In the alley, Zhang Rongfang watched the direction in which Xiao Qingying and her companion left, until their figures completely vanished from sight, and then turned to leave.
On the way, he occasionally encountered disciples wearing light blue robes with white clothing over them.
Every time, he constantly stopped, stood aside, yielding the path and lowering his head in salute.
Inside the Qinghe Palace, disciples are divided into cultivating disciples and labor disciples.
Strictly speaking, labor disciples are considered temporary workers and can be dismissed at any time.
But cultivating disciples are different, so the rules of etiquette are extremely strict.
If there is any breach of etiquette, at the least they face contemplation, doing the hardest labor, at worst they are beaten with dozens of strokes and even directly beaten to death and thrown off the mountain.
Zhang Rongfang quickly arrived at the washing room and began, along with about a dozen other laborers, to sort through the dirty clothes brought in.
Clothing, Daoist crowns, flat shoes, high boots, belts, and other items needing cleaning were thrown here haphazardly.
Toiling through the day, he finally finished resting when it was almost half-past ten at night.
Once finished, Zhang Rongfang immediately left, carrying the money he had in his chest and headed straight for the Daoist registry office.
Not long after, he emerged from the office, his silver purse thoroughly drained, and the long accrued two taels of silver coins now only a little remaining.
With a sigh of relief, he looked ahead into the distance.
The Qinghe Palace at night was illuminated everywhere by oil lamps and candlelight.
From the direction of the three great halls and the Daoist temple still came slight chanting sounds; it was not the voices of Daoists, but some devout pilgrims staying over in the palace chanting sutras.
The sutra being recited was the Infinite Heart Sutra.
Zhang Rongfang followed the cobblestone path to the furthest disciple housing area.
The evening drum sounds floated from afar, alternating between strength and weakness with the wind.
Alongside the sounds brought by the wind came the aroma of some kind of roasted meat.
Involuntarily, Zhang Rongfang swallowed; the piece of black bread he had eaten in the cafeteria this afternoon wasn't enough to fill the gap in his teeth.
The meals for labor disciples consisted of two black bread pieces per meal, a plate of mixed pickles, and a bowl of egg soup which showed the bottom of the bowl at a glance.
Each bread was only half the size of a fist; it might barely suffice for someone inactive, but completely inadequate for labor disciples needing to do hard labor.
Passing a cliff platform, Zhang Rongfang paused briefly, turning his gaze downward from the platform.
Below the mountain, black clouds spread out, while a crescent moon cast its gentle glow; distant mountains stood silent, with the wind howling through them.
Two noblemen draped in sable were also standing in a corner on the right side of the platform, speaking softly, perhaps enjoying the moon, or conversing their hearts.
Zhang Rongfang borrowed the palace's lights to glance at them, noticing the brown fur of the sable cloaks glistening slightly, slick and glossy under the light.
He had always thought sable cloaks were purple, but now it seemed there was no sign of purple at all.
"What are you doing loitering here? Don't disturb the laymen!" At this moment, a squad of patrolling Daoists walked past, reprimanding in low voices.
Among them, the leader, tall and strong with a face full of black beard, carried a lantern in one hand and a long stick in the other.
From afar, he seemed like a mountain tiger, his gaze fierce, exuding considerable authority.
Zhang Rongfang sighed quietly in his heart. Labor disciples have no rights...
Outwardly, however, he promptly bowed in salute, not neglecting etiquette.
"Yes. I will return immediately." he replied.
The tall and strong Daoist had the title Qi Mountain and was leading the disciples during this patrol period.
Zhang Rongfang had encountered him several times before, leaving a deep impression on him.
This person stood over two meters tall, with a thick waist and broad shoulders, sturdy limbs full of power, having once held an advantage in a one-to-three spar in the Daoist field.
Qi Mountain Daoist nodded, watching Zhang Rongfang quickening his steps toward the labor disciples' housing area before shifting his gaze to continue patrolling.
In the blink of an eye, half a month had passed.
During this half-month, Zhang Rongfang traveled daily between the washing room, Daoist field, cafeteria, and disciple housing area.
Everyday meals were dry and had no richness, causing him not to notice any signs of accumulating attributes.
He knew that each time he accumulated attributes, he would sense a slight warmth gathering within his body.
But once too much was consumed, this accumulation of warmth weakened noticeably.
Over ten days, Zhang Rongfang had to wash large buckets of clothes daily, consuming significant energy.
He understood that he must find a way out of this situation.
Yet it was not without good news. After spending money, during the second round of labor disciples being eliminated and sent down the mountain, his name was not among them.
This allowed Zhang Rongfang to breathe a sigh of relief.
The Daoist registry was highly valued in the Great Spirit; if he could ascend higher later, his treatment would greatly improve.
Time flowed day by day, and quickly, more than half a month had passed.
Qinghe Palace had sent off a batch of distinguished guests who came for a tea party, starting the yearly selection and examination of the cultivating disciples anew.
Watching his attribute bar showing no increase, still at zero, Zhang Rongfang realized more clearly that he couldn't waste time anymore.
But for the moment, he had no good solution.
*
*
*
April, 1183.
Zhang Rongfang carried two buckets of clothes, proceeding along the mountain road towards the drying field at the back mountain.
The sky was faintly bright, and the Qinghe Palace, rectangular in structure, had the drying field at its back adjacent to mountain forest stone walls, located outside the palace walls.
Aside from the Daoists coming to dry clothes, hardly anyone else came here.
All around were bare woods and piles of pale rocks.
Zhang Rongfang walked a few steps and rested a bit. On the one hand, the paths here were hard to walk, and on the other, the mountain mist was heavy, making it difficult to see ahead.
