Chapter Fifty-Two: Calculation

On the way back, Zhang Xuan kept trying to calculate how long it would be until the chaos of the era began. However, no matter how much he pondered, everything was shrouded in confusion—he simply hadn’t seen enough of the world to find a starting point. From the time Zhang Jiao began spreading his teachings to the Yellow Turban Uprising, more than a decade had passed. Judging by what Zhang Xuan had witnessed along his journey, the propagation of the Taiping Sect wasn’t widespread; today was the first time he’d encountered it. Perhaps this was also because he was returning from the north and hadn’t passed through any large towns.

“Big Brother, Second Brother, have either of you ever heard of any outbreaks of plague anywhere?” Zhang Xuan asked.

Yang Zaixing, though unsure why Zhang Xuan was asking, thought for a moment. “Not that I recall. Our Yang family is up north, but if there had been a plague, word would have reached us.”

Yu Wen Chengdu also considered it. “I haven’t heard of any plagues breaking out either. But why do you ask, Third Brother?” Both he and Yang Zaixing looked at Zhang Xuan, curious about the sudden question.

“I was reminded of it by that ‘Master’ we saw earlier. As for why it popped into my head—I just suddenly thought of it. You could say my mind works in peculiar ways,” Zhang Xuan replied, attempting to brush the question aside. He couldn’t very well say he was asking about plagues to estimate when the age of chaos would begin. Just moments ago, he’d been envisioning a peaceful world, and now he was pondering the coming upheaval.

Yang Zaixing was already accustomed to Zhang Xuan’s odd way of thinking. He tugged Yu Wen Chengdu along. “Don’t mind him, Second Brother,” he said, tapping his temple, “sometimes there are a few issues up here. You’ll get used to it after a while. Let’s go—don’t worry about him. Let’s head back. Tomorrow, I’ll take you running.”

“Running? What’s that?”

“We’ll come get you in the morning, and we’ll run around the town,” Yang Zaixing explained, seeing Yu Wen Chengdu’s confusion. “Don’t worry, it won’t harm you—it’s mainly to build your endurance.”

When the three returned to the Yan family residence, they found Yang Bo, Yang Hu, and Zhao Yun at the gate. Yang Zaixing called out to Yang Bo.

Yang Bo turned and saw the three of them. “Oh, you’re back so soon? I thought you’d be gone for a long time. Yang Hu, Zhao Yun, and I just went for a walk ourselves, and only just returned.”

“Yang Bo, we didn’t go running—we were actually planning to…” Yang Zaixing began, intent on saying they’d just gone to the temple to join the crowd, but Zhang Xuan quickly cut him off.

“We were originally planning to go running, but then we saw a lot of people heading towards the temple outside town. Out of curiosity, we followed and found someone there preaching about a world of peace, urging everyone to join together for such a future. Afterward, he handed out some talismans, claiming they could cure illness and save lives, and even gave a demonstration. It got dull after a while, so we came back early. Isn’t that right, Big Brother?”

Yang Zaixing glanced at Zhang Xuan, who looked back as if telling him not to say anything else. Besides the fact that they’d gone to the temple, there wasn’t much else to add. He wondered why Zhang Xuan had interrupted him. “Yes, Xiao Xuan is right. We did mean to go running, but seeing the crowd heading for the temple, we decided to see what was happening.”

“No wonder there were so few people on the streets tonight. They must have all gone to the temple.”

“Oh, by the way, Yang Bo, do you know if there have been any cases of plague anywhere?” Zhang Xuan asked.

Yang Bo thought for a moment. While he was thinking, Yang Zaixing, standing behind Zhang Xuan, pointed to his own head and mouthed, “Xiao Xuan’s got a screw loose, don’t mind him.” Zhao Yun, seeing this, blurted it out, making Yang Zaixing quite embarrassed—he made as if to hit Zhao Yun, who darted inside to escape. Yang Zaixing chased after a few steps, then stopped, glancing at Zhang Xuan’s expression. Seeing no reaction, he straightened his clothes and let the matter drop.

“I don’t recall hearing of any outbreaks. I haven’t heard of any plague in any province,” Yang Bo finally replied.

“Alright then,” Zhang Xuan said, then headed into the courtyard. After a few steps, he turned back. “Aren’t you all coming inside? Why are you standing around at the gate? Or stay there if you want—but can someone please tell me which room I’m staying in tonight? I’ve been here for so long and I still don’t know where I’m supposed to sleep. I must be too used to camping outdoors—now that I have a place to stay, I can’t get used to it. Don’t laugh—especially you, Big Brother, as if you know where you’re sleeping! Why don’t you show me the way? If you can find it, I’ll serve you tea for a month. What do you say?”

Yang Zaixing, brightening at the mention of being served tea, was about to agree, but then realized he had no idea where they were supposed to sleep either. “Xiao Xuan, it’s not that I can’t find it—I just don’t want you waiting on me. Let Yu Wen or Yang Bo show the way.”

Zhang Xuan gave Yang Zaixing a playful punch and raised a finger in salute to his older brother’s shamelessness. Yang Zaixing responded with a gesture of his own. In the end, it was Yang Bo who led them to their quarters, where all of them, including Yu Wen Chengdu, would share a room.

After a simple wash, the group collapsed onto their beds. Though they hadn’t been particularly tired that day, most of their time lately had been spent outdoors, exposed to the elements. Having a bed to sleep in felt like a rare and genuine comfort. Yang Zaixing told Zhang Xuan, Yang Hu, Zhao Yun, and Yu Wen Chengdu that they’d be rising early for a run in the morning, giving Yu Wen an extra reassurance that all he had to do was follow along. Then they extinguished the lights and soon, one by one, drifted off to sleep.

Lying in bed, Zhang Xuan kept pondering. In his recollection, at the end of the Han Dynasty, especially during the outbreak of plague, Zhang Jiao had combined traditional folk medicine with talismans and incantations to treat the sick, widely promoting the Taiping Canon’s vision of a peaceful world, advocating equality and mutual love. This had won him the support of the poor and drawn many followers. If the plague hadn’t yet occurred, judging by Yang Bo and the local people’s limited awareness and acceptance of the Taiping Sect, it seemed the Yellow Turban Uprising was still some time away. Sighing in relief at this conclusion, Zhang Xuan felt reassured—there was still time to prepare for the coming chaos.

On the way back, he had also considered what he could do if the uprising were to break out in the next few days. Aside from continuing to build his strength and improve his martial skills, there wasn’t much else. Even if he tried to join the army, he was still too young—they probably wouldn’t take him. The thought made him grumble inwardly—why, when others crossed through time, did they get miraculous “golden fingers,” the power to summon legendary generals and ministers, or the ability to boost their own skills? Such advantages would make his journey so much easier.

Thinking along these lines, Zhang Xuan gradually drifted off to sleep.