Chapter 48 — The Town
劍問蒼天 · Page 8 of 9
The headman said: "As for the recompense, since it is all the blood and sweat of the townsfolk, we hope that after you have rid us of 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, and when a demon runs rampant, we must step forward without shirking, and count it as training in our own cultivation. As for money and such, say no more of it. Only give me one good meal, and with a full belly I shall have the strength to go and subdue the demon."
The headman was overjoyed. A bargain like this was better than he could have hoped. He said again and again: "Of course, of course. Good sir, come with me — we shall see that you are well satisfied."
Zhang Qingyue, hearing Shitou's words, felt somehow a stirring in his breast, and then a deep shame, for 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 turned coward. Truly he had shamed his master utterly.
At this thought his hot blood surged, and he felt that he, a disciple of a great and orthodox sect, could not stand idly by. He made to step forward and declare himself, and go with Shitou to subdue the demon.
But he had barely lifted his foot three-tenths of an inch from the ground when a voice at his side, tinged with anxiety and urgency, said: "Ah, young brother, your cloud caps your crown, your brow is black, and death lies upon your face — ill fortune, ill fortune!"
Zhang Qingyue had been full of confidence, the words already at his throat, ready to speak and do his part for justice, when all unawares someone spoke these words at his ear. He started, and the words were choked back in his throat; and catching his foot unawares, he stumbled a step and planted his foot in the wrong place — squarely upon a pile of dog dung.
His wrath was no small thing. Zhang Qingyue leapt up, feeling the stench beneath his feet; though the sole of his shoe stood between, a chill went through him, and he felt his whole body tremble. He turned his head furiously to see who had spoken.
Beside him stood an old man, hair and beard all white, with a lean and clear countenance, who looked somewhat like a crane among men, a master who had attained the Dao, so that at first glance one felt a measure of respect. And beside the old man stood a little girl of eight or nine, her hair in two jutting tufts, lively and lovely, holding a stick of candied haws and munching them with relish.
Zhang Qingyue was for the moment overawed by the old man's air, and could not bring himself to curse. As he was thinking what to say, the old man glanced at his feet and, far from looking apologetic, grew all the more urgent of face. "Look there, look there — is this not a mighty omen?"
Zhang Qingyue started. "What?"
The old man looked at him and spoke with grave earnestness: "Have you never heard the saying: tread on dog dung, and misfortune draws near; nine of ten men die, and foul luck fills the sky?"
Zhang Qingyue was struck dumb, and said blankly: "No... I only ever heard my senior brothers say that when a man has marvelous luck, people say he has trodden in dog dung..."
The old man blinked, then shook his head again and again. "Muddle, muddle — sheer nonsense."
Zhang Qingyue said: "What do you mean?"
The old man said: "Tell me, then — have you ever gone out of your way to tread on dog dung?"
Zhang Qingyue started, remembering that in his days on Dazhu Peak, being the youngest of his generation, he had often been set to do the dirty work, and the big dog Da Huang that his master Tian Buhui kept would always...
At once he shook his head again and again.
The old man nodded. "Then have you ever seen anyone else go out of his way to tread on dog dung?"
Zhang Qingyue shook his head. "Whoever heard of such a thing!"