Si Teng (Rattan) – CH 015

Chapter 15

When Wang Qiankun and Yan Furui left, Wafang kept crying. Qin Fang didn’t know what to do, so he asked Si Teng, “How about I take Wafang down the mountain?”

Si Teng ignored him. Qin Fang knew her temper, so he took Wafang and followed them out.

Wang Qiankun looked dazed the whole way, probably still reeling from the shock of what he’d seen. Yan Furui seemed more composed, sighing a few times and constantly giving Wafang advice. He even tried to strike up a conversation with Qin Fang: “Young man, you seem like a good person. Why are you with that monster? Were you forced to?”

What could he say? Qin Fang could only give a wry smile. This confirmed Yan Furui’s suspicions, and he immediately felt that Qin Fang was one of their own. He insisted on exchanging phone numbers with Qin Fang: “Let’s stay in touch. If there’s any news, we’ll let each other know. Maybe there are some masters on Wudang Mountain; we can work together to capture this monster.”

He repeatedly asked Qin Fang to take good care of Wafang, even pushing Wafang in front of Qin Fang and forcing him to bow to Qin Fang: “Call him Uncle Qin, Uncle Qin!”

Wafang sobbed and cried, making Qin Fang’s heart ache. Qin Fang knelt down, took out a handkerchief, and wiped Wafang’s nose and tears, reassuring Yan Furui, “Don’t worry.”

***

After sending Yan Furui and the others away, Qin Fang returned to the so-called “Tianhuang Temple.” All the vines and roots were gone, leaving only a pile of rubble. Several people doing morning exercises were walking around the perimeter, looking around. As Qin Fang passed them, he heard them murmuring, “There were so many flowers here a few days ago. How could they all be gone?”

Those were the roots of Si Teng’s original vine. From then on, perhaps only she knew where the roots were.

Yan Furui’s house was too dilapidated, so Qin Fang rented an old-style courtyard house near Qingcheng Mountain. There were flowers in front of the porch, bamboo behind the house, and bells hanging from the eaves. The courtyard had a gourd-shaped pond with ivy and hyacinths, and a few orange-red koi swimming in the clear water—a very pleasing sight. Si Teng liked it very much. She only made one request: she asked Qin Fang to go to a bookstore in the city and buy all fifteen of Jin Yong’s wuxia novels.

Qin Fang loved reading Jin Yong’s wuxia novels, and he was somewhat excited that Si Teng shared his interest. He asked her, “Did you follow the series as it was published? I heard Jin Yong’s works were serialized in newspapers. You must have read them all!”

Si Teng smiled but didn’t say anything. Qin Fang took Wafang to a bookstore, and while browsing through a biography of Jin Yong, he realized his mistake. Jin Yong was born in 1924, and he only started writing his first wuxia novel, “The Green-Haired Swordsman,” in 1955. If that was the case, Si Teng must have been dead for many years by then.

When Qin Fang handed the book to Si Teng, he couldn’t help but ask her. Si Teng replied, “Back then, I read the works of Huan Zhu Lou Zhu (a famous wuxia author), and I heard that Jin Yong was taking over the wuxia genre, so I wanted to see how his writing compared to the older generation.”

“Huan Zhu Lou Zhu?” Qin Fang had only heard of “Huan Zhu Ge Ge (Princess Pearl).”

Si Teng took the book and hardly moved from her spot. Eating and sleeping were not necessities for her. She sat quietly and intently on a rattan chair on the veranda, flipping page after page. Sometimes she would seem lost in thought, and sometimes she would sigh, placing the book on a stone table and pondering for a long time before continuing to read.

Qin Fang and Wafang were reading picture books in another corner of the courtyard. Qin Fang mostly let Wafang look at the pictures himself, occasionally telling him a story. From time to time, Qin Fang couldn’t help but glance at Si Teng: a demon who liked to read and behaved so calmly—she couldn’t be all bad, could she?

Thinking about it, an old saying goes, “A common thug isn’t scary, but a thug with some education is.” So, a demon with some education would probably be even harder to deal with.

Before going to bed, Si Teng didn’t seem inclined to sleep. Qin Fang, along with Wafang, went to sleep first. In a half-asleep state, he saw a woman sitting by the bed; judging by her back, she looked like An Man. He reached out to grab her, but his hand felt wet and sticky, with water droplets clinging to his fingers. Looking up, he saw it was Chen Wan, her hair dripping with water. She asked him, “Qin Fang, why haven’t you taken me home yet?”

