What is a threshold? If you pass it, it’s a door; if you fail, it becomes a barrier.
The surging red storm finally spread from the big cities to the rural towns, as wave after wave of educated youth arrived in Northeast China, plunging into the struggle between revolution and counter-revolution. The previously peaceful village of Xiu Shui could not escape this tide.
One day, a knock came at the door of Liu Laoshi’s house. Liu Dashao opened it and found Yang Baosan, the leader of the rebel faction who had arrived in the village a few days earlier. Behind him stood a group of more than ten young people, their arms wrapped in red armbands—members of the “Red Guards.” The Red Guards stared at Zhang Enpu like he was their sworn enemy. After scanning Zhang Enpu and his apprentices, Yang Baosan shouted loudly, “Surround this courtyard! You lot, go inside and search the rooms!”
“Wait! What are you doing…?” Liu Laoshi tried to stop the Red Guards from entering his home, but before he could finish, several strong-looking guards surrounded him and his group. Truth be told, these young men, though tall and strong, were no match for Zhang Enpu and his apprentices. However, they understood the consequences of fighting back against the Red Guards and could only swallow their anger.
“Yang Baosan! What are you doing bringing so many people here? Are you here to rob us? Don’t forget it was Master Zhang who saved your aunt from possession!”
Liu Laoshi, though simple-minded, could easily guess Yang Baosan’s intentions. But Yang merely sneered and said, “Saved me? If my aunt hadn’t told me what you’re really up to, I might have thought you were just ordinary villagers. But now I know—you’re hiding counter-revolutionaries!”
“Counter-revolutionaries? What are you talking about?” Zhang Enpu, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. “I am merely a Taoist practitioner. I have never involved myself in matters of dynastic change…”
Before he could finish, a Red Guard named Xiao Tian emerged from the house holding a yellow cloth bag. Without a word, he threw it onto the ground. The bag, tied with loose knots, scattered open, revealing talismans and peachwood swords—items Zhang Enpu and his apprentices used in their Taoist practices.
“What is this? This is evidence!” Yang Baosan pointed at the scattered items and shouted, “Why do you insist on being anything but law-abiding citizens? These are remnants of feudalism, and you’re using them to plot rebellion! You are counter-revolutionaries!”
With Yang Baosan’s command, the Red Guards surrounded them, binding Zhang Enpu and his apprentices with ropes. They placed tall paper hats marked with the words “counter-revolutionary” on their heads and dragged them to a temporary prison. Zhang Enpu, still holding onto hope, believed that since they had committed no crimes, the authorities would eventually clear their names. But the Red Guards had no intention of investigating. The next day, they took the three to the town’s market square. Yang Baosan delivered a fiery revolutionary speech, then hung urine bottles around their necks and allowed the crowd to spit on them. These were only the beginning of the humiliations. At night, Zhang Enpu was dragged into a dark room and tortured with methods like pouring chili water into his nose. Daily and nightly torment became routine.
Even a strong young man would struggle under such treatment, let alone an aging Zhang Enpu. After half a month of persecution, he became frail and weak. His voice grew so faint it was barely audible, like the whisper of ants. Liu Dashao was deeply worried but powerless to help. The guards ignored their suffering, providing only the bare minimum of food and water to keep them alive.
One morning, Liu Dashao woke up as usual, expecting to be taken to the market square for another round of public denunciation. But to his surprise, no one came. Around noon, Yang Baosan arrived at the coal cellar with three Red Guards and shouted, “Zhang Enpu! Come out!”
“What are you doing? Take me instead! My master is in no condition for this!” Liu Dashao rushed to block Yang Baosan, but the latter only sneered, “Your master had connections with the Kuomintang. That’s treason!”
“That’s a lie! Our master would never do such a thing!” Liu Dashao was about to confront Yang Baosan but was stopped by Zhang Enpu. Though Zhang had been weak and sickly lately, he now seemed transformed. With a strong voice, he said, “I’ll go with you, but first I must speak to my apprentices.”
Yang Baosan, startled by the sudden change in Zhang Enpu, reluctantly agreed to give them five minutes. Zhang Enpu, grateful for the brief reprieve, waited until Yang and his men stepped outside before turning to his apprentices.
Liu Dashao knelt down and pleaded, “Master, don’t go! Let us go instead!”
Zhang Enpu smiled sadly. “You mustn’t argue. This is something only I can bear. Besides, I know my time is short. This strength I feel now is only a fleeting moment before death.”
Though Liu Dashao had already sensed this, hearing it from his master was unbearable. He burst into tears. “My greatest joy in this life was taking you as my disciple. Now, I face misfortune, but you must carry on. From this day forward, you are the leader of the Zhengyi Taoist sect.”
From a hidden corner of the coal cellar, Zhang Enpu retrieved a token blackened by coal dust. “My disciple, remember—your duty is to spread the teachings of Taoism. Only then can I rest in peace.”
The emotional bond between master and disciple had always been strong, but now it felt like a final farewell. In that dark cellar, they embraced tightly, overwhelmed by grief.
As expected, Zhang Enpu never returned. Villagers later said he was taken to another town for more public denunciations. On his return, unwilling to endure further humiliation, he broke free and smashed his head against a wall, leaving a pool of blood behind.
Though people rarely spoke of it, they all knew what Zhang Enpu had done for the villages. His death stirred deep emotions among the villagers. Under pressure from public outrage, even Yang Baosan had to make an exception. Zhang Enpu’s body was retrieved and handed over to Liu Dashao for burial near the Wuxian Lingguan Temple in Xiu Shui Village. No tombstone was erected—only a willow tree marked the grave.
Standing before the grave, Liu Dashao sighed deeply.
“Still not over it, Dashao?” Village Chief Tian approached, lighting three sticks of incense and placing them reverently in the incense burner.
Liu Dashao said nothing, only shaking his head.
“Why did you two have to go through all this?” the village chief sighed.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Liu Dashao replied quietly.
“Oh?”
“Some things must be done.”
After burying Zhang Enpu, Liu Dashao returned to his old routine—endless self-criticisms and denunciations.
Though he could easily have taken revenge on Yang Baosan in secret, Liu Dashao refrained. Despite his rough demeanor, he strictly followed the Taoist code passed down by Zhang Enpu. When Zhang taught Liu the Zhengyi Taoist techniques, he had laid down clear rules:
The Five Who Shall Not Be Saved:
1. Those who do not seek help.
2. Those who show no respect.
3. Those who value wealth over life.
4. Criminals and evildoers.
5. Those who bring misfortune upon themselves.
The Six Forbidden Acts:
1. Using Taoist powers for personal gain.
2. Using Taoist powers for personal ambition.
3. Using Taoist powers for lust.
4. Revealing heavenly secrets.
5. Committing harm against others.
6. Committing unjust or immoral acts.
When he first heard these rules, Liu Dashao knew his life would be difficult. Though he possessed great Taoist powers, he could not use them for wealth, power, or even love.
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