[Revised TL] 1 铜钱龛世 | Tong Qian Kan Shi | Copper Coins -- 木苏里 | Musuli -- 英语翻译 | English translation -- Chapter 1

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This chapter read out loud by JQ (no download required): voca.ro/1j3nYZay7qpk 

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Act I: Seeking

Chapter 1: Paper Man (I)

In the summer of the twenty-third year of the Tianxi era [a], a dragon appeared in Huameng County, Guangdong Province. It was as tall as a man and measured ten zhang in length [b]. Its body was tangled in a net, with its flesh cut open and spilling forth. It seemed to have had its spine removed from its body. As citizens gathered to watch, there came a fierce tempest, and the river's raging waters carried the dragon to the sea. It was never seen again. –– Records of Huameng District. [1]

Winter of that year: Ningyang County, Huizhou Prefecture. 

The nightwatchman's gong had just announced wu geng. [c] Though the sky was still black, sounds of life were already emerging from Xingtang Street. The owner of the Jiuwei Hall carried large steamers full of fresh buns out of his front door, and began to set up his breakfast stall on the side of the street.

The nightwatchman scurried to the stall, shivering all the while. He purchased three buns and devoured one eagerly. As he forced the food down his throat, he looked nervously at the restaurant owner. "Hey..." he said. "Have you prepared the stuff?" 

“I have. It's here." The worried-looking restaurant owner patted the food boxes that he had placed beside the steamers.

Astonished, the nightwatchman asked, "You really have? What if he... What if that thing doesn't come today?" 

A chill ran through the restaurant owner's body, and he gravely said, "Oh ancestors, I hope he doesn't come."

Jiuwei Hall was a fairly well-known establishment in Ningyang County. Its cook was known as "Three Tricks Liu", thanks to his three perfect dishes: peach-fried pork, clay-pot chicken, and pear-flavored oxtail racoon. The pork was cleanly skinned with beautiful marble swirls; the wild chicken, which was always hunted from Li Mountain, had the perfect balance of fat and lean meats; and the racoon was exclusively hunted on snowy days. [d] 

Jiuwei Hall never lacked for customers, who came from far and wide to sample these dishes. The fame had long gone to Three Tricks Liu's head, and he was now highly arrogant: he only made ten of each dish each day, and not one more. Those who wanted to get ahold of a dish had to be sure to arrive early. 

Still, you had to be a bit insane to show up at wu geng.

And our crazy friend had already come two days in a row. 

On the first day, he went up to the restaurant owner to order his three dishes, and refused to say anything more. It wasn’t out of rudeness: he was so out of breath that he really couldn't speak at all. It was the depths of winter, and there would be long trails of white mist whenever anyone opened one’s mouth –– yet he alone emitted no condensation. And when he returned on the second day, he had the audacity to make requests: no clay pot for the clay-pot chicken, no star anise or cumin either, and no pears in the pear-flavored oxtail racoon... 

Was he here to enjoy the food, or to destroy Three Tricks Liu's excellent reputation with these ridiculous demands?!

But the restaurant owner did not kick the suspicious customer out; he was far too much of a coward for that. Meekly, he served the food two days in a row. This morning, he had even prepared the dishes in advance. 

The restaurant owner peered up at the brightening sky and began to tremble again in fear. "It's almost time," he said to the nightwatchman. "Y-y-you... Why aren't you trembling?" 

"Why would I tremble? I walk the streets every night." The nightwatchman lowered his voice. "Besides, this has been such a strange year. I'm not fazed by any of these monsters and ghosts anymore. In June, people in Guangdong saw a real dragon –– did you hear about that? He was hiding in the waters by the sea. Someone had taken out his spine! Maiming a dragon! What kind of evil omen is that? And now they've started to say that the Guoshi has had a near-death experience ––" 

The nightwatchman was interrupted by the restaurant owner trying to slither under his own stall. "He's here, he's here, he –– he really came!"

He had barely uttered these words when a scholar suddenly appeared by the stall. 

The scholar had an ordinary appearance, but he wore a mask of exhaustion on his face. He had two patches of blood-red color on his cheeks, like well-roasted pork. He was skinny and wore a thin, grayish robe, which gave him the impression of a twig draped with a piece of cloth, in danger of being carried away by a gust of wind at any time.

The nightwatchman raised his lantern and studied the scholar's face for a long, long time, too afraid to move. The last mouthful of bun, still inside the nightwatchman's mouth, turned cold, but still he did not swallow.

The scholar muttered to himself, "I'm here." Only after that did he slowly raise his head, aiming his terrifying, pitch-black pupils at the restaurant owner. 

The restaurant owner crossed his legs. He thought he might piss himself. 