Qin Fang jolted awake, his back drenched in cold sweat. He gasped, unable to sleep anymore. He then realized that it was raining, pattering softly against the eaves.

He wondered if Si Teng was asleep. Qin Fang hesitated but then got up, put on some clothes, and opened the door. The cold, damp wind rushed in, making him shiver. The wind chimes hanging under the eaves tinkled incessantly.

Si Teng wasn’t asleep. She was standing on the veranda, gazing at the wind chimes. A book, “The Book of Liancheng,” lay on the stone table, its pages slightly curled, indicating she had finished reading it. Hearing Qin Fang’s footsteps, Si Teng didn’t turn around but asked curiously, “Do you like wind chimes?”

Qin Fang shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see his gesture: “I used to like them, but then I heard that wind chimes are considered unlucky and shouldn’t be displayed.”

Si Teng said, “There’s a Buddhist verse about wind chimes: ‘Like a mouth hanging in the void, regardless of east, west, north, or south wind, it always speaks of wisdom; ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.'”

“A Taoist verse?”

“Buddhist.”

“You read Buddhist verses too?”

“Why not? It’s so difficult for a being like me to survive in the human world.” Si Teng smiled. “Seeking the Dao, seeking Buddha, seeking salvation from others. Only at the brink of death did I understand wisdom.”

She then asked Qin Fang, “What did you hear when you died?”

Qin Fang thought for a moment: “Sounds from the mountains—I couldn’t tell what kind of bird was calling. In the quiet moments, I could even hear cars passing on the mountain road above.”

“Then you didn’t really die.”

Qin Fang was puzzled: “That’s not considered death?”

Of course, that wasn’t death. He was on the edge of life and death, his senses gradually fading but not completely gone, confused and stumbling.

Unlike her, who truly died and slept for seventy-seven years.

When she died, her senses faded slowly, like watching a bottle tip over helplessly: she remembered falling from a great height, landing softly in a pool of blood, her remaining senses perceiving a man nearby, slumped on the ground, shivering, wearing patched clothes, a white cloth around his neck—a rickshaw driver—his teeth chattering, clicking, and his head bobbing up and down. Later, the man pulled a large piece of cloth from a pile of moldy rags in the corner, swung it high in the air, and the immense darkness enveloped her, covering her eyes that remained wide open in death.

Wrapped, dragged, lifted, and placed into the cramped, rickety cart, it then began to move. The old, rusty axle creaked rhythmically, punctuated by the driver’s labored breathing. The sounds grew fainter and farther away until finally, she heard the ringing of a bell.

The bell’s chime accompanied her to the afterlife; it is said that the bell’s sound was the only one that could penetrate both the living and the dead realms. She was walking further and further away from the world of the living, gradually entering the tunnel to the afterlife. The bell’s sound, like tonight, tinkled gently, reciting a verse of profound wisdom that she had only grasped at the very end of her life.

Seeking the Dao, seeking Buddha, seeking salvation from others; life is like a flowing river, with countless boats, but only self-salvation is true salvation.

***

Wang Qiankun went to the hospital for a full physical examination, including an X-ray. He was surrounded by a group of chatty, youthful nurses several times. Some even boldly approached him, asking questions like, “Do Taoist priests also treat illnesses? Shouldn’t Taoist priests burn some talisman paper, chant some incantations, and say ‘By the power of the heavens!’ to cure illnesses?”

It was truly heartbreaking; society’s misunderstanding of Taoism was so profound.

The X-ray showed his lungs, heart, ribs, and bronchi—all normal. The doctors looked displeased, as if saying, “You’re so healthy and energetic. You should go fight terrorists instead of wasting our medical resources!” Wang Qiankun held up the X-ray image to show Yan Furui the good news, but Yan Furui didn’t understand what was so great about it: “Master Wang, please don’t waste time. You’ve angered a demon; you should hurry and tell your master about it!”

At the foot of Wudang Mountain, far from Qingcheng Mountain, Wang Qiankun reverted to his scientific worldview. He replied to Yan Furui that after careful consideration, he believed everything could be explained by science—it wasn’t a demon.

His conclusion was hypnosis!

If, as Si Teng said, there were thousands of vines inside his body, then the X-ray would definitely detect their presence. Since it didn’t, it meant they weren’t there at all; the pain he experienced was all caused by Si Teng’s hypnosis.

Yan Furui disagreed, saying, “Then how do you explain being bound by vines and hanging in the sky all night?”

