Chapter 20: Mid-Autumn Arrives in Lin’an

Three days later, on the eighteenth day of the seventh lunar month in the thirteenth year of the Jiading era, at the small North Gate pier of Xiangyang, Qiu Zhiqing looked at the bustling ferry traffic on the Han River and sighed, "They really never forget to do business, no matter when it is!"

Meng Gong, for once, did not retort but instead agreed, "Indeed. Even the military is like this. If this continues, it’s worrying for our combat effectiveness."

Qiu Zhiqing wanted to ask if he didn't realize that the combat strength of the Song army was already quite worrying, but he decided against it; it would be unkind to stab him with such a remark just as they were about to part ways.

The two stood by the Han River in silence for a moment. Then, Meng Gong took a small pouch from his robe and handed it to Qiu Zhiqing. "This is the consultation fee from Commander Zhao, and also a thank you for your help."

Meng Gong paused, then added, "Even though you didn't really manage to help much."

Qiu Zhiqing took the pouch, weighed it in his hand, and felt it was substantial. Without checking the contents, he tucked it into his robe and retorted, "I assume that last part was your own addition? You’ve got nerve, though—daring to ask the Prefect for a consultation fee!"

He pulled the pouch back out and added, "We agreed to split it fifty-fifty; you can't just renege on that."

Meng Gong pressed his hand down to stop him. "We have fought alongside each other many times; in the army, that makes us brothers of life and death. Besides, this was entrusted to me by Commander Zhao to pass to you; I didn't solicit it. If you really want to split it with me, I’ve heard there are two famous taverns in Lin'an: one called the Yongjin Tower, and the other the Fengle Tower. They have over two hundred signature dishes, fifty types of fine wine, and more than three hundred private rooms. When you reach Lin'an, taste them on my behalf. If you have the chance, come back and tell me about it—let that be my half of the fee. How about it?"

Qiu Zhiqing was stunned. Lacking the vocabulary to express his disbelief, he could only think, *What the hell?* He didn't believe it—three hundred private rooms, two hundred dishes, fifty wines? Who was he trying to fool?

*Whatever, I'll see when I get to Lin'an.* He decided he would tell him the truth upon his return—no spreading rumors!

He weighed the money bag again and tucked it back. "Very well. Since you are so sincere in refusing, I shall be shameless enough to keep it all for myself!"

Ignoring Meng Gong's eye-roll, Qiu Zhiqing grumbled, "And that old man, being so secretive about paying a consultation fee. Why couldn't he just give it to me directly when I left?"

Meng Gong sighed. "For someone of Commander Zhao’s standing, it is truly inappropriate to have too much involvement with people from the jianghu, especially since you hail from the premier Daoist sect of the North." He hesitated, then asked, "Is your Quanzhen Sect truly the number one sect?"

"Seems so. You didn't know?" Faced with this counter-question, Meng Gong was speechless. He recalled what Commander Zhao had told him before he left:

"This Quanzhen is the premier Daoist sect of the North, with complex ties to the Jin Dynasty; it is said that even a Jin prince has studied under them. Years ago, it was rumored that a Minister of War of our dynasty was assassinated by a Quanzhen priest. It would be best for Puyu to draw a clear line between you and them as soon as possible. The current court is treacherous; one misstep and you fall into an abyss. I know of your father’s intentions, but at this critical juncture, it is better to remain still than to act. Protecting the borders is the priority; whether we fight or make peace, it is for the court officials to decide..."

Meng Gong had wanted to ask if it were true that Quanzhen was so close to the Jin, but decided against it. What did it matter to him? The paths of the jianghu are long; perhaps they would never meet again. Why create friction?

Thinking of this, Meng Gong smiled. "I hadn't heard of it before and thought it was some rural temple. Now that I know it is the North's premier sect, I apologize for my ignorance!"

Qiu Zhiqing didn't find it strange and smiled. "Think nothing of it. If you ever need anything in the future, you can come find me at the Chongyang Palace on Mount Zhongnan. Whether it's divination or fortune-telling, I'm not very good at those, but I do know a thing or two about astrology and medicine."

Seeing the boatman beckoning, Qiu Zhiqing didn't linger. After saying goodbye to Meng Gong, he hurried toward the large ship.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the pier, a group of people was preparing to board. The middle-aged man with a square face at their head spotted the young Daoist who had nearly ruined his plans on the night of the Ghost Festival. He ordered, "Go find out where that young Daoist is headed!"

Seeing his subordinate depart, he boarded the ship. Soon, the subordinate returned to report: the Daoist had boarded the Cao family’s merchant ship. The subordinate then thoughtfully asked, "Leader, should we...?" He made a throat-slitting gesture.

The square-faced man pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "Since he is on the Cao family’s ship, let it be. Business is the priority; we shouldn't invite unnecessary trouble. Spare his life for now."

