Chapter 191

When I and Pangzi walked down the mountain, the village scenery changed again; many villagers were busy in the fields leading yellow oxen, and the tranquil countryside instantly became a lively picture of hard labor.

When we reached the houses where people lived, a burst of a child's loud crying came from nearby. The crying was heart-wrenching, making one feel anguish for a while.

I and Pangzi curiously rushed over and saw a village woman in coarse cloth holding a bowl of rice, desperately trying to soothe a child.

"Be good, Qiangzi, quickly swallow the rice, swallowing it will make it better," the aunt's eyes full of anxiety, she kept coaxing the few-year-old child beside her.

The boy with a bowl-cut head already had a flushed face, tears overflowing his eye sockets, his voice hoarse from incessant loud crying, his face showing blank anguish.

"How come everywhere here are your relatives—sometimes Xiang, sometimes Qiangzi. One resembles your past life, one resembles your son, both are just a fatso." I looked at the chubby child called Qiangzi and involuntarily chuckled at Pangzi.

"Tch, I know people all over the world; this is something you can't envy." Pangzi proudly retorted my mockery.

"Auntie, don't worry first, let me see the child." Pangzi comforted, taking the child from the aunt's hands.

The child's appearance was quite strange: his face was flushed, he just kept crying, and the tears in his eyes were forced out by unbearable pain.

"He has a fish bone stuck in his throat." After staring for a few seconds, Pangzi decisively concluded.

At that moment, the aunt beside also said.

"Yes, my son just got over a cold, I and my husband bought some fish to nourish him, never expecting his small throat would catch a fish bone." The aunt briefly recounted the incident, then lowered herself, continually coaxing the child: "Qiangzi, be good, quickly swallow the rice; swallowing it will let the fish bone go down."

"Useless, the fish bone might be too big, even rice can't be swallowed." I glanced at the bowl of dinner the aunt held; obviously the child had taken a bite. Since even the first mouthful of rice didn't help, the fish bone must be too large, lodged in his throat, making water and rice—these old tricks—ineffective.

"Pangzi, what do we do? We didn't bring yellow paper, so we can't use the Nine Dragons Bone-Dissolving Water!" Seeing the child's suffering grow, my anxiety rose.

"It's fine, I have a method. Auntie, please bring me a bowl of clear water." Pangzi urged the child's mother.

Seeing the aunt's hesitation, I quickly brought up Pangzi's identity.

"Auntie, listen to him; my brother is a doctor, very capable!"

The aunt half-believing, half-doubting went into the house, and soon she came out holding a bowl of water.

"The water is here… I've used this method before."

"It's fine, auntie, give me the water; it will definitely work." Pangzi snatched the water from the aunt's hand, then faced east, rubbed his forehead, with his left hand performed the Three Seals to hold water, and with his right hand formed a sword finger, slowly chanting the incantation.

Within half a minute, Pangzi drew circles in the clear water with his sword finger (note: the circle symbols are the 'flower characters' we in the trade call, usually just one or two, used with the incantation, a special focus in the Southern Transmission of the Dharma Sect).

After drawing the flower character, Pangzi dropped a mouthful of blood into the clear water, exhaled, then quickly brought it to the child, opened the child's mouth, and poured it in.

Seeing Pangzi treat her child so roughly, the aunt wanted to scold him, but then her expression first turned to astonishment, then to ecstasy.

Because Qiangzi, who had a fish bone stuck in his throat, after just a sip of water, immediately spat out the fish bone lodged in his throat.

This is a minor technique of the Dharma Sect. It's not difficult and easy to master. I think many rural children have seen it; a bowl of clear water from a Dharma Sect practitioner makes anyone with a fish bone stuck immediately spit it out.

This minor technique is the Nine Dragons Bone-Dissolving Water, especially effective for dissolving fish bones stuck in the throat; I never expected Pangzi could use the bone-dissolving water in this way.

"Thank you, two immortals, for the water, thank you!" The aunt came to her senses, bowed, and thanked us.

"Immortals…" Pangzi and I were both somewhat startled; afterward, everyone's expressions were a mix of laughter and tears.

