Chapter 302: with translation of chapter title

What could I do? Naturally I tried every means to explain to them, but how could talk of ghosts and gods convince this whole bunch of police?

In the end, the police uncle, considering I was a first-time offender and that Yao Yirong did not pursue the matter, sent me to a labor reformatory for re-education.

One week later, on a fine and sunny afternoon, Pangzi led me out of the labor reformatory.

On the way, Pangzi wore a helpless expression and told me, "Hai Sheng, I've already told Yao Yirong about the matter, but she got really upset, insisting I was lying to save you, and even said you wanted to…" Pangzi grew more agitated as he spoke, and couldn't help but lash out at Yao Yirong.

"Alright, Pangzi, what are you getting worked up about? Don't you remember what QingSongShu said to us in Zhejiang last time?"

Pangzi stared blankly for a moment and asked me, "What words?"

"Life presents a hundred aspects, human nature a hundred aspects; one must face them with an ordinary mind. A Daoist's heart is clear as a mirror, yet also tranquil as water…." I repeated QingShu's words to Pangzi once more. I recall QingSongShu saying that good intentions could bring about a good deed, or they could backfire and land one in the eye of the storm. Therefore, in dealing with people and matters, one only needs to be guilt-free in conscience; there's no need to pay heed to too much idle gossip.

"I truly admire you. If I were rumored to be a pervert and the rumor spread throughout the school, even if I weren't alive I'd first go fight to the death with the rumor-monger." Pangzi muttered cautiously from the side.

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

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 in the school. Some say you sneaked into Yao Yirong's room in the dead of night, preparing to… someone. Others say your pants were all off, and Yao Yirong's seven great aunts and eight great uncles swept you to the police station with brooms. And there's a most passionate version: when you were halfway through your deed, Yao Yirong's big wolfhound burst into the room and bit…"

"Shut up." Pangzi spouted more nonsense, wondering what the hell this was, what that… someone, and that my pants were torn by an iron bar, having nothing to do with Yao Yirong, and even more absurd… does the matter of Yao Yirong's family's big wolfhound even exist?

Pangzi curled his lips and gave me a sideways glance: "Little brat, just now you weren't saying to keep a calm mind, to be like water? What now… you wait a moment?"

Mid-sentence, Pangzi suddenly shifted his gaze elsewhere, then his face flushed red as he walked over to that place.

I looked in the direction Pangzi was heading, and saw nothing much—just a large group of old men and women, among whom an old gentleman seemed to be teaching them tai chi.

Upon approaching and listening, sure enough, and that old gentleman spoke with authority: "The essence of tai chi is to borrow force to strike force, using one's 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 gentleman, and weighed it in his hand: "Old sir, say that again, let me see."

I: ……

Helpless, I had to grit my teeth and drag the brainless Pangzi away; otherwise, when their sons and daughters arrived, we two would surely end up back at the police station again.

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

"Alright, why are you so fired up? Do you have a grudge against tai chi?" I snatched the iron rod from Pangzi's hand,

"Ow… don't touch it!" I accidentally bumped Pangzi's arm, and he jumped up as if he'd stepped on poop.

At that point I carefully examined his arm and noticed some red swelling at his wrist. I asked him what was up, and Pangzi curled his lips: "It's none other than Shen Yuan Ning."

Shen Yuan Ning…?

"That's the guy I fought with in the alley, right?"

I laughed helplessly, realizing that the bespectacled man from that night bore the surname Shen; Pangzi must have suffered a dark loss at 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. Pangzi's Form-Intent Fist is exceedingly hard and forceful, while the bespectacled man's tai chi happens to counter Pangzi's favored Tiger Cannon Fist.

"Tell me, after I left that night, how did your fight with that bespectacled guy 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 even a real man; he only knows how to dodge, with no strength at all."

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

Pangzi shook his head like a rattle drum: "Nothing to say."

"Your sister… what's there not to say about it?" I teased, laughing; finally, after my urging, Pangzi reluctantly began to recount that night's events.

