Chapter 199

Pangzi and I were lying in a carriage of the train, fast asleep, when suddenly the train stopped halfway. After inquiring, the attendant said the train's diesel engine had broken down, and we had to wait for the next train to transfer.

Like many other passengers, I sat on the train bored and dazed. Then Pangzi suddenly said to me, "Hai Sheng, why don't we get off and stroll around? We can have fun while we walk."

I exclaimed in surprise, "Is that really possible?"

Pangzi said carelessly, "Nothing's wrong with that. Look, we've already entered the Yichang area, haven't we? Besides, even if we arrive early there's nothing to do, so we might as well walk and take in the scenery of the Three Gorges."

I thought about it and agreed; with a few free days, wandering around the Three Gorges and sightseeing wouldn't be bad. Immediately, Pangzi and I hit it off, picked up our two suitcases, and got off the train.

The place we got off was remote, seemingly a small village near the Three Gorges. After getting off, Pangzi and I didn't look for an inn to stay in; instead, we walked toward the nearby village in the evening sunset.

Yichang lies downstream of the Yangtze River's Three Gorges; perhaps one could say Yichang is among China's many cities where strange occurrences happen relatively frequently.

Of course, this refers only to some towns and villages. Many towns and villages are located in the lower reaches of the Yangtze; although the Yangtze is one of China's four great dragon veins, it is also one of the most polluted places.

At certain times of the year, when the Yangtze's water flows in a directed basin, countless corpses are carried along with the current and pile up downstream.

In many people's view, nowadays society is technologically advanced; even if ghosts exist, they would probably sneak about and dare not openly harm people in broad daylight.

However, a fellow traveler who returned from Yichang to Shenzhen personally related to us an incident he witnessed in Yichang where a ghost dragged a person, and this event occurred in daylight.

That fellow traveler surnamed Zheng; let's call him Master Zheng for short. A few years ago, Master Zheng came to Yichang with friends to travel. When they reached a scenic small hill, an incident occurred that left Master Zheng with a vivid memory for a long time.

The protagonist of this incident was a cowherd boy herding cattle and letting them graze on the hill.

In the morning, when Master Zheng saw the boy, he was happily playing with the cow. But after over an hour, when Master Zheng looked again, he saw the boy performing some strange motions.

How to describe it? It was as if he were tugging against a person. The boy wailed loudly, his legs straining backward, and one hand kept slapping the air.

Master Zheng took a clear look and realized this wasn't a child playing; it was clearly a vengeful ghost pulling a person.

When Master Zheng rushed to the boy's side, he found the child was only a hair's breadth from the cliff. Moreover, when Master Zheng rescued the child from the vengeful ghost's grasp, he himself almost fell off the cliff to meet Huaguang Ancestral Master.

Having steadied his footing, Master Zheng looked down into the cliff and gasped. Below, a large number of corpses floated, a veritable surge of resentment. With the water's impact, more trash and corpses would occasionally wash up at the base of the cliff.

Besides Master Zheng's daytime ghost encounter, we often hear strange tales about Yichang's Three Gorges. Therefore, if one wants to go adventuring, aside from Xiangxi, I think Yichang—especially the rural areas facing the lower Yangtze—is actually a fine choice.

As the moonlight grew darker, Pangzi and I found a household in the village to lodge in; the host was an old lady who looked quite kind. I was about to discuss the price with her when Pangzi stepped forward ahead of me.

Pangzi bowed with palms together to the old lady and said, "Granny, we are wandering Daoist mendicants; we would like to borrow a night's lodging and beg for some vegetarian food—may we have your permission?"

When Pangzi produced his Daoist conversion certificate, the old lady's doubts vanished instantly; she smiled, welcomed us into the house, and courteously poured us two cups of water.

The old lady's surname is Huang; she seemed deeply devoted to Daoism, and as soon as she sat down she eagerly asked Pangzi to tell her fortune.

Generally, when elders tell fortunes, they worry about their descendants. Of course, this isn't random guessing; after years in the trade, one gains such experience. Madame Huang was no exception—her divination concerned her own son.

According to the hexagram's interpretation, Madame Huang's son seemed to be a gambler and womanizer, and the hexagram also indicated the Gate of Mourning entering the palace, suggesting his days were numbered. Hence Pangzi hesitated for a while when interpreting the hexagram.

"My child runs about all day and never comes home to see me. As a mother, who could set their mind at ease? I'd like to ask you, Master, when will my child return?" the old lady asked anxiously and urgently.

Pangzi paused for a moment, then smiled while pinching his fingers: "Madame Huang, rest assured—he'll be back in the next two days."

"Is what the master said really true?" Pangzi's words made Madame Huang overjoyed. Meeting her anxious gaze, Pangzi nodded firmly and said, "Indeed!"

"Good, good, good… Biaozi finally bears to come home, wonderful!" Unexpectedly, Pangzi's simple sentence made Madame Huang burst into tears instantly.

