The woman in the painting had a slightly enchanting and noble air about her brows.
In contrast, the Lian Xiaoyao before us was simple and innocent, like a young girl just beginning to blossom with the first stirrings of love.
Though the woman in the painting and the one before us had different temperaments, their facial structures were strikingly similar. It was as if, with time and experience, Lian Xiaoyao would soon mature into a sophisticated woman.
Yi Miao’s stunned reaction was understandable.
Lian Xiaoyao’s gaze remained fixed on the painting, her lips slightly pursed and her brows furrowed, as if she too was pondering the connection.
I asked, “Yi Miao, where did you first meet Lian Xiaoyao?”
Yi Miao replied, “A few months ago, I got off the train in Xiangyang to track down a toad demon. That’s when I ran into you. The toad demon fled south from Xiangyang into Jiangxi territory, all the way to Ganzhou in the southern part of the province.”
“Wasn’t that almost reaching Guangdong?”
Yi Miao nodded. “Exactly. In Ganzhou, I caught the toad demon disguised as an old woman. It had transformed into a child, but I saw through its disguise.”
I interrupted him, “Wait, didn’t you say it turned into an old woman? How did it become a child?”
Yi Miao smacked his forehead. “Right, it was an old woman. After capturing the toad demon in Ganzhou, I was on my way back to Jiangcheng. Along the way, I thought about the inexplicable death of the Flying Centipede, who was a Taoist from Sanqing Mountain. I decided to visit Sanqing Mountain to investigate—it’s also a form of scholarly exchange. You non-practitioners wouldn’t understand.”
Lian Xiaoyao, having finished examining the painting, chimed in, “What’s not to understand? I once saw two Taoist priests from different temples discussing how to make money and entertain women. Were you going to Sanqing Mountain to learn those kinds of ‘skills’?”
Yi Miao said sternly, “Since Ji Ruyue was a Taoist from Sanqing Mountain, I went there to inquire about him—to safeguard the purity of our Taoist order.”
I corrected him, “Taoist Yi, you’re a lay practitioner.”
Yi Miao’s face darkened. “You’re all ganging up on me. I can’t even continue now.”
I handed Yi Miao a premium cigarette, lit it for him, and poured him a cup of hot tea, chuckling. “Taoist Yi, please, do enlighten us.”
—
Sanqing Mountain is located at the border of Yushan County and Dexing City in Shangrao, Jiangxi Province, and is the main peak of the Huaiyu Mountain Range. Its name derives from the three majestic peaks—Yujing, Yuxu, and Yuhua—which resemble the three supreme deities of Taoism (Yuqing Yuanshi Tianzun, Shangqing Lingbao Tianzun, and Taiqing Daode Tianzun) seated atop them.
During the Three Kingdoms and Wei-Jin periods, the Taoist master Ge Hong once built a thatched hut on Sanqing Mountain to refine elixirs. The tradition of alchemy thrived here, attracting many who sought immortality pills.
An ancient poem describes it thus:
*”With wind beneath my arms, I ascend Shaohua,*
*Discovering at last the homes of immortals.*
*The alchemy furnace, though masterless, still burns,*
*And pearl trees, untouched by spring, bloom on their own.*
*Jade bamboo shoots pierce the void from stone,*
*While golden sand carpets the heights and depths.*
*I wish to inscribe this wondrous journey,*
*Writing on emerald cliffs bathed in sunset’s glow.”*
After subduing the toad demon, Yi Miao traveled from Ganzhou to Shangrao and arrived at the foot of Sanqing Mountain. As a famous tourist destination, the mountain was bustling with sightseers.
It was November, the season of falling leaves—a time of harvest and storing for winter. The autumn air was crisp, and the mountain was adorned with peculiar rocks and crimson maple leaves. Among the visitors were ordinary folk who had traveled great distances in search of the path to immortality, hoping to transcend the limits of mortal life.
The desire for eternal life and ascension to immortality is universal, a way to escape the relentless cycle of birth and death. For millennia, people have yearned to break free from the suffering of reincarnation.
The wheel of creation is merciless and cruel. Even I sometimes dream of transcending this world and ascending to immortality. After all, life is filled with endless worries—what to eat in the morning, at noon, in the afternoon—and countless unanswered questions that bring boundless suffering.
“Becoming an immortal”—what a beautiful phrase! To enter a realm of bliss, free from earthly troubles, never again agonizing over mere thousands of yuan.
But dreams are just dreams.
Like the Buddhist concept of the “other shore,” how many can truly reach that immortal realm? And even if, after enduring countless hardships, one arrives, would it truly be as imagined?