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

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

However, Pangzi's years of Form-Intent Fist training were not for nothing; even when the force bounced back, he stubbornly held his ground—one embodying overcoming hardness with softness, the other growing braver with each fight… In the end, neither could best the other; they stopped, locked in a stare, glaring at each other for a long while.

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

Upon learning we were rescuing people, not harming them, that bespectacled man actually slapped himself five times, then gave Pangzi a grand salute, left his name as Shen Yuan Lin, and said he would surely come calling another day.

After hearing Pangzi finish, I was momentarily stunned. If it were about anger, that's all in the past, nothing to dwell on, but this 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 virtuous sages; in modern terms, it's foolish, yet amusingly foolish. Besides, I'm very curious about Shen Yuan Ning's lineage. Although Confucianism and Daoism are not separate, the realms they pursue are fundamentally different: Daoist Sect's thought advocates non-action and purity, casting off the seven emotions and six desires, to fly immortally in broad daylight; Confucianism stresses loyalty, filial piety, rites, and serving the country and people—these are fundamentally contradictory. Yet why is this Shen Yuan Ning so strange, bearing Confucian heroic righteousness while also possessing Daoist cultivation, and his cultivation is not weak at all.

"So now, 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 limelight is still fierce; better wait a while before deciding. For now, let's head back to Chan-Yi Hall."

Chan-Yi Hall is QingSongShu's feng shui studio; the name Chan-Yi comes from QingSongShu's greatest pride in life, which is Plum Blossom Divination, and Plum Blossom Divination further divides into three realms: Plum Blossom Mind Divination, Plum Blossom Qi Divination, and Plum Blossom Chan Divination.

Mind Divination: the hexagram arises from the mind, the numbers originate from the mind; Qi Divination proceeds toward the state of no hexagram, where like responds to like and like seeks like; Chan Divination leads to the realm of tranquil non-action, where feeling brings about completion and the hexagram and self are both forgotten. This shares a wonderful similarity with the three stages of Chan practice proposed by the Song Dynasty Chan master Qingyuan Xingsi: "Seeing mountains is mountains, seeing water is water, seeing mountains is not mountains, seeing water is not water, seeing mountains still are mountains, seeing water still are water."

Chan practice is a gradual process, as is Plum Blossom Divination; gradual change leads ultimately to the same as Chan practice, seeking only the four characters—return to simplicity and return to truth.

QingSongShu gave this name to his feng shui studio for two reasons: first, because of Plum Blossom Divination; second, to encourage Pangzi, hoping he could persevere diligently on the path of cultivation and soon attain the realm of Plum Blossom Chan Divination.

However, I reckon QingSongShu's ideal is a stretch; forget everything else, just consider Pangzi using Plum Blossom Divination to measure women's three measurements—I wouldn't dare say no one will come after him, but he's absolutely unprecedented.

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

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

Chan-Yi Hall's business isn't bad; it's just that QingSongShu is too busy to attend to it. Out of 365 days a year, at least half the time QingSongShu is out and about. Thus Chan-Yi Hall is sometimes open, sometimes closed. As QingSongShu puts it, those who come when the door is open are fated to meet us; those who come and find no one present have no affinity with us.

Thus, people who come looking for something usually lack patience; seeing the door closed, they go elsewhere. If we relied solely on Chan-Yi Hall's income, we couldn't even afford basic sustenance, let alone pay our tuition.

After opening the doors of Chan-Yi Hall, Pangzi and I hauled water and cleaned the premises. To our surprise, a customer actually walked in that afternoon,

Around two or so, a man named Li Shun was carried in on a stretcher.

Li Shun, though lying on the stretcher, 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 approached Li Shun to ask where he felt unwell, he struggled to press his chest and forced 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 in halting bursts, as if a thousand-pound boulder weighed on his chest.

I lifted his shirt and gasped—his body was as red as his face, like a roasted eggplant. Though he bore no wounds, a touch made him cry out as if pricked by needles.

In an instant I concluded: Li Shun's ailment is certainly not any ordinary illness; he's clearly been struck by a point-strike technique from martial arts.