Chapter 10: Zhu Zhanhe's Strategy for Governing His Fiefdom

An hour later, Zhu Zhanhe leisurely emerged from the meditation chamber. He felt much lighter in body, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his heart.

“Teacher, your disciple has returned from meditation,” Zhu Zhanhe said with a clear and refreshed mind, bowing slightly toward his master. This time, the old Taoist did not avoid him.

“It seems the sitting meditation has done you good. You’ve finally relaxed. Come, sit down—I have something to say to you,” the old Taoist said, eyeing the noticeably more at ease Zhu Zhanhe with a sigh of relief, stroking his snowy white beard. At his advanced age, enduring the pressure of dragon energy could well lead him to meet the Dao Ancestor!

“Please, teacher, do speak,” Zhu Zhanhe replied, moving to his teacher’s side. He poured a cup of water for the old man, then sat down and poured himself a cup as well, savoring the tea with a pleased “tsk tsk”—fragrant indeed.

“Zhanhe, although one says that speech does not prolong life, I’m seventy-six now, and I’ve served in the Celestial Palace for six years. It’s time I return to Dragon and Tiger Mountain to serve the Dao Ancestor in his old age,” the old Taoist said softly, his face full of emotion as he set down his cup and gazed at Zhu Zhanhe.

In truth, while Zhu Zhanhe was meditating, the old Taoist had mulled over this decision several times. He was determined to leave; staying any longer at Shuntian Prefecture might mean death. This boy was born of dragon blood but had kept his power hidden for too long—he was surely holding back something immense. The Taoist cherished his life and decided flight was the best option.

“Teacher, please don’t leave just yet. Wait a moment longer; I have a surprise I haven’t shown you,” Zhu Zhanhe said, stunned by his teacher’s intention to flee. He had wanted to show the old Taoist the Tuo Dragon King.

“A surprise? No need, no need. I’m old now and can’t handle any shocks. I must keep a calm mind; only then can I live a few more years,” Zhang Zhengheng, the old Taoist, sharply declined, cursing inwardly. Surprise? I want no surprises! No unexpected events! I just want to live quietly to my old age—and not have my entire clan wiped out! No surprises, not one!

“Please, teacher, wait a while longer. I truly have something that needs your help,” Zhu Zhanhe leaned forward earnestly.

But the more he pleaded, the more the old Taoist resisted. His heart raced with fear—was this boy planning rebellion? No, not yet. I’m not ready to die!

“Tell me what it is. If it’s important, I’ll stay a bit longer,” the old Taoist said, feeling weak as Zhu Zhanhe prepared to bow again. He thought to himself, no matter what you say, I’ll claim it’s unimportant—I’m definitely leaving!

“Teacher, if one day I can prove that what you have devoted your life to does indeed exist, what will you do?” Zhu Zhanhe looked seriously at his aging master. He intended to reveal his Tuo Dragon King; once the old Taoist saw it, he would have no argument. Actually, he hoped to persuade his teacher to come with him to his fief as a vassal.

“What have I pursued all my life? What are you saying, boy?” The old Taoist was puzzled, his hand stroking his beard frozen mid-motion as he pondered.

“Prove what? Prove what?!” Suddenly, the old Taoist leapt from his seat and stood beside Zhu Zhanhe with the agility of a youth, clutching a handful of his own white beard he had just plucked off, his face anxious and voice loud.

His lifelong pursuit was the Dao of Immortality. Could this boy prove it exists? Impossible, absolutely impossible! He must be teasing me!

The old Taoist paced anxiously, telling himself it was false, that his student was fooling him. Yet he couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at the calm young man leisurely sipping tea and twirling a wooden ruyi scepter.

“Teacher, please be patient. In six months at the earliest, a year at the latest, I will reveal the truth to you. There’s no rush for you to leave then,” Zhu Zhanhe said softly, swirling his tea and gently soothing his anxious teacher.

After a long exhale, the old Taoist’s tense excitement began to subside.

“Zhanhe, I’m old now. If you’re joking with me… fine, I’ll stay another year. But we agree—no matter what happens after a year, I’m leaving. Don’t try to stop me with sweet words,” the old Taoist said, staring sadly at the beard in his hand while sneaking glances at Zhu Zhanhe’s face, trying to read something.

But Zhu Zhanhe remained composed and serene, sipping his tea without revealing any hint of emotion.

“Hmph, you’d better get back to your Han Prince’s mansion. You’ve been out here for nearly two hours. Don’t let your father come looking for me—I don’t want to face his stern gaze,” the old Taoist grumbled, unhappy and trying to send him off.

Zhu Zhanhe felt awkward. He had spent long hours at the temple before, which displeased his parents. His father, Zhu Gaozu, the Han Prince, had come in person, unhappy and somewhat provocative in speech, stirring resentment in the old Taoist. Since then, Zhu Zhanhe rarely stayed at the temple beyond two hours.

“Teacher, I’ll take my leave then. I’ll come to visit again tomorrow,” Zhu Zhanhe said bluntly, sensing the old Taoist’s displeasure.

“No need. You shouldn’t come here so often. I’ve taught you what you need to know, but you don’t practice. You just wander about all day,” the old Taoist grumbled, still full of complaint over his student’s half-spoken words.

The old Taoist claimed he had taught all that was necessary, but in reality, Zhu Zhanhe had only learned the internal Qi cultivation method of Dragon and Tiger Mountain. He had not studied talismans, rituals, or spirit summoning at all.

“I’m just happy when I see you, teacher. I think being a Taoist is good—at least the way of health preservation helps me live longer,” Zhu Zhanhe explained cheerfully.

“Come off it! Dao Yan’s Buddhist cultivation is also excellent; Buddhist health methods are good too. Why don’t you try him out?” the old Taoist scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Honestly, between Daoism and Buddhism, I prefer Daoism. Throughout history, I’ve only heard of Buddhism being destroyed, never Daoism. That shows Daoism values life, and I like that. When poor, one should preserve oneself; when successful, help the world. Given my status, I can do as I please—how freeing! Besides, monks can’t eat meat, must shave their heads, and can’t marry. If I did that, my father and mother would surely beat me to death,” Zhu Zhanhe finally offered a solid reason that pleased the old Taoist.

“Hmph, anyone can say what you just said. But when you get to your fief, how will you govern? How will you handle the various schools of thought?” The old Taoist grinned, holding his tea expectantly, eager to test his student.

“That’s easy,” Zhu Zhanhe said brightly, eyes shining.

“Go on, tell me,” the old Taoist encouraged nervously, feeling the air lighten with his student’s enthusiasm.

“Governance is simple: Confucianism as the surface, law as the core; farmers raise people, Daoists cultivate health, Mohists boost agriculture, craftsmen strengthen the army, strategists defend, rhetoricians persuade, yin and yang predict the seasons, tacticians maintain order, eclectic thinkers address practical matters, and storytellers reflect the people’s sentiments. Each has its use; it’s hard to say more now!” Zhu Zhanhe spoke with relish, effortlessly applying these modern buzzwords to the present situation, his face shining with joy.