Chapter 28: Braised Pork in Brown Sauce

When I returned home, neither Mengya nor I felt any sense of fear.

“Mengya, do you believe it?” I asked, lying on the bed.

“Believe what?” she replied.

I glanced at her. “The young master of the Five Immortal Shrine, that spirit medium Yu Xianzhi.”

Mengya hesitated for a moment, sighed, and said, “I think it’s best to believe in its existence rather than deny it. After all, we’ve seen plenty of supernatural phenomena ourselves.”

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For some reason, Zhang Yuxi’s beautiful yet sorrowful face kept appearing in my mind, filling me with curiosity about her. It wasn’t the kind of curiosity that comes from attraction between men and women, nor a physical longing—but rather the allure of her elusive, mysterious aura.

Just then, Mengya placed her hand on me. “Hey, what are you thinking about? You’ve been absent-minded ever since we got back.”

“Nothing, you’re mistaken. I…” I replied evasively.

“Enough, I’m tired.” She interrupted me before I could finish.

The next morning, Mengya and I arrived at the intersection near TRT in Beijing. I glanced at my watch; it was just before ten o’clock.

“Mengya, let’s grab something to eat at the bakery across the street,” I suggested, trying to please her.

To my surprise, Mengya didn’t even look at me. “I’m not hungry,” she replied coldly.

I persisted, tugging at her hand, but she suddenly lost her temper.

“What are you doing?” she said, shoving me away and snatching her hand back.

I thought to myself, how is it that she can change her mood faster than a foreigner’s temper? The irritation bubbled up inside me, and I wanted to say exactly what was on my mind.

“Qiu Tong, you’re early,” came a voice.

I turned around to see Yang Puqiao and Xiao Shao, accompanied by Xiaoxue and Zhang Yuxi.

“No, I just got here myself,” I replied, my anger dissolving into a smile.

Mengya stood beside me, her expression cold as she watched our group out of the corner of her eye.

Ignoring her icy demeanor, I walked over to Xiao Shao. “So, how was last night?”

Xiao Shao wore a blissful smile, his expression mysterious. “Take a guess.”

I sized him up and teased, “Looks like you’ve got the smile of a ghost possessing you.”

Xiao Shao spat, “Don’t jinx it.” He was practically bursting with excitement, like someone who’d just had a shot of adrenaline. “That Master Yu is incredible! Last night, I slept right through till morning, just like those commercials promise.”

I secretly admired Yu Xianzhi; he couldn’t be more than three or four years older than me, yet possessed such remarkable skills. I nodded. “Well, who would have thought that yesterday he was a master, and today he’s got you calling him Grand Master.”

Yang Puqiao saw us joking around and waved his hand. “Alright, enough chatter, let’s get going.” He pointed northward to NHJ Alley beside TRT. “It’s right there.”

We entered NHJ Alley, which retained its original, antique appearance, untouched by renovation—a place of genuine antiquity. Deep within the alley stood a red gate, flanked by two gate piers carved with “Kirin Spitting Books” motifs from the Qing Dynasty. The stone was gray marble, the carving not particularly fine, but clearly the kind of grand entrance that must have been here for two centuries, though not of much value now. On either side of the doorframe hung a couplet: “Cultivate oneself in ancient caves,” and “Emerge from deep mountains, fame spreads across the seas.”

I nodded in recognition, for this was indeed the tradition of the Five Immortal Shrine’s spirit mediums. Anyone from their sect would hang this couplet outside their door.

“Creak—”

Before we could knock, the door slowly swung open, startling us all.

Yu Xianzhi emerged, now dressed in a flowing white robe, his golden hair tied up with a Taoist crown, a far cry from yesterday’s trendy outfit.

He descended the steps, smiling broadly. Just as I was about to greet him, he ignored me and walked straight to Xiaoxue.

“Xiaoxue, I knew you’d be here soon,” he said, fawning.

Xiaoxue glanced at him, a hint of delight in her eyes, and smiled gently. “You know, you really do look handsome today.”

Yu Xianzhi’s demeanor changed instantly; gone was the air of a “celestial master,” replaced by the exhilaration of a high schooler whose love confession had just been accepted.

With joy, Yu Xianzhi ushered us inside. The courtyard was much like any ordinary house. In the main hall sat an elderly man in a white robe and an old woman in a red-and-black robe, her face lined deeply, her white hair gathered like the goddess of earth herself. Beside the old man stood a middle-aged man in a white robe, holding a wooden cane, and a middle-aged woman in a red robe with long hair draped over her shoulders, pouring tea for the elders.

“Grandfather, grandmother, parents, our guests have arrived,” Yu Xianzhi called into the house.

On hearing that guests had come, the family received us warmly. Though the two elders did not rise, their faces were gentle and welcoming. The white-robed middle-aged man came out to greet us with a smile. “Ah, welcome, friends, welcome.” He led us inside.

Seated in the main hall, Yu Xianzhi’s mother poured each of us a cup of tea. I took a sip and nearly spat it out—it tasted awful. What strange concoction was this?

“This is medicinal tea we serve our guests at the Five Immortal Shrine, made from premium herbs from Mount Changbai,” Yu Xianzhi’s father explained.

