Under One Person: The Taoist Priest Descends the Mountain

Old Master Wang waved his hand: "That won't be necessary. Since you are a proper Taoist priest, you should read Taoist classics regularly, right? We're short-handed for this ritual right now, could you please recite a passage for me to get through this?"

Cheng Mo pondered for a moment: "Which passage of scripture should we recite?"

Old Master Wang stroked his white beard and said without hesitation, "The Diamond Sutra, from 'Thus have I heard' to 'Accept and practice,' it's best to read the whole thing. If you're short on time, reading the first three chapters is fine too."

A question mark slowly floated above Cheng Mo's head: "...Taoist Master, is this a Buddhist scripture?"

"Buddha is the Tao!" Old Wang said matter-of-factly. "That's how it's done around here. For funerals and prayers, Buddhist scriptures are effective. The common people believe in them. Besides, the scriptures all encourage people to do good and escape suffering. Why distinguish between Buddhism and Taoism?"

He took a half-step closer and lowered his voice: "You can't?"

Cheng Mo paused for two seconds: "It's not impossible..."

Old Wang smiled and patted Cheng Mo on the shoulder: "Young man, you're insightful! I'll give you a hundred for your hard work today. After the ceremony, I'll be leading my sons and grandsons to chant sutras and perform at various venues. You can have your meal first."

The moment the words "attend the banquet" were uttered, Xia He's eyes lit up, and she quickly agreed, "No problem, no problem! Our Master Cheng is not only well-versed in the Daoist scriptures, but also a master of Buddhism! He guarantees he'll recite it for you clearly!"

Cheng Mo glanced at her: All you care about is food.

He turned to Old Master Wang, and reluctantly cupped his hands in greeting: "Please, Master."

"Let's go!" Old Wang flicked his sleeves and turned to walk towards the center of the mourning hall.

Xia He was about to squeeze into the crowd to watch the excitement when Cheng Mo grabbed her arm.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "You have to mourn."

"Huh?" Xia He's pretty face immediately fell. "I really don't know how..."

"Who agreed so readily just now?" Cheng Mo raised an eyebrow. "The host invited a mourner, and now you're saying you can't? Are we still going to eat this meal?"

Xia He's face fell, her pink hair drooping down: "Then... how am I supposed to cry...?"

"Just kneel down with the family members before the coffin. If they cry, you cry; if they shout, you shout," Cheng Mo said calmly. "Remember, cry like a human being, and shout loudly."

Before Xia He could say anything more, Old Wang turned around and urged, "You two, hurry up!"

Cheng Mo gently pushed her: "Go ahead, kneel down with the family members."

Xia He moved sullenly to the left side of the mourning tent, where seven or eight men and women dressed in mourning clothes, some old and some young, were kneeling and sobbing softly.

She found a spot on the side, knelt down like Cheng Mo, supported herself with her hands on the ground, lowered her head, and secretly glanced at him.

Old Master Wang had already stood still, and the area inside and outside the mourning hall immediately quieted down. Many people's eyes were on Cheng Mo.

Cheng Mo straightened his Taoist robe and walked to the altar. On the altar was a black and white portrait of the deceased, a kind-faced old lady. Three sticks of incense were burning in the incense burner, and candles flickered on both sides.

"Thus have I heard. At one time the Buddha was staying in the Jeta Grove, Anathapindika's Park, in Shravasti, together with a great assembly of twelve hundred and fifty monks..."

Her voice was clear and resonant, her words precise and articulate, echoing in the quiet mourning hall.

Old Wang nodded secretly to himself and began to perform the ritual.

Xia He, kneeling before the altar, was in a dilemma. She tried to squeeze out a tear, but not a single one came out.

Just as I was getting anxious, a woman in her forties suddenly burst into tears: "My God, how could you be so heartless as to abandon us like this!"

The cries were piercing and heart-wrenching, like hooks burrowing straight into the heart.

Xia He was stunned for a moment. She looked up and saw the woman crying her heart out, her forehead hitting the ground, her face covered in tears and snot.

For some reason, her nose started to sting.

"Ugh..." Xia He lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly.

At first, she only sobbed softly, but once the floodgates of emotion were opened, she couldn't stop...

All the precocious grievances, the bewilderment after seeing all the darkness, and the loneliness of pretending not to care all surged up.

"Waaah... Grandma... how could you... just leave like that..."

The villagers watching outside the mourning tent were listening to Cheng Mo chanting sutras, but suddenly noticed the pink-haired girl kneeling among the filial sons.

"Hey, whose daughter is that? She's so pretty..."

"Never seen you before, are you a relative from out of town?"

"She cried so hard, look at her little face, it's all tear-stained..."

An elderly woman with a cane wiped her eyes and said, "This girl is so kind. She's not even related to me, yet she's crying more bitterly than my own granddaughter..."

Xia He cried more and more intensely, tears streaming down her face, creating small craters on the ground in front of her. She was already extremely beautiful, but now, with tears streaming down her face, her nose was slightly red, and teardrops clung to her long eyelashes, shimmering in the candlelight.

Anyone who saw that would feel sorry for her.

Several young men stared wide-eyed, their hearts filled with a mixture of tenderness and sympathy, wishing they could step forward and offer their comfort.

Several middle-aged women were also reminded of their sad memories and began to wipe away tears.

