Chapter 471: We Are the New Generation of Itinerant Daoists

Me and Pangzi were both sprawled in a train carriage, fast asleep, when suddenly the train stopped midway. 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, how about we get off and stroll around? We can have fun while we walk."

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

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 around 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 vicinity and having some fun wouldn't be bad. Immediately, Pangzi and I hit it off, grabbed our two suitcases, and got off the train.

The place we got off was quite remote, seemingly a small village near the Three Gorges. After getting off, instead of looking for an inn to stay, we took advantage of the evening sunset and walked toward the nearby village.

Yichang lies downstream of the Yangtze River's Three Gorges; perhaps you could say Yichang is one of 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 River; although the Yangtze is one of China's four major 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 specific direction, countless corpses are carried along with the river's current and pile up downstream.

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

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

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

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

Around midmorning, when Zheng Shifu saw the boy, he was happily playing with the cow. But after more than an hour, when Zheng Shifu looked at the boy again, he saw the boy performing some strange actions.

To describe it, it was as if he were tugging against a person. The boy wailed loudly while kicking his legs hard backward, and one hand kept slapping the air.

Zheng Shifu took a clear look and thought, "This isn't a child playing; it's clearly a vengeful ghost pulling a person."

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

After steadying his footing, Zheng Shifu looked down at the cliff base and gasped. He saw a large number of corpses floating below, a veritable surge of resentment. With the water's impact, more trash and corpses would occasionally wash up at the cliff's base.

Aside from Zheng Shifu's daytime ghost encounter, we often hear strange tales about the Yichang Three Gorges. So if we want to go adventuring, besides Xiangxi, I think Yichang—especially the rural areas facing the lower Yangtze—would actually be a great choice.

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

Pangzi clasped his hands and said to the old woman, "Elder, we are wandering Daoist mendicants who have come here; we'd like to borrow a night's lodging and, meanwhile, beg for some vegetarian meals. I don't know if you would consent."

When Pangzi produced his Daoist initiation certificate, the old woman's doubts vanished at once; she immediately smiled, welcomed us into the house, and courteously poured us two cups of water.

The old woman's surname is Huang, and she seems equally obsessed with Daoism; as soon as she sat down, she eagerly asked Pangzi to tell her fortune.

Elders usually divine fortunes out of worry for their descendants. Certainly, this isn't random guessing; after years in the trade, one gains such experience. Huang Po Po is no exception—she asked about her own son.

According to the divination, Huang Po Po's son seems to be a compulsive gambler and womanizer. Moreover, the omen indicates the gate of death is approaching, suggesting his life may be short. Hence, when Pangzi interpreted the omen, he hesitated for a while.

"My son runs around all day and never comes home to see me. As a mother, who could set their mind at ease? I just want to ask you, Master, when will my son return?" the old woman asked anxiously and urgently.

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

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

"Good, good, good… Biaozi finally decided to come home, great!" Unexpectedly, Pangzi's simple sentence caused Huang Po Po to burst into tears instantly.

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

After the old woman left, I immediately asked Pangzi, unable to wait: "Old Wang, what are you up to?"

Pangzi didn't speak; he just glanced at Huang Po Po walking toward the kitchen and whispered to me, "Keep watch—if Huang Po Po comes out, tell me!"

Having said that, Pangzi sneaked stealthily into Huang Po Po's room.

After ten minutes inside, Pangzi sneaked out again.

I grabbed Pangzi and asked, "What are you doing? You're not sneaking into someone's house to steal, are you?"

Pangzi pointed to the small pot of grass on the windowsill in Huang Po Po'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—tell me why you're putting a stalk of grass in someone's window for no reason."

Pangzi looked at me with disdain, then whispered his explanation: he said this grass isn't ordinary grass, but the legendary Gazing-at-son Grass from folk tales.

In certain regions, there is such a custom.

When parents pass away, they plant a bundle of this grass 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, it is called Gazing-at-son Grass, expressing the wish for the child's return to be watched.

This is the origin of Gazing-at-son Grass.

Pangzi sighed, "We picked a stalk of Gazing-at-son Grass by the road, and now we've met an old woman waiting for her son to come home. Perhaps this is heaven's will."

I pointed at the Gazing-at-son Grass and doubted, "Does this thing really work?"

Pangzi answered without hesitation, "It works, it must work. I've checked the orientation of this house: the windowsill is the Kun trigram of the Eight Trigrams, and where I placed it faces Zhen. Kun represents earth, the mother; Zhen represents the eldest son. By placing it here, in line with the three-year nine-period cycle, I also intend the mother's wish for the child'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 very well say anything else.

An hour later, Huang Po Po came out of the kitchen carrying the meal. I exchanged a glance with Pangzi and called him over.

Holding the food, we stepped out of the house and squatted on the large stone by the door. I puzzledly asked Pangzi, "Pangzi, did your brain short-circuit or what? What exactly are you up to?" My implication was naturally about Pangzi's oddly producing his Daoist initiation certificate, not letting me pay, and then beautifying it by calling it begging for alms.

As if he had anticipated my question, Pangzi countered, "Hai Sheng, do you still remember how practitioners of our Fajiao and the worldly Daoists cultivate?"

I didn't even think and immediately replied, "Naturally it's wearing broken shoes, patched robes, enduring wind and dew, living on alms, promoting the Dao in actual practice, and accumulating merit."

This is hardly a question needing thought. As for Daoists, I don't know, but Fajiao practitioners have always been like this: using the Dharma to correct the Dao, training their abilities in both practice and combat. Although merit is intangible, both Fajiao and Daoist practitioners emphasize accumulating it.

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

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

I rolled my eyes, nearly laughing out loud: "Also, thank your luck you found a Daoist-believing old woman; otherwise ordinary folks would either think you're a thief or a lunatic."

As we were speaking, the gluttonous Pangzi accidentally knocked a small pile of steamed rice onto the floor. Before I could react, he bent down and picked up that mouthful of rice.

"Pangzi, what are you doing? The rice that fell on the floor is dirty; you wouldn't be so stingy as to refuse even a single mouthful of steamed rice, would I?" Watching Pangzi rinse the dirty rice with clear water, I couldn't help but ask suspiciously.

Pangzi seemed utterly unfazed; after rinsing the dirty rice with water, he promptly shoved it into his mouth. Turning to me, he smiled and said, "Since we're living the itinerant life, we must fully immerse ourselves in it. Every drink and bite is cause and effect. Since kind folks have given us rice as alms, we can't be picky—we must eat it! This is how we plant a field of blessings for them."

"Kind people will ultimately reap blessings." Having said that with a laugh, Pangzi again shoved a big mouthful of steamed rice into his mouth.

Watching his hearty, wolfish eating, 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 sensing the Dao, he far surpasses me; he unconsciously infects many with kindness, and through his actions gives me many insights.

Perhaps… that's Pangzi himself!

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