The villagers of Zhangzhuang Stockade crowded round, and one hurried to say, "A night watchman died!"
The elder pondered. "Is he buried? He was likely an evil spirit and may rise from the grave." The villagers started in fright and led the pair to the grave. "Buried yesterday, masters..." The elder pointed, and the earthen mound split; a thin coffin rose from the pit and floated before them.
Dudu, dudu, dudu — one by one the coffin nails loosed themselves, the lid flung open, the coffin dropped, but the watchman's body hung in the air, face covered by a white funeral banner.
The pair took the banner, examined it, exchanged a look, and nodded in silence. The elder murmured incantations and pointed; the corpse burst into flame, ash in moments. The villagers bowed thanks, offering gold and silver. The youth waved refusal, but the elder said, "No merit, no reward; with merit, reward is due. Take it." He asked, "Where lives the boy who cut down the serpent? Whose company does he keep?"
"He is of the Village of Broken Elders, with the Blind One and Grandma Si. Upstream along the river, some forty-plus li." The elder thanked them, and old and young set out upstream.
After several li the elder sighed. "A man's death is a lamp's going out, and Hall Master Mo's lamp is out. That watchman was Hall Master Mo of our holy sect. His Unfettered Innate Art went astray, training with infants — though he earned his death, he was still our hall master. His slayer is likely the God of the Spear, who pinned body and soul dead. And the banner bears sword marks; before meeting the God of the Spear, Mo met her — the Cult Master's wife."
The youth listened in silence.
The elder went on, "The Cult Master's wife has been a dragon whose head and tail never show at once, hiding herself away. Our masters entered the Great Ruins to seek her, without result — and here she crossed paths with Hall Master Mo. Ancestor, this journey was not in vain."
The youth spoke, his voice exceedingly ancient, ringing: "She slew the Cult Master, then stole the holy scripture, the Great Nurturing Heavenly Demon Sutra. Forty years she has been gone, and forty years we have searched. At last we have found her."
That morning at the Village of Broken Elders, after breakfast the Herbalist carried the Village Chief to the village edge, lit a little stove, boiled water, and brewed tea. Then the chicken-dragon's cry rang out. "The hen has laid — Mu'er, fetch the eggs."
Grandma Si urged Qin Mu off. No sooner had he squeezed into the coop than the chicken-dragon beat him into a wild run, pecking his head and face bloody. The beast was vicious: it spat a tongue of fire a yard long, its feathers sharp as swords, its talons kneading iron into mud. Qin Mu traded rounds, found himself outmatched, and ran.
"Mu'er, have you not even the strength to truss a chicken?" the Butcher laughed at Qin Mu scampering round the village.
Grandma Si took the chance to gather the eggs; the chicken-dragon, unable to catch him, strutted back in triumph — found its eggs gone, and flew in a rage, giving chase anew.
When the commotion died, Qin Mu rallied from his defeat, slung the butcher's knife, the sword satchel, and a great sledgehammer on his back, stuffed several Qi-Foundation Pills in his breast, took up his Khakkhara staff, and set happily out. Today he hunted alone at last, a day he had long awaited — though the chicken-dragon had dampened it.
He had barely left the village when he saw the old and the young approaching, like two wandering Daoist priests. They stopped at the edge, glanced at the Chief and Herbalist at tea, and bowed. "May we beg a cup of tea?"
The Village Chief raised a brow. "Guests from afar — how could we be remiss?" The Herbalist poured; the pair sat, the youth across from the Chief, the elder standing aside.
"So this is the serpent-slaying boy?" the elder asked, smiling, his brow kindly, looking at Qin Mu.
Qin Mu was about to answer when the Chief said flatly, "Mu'er, no concern of yours. Go about your business." Qin Mu nodded and walked toward the woods.
When he was far, the youth spoke, his voice inexpressibly ancient: "We have met before, have we not?" "We have." "Of our generation, few still live. A rare thing to meet you — I am glad." "So am I," the Chief said without emphasis. The youth laughed, "I have come for Grandma Si. Our sect has been forty years without a Cult Master; she owes us an answer." The Chief shook his head. "One who enters this village has nothing to do with the outside." The youth's eyes flickered. "Then I shall not enter; let her come out. I have words for her." "She has gone out," the Chief said.