Even Cheng Mo couldn't help but glance over there, secretly marveling: This girl, her acting talent is maxed out, isn't it?

Old Master Wang's steps faltered. He had once had a disciple who was so skilled at mourning, but...

Sigh... He shook his head, quickly composed himself, straightened his steps, and continued the ritual.

The atmosphere in the mourning hall reached a fever pitch with Xia He's weeping. The cries of the filial sons and grandsons grew even louder.

For a moment, the sounds of crying, chanting, and mournful music mingled together, echoing through the village at dusk.

Cheng Mo continued chanting the sutra: "...All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows, dew, and lightning; thus should they be viewed."

When he finished reciting the last sentence, "believe and do," the weeping in the mourning hall had not yet stopped.

Old Master Wang stepped forward at the opportune moment and announced loudly, "The ceremony is complete—filial sons and daughters, kowtow in gratitude!"

The family members, dressed in mourning clothes, all kowtowed.

Cheng Mo returned the greeting and looked at Xia He—the girl was still kneeling there, her shoulders heaving, crying uncontrollably.

He walked over and gently patted her shoulder: "It's over."

Xia He raised her tear-filled face, staring blankly at him, and asked through sobs, "Is...it over?"

"Mm." Cheng Mo reached out and pulled her up.

Xia He straightened up, still sobbing, her face covered in tears and snot, looking both pitiful and funny. She wiped her face haphazardly with the back of her hand, accidentally smearing the incense ash from her sleeve onto her cheeks, making her look like a little cat covered in ash.

"The feast is about to begin!"

The courtyard immediately sprang into action. Several square tables were moved to the center of the yard, long benches were set up, and several women carrying large and small basins came out of the kitchen to help.

Cold cucumber salad, braised pig's head, braised pork, stewed chicken, stir-fried seasonal vegetables... steaming hot and fragrant.

Xia He, with tears still in her eyes, pulled Cheng Mo's sleeve and walked towards the table, her eyes fixed on the dishes.

The man in mourning clothes walked over, glanced at Cheng Mo and Xia He, and asked Wang Lao hesitantly, "Master Wang, these two... shall we also join you at the table?"

According to custom, the Taoist priest performing the ritual and the mourner usually sit at a separate table. However, the two people in front of them were so different that one chanted the scriptures beautifully and the other cried so movingly that the family felt grateful but also felt it was inappropriate to make them wait.

Old Wang chuckled awkwardly, pulled the host aside, and lowered his voice: "To tell you the truth, something came up with Xiao Sun, and he hasn't arrived yet. These two are just passing by and helping out; they're not in our line of work. So… perhaps we could let them eat with us?"

The host looked back and saw that the two had already found a table and sat down.

"Alright," the host waved his hand, "Nothing's forbidden, nothing's forbidden. You two have been a great help today, you should eat!"

Having said that, he announced loudly, "Let the feast begin!"

The courtyard suddenly became lively. Men, women, and children sat down, chopsticks and bowls clattered, and the sounds of toasting, laughter, and children playing created a stark contrast to the solemnity inside the mourning hall.

Old Master Wang, however, did not rush to sit down at the table.

He straightened his clothes, held a copper bell, and led his seven or eight filial sons and grandsons to chant scriptures and walk around the coffin in front of the mourning hall. This is a local funeral custom where the Taoist priest leads the family members to circle the coffin, chanting scriptures to help the deceased pass on their final journey.

"One stick of incense to honor Heaven and Earth—two sticks of incense to honor our ancestors—three sticks of incense to send our mother off—to the Western Paradise—"

Old Master Wang's aged voice carried a unique rhythm, and the filial sons followed behind him, bowing with each step.

Funeral music resumed, and paper money was continuously scattered, fluttering like gray butterflies in the twilight.

In the center of the courtyard, the feast was already in full swing.

"Come on, Taoist priest, have some food!" An uncle at the same table enthusiastically put a large piece of braised pork on Cheng Mo's plate.

Cheng Mo thanked her, while Xia He, who was next to him, had already started eating in silence—she picked up a piece of braised pig's head and stuffed it into her mouth, her cheeks bulging, her eyes squinting into crescents with satisfaction, completely forgetting how sad she had been crying just now.

"Young lady, eat more!" An older woman ladled a spoonful of stewed chicken for Xia He. "Look how swollen your eyes are from crying. You're so kind, so kind!"

Xia He's mouth was full of food, so she could only nod vaguely, her pink hair swaying with her movements.

Cheng Mo couldn't help but laugh when he saw her like this.

He picked up a cucumber strip and put it in his mouth. It was refreshing and crisp, with the aroma of garlic and vinegar.

Looking around—Old Wang was still leading the chanting in front of the mourning tent, and the filial sons were bowing devoutly; at the banquet, people were exchanging toasts and talking about the harvest, their children's studies, and everyday matters; children were chasing and playing between the tables, being chased away by the adults with laughter and scolding.

Life and death, sorrow and joy, solemnity and noise, are strangely intertwined in this farmhouse courtyard.

As dusk deepened, light bulbs lit up under the eaves, casting a dim, yellowish glow over everything.

Cheng Mo suddenly felt that perhaps his master was right to send him down the mountain.

He truly hadn't seen enough of this world.