On the other side, oblivious to the fact that his life had been spared, Qiu Zhiqing was having the boatman teach him how to apply acupuncture and massage to treat his rheumatism, while simultaneously writing out a prescription.

An hour later, he was quite satisfied with his new quarters; he no longer had to squeeze into the cargo hold, and he had saved three hundred wen in travel expenses! It seemed having a good medical skill was indeed very beneficial.

On the Han River, ships came and went. It took the boatman great effort to clear the ferry and begin heading downstream. The fleet consisted of ten large ships, all belonging to the same merchant house, supposedly transporting goods to Xiangyang.

Qiu Zhiqing had no idea what was being transported, and he couldn't be bothered to ask. They couldn't return empty-handed, so one-third of the cabins were piled high with various medicinal herbs.

When Qiu Zhiqing followed the boatman down to retrieve some herbs, he was surprised to see large quantities of medicine simply stuffed into sacks in one of the cabins.

The journey required a stop in Jiangzhou, where the owner intended to purchase porcelain to sell to Western barbarians. The journey from Xiangyang to Jiangzhou—over a thousand li by water—took more than ten days.

The two-day stop was nowhere near enough time for Qiu Zhiqing to visit Mount Lu, so he had to stay on the boat waiting for the cargo to be loaded.

Having never visited Mount Lu in his past or present life, Qiu Zhiqing couldn't help but feel a bit regretful. He resolved that once this business was over, he would definitely find time to tour the beautiful landscapes of China properly.

Two days later, they set sail again. The fleet traveled about a thousand li down the Yangtze to Zhenjiang, then took the four-hundred-li southern section of the Grand Canal to Lin'an. Unable to bear the slow pace, Qiu Zhiqing switched to a so-called "fast boat," which was much more comfortable.

At noon on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month in the thirteenth year of the Jiading era, the fast boat entered Lin'an through the Yuhang Water Gate in the north of the city. The water gate had a unique design—a barbican structure where one could climb directly onto the city walls.

Two squads of soldiers were responsible for collecting the gate tax. Outside the gate was a mechanism resembling a portcullis, likely an iron grate. The walls were covered in ivy, appearing vibrant.

The tax-collecting soldiers were lackluster; in Qiu Zhiqing’s estimation, they were not even as capable as the men under Chief Yu he had met in Fancheng, let alone the Mongol cavalry he had encountered at Xihe Fort.

They were incomparable in terms of spirit, morale, or physical condition. It was no wonder that once Xiangyang fell, the Southern Song would lose half its territory within a mere three years. It was truly tragic.

As soon as he stepped ashore, Qiu Zhiqing almost felt as if he had traveled back to a modern-day pedestrian street. Shops lined both sides, banners fluttered, and people surged back and forth.

He had not seen such prosperity in the Guanzhong region, nor in Xiangyang, Jiujiang, or Zhenjiang. It reminded him of Liu Yong’s poem, *Gazing at the Sea Tide*:

*The southeast is a place of beauty and prosperity, the meeting point of the Three Wus, where Qiantang has flourished since ancient times.*
*With misty willows and painted bridges, wind-curtains and emerald screens, there are a hundred thousand households.*

...

This was the state of Lin'an a hundred years ago; with the continued management of the Southern Song, its prosperity was unimaginable.

The only annoyance was that he couldn't quite understand the local dialect. Moreover, perhaps because there were few Daoists here, people kept pointing at him. *Is there something on my face?*

Perhaps his attire was too strange, but wasn't this how his master and uncles dressed?

Unable to figure it out, he stopped thinking about it. Qiu Zhiqing did not immediately go to a Daoist temple to register his stay; doing so would mean his lineage and background would be recorded clearly, which would be unfavorable for his mission that night.

It was frustrating. His master had told him to deliver a letter, but it was to the Imperial Palace. This wasn't the modern era where one could talk to a security guard or a receptionist to get someone to come out.

This was the Imperial Palace! If he went up to an Imperial Guard and said, "I have a letter to deliver personally into the palace, could you facilitate this?" they would likely be very happy to capture him as a suspicious character and take him in for a reward.

Today was the fifteenth of the eighth month, the Mid-Autumn Festival. He had hurried to reach Lin'an in time to experience the festival in the prosperous capital, but unfortunately, the Crown Prince of the Song Dynasty had just passed away!

Sitting on a stone bench near the Dali Temple by the Qiantang Gate—the very place where Yue Fei had died in injustice—he listened to the local people talking:

"Have you heard? His Majesty has lost another crown prince. That’s the eighth one now, alas..."

"Who says otherwise? Ever since the Emperor moved to Lin'an, it’s been hard to raise even a prince. Some people say it’s because of the wrongful execution of Lord Yue, bringing down the wrath of Heaven..."