3763-chapter-2
Chapter 2
After the Rain.
The sky was a perfect blue, clear to the extreme, not a wisp of cloud in sight.
In a valley encircled by mountains, at the base of a cliff, a new, low grave had quietly appeared, topped by a small, pointed mound of loose earth.
In front, a simple wooden plaque stood, bearing a few carved characters.
The air was filled with the scent of damp soil and fresh grass, and the dense leaves of the forest hung with dewdrops that occasionally slipped down to moisten patches of earth below.
In the distance, rolling mountains with gentle slopes stretched out and a soft breeze carried the sound of a shepherd’s flute.
Accompanying it was a strange, off-key singing.
The voice grew nearer, revealing an elderly man, gaunt and shabby, with a dirty face, worn straw shoes, ragged clothing, and a wine gourd hanging at his waist.
In one hand, he held a thin, broken bamboo stick; in the other, a chicken leg, which he was cheerfully gnawing on, his cheeks moving constantly.
“With a chicken in my left hand and a duck in my right… What’s on tomorrow’s menu after today’s drumstick?”
He muttered indistinctly, without pausing his feast, until the juicy drumstick was stripped clean, leaving nothing but a bare, gleaming bone.
Halting, he lifted the white chicken bone in his hand, sighed, and gazed at it.
“So hungry…”
“Hiccup.”
What followed was a satisfied belch.
The old man didn’t blush a bit, tossing the bone behind him and wiping his hands vigorously on the muddy hem of his torn clothing.
Just as he was about to continue on his way, he suddenly paused, sniffing the air with a twitch of his nose, and frowned.
Where was that faint scent of blood coming from?
It was subtle… but it was there.
The old man’s expression turned grave as he scanned the underbrush, eventually spotting something unusual.
He stepped closer, parted a clump of tall grass, and among the green leaves, he caught a glimpse of dark red.
A strange, faint blue glint flickered in his black eyes, mystical and eerie.
The old man’s eyes widened as his entire body tensed, his gaze darting all around as he mumbled to himself.
“Mountains on all sides… a place where Qi gathers. A winding stream flows by, carrying the moon’s light…”
This was indeed a place where the earth’s energy converged—a Feng shui dragon vein, as ordinary folk might call it.
After a quick calculation with his fingers, he shook his head in puzzlement.
“Even the Great Divination can’t predict. Strange.”
In all his years wandering the world, he’d never encountered such a peculiar sight.
His curiosity piqued, he followed the trail of dried blood, noticing signs of trampled grass, as if someone had passed through.
Following this trail, the old man walked on until his view suddenly opened up.
The lush greenery disappeared, revealing a low cliff.
His gaze fixated on a spot beneath the cliff, his brows knitting together once more.
It was a grave mound.
Freshly turned soil, bearing only traces of recent raindrops, suggested it had been piled up as the rain was about to end.
The old man raised his eyebrows, uttered a surprised “Oh,” and promptly jumped down from the cliff.
Despite the height, he landed firmly before the grave.
The simple tombstone bore deep carvings of a few ancient script characters.
—Tomb of My Wife, Xie Jianchou.
The old man rubbed his unkempt, bearded chin and, for some reason, let out a chuckle.
Glancing around to ensure no one was near, he formed a hand seal.
His dirty fingers touched, and in an instant, like lightning igniting a fire, a burst of blue light flashed, cascading like a waterfall over the grave mound.
With a swoosh.
The blue light dispersed.
The soft soil on the grave mound was swept away, uncovering the coffin lid, which a mysterious gust flung to the side.
In the bright light of day, inside the coffin made from fresh timber, lay a newly deceased body.
A young woman.
Her eyelids shut tight, brows furrowed as if holding unspoken anguish from her final moments; her chest was stained with dried blood, her coarse clothing punctured cleanly by a mortal blade.
“Tsk, tsk.”
The old man shook his head, circling the coffin and muttering under his breath.
“Ah well, life shouldn’t be cut off.”
***
Sitting dazed in the coffin, Jianchou looked at the grumpy old man standing on the ground, still too stunned to process.
“Old sir, what… what did you just say?”
“Ahhh..ahhh…ahhh…ahhh, you’re driving this Taoist of the Mountain mad!”
The old man was nearly fuming, scratching at the sparse hair on his head.
“I’ve said it eight hundred times already! I happened to pass by, dug you out of this grave, and saved your life! Don’t keep calling me ‘old sir’! I am the Taoist of the Mountain—Mountain Taoist! Didn’t your parents teach you respect for the elderly?!”