Chương 4: The Taoist Descends the Mountain (Part Two)
Not selling it? What's the big deal? It's just a broken watch. I, the portly fellow, have other means..."
Understanding Fang Yi's feelings for the old Taoist, the portly fellow chose not to press the issue further. Instead, he said, "Pack your things; we shall descend the mountain today. You can stay at my house for a day, and tomorrow we'll explore Jinling City to see if we can find any work..."
"Alright, give me a moment to gather what I need to take down the mountain..."
After a moment's contemplation, Fang Yi nodded in agreement. In truth, he had noticed the portly fellow's discreet gesture of winding the watch behind his back, but being young and spirited, he reasoned that it was only a matter of days and that no harm would come of it.
"Hurry up! San Pao is waiting for us down the mountain. He said he would catch some fish from the reservoir, and we can enjoy fish soup for dinner..." San Pao was a childhood friend, having grown up alongside the portly fellow, often sharing meals at the Taoist temple.
San Pao's family was in the stone business, often blasting rocks, which led to his nickname as the third child in his family.
However, the nickname suited him well, for he was known for his audacity; at the tender age of eight or nine, he had stolen gunpowder and fuses from home to craft makeshift bombs with beer bottles to fish. This escapade frequently brought trouble to his family from the reservoir's guards.
"San Pao has returned? That rascal has been away for years..."
At the mention of San Pao, a flicker of joy crossed Fang Yi's face. The three of them had grown up together, nearly inseparable until they reached the ages of fifteen or sixteen. San Pao had joined the army with the portly fellow, and due to the isolation of the mountain, Fang Yi had not received any news of him over the years.
"Hmph! That lad must be looking to marry; he just discharged from the army, that good-for-nothing..."
The portly fellow snorted disdainfully. He had always harbored resentment over San Pao's voluntary discharge. After all, following an incident where the portly fellow had eaten a chicken belonging to the political commissar, he had to apologize profusely, bringing several hens to the commissar's home but never receiving forgiveness, leaving him feeling quite humiliated.
"Marry?!" Fang Yi performed a gesture of respect with one hand over his chest, shaking his head as he replied, "My master warned that women are like tigers, capable of draining a man's vitality. Why would San Pao rush to marry?"
"Is that really a saying?" The portly fellow paused, taken aback. He held a certain apprehension toward the eccentric old Taoist; if such words truly came from him, they might indeed carry some weight.
"Indeed, but my master also taught me techniques for dual cultivation..."
Fang Yi nodded earnestly. Having grown up in the mountains, untouched by worldly concerns, his thoughts remained pure, and he spoke of these matters with an unembarrassed demeanor.
"Ah, Brother Yi, my dear brother, you must share this dual cultivation technique with me..." Upon hearing Fang Yi's words, the portly fellow trembled with excitement, his bulk jiggling. At this moment, he would not hesitate to call Fang Yi "Master," even if it meant renaming his own father as a biological sibling.
Before turning fifteen, the portly fellow had been as innocent as Fang Yi was now, but during his time in the army, he had encountered adult films for the first time, igniting desires within him like flames.
However, the army maintained strict discipline, and it was not until half a year ago, while working with a construction team from the village, that he finally found an opportunity. On a dark, windy night, he stealthily entered a dimly lit salon, marking the end of his virginity.
Thus, upon hearing Fang Yi speak of the dangers of mingling the sexes, the portly fellow grew anxious, especially given the superstitions that lingered in rural areas.
"Alright, I'll teach you and San Pao later..." The dual cultivation method was merely a technique for regulating energy and preserving vitality, and Fang Yi felt no qualms about sharing it. After all, the old Taoist had never explicitly forbidden him from passing it on.
"We'll discuss it further after we descend. I need to pack my things first..." Observing the portly fellow's eager demeanor, Fang Yi couldn't help but smirk. He had never seen the portly fellow so spirited when the old Taoist was teaching him to read and write.
"Yes, yes, Brother Yi, you mustn't forget..." With thoughts of his future happiness resting on Fang Yi's shoulders, the portly fellow smiled ingratiatingly, nearly prompting Fang Yi to kick him out of annoyance.
Ignoring the portly fellow, Fang Yi walked into the right wing of the courtyard, a room that had always belonged to the old Taoist. Although the old man had passed away three years prior, Fang Yi had never moved in, choosing instead to clean it daily, ensuring it remained immaculate.
"I must take my master's self-portrait with me..."
Upon entering the room, Fang Yi first bowed to a portrait hanging on the wall. It depicted an elderly man with a serene expression, his hair styled in a traditional Taoist manner, and his eyes seemed to gaze deeply into Fang Yi's soul.
"Master, there is no food in the mountains; I must descend. Please grant me your protection..." As he murmured, Fang Yi carefully took the painting down, rolled it up, and placed it into a bamboo scroll.
Given Fang Yi's agility, it would take him half a day to walk from the temple to the foot of the mountain. With only three days left before descending, he deemed it unnecessary to make multiple trips. To him, this did not violate his master's teachings. Furthermore, the old Taoist often spoke in riddles, leaving Fang Yi uncertain whether he had been deceived this time.
"This wine gourd must come with me..." Fang Yi retrieved a wooden box that his master frequently carried. After placing the bamboo scroll inside, he added the wine gourd he had just used.
It wasn't that Fang Yi was particularly attached to the wine within; rather, the gourd itself held significant sentimental value.
