Chapter Nineteen: The Soup of Merit

“Child, by doing this, you’re cursing me to die!”

When she saw I was about to kneel, Granny Wang’s face turned pale in an instant and she tried to stop me.

I was a bit surprised; I’d never even thought of cursing anyone to death, but when Granny Wang said my kneeling was a curse upon her life, I was so frightened I didn’t dare kneel anymore.

Standing up, I asked, “Why?”

Seeing me rise, she finally let out a long breath and said, “It’s not that I refuse to take you in, nor that you lack talent. It’s just that I can’t afford to, and I can’t teach you! The little tricks I know are worthless to someone like you. Child, some people’s fate is destined to be extraordinary from the very beginning—you are such a person.”

“Granny Wang, are you sure you’re talking about me?” I couldn’t believe her words at all. Extraordinary? I couldn’t be more ordinary—born in a mountain village, lacking everything, poor and insignificant. If it weren’t for Granny Wang arranging that ghostly bride for me, I’d probably be a bachelor for life. And truth be told, I can’t even handle having a ghost bride now.

“It’s you!” Granny Wang spoke simply.

Still, I felt she was just making up excuses, trying to wriggle out of teaching me. I’d heard from Grandpa that in their trade, taking on a disciple was always the master’s choice; you needed the right talent or else their skills would die with them rather than be squandered, for fear of shaming their lineage.

That must be why Granny Wang wouldn’t accept me. Then I thought of the head of the White Clear Temple. He had been the apprentice of that Taoist years ago, so his skills must be profound; otherwise, he couldn’t have handled the peddler and kept him away for so long. Thinking this, I said, “Granny Wang, since you won’t take me, could you introduce me to the head of the Green Robe Temple? I want to learn from him.”

She seemed amused, but still shook her head. “He can’t teach you either.”

“That’s impossible!” I retorted.

“It’s not impossible. She truly can’t teach you. Even if her master were here, he couldn’t teach you either,” Granny Wang said, leaving me speechless.

The Green Robe Temple’s master was that Taoist from years ago, the one who saved my life—a figure as mysterious as a deity. I’d never even dared hope he would teach me, yet Granny Wang claimed even he couldn’t do it. I refused to believe it.

Then Granny Wang told me a story from my childhood, one that involved that very Taoist.

When I was eight, gravely ill and near death, my grandfather hoped the Taoist would take me away from our village and teach me his ways. But a master must choose his pupil. The Taoist wanted to check my potential, so he asked for my birth details.

After calculating with my birth date, before my grandfather could even ask if he’d take me as a disciple, the Taoist spat out a mouthful of blood.

To divine with a birth date and cough up blood? It seemed far-fetched, since a birth date is just for fortune-telling. I asked Granny Wang why the Taoist would spit blood after reading my fate.

She said she didn’t know.

But the result was clear: after that, the Taoist refused to take me as his disciple, no matter how my grandfather pleaded. He simply said he couldn’t teach me.

After that, there was no point discussing apprenticeship anymore. I let it go, planning to look for another opportunity later, and turned the conversation to our village’s situation.

I asked Granny Wang what those Taoists really were.

She admitted she wasn’t sure—after all, she was just a village shaman, not as capable as I’d imagined. If those Taoists truly were rat spirits, she couldn’t handle them alone. For now, it was best not to confront them directly; all we could do was wait and see.

She also warned me to watch out for the crippled Ma hiding in the shadows. My wife’s pair of red hairpins were still in his hands, so he’d likely make a move soon.

But with Ma lurking in the dark and us in the open, we had no way to monitor his actions. Granny Wang told me not to worry, since Xiao Jing was around.

Perplexed, I asked how that was possible. Last time, Xiao Jing had injured Ma’s weasel puppet to save me; how could Ma ever trust her again?

“It’s actually not difficult. I gave Xiao Jing a few talismans to counter the weasel spirits. As long as she uses my talismans to silence those puppets, whatever she says goes. Ma still trusts her deeply,” Granny Wang explained.

“Why does Ma trust Xiao Jing so much?” I asked.

“Xiao Jing’s mother is bedridden, in a vegetative state—not from illness, but because her three souls and six spirits were taken away. Those souls are in Ma’s hands, which means he holds her mother’s life,” Granny Wang replied.

