Chapter 86: Every Event Has Its Cause

The driver bolted from the car the moment he got out, terrified by Baozi. Baozi’s large eyes glared menacingly. “Oh, you still dare to run?” she exclaimed. Grabbing her single mace, she leapt from the vehicle and chased after the driver, bringing her weapon down upon him.

The driver, being an ordinary man, stood no chance against Baozi’s strike. He collapsed onto the ground, convulsing violently. By the time Zhou Yi reached Baozi’s side, the driver had already breathed his last. “Why did you…” Zhou Yi began, but stopped himself; now was not the time to rebuke Baozi. Besides, it was hardly worth damaging their friendship over a driver.

“Brother Yi, I didn’t realize my own strength. He shouldn’t have died,” Baozi said, her face twisted in regret and apology.

Zhou Yi patted her shoulder without another word and turned back to the car. “Now the driver’s dead and we can’t drive this car—what do we do?” he asked.

“You’ve been watching for so long and still haven’t figured it out?” Baozi replied, hunching her shoulders, ready to dodge if Zhou Yi tried to swat her.

After a moment’s thought, Zhou Yi slipped into the driver’s seat. “Get in,” he said.

Zhou Yi was clever by nature, and driving this vehicle was not complicated. After fumbling for a while, the car started moving, albeit awkwardly at first, veering off course. As they drove further, Zhou Yi gained confidence, picked up speed, and soon handled the car with growing skill.

After they left, Zhang Xun, not seeing the driver return, searched along the route and, upon finding the man’s corpse, broke down in tears. “Little Guo, I’m the one who brought this upon you—I caused this,” he wept bitterly. But we need not linger on Zhang Xun’s grief here.

Zhou Yi and Baozi soon entered Shandong, where Japanese invaders were everywhere—more numerous and brazen than in the Northeast. The bullied locals did not resist, simply cowering on the ground and begging for mercy. Bystanders pointed and whispered about the cruelty of the Japanese, yet not one person stepped forward to intervene. The weakness of the people could not be cured by the emergence of a hero or two.

The two could only furrow their brows and keep driving; this was not the time to invite trouble.

Before they could leave Shandong, the car finally gave out for good. Unaware that it had simply run out of fuel, they assumed it was broken and abandoned it by the roadside, continuing their journey through the air.

Upon entering Jiangsu, they encountered several young Daoist priests and, after some inquiry, discovered they were disciples from Mount Mao. These disciples, lacking spiritual cultivation, could only travel on foot.

Seeing fellow Mount Mao disciples gave Zhou Yi some peace of mind. If even the disciples had not returned to their temple, then perhaps the situation was not as dire as he feared.

The two hurried on their way, and by dawn the next day, they had arrived at the gates of Mount Mao.

A young Daoist, barely fifteen or sixteen, stood guard at the mountain gate. Seeing them approach, he bowed respectfully. “Boundless Heavenly Venerable! By the order of the Headmaster, Mount Mao is closed for three days. Kind souls, please return the day after tomorrow.” Despite his youth, the boy played at formality with a gravity beyond his years.

Zhou Yi stepped forward and returned the salute. “Little Daoist, please pass on a message: Zhou Yi and Baozi from the Northeast have arrived. Ask Mu Chen to come meet me.”

At this, the boy broke into a grin. “So you’re friends of the senior disciple! He told me to wait for you here. Please, follow me up the mountain.”

Zhou Yi smiled and nodded. “Lead the way.”

Growing up in a rural village, Zhou Yi’s manner was straightforward. Had anyone else spoken so casually, the Daoist would have taken offense. But from Zhou Yi, it was merely the bearing of a true adept, who had the right to be proud—unlike those who postured without strength.

“That ahead is where our master usually lectures and the senior disciples practice. Everyone is gathered there now,” the Daoist said, trying to make the climb less dull.

“Why is the mountain closed?” Zhou Yi asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. A few days ago, some Japanese came to the mountain. The Headmaster met with them, but I don’t know what was said. After they left, the Headmaster ordered the mountain closed and had a platform built at the training grounds.”

“A platform? For what?”

“A dueling stage—just ahead,” the boy replied, pointing forward. “That’s the training ground. Senior Mu Chen is there as well.”

Zhou Yi smiled and nodded. “Thank you, little Daoist. I’ll go on ahead by myself.”

The young priest bowed again and took his leave.

The dueling stage had already been erected, nine meters on each side. Mu Chen was there, directing a group of young Daoists as they cleared away debris.

Baozi, who hadn’t seen Mu Chen in days, gave a sly grin, tiptoed behind him, patted his left shoulder, and darted to his right.

Mu Chen turned, not seeing Baozi, but caught sight of Zhou Yi and came over with a smile. “I thought you’d arrive by nightfall, but you’re here already. Come, I’ll take you to see my master.” With that, he took Zhou Yi by the arm and headed toward the main hall.

Baozi’s eyes flashed with indignation, almost aflame. “Mu Chen, stop right there!” she called out.

Mu Chen turned, momentarily stunned to see Baozi. “Oh, Baozi, you’re here too. How did I miss you just now? Where’d you run off to?”

Baozi had only meant to tease, but ended up being ignored entirely. She dropped her head and sighed.

“Come on, aren’t we going to meet the master?” Zhou Yi said with an amused smile. Mu Chen and Baozi were two of a kind—always lively.

Abandoning their antics, the three entered the main hall.

The current Headmaster of Mount Mao was Yuan Tingyu, a man with a long beard, his hair tied in a Daoist knot, his frame lean but his face aglow with vitality. He was seated on a meditation cushion, deep in contemplation.

“Mu Chen pays respects to the Headmaster,” Mu Chen said, bowing deeply as they entered.

Yuan Tingyu opened his eyes at the sound of Mu Chen’s voice. “Has the dueling stage been erected?”

“It has, Master. And the two friends I spoke of have arrived. I’ve brought them to meet you,” Mu Chen replied.

Only then did Yuan Tingyu rise and study Zhou Yi closely. After a careful look, he gave him due respect. “Please, honored guest, be seated. Serve tea.”

Once everyone was seated, Yuan Tingyu spoke. “I hadn’t expected my disciple’s friends to include a Daoist who has already crossed the tribulation. Forgive my earlier neglect.”

Zhou Yi shook his head. “I’m just Mu Chen’s friend—no need for such ceremony. But what has happened to prompt the Headmaster to close the mountain?”

“It’s a long story. Please, be seated,” the master replied.

After a round of polite exchanges, Yuan Tingyu finally explained the reason for sealing the mountain.

Stroking his goatee, Yuan Tingyu sighed. “A few days ago, some Japanese came to Mount Mao, arrogantly claiming that there is no longer any Daoist magic left in China.”

Zhou Yi frowned; the audacity of their claim was astonishing. So the Japanese had come to challenge Mount Mao, but what was their true aim—merely to humiliate the sect?

“It’s nothing but a joke. Please, continue,” Zhou Yi said.

Yuan Tingyu gestured for Zhou Yi to drink his tea. After Zhou Yi took a sip, the master went on, “Quite right. The Japanese were exceedingly arrogant. Naturally, I debated with them. Their so-called Daoist arts were originally imported from our China, so in any true discourse, they were no match for me. I left them speechless.”

Zhou Yi smiled and nodded. “How could the essence of our Daoist tradition be compared to that of a small island nation? They merely bring shame upon themselves.”