Volume 1, Chapter 6: The Malicious Taoist

Having neither food nor water, I followed Master Ma for the better part of the day. When thirsty, I drank from stagnant puddles; when hungry, I simply endured. My legs were wobbling with exhaustion, and my hunger was so severe that the Taoist looked like he had two heads and four legs.

Fortunately, the deep forest contained small wooden cabins left behind by hunters, providing shelter from the wind and rain at night. There is a rule in these mountains: anyone may stay in these cabins, but one must leave behind firewood and dry rations for those who follow.

I had just lit a candle inside the cabin when Master Ma opened the bundle he had been carrying all day. Inside was a roasted chicken. The sight of that glistening, golden-orange bird made my eyes light up. I reached out, but Master Ma handed it to me instead.

I paused for a few seconds and said, "Master, you should eat first, or let's eat together."

"This is not for you to eat."

"What? Not for eating? We haven't had a bite all day."

"I am giving this chicken to you, but you are not to eat it tonight. You must do exactly as I say."

"If I'm not eating it, what’s the point? If we leave it here, it will be rotten by the time the next group arrives," I said, bewildered.

Master Ma pointed to a plate on the wooden table. "Use your clothes to wipe the plate clean, then break the chicken apart and place it on the platter."

"Understood," I replied, excited.

"But you are not allowed to eat it."

At that moment, I felt as if the chicken in my hands were Master Ma’s own body. I gritted my teeth and tore the bird to pieces, though I couldn't resist licking the grease off my fingers at the end—it smelled damn good.

Master Ma then produced paper money and yellow incense sticks, instructing me to go outside, find a level spot, set out the chicken, light the incense first, then burn the paper, and finally kowtow three times once the flames died out.

"Master," I said, alarmed, "won't this attract wandering ghosts? We're in the middle of the deep mountains—isn't this just asking for death?"

Master Ma tapped the wooden table with his unnaturally long fingers. His gaze was terrifyingly sharp, and as the candlelight flickered in his eyes, I felt a wave of dizziness. A dreadful thought crossed my mind: I had always questioned his profession, but now I began to wonder if he was even human.

"Do as I say," he roared.

I carried the chicken out of the cabin, trembling. Outside, it was pitch black. The cries of crows and wild beasts echoed through the mountains, and as the mountain wind bit into me, my knees shook with fear.

I didn't bother looking for a level spot; I just burned it right by the doorway. God knows what that wretched Master Ma was planning. Having lived in the village for years, I knew the rules for burning incense and paper. During the Qingming or Ghost Festival, if one couldn't visit the graves, one had to burn paper at the village entrance to comfort the ancestors. You had to draw a circle first to prevent the spirit money from being snatched, and toss a few sheets outside the circle as a bribe for the wandering ghosts.

Yet, this dead Taoist hadn't told me to draw a circle. Even if I wasn't sure if a circle worked, it was obvious this money was meant for the spirits.

"Damn you," I cursed silently.

Everything was ready, but my hands wouldn't cooperate. No matter how I tried, the box of old matches wouldn't strike. I wanted to curse the Taoist again—he made two silver coins just by flapping his lips to tell a fortune, yet he wouldn't buy a decent lighter, insisting on his pretentious "firewood matches."

After using half the box, the incense finally caught. Then, a bizarre scene unfolded: the three sticks of incense burned at completely different speeds—two fast, one slow, the slow one remaining an inch longer than the others.

Something is wrong. There is something unclean nearby.

This is wicked.

My heart sank further. I hurriedly lit the paper money; regardless of the purpose, I wanted to be done and back inside.

Just as the paper money caught fire, several whirlwinds suddenly rose up from all sides. They whipped the paper money into the air, scattering embers and white smoke everywhere. Sometimes, two whirlwinds would entangle, as if fighting over the money.

As if that weren't enough, two owls flew over and perched on the roof of the cabin, their glowing eyes following me as they rotated their heads 360 degrees.

My god, this is too sinister. Forget whether the paper money burned out—I kowtowed and scrambled back to the door.

I kowtowed and stood up in one fluid motion, but to my horror, I slammed face-first into the door. The thieving old Taoist had locked it. No matter how I pounded or kicked, there was not a sound from within.

My heart was pounding so hard I felt it might leap out of my throat if I opened my mouth. A wave of powerlessness washed over me.

Behind me, the whirlwinds howled; above, the owls wailed; in the distance, the beasts roared. Separated by only a door, I didn't know if the Taoist was human or ghost. My cries to heaven went unanswered, and the earth offered no solace.

I constantly felt as if something were standing right behind me, staring at me. It was a wicked sensation that made my hair stand on end and my spine turn to ice. I didn't dare turn around, so I pressed myself tightly against the wooden door, praying that Master Ma would find a shred of conscience and let me in.

Whether he was human or ghost, I had known him for two days, so he was practically a "familiar" ghost. Between a known entity and the spirits outside, I preferred the Taoist.

Wait—something was wrong. Was the old thief trying to use me as a sacrifice? I remembered a shepherd in my village saying that some Taoists would trick children, taking them to altars in the deep mountains to drain their life force.

"Oh god, I haven't lived enough yet! I haven't even taken a wife! I can't die this young!"

"Oh, Xuyu, Xuyu, why did you have to be so obsessed with women? You’d do anything to make money to get married, and now look at you—you’re going to lose your life over it."

"Ancestors, spirits of the graveyard, stop sending smoke signals and just set the place on fire—save your descendant!"

I prayed silently, cycling through every deity I could think of: the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, the gods of the Heavenly Court, Mazu of the sea, Jesus, and even Santa Claus.

But it was no use. The more nervous I became, the more my mind wandered.

Maybe I should run. If I ran, I might survive. I couldn't let that thieving Taoist steal my life force.

I took a deep breath and turned, ready to run for my life.

The moment I turned, the world went silent. The wind stopped, the birds ceased their chirping, and the beasts fell quiet.

Without a second thought, I bolted like a startled rabbit. As I ran, I vowed that if I survived, I would smear cement over the toilet paper in the old Taoist's house, block up his holes, and plant a firecracker in his bed to blow him to pieces for all his wickedness.

Run. Run for my life.

I don't know where the strength came from, but I sprinted for over a mile, my feet barely touching the ground. If I hadn't slammed into a tree, I probably would have kept running.