Chapter 96: Reunion with an Old Friend

Chapter 96: Reunion with Old Friends

As Zhang Wei’s voice drifted further and nearer, Zhang Sanlu once again felt that familiar sensation. He struggled to open his eyes, and the pristine white walls around him, along with the beeping machinery, seemed to rapidly fade away. Soon, the bright white energy-saving lamp morphed into a scorching, blinding light that made it impossible to keep his eyes open.

That was... the sun!

Beneath the dazzling sunlight, Zhang Sanlu realized he was lying on a bed that rocked beneath him, the creaking and groaning wood threatening to collapse at any moment. This bed—or rather, this vehicle—traveled along a bumpy road, as if on a rugged, uneven path. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were weighed down as if by something heavy, only allowing him to see partially. He had to rely on his sense of hearing and touch to perceive his surroundings.

The creaking grew louder, accompanied by the crunch of wheels rolling over stones, and the distant, occasional wails of grief, painting a terrifying scene. Zhang Sanlu had no idea where he was or where he was going.

“Sanlu, Sanlu, my friend?”

A somewhat familiar voice called out. He felt someone lift his clothing around his belly, followed by a sigh.

Then, faintly, he heard the crackle of flames. Someone helped him sit up and pressed a bowl to his lips, its contents tinged with the scent of burnt paper and a sharp taste of sulfur.

The dryness in his mouth was instantly soothed, and he strained to swallow all the water. The burning in his throat faded, replaced by a cool stream flowing from his throat to his stomach and spreading to his limbs. Though he still lacked strength, his senses became much clearer.

“How is Brother Zhang, our master?” two anxious voices asked simultaneously.

“Though Sanlu suffered severe wounds, none are fatal. I’ve used the ‘Healing’ talisman; it works faster than medicine, and he recovers quickly. It won’t be long before he’s fully healed.”

“Thank you, immortal master! Thank you!”

“No need for thanks. Sanlu and I became friends at first sight, and besides, it was I who invited him here. Pity that Mancheng is absent. The journey was long, and it must have been hard for you both to escort him, relying solely on manpower.”

“We followed the notes on our master’s clothing and traveled north, asking along the way. At first, we had a horse pulling the cart, but refugees crowded the road, suffering everywhere. Despite the severe famine, taxes are still collected as usual, and county officials continue to arrest and torture people. It’s hard enough to survive—what’s manpower in the face of that? But this place seems less afflicted; there are fewer refugees, and relief is well organized.”

“Master possesses profound virtue, driving away evil, and the surrounding prefectures, though lacking imperial orders, still heed his counsel. Many county offices secretly open their granaries. Yet the disaster and turmoil are widespread...” Zhang Zhi Dao sighed.

By now, Zhang Sanlu could slowly open his eyes.

“Hey? He’s awake, he’s awake!” Hui Niang cried out joyfully.

As Zhang Sanlu opened his eyes, he saw several faces leaning over him, each filled with concern.

“Where am I?” Zhang Sanlu swallowed, his voice still hoarse.

“Zhao Prefecture,” Zhang Zhi Dao replied with a smile. “It’s good you’re awake, thanks to these two young friends who braved mountains and rivers, enduring hardship to bring you here.”

Zhang Sanlu’s eyes grew hot as he turned to look at Zheng Ji and Hui Niang.

Their figures were especially gaunt. Their faces were thinner, lips cracked from long thirst, and their skin had darkened from wind and sun, losing its former luster.

“Hui Niang, your new dress is gone. I’ll bring you another next time,” Zhang Sanlu rasped.

“Hui Niang’s own clothes are the prettiest,” she replied.

They stood there, gazing at Zhang Sanlu with intense warmth, their eyes filled with joy and deep worry. Tears shimmered in Hui Niang’s eyes, though her mouth smiled.

Looking at them, Zhang Sanlu felt a surge of emotion.

“Let’s hurry into the city; my master happens to be here. If the gate guards hadn’t reported that old friends were seeking me, I wouldn’t have known you’d arrived,” Zhang Zhi Dao said.

At that moment, someone led a horse over, harnessed it to the cart amid its whinnying, and the carriage rolled onward—the road ahead was much smoother.

The crowd grew, and shouts rang out: “All refugees, go to the northern city registration point—there’s a porridge tent for relief. Don’t crowd the gates; violators will be flogged ten times!”

As they passed through the city gate, Zheng Ji and Hui Niang worried they’d be stopped and sent north, but unlike before, they passed unhindered, the guards even saluting them with folded fists.

Zhang Sanlu lay in the cart, watching the city’s inner gate arch overhead, followed by the towering main gate of blue bricks, looming like dark clouds.

The bustling crowds parted around the carriage, their faces curious or reverent, whispering among themselves.

The carriage stopped and started, finally halting before a Daoist temple.

By now, Zhang Sanlu could gently sit up, whether by the talisman’s power or his own resilience. He checked the bandages on his chest and abdomen, wrapped in white cloth, and pressed them; only a slight pain remained.

“Qingfeng, fetch some senior brothers and help your uncle inside.”

Zhang Sanlu quickly waved his hand and sat up. “No need; Daoist brother’s talisman truly works wonders.” Zheng Ji and Hui Niang hurried to help him gently.

Zhang Zhi Dao, smiling, came over to assist, leading them into the temple.

Zhang Sanlu gazed at the ancient temple. Though small, it radiated a solemn, inexplicable aura. On the stone steps before the entrance, a long queue had formed, people with varied expressions, all bearing a hint of devotion and hope.

“Is this your sect’s temple?” Zhang Sanlu asked.

Zhang Zhi Dao chuckled, “We don’t have temples; we’re merely borrowing this place. We’re wandering Daoists, poor and rootless.” Standing at the entrance, clad in a neat Daoist robe, he looked every bit the sage.

Several young Daoist acolytes emerged, two carrying a sedan chair, rushing forward to carry Zhang Sanlu inside. But he waved it off, showing he could walk. Leaning on the cart’s shaft, he walked around the carriage into the temple.

Eyes from the crowd fell on them—some reverent, some curious, some admiring.

The villagers greeted Zhang Zhi Dao, and smiled sincerely at Zhang Sanlu, whose red robe was tattered.

Inside the main hall, a plaque hung overhead with four large characters: “Harmony with the Dao.” The hall’s furnishings were simple; at its center stood a tall, imposing deity statue.

In front of the statue was a rectangular altar, neatly arranged with incense burners, candles, and ritual implements. The air was tinged with the faint scent of incense.

As Zhang Sanlu walked, he surveyed the surroundings.