Chapter 11: The Heartache of Parents Everywhere

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To help Zhou Da fulfill his final wish, to dispel that gloomy breath lodged in his throat?

“The Living Buddha, are you saying Zhou Da’s unrest is because his last wish remains unfulfilled?”

Holding joss paper in one hand and chicken blood in the other, Du Yuan nodded loudly:

“Exactly. Zhou Da died suddenly of a severe illness, leaving behind a lingering concern that haunted his heart, unwilling to leave, unable to live or die peacefully.”

“As the saying goes, a corpse’s disturbance comes from unbroken qi—whether resentment, frustration, or anger. But Zhou Da’s qi is a rare kind of stubborn attachment!”

“I’m convinced he has an unfinished wish, which has turned into this restless energy. Therefore, fulfilling that wish will naturally disperse the stubborn breath clogging his throat.”

Du Yuan carefully selected and adapted a phrase from Master Ying to increase his credibility among the villagers.

Though they might not need to believe him, this was an experiment needing to verify a predicted answer.

In truth, Du Yuan didn’t even have to recite the entire Eastern supernatural worldview polished by Master Ying.

His sudden display of Buddhist light alone was enough to convince anyone of anything he said.

After all, when the facts are laid bare, even the most absurd things become truth!

With Du Yuan’s systematic explanation, the surrounding villagers grew ever more convinced.

“What should we do, Living Buddha?” a villager urgently asked. With the Living Buddha present, they no longer believed Zhou Da’s situation unsolvable; they only wished for him to be laid to rest quickly.

Du Yuan, a bit uncomfortable with the title, said:

“I already told you, I’m not a monk.”

The villagers nodded earnestly:

“Of course, Living Buddha, you’re not like ordinary monks!”

After all, the common cheats who only swindle food, money, and favors could never compare to a Living Buddha!

...

Du Yuan was somewhat resigned, no longer struggling.

He planned that once the validation succeeded, he would repackage himself as a Taoist or Confucian scholar.

For now, the short hair brought by his current body meant he had to pose as a Buddhist.

Otherwise, in an age when hair is a gift from one’s parents, how could a Taoist (or Confucian scholar) have no hair?

“In any case, I have a great method to help Zhou Da dispel this stubborn qi. For that, I need your assistance,” Du Yuan said, looking toward the elderly woman and her granddaughter.

The old woman, without hesitation, knelt with her granddaughter and said:

“Living Buddha, please tell us what to do.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not difficult,” Du Yuan said, lifting the chicken blood and pointing his finger at the bowl, chanting:

“Om mani padme hum!”

Thankfully, even though I don’t study Buddhist scriptures, I often follow Master Fahai at Jinshan Temple and the Living Buddha Jigong at Lingyin Temple.

I just don’t know when I’ll be able to use Huang Bi’s phrase, “Having seen the future, why not worship?”

Wait, I want to become a Confucian or Taoist eventually. If anything, I should be chanting Hengqu’s four lines or the “Ji Ji Ru Lu Ling” incantation.

Why am I thinking about this now?

Shaking his head inwardly, Du Yuan finished the chant, then raised the chicken blood and said to the villagers:

“Everyone, please watch. I have just performed the ritual. Next, I will draw the talisman.”

The villagers, who had been eagerly listening to the Living Buddha’s teachings, now looked as if they wanted to cut off their heads and bring them over to inspect that porcelain bowl blessed by the Living Buddha’s power.

Du Yuan’s action was also meant to validate his method.

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Sure enough, as soon as he spoke, the chicken blood in the bowl began to thicken, solidifying but not dissipating.

Now, after being closely observed by the villagers, the once viscous blood shimmered with a clear, bright crimson glow, flowing gently over the coarse pottery’s texture.

This time, not only did the villagers exclaim in awe, but Du Yuan himself raised an eyebrow.

As expected, he had guessed right.

If he spoke, and they believed, it would come true.

Without delay, Du Yuan dipped his finger in the chicken blood and casually began drawing on the joss paper.

“Red lotus reflects the shadow, blood dew forms a boat, the twelve links of causation all inverted.”

No longer famous quotes from Jinshan or Lingyin temples, but Du Yuan’s own spontaneous creation.

He already understood his power.

