Chapter 30

What can I do? Naturally, I would try every means to explain to them, but how could talk of ghosts and gods convince this whole lot of police.

Yao Yirong

Pangzi

On the way, Pangzi wore a helpless expression as he told me, "Hai Sheng, I've already told Yao Yirong about the matter, but she's extremely upset, insisting I lied to save you, and even saying you wanted to…" Pangzi grew more agitated as he spoke, and couldn't help cursing Yao Yirong.

QingSongShu Zhejiang

But we need to decide whether to include it in glossary. The glossary list is for named entities that appear in these lines. So we should include "Zhejiang" if we decide to keep as pinyin. However the instruction: "List every NAMED entity / coined term in these lines: characters (incl. the protagonist & minor ones), places, sects/clans/factions/peoples, official & sect ranks/titles, techniques, cultivation realms/pills/treasures, named beasts/items, fan-fiction names." So yes, include places.

Thus we need to include Zhejiang.

Pangzi stared blankly for a moment and asked me, "What are you talking about?"

Daoist Sect QingSongShu

"I'm really impressed with you. If I were rumored to be a pervert and the rumor spread throughout the school, I'd rather die than not go after the rumor‑monger with everything I've got." Pangzi muttered nervously from the side.

"What are you saying? I'm a pervert, and the rumor spread all over the school?" I grabbed Pangzi's sleeve and exclaimed excitedly.

Pangzi pointed at that pig's head and said firmly, "Yes."

I: … Yao Yirong, I cannot coexist with you under the same heaven.

"Sigh, do you know or not? About this matter, many versions are circulating at school. Some say you sneaked into Yao Yirong's room in the dead of night, preparing to… that sort of thing. Others claim your pants were all off and you were dragged to the police station by Yao Yirong's assorted aunts and uncles wielding brooms. And there's a most passionate version: just as you were halfway through the deed, Yao Yirong's family's big wolfhound burst into the room and bit…"

"Shut up." Pangzi's nonsense grew more outrageous: what the hell is this, what's that "that sort of thing," and my pants were torn by the iron railing—nothing to do with Yao Yirong—and even more absurd… is there even a story about Yao Yirong's family's big wolfhound?

Pangzi curled his lip and gave me a sideways glance: "Little punk, just now you said to keep a calm mind, to be like water benefiting all—what's up now… you waiting a moment?"

Mid‑sentence, Pangzi suddenly shifted his gaze elsewhere, his face flushing red as he walked over to that spot.

I looked in the direction Pangzi had gone—nothing much, just a large group of old men and women, one of the old men seeming to teach them tai chi.

Walking closer and listening, sure enough, and that old man spoke with authority: "The essence of tai chi is to borrow force to strike force, using your own way to return it onto the other—this is overcoming hardness with softness…"

Pangzi casually picked up an iron rod, swung it as he walked up to the old man, hefting it in his hand: "Old man, say that again, let me hear."

No new.

Helpless, I had to grit my teeth and drag the addlepated Pangzi away; otherwise, when their sons and daughters showed up, we'd both surely end up back at the police station again.

All the way until we sat down at the herbal tea stall, Pangzi kept muttering and grumbling, saying things like "I hate tai chi the most in my life—it's as slow as a turtle."

"All right, why are you so worked up? Does tai chi have a grudge against you?" I snatched the iron rod from Pangzi's hand,

"Ow… don't touch" I accidentally bumped Pangzi's arm, and he jumped up as if he'd stepped in shit.

Only then did I carefully examine his arm and notice some redness and swelling at his wrist. I asked what had happened, and Pangzi curled his lip: "It's all because of that Shen Yuan Ning."

Same.

"You mean the guy I fought with in the alley?"

I laughed helplessly, realizing that the bespectacled man from that night was surnamed Shen; Pangzi must have suffered a hidden loss in his hands, which is why he bears a grudge. Besides, it makes sense: tai chi emphasizes overcoming hardness with softness, borrowing force to strike force, while Pangzi's Xingyi boxing is exceedingly hard, and the bespectacled man's tai chi just happens to counter Pangzi's favored Tiger Cannon fist.

"Tell me, after I left that night, how did your fight with that bespectacled man go?" I began to develop a keen interest in that night's brawl.

Pangzi waved his hand: "Don't even talk about it—Shen Yuan Ning isn't a man at all; he only knows how to dodge, with not an ounce of strength."

"Oh, do tell!" Instantly, the gossip fire in my heart blazed.

Pangzi shook his head like a rattle drum: "There's nothing to say."

"Your sister… what's there not to say?" I laughed and scolded, and finally, under my prompting, Pangzi reluctantly began to recount what happened that night.

That night, after I left, Pangzi tangled with Shen Yuan Ning in the alley for a full half hour. In Pangzi's own words to describe his feeling: two words—stifled; three words—very stifled.

Pangzi said, Shen Yuan Ning clearly resembled a woman, with hardly any strength, yet each time he skillfully employed tai chi's pushing hands, doubling back the force Pangzi exerted on him.

