Shen Hui was drinking his porridge when he suddenly heard Scholar Li speak again. "You there, innkeeper, bring another plate of pickled melon. Make sure it's crisp."
The innkeeper had just brought over the hot porridge. At this, he answered again and turned to leave.
Shen Hui glanced at Scholar Li but said nothing.
Scholar Li seemed to sense it. He turned his head and met Shen Hui's gaze.
He froze for a moment, then smiled. There was a trace of disdain in his smile. "What are you looking at, Daoist? Do you think I'm being troublesome?"
Shen Hui shook his head and replied blandly, "I wouldn't dare."
Scholar Li refused to let it go. He set down his chopsticks, leaned back, and waved his fan as he said:
"You don't understand, Daoist. An innkeeper's duty is to serve officials passing through. Though I hold no official post, I've earned a degree, so I can be counted as half an official myself. His attentiveness is only proper."
Shen Hui gave a faint "mm," then lowered his head and continued drinking his porridge.
Seeing Shen Hui's reaction, Scholar Li found it rather dull. He snorted and went back to ordering the innkeeper around.
The innkeeper was nearly fifty, his temples already white. Scholar Li had him running around in circles, yet he still had to plaster a smile on his face.
The Old Taoist hadn't looked up once. He merely sipped his porridge at leisure, occasionally taking a bite of pickled radish and crunching it loudly.
Before long, the innkeeper brought over a plate of freshly sliced pickled melon.
Scholar Li picked up a piece and chewed it. His brows immediately knotted together. "What is this? It's all soft and limp. How can anyone eat it?"
As he spoke, he tossed down his chopsticks. The half-eaten piece of pickled melon fell onto the table with a slap.
This time, Shen Hui finally set down his bowl and looked up.
"Scholar Li."
He spoke softly, yet everyone at the table fell silent at once.
Scholar Li turned to him. Seeing his calm expression, he didn't take him seriously. "What do you have to say, Daoist?"
Shen Hui glanced at him, then at the innkeeper, whose head was beaded with sweat. His tone remained bland. "With every mouthful of food and every stitch of clothing, remember how hard they are to come by. Always bear in mind how difficult it is to produce even the finest thread."
Scholar Li was taken aback. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, I think this pickled melon looks just fine. You'd better pick it up and eat it."
The smile froze on Scholar Li's face. He stared at Shen Hui, stunned, as if he hadn't heard him clearly.
Shen Hui didn't look away. His tone was still even, almost casual.
"I said, pick it up and eat it."
Scholar Li's face darkened, but he still forced down his anger and spoke. "What an imposing show of authority, Daoist!"
The innkeeper hurried forward to smooth things over, saying repeatedly, "The Daoist is only joking. It's just a plate of pickled melon. I'll bring out another plate, no trouble at all."
Shen Hui raised a hand to stop him, his gaze never leaving Scholar Li.
"Don't make me say it a third time."
Scholar Li's face slowly flushed red, the heat spreading from his ears to his cheeks.
He was thirty-eight years old and prided himself on his talent. He had also studied some yin-yang arts and numerology over the past two years, and people in this county had always fawned over him. When had he ever suffered such humiliation?
"You insolent bastard, you've gone too far!"
He slapped the table and rose to his feet, rattling the bowls and plates. "I respected you as a man of religion and gave you some face, but now you're pushing your luck! It's just a plate of pickled melon. I can throw it away or smash it if I want. What's that to you?"
Shen Hui slowly rose to his feet.
He was half a head taller than Scholar Li, and looked down at him from above.
"What's it to me?"
Shen Hui pointed at the plate of pickled melon, his tone unruffled. "Tell me, how long does it take for a melon to grow from a seed to a fruit on the vine? How much sweat and toil do farmers spend hauling water, spreading fertilizer, bending over to hoe the weeds? And how much salt does it take to bring it to town and pickle it in a jar?"
He stepped forward. Scholar Li involuntarily retreated half a step.
"You just said you'd earned a degree?"
Shen Hui's gaze fell lightly on him, a trace of mockery on his face.
