Heaven-Subduing Scripture

Cultivation honors wealth, companion, method, and place — and wealth stands first.

Take Li Daoxuan: every seven days he takes a Bigu Pill worth its weight in gold, and the medicine cannot stop.

Cinnabar, yellow paper and the like, though not too dear, add up in quantity — Li Daoxuan uses a great heap daily.

Much becomes waste, failed drawings.

These are the necessary costs of the Way; thus he is all but a money-devouring beast, costlier than a child’s schooling in later ages.

So many cultivators willingly seek out wealthy great households, bound in a thousand threads to the powerful and eminent.

Yet what puzzled Li Daoxuan was this: his master, plainly of profound art and uncanny means, and seemingly no small fame, was content to hide in such a broken-down temple, nameless.

With his master’s skill, were he willing, not only might he be honored guest to the powerful — even at Chang’an’s Taiji Palace, before that eternal emperor, he would be deeply respected, perhaps even named State Preceptor.

Li Daoxuan sighed; whatever his master thought, the temple near ruin, he as disciple could no longer sit and eat the store empty.

Carrying the oil-paper umbrella his master had pressed on him, Li Daoxuan walked the teeming street and felt as if returned to the world of men.

He had been too much a homebody of late.

Today some fair seemed afoot; the street was lively, crowds flowing, many children at play in knots of three and five.

In the early Zhenguan, the realm began to settle; Li Shimin reformed the administration, employed the worthy, prized frugality, and lightened taxes and labor. Though the common folk were still not rich, their eyes were less numb, and some vitality showed.

Thinking, Li Daoxuan opened the oil-paper umbrella to block the sun.

The red wedding dress fluttered; Chen Ziyu appeared at his side, and the air around seemed to cool at once.

Some passersby eyed Li Daoxuan with puzzlement.

”This Daoist holds an umbrella in broad daylight — how strange!”

”He seems the new Daoist at the Zhenyang Temple — tsk, not one family, not one gate: one likes sleeping in coffins, the other holds an umbrella by day…”

”Strange — don’t you feel it turned much colder all at once!”

…

The crowd automatically gave Li Daoxuan a wide berth, forming a small vacuum.

Li Daoxuan minded not; he said softly to Chen Ziyu, ”Sister Yu, I saw it lively here and thought to let you see it too.”

Chen Ziyu still gave no answer, only floated quietly at Li Daoxuan’s side, following him forward.

But Li Daoxuan found her gaze no longer hollow as before, but taking in all around, unobtrusively.

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The two wandered thus with no aim.

His master bade him drum up trade, but Li Daoxuan felt a place could not be haunted every day; walking the street was pure chance.

”Candied haws, rock-sugar haws!”

The cry drew many children after it.

Li Daoxuan happened to glance, and Sister Yu’s gaze lingered a moment on the candied haws before sliding away.

She… likes candied haws?

Li Daoxuan recalled she had been confined to the Chen manor all her life, seldom out — yet perhaps sometime she had heard the candied-haw cry drift in from beyond the wall?

Li Daoxuan went over with the umbrella.

”Give me a string.”

”Right-o, two coins a string!”

Li Daoxuan paid, and instead of eating himself, extended it toward Chen Ziyu.

”Er, Sister Yu, I recalled I must Bigu and cannot eat — would you help me finish it?”

Chen Ziyu looked at him, her gaze cold as a deep pool.

As Li Daoxuan smiled awkwardly and would withdraw it, he saw her thin red lips part a little.

Then from the candied haws a wisp of red vapor drifted out and entered her mouth.

Whether illusion or not, Li Daoxuan thought her eyes flickered — and were gone in an instant.

The candied-haw seller eyed Li Daoxuan strangely; the Daoist looked handsome, but his wits were likely addled — holding an umbrella at noon and talking to himself.

Li Daoxuan returned the haws to the man.

”I’ve no mind to eat it now; keep it — no need to return the coin.”

”But I’d not resell this string; keep it for yourself.”

The candied haws looked unchanged, but their essence was drawn off — no flavor, no nourishment left.

Hearing no refund needed, the man quickly took it.

Watching the handsome Daoist stride off with his umbrella, he beamed — what a good Daoist!

As for the Daoist’s advice, he cared nothing, and stuck that string right back up.

Soon a burly man came to buy candied haws and happened to take that string.

He paid, ate one, and promptly spat it out.

”Bah, bah! What trash are you selling — no taste at all!”

”Cheat! Believe I won’t flatten you!”

…

Walking on, Li Daoxuan glanced at Chen Ziyu beside him.

High bridged nose, skin like congealed cream, bones clear and elegant — her profile near perfect.

This was, he thought, his first time strolling with a woman — a ghost woman — and it felt rather special.

Pity that in all of Xinyang, not a second ghost or demon could be found?

Li Daoxuan had long opened his Dharma eye, yet saw all around abundant yang-qi, not a trace of demon or devil.

Where to find trade?

At his wits’ end, a tug came from the umbrella handle in his hand, as if guiding him forward.

Li Daoxuan started, then understood, and followed that force onward, casting Chen Ziyu a glance.

So — he who eats is short of tongue; Sister Yu means to help him find the dirty thing?

Through the bustling market Li Daoxuan walked swift beneath the oil-paper umbrella, turning alley-mouth after alley-mouth, and the crowds thinned.

After a moment he stopped before a great gate.

Vermilion gates, lofty and grand, with two imposing stone lions at the entrance — plainly a great household.

”The Huang residence…”

Li Daoxuan’s eyes lit; word was the Huang family was called Xinyang’s foremost rich merchant — if this house were haunted… he’d surely earn a tidy sum.

Yet when he worked his Dharma eye, he found not a trace of demonic qi.

Li Daoxuan looked to Chen Ziyu.

Chen Ziyu gazed quietly at the Huang residence; her wedding dress began to drip blood, forming two characters on the ground.

There… is a ghost…

Li Daoxuan knit his brows; it seemed a ghost lurked in the Huang residence, only its concealment was skilled, and his Dharma eye could not pierce it.

After a hesitation, Li Daoxuan resolved to knock and ask.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Three knocks, but none came to open.

As Li Daoxuan would knock again, from within rose a Daoist’s loud chanting.

”Heaven has three wonders, sun, moon, and star; piercing heaven and earth, gods and ghosts startled. Heaven clear-clear, earth spirit-spirit; your disciple invokes the name of the Three-Mao Patriarchs — what god not punished, what ghost not startled…”

Li Daoxuan started; a Daoist within was opening an altar and performing an exorcism.

And by the spell he chanted, he seemed a Maoshan Daoist.

Maoshan vies in fame with Mount Longhu; his master had said Maoshan’s talisman arts were superb, while Mount Longhu was known for thunder arts.

A colleague was already within; Li Daoxuan was at a loss — should he step in and steal the trade?

Even as he wavered, from within rose crisp sounds, as of jars and mirrors smashed.

Then Li Daoxuan beheld a most chilling sight.

Blood welled from the eyes of the two imposing stone lions at the gate…