"Please, sir, peach-fried pork ––" The scholar’s normal voice was perfectly pleasant –– not at all like his strange mumblings from earlier. He sounded fresh and alert, but this didn't match his face, nor were his words synced with the movements of his mouth... a horrifying sight. 

The restaurant owner forced himself to look away. Quivering, he picked up the food box. "I-I've prepared it already," he trilled. "We used a porcelain pot, and we didn't put any pear, star anise, or cumin. It's just come out of the kitchen, it's still hot." 

The scholar seemed to choke. He stared at the food box for a long while before reacting. Finally, he slowly nodded and said, "Thank you." 

The sound of his voice this time was lower, and seemed slightly different from the way that he had spoken previously. 

The food box seemed too heavy for the scholar, and seemed to weigh him down. He looked like a thin three branch being forced to hold up a thousand-jin weight. He walked even slower than before, and it was a long time before he passed out of earshot. 

The nightwatchman shivered again, and came back to his senses.

The blood seemed to have drained from the restaurant owner's face. "You saw that, right? That face... Hey, why do you seem to be in such a rush?" 

"I need to piss," said the nightwatchman. 

The restaurant owner: “...”

The nightwatchman hadn’t been gone for long before he returned, carrying his copper gong.

Before the restaurant owner could speak again, the nightwatchman slapped his shoulder and wriggled his eyebrows, gesturing into the distance. "Look over there!" 

At the end of the street, a white shadow emerged from the night and came silently towards them.

The restaurant owner, still in a state of shock, felt his knees buckle. Was it more evil? But he looked again, and saw that the figure approaching them was a monk. He wore pure white monk’s robes with wide, draped sleeves. From top to bottom, there was not a speck of dirt on him –– he was uncannily clean, and the white outfit meant that he looked to be in deep mourning. How inauspicious to see such a sight so early in the morning! 

Confused, the restaurant owner muttered, "But that's just a monk." 

The nightwatchman lowered his voice. "I passed by him just now. He has a wudiqian pendant [e] hanging from his hip!" 

Wudiqian could be used to ward against evil, exorcise demons, and guard homes. It was said that the reigning Guoshi used them often, and always carried five in a pendant on his hip. Because of him, the wudiqian pendant had become a popular tool for those who roamed around offering exorcism services for hire. Of course, every once in a while the exorcist would turn out to be a jianghu scammer, but most such people did have some measure of skill. 

The restaurant owner evaluated the monk from afar, and decided that there was something special about him. He did not seem to be a conman. Besides, the restaurant owner was at his wits’ end –– three days was already too many for someone like him. If the scholar returned tomorrow, he really would piss his pants. 

The monk's steps were neither quick nor slow, but, in the time it took for the restaurant owner and nightwatchman to finish whispering among themselves, he had already passed by the stall and was about to disappear in the other direction. The restaurant owner hurriedly called out, "Dashi, please stop!" 

As the monk stopped, his white hemp robes swayed above the ground, yet did not pick up any dust. He looked over at the restaurant owner with no sense of curiosity in his eyes, nor any warmth. His expression was as cold as a gust of winter wind against one's face. Up close, the restaurant owner saw that the monk was very tall, and was looking down upon him from a great height. The restaurant owner instinctively backed away, running into the equally hesitant nightwatchman. 

Bumping into the nightwatchman caused the restaurant owner’s own courage to return. He forced himself to speak again: "Dashi, I see that you have a copper coin pendant on your hip. Are you familiar with the arts of exorcism?" 

Expressionless, the monk looked down at his pendant. He did not say yes, nor did he say no.

The restaurant owner looked at the nightwatchman uneasily. He found the monk colder than the winter gale, and the man's aloofness shocked him to the point of speechlessness. He did not know what to think, let alone what to say.

The nightwatchman seemed less intimidated, and spoke for his friend. He quickly described the appearance of the scholar, then said, "I wouldn't say we're intimately familiar with that face, but I do recognise him. That's old doctor Jiang's son. But... but there was a fire at the Jiang compound three years ago, and everyone perished except for the daughter, who lives in Anqing and wasn’t present. And they say that wu geng is the devil's hour. A dead person appearing three days in a row, and at wu geng each time! Isn't that scary?!" 

The monk looked around, and finally deigned to speak, letting out three stiff words: "Where is he?" 

As soon as he heard this, the restaurant owner unfroze. He pointed to a side street in the distance and hurriedly said, "He just left! He probably hasn't gotten home yet. I know where the Jiang compound ruins are. Dashi, I... Shall I take you there?" 

Almost immediately, the restaurant owner regretted his words. He wished he could slap himself. Oh, if only you'd kept your mouth shut!