The elder could hold silent no longer, but the youth raised a hand, laughing, "Forty years we waited; no need to rush. Elder of Discipline, the Cult Master's wife is not in the village. Summon the strongmen; build a compound here; we shall spend the night." The elder bowed, a column of demonic qi shooting from his crown and shaping a vast "Command" glyph in the sky.
The youth sipped tea unhurried. After an hour, the villagers laid down their work and came out, looking up. In the woods giant after giant moved, sinews fierce, their tread felling trees; four carried each carved idol, four idols in all, coming laboring, crushing mountain stone like mud squirting between their toes. The sixteen giants' faces flushed red, straining beneath idols heavy even for them. They set the idols at the four corners of the compass, right beside the village.
Before long a towered boat moored; a hundred-odd carpenters came ashore, felling timber, and in half an hour raised wooden chambers with full furniture. They fetched down gold and silver vessels, pots and pans, boarded, and sailed off. Then another tower-ship brought lacquerers to varnish both furniture and houses; they too left. Then came stonemasons to quarry stone, carve idols, grind flagstones, and level the ground; they too departed.
A moment later a burly bearded man came travel-worn and bowed: "Ancestor! Brother of Discipline." "Left Envoy," the elder said, "the compound is built; find a room." The burly man entered, sat cross-legged, and said nothing. Then a ragged old woman came, bowed, and took a room. A fisherman came on a one-man skiff, moored it, and shouldering pole and basket entered. More odd folk followed — wealthy masters, merchants, village tutors, scholars bound for the examinations, pretty women of the pleasure quarters — every trade and station, one of each.
Old Ma's face turned grave. "The Heavenly Demon Cult has three hundred and sixty trades, three hundred and sixty halls, three hundred and sixty masters. In the old days they spread wide, working in secrecy. Never would I think all their masters had entered the Great Ruins these forty years to seek their Cult Master's wife. They will surely all come and settle beside our village!" The Cripple's grin grew oily. "Where is old woman Si? These folk come for her!" The Deaf said, "I saw her change into a wild deer and slip out ahead of Mu'er — fearful for him on his first hunt alone, watching in secret. She may not yet know the Cult has found this place, and near moved its whole body next door!"
...
Qin Mu walked deep into the wild woods. After a while a wild deer came trotting on light hooves, searching without finding his tracks. As it wondered, Qin Mu dropped from a tree, laughing, "Grandma, since I hunt alone, please go back; I can care for myself." The deer scolded, "Wretched boy, mind you don't die out here!" It shook its short tail and ran.
He went on, and before long saw a woolly elephant drinking at a pool. "Grandma, I truly can care for myself; no need to follow." The elephant flew into a rage, stamping, and charged; Qin Mu's qi churned, the butcher's knife rang from its sheath, murderous: "Not Grandma, then — I'll cut you down!" The woolly elephant wheeled and fled, spoke in a human voice, "You'd cut down even Grandma? Back to the village and I'll spank your bottom!"
Qin Mu shook his head and walked six or seven li, then looked up at a great bird circling and said, helpless, "Grandma, truly no need to keep following." The bird tilted its head, unmoved, still circling. Qin Mu's eyes flickered; he scooped a handful of pebbles and flicked them one by one at different heights, and when a dozen had flown, sprang up, landed on the first, pushed off to the second, and so aloft, until he stood in the sky beside the great bird. The bird cried in a human voice, "Enough, enough, I won't follow!" Beating its wings, it was gone.
Qin Mu fell from midair and thudded down, feet sinking a foot into the soil. He looked up; the bird was already beyond sight. "Grandma will likely still follow." He kept watch, found nothing amiss, walked several more li, and came on a waterfall, fine water and fine hills; beside it stood a thatched hut — and outside, strangely, a stone idol, half buried, half exposed, tilting askew. Smoke rose from the chimney; someone lived here. "In this wild waste, who would make a home? Some great master in seclusion?" He had just thought it when a white fox stepped from the hut, fetched a bamboo tube, and turned back inside.