The Language of the Deaf

A tea merchant's daughter of exceptional talent x the clear-hearted heir to Prince Wu

Content warning: The characters are not based on real people. This is an original fictional historical setting, so please don't read it as real history. Approach this tragic historical romance with caution.

That year, the True Immortal Puyuan descended from Wan Zhang Mountain to travel the world and encountered three curious events.

First, the daughter of the Zhan tea-merchants of Qiantang had been gravely ill for a long time, and no doctor could help her. The Zhan family spread the word far and wide: "Whoever can cure our daughter will be rewarded with ten thousand taels of gold, and that still won't be enough to repay them."

As it happened, decades earlier the True Immortal had been saved by a renowned physician upriver from Qiantang. Passing through the old place, he could not help but feel moved to lend a hand. When he reached Wulin Lane, he did not enter the Zhan residence. Simply sensing the place, he could tell the young lady inside had an imbalance of yin and yang, and that her fate was already set.

"To meet the many needs of this world, a child must cultivate a bodhisattva's heart, one of boundless compassion and shared suffering. That is the source of both fortune and misfortune in a person's fate."

With that, he left behind a sheet of yellow paper bearing these words: "On the seventh day of the second month, before the hour of the Rabbit, the Zhan family must go to Qianwumen to help two children study. The young lady's illness will then be cured."

Thus the Zhan family academy came into being. It accepted only poor children, teaching them both knowledge and the Way.

Second, that day, just after leaving the Zhan residence, the True Immortal was teased by a child perched atop a high wall in an alley.

"I see you, Daoist, as if you were an immortal descended to earth. How is it that you suffer from this strange affliction of wanting to make people into immortals and Buddhas?"

The True Immortal was clearly amused. He looked up and saw a young boy in a purple brocade robe, with a jade-like face and peach-blossom eyes, his features full of youthful charm. His nose was straight, his lips thin, and his thick brows were slightly raised. As his lashes fluttered, his dark eyes gleamed like obsidian. He tilted his head playfully against one bent knee, and golden-threaded clouds and five bats on his silk robe shimmered with every movement.

"Young master, why do you say that?"

"You told Xiaoman to cultivate a bodhisattva's heart. Why? Most people in this world are wicked. Why not make them change for the better? Why make Xiaoman bear all of this?" The carefree boy's expression suddenly changed. The corners of his peach-shaped eyes reddened, and his face turned cold, without a trace of mirth.

"Young master, do you know what 'fate' means?"

"No. But I know our fate lies in our own hands, not in some ethereal thing."

"Fate is set by Heaven, but fortune depends on one's actions. The Xiaoman you speak of has a frail fate and needs to cultivate blessings. I find you quite clever, young master. I can cast a divination for you. What would you like to ask?"

"Can Xiaoman live a peaceful life?"

"It seems so."

The boy, half believing the answer, leaped down from the wall, bowed to the True Immortal, then turned and ran from the alley toward the Zhan residence.

The True Immortal Puyuan stroked his long beard, feeling a pang in his heart. This boy was a person of deep feeling. When the trial destined to come struck, someone else might not have endured it. Fortunately, the boy and the person he called "Xiaoman" were bound by fate, with a kind connection and a full share of affinity.

And yet, as affinity arises and grows, things both nurture and overcome one another.

Third, the wisteria at Shuntian Gate, which had not bloomed for years, was now flowering in extraordinary abundance.

Nandu, the capital at that time.

Rumors spread through the city that the Crown Princess had died in childbirth, leaving behind one son and one daughter. Everyone said the girl had caused her mother's death, and speculation ran rampant.

The True Immortal sat in the Qingchun Teahouse, its blinds rolled up. Laughter and conversation filled his ears. He took a sip of tea, and another matter revealed itself in his divination.

The guilty Wei clan and Noble Consort Wei would be exterminated, down to the ninth degree of kinship, with no survivors.

The Wei clan had suffered unending trouble from outside and had even tried to form alliances. Their execution was no injustice, and people cursed and hated them.

But would not a single one truly survive?

The divination showed its answer. The True Immortal looked out the window. Dusk was falling.

Wisteria drifted through the city, and an ill-fated love entangled its people. As wished, nothing would happen.

After calculating these three events, the True Immortal felt that everything around him had become utterly dull, and returned to the mountain early.

The young Daoist sweeping the grounds excitedly asked him, "Master, what is the world below like now?"

"The mountains and rivers are as they were. In fifteen years, everything will be new." The True Immortal patted his head and gently replied, "The smallest dust has already stirred. Now we wait quietly for Heaven's will."

Theme: Writing a book about the injustices of the world