions of the Celestial Court and monsters won enthusiastic cheers.

Just then, outside on the street: thud, thud, thud…

Patrol officers rushed past as if chasing trouble.

Their leader wore robes of office and a striking face. Running at the front, he suddenly cast a glance toward the teahouse window—then startled.

His eyes widened, studying the gentleman seated beside the second-floor window pane. Disbelief flashed across his face.

“Sir?” An officer called twice.

Chang Shan snapped back. “Go on ahead. I’ll join soon.”

“What?…Yes sir…”

Though puzzled, the officer obeyed. The Deputy Chief then entered the teahouse.

The manager recognized him immediately, darting forward with flustered respect.

Chang Shan waved him off. “I’m meeting someone. No need to fuss.” He hurried upstairs.

Flummoxed, the manager sent a waiter to shadow him.

Chen Changsheng had been focused on the Storyteller. Now a voice interrupted:

“Mr. Chen!”

Both he and Zhong turned.

The speaker wore official robes, a government cap, and a stern face with faint stubble. Recognizing the face, Chang Shan broke into a thrilled smile and dashed toward them.

“It truly is you, Mr. Chen!”

Chen Changsheng returned his gaze warmly. “Years have passed, Junior Priest. Much has changed.”

“You humble me with ‘priest,’ sir,” the man replied modestly.

Zhong Zhengyuan observed him. “And this must be the current Deputy Chief?”

“And you are?…”

“Just Zhong Zhengyuan, a nobody. Don’t linger over me.”

Time had changed Chang Shan deeply. Gone was the soft-faced youth from his mountain temple days. Whiskers now framed his mouth; severity had replaced innocence.

Meeting an old friend loosened Chang Shan’s tongue. He asked where Chen had travelled these years, inquired after Flowing Cloud Temple, and shared his own experiences.

That year, he’d reached Yan County, befriended Tang Mingjing. Tang helped him enter school. Later ranking second in local exams, he advanced to the Hanlin Academy. Minister Fan noticed him and recommended him as Deputy Chief.

“And…Master?” Chang Shan hesitated. “Does he fare well?”

Chen watched him. “You likely guessed already.”

Chang Shan opened his mouth. Though this thought had haunted him for years, hearing it hurt anew. Words jammed in his throat, dissolving into a sigh.

Chen asked, “Never visited home in all this time?”

Chang Shan smiled regretfully. “I couldn’t disgrace Master without achievements. Yet now mention brings…eternal separation.”

“Grieve not,” Chen comforted. “He passed peacefully. His mind held no regrets.”

Forcing a smile, Chang Shan nodded. “That consoles me. Duties always blocked my return.”

“The Taoist Temple waits. When time allows, return as you desire.”

“Yes.”

Chang Shan affirmed. He would see its halls again someday—if not now, then later.