However, Pangzi's years of Xingyi training weren't for nothing; even when the force bounced back, he just gritted his teeth and pressed on—one yielding to hardness, the other growing braver with each clash… In the end, neither could best the other, and they stopped, locking eyes in a stare that lasted half a day.

After the standoff, Shen Yuan Ning launched into a torrent of grand principles. Only then did Pangzi realize he had misunderstood us, and, impatient, he blurted out the truth.

Shen Yuan Ning Shen Yuan Lin

After hearing Pangzi finish, I was momentarily stunned. If it were anger, that's all in the past and not worth dwelling on, but Shen Yuan Ning is truly interesting—after learning the truth, he could openly admit his mistake and even slap himself a few times.

In olden terms, this is the legacy of ancient worthy sages; in modern parlance, it's simply foolish, yet amusingly foolish. Besides, I'm very curious about Shen Yuan Ning's lineage. Though Confucianism and Daoism are not separate, the realms they pursue are fundamentally different: Daoist Sect's thought seeks non‑action and purity, casting off the seven emotions and six desires to achieve daylight immortality, whereas Confucianism stresses loyalty, filial piety, rites, and serving the country and people—these are inherently contradictory. Yet why is Shen Yuan Ning so odd, bearing the Confucian vast righteousness while also possessing Daoist Sect's cultivation, and not a weak one at that?

"Now then, what are you planning to do—are you going back to school or not?" Pangzi asked, pulling me out of my reverie.

I shook my head and said, "No going back—my reputation already stinks worse than the school toilets, and the buzz is still strong; better wait a while before deciding. For now, let's head back to Chan-Yi Hall."

Chan Easy Hall Plum Blossom Numerology Plum Blossom Heart Yi Plum Blossom Qi Yi Plum Blossom Chan Yi Practice Chan meditation Qingyuan Xingsi

The three stages of Chan practice: initially seeing mountains as mountains and waters as waters; then seeing mountains as not mountains and waters as not waters; finally seeing mountains as mountains and waters as waters again.

Those who practice Mind-Yi: the hexagram arises from the mind, the numbers spring from the mind; those who practice Qi-Yi advance toward the state of no hexagram, where sounds and breaths resonate and seek each other; those of Chan intent reach the realm of still, unmoving awareness, where feeling leads to penetration and the hexagram and self are forgotten. This matches the three stages of Chan meditation proposed by the Song‑era Chan master Qingyuan Xingsi: 'To see the mountain is the mountain, to see the water is the water; to see the mountain is not the mountain, to see the water is not the water; to see the mountain is still the mountain, to see the water is still the water.' There is a marvelous similarity in different forms.

Chan meditation is a gradual process, as is Plum Blossom Numerology; gradual progression ultimately resembles Chan meditation, seeking only the four characters—return to simplicity and return to truth.

QingSongShu gave this name to the geomancy hall: first, because of Plum Blossom Numerology; second, to encourage Pangzi, hoping he would be diligent and conscientious on the path of cultivation and soon reach the realm of Plum Blossom Chan-Yi.

However, I think QingSongShu's ideal is a stretch—let's not talk about anything else; just the fact that Pangzi uses Plum Blossom Numerology to measure women's three measurements, I wouldn't dare say there will be no successors, but it's absolutely unprecedented.

"Do you think we'll get any walk‑in business today?" Pangzi rubbed his hands together, wearing a greedy, money‑grubbing expression.

I rolled my eyes and said, "How would I know? Maybe even swatting flies isn't certain."

The business at Chan-Yi Hall isn't bad; it's just that QingSongShu is too busy to attend to it. Out of 365 days a year, at least half of the time QingSongShu is out and about. So Chan-Yi Hall is likewise sometimes open, sometimes closed. In QingSongShu's words, those who come when the door is open are people with affinity; if you come and can't find anyone, then you have no affinity with us.

So, people who come looking for something usually have no patience; seeing the door closed, they go elsewhere. If we relied solely on Chan-Yi Hall's income, we couldn't even afford basic living, let alone pay our tuition.

After opening the doors of Chan-Yi Hall, Pangzi and I hauled water and cleaned the hall. Unexpectedly, in the afternoon a piece of business actually walked in,

Li Shun

Although Li Sun lay on the stretcher, he had no visible injuries. Only his complexion was strangely odd—his face was red as a roasted eggplant, yet touching his forehead showed no fever.

When I asked Li Sun where he felt uncomfortable, he clutched his chest and, with great difficulty, squeezed out a few words: "I… I'm in pain all over, my chest… feels awful, I can't… speak."

The moment he spoke, I was startled. His words came out haltingly, as if a thousand‑jin boulder were pressing on his chest.

When I lifted his shirt, I jumped in shock—his body was as red as his face, like a roasted eggplant. Though he had no visible wounds, the slightest touch made him cry out as if pricked by needles.

In an instant I reached a conclusion: Li Shunde's condition is fundamentally not an illness; he clearly has been struck by a point strike from martial arts.