Ma was truly despicable. I hadn’t expected him to threaten Xiao Jing in such a way.

After chatting with Granny Wang, it was already afternoon.

As I was leaving, she gave me ten talismans, similar to the protective charm she’d given me before. She said her magic was feeble and the talismans weren’t powerful, useful only as a last defense in danger.

I thanked her and returned to the village.

With my uncle’s passing, it was time to set up the spirit hall.

Because his death was so strange, and related to the grave relocation, the villagers avoided my uncle’s house and refused to help. With only a few of us, I had to handle everything with Er Pang. Luckily, after two funerals, many things hadn’t been put away yet, so arranging the spirit hall wasn’t too difficult.

Niu Dahuang helped take care of my grandfather while Er Pang and I worked all afternoon.

At dusk, Er Pang’s mother brought us food.

She was a kind woman, though her husband died young and she’d injured her back badly years ago, bearing the burden of her family alone—a hard life indeed.

As we ate, she mentioned that “Merit Soup” was being distributed at the main hall, claiming it could cure illness and ward off evil.

“What’s Merit Soup?” I asked.

“I’m not sure; it’s something the Taoists made. After your uncle’s accident, everyone’s scared and no one dares move graves. So the Taoists made this soup, saying from today on, you don’t need to eat regular meals—just go to the main hall and get Merit Soup. They say it cures illness, prolongs life, and wards off all evil.

“I saw it myself: Old Li, the lame neighbor, drank the soup, threw away his cane, and could walk again. Auntie next door had been deaf since her forties—drank a bowl and could suddenly hear. And many others had chronic ailments cured. I saw it with my own eyes.”

As she spoke, she pressed on her lower back. Years ago, she’d hauled building materials for cash and fell, injuring her spine. She lay in bed for over a month, with no money for hospital care, relying on Niu Dahuang’s herbs to recover.

But she still suffered pain, sometimes so severe she couldn’t walk.

“You two eat; I’ll fetch a bowl and see what this Merit Soup is about,” she said, standing to leave. Er Pang quickly stopped her, “Mom, don’t go—it’s a scam!”

“As long as it cures me, I don’t care if it’s a scam,” she replied, heading out.

I signaled Er Pang not to move. Once his mother left the courtyard, we slipped out after her. As we neared the main hall, we heard lively commotion ahead.

I could hear Ma Weiguo shouting.

“By the gracious gift of the Taoist, Merit Soup—cures all illness, prolongs life, wards off evil!”

Outside the main hall, a long line snaked like a dragon. Each person clutched a bowl, faces brimming with excitement and anxiousness.

Blending into the crowd, Er Pang and I approached to see this so-called Merit Soup. In the hall, a huge black pot simmered with a broth of meat, steam rising thickly.

The entire hall was filled with an indescribable aroma. Bones bobbed and sank in the pot, shrouded in steam so you couldn’t see their true shape.

Suddenly, Ma Weiguo spotted us. He leapt from his table and strode over. “What, here to cause trouble again?”

“You’re really letting the villagers drink that soup?” I asked, unsettled by the strange aroma that carried an indescribable feeling.

“Is it your business? If you want some, get in line. If you’re here to make trouble, get lost!” Several villagers stepped up behind him—his usual cronies, each with a gold chain around their neck.

Er Pang shot me a look. I didn’t argue with Ma Weiguo, just turned and left with Er Pang.

But as we reached the gate, Ma Weiguo called out.

“Lin Yi, stop!”

I paused and looked back. One of the gray-robed Taoists stood beside him—the one who had signaled for Ma Weiguo to stop me.

The Taoist’s beady eyes darted at me as I turned. “Bring a bowl of soup for this young man—no need for him to queue!” His voice was thin and sharp, unpleasant to the ear, with four prominent front teeth making him look increasingly like a rat—truly bizarre.

“But, Master, this guy is here to cause trouble. Why give him—”

“Did you not hear? Go fetch him a bowl!” The Taoist’s eyes flashed coldly. Ma Weiguo shrank back and hurried to comply.

Ma Weiguo brought the soup to the Taoist, who approached with a wicked smile, holding out the bowl to me.