Chapter 48 — The Town

A cry of astonishment went up from the crowd. The giant turned, swept the people with a glance, and at once they fell silent. He said in a deep, booming voice: "I am Shitou, sole disciple of the Vajra Sect's master, the Venerable Great Strength. My master sent me out to temper myself, and today I have come here to do you all this one good turn."

Zhang Qingyue was taken aback. He searched his memory and had never heard of any Vajra Sect or the like among the cultivation schools.

Everyone was staring at the giant. By now the town chief and the others had come over as well, and the chief stepped up to the giant who called himself Shitou and said cautiously, "Good sir... this demon is very formidable. It is not — ahem — not merely a matter of great strength. There is danger to life itself, I fear. Will you not think it over?"

The giant nodded, gave the chief a look, and boomed, "Do you not believe me?"

Under the stare of those great eyes the chief felt his heart quail, but he steeled himself and said, "No — no, I only meant to warn you."

The giant turned and looked about him, and after a moment his gaze fell upon the brick wall where the notice had been posted.

"Do you have any use for this wall?"

The chief started, surprised. "Nothing much in the ordinary way — it is only for posting notices."

The giant called Shitou chuckled, then suddenly roared, "Stand clear!"

His voice was like thunder; even Zhang Qingyue's ears rang, to say nothing of the other townsfolk, whose faces all paled. In a trice a great open space had cleared in the square, with only the giant standing in the middle.

He knit his brows, held his hands to either side, and suddenly stamped his right foot hard upon the ground. With one hand he formed a seal, muttering a short spell swift and low, then cried out:

"Rise!"

Whoom — a wild wind burst forth from all around the giant and howled past the people's ears till they could scarcely keep their feet. The crowd paled and staggered back several more steps. Golden light flooded out as the giant summoned a gigantic wolf-fang club, all of gold, hanging crosswise in the air, blazing with golden radiance and graven with the two characters "Break Evil." It had a certain solemn dignity about it.

The people cheered at once, but Zhang Qingyue, standing among them, knitted his brows. In years past he had received from Puzhao the true art of the Great Brahma Prajna. Though no one had taught him since, he had secretly kept up his practice without slackening, and he knew a little of the Buddhist cultivation methods. This wolf-fang club that Shitou had summoned — its golden light was solemn, and the gestures of his spellcasting bore some resemblance to Puzhao's of old. Most likely it had some lineage in the Buddhist school of cultivation.

This golden wolf-fang club was prodigiously huge, seeming even larger than the man who wielded it. Now Shitou held it aloft in the air, and golden light poured from it. Shitou's eyes went wide; with a point of his spell-seal, the club shrieked through the air and came crashing down.

The crowd cried out!

With a thunderous crash the dust flew up, and the once-fine brick wall was in an instant reduced by his power to a heap of rubble.

"Wah..." The townsfolk gaped, dumbstruck; then every face broke into smiles. With such power as this giant possessed, ridding them of the three-tailed fox spirit would be a trifling matter. The town chief stepped forward first, chuckling without cease. "Good Master Shitou, what skill! We leave it in your hands."

Shitou nodded.

The chief paused, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. Then he said, "There is one thing, however, that I hope Master Shitou will understand."

The giant called Shitou seemed to speak always in that booming tone, and so he did now: "Speak, elder."

The chief said, "As for the payment — it is the townsfolk's hard-earned money, so we hope that after the master has dealt with the demon, then..."

To his surprise, Shitou waved a hand. "No matter. Before I left, my master instructed me, saying, we are men of the righteous path; when a demon runs amok, we must step forward without shirking, and count it as tempering our own cultivation. As for money or the like, say no more of it. Only see that I get one good meal — once I'm fed and have my strength, I'll go and deal with the demon."

The chief was overjoyed. What a bargain — nothing could be better. He said again and again, "Of course, of course. Master, please come with me; we shall see that you are well satisfied."

Zhang Qingyue, listening nearby to Shitou's words, felt something stir in his breast, and then a deep shame. He thought how in days past his master and mistress had taught his fellow disciples in just this way — and yet when the moment came, he himself had shrunk from the affair. He had truly shamed his master.

At this thought his hot blood rose. He told himself he was of a great and orthodox sect — how could he stand by and do nothing? He made to step forward and declare himself, and go with Shitou to subdue the demon.

But no sooner had he lifted his foot a few inches off the ground than a voice at his ear, tinged with urgency and alarm, cried: "Ah, young sir, dark clouds cover your crown, your brow is black, and the face bears the breath of death — ill fortune, grave ill fortune!"

Zhang Qingyue, full of confidence, had the words at his throat, on the very point of speaking out and doing his part for justice, when this sudden speech at his ear startled him and choked the words back. His foot, caught off guard, stumbled, and he planted it squarely in a pile of dog dung.

His fury was no small thing. Zhang Qingyue leapt up, feeling the filth beneath his foot; though the shoe's sole was between, a chill went through his heart and he shivered. He turned his head in anger to see who had spoken.

Beside him stood an old man, hair and beard all white, of a lean and lucid countenance, with something of the crane-boned immortal about him, a look of one who had attained the Way, so that at first glance one felt a measure of respect. Beside the old man stood a little girl of eight or nine, her hair in two jutting braids, lively and lovable, holding a stick of candied hawthorn and eating it with relish.

Zhang Qingyue was for the moment overawed by the old man's bearing and could not bring himself to curse. As he wondered what to say, the old man glanced at his foot, and instead of looking sorry, grew only the more urgent of face: "Look there, look there — is this not a mighty omen?"

Zhang Qingyue started in surprise. "What?"

The old man glanced at him and spoke with the weight of long experience. "Have you never heard the saying: Step in dog shit and misfortune dogs your heels; nine of ten men die, and ill luck fills the sky?"

Zhang Qingyue was struck dumb. He stared blankly and said, "No... in the past I only heard my senior brothers say that when a man has extraordinarily good fortune, people say he's had 'dog-shit luck'..."

The old man was briefly taken aback, then shook his head again and again. "Muddleheaded, muddleheaded — that's sheer nonsense."

"What do you mean?" Zhang Qingyue asked.

The old man said, "Since that's how you put it — do you ever go out of your way to step in dog shit?"

Zhang Qingyue gave a start. He remembered those days on Dazhu Peak, when, being the youngest of his generation, he was often put to the dirty work — and the big yellow dog that his master Tian Buhui kept, Dahua, would always...

He shook his head vigorously at once.

The old man nodded. "Then have you ever seen anyone else deliberately step in dog shit?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head. "Whoever heard of such a thing!"