Chapter Fourteen: Encountering Injustice on the Road

The conversation continued. Wu Guishun noticed Zhou Yi staring at him with wide eyes. He took a sip of his tea, then went on, “I remember that year, I was fifteen. I went up the mountain with that neighbor, Li Si. Old woman, do you remember Li Si from next door?” As he spoke, Wu Guishun began to digress.

From the kitchen, the old lady called out, “Li Si only passed away the year before last, how could I forget?”

Wu Guishun nodded. “Exactly—what a man, always sinning. Back then, when we hunted in the mountains, he had no regard for the animals. As long as it was meat, he’d shoot it. I remember once he killed a pregnant fox. The poor thing knelt and begged, but Li Si wouldn’t listen. That very night, after eating the fox, he was possessed by evil. In the end, he had to kill four big roosters and invite a monk for a ritual before he recovered. I’d wager his death was tied to the sins he’d committed.”

At this point, Wu Guishun realized he’d wandered off-topic again. He coughed lightly to cover his embarrassment, lifted his teacup, and found it empty. Zhou Yi hastily poured him more tea. Wu Guishun took another sip and continued.

“When Li Si and I entered the mountain, it was summer. By nightfall, we were trying to return, but after walking half the night, we still hadn’t made it out. Instead, the mountain mosquitoes had bitten us all over. Those mosquitoes were enormous…” Zhou Yi cleared his throat and smiled. “Please, go on.”

He had to interrupt; whenever Wu Guishun mentioned mosquitoes, there was no telling how far the story would stray.

Once again, Zhou Yi refilled Wu Guishun’s cup.

“Back then, Li Si and I could see the village lights, but we just couldn’t find our way back. We’d run into a ghost wall. That night, we spent the night in the mountain—in a temple.”

Zhou Yi asked, “Do you remember which year that was?”

Wu Guishun replied offhandedly, “The thirteenth year of Guangxu.” Noticing Zhou Yi’s surprise, he explained, “That was the year I got married. My wife was pregnant with our eldest, so I wanted to hunt some wild game to nourish her.”

Zhou Yi continued, “Did you ever see that temple again?”

Wu Guishun shook his head. “Never. I went up the mountain looking for it twice after that, but it had vanished without a trace. Li Si and I searched many times. Oh, why not ask your father? He knows more than I do. That time, it was your father who led us down the mountain.”

Zhou Yi pressed further, “Do you know which immortal was worshipped in that temple?”

Wu Guishun thought for a moment. “A Taoist priest holding a fly-whisk in his left hand and a gourd in his right—likely the Supreme Elder. But he looked different from the usual depictions. The temple had no monks or priests.”

“Do you remember the name of the temple?” Zhou Yi was eager to know.

Wu Guishun shook his head, pondered, and finally said, “No, I don’t.”

Zhou Yi wanted to ask more but realized he was being a bit abrupt.

He summarized the conversation, extracting the following points:

First: The Taoist temple was intricately connected to the Qing Dynasty’s dragon vein. During the Qing reign, the mountains were sealed to protect either the temple or the dragon vein, perhaps both. Also, the temple could indeed be entered—Zhou Yi simply hadn’t mastered the method.

Second: The immortal who taught Zhou Yi the Taoist arts wasn’t always present in the temple. Zhou Yi’s chance to learn cultivation truly was a stroke of fate.

Third: The relationship between Zhou Dajiang’s identity and the Qing dragon vein seemed to be growing clearer, though Zhou Yi still felt he was on the verge of understanding something deeper.

After dinner at Wu Guishun’s house, Zhou Yi and Baozi took their leave. Wu Guishun walked them to the edge of the village. “You’ve met my daughter—she’s not like the rumors, is she?” he said with pride. Wu Guishun was evidently very proud of Wu Qian.

At this, Zhou Yi chuckled, nodding and shaking his head at the same time. Clearly, when it came to matters of the heart, his usual sharpness deserted him.

Wu Guishun understood Zhou Yi’s intentions perfectly. He patted Zhou Yi on the shoulder. “I know what my girl is thinking too. Go tell your father; pick an auspicious day and come with a proposal.”

Zhou Yi was overjoyed—his future father-in-law had given his consent. As the two walked home, the gloom in Zhou Yi’s heart was swept away, and he couldn’t help but hum a little tune.

Baozi teased, “A man with a bride-to-be is a different man indeed—already learning to hum tunes! Give us a song and I’ll reward you for New Year’s.”

At Baozi’s words, Zhou Yi felt an urge to throttle him. He slapped Baozi on the back of the head, but Baozi ducked, and the two fell into a bout of horseplay as they walked.

Back home, Zhou Yi told Zhou Dajiang about Wu Guishun’s willingness to let their family propose. Zhou Dajiang was delighted. He checked the almanac and said, “The twenty-eighth is an auspicious day. Tomorrow, you and Baozi will go to the town for the betrothal gifts. Third Brother, go see the matchmaker and tell her we’ll be presenting the betrothal gifts on the twenty-eighth. Give her this invitation.” With that, he handed the invitation to the third brother.

The third brother quickly dressed and set off for Nanshan Village.

Zhou Yi frowned. “Father, isn’t this a bit rushed?”

Zhou Dajiang shook his head with a smile. “Not at all. I’m getting old. Once you’re married, I’ll hand the family over to you. Next year, I’ll find a match for your third brother. Then I can just enjoy my grandchildren.”

The night passed peacefully. After breakfast the next morning, Zhou Dajiang handed Zhou Yi thirty silver dollars and a shopping list. Zhou Yi wasted no time—he hitched up the cart and set out for Erdaohe Town with Baozi.

Now, in the Republican era, wedding customs were no longer as complex as during the Qing Dynasty. Zhou Yi needed to buy gifts for the formal engagement, divided into six main categories: meat, dried fruit, fresh fruit, cloth, liquor, and gold or silver jewelry. Each category had numerous subtypes; for example, dried fruit included red dates, lotus seeds, longans, and peanuts. Altogether, there were over thirty varieties to buy.

By the time they reached town, it was noon. They ducked into a restaurant and ordered two bowls of noodles. As they ate, an argument broke out at a nearby table. It turned out that the waiter, in his haste to serve new customers, had accidentally bumped into a Japanese patron. The waiter apologized profusely.

It should have been a trivial matter, but the Japanese man refused the apology, punched the waiter to the floor, then kicked him twice in the stomach while hurling slurs like “Chinese pig” and “bastard.” Humiliated, the waiter didn’t fight back; he only curled up on the ground, cradling his head, begging for mercy.

After beating the waiter, the two Japanese men prepared to leave.

Zhou Yi and Baozi sat in silence, brows furrowed. Zhou Yi was upset not only because the waiter was so spineless, but also because no one else in the restaurant intervened—everyone just watched.

Baozi, however, was pondering why those Japanese dared to act so brazenly on Chinese soil. Most of the people in the restaurant, Zhou Yi imagined, were thinking one of these two things.

Baozi, unable to stand it, got up to confront the Japanese men. Zhou Yi quickly grabbed him. But while Zhou Yi held Baozi back physically, he couldn’t stop his mouth.

“Boss, since when did your restaurant start serving animals?” Baozi’s voice was loud, and every diner turned to look at him—including the two Japanese men who were about to leave.