Die Schönheiten der Song-Dynastie

Kapitel 10

Although he knew the outside world had changed drastically, and the Manchu dynasty was gone forever, in that land he was a noble and beloved king, a loving father, and a considerate husband.

They lived happily in a paradise.

He thought this kind of life could last a long time, until one day his son would take over his position, and then he could enjoy a more leisurely life, fishing, traveling and sightseeing, until one day when his time came, he would sail away in a small boat on the rolling Jinsha River to meet with his ancestors from generation to generation.

One summer, however, a severe disease struck the tribe. The chieftain used all his knowledge and experience, consulting every book he had bought, but to no avail. He and the elders agreed that they had offended the gods, so they sacrificed cattle and sheep, but it was still no use.

The elderly and children died one after another, and the once-paradise turned into a terrifying hell. People gathered at the chieftain's door, hoping he could show them the way. Some had already reported the situation to the government, and rumors circulated that the army would seal off the area, leaving them with only one path: death.

The chieftain, carrying his accumulated wealth and two followers who had also unfortunately been infected, bid farewell to his family and set sail downstream on a moonless night. They faced countless dangers that night, but thanks to the chieftain's keen intuition, they escaped each one unscathed and finally reached the shore where the current was calm.

They traveled far and wide, traversing countless treacherous roads, seeking help from numerous renowned doctors, taking hundreds of doses of medicine, and narrowly escaping death countless times from the guns of soldiers, bandits, and highwaymen. But no one could cure the two attendants' illnesses.

The long journey worsened one of the followers' illnesses, and he died far from home. The remaining two burned his body and placed the remains in a small earthenware jar, because their tribe valued the soul returning to its homeland.

As they traveled north, passing through a small town, they saw a crowd gathered around a tall foreigner and a ragged, dying beggar. The foreigner was cutting a tumor off the beggar's head, while a Chinese man helped pass him the tools.

Upon inquiring, they learned that the doctors were foreign doctors from the New World who had come to China to open a clinic. However, the Chinese believed that they were merely using the clinic as a front for their illegal activities, such as disemboweling patients and using human fat to concoct medicines, and no one had ever sought their medical help. Today, they were offering free medical consultations and had chosen a terminally ill beggar to test their skills on.

The clan chief saw that the foreigner had a kind face, a serious attitude, and was meticulous in his work. He did not seem like a wicked person, so he had an idea and stayed in town that night.

The next morning, I heard a commotion on the street outside the inn. It turned out that the beggar was running around in the street, full of energy, pointing to his still pale red forehead and shouting: I'm healed! I'm alive again.

The clan chief inquired with the shopkeeper and found out that the beggar was indeed famous far and wide. He had a head full of boils and was thought to be doomed, but to everyone's surprise, the foreigner cured him.

The clan chief immediately took his entourage to the foreigner's clinic. After a thorough examination and questioning, the foreigner, through the Chinese man, told him that the illness was curable and would be cured with a few injections.

The doctor gave the attendant an injection and gave him some instructions. They stayed in the hospital for three days, and the attendant's condition improved day by day. The clan chief wanted to ask the doctor to treat the clan members, but he refused, saying that he should go to a large pharmacy in Changsha to buy some Western medicine and then give the injections to the sick himself.

So the chieftain sent his attendant back with the ashes to report the news, while he himself learned how to give injections from the foreign doctor. After thanking the doctor, he headed north. He endured wind and rain, sleeping in the open, not daring to stop for even a moment.

With Changsha fast approaching, the clan chief gritted his teeth and insisted on getting into the city quickly. While crossing a desolate mountain, they were ambushed by two bandits.

He desperately explained that the money he had was for buying medicine to save lives, but the two cold-blooded bandits simply punched him to the ground. The chieftain even knelt down, begging them that he would definitely send the money after buying the medicine, swearing a solemn oath. But the two thugs wouldn't listen at all, binding his hands and feet and taking all his money.

One of the bandits said that it was the Ghost Festival that day, and since the chieftain looked like a ghost, they might as well kill him and sacrifice him to the wandering spirits. Then he began to kill the chieftain piece by piece, like slaughtering livestock.

......

Well, I don't think I need to tell you the rest of the story!

The chieftain died with his eyes wide open in disbelief. His spirit slowly gathered, and a little over a month later, returned to his ancestral homeland. The army had already blockaded the land, and anyone attempting to escape was killed. During this time, nearly half the tribe perished. His followers brought the news back to the tribe, and waiting for the chieftain's return became their only hope.

