Chapter Eighty-Two: The Mysterious Scheming Merchant

I set out on a long and winding journey of pursuit, doing what he once did across the Nine Provinces and Four Seas, seeking traces of him in every little thing.

Within the heavenly realms of the Nine Provinces, there existed the Five Hills and Eight Marshes, which were not under the jurisdiction of the provinces but reported directly to the Celestial Palace. Each of the Five Hills and Eight Marshes had its own sovereign lord. Due to distant ties with the Jade Purity Realm, these lords, though treated impartially by my master during his life, had always kept themselves apart, showing respect on the surface but never truly yielding, and forbidding their people from venerating my master.

But that year, the immortals of the Five Hills and Eight Marshes reversed their stance, placing my master’s divine tablet at the highest altar in their temples, calling upon the departed God of Chongming to return in answer to their prayers.

For that year, the immortal realms suffered a calamity shared by all—a rare drought, soon followed by a plague of spirit locusts, leaving the harvests of immortal grain utterly barren.

Those of the higher immortal ranks, having mastered the art of fasting, could abstain from food and drink, conserving their essence and life force. But the ordinary immortals below that rank were not so fortunate. After forty-nine days without immortal grain to replenish what was spent, their immortal essence would be exhausted, and they would perish.

As this disaster was a tribulation born of collective karma, not even the Lord of Spring Breeze, master of the seasons and tillage, could alter it. All he could do was use his divine power to draw part of the catastrophe upon himself, striving to share and resist the burden, draining himself daily until he was utterly spent and haggard.

The Celestial Palace, eager to maintain order and prevent riots among the starving, forbade refugees from fleeing, locking them within their lands. Yet in secret, they employed both soft and hard tactics: outwardly acting as peacemakers, urging the Nine Provinces to aid the Five Hills and Eight Marshes, while covertly encouraging their lords to pressure the provinces for relief grain. Their aim was clear—to exploit the disaster to weaken the power of the provinces and the Jade Purity Realm.

Such petty schemes were clear enough to Spring Breeze, myself, and the lords of the Nine Provinces. Yet in times of crisis, the greater good must be kept in mind. Though the Celestial Palace acted unjustly, we in the Jade Purity Realm could not turn our backs on the suffering immortals—for it was not the palace’s own nobility who suffered.

Spring Breeze was preoccupied with resisting the calamity by his magic, so I took his place, bringing immortal fruit and grain from Hundred Flowers Isle, slipping past the palace’s blockade to assess the disaster’s extent. The Jade Purity Realm’s outposts in each province were distributing grain; though the provinces too suffered from drought, their stores kept starvation from the streets.

Disguised as an old woman, I made my way to Chengtu Province in the north, hardest hit by the drought. There, immortals were gathered outside the Jade Purity outpost, burning incense and kneeling in prayer for rain. Some prayed with utmost devotion, while others explained the cause of the drought to the crowd.

“Do you know? If Lord Yunxiao hadn’t always warned our sovereign not to grow complacent in times of plenty, not to pursue profit endlessly, to store grain and plant diverse crops for lean years, we’d be starving just like the immortals of the Five Hills.”

“Such wisdom! The Five Hills never truly allied with us. If Lord Yunxiao didn’t warn them, it serves them right!”

“Not so! He warned them as well. But the lords of the Five Hills, under the Celestial Palace, refused to heed him. Year after year, they only grew rare flowers and herbs for profit, making a fortune to curry favor with the palace. Their nobles amassed mountains of gold and silver, boxes of fine silks, thinking they could always buy grain from us. Their granaries held almost nothing. Who could have foreseen famine across the land and no grain to be found? Now their wealth is useless, nothing but waste. Those who have reached higher ranks can use their cultivation to survive without food, but what about their families who haven’t? They can hardly cut their own flesh to feed them. I hear the immortals there are bowing at Lord Yunxiao’s altar till their heads bleed, praying for a miracle.”

A nearby immortal sighed, “When he was here, they defied him. Now that his soul is scattered, what hope are they praying for?”

“Exactly. Those who managed to escape try to trade their treasures for our grain, but we need it for ourselves—no one’s trading, no matter the price. Those who can’t escape die in fine silks on the streets.”

“It’s basic reason, yet Lord Yunxiao always had to worry over it.”

“Indeed, it’s simple. All sentient beings, whether mortal or immortal, are the same—greed blinds them in good times.”

“Isn’t it the Celestial Palace’s duty? Aren’t these their problems to solve?”

“Solve it how? Open their granaries? The palace wouldn’t dare—to them, it’s for their own nobles and soldiers. We’re lucky they don’t fight us for grain as it is. They claim fairness, but openly and secretly push the Five Hills to demand our grain, forcing Nine Provinces to give up our stores.”

“Shameless. Since Lord Yunxiao’s passing, the palace has only suppressed us more, favoring the Five Hills and Eight Marshes.”

“What can we do? Those lords are all Crown Prince’s men now. Without our own lord, we’re easy prey.”

“And in a calamity like this, the palace’s favoritism is useless. In the end, the poor and commoners will be left to starve.”

After surveying the situation, I found the provinces were indeed holding on as these immortals had said. So I hurried to the Five Hills and Eight Marshes.