Since his earliest memories, the gourd had been inseparable from his master. Originally yellow, it had darkened to a deep brown through years of handling by the old Taoist. The sunlight filtering through the window cast a shimmering glow upon it.
"I must also take these prayer beads. My master once said, 'In stillness, the spirit resides; in restlessness, it dissipates.' These tools will serve me well during my cultivation..."
After securing the gourd, Fang Yi's gaze fell upon the strands of beads hanging by his master's bedside. There were twelve-bead bracelets, eighteen-bead hand-held strands, and both eighty-one and one hundred eight prayer beads, all richly patinated. Since the old Taoist's passing, Fang Yi had often played with them, enhancing their luster, which now seemed to radiate a hint of spiritual energy.
Many believe that prayer beads originate solely from Buddhism; however, this is a misconception. Taoist practices also incorporate prayer beads, albeit referred to as "flowing beads."
The relationship between Buddhism and Taoism has often been encapsulated in the saying, "All the good words in the world are spoken by the Buddha; the renowned mountains are predominantly occupied by monks."
But is this truly the case? In fact, it is quite the opposite. As an external religion, Buddhism has adopted many elements from Taoism. For instance, the use of prayer beads was not originally conceived by Buddhism; there is no mention of them in the regulations established during the Buddha's lifetime. Conversely, early Taoist texts frequently reference prayer beads.
In the "Shangqing Collection" by the esteemed Master Bai Yuchan, it is recorded that Ge Xian Gong, "when first refining elixirs, often held prayer beads in hand, sitting beside the alchemical furnace, reciting the full name of the Jade Emperor ten thousand times." This marked the inception of the Taoist practice of reciting sacred names.
In Taoism, the twelve beads represent the twelve thunder gates, twenty-four beads signify the twenty-four atmospheric phenomena, twenty-eight beads correspond to the twenty-eight lunar mansions, thirty-two beads denote the thirty-two heavenly deities, thirty-six beads represent the heavenly generals, eighty-one beads symbolize Laozi's transformations, and also embody the pure yang energy of the number nine.
The one hundred eight beads represent the thirty-six heavenly generals and seventy-two earthly spirits. However, the old Taoist particularly cherished the eighty-one beads; of the beads left to Fang Yi, three strands consisted of eighty-one beads, while the others contained only one strand each.
Fang Yi understood the significance of his master's intentions, as the techniques imparted to him were intrinsically linked to these eighty-one beads.
The "Dao Fa Hui Yuan" states: "For those seeking transcendence, one must first refine qi and cultivate stillness. Once the qi is settled, the spirit can reside. Sit facing the auspicious direction, using the hand to bind the shoelaces, with four movements per breath, holding the prayer beads—counting one bead for each breath, gradually increasing the count without straining oneself."
Similarly, the immortal Chen Niman in "Cui Xu Yin" states: "Eighty releases and nine retain, gathering qi back to the navel for fetal breath; holding prayer beads counts breaths."
Common folk may perceive these passages as mere Daoist scripture, yet they are, in fact, genuine methods of Taoist cultivation. For over a decade, Fang Yi had practiced sitting meditation while manipulating a strand of prayer beads, and the beads left by his master had become imbued with a subtle radiance over time.
With a strand of beads adorning each wrist and an eighty-one bead strand hanging around his neck, Fang Yi placed the prayer beads into a cloth bag, securing them within the wooden box. His gaze then fell upon a brass compass resting on the table.
Most of the items passed down from his master were ordinary objects that the old Taoist had empowered over decades. What once seemed commonplace had transformed into talismans through the old man's diligent application of Taoist scriptures. According to the old Taoist, this compass had served as his livelihood during his years as a feng shui master.
"Master, in this current era of clarity, there are no rituals to perform. I shall leave this behind..." Fang Yi muttered, taking the compass in hand. He crouched down to lift a square brick, revealing a small cavity beneath. He placed the compass inside, reasoning that while he would not carry it away, it should not fall into the hands of others.
"Alas, I can't even fill a single box..."
After securing the compass, Fang Yi glanced at the wooden box, which was hardly half full, and a wry smile crossed his lips. His master was indeed generous; aside from the self-portrait, everything else was merely broken wood and worn beads.
Casting a lingering glance at his master's room, Fang Yi exited, but instead of returning to the courtyard, he turned into the left room. Having just sorted through his master's belongings, he was now gathering items that belonged to him.
"Perhaps these things should remain here..."
Upon entering his own room, Fang Yi retrieved a small box from beneath his bed. Inside lay intricately carved wooden toys, such as small pistols and rocking horses, and his expression softened. These items had been crafted by his master's hands, accompanying Fang Yi throughout his childhood.
"Ah? I didn't know you still kept these toys!"
The portly fellow burst into the room, exclaiming at the sight of the small box. Fang Yi had once traded snacks for those wooden guns, yet the portly fellow had little persistence, often returning them to Fang Yi after just a few days of play.
"Hey, what's this? I've never seen it before!"
As the portly fellow rummaged through the box, he stumbled upon a small pendant tied with a string. Just as he reached for it, Fang Yi snatched it away, chiding, "Don't rummage through; there are plenty of things you've never seen..."
Feeling the warmth of the bone pendant in his palm, Fang Yi's expression shifted. A hint of unspoken emotion flickered in his eyes, for this pendant held profound significance for him; it was the only item he had when the old Taoist first found him.
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