Yimiao cautiously peered through the gap in the window and saw Zhenyangzi sitting on a chair, holding up five fingers. The two visitors were dressed in Taoist robes, their backs turned to the window, making it impossible to see their faces clearly.
One of them asked, “Five hundred thousand?”
Zhenyangzi chuckled softly. “What can five hundred thousand buy these days? In Beijing, it’s barely enough for a toilet, let alone a decent car. Even in this countryside, it’s only enough to build a single house.”
The other shook his head. “Master Zhenyang, aren’t you being a bit too greedy? Five million for a broken furnace?”
Zhenyangzi remained unruffled. “To be honest, if I just whip up some ‘immortality pills,’ plenty of wealthy businessmen would pay handsomely.” His implication was clear—five million meant nothing to him.
Yimiao clenched his fists. So Zhenyangzi had gone through all that trouble to retrieve the alchemy furnace because someone was willing to pay a fortune for it. And Zhenyangzi’s asking price was steep.
The visitor hesitated. “The price is too high. I can’t justify it. Can you lower it?”
After some negotiation, the deal was settled at four million. Yimiao had seen the furnace before and found nothing extraordinary about it—just an ordinary alchemy vessel. Were these people buying it to make elixirs? Did people still believe that swallowing a couple of pills could grant immortality?
How foolish.
Hiding beneath the window, Yimiao listened intently but never got a clear look at the visitors’ faces. Their speech offered no clues either—they spoke standard Mandarin with no trace of dialect.
If the furnace truly belonged to Ge Hong, it should be a treasure of Mount Sanqing. By selling it, Zhenyangzi was committing a grave sin, lining his own pockets without a shred of a Taoist’s integrity.
The three men stood up together. Zhenyangzi escorted his guests down the mountain, agreeing on a time and place for the transaction—downhill, where the money would be transferred to his account, and the furnace handed over.
As the two left Zhenyangzi’s room, Yimiao pursued them, hoping to get a better look. But the visitors seemed to notice his tailing and moved swiftly. Upon exiting the temple, one suddenly drew a silenced pistol.
Yimiao, ever alert, dodged behind a wooden pillar just as the man turned and fired.
*Thud. Thud.*
Bullets splintered the wood, but the two quickly vanished beyond the temple gates. By the time Yimiao gave chase, they were long gone—clearly well-trained professionals. Frustrated, he returned to his room.
On his way back, he ran into Zhenyangzi. “Taoist Yimiao, shouldn’t you be resting? What brings you wandering around the temple?”
Calmly, Yimiao replied, “I was looking for you to discuss Ang Lee’s *Brokeback Mountain*.”
Zhenyangzi burst into laughter, his grin blooming like a flower. Some details are best left unmentioned.
—
The next morning, Zhenyangzi packed the furnace into a large wooden crate and loaded it onto a sightseeing cable car, descending to the town at the foot of Mount Sanqing before heading toward Shangrao.
Yimiao secretly alerted the police, reporting the theft of the temple’s precious alchemy furnace.
Officers swarmed in, but only managed to arrest Zhenyangzi’s senior disciple and two local drivers. The two mysterious figures from the night before were nowhere to be found. The furnace was recovered, and Yimiao breathed a sigh of relief—though the disappearance of the buyers was puzzling.
Zhenyangzi, however, slipped away unscathed. The furnace was returned to the temple.
Later, Yimiao confronted Zhenyangzi, demanding information about the buyers.
Zhenyangzi smirked. “Do you really think you’re the righteous one? How many people trade in relics these days? I’m hardly the first. As for who those two were—I won’t tell you. Professional courtesy.”
Enraged, Yimiao slapped Zhenyangzi twice.
Still, Zhenyangzi offered a clue: “This definitely has something to do with Gu Rechang. I’d bet those men are descendants of the Red Guards from decades ago.”
Yimiao released him and walked away. In truth, this affair had little to do with him. Zhenyangzi was right—treasures always attract covetous eyes, whether in China or abroad. Yimiao had even heard rumors that the *Mona Lisa* in the Louvre was a fake, the real one hidden away in some secret estate.
Not long after, Zhenyangzi suffered an inexplicable misfortune—his manhood was bitten by something and swelled grotesquely. It turned out that during his time in the cave, he had relieved himself there, and a surviving rainbow centipede had crawled into his pants, seizing the opportunity to strike.
In his heart, Zhenyangzi cursed Gu Rechang a thousand times over.