Where once the Eight Marshes brimmed with water and grass, now they were cracked mud flats, even the weeds turned yellow. Corpses of unascended creatures lay everywhere, and many lesser immortals, their cultivation too shallow, had already perished for lack of immortal essence.

The Five Hills were in even worse straits. As the immortals from the provinces had said, many lesser immortals, clad in silks and brocades, had died in the wild, their bodies torn open by beasts—grisly beyond words. The worst was Ling Hill, where the immortal fruit and grain I brought from Hundred Flowers Isle was snatched up in an instant, a mere drop in the ocean. Those I revived with my tears soon starved again and were devoured by wild beasts. Even in my true form, I was chased in disarray by a mob of starving immortals shouting for meat.

The disaster did not end there. Immortal merchants with grain in hand raised their prices, a single bushel costing three hundred gold leaves in Ling Hill. Only the lords and nobles could afford such grain.

I was at a loss. Even if my tears could bring the dead to life, nurture and restore growth, in the face of such a calamity, even as a deity, my meager strength was futile. However many I revived, without rain or grain, they would soon perish again.

At the gates of Ling Hill’s palace, crowds of immortals lined up for the thin gruel sent from the provinces, voices rife with complaint. There I heard of a new development.

In recent days, a peculiar immortal merchant had arrived, selling grain at thirty gold leaves per bushel—ten times cheaper than the others—but only allowing each person a single purchase, up to two loads. The lords and nobles, well-informed, used their power to snatch up the merchant’s grain with chests of gold and treasure. With supplies secured, their families were safe, while the poor immortals had only the provinces’ thin gruel. The merchant sold only to the elite, then moved on, leaving the commoners with treasure in hand but no way to buy even a handful of grain, heartlessly refused.

I thought, truly, there is no trade without cunning. Though this merchant’s price was a tenth that of the others, thirty gold leaves per bushel was still exorbitant—a bushel would cost only a single gold leaf for ten loads in years of plenty. This shrewd merchant, having hoarded grain and now reaping the lords’ fortunes, had certainly fleeced the Five Hills’ elite. While it was satisfying to see the greedy nobles pay dearly for their lesson, their wealth lost but their lives spared, what of the ordinary immortals?

Left with no better choice, I decided to try the impossible—to fly to the Northern Sea and use the Cloud-Conjuring Technique to draw rain and snow, for though distant water cannot quench present thirst, it was the only hope left.

Transforming into my true form, a white sparrow, I flew to the Northern Sea. From afar, I saw dense clouds gathering above the sea—not natural, but conjured by magic. It turned out that Brother Kunpeng and Brother Shijun had already arrived, weaving clouds in the sky.

Seeing my brothers conjure clouds, my heart soared back to Seeking Immortal Cliff. If only Master were here, he would surely turn these waters into the most beautiful rain and snow for the provinces. The pain in my heart was overwhelming; I hid in the shadows, infusing my tears of rebirth into the clouds. Once the clouds were ready, Brother Kunpeng transformed into his true form, a great roc, soaring skyward, sweeping the clouds toward the Nine Provinces.

I returned first to Ling Hill, only to find, in a single day, the situation had improved greatly. Some immortals were already clearing the starved bodies left to wild beasts. It turned out the lords and nobles, after buying up the mysterious merchant’s grain, had prompted other merchants to lower their prices to thirty gold leaves per bushel. Unexpectedly, the original merchant returned, dropping his price to one gold leaf for two bushels, accepting gold, silver, silks, and fine garments—still only one purchase per person, up to one load, and those who had bought before could not buy again. The nobles, having already purchased, could only watch. The merchant’s lowered price let those who missed out before snatch up the grain, making him another fortune. The immortals traded their treasures for life-saving grain, and the disaster eased. All hailed this merchant as a paragon of virtue.

I thought to myself, the immortals of the Five Hills and Eight Marshes, accustomed to their status under the Celestial Palace, were rarely so grateful for being taken advantage of. Though the mysterious merchant had emptied their coffers, his foresight in storing grain and his willingness to sell at a critical hour had saved countless lives—a deed both far-sighted and virtuous. In times like these, wealth was as worthless as dirt; grain was life. With this grain, at last my tears could be put to use.

Marveling at the merchant’s cunning, I could not help but feel a measure of respect and curiosity toward him.

Half a day later, the clouds conjured by my brothers over the Four Seas, driven by Brother Kunpeng’s mighty wings, reached the skies above the immortal realms.

The thick clouds blotted out the sun. Immortals across the Nine Provinces and Five Hills wept with joy, running to spread the news, kneeling and bowing in gratitude.

“Lord Yunxiao has shown his spirit! He has returned!”

“We have hope again!”

Hearing their cries, my heart brimmed with tears. Every gesture and movement of my brothers recalled our master’s shadow. As his direct disciples, they had inherited not only his immortal arts but were also the bearers of light and hope.

All prayed for a magnificent rain and snow to descend, but above the clouds, the scorching sun blazed. Though my brothers had conjured clouds from the Four Seas, their power was not enough to overcome this great calamity—the clouds would not turn to rain or snow. Exhausted, they could only struggle to maintain the clouds’ form, on the verge of collapse. All hearts were filled with anxiety!