Your Daughter Is Doing Very Well

Around midnight, Zhang Xuan woke with a start. When he opened his eyes, he found the burly monk feeding the campfire while writing something on a bamboo slip.

"Master, what are you writing?" Zhang Xuan got up and walked over to look.

His gaze swept across the bamboo slip, and he froze. He had never expected Sanjie, with his hulking build, to have such elegant handwriting.

"I'm recording how we dealt with the Chang Ghost today."

Zhang Xuan watched him carefully write on the bamboo slip: Black dog blood can subdue Chang Ghosts. Coat weapons or other objects with black dog blood and strike their vital points. Three blows can scatter their souls into oblivion!

Seeing this, Zhang Xuan asked curiously, "Uh, Master, so you didn't actually know black dog blood worked on Chang Ghosts?"

The monk looked up with a rather self-satisfied smile. "Actually, that was my first time encountering a Chang Ghost, too. I've been searching for 'strange tales from the countryside' all along my journey. According to the Records of Strange Things, the two most widely rumored methods of dealing with Chang Ghosts are black dog blood and Black Donkey Hooves..."

"By rights, the Black Donkey Hooves should have worked. Two missed, but judging by the sound, one of them must have hit. Why didn't it do anything? I can't figure it out!"

Watching the monk scratch his shiny bald head with a hand as broad as a palm-leaf fan, his face full of misery at this utterly unreasonable mystery, Zhang Xuan's mouth began to twitch...

If you can't figure it out, couldn't you think a little harder? Did it never occur to you that the fist-sized Black Donkey Hoof might have hit not the ghost, but this esteemed Daoist—me?

And another thing...

Good grief, wait—this burly monk was a complete amateur?

He relied entirely on countryside ghost stories and storybooks to vanquish demons and exorcise evil?

Wasn't this just a ragtag operation?

Better not join this outfit. How about we just break it up...?

With that thought, Zhang Xuan turned to leave.

"Master, you're far too unreliable. I think we'd be better off going our separate ways. You can keep saving all the living souls under heaven, and if you die a glorious death, I can at least perform a rite or two to send you on!"

"It's not that bad, Daoist. You must have faith in this humble monk's cultivation."

Watching the burly monk thump his chest without a blush or a flutter of guilt, Zhang Xuan said miserably, "Master, that's exactly the problem. Is it possible... that you don't have any cultivation at all?"

Faced with Zhang Xuan's doubts, the monk laughed, his deep voice booming like a bell. "Daoist, you're too attached to appearances. Besides, even if you don't trust this humble monk's cultivation, surely you can trust these fists?"

With that, he raised a fist the size of a clay pot and waved it in front of Zhang Xuan.

Recalling the fierce spectacle of the monk swinging a brick and performing a thoroughly physical exorcism, Zhang Xuan sighed helplessly and returned to sit beside the campfire. "Look, monk, if you want to go, go alone. Why do you have to drag me along?"

Seeing Zhang Xuan soften, the monk flashed his trademark honest, good-natured smile, though his eyes held a deeper meaning. "Daoist, you and I are bound by fate."

As he spoke, the monk pressed his palms together, his gaze sincere.

Zhang Xuan was speechless. He merely curled his lip and muttered, "Fate? A cursed fate, more like!"

The monk smiled and said no more, lowering his head to continue writing on the bamboo slip. His movements were steady and focused, as though he were recording something important.

"Get some more sleep. There's still a while before dawn," the monk said without looking up.

Zhang Xuan sighed and curled up beside the campfire.

The flames danced, casting light across his face, now bright, now dim.

As he grew drowsy, his awareness blurred, and he finally sank into dreams.

The night breeze brushed past, and the campfire crackled softly.

Dawn was just breaking. The first ray of morning light spilled through the trees, casting dappled shadows across Zhang Xuan's face. He opened his eyes and rubbed his aching shoulders, only to find that the monk had already packed everything and was sitting beside the campfire, waiting for him.

"You're awake?"

The monk handed him a gourd and a steamed bun, his tone matter-of-fact. "The water in the gourd came from a mountain stream. Once you've eaten, we'll set off."

Zhang Xuan nodded and took the gourd and bun. As he chewed, he asked, "By the way, monk, where are we headed?"

The monk brushed the dust from his robes and said slowly, "Before entering the mountains, I passed through a small town. While seeking alms, I met an elderly gentleman. He said his daughter had married far away in the neighboring county several years ago. Apart from a letter during the first year, he hasn't heard a word from her since."

Zhang Xuan frowned. "If that's all it is, couldn't he just send someone to the neighboring county? It's not that far, anyway."

The monk shook his head. "It's still quite a journey. They call it the neighboring county, but I've already been walking for over ten days since leaving that town. The lands of Western Zhou are desolate. Counties may seem to border one another, but several mountains can lie between them."

He paused, then continued, "The old gentleman missed his daughter terribly. Over the past few years, he's sent quite a few people to look for her—household servants, traveling merchants, armed escorts... all of them went."

"And what happened?" Zhang Xuan's interest was piqued.

"Without exception, everyone who returned told him his daughter was doing very well."

The monk's voice suddenly lowered, and a trace of gravity flashed through his eyes.

Zhang Xuan, however, was baffled. "Isn't... that a good thing?"

The monk shook his head, his expression grave. "The strange part is, if the old gentleman asked for more details, such as whether his daughter had borne any children, or how her husband's family treated her..."

"Those who'd been to the neighboring county couldn't answer a single question. They would only keep repeating the same sentence—"

"Your daughter is doing very well."

Just then, a cold gust swept past, making Zhang Xuan shiver. He pulled his Daoist robe tighter, stuffed the last two bites of bun into his mouth, and stood.

"I'm done. Let's go."

The monk nodded, shouldered his pack, and strode ahead.

"Huh? There seems to be something in the grass over there."

Zhang Xuan frowned as he looked over.

The monk turned to glance at it, then quickly swung his bald head back around. At the same time, he laid his palm-leaf-fan-sized hand on Zhang Xuan's shoulder and urged him onward. "Daoist, the sun's already three poles high. Let's get moving."

As the monk pushed him along, Zhang Xuan kept looking back, pointing suspiciously. "Wait, that thing looks familiar. Doesn't it look like a foot to you?"

"Haha, what foot? Last night's fright must have left nightmares in your heart. That's clearly a rabbit. Come on. If we don't hurry today, we might not make it out of this mountain hollow."

"A rabbit? Could my eyes really be playing tricks on me? Now that you mention it, last night did give me quite a scare. Wait, that really isn't a human foot? Monk, swear it!"

"This humble monk swears by the venerable Three Pure Ones..."

"Immeasurable Celestial Venerable, my ass! Why would a monk swear by the Three Pure Ones? I knew that was a human foot! That campfire last night..."

"Bleeergh~~~"

"Daoist, you're too attached to appearances..."

"I've been defiled!"

Trading remarks back and forth like this, the two traveled together along the little path leading north.