Every time at such moments, he heard senior brothers and sisters in the laundry room say there might be mountain monkeys coming out to steal clothes.
So he had to be extra careful.
When drying clothes, someone must be watching. This time Zhang Rongfang was lucky to get this relatively leisurely job.
Two barrels of clothes weighed sixty pounds, and back and forth he'd have to carry at least fifteen barrels, and this was just some of the robes.
He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and prepared to continue forward.
At that moment, from the mist to his left-front, faint voices were heard.
"...didn't come, how come? Could it be that she suspected you before?" A hushed young male voice said.
"I don't know... probably not, she was even confiding in me last night..." another female voice replied with some panic.
"No matter what, this time when you go to town for supplies, you must create an opportunity, put this thing into her gourd before leaving..." the male voice whispered as much as possible.
Zhang Rongfang's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the first time he overheard someone speaking privately, but this time... there seemed to be some problem.
In the Daoist Palace, because of the wind, the sound from a dozen meters away could somewhat be heard, even if lowered.
And the people involved often wouldn't notice.
Zhang Rongfang immediately stopped, slowly backing away.
This place usually had no people, and since they were having a secret conversation, if he were discovered, the consequences might be bad.
Then he gradually heard some instructions.
Such matters he didn't want to manage, nor did he have the capability, but just as he intended to turn and leave, suddenly a name pierced his ear.
Xiao Qingying!
Zhang Rongfang stopped, his eyes flickering.
After pausing, he continued to retreat for a distance, and then deliberately hummed a Dao scripture, carrying the clothes forward.
The sound drifted forward, and quickly upon reaching the previous position, he indeed heard no more voices.
Clearly, those two engaged in secret conversation had heard him approaching and left early.
Zhang Rongfang continued on his way, pondering in his heart.
He didn't know who the speakers were, but he remembered the voice. Moreover, the conversation mentioned drugging during a trip to town, so it seemed Xiao Qingying might be targeted on some trip to town.
Therefore, as long as he found out when she would go to town, he could secretly warn her.
After passing the message, if anything happened, on one hand, he could repay Xiao Qingying for the favor, and on the other, perhaps even...
Zhang Rongfang kept his expression unchanged and went to the drying ground as usual, helped another disciple place all the clothes neatly on the drying racks in rows.
He didn't immediately report the matter, continuing to guard the drying ground, eating the black buns he brought as dry food until the sun set in the afternoon before packing the clothes and heading back.
After a busy day, until nightfall when he finished his homework and just as the evening drum was about to sound.
Zhang Rongfang hurriedly got up from the Dao arena and headed towards Xiao Rong, who was about to leave.
Xiao Rong was the Daoist responsible for all miscellaneous disciples' lessons, and his status was higher than typical cultivation disciples, equivalent to a steward in Qinghe Palace. Only below the Palace Master, Supervisor, and Hall Master.
He was also Xiao Qingying's biological father.
Xiao Rong, with a full beard on his face, always carried a wine gourd, though it rarely contained much wine.
Rumor had it he was a genuine drunkard, yet rarely was he seen drinking.
At this moment, Xiao Rong saw a miscellaneous disciple on the Dao arena coming toward him quickly. He paused to wait.
"What's the matter?"
Zhang Rongfang first cupped his hands in salute, then rose and said, "Disciple Zhang Rongfang, greets Master Mingguang."
"Speak, the drum will soon sound," Xiao Rong said gently, holding no grudge against miscellaneous disciples.
His Dao name was also Mingguang, officially recognized as a Master, and thus addressed with respect as Master Mingguang.
"It's like this, earlier today, when the disciple went to the back mountain to dry clothes..." Zhang Rongfang did not conceal anything and truthfully relayed everything he heard.
As for judgment, he believed Xiao Rong had his own determinations.
As Zhang Rongfang recounted bit by bit, Xiao Rong's initially casual expression gradually turned grave.
When Zhang Rongfang finished speaking, Xiao Rong pondered for a moment, glanced around at the already dispersed miscellaneous disciples, and motioned with his hand.
"Are you sure you heard correctly?"
"I am sure!" Zhang Rongfang nodded earnestly.
"If you hear the voice from the morning again, can you identify it?" Xiao Rong asked.
"I should be able to! I can't be completely sure," Zhang Rongfang nodded again.
Xiao Rong showed a thoughtful look. Then he carefully appraised the reporting disciple before him.
"This matter is of great importance. Think it through; if you falsely accuse other disciples, you'll endure fifty strokes, with your physique, there's essentially no way to survive that," he spoke again.
"The disciple dares not utter a single false word," Zhang Rongfang said solemnly. "In fact, previously Senior Sister Xiao Qingying had once helped me in an alley near the Profound Heart Hall. The disciple has always remembered that. Originally, if it were someone else, the disciple might not dare or rashly come forward, but hearing that it involved Senior Sister Xiao, the disciple dared not neglect it."
Zhang Rongfang's expression was sincere and straightforward, whether in his past life or now, his character remained the same; he remembered all matters of gratitude clearly. Repayment for kindness was certain.
Thus, his words came from the heart, spoken firmly and decidedly.
Hearing this, Xiao Rong's eyes showed slight emotion. The background of the miscellaneous disciples wasn't great, and finding someone like the person before him who was articulate, clear-minded, and honorable was extremely rare.
Among miscellaneous disciples, most were the abandoned children sent from nearby towns to acquire Daoist records.
Many had been trained in serving people before arrival, but literacy, articulate speech, and clear thinking were few.
In these times, not everyone had the privilege of being literate, even wealthy farmers or households with the leisure funds needed time and energy for this.
Not to mention having such a sense of duty and gratitude...