Data-Driven Daoist

Yu Han did not get beaten up by Li Yao. Li Yao took the teasing in his stride, which was a shame because by this point, Yu Han thought he knew how to push the older boy’s buttons.

He’s pretending. Right? He has to be!

“One of these days you’ll wake up in a ditch missing half your limbs,” Li Yao said.

“It’s not my fault that men wearing skirts is funny!” Yu Han defended himself. He’d die on his English heritage. Poking fun at Scotsmen was his moral duty.

…uh, didn’t all Brits wear skirts? Never mind.

“A friend?” An older disciple wearing a similar gaudy outfit said. “It matters not, Young Li. He can watch.”

“This guy is an insult to our target audience,” Li Yao said. “His mind is corrupted by thoughts of evil.”

“One needs not be a target to be an audience,” the other man replied. “Stories are for everyone.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Li Yao raised his painted brows. “Just putting words together won’t make sentences.”

“But you cannot make sentences without putting words together, my friend.”

“Yeah, Li Yao. Be more flexible! You’re already wearing a skirt like a lady so might as well—”

Yu Han dodged Li Yao’s punch that definitely had too much force behind it to be ‘friendly’.

Li Yao’s attire was pure theatre. He wore a swordsman’s robe of midnight blue silk, its chest emblazoned with a coiled golden dragon. Wide crimson sleeves ended in gold brocade cuffs, while a jewelled belt cinched his waist over a layered skirt.

Yu Han definitely had to tell Niu’er about the skirt.

Despite his teasing though, Yu Han had to admit that the costume’s stiff design, the ornate shoulders, the rustic blade hung on his back, and the skilful embroidery created a powerful silhouette. Even the strange face paint didn’t take away from the solemn vibe. It didn’t cover up Li Yao’s cool scar, but highlighted it with a blood-red stroke.

Yu Han had seen troupes of travelling performers in similar get-up back in Riversong. They’d visit during New Year’s and the lantern festival.

The other man also looked like a figure straight out of an opera. He seemed to have an opposite theme from Li Yao’s. Where Li Yao was a warrior clad in midnight blue and gold, he was a scholar in pristine white and silver. His robes were of a lighter silk, flowing around him with a quiet grace rather than forming a silhouette of power. The embroidery was more delicate with silver threads depicting cranes in flight among stalks of pale jade-green bamboo.

Instead of a blade, he held a folded fan, and his face paint was simpler, thin lines on a white foundation that emphasised a look of calmness.

“Since when were you into acting?” Yu Han asked Li Yao with a twinkle of interest in his eyes. Li Yao was a gangster, and he might have even been a brute. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have hobbies.

Yu Han realised he knew little of his friend’s day-to-day life.

“Since yesterday,” Li Yao said. “I’m trying it out, because Senior Shu’s being too insistent. I’ll quit if it’s a waste of time.”

“Don’t be shy now,” the man named Shu said. “Defensiveness does not mean anything in the face of desire. Have you memorised the lines?”

“… Do I really have to shout them?”

“Of course you do. If your voice does not reach the audience’s ears, how can it ever change their hearts?” Senior Shu said. “How rude of me. I am called Shu Boyan. I make my home in this temple, and when the time is right, my friends and I give joy to the populace by putting on plays.”

“I’m Yu Han, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Senior Shu,” Yu Han bowed.

“Call me Senior Boyan or Brother Boyan. Do you realise how many ‘Senior Shus’ there are in the sect?”

“The Shu clan is one of the core nobles, so there has to be a lot,” Yu Han said. “I’ll then be rude and refer to you as Senior Boyan.”

I’m not calling you brother. I don’t know you.

Shu Boyan looked at Yu Han from head to toe, then shook his head.

“I do not feel the spark in you. The flair for fun and fairness,” Shu Boyan said. “It’s a shame, but I cannot reach out to you with an invitation to join my troupe as I did with Young Li. But we are to put on a practice performance in one of the inner courtyards. How about it? Care to spectate? Perhaps I can feel your spark whilst you enjoy the play.”