Wang Qiankun said confidently, “It was hypnosis. I was actually standing on the ground, but I thought I was hanging in the sky all night.”

Yan Furui asked again, “But both of my eyes saw you bound by vines and hanging in the sky all night!”

Wang Qiankun replied, “It was hypnosis! You thought you saw me bound in the sky, but I was actually standing on the ground; it was a visual illusion.”

Yan Furui sighed. He thought Master Wang had read too many books; too much reading wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He checked his phone and reminded Wang Qiankun, “The first 24 hours are almost up.”

Two hours later, Yan Furui dragged the unconscious Wang Qiankun, foaming at the mouth, to the gate of Baiyun Temple on Wudang Mountain. Wang Qiankun’s fellow Taoists rushed over, some grabbing his arms, some his legs. Others led Yan Furui into the temple to see Wang Qiankun’s master, the abbot. The abbot, whose Taoist name was Cang Hong, was about seventy years old, with white hair and beard, exuding the aura of an immortal as described in legends. When Yan Furui met him, Abbot Cang Hong was practicing calligraphy. His brushstrokes were as vigorous as pine trees, penetrating the paper. The inscription read: “The highest virtue is like water: gentle and yielding, yet unyielding.”

The young Taoist who was leading Yan Furui gestured for him to be quiet, saying that they could discuss the matter later after the abbot finished his calligraphy. Yan Furui couldn’t wait. He saw the abbot reach for his seal and shouted, “It’s a demon named Si Teng! She said she’s back. She said she’d come here! Abbot, you have to do something!”

The young Taoist blushed furiously. He had thought Yan Furui had urgent business to discuss with the abbot, perhaps about the illness of another Taoist, but now he was talking about a demon—as if they were filming a TV show!

He grabbed Yan Furui’s collar and tried to drag him out. Suddenly, a loud clatter—the large, square seal had rolled to a stop at their feet, the red clay side with the seal inscription facing upwards: “Cang Hong’s Seal.”

The young Taoist hesitated, unsure whether to drag him out or not. After a moment, seeing Cang Hong standing motionless, he nervously called out, “Master?”

Cang Hong began to cough uncontrollably. The young Taoist rushed to his side, patting his back and fumbling to find medicine. Cang Hong coughed until his throat felt like it was burning. He looked down at his trembling hands, the skin loose and wrinkled.

His hands hadn’t been like this before.

He was young then, eight or nine years old? Following the orders of Master Li Zhengyuan, the woman on the bed, disheveled and filthy, held tightly to the baby wrapped in the embroidered red garment, as prescribed by the master. She struggled to get off the bed, but the surrounding protective talisman fire kept burning her, causing her to shriek in agony. Li Zhengyuan, Qiu Shan, and Huang Yu of the Huang family, each holding their ritual implements, chanted continuously. Almost every time they shouted a command, the woman would utter a heart-wrenching wail.

After what seemed like an eternity, the chanting finally ceased, and the flames of the talisman fire gradually diminished. The woman, still covered in blood, hadn’t died yet. She crawled out of the bed, her skin sizzling and emitting a burnt odor as she passed through the fire. She didn’t try to avoid it, crawling all the way to Cang Hong’s feet. Her eyes shone with a strange light as she stared intently at the bundle in Cang Hong’s arms, and with her last bit of strength, she reached out to grab it.

Cang Hong shrank back in fear. He struggled with the woman. His hands were then plump and short, far different from the wrinkled, aged hands he had now. Then Master Li Zhengyuan said, “Give it to her.”

He released his grip. The bundle fell to the ground. The red cloth was pulled back, revealing the baby’s bruised, purple face. He had held it too tightly, too long, suffocating the child. The woman laughed harshly, not crying, emitting a sound like that of a wounded beast. Her venomous gaze swept over everyone present, then she burst into maniacal laughter, saying, “I will return! Remember this: I, Si Teng, have never been defeated in my life. My vows are as firm as mountains. I will definitely return!”

Chang Hong was still young. For a long time afterward, he would have nightmares every night and cry every day. That woman’s cruel face remained etched in his mind. Later, Li Zhengyuan arranged for a Taoist priest to perform a ritual for him, telling him that the demon named Si Teng was dead and that Uncle Qiu Shan and Aunt Huang had burned her body to ashes.

Sixty-odd years passed, and he lived a peaceful life until old age. Then, one day, someone told him, “That demon named Si Teng says she has returned.”