Chapter 60: Master Sun

At a road one hundred meters from the Sun family’s residence, the Sun family had set up a table specifically to receive and direct guests.

Ahead of them walked an old man in patched clothes, hunched and bent, tightly holding the hand of a seven- or eight-year-old boy; the boy’s clothes had fewer patches but were sewn with several, yet they were clean.

The old man led his grandson to the table and said, “I’m from Niutou Village. Master Sun built us a bridge—I’ve come to see him off.”

The steward heard this and let him in, pointing the way: “Cry at the gate, then go eat by the road behind the village.”

The old man agreed, fumbled in his clothes, pulled out two copper coins as a gift for the steward, then led his grandson inside.

Tao Ji had an invitation; he handed the Sun family’s invitation to the steward, who immediately summoned someone and said respectfully, “The Daoist may proceed directly to the mortuary chamber; on the eastern side, other monks and Daoists are already waiting—someone will attend to you there.”

Tao Ji agreed, handed over his mule and cart to the steward for arrangement, then picked up their bundles and headed toward the Sun residence.

The Sun family’s main gate was draped in white mourning cloth; the wailing inside had paused for a while. When they reached the gate, the grandfather and grandson had just arrived.

The old man pulled his grandson to their knees, bowed three times toward the interior, then burst into loud sobs—his cries distant and sorrowful, with an odd rhythm, as if singing or chanting a litany of Master Sun’s good deeds, his longing for him, and his grief at his passing…

Seeing Pan Yun listening intently, Wang Feiyin took her by the arm and led her inside: “Come, let’s meet our fellow practitioners first.”

The Sun family hadn’t invited just one group of Daoists—nor even just Daoists; they’d also invited monks and nuns.

Now that Buddhists and Daoists were under one roof, as Wang Feiyin and the others arrived, a young man in full mourning attire approached with the steward and said, “Our master has passed into immortality; our family is heartbroken. If we’ve failed to accommodate you properly, please forgive us.”

All present from the Buddhist and Daoist traditions immediately rose to return the bow, assuring that Bodhisattva (or the Three Pure Ones) would not blame them.

The Sun family planned to use both traditions: Daoists would hold a ritual on the left, while monks would perform rites of deliverance on the right.

The sole purpose: to ensure Master Sun’s peaceful passage, clear his path to the underworld, guarantee him comfort and sustenance below, lessen his attachments to the mortal world, and let him know his descendants were filial.

This sounded far from filial.

Especially since the Sun family demanded the coffin remain in place for seven days, and rituals must last the full seven days—each day, one monk and one Daoist must join the Sun family’s filial descendants in guarding the corpse.

Because of this, the ritual fees were calculated per person—and doubled!

Even Pan Yun and the others, who came merely to fill numbers and assist, received payment—so all the Daoists and Bodhisattvas agreed.

Wang Feiyin also wanted Pan Yun and the others to learn more; he had a well-laid plan: “After you finish this funeral, you’ll know how to conduct funeral rites, how filial descendants should guard the corpse and show filial piety—when you descend the mountain, you’ll be able to use this. These are skills that put food on the table.”

Pan Yun: “Do we also need to learn the rules of how filial descendants guard the corpse and show filial piety?”

“Of course,” Wang Feiyin said. “How to place the coffin, how filial descendants should weep, how to offer incense, how to seal the coffin afterward, how to end mourning—you must learn all of it.”

“Some people simply don’t know these customs, and their families have no elders to teach them—you can earn money from this.”

“Also, feng shui, selecting auspicious departure times—these can all be livelihoods,” Wang Feiyin said as he opened his bundle. “Remember, we Daoists are different from ordinary children—we have no home, no clan. Our only reliance is ourselves. Don’t think being a cultivator makes you special; we merely possess a little more, yet lack far more.”

Pan Yun didn’t fully grasp this yet, but Miao Zhen and Miao He understood instantly, falling into deep thought.

Wang Feiyin patted their heads and said, “Go fetch water—we must bathe and cleanse our hands before setting up the ritual altar.”

Pan Yun and the others had come to assist; they immediately went out to find servants and asked where to get water.

Tao Yanbai, experienced and sharp, spotted a young Daoist acolyte emerging from a nearby room and bolted: “Hurry—”

Pan Yun and the others reacted swiftly and sprinted after him.

The young Daoist acolyte and the young monks and nuns who emerged saw them and also took off running.

Pan Yun’s group ran fastest, leading the pack, quickly seizing four wooden buckets, then rushing to the heated-water area to scoop water.

The servant woman tending the fire, upon learning the water was for the Daoists’ ritual, though displeased, still allowed them to draw it.

Pan Yun and the others filled four full buckets of hot water; the pursuing young Daoist acolyte and monks and nuns found only three remaining buckets—far too few—and turned to glare at Pan Yun’s group.

Pan Yun kept her gaze straight ahead, left hand gripping her own bucket, right hand grabbing one side of Miao He’s bucket, and gave Tao Yanbai a glance: “What are you waiting for? Senior brothers are waiting for hot water.”

Tao Yanbai snapped out of it, stepped forward to help Miao Zhen carry half the weight of her bucket; the four of them carried the four buckets back, two by two.