Yu Han agreed, and Li Yao just rolled his eyes.

“Could you wait one minute? I’ll offer a monster core to the shrine.”

“Were you at the Sea of Gold Chamber of Commerce again?” Li Yao asked. “You should really stop seeing Little Three. I met her once and there’s something profoundly wrong with her.”

“I didn’t go to see her! I went on actual business, okay? D-Don’t tell Niu’er.”

Yu Han went to one of the many small shrines dotting the outer perimeter of the temple. One had a figure of a massive earthworm constricting a half-man half-ogre being. In front of the figures was a clay pot of clear water. Yu Han dropped the monster core into the pot and clapped his hands in prayer.

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He didn’t actually pray, but some habits from Niu’er were catching on. Or rather, he wanted them to catch on.

The monster core dissolved in about five breaths of time.

I wonder how this works?

Yu Han walked back to Li Yao and Shu Boyan.

“Praying to the God of Underground Spaces? Perhaps you will delve the underground deeps of the hidden realm, young friend?” Shu Boyan asked.

“Uh, no. Just getting rid of evil air.”

The evil air of capitalism.

Shu Boyan took the lead and walked under the imposing main gate of the land god temple, which was flanked by two weathered stone ape statues with blue eyes. The main square opened before them, a wide expanse of flagstones where the air hung heavy with incense smoke rising from a central bronze censer. Worshippers murmured prayers as they passed. From the many wooden temple houses around rose, too, the sound of chanting and sutras, cymbals and bronze bells.

As Shu Boyan passed, other disciples moved out of the way and gave him respectful bows. Their eyes would naturally fall to Li Yao and Yu Han next, as if wondering who these tagalongs were.

Li Yao and Yu Han exchanged glances, but spoke nothing.

Shu Boyan guided them away from the public area and down a quiet, covered corridor. The noise of the square faded, replaced by a serene hush. The inner temple had less foot traffic. Only those who seemed to belong here were seen, some walking with them and others walking opposite.

The stone path wound past a small, manicured garden before opening into the secluded courtyard.

All at once, the disciples gathered in the courtyard bowed to Shu Boyan. They were all in costume. Some were dressed as human cultivators, others as mortals, royals, spirits, and demons.

“Is everyone ready?” Shu Boyan said. “Did you internalise the lines? We will perform the soul of this play in the following demon suppression rituals. It will calm their lost souls away from the path of evil to the righteous embrace of death.”

A horde of ‘Yes Brother Boyan’ rang out.

“We have a spectator today, and this will be our newest addition, Junior Li Yao’s first time. We aim for perfection, but perfection is subjective. And there can be no perfection if you leave a junior behind. Not in the hunt, and never in the story. Am I clear?”

No, not really? Yu Han didn’t get it, but the others seemed to.

Li Yao gave Yu Han’s back a pat and walked over as if he’d known everyone for years already. He was respectful of course, there seemed to be cultivators from mid body-tempering all the way to late qi-gathering in the troupe. They walked Li Yao through the lines, then the movements. They practised the theatrical sword, as well as Li Yao’s martial sword arts.

He was to be a minor warrior. His scenes numbered two. One at the beginning, when the scholar, played by Shu Boyan, visits the bandit fortress. The other, at the end, when the soldiers of the emperor bring the bandits to justice.

He speaks only four lines.

One to mock the scholar. One to beg for mercy. One to curse the demon. And the final one, a chant or regret and understanding, as life left his body.

Li Yao messed up. Of course he would. He was no acting genius. This was his first time. He was sweating buckets, but the makeup held strong.

Shu Boyan and everyone else were patient. They didn’t complain, didn’t get frustrated, and more importantly, didn’t rush Li Yao.

And Li Yao… he looked like he was having fun.

I don’t really know anything about him, do I?