—
Yi Miao packed a bag, concealing his golden whisk (a Taoist ritual tool) to avoid drawing attention. Mingling with the pilgrims, he entered the Sanqing Taoist Temple, paid respects to the Three Pure Ones, and then inquired about Ji Ruyue among the resident priests.
A young Taoist seemed unaware of Ji Ruyue and unwilling to speak. Yi Miao slipped him five yuan, saying, “I just need to find him to perform a ritual. My late grandfather appeared to me in a dream—only Taoist Ji Ruyue can fulfill his wish.”
The young Taoist pocketed the money, thinking he could visit an internet café later and browse a certain “1024” website to watch a couple of movies. Satisfied, he agreed to help.
After much questioning, Yi Miao realized the young Taoist was speaking nonsense. He regretted his decision—how could a Taoist lie for just five yuan? Such a person should be cast in a drama as a eunuch!
No backbone at all. At least six yuan would have been worth it.
Just as Yi Miao was losing hope, a middle-aged Taoist emerged from the temple. His nose hairs were thick and dark, and he wore a hat and loose robes. A phone at his waist kept lighting up with incoming messages.
The middle-aged Taoist had been busy with social media, his eyes slightly red. Though bleary-eyed, he spotted the telltale shape of a whisk in Yi Miao’s bag.
He quickly ushered Yi Miao into a restricted back hall, where a small alchemy furnace stood in a quiet chamber. Yi Miao revealed his golden whisk, and the Taoist immediately recognized it as a tool used by a master of high cultivation.
Introducing himself as Zhenyangzi (Dharma name: Cao Qinghua), the Taoist listened as Yi Miao explained his mission—sent by his master from Wudang Mountain to vanquish demons, having recently dealt with six toad spirits and a white tiger demon.
Zhenyangzi praised Wudang’s prowess, and the two exchanged flattery for three hours. Finally, Yi Miao produced 3,000 yuan and asked about the Flying Centipede, Ji Ruyue.
Zhenyangzi then revealed:
“They’re not in the main temple but behind the third peak. Their master is Gu Rechang. I saw him once as a child, but never again. Who knows if he’s still alive? They moved there about forty years ago, around the late 1960s. Back then, a group of young Red Guards stormed the mountain, beating the Taoists and shouting about defending the ‘Great Red Sun,’ accusing them of feudal superstition. Gu Rechang was dragged down by three Red Guards, beaten until his teeth fell out, and tortured severely.”
Yi Miao frowned. “Such a calamity? I’ve never heard of this.”
Zhenyangzi continued, “It wasn’t just Sanqing Mountain. Back then, Taoist temples on Maoshan in Jiangsu and Longhu Mountain’s Celestial Master Sect were burned, statues toppled. The Red Guards were ruthless—elderly priests were paraded through towns for public denunciation. Gu Rechang, despite his strong physique, couldn’t endure it. Some old Taoists who refused to renounce their faith were hung up, their intestines hooked out—gruesome beyond words.”
Yi Miao shook his head. “No way. How could I not know?”
Zhenyangzi sighed. “None of those Red Guards dare speak of it now. They were just teenagers, swept up in the frenzy. Now in their sixties or seventies, they’ll face divine retribution.”
Yi Miao insisted, “That can’t be true. We live under the banner of the Republic. Such things could never happen.”
Zhenyangzi didn’t argue. “I’m just stating facts. Believe it or not, it doesn’t matter. Gu Rechang eventually broke free, fled into the wilderness, and built a hut to resume alchemy. He never returned to the temple. Later, he took in a disciple—Ji Ruyue. But Gu Rechang’s temperament had darkened, and under his influence, Ji Ruyue strayed into dark paths.”
Yi Miao asked, “So you’re saying Gu Rechang was once a good Taoist, but after this alleged ordeal, he turned evil?”
Zhenyangzi nodded. “Exactly.”
Yi Miao remained skeptical. The Sanqing Temple now stood renovated, showing no signs of fire damage. Inscriptions from renowned figures adorned its walls, painting a picture of prosperity. Zhenyangzi’s claims seemed too fantastical—how could such horrors occur in this beautiful land?
*He must be lying.*
Zhenyangzi added, “I was just a child then, but I remember the Red Guard leader’s surname was Lin. There was also a young female Red Guard—wearing a red armband, full of revolutionary fervor. Many girls admired her militant style. She was quite striking. The male leader called her… Wenxin. They were the cruelest to Gu Rechang.”
Yi Miao echoed, “Wenxin?”
Zhenyangzi slammed the table. “Yes. The man was Lin You. The woman—Ye Wenxin.”
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