Chapter 35: The Deer and the Cauldron

If a deity could grant a single wish, I would ask for one hundred thousand taels at my waist and a crane to ride down to Yangzhou! So wrote a Song dynasty scholar, describing one of the greatest delights, and capturing the beguiling allure of Yangzhou.

Since the Han dynasty, the south had been under imperial administration. By the Sui dynasty, after the chaos of the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties, Emperor Yang of Sui excavated the Grand Canal, linking north and south. By the Tang dynasty, Yangzhou had already become a famed paradise of powder and rouge, a den of extravagance. Along the Huaiyang Road, at the Guazhou ferry, most travelers heading north or south were in search of pleasure and romance.

There was a poem as evidence: “It is said that in Yangzhou, if you play the flute, old friends may appear. Yet when you arrive, few are to be seen—perhaps they are lost in the pleasure towers.” Though the poet jested with his friend, one can glimpse the flourishing and decadent beauty of Yangzhou through these words.

Later, when the Ming dynasty fell and the Qing army crossed the passes, the atrocities of the “Ten Days of Yangzhou” and the “Three Massacres of Jiading” were committed. Yet even as flames of war blazed, they could not burn away the splendor of the south. During the brief eighteen-year reign of the Shunzhi Emperor, Yangzhou revived in all its former glory, thanks to the profits of grain and salt transport.

It was the sixth year of Kangxi’s reign. The Grand Secretary, Sonin, who had sealed an alliance with the imperial family, passed away. The young Xuanye, though said to be fourteen by the old reckoning, was in fact only thirteen by today’s standards. Still, all the histories record it as fourteen, lest people quibble over the matter, so we shall follow the ancient texts. In July, he was to assume personal rule. The court was rife with open and covert struggles, but these mattered little to the common people.

Yangzhou, far from the capital, remained untouched by these intrigues.

But on this particular day, a most unusual event occurred in the city. Beneath the willows on the banks of Slender West Lake stood a man in strange attire—tall, upright, and sporting short hair. No one had ever seen clothing like his, so a crowd gathered, whispering curiously.

A kindly old man stepped forward and asked, “Young man, where are you from? Why are you dressed like this? You’d best not linger here. With hair that short, if the authorities see you, you could lose your head!”

Though the slogan “Keep your hair or keep your head” was from several years before, the memory of the bloody suppression was still fresh. The old man, after a few words of warning, sighed and left, leaving the bewildered youth to face the growing crowd.

This youth was Ma Jun, a traveler between worlds. Now being ogled like a monkey, he felt deeply embarrassed and regretful. He had thought himself well prepared for this journey, but had not anticipated landing in the universe of “The Deer and the Cauldron.” He had grown used to traveling to modern worlds and had overlooked the quirks of the past.

The old man’s words startled him even more. His knowledge of history was always patchy and muddled, but he knew that in the Qing dynasty, commoners had to keep their queue and wear Manchu dress, or face deadly consequences.

Suppressing his agitation, he hastily called on Xiaohua for help, activated his tailcoat, and made a rapid escape.

This display left the onlookers utterly speechless. For, clothed in a tailcoat, Ma Jun ran at a speed rivaling that of a modern automobile.

“Is he an immortal?”

“How can anyone run so fast?”

Amidst the murmurs, Ma Jun fled out of the city and found refuge in a dense forest, where he finally caught his breath. His eyes shone with excitement. “So this is the world of ‘The Deer and the Cauldron’! How wonderful! Though it’s not a classic martial arts realm, there is no doubt that martial skills exist here!”

Master Jin’s work had shaped generations, and Ma Jun was one of those influenced. To enter this world, learn martial arts, and meet heroes—what a joy!

He immediately called out, “Dear Xiaohua, tell me—does the marketplace have anything that can change my hairstyle?”

“Ugh, spare me the mushy talk!” Xiaohua appeared, wearing a look of utter distaste. “There’s a facial adjustment technique. Go search for it yourself!”

“How is that mushy? I’m just being nice to you! You’re always saying I don’t treat you well,” Ma Jun replied cheerfully, pulling up his system panel and searching the marketplace.

The Facial Adjustment Technique allowed minor modifications to hair, nose, eyes, and so forth. Price: two thousand energy points.

“What a treasure! If I’d had this in Titanic, I wouldn’t have had to pretend to be a charlatan!” Ma Jun’s eyes lit up. “I could’ve changed my hair and eye color, posed as a foreigner, and flirted with girls! My skin is pretty fair anyway.”

He tallied his remaining points—nine thousand. After bringing Old Qian over and covering both their return trips, he’d still have three thousand left. No hesitation—he bought it.

With a decisive tap, Ma Jun shuddered, feeling as though he’d just relieved himself on a cold winter’s day. He took out a mirror from his storage ring, gazed at his reflection, and silently recited: bald in front, long hair in back, tied into a queue.

Moments later, Ma Jun had transformed into a tall Qing dynasty man, though still clad in a mismatched Western suit. He hadn’t prepared period clothing, but that was easily remedied.

Finding a village, he “borrowed” a set of clothes—not a perfect fit, but serviceable enough for now. As for summoning Old Qian, that would have to wait until he was better prepared.

Now looking every bit a Qing dynasty native, Ma Jun strolled boldly back into Yangzhou. As he wandered among the ancient buildings, listening to the myriad fascinating accents of travelers, he found himself thoroughly entertained.

He meandered through the city, politely stopping passersby for directions. Most locals spoke the Yangzhou dialect, but with his mastery of countless languages, communication posed no challenge. And with his new appearance, no one recognized him.

He had a small assortment of modern currencies in his storage ring, but nothing appropriate for this era. He couldn’t very well spend gold—here, gold was not currency but a store of value, and even a little could cause trouble.

So, after much inquiry, he found a pawnshop and produced a small mirror. Removing its decorative frame, he put on a fierce look and bargained with the owner.

A few minutes later, he emerged with a banknote worth a hundred taels of silver.

The day was still young. Glancing at his coarse peasant clothes, Ma Jun shook his head—not suitable for his purposes. He wandered the city until dusk, by which time he had changed into a scholar’s robe, folding fan in hand, fanning himself constantly.

This wasn’t for show—it was genuinely hot, as it was late spring in this world.

Passing through Taiping Granary and heading west, he entered Mingyu Lane, a residential area that was lively even at this late hour. Ma Jun followed the light and noise.

A cool breeze from Slender West Lake made him feel at ease. Turning into Marquis Wu’an Alley, he suddenly found himself before a grand courtyard, brightly lit and bustling with noise. The gates were wide open, and groups of men were filing inside.

“At last!” Ma Jun smiled, quickening his pace. As he entered, a woman in a pink dress greeted him with a playful laugh. “Oh, sir, you’ve finally arrived! I’ve been waiting for you!”

Ma Jun nodded and smiled, but in his mind, he urgently asked, “Xiaohua, quick—how does one visit a brothel in ancient times?”