Nine days

Three quarters of an hour later, the youth opened his eyes again, took his now-dry clothes from the branch, and dressed. He glanced at a distant mountain peak that had vanished into the clouds and mist once more, then turned and headed downstream.

Compared with when he had emerged from the lake, his steps were much steadier, as though he had learned to walk, or had grown accustomed to this body.

Mist hung over the stream banks, but fortunately there were few scattered rocks, so walking was not difficult. Before long, he followed the stream out of the mountains and came to a village.

The farmer loosening soil in the fields, the old man hauling hay on a large cart, the woman carrying food halfway up the mountain, and the children playing beneath the large tree at the village entrance all gradually stopped what they were doing and stood still.

The White-Clad Youth walked toward the village.

The hoe in the farmer's hands fell to the ground, nearly striking his foot.

The pipe fell from the old man's mouth, burning the donkey pulling the cart and making it bray in pain.

The woman clutched the food Urn in her arms, but her mouth opened wider than the mouth of the Urn.

The children suddenly scattered, running through the village and shouting. One little girl even began bawling.

The White-Clad Youth stopped, not understanding what was happening.

A flurry of footsteps sounded as the villagers gathered at the entrance, awe and nervousness on their faces.

Led by an elderly man, the villagers knelt somewhat awkwardly and called out in ragged unison, "We pay our respects to the honored immortal master."

The White-Clad Youth's expression remained unchanged. Many years ago, he had occasionally traveled through the mortal world and had encountered scenes like this many times.

But he soon noticed something unusual. How could these ordinary villagers recognize his true identity?

The question went unanswered, because he did not ask, and naturally the villagers did not answer.

The villagers looked at him with tremendous warmth and a little fear, as though looking at the plaque above the county government offices.

Under dozens of such gazes, the youth remained unflustered. After thinking for a moment, he said, "Hello."

"Greetings, immortal master!"

With the elderly man still taking the lead, the villagers answered all at once.

The exchange resembled some sort of ritual.

The villagers bowed again. A few children who were slow to react even received a couple of slaps on the bottom from their parents.

Yet those children did not cry. They merely stared at the youth's face with wide eyes, as though looking at the rarest candy in the world.

All was quiet. The large tree swayed gently in the breeze, its leaves rustling.

Not a single villager dared speak. They stood slightly bowed, maintaining the most respectful posture.

After an unknown length of time, the White-Clad Youth suddenly said, "I want to live here for a year."

The elderly man was astonished, scarcely able to believe his ears. The villagers also looked stunned, wondering what the immortal master meant.

Seeing their reactions, the White-Clad Youth searched his memories and recalled something else. Money seemed to be very important in the mortal world.

He held his hand out before the elderly man, dozens of gold leaves resting in his palm.

Ordinarily, these villagers might have fainted from excitement at the sight of these gold leaves. Now, however, they merely glanced at them before looking back at the White-Clad Youth.

In their eyes, the White-Clad Youth was far more pleasing to look at than those gold leaves. Besides, how could they accept them?

"It is our good fortune that you are willing to stay, immortal master."

The elderly man said uneasily, "But our humble village is poor. We truly cannot find a residence suitable for your secluded cultivation."

The White-Clad Youth did not know how many things the elderly man had considered in such a short time, or what the villagers were thinking.

Of course, he did not care either. He only knew that the man seemed to have agreed to his request. His gaze swept over the villagers and finally settled on a little boy.

The little boy was rather dark-skinned and sturdy, with an honest expression that gave him a simple, sincere air.

"Where do you live?"

The White-Clad Youth looked at the little boy as he spoke.

The little boy froze, failing to react until his father beside him gave him a heavy slap.

"Gen, hurry up and show the immortal master the way!"

The elderly man called out urgently.

Inside a courtyard on the western side of the mountain village, the room was rather dim.

Following his father's warnings along the way, the little boy bowed respectfully to the White-Clad Youth and prepared to withdraw.

The White-Clad Youth suddenly asked, "Name?"

The little boy stopped. "Liu Baogen."

The White-Clad Youth fell silent for a while, then asked, "Age?"

The little boy said, "Ten."

"Baogen doesn't sound good."

The White-Clad Youth said, "From now on, you'll be called S sui."

The little boy scratched the back of his head.

From then on, he was Liu S sui.

As soon as Liu S sui left the courtyard, the entire village crowded around him.

