Chapter Twenty: The Expert

The wind whistled past his ears as the little fox raced forward at a speed akin to lightning, the scenery on both sides of the path blurring into shadows. Li Yunfei had to focus on distant points to avoid dizziness. To his surprise, the little fox’s running was extraordinarily smooth; her back barely rose and fell. Unlike riding a horse, where one must adjust to the rhythm to avoid being jostled, the little fox made every terrain—whether uphill or down—a level path, her speed unwavering. Even when confronted with embankments two or three meters high, she never bothered to take the road, instead leaping down in one bound, landing so softly that her footsteps were barely audible.

Li Yunfei was overjoyed; after reaching level ten, the little fox had become an invaluable companion. It felt as if only a few minutes had passed, yet the wild undergrowth had transformed into farmland—they had already reached the dock. The mountain road stretched five or six kilometers, which would have taken him at least fifteen to twenty minutes at full speed; the little fox had accomplished it in under three minutes.

At the dock, the little fox halted. Li Yunfei leapt from her back, embraced her neck, and stroked her fur, praising, “Honghong, you’re amazing.” The little fox’s eyes gleamed with a distinctly human pride. “You need to revert to your normal form now, or the little fishing boat won’t hold you,” he reminded her. At his words, a crimson glow enveloped her, and her shape swiftly shrank, returning to her adorable, pet-sized state.

Happily, Li Yunfei bent down and scooped her up, placing her on his shoulder once more. He untied the ropes securing the boat, then hopped aboard. After swiftly crossing the river and securing the boat on the other side, he followed a narrow path toward the hydroelectric station.

Passing Fourth Great-Uncle’s house, he noticed smoke curling from the kitchen chimney, likely indicating supper preparations. Li Yunfei didn’t disturb him, but continued along the mountain road for over two hundred meters, finally reaching the broad courtyard outside the hydroelectric station. He started his vehicle and drove toward the township.

The road from the hydroelectric station to the township was carved into cliffs, narrow and winding, making it impossible to drive fast. Though less than four kilometers, it took over ten minutes to traverse.

Phoenix Township was small—indeed, very small—covering only a few hundred meters. The national highway ran straight through the market square. On market days, vendors and townsfolk blocked the highway completely. Yet the market dispersed early; local residents left home before dawn, arriving as the day broke. They wasted no time—purchasing or selling their goods and then heading straight home.

Because villagers had to walk a long mountain road to return, none lingered at the market, which usually dispersed by ten in the morning. Those living in the direction of the hydroelectric station were the luckiest, as they could travel by vehicle.

Li Yunfei knew there was a general store at the end of the street, selling incense, paper money, rice paper, brushes, sewing needles, combs, and other miscellaneous goods. The shopkeeper was a limping old bachelor, renowned for his skill in making paper effigies; anyone in the surrounding villages who had a funeral would come to him for wreaths and paper figures. In the past, Li Yunfei and his parents had also bought offerings from this shop when returning to honor their ancestors.

Parking his vehicle by the roadside, Li Yunfei instructed the little fox to wait inside, then entered the store himself. The shopkeeper, over sixty, his hair snow-white, face deeply wrinkled, was eating supper when Li Yunfei arrived. Seeing a customer, he set down his bowl and stood up, his hoarse voice asking, “What can I get you, young man?”

Li Yunfei glanced over the shelves, finding several items he needed. “Do you have high-purity cinnabar powder?” he asked.

The shopkeeper smiled, “I do. Absolutely pure. How much do you need?”

Li Yunfei considered, “I’ll buy one hundred grams for now. Please divide it into ten portions, each ten grams. Also, cut a length of yellow paper—one zhang—and give me three brushes.”

He was preparing materials in ten sets; though the job change required only one, he would need these items frequently afterward. The shopkeeper’s gaze flickered with curiosity, “Is this for yourself, or are you buying for someone else?”

Li Yunfei replied, puzzled, “For myself. Is there a problem?”

The shopkeeper chuckled, “No problem. It’s just that these days, few young people are willing to learn the ways of the yin-yang masters. You’ll need child’s urine and rooster’s blood too, I suppose?”

Li Yunfei exclaimed, “Ah, an expert! You know these rituals?”

The shopkeeper’s so-called yin-yang masters were not true Taoists. They inherited ancient funeral rites, recited scriptures to guide souls, drew talismans, and knew a bit of geomancy. When the suona blared and white fabric covered the coffin, everyone in the village would gather for the feast. In rural funerals, the clang of gongs and drums and the sound of suona were the domain of these yin-yang masters. Families would consult them about burial sites before interment; whether they could truly exorcise ghosts or ward off evil remained a mystery—the profession itself was shrouded in secrecy.

While retrieving a roll of yellow paper from the shelf, the shopkeeper remarked, “Us paper effigy makers are much like the yin-yang masters, earning our living from the world of the living, but working in the world of the dead. We know each other well.”

“Young man, you’re so young and handsome—what made you want to learn this trade? It’s not easy to find a wife in this line,” he added, using a local dialect expression for good looks.

Li Yunfei smiled and replied casually, “Mysticism is a traditional part of our culture. If no one learns it, it’ll be lost. I’m quite interested in it myself.”

The shopkeeper’s face showed approval, nodding, “Well said. Nowadays, people dismiss mysticism as superstition. But they don’t realize, the world is far more complex than they think.”

Li Yunfei agreed. Mysticism was simply not yet explained by science; many modern scientific concepts, if taken back in time, would also be considered mysticism. Who could say for certain that in the future, mysticism wouldn’t gradually be analyzed and verified, becoming part of science itself? To sum it up as ‘superstition’ was decidedly unwise.

The roll of yellow paper was exactly one zhang. After retrieving it, the shopkeeper asked, “Which type of brush do you want?”

Li Yunfei replied, “What kinds do you have?”

“Sheep hair, wolf hair, chicken feather, rat whisker, and pig bristle. Which would you like?” the shopkeeper listed.

Li Yunfei pondered, “Which do you think is best for drawing talismans?”

“If it’s specifically for talismans, wolf hair is best. The weasel is the most spiritual of these animals,” the shopkeeper answered.

“Then I’ll take three wolf-hair brushes,” Li Yunfei decided.

The shopkeeper took three wolf-hair brushes, placed them in a plastic bag, then went inside and soon returned with a large porcelain jar. Removing the lid, he revealed the bright red cinnabar powder. He spread ten sheets of square white paper on the table, then used a long-handled spoon to scoop out the powder, measuring ten portions on a tiny scale, each two qian by weight.

After wrapping all ten packets, he placed them in another bag. “Would you like me to cut the yellow paper for you? I know the exact measurements.”

Li Yunfei replied with pleasure, “That would be great, thank you.”

“No trouble at all. The yin-yang masters who buy talisman paper from me always have me cut it for them,” the shopkeeper laughed.