“Well, thank you, Grand Master Yu,” Xiao Shao chimed in, flattering.

“There’s no need for such formality. Our Five Immortal Shrine exists to do good and help others,” Yu Xianzhi’s father replied with a smile.

“May I ask the esteemed names of the masters here?”

Yu Xianzhi answered, “My father is the current Deputy Shrine Master, Yu Tianhua.” He gestured respectfully to the main seat. “This is my grandfather, the Shrine Master himself—Yu Chengda.”

We nodded and respectfully offered our greetings to the family.

“Yesterday, Master Yu Xianzhi performed wonders. With just a bottle of white powder, he freed me from my troubles last night. Truly, his methods reach the heavens,” Xiao Shao said in gratitude.

Unexpectedly, Yu Xianzhi broke out in a cold sweat, looking flustered.

Yu Tianhua glanced sideways at him, visibly displeased. “Xianzhi, you took your grandfather’s things out to show off again?” he asked sternly.

Yu Xianzhi hesitated, then nodded.

At this moment, Yu Chengda and his wife, who had been resting with their eyes closed, slowly opened them. Yu Chengda’s voice was deep and resonant. “Tianhua, Xianzhi acted to help others—no need to fuss over small matters. Invite our friends to dine inside. After the meal, we’ll begin the ritual.”

Yu Tianhua was about to protest, but his father’s words silenced him. “Please, everyone, let’s dine in the second hall.”

Yang Puqiao quickly waved his hand. “Ah, I was actually planning to take the masters to Hongbin House for a meal—how can we let you host us?”

Yu Chengda smiled kindly and waved his hand. “Forgive me, Mr. Yang, it’s not that I refuse. You came for the ritual, not just as friends for a meal, so I must do the honors.”

His words left us confused. Was there really a difference?

He made a gesture, inviting us to the second hall, and with the help of his son and daughter-in-law, he and his wife took their seats at the head.

We followed into the second hall, where a large round table of yellow boxwood and purple sandalwood, more than a meter in diameter, stood in the center. Twelve embroidered redwood stools were arrayed beneath it. On the table were a dozen cold dishes and exquisite vegetarian fare.

After the elders took their places at the head, we each sat at our assigned seats.

“Please, make yourselves at home,” the old man said with a smile.

“After you, sir,” Yang Puqiao offered politely.

“Well then, I shall enjoy the privilege of age,” the old man said, picking up a piece of tofu and placing it in his mouth.

As we ate, Xiao Shao smiled and asked, “Master, forgive me for asking, but I’m curious—why won't you go out for a meal?”

The old man laughed heartily and pointed to several scars below his lips. “Because of these,” he said, and began to tell the story behind them.

Yu Chengda inherited his ancestor’s tradition, and in his youth, he was a spirit medium at the Five Immortal Shrine. By twenty-five or twenty-six, he was already able to treat difficult ailments for local villagers.

One hot summer day, Yu Chengda was at home, studying medical texts.

A frantic knocking sounded at the door.

“I’m coming!” he called.

He hurried to open the door and found it was Grandma Liu from next door.

Grandma Liu was drenched in sweat, her expression desperate. “Master Yu, my little grandson has some strange illness—he’s convulsing, kicking, his eyes are rolling back, and just now he started foaming at the mouth.”

Seeing the urgency, Yu Chengda knelt at the door and knocked his head three times.

“Grandma, let’s go,” he said.

After locking up, they arrived at Grandma Liu’s house. Yu Chengda examined the child, who was two or three years old, his face twisted, flushed, veins bulging, eyes rolled back, foaming at the mouth, convulsing repeatedly.

Yu Chengda nodded, instructing Grandma Liu to prepare a pair of bamboo chopsticks and a bowl of clear water.

Moments later, Grandma Liu placed them on the floor. Yu Chengda bowed three times to the water bowl and stood the chopsticks upright on its surface.

With a soft thud, the chopsticks fell to the floor. Yu Chengda nodded, set aside the chopsticks and water, stood up, and gently touched the child’s head.

“Hm…” Yu Chengda nodded, took out a small medicine bottle, poured white powder into his palm, and lifted the child. He pried open the mouth, fed the powder, and gave water to wash it down.

Soon after, the child stopped convulsing, his eyes no longer rolled back, nor did he foam at the mouth. He lay quietly on the bed and fell into a peaceful sleep.

“Oh, you’re truly a living immortal!” Grandma Liu exclaimed excitedly.

Yu Chengda waved his hand, ready to take his leave.

Just then, Grandma Liu brought out a plate of braised pork—three or four small pieces—and smiled. “Master Yu, we know we can’t pay you, so please eat this meat as a token of our gratitude.”

Yu Chengda was not poor, but in those early days of liberation, braised pork was a rare luxury, unaffordable for most.

He thought, well, it’s just a few pieces, nothing special. He smiled, thanked Grandma Liu, and sat at the table, eating the pork.

But as soon as he finished, something strange happened—he lost control and began chewing on the porcelain plate itself. The sound of crunching echoed in the room, and the plate shards cut his face and mouth, leaving him bloodied, his lips embedded with fragments.

Grandma Liu was petrified, slumping in her chair. Yu Chengda, covering his face, ran home, where his father met him at the door and slapped him to the ground.