Volume One, Chapter 39: The Taoist's Origins

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Old Sun spoke very slowly, with that habitual slowness of the elderly, while I gave a brief summary.

The young Master Ma came down the mountain covered in blood and was discovered by the villagers.

The villagers didn’t dare act rashly and called the barefoot doctor from the village clinic—Miss Dong.

Miss Dong was from Beijing, a legitimate medical college student who had come to the countryside as part of the rustication movement.

At that time, medical resources were limited; the village could only stop the bleeding and apply some herbal poultices.

Master Ma was lucky to survive but still couldn’t get up from the kang stove bed.

He couldn’t stay at the village clinic indefinitely, so Miss Dong took him back to the home of a villager she was staying with, to better care for him.

Master Ma was stubborn; even after being sick for over half a year, the young communist farmers’ re-education couldn’t get through to either him or Miss Dong.

As time went on, sparks inevitably flew between the two.

Back then, there were many ways for rusticated youth to return home: medical discharge, hardship discharge, going back to school, transfers, reassignments, and so on. I don’t know what charm Master Ma had, but he completely captivated Miss Dong, who stayed away from home for more than three years.

Miss Dong’s family was in Beijing and naturally worried; they came to see and found the two living together. Her parents insisted on breaking them apart.

In short, the message was clear: a stray dog doesn’t belong with a pedigree pet. Miss Dong was forcibly taken back to Beijing by her parents.

(I personally think the parents’ actions were understandable. Look at those Shanghai rusticated girls who stayed in the northwest for love—how many of them fared well? And those northwest girls who followed their boyfriends back to Shanghai saw their fates truly change.)

Could Master Ma bear the heartbreak of losing his woman?

He went after her to Beijing.

And then he came back.

Master Ma wandered in Beijing for half a year, reportedly walking all the way back on foot.

From then on, he worked every day without speaking a word. Nobody knew where he came from, and the village didn’t have much use for him, so he just stayed.

Over time, more rusticated youth came and went. Eventually, the rustication movement ended, the village declined, the population dwindled, and the clinic closed down.

When villagers had headaches or fevers, they sought out Master Ma, who truly had skill—he could diagnose both real and fake ailments.

He never charged for treatment—just a cigarette, a cup of wine, or whatever was offered. Even if nothing was given, he still treated them. He never married in his lifetime.

Hearing all this, I felt a sense of time folding upon itself: once the old master brought Master Ma along, now Master Ma was guiding me—an old and a young man, separated by six decades.

After listening to Old Sun’s story, I didn’t know how to judge Master Ma. A lifelong bachelor, supposedly devoted to one love, yet the old rogue sometimes tangled with widows. If he were unfaithful, he wouldn’t even bother looking for a wife.

Let’s not boast—given Master Ma’s skills back then, if he wanted to make money, he’d probably be driving a Benz by now, and wouldn’t worry about finding a wife.

Master Ma woke up in the middle of the night, greeted Old Sun, and said he was taking me home.

Old Sun said nothing. Master Ma’s hands weren’t clean; before leaving, he took half a bucket of white liquor and told Old Sun to keep account.

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Old Sun repeated, “Just drink it. What account is there to keep?”

The first thing at home was to fire up the kang stove. I carried a bundle of corn husks to boil water. Master Ma sat at the kang’s edge, reading a book over the entire kang table.

I don’t know what book it was, but its smell was as fishy as a dog in the rain.

Master Ma was something else—he flipped pages by licking his fingers. I feared he might get poisoned by licking the book.

Seeing him like that, I felt a pang of sympathy—not for his late-night reading, but for his impoverished home. Master Ma’s family was so poor they couldn’t even afford a 100-watt bulb, yet he still read by lamp light. There was a certain harshness to it.

Master Ma muttered to himself, “Why is it like this?”

I chimed in, “Let’s sleep, save some electricity.”

He ignored me, just kept reading day and night, searching for something unknown.

This went on nearly a week. One night, just as I was settling on the kang, Master Ma looked at me mischievously and smiled, “Hu Xiaozui, have you seen her recently?”

“No.”

Master Ma’s tone twisted as he said, “You tear off two sheets of yellow paper and burn them in the yard.”

“For what?”

I was puzzled—burning paper at night? Summoning ghosts?

“To invite the fox spirit down the mountain.”

“Shouldn’t you light incense for that?”

“Damn it, it’s the same thing. Just do as I say.”

“How is it the same? Burning paper summons ghosts; burning incense invites spirits.”

Master Ma laughed, “Right, your destiny’s weak. Burn some paper, the ghost will come, and Hu Xiaozui will protect you.”

I got angry. Master Ma’s methods were too wild. I retorted, “Didn’t you see Journey to the West? When they prayed for rain with monsters, the gods might not be home. What if Hu Xiaozui isn’t home? Who protects me then?”

“Damn it.” Master Ma grabbed a broomstick beside him.

I quickly dodged and reluctantly tore some yellow paper from the cabinet.

Speaking of the broomstick, I have to complain a bit. It was made from sorghum stalks and lasted a long time. Master Ma would break off a stick to pick his teeth whenever he had time. We don’t know how bad his dental cavities were, but the broom looked chewed up like a dog’s chew toy.

Carrying the yellow paper into the yard, I lit it. That stuff was truly eerie—no wind at first, but as soon as it caught fire, wind arose.

The sheets of yellow paper fluttered with the wind. If someone’s firewood stack caught on fire because of this, Master Ma’s backbone would be broken by angry villagers.

“Looking for me?”

I shivered in fright and turned around. Hu Xiaozui stepped out generously from the darkness.

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I awkwardly smiled, “Old Master Ma wants to ask about that girl from yesterday.”

“Next time, can you burn incense?”

“Old Master told me to burn paper.”

Hu Xiaozui smiled, “Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because he really is a Taoist, and he won’t admit it.”

“A Maoshan Taoist, huh?”

“From Qingcheng Mountain in Sichuan.”

I said “Oh,” since I didn’t know where that was—probably some wild sect. I asked further, “What about that girl?”

“She’s been cursed, put under a hex.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go back and tell your master, he’ll understand.”

With that, Hu Xiaozui gradually stepped back. I really wanted her to stay the night—such a beautiful girl, I couldn’t bear to let her go.

Back in the room, Master Ma hurriedly asked, “Did she come?”

“She did.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Master, is Miss Dong pretty?’”

Master Ma glared at me and growled, “Who told you that?”

“I heard you got Miss Dong pregnant.”

“Nonsense, she’s not pregnant. She went back to the city.”

“So you slept together then? Feeling sorry?”

If Master Ma hadn’t been about to hit me, I’d have said more.

Upon hearing the word “hex,” Master Ma slammed the table in fury and cursed, “That bastard’s really no good.”