Chapter Two: The Daoist Master

Clouds gathered and dispersed, the moonlight was dim and uncertain.

The rugged mountain path twisted endlessly, as if it would never come to an end. Fang Xiao felt as though the soles of his shoes had been worn thin by the stones beneath his feet. Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his strength was nearly spent.

At this moment, he was both hungry and thirsty, longing to stop and rest for a while—to eat something, to take a sip of water.

But at some point, Fang Xiao had gained a trail of “tails” behind him. They hid themselves in the shadows of the trees and grass, skulking as they followed him, as persistent as maggots clinging to bone.

At first, there were only two or three. But soon their number grew to a dozen, then dozens…

They dared not come too close, whispering amongst themselves, the murmurs clinging to his footsteps like shadows—impossible to shake off!

Though Fang Xiao was no longer as terrified as before, his instincts warned him that if he collapsed from exhaustion, these creatures behind him would swarm over and devour him whole.

Tightening his grip on the weapon belt in his hand, Fang Xiao licked his cracked lips and hurried his steps forward.

The moment he sped up, the monsters behind him grew suddenly excited, hopping and bounding as they followed in pursuit.

Damn it!

Gritting his teeth, Fang Xiao ignored his fatigue and broke into a desperate run.

Shrill whines rose from behind, the whispers now sharp cries. Dense, dark forest loomed on either side, as if countless strange demons had awakened at that very moment, reaching out to seize the running youth.

Just as danger closed in, a flicker of orange light suddenly caught Fang Xiao’s eye.

He hastily wiped the sweat from his face, clearing his blurred vision.

At the end of the mountain path, a Taoist temple stood tall!

It was a small building, dilapidated and neglected. A lantern hung under the eaves by the entrance, its faint glow barely illuminating the space around it.

The light shone on the weathered yin-yang fish painted on the door.

Exhausted, Fang Xiao was overjoyed. A surge of energy welled up inside him, and he dashed toward the temple.

He stumbled up the steps, nearly falling, and banged forcefully on the door.

“Is anyone there? Please, open up!”

At that moment, Fang Xiao didn’t notice that the creatures trailing him stopped short of the lantern’s glow, skulking at the very edge of its light. They grumbled and screeched in frustration, but none dared step into the illuminated area.

Creak—

Just then, the temple door swung open from within.

The door was answered by a robust, rotund Taoist priest, rubbing sleepy eyes and grumbling, “Who’s calling at this ungodly hour? Can’t you let a man sleep?”

Fang Xiao’s eyes lit up at once.

For the slovenly, disheveled, fat priest spoke in the dialect of Haozhou.

Fang Xiao’s late mother had been from Haozhou. He had grown up hearing the dialect and could speak it himself; now, it sounded especially warm and familiar.

“Ma—Master Taoist,” Fang Xiao croaked, his throat dry and his words stumbling. “I—I’m lost. Could I stay here for the night? I—I can pay you!”

He reached for his military satchel to pull out some bills.

“Wait!” The priest, now fully awake, fixed him with a sharp gaze. The tiny pupils of his small eyes contracted suddenly, his face taking on an expression as if he’d seen a ghost. “Where did you come from?”

There was a quiver in his hoarse voice, his lips trembling, clearly shaken.

Fang Xiao didn’t notice and replied, “The capital. I came from the capital—by train. I don’t know what happened, I just…”

Before he could finish, the fat priest grabbed him and pulled him inside.

“Don’t talk!”

Releasing him, the priest strode over the threshold and stood atop the steps.

Planting his hands on his hips, his large white belly exposed, he shouted into the darkness, “You little bastards, get lost! If you make another sound, I’ll—”

Spittle flew and his voice rang like a cracked bell.

At his words, the creatures lurking in the shadows immediately fell silent. Then, as if swept by a tide, they retreated and vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Pah!” The priest spat thickly to the side, grumbled some more, and stepped back to close the door.

“Come with me!”

He pulled the stunned Fang Xiao along into the temple.

The small temple was not only cramped, but its buildings were plain and run-down. Aside from a single main hall, there were two rows of side rooms and a dining hall, barely enough to house a dozen people.

In the middle of the courtyard stood a bronze censer, its surface mottled with green rust—a silent testament to the passage of years.

“Sit,” said the priest, leading Fang Xiao into a guest room. He pinched the lamp wick between thumb and forefinger.

Instantly, the oil lamp flared to life.

Nervous, Fang Xiao seated himself on the wooden stool.

He noticed that the priest was looking at him with a peculiar expression—surprise, delight, astonishment, and doubt all mingled together.

Though there was no malice, it made Fang Xiao uneasy. He managed a stiff smile. “Th—thank you.”

The priest waved his hand, his face grave. As if making up his mind, he lowered his voice and asked, “Imperial Jade Wine?”

Fang Xiao was bewildered. “What?”

The priest’s brow furrowed. “Change the odd, not the even?”

Fang Xiao was even more confused. “Huh?”

Disappointment flickered across the priest’s face, but he persisted. “Genshin, engage!”

Fang Xiao was at a complete loss. “Er…”

“Forget it,” the priest muttered, shaking his head. “I thought you were from the Directorate…”

Seeing the priest’s disappointment, inspiration flashed in Fang Xiao’s mind. He quickly opened his military satchel and pulled out a pack of Da Qianmen cigarettes.

Fang Xiao didn’t smoke. The pack had been slipped into his bag at the capital’s train station by an older comrade, Li Yuanchao.

The old hand had told Fang Xiao: “If you need a favor, offer a cigarette first. Things go much smoother that way.”

Fang Xiao never forgot his advice.

“M—Master Taoist, have a smoke.”

Orphaned young, Fang Xiao had grown up relying on the kindness of many. He understood basic manners. As for whether the priest smoked, he didn’t know—but a little courtesy never hurt.

That’s what the old hand said.

“Hmm?” The priest’s beady eyes went wide at the sight of the Da Qianmen.

He swallowed reflexively, then reached out with his pudgy hand and took the cigarette.

He pinched it gently, held it to his nose, and inhaled deeply.

Feigning nonchalance, he said, “It’s late. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Fang Xiao gladly replied, “Thank you, Master Taoist.”

The old hand had been right!

The priest waved him off and waddled out of the room.

Behind him, the door closed silently.