And Yimiao? He became Zhenyangzi’s sworn enemy.
After a strange encounter with Gu Rechang on Mount Sanqing, Yimiao recalled that the man had once mentioned raising two zombies near the Jiangxi-Hubei border. Setting off in pursuit, he stumbled upon Lian Xiaoyao bathing by a stream in Lushan.
Unable to avoid catching a glimpse of her back, Yimiao found himself relentlessly pursued by her.
Evading Lian Xiaoyao while searching for Gu Rechang’s hidden tomb took Yimiao weeks. By the time he found it, he crossed paths with Xiao Qi, the ghostly Feng Shui master.
—
Yimiao recounted his tale vividly, painting a detailed picture of Jiangxi’s landscapes and even mentioning the massive hundred-pound grass carp in Poyang Lake.
I was enthralled. Who knew Yimiao was such a skilled storyteller? With his wealth of monster-hunting experiences, he could easily become a writer. I had once considered retiring from Feng Shui to write, but now I realized Yimiao’s tales were far richer. I could interview him about his supernatural exploits and craft a book titled *The Most Handsome Taoist*.
Yimiao coughed. “That’s the end. No tea?”
Lian Xiaoyao hurriedly poured him a cup. “You’ve worked hard. Drink some tea to soothe your throat.”
I asked, “What did you see in Gu Rechang’s cave?”
Yimiao replied, “Seven corpses emerge, immortality attained. Eight words. Why?”
I pondered. I’d encountered far more than seven zombies, but what did Gu Rechang mean by “seven corpses”? And how did it relate to immortality?
My mother knocked on the door, announcing that the tofu was ready and it was time for bed. “Alright, I’m going to sleep now,” I replied.
Xie Xiaoyu stepped outside to bask in the moonlight, returning radiant.
If “seven corpses” were to appear, I mused, they should be as extraordinary as Xie Xiaoyu—a peerless jade zombie with immense strength. Others would pale in comparison.
Xiao Jian was unusually lively tonight, bouncing around joyfully. My mother had spoiled him with treats, and he was clearly enjoying it. The little rascal had grown chubby lately, especially since my mother treated him like a second son.
Once, when I told her how Xiao Jian had saved me, she cooked him a plate of braised pork. Since then, she doted on him even more.
I teased, “Xiao Jian, you’re a dog—a legend among ghosts and demons. But if you keep gaining weight, you’ll turn into a little pig. Should they call you ‘Brother Dog’ or ‘Brother Pig’?”
Xiao Jian turned his head away disdainfully.
My mother scolded, “Leave him alone. He’s finally putting on weight, and you’re complaining. A plump dog is a happy dog.”
Realizing Xiao Jian now had a powerful ally—one I dared not cross—I laughed and walked away, vowing to discipline him later. A fat dog was a slow dog, and a slow dog was a dead dog.
A spare bed had been set up in my room for Yimiao. Xie Xiaoyu and Lian Xiaoyao shared another room, arranged by my mother, while He Qingling stayed with Xie Xiaoyu. Xiao Jian tried to join them twice but was shooed away, sulking back to my room.
It was already 1 a.m. The tofu was ready, the peanuts roasted. My father locked the doors and retired. The twenty-seventh had passed, then the twenty-eighth, then the twenty-ninth. New Year’s Eve was just around the corner.
I fell asleep quickly and woke to sunlight. The forecast predicted clear skies for the holiday.
Good spirits and good weather. My father swept the courtyard clean, planning to plant some vegetables after the New Year. I suggested roses—they’d make a nice gift for my mother.
He shook his head. “We’re too old for roses. This isn’t the city.”
We settled on osmanthus and kumquat trees instead. By autumn, the fragrance of osmanthus would fill the air, and golden kumquats would gleam brightly.
The gate stood open as villagers passed by, arms laden with goods. Children buzzed with excitement, eager for new clothes and toy guns. The countdown to New Year’s Eve had begun.
Then the village party secretary appeared at the crossroads, accompanied by two others.
Zhe Huaqiang and Ma Yan approached, carrying deer antlers, premium cigarettes, and fine liquor. “I’ve come to visit Uncle,” Zhe Huaqiang said.
My neighbor stepped out, axe in hand, relaxing only when he saw Zhe Huaqiang alone.
I studied Ma Yan. Her freckles hadn’t faded.
“Xiao Qi,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’ve come to apologize.”
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