Li Yao had shared a little about his past with them. His sister, the pale-breath sickness, and him receiving Yu Han’s help. But did his past define him fully? No. There was more to the scarred boy than just the gang violence and tragedy.

But Yu Han had never asked.

Yu Han had a half-baked idea about creating the courtyard. He wanted a home, but he wanted more than that. A place to create genuine connection. He wanted control over his life. He wanted stability, consistency, predictability.

But did Li Yao want the same? Fang Zhao did not. And eventually, Huang Niuniu might not either.

Yu Han had always kind of taken Li Yao for granted. He had a false confidence that he would join the courtyard, and he would stay.

After all, he was indebted to Yu Han for saving his life, apparently.

Am I being an ungrateful brat again?

Li Yao quit his lucrative butchery internal sect mission to join Yu Han shovelling poop. Before that, he even risked his spirit stone stipend to take revenge on Yu Han’s behalf, when Sima Yan and Gong Muhua plotted against him. He was there, a constant presence in Yu Han’s life, asking questions the moment they needed to be asked.

Yu Han had always been the one who had created trouble. Li Yao was the one getting caught up in it.

Heck, even the fact that he was tested by Qiao Jinhai was because of Yu Han. That turned out in Li Yao’s favour, but it could have very well gone south.

Li Yao was loyal.

So… what did he want in life?

From the looks of it, he wanted to act. Why though? And what else? What could Yu Han, and his future courtyard, offer his first ever friend in this strange magical world?

It would be better to ask directly, wouldn’t it?

Yu Han held it off. He… wasn’t ready to ask such questions. Not before clearing his trial. He needed to know what the Mirror Earth was. Was it really just a place in his dreamscape, or was it a cryptic path back to Earth?

If he left this world eventually, what good would it do to become too attached?

After thinking about it, he had to admit it would do much good for his soul. A home. Is it really something created like a courtyard? Or is it found in the people?

He’d have to practice drawing the Snake-faced Tree-Marking array.

That’s a stupid name.

Was the tree snake-faced? Or was the mark on the tree that of a snake face?

No disrespect to Wang Master Fourth, but Yu Han decided to shorten it to Snakemark array. Not a better name, but being shorter already made it less stupid.

Li Yao’s practice was nearing its end.

“The chant can’t have the same tone during all three recitals,” Shu Boyan said. “The Earthly Script won’t work if your mind wanders. ‘Dong zhong yi you jing’ draws the movement of your essence though there is stillness in your body. ‘Xin ru zhi shui liu’ steadies your heart and lets your mind flow like still water. ‘Bu bu sheng lian hua’ is your first immortal steps. Imagine as you lift your feet, a lotus flower blooms. And ‘Nian nian shi an ning’ brings back everything to tranquillity. It should not be too hard, it’s merely at the mortal level. Though it can’t slay great demons, it can at least give the audience a fright!”

“I can’t make my tongue twist like that,” Li Yao said. “But I’m trying, okay? This shows up like an art?”

“No it does not. Perhaps if trained to the extreme, it can be an arcane art? It is not worth the time for a serious cultivator, though I suppose we should not underestimate it either, since it weaves seamlessly into our play, our joyous story!” Shu Boyan spread his arms wide, but he still cautioned Li Yao. “An actor is just that, an actor. A storyteller creates the story, but he is not part of the story. This chant, it is nothing more than the chant of a mortal monk. A fragment of a fragment. Perhaps it was once passed down from father to son, and son to grandson? But now it is in our hands. From the final son who lost his way. A wandering traveller, one who left his monastery to join the army, and by will of fate, joined bandits. That is you. We do it one final time, and then we call it a day. You have your sect duties, and I won’t keep your friend waiting longer.”

The practice ended with Li Yao being praised for his fast progress. This chant, whatever it was, Li Yao seemed to have got in.

“It’s strange though,” the scar-faced boy got up while dusting his robes. “That a mortal monk’s chant can move essence before one reaches foundation-building.”