Chapter One: Turbulent Times

Dayong.

The thirty-fourth year of Ruihe.

Cangwu Town.

Clip-clop, clip-clop…

A column of cavalry slowly entered the town.

“Good people, the northern barbarians have repeatedly invaded, and the situation on the northern front is tense. By imperial decree, every household with a male aged sixteen or above must send one son to the front to defend the nation. Without a country, there is no home. To protect Dayong is our unshirkable duty! Each family, step forward and receive the decree!”

“The Chen family, receive the decree!”

“Here!”

“The Liu family, receive the decree!”

“Yes!”

…

Qin Yi slipped away from the noisy crowd and hurried toward his home.

“This is the third conscription this year,” he sighed quietly. The previous two times, only those aged eighteen and above were taken. Now, even those who have reached sixteen must go to war!

He was not originally from this world. In his previous life, he had been an ordinary office worker. Three months ago, he woke one morning to find himself in this place, inhabiting the body of another named Qin Yi—this Qin Yi was just fifteen years old.

This world resembled none of the histories he knew. Here, the land was called Dayong, a nation five hundred and thirty years in existence.

In an alley south of the small town.

Qin Yi, returning from his thoughts, looked up at the familiar yet unfamiliar thatched cottage not far off and walked toward it, head bowed.

No sooner had he entered the courtyard—

“Fourth son, is there a letter from your third brother?” came the slightly tense voice of Qin Zumin from inside.

“Yes, Father!” Qin Yi hurried in, pulled the letter from his pocket, and handed it over.

“Good, that’s good!”

Seeing the old man’s anxious face relax, Qin Yi thought to himself: perhaps this is what it means when the flames of war burn for months on end, and a letter from home is worth more than gold.

“Father, I’ll go make dinner,” Qin Yi said quietly.

“Go on,” Qin Zumin replied, eyes fixed on the letter, tearing it open.

Evening.

The tung oil lamp was already lit inside the room.

On the dinner table there was only coarse rice, some greens, and flat beans.

Father and son ate in silence, the atmosphere heavy.

As Qin Yi sifted through the original owner’s memories, he learned that since news had come a year ago of his eldest brother’s death on the battlefield, Qin Zumin had grown more and more withdrawn. Especially after his second brother was conscripted half a year ago—and a month later news came of his death—old Qin became almost completely silent.

Only today, when the third brother Qin Jie’s letter arrived, did he show even a glimmer of emotion.

His third brother Qin Jie had been conscripted three months ago. Today, his first letter home finally arrived.

“Fourth son, pack your things tonight. At dawn tomorrow, come with me to the Qingwei Daoist Temple outside Jinyuan County,” Qin Zumin said, setting down his chopsticks.

“Father, are you going to pray for my third brother?”

“No. I’m sending you to become a Daoist priest,” Qin Zumin said with determination in his eyes.

“To help me escape the calamity of war?” Qin Yi was startled.

Truth be told, the third conscription this year filled him with a sense of crisis. This time, those sixteen and older were taken. What if next time they took even younger boys?

He was already fifteen.

In his previous life, he had known only peace and had no idea how cruel war could be.

Now, though he hadn’t witnessed war with his own eyes, the deaths of his eldest and second brothers were proof enough of its brutality.

And with three rounds of conscription in Dayong in one year, the northern war clearly was not going well. Otherwise, they would not have conscripted so relentlessly.

If he were sent to the battlefield, his chances of survival would be pitifully small.

Qin Zumin paused at his words, then said softly, “You’ve always been cleverer than your brothers.”

“Yes, I want you to become a Daoist priest to escape the war. Once you are registered as a Daoist, you won’t be conscripted or required for labor. I don’t know if your third brother will return, and I don’t want to see you sent to the battlefield as well.”

Qin Yi was deeply moved. In both his lives, he had a father who loved him.

“But with all these conscriptions, everyone is trying to avoid the war. If we can think of this, others will too. Will Qingwei Daoist Temple still accept new disciples?” Qin Yi voiced his concern.

Though this world’s history differed from his own, some customs were familiar. Monks and Daoists were exempt from conscription and labor.

Of course, in peaceful times, it was hard to obtain priestly registration. One had to apply and be approved through many levels, and each temple had limited places.

But in times of war, the rules were relaxed. The authorities were overwhelmed and had no time to enforce restrictions. Many commoners sought refuge in temples, becoming monks or Daoists to escape the chaos.

“Yesterday, Butcher Zhang from the north of town sent his son to Qingwei Daoist Temple. I went to ask; they are still accepting, but it costs twenty taels of silver,” Qin Zumin said in a lowered voice.

“But we don’t have twenty taels of silver!”

A single tael was a thousand copper coins. In the past, a jin of grain cost five coins. Now, with war, it was ten coins per jin. Even so, twenty taels was a fortune.

“The death gratuities for your eldest and second brothers amount to more than ten taels. I’ve saved a few more over the years. I think we can gather enough,” Qin Zumin said.

“Father, that money was earned with the lives of my brothers. You should keep it for your old age!” Qin Yi protested.

“You fool! If your third brother dies and you go to war too, what use will the money be to me?” Qin Zumin scolded.

…

Three days later.

On the square of Qingwei Daoist Temple.

A lean, elderly Daoist priest in a green robe looked at the hundred or so newcomers before him, cleared his throat, and announced, “From now on, you are all disciples of Qingwei Daoist Temple. Starting today, you must attend morning lessons every day. Only after morning lessons may you do other things. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Qingsong!” the crowd replied in unison.

Uncle Qingsong was the instructor, responsible for leading the morning and evening lessons.

“Good. Now I will teach you the Song of the Great Way. This is your daily required lesson.”

Old Qingsong sat serenely on the dais and began to chant, “The Great Way is spirited; all methods are inseparable from the Way. The Way is never apart from oneself; cultivate your body and nourish your life…”

Below, Qin Yi frowned, unable to understand the words, but he could do nothing but recite along with the others.

The scripture contained only a few hundred words, and was quickly finished. Then the old priest had them repeat it ten times before stopping.

“Next, recite with me the Yellow Court Daoist Canon. This too is a daily requirement here. Once you know it by heart, I shall explain its meaning. For now, recite after me!”

An hour later.

After reciting the Yellow Court Daoist Canon twenty times, old Qingsong finally released them to breakfast.