Chapter 49

Worried the signal might drop, Ruan Qing quickly relayed her situation to Ruan Xiangyun. “Yes, it’s the Wild Hermits’ Temple. The person who rescued me is from this temple, and I’m here now. No, don’t try coming today; you definitely won’t make it before dark, and it’s quite a distance. I’ll send you my location, and we’ll call again tomorrow morning to check in.” She knew they’d need to come, but she didn’t want them trekking through the mountains at night. Plus, she and Nian Qi needed time to prepare the temple.

After hanging up, she informed him, “They’ll come tomorrow, but I don’t know how long it’ll take them to get here.”

Nian Qi replied, “They’re locals, so their pace should be quicker than yours. If they start early, they’ll likely arrive by three or four in the afternoon.”

Ruan Qing sighed in relief, “That should give us enough time, right?”

“Plenty,” he nodded. “We should start right away.”

“What should I do?” she asked.

With sunlight streaming in, the outdoors was warmer than inside. Nian Qi brought out a chair from a nearby room. “Sit here and enjoy the sun,” he said.

He went from room to room and, as he expected, found various tools. Seeing that Zaojiao had been able to make his own coffin and carve a headstone, he figured the temple would have a full set of tools. The monks, secluded and self-sufficient, must have relied on their own handiwork for many things. People back then often had a variety of skills.

Nian Qi found an assortment of traditional woodworking and masonry tools, along with an axe, kitchen knife, machete, sickle, and hoe. Many of the metal tools were rusted, and some even had broken handles. Knowing he needed sharp tools, he first found a stone, used the collected rainwater, and gave the axe and sickle a rough sharpening.

With nothing else to do, Ruan Qing pulled out her phone and played a game while Nian Qi, returning to the courtyard, carried a large tree branch and several long vines. “Found the vegetable garden,” he said.

The monks had cultivated the land to sustain themselves, and later, Zaojiao relied on it as his main food source. Inside his coat, Nian Qi had brought back several potatoes and ears of corn.

“Wow, you recognized the potatoes!” Ruan Qing exclaimed. They were covered in soil, freshly dug, which meant he identified the plant by its leaves and stems.

Nian Qi grinned, “You only know vegetables from the supermarket, don’t you?”

One of the learning materials Ruan Qing had given him included a video detailing which of today’s common foods were introduced species, like potatoes, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, and peppers. Still, while she could recognize tomatoes or peppers by their fruit, she had no idea what the leaves and stems of potatoes or sweet potatoes looked like. But Nian Qi remembered them all after just one viewing.

“Of course,” he said. “You have to know these things, or you risk eating something poisonous. And sometimes you need herbs, so you have to know what to dig up.”

Ruan Qing had always heard that ancient courtesans had to be skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, and literature. But she’d never imagined that ancient assassins had to be versed in so many other survival skills.

If your mind isn’t sharp, you wouldn’t be able to handle this. Nian Qi took the potatoes and corn to the backyard, though it wasn’t clear what he intended to do with them. When he returned, he rolled up his sleeves and began crafting. He shaved down the large tree branch, gathering the thin twigs together, and then carved a stick. Splitting the vines into narrow strips, he used them to bind the branches to the stick, fashioning a rough broom. 

Then, he continued to work on the branch, crafting new handles for both the axe and the sickle; the axe handle had broken while cutting the branch, and the sickle’s looked unreliable, so he replaced both.

Ruan Qing watched in amazement as these raw materials were skillfully turned into usable tools in his hands—it was like watching a live wilderness survival or upcycling video right from the front row.

Nian Qi said, “We’ll clean the courtyard later when it’s dry.” The heavy rain had left it muddy, making it hard to manage. He went inside, starting with a general sweep of the rooms that were still intact. He pulled the weeds growing between the floor tiles and found some old, ragged cotton filling—probably the remnants of an old quilt, now blackened and stiff. Giving it a squeeze, he looked at Ruan Qing and asked, “Should I spread this out for you to sleep on tonight?”

Ruan Qing recoiled, “No way! I don’t want that!”

“The bed is hard; you won’t be able to handle it,” he said.

“I’d rather sleep on the hard bed than on that!” she insisted, horrified. The bed was a brick platform, and the original bedding had long since decayed, so Nian Qi had tossed it out, wiped down the surface, and even scorched it with fire to kill bugs and remove any smell before settling her there.

“I’ll sleep on the hard bed over that moldy mess,” Ruan Qing affirmed. Who knew what kinds of insects and bacteria were lurking in that old cotton?

“Alright.” Nian Qi tossed the rotten cotton into the fire pit, where it burned away. Then he went to the woodshed and found a bundle of dry hay. Holding it up with a smile, he said, “I could use this for your bedding.”