"You two little masters must be hungry; I'll go cook rice now—just sit tight, it'll be ready soon!" After being excited, the old lady straightened her aging body and walked toward the kitchen.

After the old lady left, I immediately asked Pangzi impatiently, "Old Wang, what are you up to?"

Pangzi didn't speak, merely glanced at Madame Huang heading to the kitchen, and whispered to me, "Keep watch; if Madame Huang comes out, tell me."

Having said that, Pangzi sneaked furtively into Madame Huang's room.

After ten minutes inside, Pangzi slipped out again, just as furtively.

I grabbed Pangzi and asked, "What are you doing? Could you be sneaking into someone's room to steal?"

Pangzi pointed to the small pot of grass on the windowsill in Madame Huang's room, rolled his eyes at me, and said, "Don't spout nonsense—I'm just placing the grass."

That grass seemed to be something we had casually plucked by the roadside when we arrived; there was nothing special about it. So I shoved him and said, "Stop talking in riddles—say, why did you put a stalk of grass in someone's window for no reason?"

Pangzi looked at me with disdain, then whispered an explanation: he said this grass was not ordinary grass but the legendary 'gazing-for-son' herb from folk tales.

In certain regions, there is such a custom.

When parents pass away, a bundle of this grass is planted on the grave; the plant's name is unknown, it has long stems, several shoots growing luxuriantly, sprouting in spring and withering in autumn—like a mother waiting at the door for her child, hence it is called gazing-for-son grass, expressing the wish to see one's offspring return.

That is the origin of gazing-for-son grass.

Pangzi sighed, "We plucked a stalk of gazing-for-son grass on the road, and now we've met an old lady waiting for her son to come home. Perhaps this is heaven's will."

I pointed at the gazing-for-son grass and asked dubiously, "Does this thing really work?"

Pangzi answered without hesitation, "It works, it must work. I've measured the orientation of this house: the windowsill is the Kun trigram of the Eight Trigrams, and I placed the grass facing Zhen. Kun represents earth, the mother; Zhen represents the eldest son. By placing it here in conjunction with the three-year nine-period cycle, I also intend the mother's wish for her son's return. The next two days are the peak of the Dui period, which will surely unite Kun and Zhen, bringing the wandering child home."

Seeing Pangzi speak with such confidence, I couldn't say anything more.

An hour later, Madame Huang emerged from the kitchen carrying a meal. I exchanged a glance with Pangzi and called him over.

Carrying the food out of the house and squatting on the large stone by the door, I asked Pangzi bewildered, "Pangzi, did you lose your mind or what? What exactly are you up to?" My meaning, naturally, referred to Pangzi's inexplicable production of his Daoist conversion certificate, not letting me pay, and moreover calling it 'begging for alms' in a lofty way.

As if anticipating my question, Pangzi countered, "Hai Sheng, do you still remember how practitioners of our Dharma sect and worldly Daoists cultivate?"

Without thinking, I replied at once, "Naturally it's wearing tattered shoes, patched robes, living on wind and dew, subsisting on alms, propagating the Dao in actual practice, and accumulating merit."

This hardly requires thought; I don't know about Daoists, but Dharma practitioners have always been like this—using the Dharma to correct the Dao, training their abilities in both practice and combat. As for the two words 'merit,' though intangible, both Dharma and Dao practitioners emphasize its accumulation.

In a Daoist's eyes, merit can dispel the five flaws and three deficiencies; if one does many good deeds and accumulates merit, not only will one's body be healthy and enjoy longevity, but blessings can also extend to future generations.

"Yes, although society today differs from the past. But if we don't try this mendicant lifestyle, don't you think it's a pity?" Pangzi said while eating, his words somewhat muffled.

I rolled my eyes, nearly laughing: "Also lucky you have good fortune to find a Daoist-believing old lady; otherwise ordinary folks would either think you a thief or a lunatic."

As we spoke, Pangzi, wolfing down his food, accidentally knocked a small pile of rice onto the floor. Before I could react, he bent down and picked up that mouthful.

"Pangzi, what are you doing? The rice on the floor is dirty—are you really so stingy as to not even let go of a mouthful of white rice?" Watching Pangzi rinse the dirty rice with clear water, I couldn't help but ask suspiciously.

Pangzi seemed unfazed; after rinsing the dirty rice with water, he promptly shoved it into his mouth. Turning to me, he smiled and said, "Since we are mendicants, we must fully immerse ourselves in that life. Every drink and morsel is cause and effect. Since kind people have given us their alms, we cannot be picky—we must eat! This is planting a field of blessings for them."

"Kind people will ultimately receive blessings." Having said that with a laugh, Pangzi again took a big mouthful of rice.

Watching his hearty, guzzling appearance, I suddenly felt something inexplicable well up in my heart—a sense of sudden enlightenment.

Regarding the refined practice of the Dharma, perhaps Pangzi falls short of me, but in his insight into the Dao he far surpasses me; he unconsciously infects many with kindness and, through his actions, gives me many insights.

Perhaps… this is Pangzi himself!