Volume One, Chapter 37: Inquiring into the Matter

Meanwhile, the blue flame in the wine bowl began to pulse rhythmically, resembling a person nodding.

The Taoist priest muttered in a low voice, "The agreement is accepted. Keep your mouth shut."

Then, the priest raised the wine bowl in his hands above his head and said, "A toast to the senior."

Gulp, gulp—a generous bowl of high-proof white liquor, containing at least three taels, was drained by the priest in one go.

With a wave of his hand, he motioned for me to refill it.

The flame in the opposite wine bowl flared up with a whoosh and then returned to stillness.

Speaking as if chatting with an old acquaintance, the priest said, "You've had a hard journey, Elder Brother. Have a bowl of spirit-wash to drive away the cold."

With that, the priest ignited a sheet of yellow paper, letting it burn to the side. As it neared the end, he added another.

The priest had once claimed that I possessed Yin-Yang vision, yet I could see nothing. In front of the priest was the yellow paper; in front of the yellow paper was the burning wine bowl; in front of the wine bowl was a large tree—yet I could see none of the entities he addressed.

The priest continued, "Elder Brother, you know what I'm asking about. What happened? ... Hm? That shouldn't be... Impossible, I asked, the young woman isn't married yet... Really?..."

From my perspective, the priest was simply talking to himself. God knows who he was talking to—well, actually, the ghosts certainly knew.

I had heard of summoning immortals, but this was my first time witnessing someone summoning a ghost to ask questions.

The priest was truly formidable.

I could observe the changes in the burning liquor within the bowl, flickering fast and slow as if an invisible force were indeed drinking it.

The priest questioned for over an hour, and the two catties of white liquor were nearly depleted.

Finally, the priest gathered the yellow paper into a pile, knelt before it, and ignited the whole lot at once, muttering under his breath, "I'll burn slowly, you load slowly. No rush, fill up the entire ox-cart."

The mention of an ox-cart made my skin crawl. In our parts, paper-crafted oxen had to be burned for the dead.

Legend had it that when paper offerings were burned for the deceased, the ghosts would drive ox-carts to haul them away.

*Sizzle, sizzle*—utterly spine-chilling.

On the way back, I asked the priest who the visitor had been. Was it one of the legendary immortals of the Qingfeng, Beiwang, or Yanhun lineages?

At that time, I was still ignorant of the distinctions among the three.

The priest let out a drunken hiccup and stammered, "Never seen 'em before."

"Watch your step. If you fall, I'm certainly not carrying you."

"I don't need a little punk like you to carry me. Truly, I don't know 'em."

"If you don't know them, why did you kneel? A true man's knees hold gold."

"That's right, they hold gold. Gold means money, and having money makes things easier."

I raised a thumb to the priest and said, "Impressive, Master. If I kneel to you, how much money will you give me?"

"Ten cents a time."

"Alright, tomorrow you sit right on the heated brick bed, and I'll kowtow to you for two hundred yuan's worth."

Returning to the host's home, the young woman was sitting on the kang eating, her lips greasy from pork head meat, as if she hadn't tasted meat in ages.

Seeing the two of us return, the young woman tried to get up, but the host's wife immediately pulled her back, saying, "No, the master said you cannot step out of the circle."

The priest smiled and said, "Being able to eat and drink means she'll recover faster. It's fine, go ahead and eat."

The host was overjoyed and asked, "Master, I really didn't expect you to actually cure her condition. Please accept this."

With that, the host handed over a red handkerchief rolled into a spherical shape, which likely contained a few thousand yuan.

The priest waved his hand and said, "I said I wouldn't take money, so I won't. The girl has improved, but the business isn't finished yet."

"Just give your orders, and we will follow them."

"This matter is tricky to handle. We'll talk tomorrow."

The host gestured for the priest to rest in another room, but the priest smiled and said, "No, no."

My heart skipped a beat, and I thought, *Is this old Taoist priest trying to cradle the tender grass?*

Uncomprehending, the host asked, "What else do you need? Just tell us."

