Chapter 63: Petitioning for Blessings with the Ritual Talisman?

Chapter 63: Petitioning Blessings with Talismans?

Chang Hui spoke softly, yet her tone brooked no argument as she addressed the assembled villagers: “Master Zhang will be cultivating this evening, so there’s no need for a banquet. Please just prepare some food and water for us, and arrange a few quiet rooms.”

The village chief, elders, and villagers exchanged uncertain glances, but dared not inquire further, hastily nodding their assent.

As the group entered the village, lights gradually flickered on in every household, the warm glow seemingly dispelling darkness and fear.

After supper, Zhang Sanlu and Hui Niang shared a suite: he slept in the outer room, while she took the inner. The rooms were small, but after so many nights spent braving the elements or sleeping in haunted mountain caves, this humble space, with its soft bedding, felt like a rare haven.

He had scarcely lain down when Hui Niang, with a soft creak, quietly opened the door.

“What’s the matter?” Zhang Sanlu asked, seeing the frail young woman standing in the doorway. “You’re still recovering from serious injuries; you should rest.”

“I... I wanted to apply some medicine for you. When I was on your back earlier, I saw you were covered in blood.” Hui Niang held the hemostatic ointment she had just borrowed from a villager.

Worried for his injuries, she gently pushed open the inner door and came to his bedside, intent on tending his wounds.

“It’s nothing, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” Zhang Sanlu replied, sitting up.

But he could not withstand Hui Niang’s stubborn insistence, and allowed her to treat his wounds. His discarded Daoist robe had long since lost its original color, layers of fresh blood staining the fabric deep red, so that it now resembled a dark crimson garment.

When Hui Niang lifted his robe to inspect his wounds, she was surprised to find them far less severe than she had feared. Most were superficial, and though the sight was alarming, none had injured his tendons or bones. She felt a measure of relief.

“I wonder if Zheng Ji managed to escape,” Zhang Sanlu murmured, lying on his stomach, his thoughts drifting once more to Zheng Ji and his uncertain fate.

“Brother Zheng is surely safe,” Hui Niang replied softly, applying the ointment as she muttered prayers under her breath.

“Yes, Zheng Ji is clever and quick-witted. I’m sure he escaped the pursuers. Once things calm down, we can look for him.”

“Mm!”

“By the way, do you have any plans for the future?” Zhang Sanlu suddenly asked. He didn’t know how to broach the subject of her parents, so he sought a gentle segue.

To his surprise, Hui Niang’s expression darkened, her eyes reddening as she whispered, “Brother Zhang, I know what you want to say... I already know...”

Looking at this sensible child, Zhang Sanlu felt a pang in his nose. In another world, at her age, she would still be nestled in the care of her parents, perhaps eating ice cream at the mall or throwing a tantrum over some trifling matter.

But now...

What kind of accursed world is this? Zhang Sanlu cursed inwardly.

The night remained deep and silent.

Yet on this night, Zhang Sanlu slept more soundly than he had in a long time.

Within the suite, only Hui Niang’s gentle breathing and the occasional mutterings of Zhang Sanlu’s dreams could be heard. Yet behind this peace, it seemed as though endless dangers and mysteries still lurked.

That night, Zhang Sanlu slept until well after sunrise. When he awoke, it seemed as though everyone else had long since begun their day.

Dressing, he stepped outside to find Zhang Zhi Dao already performing talisman rituals for the villagers. No one was tending to fields or heading out to hunt; instead, they waited anxiously outside their doors.

What puzzled Zhang Sanlu was that each villager held a bowl filled with water, though he had no idea what it was for.

Approaching the courtyard, he saw two burly men standing guard at the entrance, allowing only one villager in at a time. Recognizing Zhang Sanlu as a companion of the Daoist master, they immediately bowed and let him through.

“If you wish to be healed by talismanic rites, you must first kneel before me and confess your sins in full honesty,” intoned Zhang Zhi Dao, seated cross-legged on a high platform, his deep voice seeming to penetrate every soul.

At that moment, a woman knelt on the ground, a bowl set before her, one arm in a sling around her neck, clearly injured.

With a heavy accent, she poured out a litany of her misdeeds, candidly recounting her past and earnestly vowing to the master that she would never err again, seeking forgiveness.

When she finished, Zhang Zhi Dao flicked his fingers, and a talisman floated on the air. As it hovered over the woman’s bowl, it suddenly ignited without flame, burning to ash in an instant and dropping into the water.

Ecstatic, the woman quickly raised the bowl and gulped down the talisman-infused water. Then, setting the bowl aside, she gently moved her arm. A look of astonished joy spread across her face.

With that, she removed the sling, raising her arm freely—it seemed she was instantly cured. She kowtowed in gratitude and withdrew, overjoyed.

One by one, the villagers entered, each kneeling before Zhang Zhi Dao, trembling as they confessed their darkness and guilt. Some spoke of betraying friends and family for selfish gain; others revealed unspeakable crimes.

Zhang Zhi Dao listened in silence, at times nodding slightly, as if silently judging the depths of their souls.

Upon each confession, he would draw a yellow talisman from his sleeve, chant incantations, then burn the paper, transforming it into a bowl of water glowing with an eerie light.

The villagers, hands shaking with excitement, would drain the water in a single gulp, as though it might wash away the stains upon their hearts.

The more Zhang Sanlu observed, the more bewildered he became. When he first met Zhang Zhi Dao, he’d believed the man truly possessed Daoist power. Yet now, watching these proceedings, he saw only the tricks of a common charlatan deceiving simple folk. He could not fathom the man’s true intention.

By now, he could no longer tell truth from falsehood.

Yet Zhang Zhi Dao maintained an air of effortless calm, as if he had long since penetrated the complexities of human nature, and mastered the art of cleansing the soul.

After a while, Zhang Sanlu noticed that when two villagers with madness were brought in by their families, Zhang Zhi Dao paid them unusual attention. He questioned them closely about when and how their illness began, and if there was any confusion, he called the village chief in to corroborate details.

Furthermore, Hui Niang said that Chang Hui had been privately asking the chief whether anyone had gone missing nearby, or if anything strange had occurred in the surrounding hills. She questioned the village elders about whether anyone in the area had been lured into the deep mountains by evil spirits. If anyone asked, she explained that they had come precisely because they’d heard of evil spirits harming villagers and wished to eradicate them. The villagers accepted this without suspicion.

But Zhang Sanlu felt as though something flashed through his mind, a connection just out of reach.

He pondered in silence: was there some link here? Those who improved after drinking the talisman-water—had they truly been healed, or was some force merely suppressing their symptoms?

Then, Chang Hui casually asked the chief, “Are there any strange stone statues or images in the nearby mountains?”

A chill shot up Zhang Sanlu’s spine, for in that instant he remembered, with sudden clarity, the bizarre Thousand-Armed Bodhisattva statue deep in the mountains of Fu’ai...