Ruan Qing hesitated. “If we dry it in the sun right now, it’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I threw away anything moldy—this is the best of it.” She knew that sleeping directly on the hard bed might be too uncomfortable, so she agreed. Nian Qi quickly climbed onto the roof of the front hall, spreading the hay along the roof ridge to dry in the sun, the highest point of the temple where it would catch the most sunlight and dry quickly.

Interestingly, while he was working, a group of chickens ran out from a few half-collapsed rooms nearby. They must have been hiding from the rain inside, and now, with the sun out, they were eagerly scratching around for bugs to eat. Watching them brought a smile to Ruan Qing’s face, and she tore up some bread from her backpack to feed them.

Nian Qi, glancing over as he worked, found the scene surprisingly peaceful. Through his eyes, it looked like an idyllic picture of country life: a man busy with his tasks, a woman feeding chickens.

The first place he cleaned was the small room where Ruan Qing would be sleeping, a priority for the night. Once that was done, he moved to the front hall and swept out the main and side rooms of the Sanqing Hall. He burned the broken meditation mats, wiped down the tables, and tidied the shelves. Shattered statue fragments were tossed outside the courtyard wall, while larger torso pieces were leaned against the platform nearby, preserved. He stripped away the tattered clothing from the statues, swept away the dust, set up the candle holders, pulled out the weeds, and gave the entire floor a thorough cleaning.

First, the fire pit was cleared, and the ashes collected. Although the place was still rundown, the desolation was softened, and a faint sense of liveliness returned. Starting with the main courtyard, they moved on to clean the front hall, and finally, they reached the rear courtyard, which was in the worst shape. Zaojiao had stored food there, most of it now rotting and moldy, which meant a big insect problem. As Nian Qi moved back and forth between the courtyards, he warned Ruan Qing, “Stay out of the back courtyard.”

“Why?” she asked, a bit unnerved.

“There are bugs,” he replied.

Since entering the mountains, Ruan Qing had already encountered plenty of insects, and Nian Qi hadn’t mentioned it before. Now that he felt the need to give her a heads-up, it made her shiver. “There… a lot of them?” she asked.

Without giving details, he just repeated, “Stay away from the back.”

Then he herded the chickens over there, saying, “Go on, time to eat.”

“Go, bug warriors!” Ruan Qing encouraged the chickens as they marched off to handle the pests.

Luckily, the temple had some old supplies like lime, saltpeter, and even sulfur, things monks would typically keep on hand. In the collapsed storage room, Nian Qi managed to find many useful materials. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “Sprinkle these, and there’s nothing to fear.”

Aside from lime, Ruan Qing didn’t recognize any of the powders, but Nian Qi could identify each one with a quick sniff and touch. Some were clumped together, so he used a stone mortar to crush them back into powder. He didn’t need it to be finely ground; just usable. Under her watchful eye, he sprinkled the powder around the walls of the small room where she’d be staying, inside and out.

This reassured Ruan Qing, but she still asked, “Will it work?”

Nian Qi gave a firm nod. “It will. Trust me.” Deciding to rely on ancient wisdom, she nodded.

Then he took the rest of the materials and headed to the back courtyard. By dusk, he returned and made a small broom from branches to scrub down a few large jars, scraping off the years of moss. There was a well in the middle courtyard, though it hadn’t been cleaned in ages, so the water wasn’t drinkable. Although the well had a winch, the rope was completely rotten, and a wooden bucket nearby was thoroughly moldy. Nian Qi cleaned the bucket and fashioned a new rope from leftover vines. When he finally drew water, it was muddy, so he advised, “This is only for cleaning; don’t drink it—it’ll upset your stomach.”

Ruan Qing gave him an incredulous look. “Even if you held a knife to my throat, I wouldn’t drink that,” she said. Then she had a sudden realization, searching her bag in a mild panic. “Wait, what about drinking water?”

“No problem. Hand me the bottle,” Nian Qi replied. “There’s a spring and a stream nearby with pure mountain spring water—better than anything bottled.”

To him, bottled water lacked the natural taste of spring water, unaware that many brands of “mineral water” are just purified water with added minerals.

Before nightfall, he scaled the wall and left with her bag. With the light fading, Ruan Qing felt a bit nervous but was relieved when he quickly returned.

“It’s close, just next to the vegetable field,” he explained. “The monks cultivated their fields near a water source.” He brought back an assortment of vegetables and fruit, washed and ready to eat. But he also carried an enormous winter melon.

“What are we supposed to do with that?” Ruan Qing asked in bewilderment.

“We’re not eating it,” he said. “It’s for the kitchen—just to look good.”

She sighed in disbelief. His dedication to setting the scene was truly impressive!