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Human Sacrifice
I asked, "Doesn't the Old Scholar protect Yang Sanqian?"
Mr. Chang sighed and said, "The Yinshan Yang Family has six generations living together. Even someone as young as you, a fifth-generation great-grandson, already has children. Although Yang Sanqian possesses astonishing Daoist Arts and remarkable talent, he is a bastard son and not valued. He also left the Yang Family back then and is not welcomed."
"In that case, releasing the Snake Goddess seems to have been the right choice; it's just in time to settle accounts with these Daoist Sect leaders," I murmured.
"What Snake Goddess?" Wu asked.
Hearing this, Mr. Chang was surprised as well. "I know about Futu Ridge, which is why I sought you out. Have you seen the true form of the Snake Goddess? There are no signs of her transforming into a dragon, right?"
I replied, "It seems she can no longer fly."
Mr. Chang said, "That's good. A snake trapped for six or seven hundred years would be quite terrifying if it came out alive."
I decided not to pursue the topic of the Snake Goddess any further and turned to Wu, saying irritably, "What about you, Lu Daxia?"
Wu awkwardly replied, "I call Yang Sanqian Brother Yang because he saved my master's life. My master sent me down the mountain for a walk, and at that time I happened to meet Chang Lao. I agreed to stay by your side to observe you, but who knew you would be so boring? You do nothing but read."
Now that everything was out in the open, I felt somewhat relieved. Being kept in the dark was uncomfortable; it was better to face the truth calmly. Although I knew I was holding onto a precious gem and could lose my life at any moment, it seemed preferable to being toyed with by others, especially those I was familiar with.
Mr. Chang had come to find me specifically to guide me to the Daoist Sect he belonged to called Qingliang Temple. The temple had few disciples and was open to the public; usually, only villagers from nearby came to worship there. The back courtyard was very quiet. At present, I had no foundation in Daoism, so I first needed to soak in medicinal baths for a few months and then use acupuncture techniques to pierce through the acupoints that had been sealed for over twenty years before I could sit in meditation and practice breathing techniques.
Practicing Qi cultivation in Daoism is not something that can be achieved overnight. Modern people are busy with their lives and often lack time even for exercise; they get winded after just a short run. Even if you told them how to cultivate Qi, they wouldn't bother learning it. Moreover, even after ten years of hard work, one might not achieve anything significant; there’s no need to torture oneself just for self-defense. Nowadays, there are many con artists around; tonics for kidney deficiency and various supplements have been popular for decades across the country. Those who wander around selling such things belong to all sorts of trades; even fortune-telling blind people are either genuinely blind or pretending to be blind con artists. Some traditional skills have gradually been lost over time.
Furthermore, true Daoist methods of Qi cultivation are not passed down easily and require guidance from experienced masters; one cannot achieve much by blindly experimenting on their own.
As for Yang Sanqian, I couldn't meet him for now; if those watching him found out about me, it would be dangerous. I definitely couldn't meet my mother whom I had never seen before either. For now, I needed to learn some skills at the Entrance to the Dao so that I wouldn’t be consumed by the Book of Life and Death within me before considering what comes next.
After finishing our meal, we returned to our lodging to pack our things and prepared to head south towards Qingliang Mountain in the afternoon.
Mr. Chang mentioned that the seal within me had already loosened; once we returned to the temple, it would need to be resealed immediately; otherwise, experts could easily see something was amiss.
In the afternoon, Wu drove us southward while sharing many stories from his experiences over the years. Mr. Chang also recounted some of his adventures or amusing tales from his youth as well as some strange occurrences he had encountered along the way. In conclusion, he sighed and said, "In the Daoist World, we are all wanderers with drifting fates."
Wu did not tell me which sect he belonged to, and I knew nothing about the divisions of the Daoist sects, so I didn't ask.
However, recalling what I had seen before at Futu Ridge, when Guo the Blind retrieved the Dao Body and moved through the forest with the grace of a swallow, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing.
By the time we reached Qingliang Temple that night, with the moon shining faintly and stars scattered across the sky, Mr. Chang suddenly seemed to remember something and said, "Do not mention anything about the Zhou Compass to anyone. If someone discovers it, it will just appear to be an ordinary compass. The Daoist World is not as peaceful as you think; there is as much bloodshed here as there was at Futu Ridge. If people find out you possess such a treasure, they will surely kill you for it. The Book of Life and Death can protect you, but it can also harm you."