"Just spread an old tattered quilt for me by your doorway. I'll sleep at the entrance."

"Sleep on the kang, it's already heated up."

The priest picked up the stove poker nearby and said fiercely, "No! Tonight I'm guarding this spot. Let's see who dares to come."

Unable to sway him, the host's family laid down several quilts for the priest.

Giddy and dizzy from alcohol, the priest was brandishing the stove poker heroically one second, and the next, he was flat on the floor sawing logs with loud snores.

Utterly disgraceful. Damn it, truly disgraceful.

After tucking the quilt over the priest, the old woman asked me, "Little Master, what fraction of the cure would you say this is?"

"Well over half. Her life is saved, she'll definitely be fine."

To be honest, I had no clue and was just spouting nonsense off the top of my head.

The woman smiled—a genuine smile from the bottom of her heart. She asked me several more questions, and I comforted her as best as I could.

After a long chat, the burly man invited me to sleep on the kang. Since it was awkward to sleep alongside the married couple, I could share the kang with the daughter instead.

I declined, finding a spot to lie down right beside my master.

The old Taoist wasn't foolish; the stove poker was an item of extreme Yang energy. Placing a stove poker at the entrance meant that regardless of whether a Taoist priest was present, nothing else could enter either.

The next morning, the priest woke up early. The host was equally generous—tell me, who has ever eaten stewed pork knuckles and gnawed on pig trotters early in the morning?

I knew they regarded the priest as a lifesaver and were providing us with the absolute best they could offer.

At the breakfast table, the priest drank a bit more liquor, claiming he had overindulged the night before and needed a morning hair of the dog to straighten out.

I didn't know if this method had any truth to it, but rural alcoholics always said the same thing: if you drink too much, you have to drink a little more to clear your head.

The man wanted to say something but hesitated. Seeing right through him, the priest spoke up, "This matter can be resolved, it's just troublesome. Don't you worry."

With that, the priest asked, "How much did you pay the village's *Chuma Xian* immortal medium?"

"Eighty-eight thousand."

"What?" The priest's mouth dropped open in shock; I could practically see all the way down his throat.

"Ain't that the truth? Eighty-eight thousand. We gave her eighty thousand, and still owe her eight thousand. She comes knocking on our door whenever she feels like it."

"Utter nonsense. Let's go, I'll take you to get it back."

Having heard that *Chuma Xian* mediums never stepped into anyone else's spirit altar room, I had no idea what the priest was planning as he followed the host straight to the village home of Mother Meng.

I expected the old Taoist to set up an altar and engage in spellcasting combat. Instead, the old Taoist went over to give Mother Meng a lecture on the law, throwing around terms like the crime of fraud, how many years you serve for scamming a certain amount, and how her son would never be able to hold a government office.

In the countryside, telling someone that their family wouldn't produce a single official for generations was absolute, top-tier malicious cursing.

With his sharp tongue, the old Taoist essentially insulted Mother Meng through roundabout metaphors. Feeling a guilty conscience, Mother Meng agreed to return the money.

That very noon, Mother Meng delivered seventy-eight thousand yuan.

The host was even more overjoyed, pulling out two bundles of cash to shove at the priest.

The priest waved his hand and said, "You can't keep all of this seventy-eight thousand either. Take out three thousand yuan to use."

"Never mind the three thousand, take both of these twenty thousand."

"No, just three thousand. And don't stash this three thousand away—you need to spend it."

I was completely baffled. What was the priest up to?

The priest continued, "Go deposit the money first, keeping just three thousand out. With so many sticky-fingered people around these past couple of days, don't lose it. Once you've deposited the money, I'll explain the rest of the matters to you both."

"Well... alright." The host looked somewhat hesitant.

The priest waved a hand, saying, "Listen to me, hurry along. When you get back, I'll explain thoroughly how this illness ought to be cured."

"Yes, yes."

The host's wife went off to deposit the money. The host himself wasn't a fluent talker, so he spent the time continuously offering cigarettes to the priest.