After this first victory, Wang Feiyin was pleased. After bathing and cleansing, he personally taught them how to use ritual implements, how to construct the ritual altar, how to calculate auspicious times…

In truth, everyone just watched them work; once they finished, a steward came to lead them out for meals.

Night had fallen; only faint silhouettes were visible. The grandfather and grandson who had been weeping outside the gate were gone—they’d gone to eat. When Pan Yun emerged after her meal, she saw them kneeling outside the gate, bowing toward the mortuary chamber.

Pan Yun halted, asking Wang Feiyin: “Senior brother, was Master Sun a good man?”

Wang Feiyin also saw the pair and replied: “What makes a man good? What makes him bad? I don’t know Master Sun’s life, but to this grandfather and grandson, he must have been good.”

Pan Yun fell into thought.

A steward had noticed the pair; soon another steward came out to lead them to the temporary mortuary pavilion outside: “Our third young master heard you came all the way from Niutou Village to mourn—he was deeply moved. Tonight, you’ll stay in the pavilion. Leave after lunch tomorrow.”

Pan Yun watched them walk away. When they were gone, Wang Feiyin turned and said: “Come, I’ll guard the corpse with the Sun family’s filial descendants tonight—will you join me?”

Pan Yun agreed and followed immediately.

She was curious about this newly deceased Master Sun—dead, he was still so wealthy; how much richer must he have been in life?

How enviable—some are born wealthy, die wealthy, never taste hardship in their entire lives.

As Pan Yun stepped into the mortuary chamber, a string of furious curses rang out: “Unfilial brat, fool! Don’t you dare wail for me! Don’t you dare—”

Pan Yun looked up and saw a ghost standing atop the coffin, spitting saliva as he pointed at a middle-aged man seated on a mat, screaming.

!. Read

The middle-aged man was oblivious, wiping tears as he burned paper money in a fire basin; whenever visitors came to pay respects, he wailed occasionally and dabbed his eyes.

Visitors who came to burn incense sighed and offered him words of comfort.

Wang Feiyin noticed Pan Yun frozen at the door; he tugged her gently, glanced quickly at the coffin lid, then casually pulled her to a corner, handed her a meditation cushion, and sat cross-legged on his own: “Don’t stare. Tonight, we only need to guard the mortuary chamber.”

Pan Yun glanced at her senior brother, then sat cross-legged too. Of course—Miao Zhen could see Zhou Wang; it was no surprise her senior brother saw Master Sun.

Sitting on the cushion, Pan Yun’s left ear heard visitors praising the Sun family’s filial piety: “Your father knows you’re filial—this funeral is so well done, he can rest in peace.”

Her right ear heard Master Sun on the coffin lid spit and curse: “You blind fool! Where do you see filial piety?

This funeral was paid for with my own money—I used my own money to bury myself! How filial of you! I hope your own descendants do the same to you—when you die, they’ll hire monks and Daoists to suppress your ghost…”

Pan Yun’s eyebrows twitched; Wang Feiyin frowned.

The two siblings exchanged a glance and began to carefully examine the mortuary chamber.

After careful searching, they indeed found talismans for suppressing spirits hidden among the many funeral and blessing talismans posted on the walls.

Wang Feiyin grew displeased and sat up straighter.

Accepting payment to remove calamities is the righteous path; similarly, performing good deeds without payment is not sustainable.

We were paid to conduct rites and guide the dead to rebirth—but the Sun family is suppressing spirits. The payment differs; the karmic consequences differ.

To take one portion of payment and shoulder a hundredfold karmic burden—that’s not just a bad deal—it’s outright theft.

Wang Feiyin pulled a handful of roasted soybeans from his sleeve, pinched one between his fingers, flicked it with a soft *shhh*—it struck the inscription on a suppression talisman, piercing and breaking it; the talisman instantly lost its power.

Pan Yun, who had just reached for a copper coin to secretly cause trouble, saw this and immediately tucked her coin away. She glanced left and right—no one noticed—then snatched a handful of soybeans from Wang Feiyin’s palm.

Wang Feiyin turned to her, silently conveying: You took too many.

Pan Yun looked at his sleeve—were there none left?

The two exchanged silent communication, then turned back, each pinching one soybean. Their eyes, like searchlights in the dark, swept the room’s talismans—each one they spotted, they broke with a flick. Soon, a quarter of the visible talismans were ruined.

But no one noticed, for each talisman bore only a small hole, the size of a soybean, at its center.

Master Sun, exhausted from cursing, finally fell silent. He leapt down from the coffin lid: “I don’t believe I can’t get out—I…” Huh?

He stepped over the threshold, looked down at his feet in surprise, then turned back toward the mortuary chamber.

He thought a moment, then took another step outside—and found he wasn’t being thrown back as before. He burst into loud laughter: “Pathetic! You think these talismans can hold me? Your father will always be your father.”

He flicked his sleeve, clasped his hands behind his back, and strode out with the measured steps of a nobleman.

The lucky number for this chapter is any number ending in 9—screenshot as proof.

(End of Chapter)