Chapter 18: Passing of the Immortal?

When the old Taoist called out my name, I was utterly shocked. I didn’t know him, yet he spoke my name as if he’d known me forever. As I stood there in stunned silence, the old Taoist had already closed the door. I knocked on it several times, but no one answered. Just as I was about to climb back in, Chen Fan called me.

Chen Fan told me that the three of them had lost track of Xuan Yi.

I cursed into the phone, “Useless! You can’t even follow a person without losing them.” Chastened by my anger, Chen Fan fell silent. He asked me what they should do next. I told them to keep searching and see if they could find Xuan Yi. Chen Fan hung up and immediately did as I said.

By the time I climbed back over the wall, the old Taoist was nowhere to be found. I searched every corner of the Sansong Temple, even sneaking into the courtyard behind the Forbidden Gate, but there was no sign of him. I guessed the old Taoist was deliberately hiding, unwilling to see me. He might avoid me, but surely he couldn’t ignore the crowds of worshippers during the day.

Setting aside my bewilderment for the moment, I left Sansong Temple. I walked quickly, almost at a run. The night air was thick with moisture, making the stone path even more slippery. The woods on either side rustled in the wind. It was so dark I couldn’t see the shadowy trees; the sound seemed to spring straight to my ears. The cold wind in my face made it feel as if someone were exhaling icy breath right beside me.

My mind replayed the image of the old Taoist muttering to himself before the empty air. His manner was not the least bit contrived; it was as if he truly had sent down the mountain some sinister thing invisible to me. As I neared the foot of the mountain, I suddenly stopped dead, a chill running down my spine. I felt as if something was following me.

But when I turned around, there was only the vast darkness behind me. Narrowing my eyes, I stared into the gloom. It seemed as though something was moving there. Soon, I saw what looked like a hand waving back and forth.

I walked slowly towards it, but when I stopped at that spot, I saw it was only a sapling, its branches swaying in the wind. I let out a breath, blaming my overactive imagination. Just as I turned to leave, a hand suddenly landed on my shoulder!

Cold sweat broke out all over me. Acting on instinct, I spun and punched hard at the face before me. There was a cry of pain and the figure nearly toppled down the slope, saved only by two others who caught him. Only then did I see clearly—it was Chen Fan and his two men.

The one I’d struck was Chen Fan.

Chen Fan, a bit aggrieved, asked why I’d hit him. I glanced around to make sure we were alone before snapping back, asking why he’d startled me like that. Chen Fan looked even more hurt; he said he’d called out to me several times from afar, but I hadn’t responded, so they’d come over slowly.

I was momentarily stunned—I hadn’t heard him call my name at all. I asked why they were coming back up the mountain when they’d been at the foot. Chen Fan replied he’d tried calling me several times but I hadn’t answered, so he was worried something had happened to me. I checked my phone and, sure enough, there were several missed calls from him.

Chen Fan dared not show his anger and held his tongue. He asked if something had happened just now, since I seemed distracted. I shook my head, unwilling to say more, and was about to continue down the mountain when Chen Fan suddenly said, “What’s that?” I turned and saw him pointing at the sapling.

On closer inspection, I saw a bracelet hanging from one of the branches, with a talisman affixed to it. In my hurry earlier, I hadn’t noticed it. If not for Chen Fan, I might have overlooked it entirely. There was no reason for someone to hang a bracelet on a branch and stick a talisman on it without cause.

Just as I was about to reach for it, Chen Fan’s trembling voice warned me not to touch it. He said he’d heard that strange things often appeared on the mountain, and that such things liked to lure people with objects from their own bodies. He didn’t dare look at the bracelet, convinced it was suspicious—otherwise, why the talisman?

As Chen Fan spoke, the mountain wind grew stronger. I coldly told him that if he kept babbling superstitiously, I’d tear his mouth apart. He fell silent at once. I wrapped my hand in my sleeve, asked Chen Fan for an evidence bag, and put both the bracelet and the talisman inside.

Everything felt unnerving. Just moments ago, I’d sensed someone here, and now I’d found something so odd.

