Chapter Twenty-Nine: Boundless Merit

This elderly Taoist was, of course, a female Taoist. Judging by her appearance, she must have been seventy or eighty years old. I glanced at Madam Wang, and she told me that, in all her previous visits to Baiqing Temple, she had never seen this old Taoist.

In fact, the thousand steps leading up to Baiqing Temple were swept daily before dawn, kept immaculately clean, not a speck of dust in sight. Yet the old Taoist continued to sweep them over and over, never ceasing.

Madam Wang found it odd and, seeing the old woman’s age, felt pity. She approached, hands forming the yin-yang gesture, and gently advised, “Immortal lady, forgive me for intruding, but these steps are already spotless. You may rest now, there’s no harm in it.”

The old Taoist paused, returned the yin-yang salute, and replied, “Blessings and boundless virtue, but if there is dust in the heart, how can it be swept away?”

Her question left Madam Wang dumbfounded, uncertain how to answer. The old woman smiled again and said, “The dust in the heart is merely human nature. If the heart is dust, dust is heart. No dust means no heart, but with a heart, there will always be dust.”

Her words were like a riddle, incomprehensible to me, and even Madam Wang failed to grasp their meaning. Still, the old Taoist spoke with an air of profound wisdom.

Could it be that she was an extraordinary being?

After speaking, the old Taoist turned her gaze toward me, her eyes revealing an ambiguous expression. Then, she walked in my direction.

I knew nothing of Taoist etiquette, so I mimicked Madam Wang’s earlier gesture, hands forming the yin-yang. Before I could speak, the old Taoist raised my left hand as if examining my palm. After inspecting it, she studied my face as though she could read my fortune in my features.

At that moment, Madam Wang intervened, saying, “Immortal lady, you must not divine her face!”

The old Taoist glanced back at Madam Wang, hesitated as if recalling something, and ceased her inspection. Instead, she wrote a single character in my palm.

Rain.

She smiled and said, “Boundless merit.”

Then she released my hand, picked up her broom, and resumed sweeping. Madam Wang came over, looked at my palm, and asked, “What character did she write?”

“The character rests in the heart, it must not be spoken,” the old Taoist replied.

Her meaning was clear: I was to keep the character secret. Upon hearing this, Madam Wang asked no further questions. I felt a bit awkward, for my trust in her was absolute—she had aided me many times, and I could never suspect or guard against her.

Yet, what did the old Taoist’s “rain” mean? Was it a prediction of weather, or something else entirely?

With no clues, I turned back, intending to question the old woman further, only to find that, on the steps, only Madam Wang and I remained.

The old Taoist had vanished.

In barely half a minute, with hundreds of steps above and below, she had disappeared without a trace. I was astonished, and Madam Wang soon noticed footprints on the steps.

Wet footprints, precisely where the old Taoist had stood.

Seeing those prints, Madam Wang instinctively glanced toward the distant lake, her brows furrowed in contemplation, though she said nothing.

The old Taoist vanished as swiftly as she appeared. In broad daylight, she couldn’t have been a ghost—besides, this was a sacred site; no haunting spirits would dare linger here. If not a ghost, then what?

A deity?

I shook my head at the thought, finding it absurd and impossible. Such beings belonged to myth, more figments of human imagination than reality.

Madam Wang and I agreed the old Taoist must have been giving us guidance, but her words were cryptic riddles, impossible to decipher. The character “rain” only deepened my confusion. So, we returned to Baiqing Temple.

We asked the female Taoists there, and their answers matched my expectations: none had ever heard of the old woman, nor knew where to find her. They said they swept the steps themselves, and there were no Taoists of such age among them.

Odd, indeed.

Madam Wang and I had no choice but to retrace our steps.

On the way, I considered telling her the character—at least she could help analyze its meaning. She was a shaman; surely she understood more about such mysteries than I did.

Yet Madam Wang insisted it must not be spoken.