Why in the world would he volunteer to spend the dawn hour of a freezing winter morning walking alongside this pillar of ice? The route was short, but the restaurant owner felt that he was walking half his life away. He snuck several looks at the young monk walking beside him, but did not dare ask any of the questions brewing in his mind. He only registered a small mole on the side of the monk's neck. 

Just as the restaurant owner was about to completely freeze to death, they finally arrived at the corner of the street where the Jiang family compound stood.

It was as the restaurant owner had guessed: that weak, stumbling scholar had not yet gotten to his front door. Still carrying the food box, he was making his way down the alley step by painstaking step. 

The strange thing was that, as he walked, he seemed to be speaking to himself in different voices: sometimes he sounded lively and pleasant, and at other times low and melancholy. 

"Did you go up Li Mountain yourself to hunt this chicken? At this pace, I'll be surprised if you get back before the new year." This was the bright voice.

"Says the one who can't even walk." This was the low voice.

"You must have a death wish, to speak to me that way!" 

"Well, I've been dead for three years."

“...”

The scholar seemed to be playing two roles in an elaborate play, and the play was surely the story of a crazy person. He trod along beside the mottled, dilapidated outer wall of the Jiang compound, muttering to himself all the while. Suddenly, he leaned to the side and, like a thin piece of paper, slid smoothly into the cracks and disappeared behind the wall. 

The restaurant owner saw all of this from around the corner. Petrified, he made to run away, but then remembered that the icy monk was still standing right beside him. Hands trembling, he took out his money pouch and shoved it towards the monk. "Eternally grateful," he mumbled, before running off the way he’d come. 

Frowning, the monk looked down at the money pouch in his hand. 

Who knew when the restaurant owner had last washed this pathetic excuse for a pouch –– it was discolored and filthy, and emitted a fishy, oily smell.

The monk wanted to throw the disgusting thing to the ground, but stopped himself at the last second and hooked it back with a single finger. With that vaguely repulsed expression on his face, slinging the raggedy pouch in one hand, the monk walked soundlessly toward the Jiang compound. 

The restaurant owner ran all the way back to Jiuwei Hall before he finally stopped to catch his breath by a wall. He recounted these events to his friend the nightwatchman, who had stayed behind to watch his stall. When he finished his story, he suddenly hissed and said: "That dashi looked familiar."

"You serve all kinds of customers from this stall every day. Everyone looks familiar," the nightwatchman said dismissively.

“...” The restaurant owner leaned an arm against the wall to stretch his back. As he did so, his eyes swept past something on the green surface of the wall, then fixed on it once more.

There was a half-month-old wanted poster stuck onto the wall. It had been pasted at the wrong time: immediately after it went up, there had been a blizzard, which had soaked and streaked the poster so that, by the next day, it had already become blurred and indistinct. Even the restaurant owner, who ran his stall right beside the poster, had only passively registered the image, never giving it another look.

By today, half of the poster had already disintegrated, leaving only its bottom section, depicting the criminal's neck. On the side of the neck, there seemed to be a small mole –– a mole that looked exactly like the one on that dashi. 

The restaurant owner was struck with excitement: this was the criminal with the huge price on his head! 

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The author has something to say: 

I’m back~

This story might have some angst. Xuanmin tops, Xue Xian bottoms, don’t get it wrong! It’s still 1 vs 1, HE [happy ending], kiss kiss! ~

[1] The first paragraph reveals my original inspiration for the whole story, which came from Lang Ying’s Qi Xiu Lei Gao [T/N: 七修类稿 is a Ming dynasty collection of stories]. A part of the original text goes: “My friend Jin Maozhi’s father, around the end of the Chenghua era, went traveling to Guangdong Province, Xinhui County. One day, after the morning tide, a dragon fell from the sky onto the sand beach. The fisherman used their wooden shoulder poles to beat it to death. Officials and civilians all went to see. The dragon was as tall as a man, and ten zhang long. They observed its head, its feet, its scales, and its horns, all of which were as clear and distinct as a painting. But its abdomen was a vivid red. This must be true, as my friend’s father saw it with his own eyes.”

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Translator’s notes: 

[a] Tianxi era, 23rd year: 1040 CE.

[b] 10 zhang: around 30 m.

[c] Wu geng (5 geng) correlates to around 3am. 

[d] Alternatively, the raccoon was only hunted at a place called Luoxuetian? This is the version I had in the original TL, but after all this time I’m still not sure which is right.

[e] Wudiqian: see glossary. When I use ‘copper coins’, it is because Musuli has used 铜钱 (tong2 qian2), literally ‘copper coins’.

My mom helped me with the classical language used in the Lang Ying quote in the author’s note. This chapter was beta’d by E and Rogue!