Chapter Three: The Impoverished Taoist Shows No Restraint, Leaving Xu Wenshan Somewhat Bewildered

Noon was an unshakable mealtime in the Xu household. Every member of the family was required to be present at the table at this hour. No one had ever been late before.

But today, Wen-shan Xu was late.

Chang-shui Xu was furious.

“You’re already fourteen, nearly an adult,” he admonished, pointing his chopsticks at Wen-shan. “Why should this entire table wait for you to eat? Hmm? Since when did your face become so important?”

Wen-shan’s mother tugged at Chang-shui’s sleeve. “Alright, alright, young people sometimes oversleep. Didn’t you ever sleep in when you were young?”

Chang-shui brushed her hand away, still fuming. “Even in my laziest days, I never slept until noon!”

With that, he began to scold his son in earnest, berating Wen-shan as though he were still a child.

The lecture wore on, the food on the table cooling, yet the patriarch’s words showed no sign of ending. The atmosphere grew lively and chaotic: the second and third concubines tried to mediate, the fourth and fifth laughed, the sixth was already lost in her own thoughts, and the seventh—near Wen-shan’s age—listened intently.

Wen-shan sighed, gazing at the wilting dishes before him. This, he thought, was the very embodiment of feudal society.

Strangely, no one mentioned the girl from last night. No matter how conservative or reserved his family might be, it was odd that the incident went unspoken. When had his father found that girl, and how had she been sent into his room?

Lost in thought, Wen-shan stared at his rice bowl, unable to make sense of it all.

Just as his stomach began to rumble from the extended scolding, a servant came in to announce that a wandering Daoist had arrived outside, seeking a drink of water.

Everyone in Deer-Crane Hollow was devoutly Daoist. At the news of a visiting priest, Chang-shui finally stopped his tirade, ordered the guest be brought in, and had him settled in a side wing.

Only then did Chang-shui pick up his chopsticks, and the rest of the family, visibly relieved, began to eat as well. Yet before they could take more than a few bites, a Daoist in tattered robes sauntered in, hands clasped behind his back.

Strangely, the servant outside seemed oblivious to the priest’s entrance and made no announcement.

Facing the main door, Chang-shui saw the Daoist and immediately set down his chopsticks, standing and offering a respectful bow. “What brings you here, sir?”

The Daoist grinned sheepishly, rubbing his stomach. Chang-shui understood at once and told a servant to set an extra place at the table, seating the priest beside Wen-shan and inviting him to eat.

As soon as the Daoist sat down, Wen-shan caught a strong, unpleasant odor from his robes. He instinctively covered his nose, but the priest seemed not to notice, helping himself to the best dishes without restraint.

The Daoist sported a goatee and a sallow, gaunt face, but he ate with gusto—gulping down fish, meat, and vegetables, slurping soup noisily, until his beard was speckled with sauce. The others at the table frowned in silent dismay.

Wen-shan suffered most; with the Daoist beside him, he could barely reach any food. Every time he aimed his chopsticks at a piece of meat, the Daoist snatched it up first. The platters were soon empty, but Wen-shan remained hungry.

He glared resentfully at the Daoist, who licked his teeth, then asked, “Is there a toothpick?”

A servant brought one, and the Daoist cleaned his teeth, belched contentedly, and finally turned to Chang-shui. “Your hospitality is overwhelming; I am deeply grateful.”

Wen-shan rolled his eyes and thought, “What a shameless priest!”

After some polite conversation, the Daoist suddenly grew serious. “Do you know why I have come to your home?”

Chang-shui asked, “Why?”

“I journeyed here from the south. Even outside the village, I saw a haze of demonic energy hanging over your residence,” the Daoist replied.

At his words, everyone at the table except Wen-shan turned ashen.

Chang-shui’s voice quavered. “Are you joking, Master?”

“Why would I joke about such a thing?”

For the first time, Wen-shan saw his father truly afraid. In his memory, Chang-shui had always been boisterous and bold, his voice thunderous. Now he looked like a frightened quail.

Wen-shan knew the people here feared demons, but he hadn’t realized just how deeply.

The Daoist rose, hands behind his back, surveying the room. “But do not worry; the demonic energy is faint, suggesting only a minor spirit. I can easily handle it.”

He produced a monocle from his robe, squinted through it for a while, then took out a compass and made a few calculations. “This demonic aura is a brownish-yellow, an earth-element spirit. Judging by the direction, it is strongest in the east wing.”

He seized Wen-shan’s wrist, tapped his forehead, pinched his pulse, then declared, “The east wing is the young master’s room. I see your energy is weak and your essence depleted; last night you must have been afflicted.”

Of all words dreaded in Deer-Crane Hollow, “affliction” was the most feared.

Whenever something strange happened, villagers would mutter, “Perhaps it’s an affliction.”

It was an ominous word, always portending disaster or death. During New Year’s, people here never wished one another “abundance year after year,” because the words for “year” and “affliction” sounded alike.

An affliction meant something was at work—usually a demon. Those ensnared were said to be “possessed.”

When the Daoist proclaimed Wen-shan afflicted, Chang-shui’s face went deathly pale. Wen-shan was his only son; he could not allow anything to happen to him. If something befell the boy, all Chang-shui’s lifelong efforts would be for nothing, lost to outsiders.

Chang-shui dropped to his knees, bowing deeply to the Daoist. “Please, Master, save my son’s life!”

The Daoist stroked his beard. “Do not panic; expelling demons is my duty.”

He helped Chang-shui up, then questioned Wen-shan, “Did anything strange happen to you yesterday?”

“No, nothing strange,” Wen-shan replied.

To be honest, Wen-shan didn’t believe a word the Daoist said.

From the moment the priest entered, Wen-shan had taken a dislike to him. He’d seen many charlatans in his previous life—they would first win your trust, then frighten you, and once you were scared, you were a lamb to the slaughter.

The only difference was, this Daoist skipped the “winning trust” step and went straight to gorging himself.

Wen-shan saw no reason to believe him.

What worried Wen-shan more was that Chang-shui seemed to believe every word.

If the Daoist tried to swindle their family’s wealth, Wen-shan wasn’t sure he could persuade his father to see reason and avoid being duped.

So Wen-shan remained calm. “Nothing unusual happened.”

The Daoist frowned, gazing at Wen-shan for a long moment. Suddenly, he put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Be silent, everyone. Listen carefully.”

All fell quiet, straining to hear. But there was nothing—only the rustling of wind in the leaves.

As confusion spread, the Daoist suddenly shouted, “Hey!”

The sound pierced Wen-shan’s ears, a hot breath rushing over his face and scalp, startling him wide awake. He’d felt groggy since getting up, barely registering what others said and fumbling with his chopsticks, but now he snapped to attention as if doused in cold water. The others, too, were startled.

It was as though he’d been drenched; the daze that had fogged his mind since rising was gone, and reality crashed in.

The Daoist spoke solemnly. “You seemed confused just now, as though under a demon’s influence. That’s why I used the Lion’s Roar technique. Are you clear-headed now? I’ll ask again—did nothing strange happen to you yesterday?”

His stern, forceful question struck Wen-shan like a hammer to the heart, making his ears ring. The events of last night, so full of unanswered questions, surged back: Why had his father arranged for a girl without telling him? What had truly happened last night? Why had he slept until noon? And why, upon waking, did he feel as though he’d forgotten the girl’s very existence, not even questioning her disappearance?

“Last… last night, there was a woman in my room,” Wen-shan stammered.

Everyone present blanched in shock.