Chapter 85: The Warmth of Mortal Life

After Xu Boqing stepped outside, he too noticed the unusual gathering by the door.

Jiang Jin, seeing the Overseer emerge, hurried over and quietly explained the situation. At the end, he asked carefully, “Overseer, shall I drive them away?”

“No need,” Xu Boqing waved his hand. As he walked to the front of the crowd, he even spotted a familiar face—the old farmer surnamed Lu who had asked for help renaming his child when Xu had first arrived in Hongyang.

Seeing that the man didn’t seem to recognize him, Xu let go of any intention to greet him.

He clasped his hands to the crowd, smiling as he said, “Good people, I accept your kindness on behalf of the Western Depot, but we cannot accept these gifts. We are about to depart—fruits are one thing, but vegetables, meat, and eggs are hard to take along. I hope you all understand.”

“Honorable Magistrate…” From the crowd, a trembling old man stepped forward, patting the umbrella in his arms. “My family has made umbrellas for generations. Hearing that you would not stay long in Hongyang, I and the villagers worked through the night to make this ‘Umbrella of the People’ for you, my lord…”

Xu Boqing was momentarily stunned at the sight of the umbrella, patchwork and colorful; he was at a loss for words.

The ‘Umbrella of the People’ was different from the ordinary oil-paper umbrellas used to shield from wind and rain. It was usually presented by local folk only when an official was leaving office, as a token of their wish for him to stay. It symbolized that the departing official had protected the people like a great umbrella, a ruler who cherished his subjects as his own children—a mark of their respect for his character.

Xu Boqing knew he had never held office in Hongyang. He had merely passed through, confiscated the city magistrate’s ill-gotten wealth, and redistributed unlawfully acquired farmland to the peasants. To him, it was a matter so minor as to hardly be worth mentioning—never had he expected the people would present him with such an umbrella.

The old farmer, seeing the magistrate silent, hesitated and said, “I know it’s an ugly thing, but it comes from our hearts. Please, my lord, do not disdain our offering…” He prepared to kneel and present the umbrella.

Xu Boqing came to himself, quickly helping the man up. Accepting the umbrella, he smiled reassuringly, “You misunderstand, good sir. On the contrary, I am very fond of this umbrella!”

The old man’s toothless grin split his face in delight. “So long as you like it, my lord, so long as you like it…”

Xu Boqing beckoned for Jiang Jin and said, “Leave word for the new city magistrate of Hongyang: the villages just received their land back; for the next three years, their taxes are to be halved.”

“Yes, sir!” The peasants in the crowd cheered at this, some even pushing forward in hopes of handing Xu Boqing their fruit.

When Western Depot agents and soldiers blocked their way, they stuffed the fruit into the soldiers’ hands instead.

Seeing the soldiers at a loss, Xu Boqing waved and laughed, “Take nothing else, but accept the fruit—it’ll be a treat on the road.” The atmosphere was lively and jubilant.

Even after the carriages left the city, the heads of the Western Depot were still holding half-eaten fruit.

Jiang Jin, having bested Kong Qing in a quiet competition, had secured the job of driving the Overseer’s carriage. Now, with a piece of fruit in one hand and the reins in the other, he tentatively flattered, “Overseer, I’d always heard that the oranges grown south of the Huai River are sweet, but north they turn bitter. I never expected the fruit here in the countryside to surpass even that of the palace.”

“It isn’t the fruit that’s sweet,” Xu Boqing replied, playing with the ‘Umbrella of the People’ inside the carriage, “but the warmth of the people within it. In the palace, life is all intrigue and suspicion, serving the highborn. A single glance from a noble and you’ll ponder its meaning all night, wondering if you’ve offended them, whether you’ll see tomorrow… In such times, even candied fruit tastes bitter. Out here, with fewer constraints and more freedom, even the simplest fruit is delicious.”

“Your words are enlightening, Overseer,” Jiang Jin said, tongue-tied. “I entered the palace as a child, always walking on thin ice, terrified of angering a noble and losing my life. I know exactly what you mean…”

“When above others, treat them as one would oneself. When beneath others, never forget your own humanity,” Xu Boqing sighed, then, as if remembering something, asked, “How are preparations with the Five Poisons Sect?”

“Rest assured, Overseer,” Jiang Jin straightened, his tone turning serious. “Before we left the palace, I already sent word to the agents in Jiangling Prefecture. This morning, I received a letter; they’ve already gathered all nearby agents and sent people to the Five Poisons Sect, using a tax inspection as pretext to provoke them. Those backwoods pugilists are foolhardy—after learning a few tricks, they forget who they are. Some have already lost patience and injured government officials.”

He paused, his expression darkening. “The local authorities are arguing with them now. Once you arrive, Overseer, we can levy troops and suppress the rebels!”

Xu Boqing nodded slightly, understanding the significance. People of this era were steeped in feudal notions, and the martial world was a mixed bag. In every sect there were those who would rather sacrifice others than themselves. By creating a legitimate pretext for action, they gained the moral high ground for a campaign. Even if it did not break the sect from within, it would at least dampen their morale and give an opening to those unwilling to oppose the court.

He pondered a moment and said, “Never underestimate any enemy. The Five Poisons Sect is a major force. With the destruction of Prajna Monastery, they may already sense something is amiss.”

“Heh, I understand,” Jiang Jin chuckled, flattering, “With you leading, Overseer, they won’t dare kick up much trouble.”

“Let’s get on with the journey,” Xu Boqing said, shaking his head, losing interest in further conversation. He turned his attention to the ‘Umbrella of the People.’

At first, he’d thought little of it, seeing only the villagers’ goodwill. But now, with the umbrella in hand, perhaps it was psychological, but it seemed heavy, laden with something unseen.

Using the ‘Celestial Eye’ technique, he realized that the seemingly ordinary umbrella was actually surrounded by faint, multicolored wisps of ‘turbid aura.’ This aura was not truly murky, but a weave of many subtle, nearly undetectable traces—each strand an individual, yet all interdependent.

A vague understanding dawned on Xu Boqing. He brushed his hand lightly over the umbrella, watching the aura coil around his fingers like silk—an intriguing sight.

The umbrella’s canopy and patchwork strips were torn from old clothes of the locals, some straight from the garments they wore. According to Zhang Taixu’s “Treatise on the Origin of Qi,” all things are formed from ‘qi’—so did these fine threads of ‘qi’ on the umbrella represent everyone who helped make it? Did the mingling, turbid aura signify the ‘worldly qi’ of the common folk?

If it came from the people, from the world, then were the so-called ‘merit’ and ‘wish-power’ of legend also born of such origins?

If, as Zhu Sisi claimed, the cultivators of this world view the mortal realm as poison, what exactly do they fear? Is it merely the divide between immortals and mortals? Or do they worry that unstable disciples will lose themselves amid worldly affairs and abandon their ambitions? Or is it… that they fear being tainted by this ‘worldly qi’?

And if all is ‘qi,’ could one not cultivate by harnessing this ‘worldly qi’?

Xu Boqing’s gaze shifted as he waved his hand, letting the ‘worldly qi’ circling his fingers return to the umbrella. He mused that, if given the chance, he might one day find someone to test this idea.