With the bracelet and talisman secured, we headed down the mountain. Chen Fan explained that after Xuan Yi left Sansong Temple, he’d strode quickly down the path. At first, the three of them could keep up, but Xuan Yi moved faster and faster, as if carried by the wind, and they simply couldn’t catch him.

Clearly, Chen Fan had been affected by the rumors surrounding Sansong Temple; he made Xuan Yi sound almost supernatural. Xuan Yi was indeed quick, and being familiar with the mountain, it wasn’t hard for him to lose the three men at a bend in the path. That was why I’d told them so many times to watch him closely.

But in the end, they still lost him.

After that, Chen Fan and his men searched for a long time, but found nothing. Without realizing it, we’d reached the foot of the mountain. We got into the car. Chen Fan asked if we should return immediately, but I shook my head, saying we’d wait until dawn and go up the mountain to see the old Taoist again.

They were reluctant, but couldn’t object, so they settled down to sleep in the car.

By the light inside the car, I examined the evidence bag. The bracelet was made of silver, very old and somewhat misshapen. Its pattern was simple, almost plain, not at all ornate—an old-fashioned style. I guessed it was a piece of jewelry from the 1950s or 60s.

The talisman, on the other hand, was relatively new, just a little damp but otherwise fine.

I didn’t fall asleep until very late. In a half-dream, I seemed to hear something, a faint tapping on the car window, so soft it felt like a dream, but I never woke. I’d never felt so exhausted. It was only at dawn that I finally opened my eyes. Chen Fan and the other two were already awake, deep in discussion.

As soon as I stirred, Chen Fan asked if I’d heard something tapping on the window last night.

Only then did I realize that the sound I’d heard in my drowsiness was real, not a dream—the others had heard it too. But when they heard the sound, none dared open their eyes. It soon faded away, and no one had the courage to get out and investigate. There was a lingering sense of dread about Sansong Temple and the mountain itself.

It was only when Chen Fan spoke up that the other two admitted they’d heard it as well.

I got out of the car immediately and found nothing unusual around it. Chen Fan asked almost pleadingly whether we really had to go back up the mountain. I nodded. By then, more and more people were beginning to ascend; these simple townsfolk devoted nearly all their time to their Taoist faith.

I told Chen Fan I had to see the old Taoist one more time. As I started up, my gaze happened to fall on my fingers—both were stained red. Blood!

The memory hit me: when I climbed over the wall into Sansong Temple, the ground was slick; it had been too dark to see clearly. I’d thought it was mud and even bent down to touch it. The blood must have come from there. In other words, the patch I stepped on was not mud but undried blood.

I told Chen Fan to contact the police at once. Seeing the blood on my hand, he realized something serious was up and immediately called the district police. Soon, several officers arrived. They asked what had happened and I showed them the blood. Frowning, they led us up the mountain.

It was the busiest time of day, with most residents making their way up. Progress was slow. Two officers led the way, and many people made room for us, which helped, but even so, it took over forty minutes to reach Sansong Temple.

The temple was clearly different from when we’d come the night before. The crowd was the same, but now everyone was packed outside, craning to see what was happening. The gate was completely blocked, and from within the temple came the sound of weeping and wailing.

A sense of foreboding struck me. I forced my way through the crowd and entered the gate.

Sure enough, in the main hall, at the very back, was a large stone statue of an immortal, facing the entrance with an air of serene detachment. But my attention was not on the statue, but on the man sitting before it, head bowed.

It was the old Taoist.

His head drooped, legs folded in meditation. Around him knelt a group of Taoist priests, all sobbing uncontrollably. Even a fool could see what had happened. Chen Fan reached my side, mouth agape in shock. He stammered that the old Taoist had been perfectly well the day before—how could he be gone so suddenly?

Under everyone’s gaze, I stepped into the hall. I asked one of the Taoists on the ground how the old Taoist had died. The man could barely speak for sobbing, but finally choked out that early that morning, someone had found the old Taoist sitting in meditation in the hall. At first, they thought he was just meditating, but when they got closer, they realized he had no breath left—he had passed away…