The aunt called us immortals, not meaning we were actual deities, but regarding me and Pangzi as disciples of the Northeast Spirit Medium Hall. In the north, active ones are still members of the Spirit Medium Hall; ordinary people respectfully call the hall's disciples 'immortals'.

This unintentional act actually brought fame to the Northeast Immortal Sect. However, we can't blame this aunt; Dharma Sect practitioners differ from Daoists—often when performing rites we don't wear Daoist robes or emphasize rituals. Thus, many people who received help from Dharma Sect members don't know our identity, merely calling the assisting Daoist a 'priest' or an 'adept'.

The aunt led Qiangzi into the house, soon came out again, and insisted on giving me and Pangzi a small red envelope, saying it's customary, unavoidable, big or small matters all count, any amount is her goodwill. Pangzi and I declined, merely asking the aunt for a few steamed buns for breakfast.

Actually, I often envy those wandering monks and Daoists in tattered clothes, traveling the world, wind-blasted and dew-lodged, visiting people; when hungry they beg, and upon seeing someone in need they unhesitatingly extend a helping hand. They accept no money, only some food, or a scrap of cloth for sewing their own patchwork robe.

Since I began studying the Dharma, I have always believed this is the true Way—no involvement with profit or money, advocating non-action and selflessness. However, living in this secular world without money is simply impossible. Think of rent, utilities, family responsibilities; life everywhere incurs expense, everywhere is pressure; without collecting some incense oil… I couldn't survive, and this heart to propagate the Way could starve a whole family.

Therefore, collecting incense oil in the Dharma Sect, Daoism, and Buddhism is an unwritten rule. Some, when collecting, look at the person—charge more to the wealthy, less to the poor. Strive for impartiality, collect less oil, do more substantive work. Others turn a small matter into a big one, do two things in one, feigning to earn more money.

In the end, it's merely because human nature varies in countless ways.

Eating steamed buns and drinking clear water, I and Pangzi began to inquire with the aunt about the origin of the stage.

Since Pangzi used the bone-dissolving water to remove the fish bone stuck in her son's throat, the aunt had no guard against us. Soon she shared what she knew.

Using the aunt's one sentence to describe the stage: one word, 'evil.' Seven words, 'cannot be more evil.'

Women's hearts are always gossipy, especially older women; village rumors and mysterious strange events, they can generally recount them in detail.

However, after inquiring for half a day, all Pangzi and I got were the two words 'disappointed.' The aunt said much, but the specific meaning differed little from what we understood. It's almost just that each year when performing operas, the troupe encounters some strange events, or the detailed details of a certain incident. But if asked about deeper causes, the aunt couldn't give a definite answer.

"Injustice, great injustice, O heavens open your eyes, look at this June frost's grievance." Just as I and the aunt were chatting aimlessly, we heard from not far off a shout accompanied by a folk song.

The voice's owner seemed somewhat familiar! I instinctively looked up toward the source; the person who came into view made me wryly smile repeatedly.

This ragged beggar is the dead madman who bit me yesterday evening at the stage's edge; now he stands before a dilapidated old house, incessantly shouting to the sky, uttering words of injustice.

"Who is this old man?" I pointed at the mad old man and asked the aunt sitting nearby.

"Oh, you mean him? His name is Yuan Xiao! His father, that beast Yuan Zheng, is a deserter, a spineless coward." The aunt spat contemptuously at the mad old man.

In this old revolutionary village of Red Peace, there are two kinds of people despised by everyone: one is traitors to the Han, the other is soldiers who flee the battlefield.

"Perhaps you outsiders don't know, we locals are very clear about the anti-Japanese affairs…" After again giving the old madman a cold glance, the aunt began to recount a battle that occurred in Red Peace during the anti-Japanese war.

At that time, during the anti-Japanese period, the Nationalist and Communist armies jointly resisted. The madman's father, Yuan Zheng, was a squad leader in the Communist army.

Red Peace's original name was Yellow Peace, an old Red County during the anti-Japanese period. At that time, the Japanese Sakata 11th Division was launching a fierce assault on Yellow Peace; the force tasked with defending Yellow Peace's front line was a unit under the Nationalist army.

