O Herdeiro das Artes Demoníacas

I am Li Xi, born in a backward, poor, and extremely feudal and superstitious mountain village. The villagers were all genuine farmers, honest and diligent, guarding their three acres of land and living their lives. The village was small, yet its affairs were not few. Occasionally, one might see a few people gathered together, flashing decayed teeth and chatting in vulgar jokes. "Zhang's wife has skin whiter than anything," "Li's widow had slept with some man again last night." Besides the vulgar jokes, they talked the most about my grandfather, Li Guozheng.

My grandfather had been a Taoist priest in his youth. During the Four Olds period, the Red Guards broke into the Taoist temple where my grandfather was, setting it on fire. All the Taoists inside, from the hall master to the young apprentice, were denounced as ghosts and monsters.

They were locked in pig pens, paraded through the streets. The Taoists died or scattered. My grandfather also went mad during that denunciation.

In fact, the little mountain village was no different from the outside. The villagers all knew that my grandfather had been denounced, and that outside, the world was everywhere about overthrowing ghosts and monsters. But the villagers' superstitious thoughts had long been deeply rooted, and it was not something that could be completely changed by one call from Chairman Mao. And whether my grandfather was truly mad, the villagers all knew.

It was about the second year that my grandfather returned to the village when a major event occurred in