She believed that the old Taoist’s final words, “boundless merit,” were a sign that things would proceed more smoothly than we expected, and the current dangers might be dispelled by virtue. Of course, this was only her guess; at present, the situation seemed unsolvable.

After all, we had no means to contend with other forces.

Helpless, we returned to Dongwa Village, our journey amounting to nothing. Though guided by a mysterious Taoist, her directions were so vague that we had no idea where to begin.

One thing continued to puzzle us: the wet footprints where the old Taoist stood.

It was as if she’d just emerged from water.

There was a lake at the foot of the mountain—had she come from there?

We both thought it impossible; according to legend, the White Dragon Pool below suppressed an evil dragon. Even if the old Taoist possessed great power, it was unlikely she’d come from there.

We pondered, but found no answers. For now, all we could do was try our best. Back in Dongwa Village, Madam Wang began applying her own rituals, drawing yellow talismans. She brought out her stash of talismans accumulated over the years.

Then she found a pale yellow Taoist robe and a peach wood sword. I had always thought of Madam Wang as merely a village shaman, but to my surprise, she owned a Taoist robe. It suggested she had once been an ordained Taoist, for solitary practitioners usually wore ordinary clothes, not robes. Of course, some frauds and fake shamans would dress up for effect.

When Madam Wang saw the pale robe, a flicker of reminiscence flashed in her eyes, and she seemed lost in thought. Noticing my gaze, she said, “Child, your grandfather was truly a scoundrel!”

I was dumbstruck—how could I respond?

“Don’t blame me for cursing him; he deserves every word. I was once a Quanzhen Taoist. For his sake, I was expelled from my sect. If not for my master’s compassion, I wouldn’t even have kept this robe and sword.” She spoke. I had never imagined Madam Wang and my grandfather shared such a history. For an ordained Taoist, especially from Quanzhen, being expelled was a humiliating ordeal only she could understand. She must have borne great disgrace.

This alone spoke to the depth of her feelings for my grandfather.

It’s not that I didn’t respect him, but even I now felt he deserved reproach. Still, who knows what he did to her in those days?

Perhaps, because of all this, Madam Wang and my grandfather became estranged as if locked in enmity.

But in truth, the deeper the hate, the truer the love.

Once Madam Wang was ready, she accompanied me to Lao Jieling Village. It was her first time returning in many years, and as she approached the boundary, she hesitated for a long time.

In the end, she bit her lip and crossed over.

“Lin Tianjian, I’m not here for you!” she said, brows tightly knitted.

I didn’t know what to say, nor dared to call her “grandmother” outright, so we journeyed in silence, the atmosphere heavy.

On meeting villagers, I was about to take out the ox bell, but Madam Wang told me it wasn’t necessary. She drew several yellow talismans and approached the villagers.

“Who are you?” they asked.

Without a word, Madam Wang pressed the talismans to their foreheads with quick, decisive movements. Before they could react, they collapsed to the ground.

Clearly, Taoist arts worked better than the ox bell.

When we reached my house, it was past three in the afternoon. Our detour to Baiqing Temple had taken much time, and we hurried on the road.

Ox Dahuang was surprised to see Madam Wang and asked what method I used to bring her here.

My grandfather was inside; Madam Wang did not enter, nor did she even glance at his room. She sat at the stone table, arranging her talismans.

“Wang Dama, old Lin is inside,” Ox Dahuang said.

“Mm.” Madam Wang replied coldly.

“He’s not well. Aren’t you going to check…”

Before he finished, Madam Wang looked up and glared at him. Ox Dahuang swallowed the rest of his words.

Then he looked at me and gave a thumbs up. I had no idea what he meant.

Just as we entered, distracted by Madam Wang’s arrival, Ox Dahuang forgot to close the main door. As he moved to shut it, he saw someone standing outside under a black umbrella.

Ox Dahuang hurried to close the door. I glanced outside and recognized the figure immediately—it was Second Fatty.

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