Retreat upon Meeting Wu

The sun sank in the west, its lingering light staining the cliffs of Dragon Mountain crimson.

Shadows of trees swayed around the Cloud Dragon Temple, built against the mountainside.

An old man with his hair tied in a topknot rode an electric scooter up to the temple entrance and parked it. Dressed in a dark blue Daoist robe, he turned to lift a plastic bucket off the scooter, slung a long parcel over his back, and entered the temple.

"Disciple! Disciple!"

His face beamed as he walked and called out.

Though he looked seventy or eighty, the old man still strode briskly along with the heavy plastic bucket in his hand.

He passed through the corridor and around the Three Pure Ones Main Hall, then spotted wisps of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney in the rear courtyard.

A young Daoist with soot covering both hands came out of the kitchen to greet him, smiling just as broadly. He took the plastic bucket from the old man and craned his neck to look inside. "The rice is almost done.

"How many fish did you catch today?"

At a glance, he saw a whole mass of large fish churning back and forth in the clear water.

The young Daoist's expression changed. Despite his master's abundant catch, he looked distinctly unhappy. "Why did you catch so many again?

"Pickled mustard fish on Monday, poached fish on Tuesday, braised fish on Wednesday, fish stewed in bean sauce on Thursday, big fish stewed with glass noodles on Friday... this is already the second week, and we still haven't finished the fish from last week sitting in the vat!"

For a fishing enthusiast, catching fish every day was naturally one of life's great pleasures.

For his family, however, it was anything but good news.

Anyone forced to eat fish three times a day, even prepared differently at every meal, would find it unbearable after three days.

"Well, if we can't finish them, we can keep them alive in the vat," the old Daoist said with a sheepish smile. "Or give a few to the villagers down the mountain."

"I already did." The young Daoist shook his head, but still tipped the fish into the large water vat in the courtyard. As he poured, he said, "The day before yesterday, I gave Uncle Zhang a few big crucian carp. Yesterday, he brought me a whole bucket of white minnows.

"I gave Uncle Wang a big bighead carp, and he gave me yellow catfish.

"I..."

The old Daoist wiped nonexistent sweat from his forehead. Suddenly, he twitched his nose and blurted out, "The rice is burning!"

The young Daoist hurriedly put down the bucket and rushed back into the kitchen.

Only after he had gone did the old Daoist let out a long breath. With his hands clasped behind his back, he returned to his bedroom to change clothes.

By then, the young Daoist had carried a small square table into the courtyard and set out the stools.

He brought over a basin of rice, two salted fish, a plate of mixed vegetables, and a bowl of tomato and egg soup.

First, he served his master some of the softer white rice from the center of the basin, then scooped himself a bowl of rice crust. Sitting opposite his master, he picked up some mixed vegetables with his chopsticks and stuffed them into his mouth with the rice.

The old Daoist also picked up some mixed vegetables and chewed slowly. Master and disciple tacitly left the two salted fish untouched.

After ladling half a bowl of soup for his disciple, the old Daoist asked, "Yunqing, did anyone come to offer incense today?"

"Yes!" the Daoist named Xie Yunqing answered without hesitation. "Someone said he kept having nightmares at night and thought there was something unclean in his home.

"Isn't that just superstition?

"I told him to get checked at a hospital's psychiatry department, but he insisted on asking me to sell him some ritual implements from the temple. I couldn't talk him out of it, so I lent him that Imperial Bell you've never used.

"He agreed to bring it back once he was done."

The old Daoist's chopstick hand trembled.

He looked up at his disciple. "You just gave my Imperial Bell to someone else?!"

"Yes." Puzzled, Xie Yunqing shoveled rice into his mouth and mumbled, "Is there a problem?"

"Hss-"

The old Daoist nearly failed to draw another breath, and his vision darkened slightly. Yet he kept his voice exceedingly gentle. "No problem, no problem.

"If someone needs it, there's nothing wrong with lending it to him..."

"Don't worry. He didn't look like the sort to borrow something and never return it," Xie Yunqing said with a cheerful smile. "He's in the same group chat as you, Master. You're both fishing enthusiasts!"

Hearing that his disciple had kept a way to contact the man, the old Daoist felt somewhat relieved.

Then his disciple continued, "He was pretty funny. He told me, a Daoist, that our temple had bad feng shui and felt creepy, and said we should go stay down the mountain for a while."

"He certainly sounds funny. Hahaha..." The old Daoist laughed and forced down the soup in his throat. His face flushed red as he asked his disciple, "Do you remember his name?"

"I do!"

"It was pretty easy to remember. Su Wu-the Wu meaning noon!"

"Su Wu... with the Wu meaning noon? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"We're still eating, Master! Why are you going back to your room?"

A Taiji Bagua Diagram hung on the wall opposite the door in the sparsely furnished bedroom.

Beneath it stood an offering table, a shrine, and a meditation cushion.

Several ritual implements rested on the offering table.

The old Daoist hurried into the room, climbed straight onto the bed, and opened a large wooden chest set against the wall at its foot.

He took out the neatly folded new clothes inside, one piece at a time,

then dug a Daoist scripture out from the bottom of the chest.

His callused fingers turned the scripture's yellowed pages until he finally found a slip of paper tucked between them.

Written on it in sixteen red characters was a prophecy: rise upon meeting a mountain, flourish upon meeting a dragon, retreat upon meeting Wu, fall silent upon gaining gold.

"Retreat upon meeting Wu, retreat upon meeting Wu..."

"So this is how it comes to pass. The time has come..."

The old Daoist muttered to himself, a premonition welling up within him.

Just then, Xie Yunqing followed him into the room. Looking at his master sitting on the bed, he suddenly felt that the old man seemed much better.

A deep unease rose in his heart. He cautiously asked the old Daoist, "Master, has something happened?"

"Nothing has happened." The old Daoist crumpled the slip of paper into a ball and turned to smile at his disciple. "Yunqing, while it's still light, let's head down the mountain and stay there for a while."

In the faint light of dawn, the elderly vendors at Mingzhou's antiques market had already set up their stalls.

Their wares ranged from prehistoric clay figures and polished stone objects to bronzes, tiger tallies, and official seals from the Zhou, Qin, and Han dynasties, all the way to old cameras, old watches, and old potato chips from more recent times-the last expired and not recommended for consumption. They had everything.

"How much is this?"

Su Wu picked up a terracotta warrior from a stall and hefted it in his hand.

"Eighty thousand!" the elderly stallholder quoted without hesitation.

"Twenty!"

"Will you sell it or not?"

The old man scratched his head. Despite the enormous gulf between the offer and his asking price, he actually seemed hesitant. "Twenty? That's far too little. Look at the craftsmanship. This is a genuine Qin dynasty antique...

"Give me another ten!

"Hey, don't go!

"Another five! Three-even three will do..."

Su Wu put down the clay figure and plunged into the crowd without looking back.

He was afraid that if he lingered even a moment longer, the stallholder would grab him and force him to buy that "Qin dynasty" antique for twenty yuan.

Could a genuine terracotta warrior turn up at an antiques market?

And could he buy it for twenty yuan?

Even if he did buy the real thing, was he supposed to take it to prison to admire it there?

He had only tried quoting a price according to a guide he had read online. He had never expected it to go so smoothly: he had knocked seventy-nine thousand nine hundred and eighty yuan straight off an eighty-thousand-yuan item.