Zhen Yangzi was thrown against the stone wall by the snake’s tail, and then hit by a rock as he fled. His two disciples, unfortunately, weren’t as lucky—they became food for the giant python.
After running only a few steps, Zhen Yangzi turned back to look at the cave. The entrance quickly collapsed, revealing yellow earth and tangled roots, burying everything completely.
Yi Miao shouted, “Taoist Cao, why are you here too? We should have come together!”
Zhen Yangzi saw Yi Miao clinging tightly to a tree, sweating profusely, clearly shaken. “Brother, were you also chased by the python? My poor disciples…”
Yi Miao replied, “To be honest, I stayed in the hut overnight. This morning, I was so thirsty I found a spring and drank a few sips. Then a wild boar started chasing me. Turns out, even the boar was being chased. That was the biggest snake I’ve ever seen. If it had eaten me, there’d be no saving me.”
Zhen Yangzi called out, “It’s over now. The snake is buried. Come down.” As Yi Miao descended, he stumbled and asked, “Taoist Cao, why did you go into the snake’s cave? What was inside?”
Zhen Yangzi wiped away tears. “I thought something had happened to you since you didn’t return, so I came to look. I saw the cave and assumed you were inside, so I went in to check. There was nothing there.”
Yi Miao, who had been inside earlier, knew Zhen Yangzi was lying—there was clearly a stone coffin, and the python had been guarding it. It had only left to hunt for winter.
Squeezing out a tear, Yi Miao said, “Brother, grief must give way to acceptance. The dead cannot return. You must take care of yourself—Taoism in our country still needs you.”
Zhen Yangzi wiped away crocodile tears. “Yes. I must gather courage, face the future, and dedicate myself to spreading Taoism’s beauty.”
Yi Miao nodded and gave a thumbs-up. “Your words inspire me. The master I’ve been searching for was right before me all along. Taoist Cao, I bow to you.”
Zhen Yangzi quickly stopped him, and the two exchanged pleasantries. Yi Miao suggested chanting scriptures for the disciples, which Zhen Yangzi eagerly agreed to. They chanted for a long time, though no one understood a word.
Yi Miao declared, “The departed are gone. Let us embrace the future.”
Zhen Yangzi nodded. “Yes. Let us embrace the future.” He turned away from the cave—though the stone coffin was inside, it clearly wasn’t his goal.
Yi Miao knew Zhen Yangzi had other motives. He decided to follow him for now, staying wary in case Zhen Yangzi turned on him. A man who mourned his disciples for mere minutes couldn’t be entirely virtuous.
Back at the hut, Zhen Yangzi announced the disciples’ deaths, praising them as martyrs for Taoism’s future. The gathered Taoists clapped, shedding emotional tears. Zhen Yangzi then promised each fifteen yuan once the alchemy furnace was returned.
The applause grew louder, the tears more abundant.
Yi Miao tucked away his golden horsetail whisk and glanced at the collapsed cave. A wild boar stood in the distance, staring at him with deep longing.
Her husband had been gone for years. Once called Shuai, he had left to explore the world, promising to return but never did. He had renamed himself Yang Pao, but to her, he would always be “Shuai Husband.”
Yi Miao, unaware, thought the boar looked grateful. Yet, despite its gaze, he couldn’t shake the craving for roasted pork.
Zhen Yangzi rallied the group to transport the heavy furnace. They tied it with ropes and carried it slowly, with Zhen Yangzi promising an extra two yuan for endurance. One disciple, a recent convert, declared, “We must conquer the body with the spirit!”
Zhen Yangzi praised him. “Progress indeed!”
Yi Miao helped, fearing an accident. Zhen Yangzi boasted about the furnace’s legendary origins—supposedly used by the famed Taoist Ge Hong.
“Famous Taoists are rare,” Yi Miao mused. “Like Zhang Daoling, Zuo Ci, Ge Hong… even Li Yi, though he was exposed as a fraud.”
Every field had its legends—swordsmen like Ye Gucheng and Ximen Chuixue, doctors like Hua Tuo and Li Shizhen. Yi Miao had once dreamed of fame but abandoned it at twenty.
Zhen Yangzi insisted the furnace belonged in a grand hall at Three Pure Taoist Temple, to rival Longhu Mountain’s prestige.
He then asked Yi Miao about Li Mubai’s swordsmanship from *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*. Yi Miao, who’d only seen the film, praised it as transcendent.
Zhen Yangzi agreed. “Wudang swordsmanship is formidable.”
Their conversation shifted to Ang Lee’s *Brokeback Mountain*. Zhen Yangzi analyzed its cinematography, narrative, and psychology, concluding, “Every man has his Brokeback Mountain.”
Yi Miao, uneasy, mentioned his fiancée.
Zhen Yangzi laughed. “Brother, don’t misunderstand—I’m merely scholarly. Did you think I meant something else?”
Yi Miao hastily denied it.
By nightfall, they reached the temple. Zhen Yangzi ordered the furnace placed in his meditation room.
Yi Miao, led to a guest room, reflected on his near-death experiences. He meditated but was disturbed at midnight by footsteps.
Sensing danger, he followed the intruders to Zhen Yangzi’s room. Inside, hushed voices discussed the furnace:
“This is Ge Hong’s alchemy furnace. Legend says he refined an elixir here, ascended to immortality. It’s worth at least this much…”
[…]
(*Note: “River Cart” and “Zhou Tian” refer to Taoist cultivation practices, believed to strengthen the body and spirit when mastered.*)
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