But what they couldn't have imagined was that their chieftain would never return! He had only disappointed them once in his entire life, just once!

They're all dead, the elders are all dead, Ah Xiong is dead, Xiu Xiu is dead, the children are all dead...

The ghost felt lost and was lost in memories.

“I’m sorry…” Bian Jizhong murmured, “I’m a bastard.”

The ghost ignored me and stared blankly at me.

I wanted to offer my comfort, but I didn't know where to begin.

"Do you know who you are? You are the reincarnation of the girl who died 21 years ago, and you," the ghost suddenly snapped out of his reverie, pointing at the driver, "you are the reincarnation of the boy who died in the wilderness 42 years ago. I recognized you the moment I arrived; you've certainly gone to great lengths!"

Bian Jizhong said sullenly, "Yes, I secretly ran away and arranged all of this while you were cultivating. I don't have your magical power to influence or manipulate anyone, but I can guide them silently."

I suddenly remembered the dream that Grandpa Sun hypnotized me with! I always thought that we were all unrelated people who had just come together by chance, but I never imagined that everything was arranged in secret!

"Although you killed your own descendants, they did not become wandering ghosts or reincarnate into anything else. But do you know? The souls of my people and my relatives are still suffering in the darkness, waiting for my salvation!"

"I don't understand what you mean..." Bian Jizhong stammered.

"You don't need to know. You just need to know that I'm not staying in this world solely because of hatred! Yes, I'm in pain too, but I believe it will all end sooner or later! And you, you'll never be free from suffering!"

“What do you mean by ‘there will be an end’?” I asked.

"I don't want to answer any more of your questions! I just want to continue our game," Ghost said coldly. He ordered Bian Jizhong, "Pick up the dagger and come here!"

Bian Jizhong looked at Mr. Sun in despair, then turned back to look at the ghost, filled with both fear and hesitation.

"I'll count to three. If you still don't obey my orders, you'll face the consequences. One!"

Bian Jizhong was about to slowly bend down when he suddenly saw Old Man Sun beckoning to him: "Come here, I have something to say to you!"

Bian Jizhong gritted his teeth and walked over. The ghost stood still, expressionless.

The old man whispered something in Bian Jizhong's ear. The latter hesitated, wanting to ask something, but the old man gently pushed his shoulder away and said, "Don't ask so many questions, just do as I say!"

"two!"

Bian Jizhong looked at the old man, biting his lip tightly, standing still, as if he was making a painful decision.

"Three!" As soon as he finished speaking, Bian Jizhong began to struggle painfully, clutching his head.

"Hmph, you spineless coward! You won't shed a tear until you see the coffin," the ghost said contemptuously.

"Concentrate, do as I say, and don't panic!" Old Man Sun shouted.

Bian Jizhong began to mutter incantations, and as he continued, the pained expression on his face began to ease. Soon after, he sat up cross-legged.

The ghost suddenly transformed into the image of Bian Jizhong's son, covered in blood, crying out, "

"Father, where have you been all these years? Mother worked herself to death to raise us! Her death was so tragic."

Bian Jizhong's expression, which had calmed down slightly, became tense again, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.

"Grandpa, it's me, Xiaobao! I'm kowtowing and burning paper money for you, how could you bear to kill me! Waaah!"

The ghost then transformed into the form of a small child, wailing loudly.

Bian Jizhong finally couldn't hold on any longer and struggled on the ground, groaning in pain.

"Don't let him distract you, concentrate your mind!" But Bian Jizhong could no longer hear him. His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze was blank, and he mechanically picked up the dagger and stood up unsteadily.

The ghost grinned evilly and pointed at Mother Tian, saying, "Kill this woman first!" Bian Jizhong, who had lost his mind, slowly walked over.

Old Man Sun sighed and burned another talisman. A beam of white light shot out, and Bian Jizhong fell to the ground, regaining his senses.

"Your will is too weak; what a waste of such a fine appearance!" said Mr. Sun, shaking his head.

"Ha, I have such a bad memory. There's always this old monkey getting in my way!"

Old Man Sun smiled slightly and said, "It seems you didn't finish your story!"

The ghost opened its eyes wide, both surprised and furious: "Who are you? How do you know the story isn't over?"

Are you feeling guilty?

"I have nothing to be ashamed of! Whether the story ends or not, the outcome is the same!"

Old Man Sun sighed: "Actually, the outcome could have been different! I didn't want to finish telling this story, but it seems I have no choice but to."

"Alright, I'd like to hear how that difference works!"