As long as the crowd found it mysterious and lofty, that was enough.

The talisman’s lines needed no deep origin; they were drawn at random.

Anyway, the authority to interpret scriptures was in his hands!

Who dares say it’s wrong? If so, come and illuminate with Buddha light, turn blood to purity!

The only problem was that since he drew them casually, the two pieces of joss paper weren’t exactly the same.

With a slight frown, Du Yuan said to the elderly woman and her granddaughter:

“Grandma, little Wu, these are the talismans I’ve made. One is for you, the other for you. Don’t mix them up, because they correspond to your different karmic ties. You must be careful!”

This explanation so startled them that both nodded repeatedly and even stepped apart to avoid confusion.

Du Yuan found it amusing, thinking to himself this was just something he said offhand...

No, I said it and it became true!

This little incident instantly alerted Du Yuan to the magnitude of his ability, reminding him to use it cautiously.

“Good. Now, place the talisman on your forehead and sincerely pray to the heavens, repeating your wish three times in your heart. Then, flip the talisman over and write Zhou Da’s name on it.”

The two immediately complied.

However, after the prayers, they hesitated over the flipped talisman.

Seeing this, Du Yuan suddenly realized something.

In this society, knowledge is true wealth and power. How could poor families, especially women, read?

So, Du Yuan wrote Zhou Da’s name on the ground.

“Here, this is Zhou Da’s name. You just copy it.”

Afterward, he handed the porcelain bowl to the grandmother and granddaughter.

Once they carefully wrote the slightly crooked characters, Du Yuan took the two talismans and approached Zhou Da, who was still pressed to the ground by the Buddhist light.

Crouching down to look at his ghastly face, Du Yuan sighed and placed the talismans on him:

“Zhou Da, your mother and daughter are calling you home!”

With the clear and reverberating voice, the corpse trembled slightly.

His sightless eyes regained a faint glimmer of light.

Those eyes first fixed on Du Yuan briefly, then directly on his mother and daughter.

At that glance, the old woman and little girl burst into tears:

“My son!”

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“Father!”

But they were held back by the neighbors to prevent disrupting the ritual.

Zhou Da was dead; he could not be resurrected.

Yet at this moment, his throat continued to make noise, and his stiff hands desperately reached for the two.

Watching this, Du Yuan sighed deeply:

“Zhou Da, the dead cannot return to life. You must let go.”

Zhou Da shuddered, reluctant, then painfully pointed his left hand behind him.

There, he had been banging against the wall earlier.

Following his gesture, Du Yuan found a slightly loose stone.

With ease, he removed it, revealing a hidden compartment.

Was there a family inheritance he hadn’t given to his mother and daughter?

Du Yuan was puzzled.

But when he took out the contents, he was stunned.

Inside, there was no money—only a finely crafted rattle.

“What is this?”

Du Yuan almost thought he had the wrong place.

But as he held the rattle, he heard the little girl’s heart-wrenching cry:

“Father!”

Looking toward the sound,

The girl was already sobbing uncontrollably, while Zhou Da closed his eyes in satisfaction.

Then, a black breath escaped from his mouth and nose and dissipated.

The two talismans on his body ignited, burning away the gloomy, stubborn qi completely.

Neither clothes nor flesh were harmed—only the stubborn qi was purified.

This scene made the villagers exclaim in awe at the divine power.

They only saw the qi burned away.

But Du Yuan saw more—a younger little Wu, clinging to the honest Zhou Da in front of a peddler, begging for a beautiful rattle.

That rattle, whether in Zhou Da’s attachment or in Du Yuan’s hands now, was so exquisite and far from cheap.

In the end, little Wu could only be carried away crying by Zhou Da, unable to eat all day.

With the qi gone, Du Yuan sighed once more.

Clearly, Zhou’s family was poor; he couldn’t buy such a costly and useless item for his daughter.

But Zhou Da loved his daughter deeply, so he secretly bought it for her.

He refused because he was a father; he bought it because he was a father; he hid it because he was a father.

That became his obsession, turning him into a zombie—still because he was a father!

After handing the rattle to the sobbing little Wu, Du Yuan forced a smile and rubbed her head, looking up to the sky:

“What a tender heart all parents share...”