Chapter 28: The Old Sweeper Monk

Could it be that the one who came to offer incense and change the offerings at the ancestral tablets was Er Pang’s mother?

This puzzled me even more. No matter how I thought about it, Er Pang’s mother couldn’t possibly have any connection with those two ancestral tablets. However, what happened next made it clear to me—Er Pang’s mother hadn’t come to change the offerings or burn incense.

She was there for another reason.

In her basket, Er Pang’s mother had brought food she’d prepared herself. After arriving, she placed the dishes in the kitchen, glanced around, and said, “Xiao Wu, Er Pang, I’ve left your meal here. Eat it while it’s hot, don’t let it get cold!”

Everything she did and said seemed at odds with the expression on her face. Her features were stiff, her eyes vacant, as if these actions were performed purely by instinct.

When she finished, she picked up her empty basket and slowly shuffled away from my uncle’s house.

The scene made my nose sting with emotion.

Even after all that had happened to her, Er Pang’s mother still remembered to bring food for me and Er Pang. I peeked into my uncle’s kitchen and saw many dishes stacked there—it seemed she’d been bringing food for some time.

For the first time, I truly felt the warmth of a mother’s love. Having grown up lacking both fatherly and motherly affection, I couldn’t help it—tears welled up and streamed down my face.

Did I really not have parents?

Impossible. They must exist—how else could I be here? But if they did, where were they now? Were they still alive?

After a while, I pulled myself together, wiped away my tears, and left my uncle’s house. The roads were more deserted than ever. As I neared the edge of the village, I saw a few people ahead, each holding a black umbrella, walking straight toward me. Their steps seemed aimless, their expressions odd.

It was obvious they’d been sent by those rat spirits—though for what purpose, I didn’t know.

I quickly shook the cowbell, not daring to look at them, and took a slight detour to pass by. As I did, they stopped and stared at me.

The feeling of being watched was unmistakable—I could sense it clearly. Even in broad daylight, a chill ran down my spine.

“Hey, who are you?” someone suddenly asked.

My heart leapt—had he seen through me? Bull Da Huang had said that as long as I kept shaking the cowbell, its clanging would prevent me from being discovered. These people had no consciousness of their own; they could only identify things by distinctive features, especially sounds.

But then, what was happening now?

I took a deep breath, ignored his question, and kept shaking the bell as I walked on.

Then another villager chimed in, “Are you blind? That’s obviously just a calf. The priest told us to catch that Lin Yi kid—why bother with a calf?”

“That’s right, let’s go. The sooner we find him, the sooner we can report back.”

The first man, still confused, scratched the back of his head and said, “Yeah, what’s wrong with me—why would I ask a calf who it is?”

He motioned for the others to head back toward the village.

I’d narrowly escaped danger and finally allowed myself a sigh of relief. Still, I didn’t dare let my guard down, and kept ringing the cowbell as I walked.

Once I was safely within Dongwa Village’s limits, I put the cowbell away.

I went to Granny Wang’s house and knocked for some time before she answered. As soon as she opened the door, I noticed something was wrong—her complexion was pale, her energy clearly diminished.

She invited me in, then said, “Child, you’re not angry about last night, are you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I told you I’d help, but I couldn’t come.” As she spoke, she coughed, quickly covering her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief.

After she caught her breath, I said, “Granny Wang, I know something must’ve happened here last night too, or you wouldn’t have left me to fend for myself.”

I’d guessed as much already. Seeing her now, it was clear—she’d been hurt.

I asked her what had happened, but she only forced a weak smile and said it was nothing serious—she’d been caught off guard, but with a little rest, she’d be fine.

But as soon as she finished, she was overtaken by a fit of coughing again, her handkerchief unable to stifle it. Worried but helpless, I watched as she excused herself, shut herself in her room, and closed the door. I noticed spots of fresh blood on the table.

Whatever happened to her last night had left her seriously injured, or she wouldn’t be like this now. I quickly wiped the blood from the table.

After a while, Granny Wang emerged, looking somewhat recovered. She even managed a faint smile as she assured me, “Child, my injuries aren’t as bad as you think. Don’t worry.”

I nodded, pretending to believe her.

She didn’t want me to worry, so I didn’t press the matter.

I then asked if He Xiaojing had brought her any messages—that Ma the Cripple was about to act, and that a Taoist family, the Ma family, was involved. I knew nothing about them and hoped she could tell me more, since the temple behind her, Baiqing Temple, had close ties to the Taoist community.

Granny Wang explained that there were indeed many itinerant Taoists—most practiced at home, forming Taoist families. However, among the well-known families, none were surnamed Ma.

“Granny Wang, do you know who hurt you last night?” I asked, as a thought struck me.

She pondered for a moment before replying, hesitantly, “Alas… it’s embarrassing to admit, but I have no idea who it was. I didn’t even see their face.”

“Could it have been someone from the Ma family?” I pressed.

“It wasn’t Ma the Cripple’s method, nor was it the work of those rat spirits from your village. It must have been that so-called Ma family,” she replied. Clearly, she’d considered the possibility.

This meant the Ma family had already arrived—they were simply lurking in the shadows. As expected, their methods were just like Ma the Cripple’s—preferring to strike from behind the scenes.

“Granny Wang, is there any other way? He Xiaojing said Ma the Cripple would act tonight.” I was at my wit’s end—Grandpa still hadn’t woken, Granny Wang was injured, and I had no one else to turn to for help.

But seeing Granny Wang reminded me of the Mistress of the Azure Robes.

Gathering my courage, I asked, “Granny Wang, you’re close to the Mistress of the Azure Robes. Do you think you could ask her for help?”

“There’s no other choice now. Tonight, when Ma the Cripple makes his move, it’s also our chance. I’ve been waiting for you—let’s head to Baiqing Temple at once!” she said, rising to her feet. It seemed she’d already made up her mind.

I was about to voice my concern for her health, but before I could, she was already heading for the door.

I hurried after her.

The journey was long—it took us more than two hours to arrive. The place was over ten li from Longtai County, beside a tranquil lake. On the opposite shore stood a mountain, and atop it was Baiqing Temple. Along the way, Granny Wang told me the lake was called White Dragon Pool.

There was a story about the pool.

They said a wicked dragon was sealed beneath it. In the past, the dragon wreaked havoc, causing countless deaths and untold misery. A skilled priestess from Mount Longhu subdued the dragon and imprisoned it under the pool. Even after being sealed, the dragon refused to submit, and would still stir up storms whenever possible.

The priestess built a temple beside the pool and kept vigil day and night. That temple was now Baiqing Temple. There were only priestesses here—no male Taoists—for a reason. In orthodox Taoist tradition, the term “priestess” wasn’t used; female Taoists were called “Kundao.” Referring to them as “priestess” was considered disrespectful.

Some say that the arts of the Kundao are of the yin aspect, while the white dragon’s strength is of the yang. Only the extreme yin of the Kundao could suppress the dragon. Thus, Baiqing Temple accepted only Kundao, to gather and maintain this balance of extreme yin.

Listening to Granny Wang’s tales, we soon arrived at the temple.

There were a thousand stone steps leading up.

Inside, after inquiring, we were told the Mistress of the Azure Robes was not present. When we asked where she was, they replied that she had been summoned to Mount Longhu for urgent matters, leaving early the previous morning.

Of all times for her to be away—now, when we needed help most. The other Kundao in the temple had little cultivation and were in no position to help us break the impasse back in the village.

Helpless, we could only retrace our steps.

As we descended, an old priestess appeared on the steps ahead. We hadn’t seen her when we arrived, but now she was sweeping slowly, again and again, along the stairs.

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