"Then tell me, if you don't even understand that diligence and thrift build a household, while extravagance tears it down, what kind of books have you been reading?"
The string of questions left Scholar Li speechless.
His face turned livid, his lips trembled, and his finger shook as he pointed at Shen Hui. "I... I..."
"You what?"
Shen Hui said blandly, "I've wandered the world for years. I've seen famines where corpses littered the ground, and horrors where people ate their own children. I can let other things pass, but wasting food..."
He paused. "I can't stand it."
"You... you..."
Scholar Li seemed to finally summon the courage to stiffen his neck. "What are you going to do? Are you going to strip me of my degree?"
Seeing him like this, Shen Hui suddenly smiled.
He flicked his finger lightly.
A streak of white light shot from his fingertip. There was a soft hiss, like a wisp of clear wind sweeping past.
Scholar Li felt a chill on the top of his head. A few strands of hair drifted down before his eyes and settled lightly on the tabletop.
He reached up without thinking. Above his left temple, a neat section was missing, the edge so smooth it looked as though a razor had shaved it off.
He looked at Shen Hui in terror, but Shen Hui didn't even glance at him. He merely said, unhurriedly, "If you pick it up and eat it today, this ends here. Otherwise..."
He gave a low chuckle, his eyes flashing with menace. "I may not be able to strip you of your degree, but I can strip your head from your shoulders."
Scholar Li's face instantly turned deathly pale.
It was as if he had only just remembered that the man before him wasn't a teacher at the county school or an adviser at the county office. He was the Daoist who had set fire to ghosts the night before.
The whole table fell silent. Not even a pin could be heard dropping.
Monk Faming looked at the strands of hair on the table, then at Shen Hui. His brows drew together slightly, but in the end he leaned slowly back against his chair and murmured a prayer to Buddha.
The innkeeper cowered in the corner, both legs trembling uncontrollably.
Scholar Li stood frozen in place, wanting to say something to save face. But the bone-deep chill on his scalp constantly reminded him that if the white light had fallen two inches lower, it wouldn't have been his hair that fell.
"I..."
His Adam's apple bobbed several times. His voice was hoarse and broken, but in the end he slowly reached out, picked up the piece of pickled melon, and stuffed it into his mouth.
He chewed twice and swallowed.
"Th-that's enough, right?" His voice was hoarse, and his eyes were bloodshot.
It was hard to tell whether he was burning with humiliation or still shaken by what had happened.
Shen Hui gave a slight nod. "That's enough."
Scholar Li didn't want to stay another moment. He turned and left.
But when he reached the threshold, he stumbled. Only by grabbing the doorframe with all his strength did he avoid falling flat on his face.
He didn't bother with appearances. He swept out with his sleeve, even forgetting the folding fan he treasured so dearly.
His footsteps gradually faded.
Shen Hui didn't sit down. Instead, he turned, his gaze falling on Monk Faming.
The monk had his eyes lowered as he rolled his prayer beads between his fingers. Halfway through, he seemed to sense Shen Hui's gaze and looked up to meet it.
Shen Hui looked at him without speaking.
His gaze was cold. He didn't look at a fellow cultivator so much as a withered corpse in a grave.
"Were you about to stop me just now?" Shen Hui asked.
Monk Faming's prayer beads paused in his hand.
He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain something, but Shen Hui had already turned his gaze away.
The monk sat there, his fingers fumbling over the beads now, his face mottled with red and green.
A moment later, he stood, pressed his palms together, and said quietly, "This humble monk is a little tired. I'll return to my room to rest."
Without waiting for anyone to answer, he turned and hurried out.
Shen Hui watched him leave, then finally looked away.
He turned to the innkeeper cowering in the corner and waved a hand. "Sorry for the trouble. You may go about your work."
The innkeeper was as if granted a pardon. He bowed again and again, then hurried out.
The door closed behind him.
Only the master and his disciple remained in the room.
The chill on Shen Hui's face melted away like spring snow, disappearing in an instant.
He walked over to the spot where Scholar Li had been sitting, bent down, and picked up the strands of hair from the table one by one. He laid them in his palm and examined them closely.