The elderly man asked with concern, "What instructions did the immortal master give?"

Still rather dazed, Liu S sui said, "He asked my age... and gave me a name."

The elderly man was slightly startled to hear this, while the little boy's parents were overjoyed, rubbing their hands together incessantly.

Liu S sui did not much like his new name, however, and said aggrievedly, "Who has a strange name like that?"

His father raised a hand to strike him, then suddenly remembered the immortal master inside and forcibly restrained himself.

The elderly man admonished him, "To be granted a name by an immortal master is such a blessing. Ordinary people could beg for it and never receive it. You mustn't talk nonsense."

Liu S sui suddenly remembered the last few things said inside and hurriedly added, "But he said he wasn't an immortal master."

The villagers were puzzled. If that man was not an immortal master, what else could he be?

"I think he seems a little like a fool."

Liu S sui said honestly, "He even wants me to teach him."

The elderly man asked hesitantly, "What does the immortal... master want you to teach him?"

Liu S sui said, "Making the bed and folding bedding, washing clothes and cooking, chopping wood and farming. Yes, that's everything. I haven't remembered a single word wrong."

The villagers were very surprised. If he could not even do these things, could the man inside really be a fool rather than an immortal master?

The elderly man, however, laughed. "In Great Green Mountain, immortal masters have sword attendants to serve them. They drink dew and eat immortal fruit. Why would they know how to do these things?"

Over the next few days, the immortal master staying with the Liu family became the focus of all attention and conversation in the little mountain village.

The villagers accepted the elderly man's explanation quite naturally and had no doubts about the immortal master's identity.

The only thing they did not understand was why the immortal master would stay in this little mountain village rather than return to Great Green Mountain, and why he wanted that little fellow from the Liu family, who must have accumulated blessings over eight lifetimes, to teach him these things.

What Liu S sui, the object of the villagers' envy and even jealousy, did not understand was how anyone could fail to do such simple things.

That very night, he began teaching the youth how to make a bed, because the youth needed to sleep.

Early the next morning, he also had to teach him how to fold the bedding.

Then he discovered that the youth really had never done anything like this before!

When he discovered that the youth could not do any of those other things either, he was truly dumbfounded.

"Don't pour out the rice when you pour out the water!"

"Don't chop the firewood too thin. It won't burn for long!"

"You can't keep the fish scales, or the gills. Those black bits... you can't keep those either."

"One cut on the left, one on the right. Don't cut all the way through, and you'll get the raincoat pattern. Yes, yes, just like that."

"That's not a yam, it's a bitter melon... put it down quickly. Ma hates eating that most."

Liu S sui had read in books about people who could not distinguish the five grains and never put their four limbs to work, but he had never believed such people really existed.

Not until he met the White-Clad Youth.

But nine days later, he began questioning his own thoughts again.

Because the White-Clad Youth took only nine days to learn everything he taught him.

On the first day, the White-Clad Youth learned the simplest tasks: making the bed, folding bedding, chopping wood, and boiling water.

On the second day, the White-Clad Youth learned some more complicated household chores. He cleaned the Liu family's little courtyard until the windows shone and the tables gleamed, as though it had been born anew.

On the third day, the White-Clad Youth began cooking. After watching briefly, he learned how to kill chickens, gut fish, chop scallions, and peel garlic.

The fourth day, the fifth day, the sixth day...

On the ninth day, the sun rose as usual. The White-Clad Youth cut some bamboo and made a reclining chair, his workmanship surpassing even the old bamboo craftsman's.

Now, the raincoat-cut cucumbers the White-Clad Youth sliced could stretch to two feet long, every slice exactly the same thickness. As for the firewood he chopped, its beauty defied description.

It was clearly the same stream water and the same rice, mixed with the same chunks of yam, cooked on the same stove in the same iron pot. Yet the rice the White-Clad Youth cooked was more fragrant than any Liu S sui had ever eaten.

The White-Clad Youth even rebuilt the courtyard walls and neatly repaired the corners of the eaves, which had long been neglected, making them look new.

Liu S sui found it difficult to doubt his identity anymore.

Who but an immortal master could do such things?

Besides, he had never seen the White-Clad Youth wash his clothes.

He did not understand why, after doing so much work, those white clothes remained so white, like the finest rice.

(I suddenly thought of those garlic-peeling girls in white mink coats back in our great Northeast...)