Upon hearing Mr. Chang's words, Wu looked curious and asked, "Isn't the Zhou Compass one of the Daoist Sacred Artifacts?"
I nodded and took out the Zhou Compass, asking, "Besides being able to show past images, what other functions does it have?"
"When did the Zhou Compass gain that function?" Wu questioned in confusion.
Mr. Chang replied, "I was also surprised when I first saw it. However, it is said that the Book of Life and Death records a person's deeds throughout their life. I wonder if the reason the Zhou Compass can reflect past images is because Yang Hao has the Book of Life and Death hidden within him."
May Day looked at me excitedly and said, "This is a Daoist Sacred Artifact! But for you right now, it’s of no use at all. Why not transfer it to me? I can teach you our sect's secret techniques; after all, my master only recognizes me as his disciple."
Mr. Chang interjected, "Don't believe him. Once you cultivate your Dao Qi, you'll understand the true wonders of this Zhou Compass. This guy only knows how to brag; he doesn't have much real skill."
"As the saying goes," Wu retorted, "you old man won't die from saying a few less words."
"As the saying goes?" I looked at Mr. Chang in surprise.
Mr. Chang looked embarrassed and explained, "Originally, my name was my childhood nickname. Later on, my master thought that having a name with characters was too imposing and temporarily changed it for me."
"At first glance, I thought it was some kind of intestinal inflammation," I laughed heartily.
Wu joined in with laughter while Mr. Chang said, "No big deal; Old Man has a good temper and won't hold it against you."
By the time we arrived at Mr. Chang's Qingliang Mountain Taoist Temple, it was already midnight. The temple was more dilapidated than I had imagined; built into the mountainside, it had seven or eight rooms in total on different levels. At the top of the mountain stood a large hall housing a statue of Laozi, the founder of Daoism.
In front of the temple was a lotus pond, and closest to it were two Tile Houses. We climbed up through a path lined with steps leading up to some half-collapsed buildings nearly covered by wild grass.
"Mr. Chang," I asked from behind him, "with your temple in such disrepair, do people still come here to pay their respects?"
Mr. Chang did not turn around. Wu Dao made a shushing gesture towards me and said, "Chang Lao's master was persecuted to death during the political movements. In fact, before the Great Revolution, the true Daoist Sect had already closed its doors and ceased to operate. Those who suffered were merely the publicly recognized temples. Chang Lao's master could withstand the scrutiny of the world; he just didn't expect that the world couldn't withstand it. After enduring years of hardship and having released cattle for ten years, right after the Great Revolution ended, he ascended to immortality. Before he died, he thought of passing on his legacy to his disciples, but in the end, only Chang Lao returned."
"But this mountain path is unkempt, with wild grass everywhere. Is there anyone living here?" I asked.
Wu Dao replied, "Every year during the Spring Festival and Qingming Festival, Chang Lao comes back once. The last time I remember there were still four or five disciples with him. However, they all seem to be of mediocre talent. Chang Lao is a nostalgic person; he likely thinks fondly of his master. In the Daoist Sect, nine out of ten are solitary; they regard their masters as fathers. Chang Lao can't bear to see the temple his master established fall into disrepair, yet there's nothing he can do about it."
"Is the Daoist Sect really this desolate now?" I inquired.
"How could it be? Just west of here is Yaowang Mountain, and further west are the Qinling Mountains, where numerous Daoist Sects thrive. Some sects have thousands of disciples. The four great sects of the Daoist Sect have tens of thousands of members—far more than you might imagine. In the secular world, people are divided into ranks; it's the same in the Daoist Sect. The true strength of a sect lies in the abilities of its disciples. Some can grasp the way quickly and make progress in a day, while others may take three to five years. In places like Qingliang Temple where there are no constraints like Chang Lao's, even after ten years of practice, one might not produce any decent disciples—it's no wonder people call him a fraud."
"Are there any disciples still around?" Mr. Chang called out towards the temple on the mountain.
His voice carried a hint of loneliness. Through the moonlight streaming into the temple, I looked inside and saw that the incense ash before the statue of Laozi seemed to have dried up a bit, and the candles on the candlestick had burned out.
"It seems everyone has left. I wonder how my disciple is doing," Mr. Chang murmured to himself.
As soon as Mr. Chang finished speaking, there was a creaking sound from inside the temple as a thinly clad boy holding an oil lamp stumbled out with sleepy eyes.
The boy was around twelve or thirteen years old. Upon seeing Mr. Chang at the temple entrance, he burst into tears.
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