Chapter Four: The First Lesson in Time Travel

In the morning, Fang Xiao awoke to the crowing of roosters.

He rubbed his eyes, tumbled out of bed, grabbed the satchel hanging by his bedside, and rushed out of the room.

He hadn’t rested well at all the previous night.

It was as if his mind had been stuffed full of weeds—everything was in chaos, and he couldn’t make sense of his thoughts. Only in the dim hours before dawn did he finally drift into a fitful sleep.

In the courtyard, the portly Taoist priest was lying on an old rattan chair, staring blankly at the sky with vacant eyes, the very picture of dejection and listlessness.

Fang Xiao hurried over and asked, “Master Taoist, could you tell me where the nearest train station is?”

Right now, he only wanted to go home!

“Train station?” The fat Taoist turned his head to look at Fang Xiao, and then suddenly burst into laughter. “Ha! There aren’t any train stations, nor are there any bus stations!”

“What?” Fang Xiao was instantly dumbfounded—then how was he supposed to get home?

Walk, perhaps?

The Taoist regarded him with a look that one might reserve for someone not quite bright. “Don’t you know you’ve crossed over to another world?”

Fang Xiao was at a loss. “Crossed over? What does that mean?”

The Taoist heaved a heavy sigh. “What a foolish child!”

Fang Xiao bristled. “I’m not foolish. My name is Fang Xiao—‘Fang’ as in ‘square and round,’ ‘Xiao’ as in ‘valiant in battle.’ I’m a student in Class Three, Second Year, of Lu’an Middle School in Lucheng!”

His grades were excellent; if classes hadn’t been suspended, he’d have had no trouble getting into high school this year.

“All right, Fang Xiao.” The Taoist said wistfully, “If I told you now that you’re no longer in your original world, but instead have arrived in a new one—a world where immortals and monsters exist—would you believe me?”

Fang Xiao was stunned.

A new world with immortals and monsters?

The Taoist’s words were bizarre, even absurd. He found it hard to believe. But, recalling the events of the previous night, both reason and instinct told Fang Xiao the Taoist was not lying.

Yet he desperately wished it were not true!

He crouched on the ground, clutching his head, feeling as though it might explode.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.” The Taoist seemed to see straight through Fang Xiao’s thoughts. “I have nothing to gain by deceiving you.”

Fang Xiao gritted his teeth and asked, “Then how can I get back?”

The Taoist gave a bitter laugh. “I wish I knew the answer to that myself!” As he spoke, he suddenly let out a loud howl—more agitated even than Fang Xiao.

Fang Xiao could only stare, dumbfounded.

After a while, the Taoist’s enthusiasm faded, and he sat up. “Enough. Let me give you your first lesson on crossing worlds.”

A lesson?

Fang Xiao perked up immediately.

He was, by nature, a very optimistic boy. Though orphaned young and forced to live a hard life, he had grown up strong and resilient. Even in such dire circumstances, he felt no urge to curse his fate. Only the incapable whined and complained!

He dashed back to his room, quickly brought out a table and stool, then took from his satchel a notebook and pencil and set them on the table. Finally, he sat up straight, back ramrod-stiff, his dark, shining eyes full of eager curiosity as he gazed at the Taoist.

The Taoist was speechless.

“I concede!” He slapped his own large head, then reached into his greasy, dirty sleeve and produced a scroll.

With a casual flick, the scroll unfurled with a flourish and hovered steadily in midair, right before the astonished Fang Xiao.

Next, the Taoist drew out a horsetail whisk and gently swept it across the empty canvas. As the yellowed strands passed over, a map silently appeared upon the paper—its lines bold and black, mountains and rivers vividly etched.

Such a miraculous scene caused Fang Xiao’s eyes to widen involuntarily.

The Taoist intoned solemnly, “This is Qing Province, one of the Nine Provinces of the Immortal Realm. Its territory stretches for millions of miles, and it has been ruled by the Great Yong Immortal Dynasty for seven hundred and ninety-six years…”

Fang Xiao had no time to be amazed; he concentrated intently on the lesson.

With the Taoist’s detailed explanation, a wondrous and strange world began to unfold in the boy’s mind.

Fang Xiao learned that his current location was within the jurisdiction of Liuxian County, Jingyuan Prefecture of Qing Province.

As for the Taoist, his surname was Pang, and his monastic name was Xuanpingzi. He was the current abbot of the Little Jing Mountain Daoist Temple.

And then there were things like immortal sects, cultivators, bodyguards, the Refined Mortal, Qi Refining, and Foundation Laying stages, minor demons, great demons, demon kings…

Fang Xiao listened in a haze, bewildered yet sensing their gravity. Nevertheless, he committed everything firmly to memory—and to his notebook.

His memory was quite good, but as his teachers always said: “The palest ink is better than the best memory.”

Fang Xiao deeply agreed.

That so-called first lesson on world-crossing lasted the entire morning.

At last, the Taoist concluded, “Fang Xiao, you must remember: from now on, you absolutely must never reveal your true origins to anyone, or the consequences will be dire!”

He sighed. “You were lucky to encounter me last night. Otherwise, you’d have been taken for an otherworldly fiend—and that means being skinned alive, your soul refined and your spirit boiled!”

His expression grew so grave that Fang Xiao realized he was not joking.

Frightened, Fang Xiao nodded vigorously. “Master Taoist, I won’t tell anyone!”

“That’s the spirit.” The Taoist clapped his hands. “If anyone asks, just say you’re a distant relative of mine—alone in the world and come to seek shelter. Tomorrow, I’ll register you at the county office, and you’ll no longer be a vagrant.”

“And for now, you must stay here in the temple, especially at night. There are plenty of monsters and demons in Little Jing Mountain!”

Fang Xiao’s heart stirred at these words, and he immediately raised his hand.

The Taoist was exasperated. “Fang Xiao, if you have questions, just ask them. No need to raise your hand.”

Scratching his head, Fang Xiao recounted his experiences from the previous night.

“I know,” the Taoist replied after listening, stroking his stubbled, chubby chin. “There’s a den of yellow weasels in these mountains. The one you met must have just gained intelligence and was waylaying travelers to devour their vital essence!”

These newly intelligent yellow weasels were vicious and cruel. No matter how Fang Xiao had answered, he would have fallen into its trap. In fact, the way he’d fought back was entirely correct—those who act rashly can sometimes scare off the fierce.

“Weasels are very vindictive,” the Taoist warned. “You must be careful in the future. But even their ancestral spirits wouldn’t dare trespass into this temple.”

“As for the others you encountered…” The Taoist continued, “Those were just little grass sprites—minor demons born of plants. Just wave a torch and they’ll scatter.”

“Don’t worry. As long as you’re here, I’ll look after you.”

Fang Xiao said gratefully, “Thank you, Master Taoist!”

He hurriedly opened his satchel, took out a pack of Great Front Gate cigarettes, and offered them with both hands. “I don’t smoke. Please, you take them.”

“Hmm.” The Taoist accepted them with delight.

“Oh, right.” Fang Xiao suddenly remembered something important.

He reached into his satchel and brought out his commemorative badge, his three-edged dagger, and then unfastened his military belt.