A regiment's strength and a division's combined strength are inherently disparate; even if the soldiers fear no death, as the stalemate continued, the Nationalist army was repeatedly defeated by the Japanese division. Reinforcements had not yet arrived, and the Nationalist side was already out of ammunition and food; the soldiers dead, wounded, and injured could no longer sustain the situation.

Seeing Yellow Peace about to fall, the regiment commander selected twenty-eight death-defying soldiers from the remaining troops, divided into four groups—southeast, southwest, northwest, northeast—preparing to attack the Japanese division at midnight.

The fate of these soldiers is obvious: they would not return. Their shared will and purpose was simply to guard their homeland behind them with their lives, delivering a fierce blow to the enemy's heart.

The madman's father, Yuan Zheng, was among these death-defying soldiers, yet no one expected it. When our troops sneaked into the enemy position, due to one comrade's carelessness, the hiding places of two groups were exposed.

Even more unexpected was that at this moment Yuan Zheng actually deserted in the face of battle, leading his six subordinates to flee outward from the enemy center, leaving danger to the other three groups and abandoning his comrades-in-arms.

"Coward, truly a damned coward! This Yuan Zheng, truly a damned bastard!" Pangzi felt righteous indignation, also deeply disgusted by the madman's father.

"Then what happened to this beast?" Pangzi pressed the aunt for an answer.

The aunt continued: "The fleeing Yuan Zheng was soon captured by the regiment commander's soldiers. It's said his wife was assaulted by the village landlord; she and his mother jumped into a well. He couldn't bear to leave his ten-year-old only son, fearing that if he died the child would have no caretaker, and also wanted to avenge his dead mother, so he became a deserter."

Taking a puff on his dry pipe, the aunt slowly recalled: "The regiment commander also didn't have these deserters punished by military law. Being a good man, he couldn't bear to harm his brothers. He gave each a knife and let them fend for themselves."

Took a puff on a dry tobacco pipe, the old woman slowly recalled: "The regiment commander also didn't deal with these few deserters according to military law. The regiment commander was a good person, unwilling to harm his own brothers. So he gave each of them a knife and let them live or die on their own."

Soon after, Huang'an fell; the regiment commander led the whole regiment's soldiers in brave combat to the end, and the entire regiment died heroically. And those six deserters, including Yuan Zheng, also disappeared. Perhaps, greedy for life and afraid of death, they abandoned their children and hid in a corner.

"This regiment commander is a good-hearted person. This Yuan Zheng, although it's unavoidable, is really excessive!" After hearing the whole story, I couldn't help but sigh.

"But, even if the father did wrong, even if he was shameless, the mistakes he made have nothing to do with his own child!"

Just as I finished speaking, Pangzi covered my mouth with one hand and, smiling ambiguously at the excited auntie, said indistinctly: "My brother means that Yuan Zheng deserves to die, the regiment commander is a good-hearted person, and those children killed by the Japanese devils are also quite pitiful."

Pangzi gave me a look, indicating I shouldn't say any further.

Obviously, such words won't get through to that auntie. For decades, her understanding has been like this; you suddenly dare to blame her and say she's wrong. Not to mention that you might not be able to eradicate this deep-rooted notion—instead, you'll only provoke her resentment.

Human nature is like this: if a family has one bad person, the whole family is not good. If a pot of porridge has a rat dropping, the whole pot of porridge becomes bad porridge.

Perhaps, fathers would point to the old madman and tell their children to stay away from that deserter's cowardly offspring. Then the naive children would remember their fathers' words, considering the madman to be the descendant of a deserter, a coward.

Day after day of contempt, it's easy to imagine how much pressure this old madman has endured from childhood to adulthood. Going mad is therefore not surprising.

At that moment, the old madman sitting in front of the dilapidated house suddenly burst into tears, looking up to the sky and wailing: "Dad, rest in peace now, don't hurt anyone anymore. Go in peace..."

After crying, the old madman collapsed at the doorway and fell into a deep sleep.