Chapter Two: Wang Rencai, the Oil-Mixer in Water

Since ancient times, Hubei has been known for producing "talent," and as soon as Liaochen entered Hubei, he encountered such "talent."

Drifting downstream from Sichuan, he arrived at Yichang, Hubei. As he needed to collect lamp oil and flames along the way, Liaochen disembarked early, donned a half-new, half-old Daoist robe, wrapped his head with a Hunyuancap, and set off toward Mount Wudang along the official road.

Wangjiawan was an exceedingly ordinary small village—modest in size and population, neither poor nor wealthy. Most residents scraped a living from the land, so reading was not a popular pursuit. According to local officials, the village was simple and honest, its people content in poverty and virtue, yet they disliked reading. For the officials, it was a "model" place: decent enough to avoid starvation, with a population of rustic farmers easy to bully so long as one didn't go too far. Yet, no matter how neatly the eggs are laid in a nest, given time, there will always be a few rotten ones.

Wang Rencai was the "bad egg" among the batch of good ones—at least, that was the villagers' private consensus. If one person said so, it might be a grudge; if ten said so, perhaps a misunderstanding; but if everyone said so, the man ought to reflect on himself. Yet Wang Rencai, Master Wang, did not agree. He lacked the boldness of his famous descendant centuries later, who declared, "If you can't kill poverty, you can't become wealthy." He had no "county magistrate" friends. But Master Wang was notorious for lending money at high interest, manipulating weights and measures, and passing off inferior goods as fine quality. His stinginess was legendary; when his daughter married, he took a hefty bride price but sent back a dowry worth less than a tenth. The countryside buzzed with scorn. Master Wang defended himself, "A married daughter belongs to another family—how can we move our own belongings into their home?" His daughter and son-in-law overheard; his daughter nearly died of anger and never visited her natal home again. Shamelessly, Master Wang still went to her home seeking holiday gifts, only to be chased out with a broom, his dignity in tatters. His reputation was thoroughly ruined. Neither the rustic farmers nor the other landlords would associate with him. At last, time and solitude forced Master Wang to reflect, and he resolved to become a bit more generous.

It was at dusk when Liaochen, collecting lamp oil along his journey, arrived at Wangjiawan. The houses were uniform, all earthen timber structures, except for one conspicuous brick-and-tile mansion. Liaochen, without much thought, walked up and knocked on the Wang family gate. The door was opened by Wang Rencai's wife, a woman of little status, bullied and oppressed. Though she had once quarreled with her husband over their daughter's marriage, she could not change her gentle temperament. Seeing the visitor was a Daoist, she hurriedly greeted him, "Master, is there something you need?"

Liaochen bowed in salute, "Boundless blessings from the Heavenly Lord. This humble Daoist requests half an ounce of lamp oil and a bundle of lamp flame."

"Uh..." Wang Rencai's wife was at once embarrassed. The flame was easy to grant, but lamp oil was precious. She wondered why the Daoist needed it and whether her husband would be willing to part with it.

"Is there difficulty in granting this, virtuous one?" Liaochen asked, puzzled. Wasn't half an ounce of lamp oil a trivial thing?

"No, no, please wait, Master. I'll go ask," she replied. She was willing to give to an ascetic—it would accumulate hidden virtue—but worried about her husband's stinginess. She couldn't very well say, "Our master is so miserly, who knows if he'll spare half an ounce of lamp oil!" That would be humiliating; how could the family show their faces after that? She steeled herself and went to discuss with her husband.

At that moment, Master Wang was indeed reflecting at home. When his wife approached, he was surprised. She stammered, "A Daoist is at the door, asking for half an ounce of lamp oil and a bundle of flame."

"Oh, that's only proper!" Master Wang jumped up. Troubled by his bad reputation, he saw this as a chance to break the label of stinginess. Before his wife's astonished gaze, he actually poured out about half an ounce of lamp oil to give away. But after a few steps, his heart ached, and he turned back, pouring out half of it. Still uneasy, he carefully poured out another half from what remained, then mixed some water in with the oil. Oil floated atop the water, so the difference was hard to spot. With his wife's disbelief, Master Wang went out himself—after all, restoring one's reputation must be done personally.

At the door, Liaochen saw a typical country squire in shabby clothes, holding half an ounce of "lamp oil" in one hand and an old lamp in the other, beaming as he approached. "Peace to you, Master. I have always cared for the villagers with kindness. I am especially generous to ascetics—please speak well of me on my behalf!"

Liaochen nearly fainted. How could Master Wang's tricks escape his spiritual sight? He had seen many people all over the land, but never one so extraordinary. He didn't expose the deceit, merely replied, "Master Wang is full of kindness and will surely be rewarded in days to come." Master Wang failed to catch the double meaning, thinking Liaochen had agreed to spread word of his generosity. He was overjoyed, diligently adding the lamp oil and lighting it with his own flame—actually to prevent Liaochen from discovering the water in the oil. Liaochen didn't object, smiling as he watched Master Wang finish. Taking the lit lamp, Liaochen bade farewell. Master Wang watched him leave, worried the watered lamp oil wouldn't burn brightly, but saw the lamp unaffected in Liaochen's hand. Relieved, he muttered, "Strange, how does watered lamp oil burn so well? Maybe I didn't add enough water?" He hurried back inside, poured out some lamp oil, and began testing how much water he could mix before it affected the lamp. This could be a profitable discovery!

"Ah!" A miserable scream erupted from Master Wang's house. Family members rushed over to find him running out, scorched black by fire. The watered lamp oil had exploded. Luckily, he was nearby and quickly extinguished the flames, sparing the house from disaster, but suffering blisters on his hands and a singed beard. Worse, the damage to his possessions pained him deeply.

Meanwhile, Liaochen, leaving with the lamp, couldn't help but sigh, "Other swindlers only mix water into oil, but today I met someone who mixes oil into water. If he isn't taught a lesson, how can this be tolerated?" Resolute, he continued borrowing lamp oil and flames throughout Wangjiawan, waiting until deep night before glancing cheerfully at the Wang family mansion. He pondered how to cure Master Wang's greed and stinginess. It must be changed! Even a Daoist's alms were corrupted—this was intolerable!