"The chieftain's soul returned to his tribe, but at this time, his magic was not enough to affect people. He walked among his tribesmen and relatives every day, but no one could see him, and no one could feel his presence."

He deeply regretted not teaching his magic to his beloved youngest son sooner, otherwise he wouldn't be so lonely. He wanted to tell them that he could never come back, and he wanted to tell them to quickly send someone to buy medicine, but he couldn't.

He watched helplessly as his people either died of illness or were killed by outside armies, plunging him into immense grief.

Finally, one day, he made a difficult decision.

"Who are you? How did you know?"

"I have said that I am the Victorious Fighting Buddha."

"Since you saw it with your own eyes, why didn't you help?" the ghost said in grief and indignation.

"I didn't witness it myself; these are just calculations. Please don't get agitated and let me finish explaining, okay?"

One night, a torrential downpour suddenly began in the middle of the night, the most violent rain in history. The rain destroyed all the houses, and the tribespeople were awakened from their dreams. They stood in the midst of the raging storm, unable to see anything. The endless rain lashed their bodies like whips. Some were calling out the chieftain's name, praying that he would return and save them from the disaster, just as he had led them to survival from countless crises before.

But this time, nothing happened. Near dawn, a massive mudslide swept down from the nearby mountains, completely engulfing the land. Many people called out the chieftain's name in the moments before they were submerged, or perhaps they would never have believed that this disaster was caused by their most respected chieftain.

Am I right? Old Man Sun stared at the ghost.

I simply can't believe my ears, how could this be?!

The ghost was already in tears: "Yes, you're absolutely right! I was the one who started that rainstorm. Who are you? Tell me!"

"Like your water gods, there have been many people among us Han people with magical powers since ancient times. The Victorious Fighting Buddha to whom I belong is one of them. Each generation of the Victorious Fighting Buddha possesses extraordinary magical powers that can resolve disasters and save the world."

Those who possess such magical powers may be unfortunate, but it is their innate mission. They travel far and wide to avert disasters for others while searching for a suitable successor. Until the day their time comes, their soul will fly to their successor and pass on their memories and magical powers.

I am the heir of this generation, but my days are numbered.

"What do you mean by 'the result can be different'?" the ghost asked excitedly.

"Actually, those of you could have survived!"

"Impossible! Is it the army? Is it the corrupt government officials? Is it the gods? No, it's all impossible! No one can save them..." The ghost was in a state of extreme excitement.

"My predecessor, a beggar, arrived there on the very day you unleashed the torrential rain. He saw people struggling on the brink of death and found several herbs from the nearby mountains that could cure the disease. He even personally saved a child's life."

He endured the torrential rain that night, but was powerless to stop it. By the time he arrived at the scene the next day, everything was lost; the army had already retreated, and the village had been washed away by the mudslide.

"Nonsense! What you're saying isn't true!" The ghost was so excited he couldn't control himself.

"It was indeed you who killed the rest of your clan with your own hands. The child who was saved by the beggar..."

"It's your favorite youngest son; he's the sole survivor of that disaster!"

"Haha, so you were just spouting nonsense! I've been back many times, and my youngest son's spirit is clearly under the mudslide. Prepare to die, you old fool!"

The ghost laughed wildly and launched an attack on Old Man Sun, sending two huge streams of water shooting towards him.

Old Man Sun sat quietly with his hands clasped together, muttering something under his breath. Suddenly, the water in front of him changed direction and shot out to both sides; one stream knocked Bian Jizhong down, while the other disappeared into the void.

The ghost withdrew its hands and clasped them together in front of its chest. A more powerful stream of ice, like a flying sword, pierced towards Old Man Sun's chest.

The old man quickly burned a talisman, and a huge stone shield appeared in front of him. The ice sword pierced the shield, constantly wearing it down and breaking it, with ice flowers shooting out in all directions.

Suddenly, the old man roared and spat out a mouthful of blood. The stone shield transformed into two enormous stone wheels, which spun rapidly horizontally and flew towards the ghost.

The ghost suddenly somersaulted backward and disappeared into the wall.

The old man was panting heavily, and it took him a while to calm down. I watched this scene unfold, unable to move my limbs. Only Bian Jizhong's ghost remained, standing woodenly in the middle of the room.

Suddenly, the ghost burst through the air from the roof and returned to the center of the room.

"Old man, you want to fight me? You've got some skills!" the ghost said with a laugh.

"Hmph, you can't subdue me, and I can't subdue you! But I can choose to die together!"

"That's what Grandpa Sun said calmly."