Chapter 44: The Demon of Lanruo Temple

Water travel in ancient times was nothing like the speed of modern days, especially on a pleasure barge such as this. At best, it crawled along at a pace barely faster than walking. With progress so slow, there was no sense in letting a boatload of sturdy young men idle away their time in boredom—it would ruin the mood entirely. Naturally, entertainment became a necessity on board.

And never underestimate the monks of the Song Dynasty. If they could command the financial currents of the realm, how could they not have a few tricks up their sleeves? For instance, admiring the flowers required the scholars to purchase them as tokens. Osmanthus cost ten copper coins each, lotus fifty, orchid a hundred, plum blossom five hundred, and the most expensive—rose—was a full string of a thousand cash.

It was much like the live-streaming platforms of later ages: as long as the atmosphere didn’t cool, the gifts and rewards flowed endlessly. When the excitement peaked, it was as if the skies were filled with planes and rockets. The monks could recover their entire outlay from the flower rewards alone.

Once the barge was filled to capacity, it set off for the opposite shore. In the cabin above, several scholars chatted animatedly about this year’s Hundred Flowers Festival, debating which young lady had brows arched like misty smoke, eyes brimming with unshed laughter, lips red without rouge, and brows green without paint.

But what Shen Shi heard most was, “a face round as a silver basin…” That phrase was truly off-putting; after hearing “silver basin” once or twice, the entire conversation died.

“Young Master Shen, why don’t we discuss poetry instead? Such a grand occasion surely calls for fine verses.” It was Bao Fei Qiu again. From the moment they left home and boarded the boat, he acted as if possessed by a mother’s spirit, ever concerned for Shen Shi and determined to steer his interests away from tales of the supernatural and toward the literary arts. It was only during the commotion of boarding that he’d been briefly quiet; now, seeing Shen Shi’s disinterest in women, he resumed his entreaties.

“Indeed! With such beautiful scenery, brother, you ought to compose some poetry. Ever since I heard your verses, meat has lost its flavor for three months,” chimed in Gongsun Ce, the lifelong friend, who immediately sided with Bao Fei Qiu and abandoned all talk of women to urge Shen Shi into poetic creation.

As if Shen Shi’s poetry were meant for such occasions! He shook his head, about to offer a perfunctory reply, when suddenly a river breeze brought a strange scent that made him frown. “Wait—don’t you smell something unusual drifting from the water?”

“No, not at all, Brother Shen. Are you trying to dodge our request again?” Gongsun Ce pressed on, ever the diligent friend.

“You truly don’t smell it?” Shen Shi asked again. He distinctly caught a familiar, fishy stench wafting from the river, and it put him instantly on alert.

Kong Xueli laughed, “There’s nothing here but the fragrance of ink and the sound of song. If there’s an odd scent, it must be perfume left by a beauty.” He breathed in with great satisfaction.

“Is that so?” Shen Shi frowned, about to open his spiritual sight to check for any demonic aura, when the pleasure barge lurched violently. A great splash followed.

Everyone instinctively turned toward the sound. They saw a scholar in white tumble headlong into the water, vanishing in an instant amid the spray.

“Someone’s fallen in!” Startled, the passengers hurried to the rail. The boatman grabbed an oar to try to fish the scholar out, but no matter how he maneuvered, he couldn’t reach him.

The scholar, meanwhile, seemed in a panic, ignoring the oar and flailing desperately. Instead of surfacing, he gulped down more and more river water.

“What’s going on? Why isn’t the boatman rescuing him?”

“Yes, hurry! If you delay, it could be fatal!”

Three or five scholars watched anxiously from the side, all talking at once, yet none offering to help. The boatman, struggling alone, soon lost his balance and tumbled into the river himself.

“Careful!”

Shen Shi rushed over, grabbed the boatman’s leg, and with one pull, hoisted him back onto the barge. Then, spinning around, he plunged his hand into the water, seized the scholar’s clothing, and hauled upward—only to realize, by the feel, that this was a woman. In this era, no man would have such a figure. But Shen Shi had no time for that; after dragging her aboard, he immediately looked out over the river.

A bubble rose to the surface, as if something beneath had darted away into the depths.

The supposed scholar’s attendant, who was really her maid, burst into tears and clung to her mistress.

The disguised scholar herself was terrified, face pale as paper, shivering. “I—I saw someone under the water! She grabbed my foot… then my neck, trying to pull me down. She kept saying I shouldn’t have boarded the boat, that I mustn’t cross the river…”

“What? A water ghost! It must be a water ghost! We can’t go on—we must turn back!” the boatman exclaimed in terror.

“Nonsense! In broad daylight, what water ghost? Just village superstitions,” Bao Fei Qiu declared loudly, refusing to believe. With him leading, the other scholars also dismissed the idea. Scholars, after all, did not believe in spirits—their teachers had always said, “The Master does not speak of the supernatural,” and none of them had ever seen a ghost.

But Shen Shi only frowned. If Bao Fei Qiu hadn’t been aboard, he might have dismissed it as a simple accident. But with Bao Fei Qiu’s notorious bad luck, and that dark face of his, nothing could be taken for granted.

A water ghost was unlikely, since it was broad daylight; such spirits feared the sun and rarely appeared. Of course, some with great power could roam even at noon.

To verify, Shen Shi opened his spiritual sight and looked at the drenched scholar—who was, in fact, a woman. Her fortune glowed bright red, which was remarkable, but what drew Shen Shi’s attention was the faint trace of demonic aura lingering around her ankles and neck.

A demon! Was there a water demon in the Qiantang River? And what kind?

The aura was weak, and nothing further revealed itself, so for now Shen Shi couldn’t guess what manner of demon it might be.

Lost in thought, he found his gaze lingering on the false scholar, whose name was Cao Jinhua. This made her heart race with uncertainty—should she be angry? When Shen Shi grabbed her, it had hurt, and no woman could remain unmoved when so roughly handled. Yet now she wondered: did he realize she was a woman?

Cao Jinhua’s attendant, her maid, noticed her mistress’s discomfort and immediately placed herself protectively in front of her.

“Boatman, what’s going on? Why aren’t we moving?”

The commotion and the halt finally roused the two brothers who had boarded earliest.