Chapter 6: Let's Pry a Little
Wengu pondered other matters, but it didn't delay his conversation with the village's principal figures.
After discussing the few questions regarding the fortress blueprints, the village leaders were about to talk about materials and the arrangement of the village's construction. However, some parts of this discussion, such as the renovation of the warehouse and cellar, could not be revealed to outsiders like Wengu.
The Wen brothers were both outsiders who were about to leave.
The village elders spoke rather directly. To avoid offending this scholar, the village chief intended to speak first and ask Wengu to leave.
However, Wengu said, "There is actually one more matter. I don't know if I should speak about it... I've thought about it for a long time and decided I should ask."
The village chief, whose words to send Wengu away were on the tip of his tongue, paused and asked, "What is it?"
Wengu's face showed worry, "The sages once said, 'The blood, qi, and spirit of a person are what sustain life and circulate through their existence.' This means that for a person to live, they need blood and qi, and they also need spirit. I observe everyone in the village now... seems a bit listless."
Speaking of this, the village leaders also worried and were no longer in a hurry to send Wengu away.
Although they hadn't read the classics, they had their own experiences and insights.
When people lose their spirit and energy, they become weak and prone to illness.
So often, they didn't need to understand medicine or pharmacology; they could tell a person's general health just by looking at their mental state.
The current number of people in the village was still relatively large. But with everyone's current mental state, even if Wengu finished drawing the blueprints, and even if the season changed at the right time, would they have the strength to build the fortress?
Could they move stones and carry timber?
They would collapse after one day of work!
Their bodies were far from what they were when they worked the land before. The fields were abandoned, and their spirits were broken. Other than the patrol personnel from each household, the remaining villagers stayed at home all day, worrying about everything, either listless or arguing constantly.
And the task their village was about to undertake was the construction of the fortress in late autumn and throughout winter!
By then, the weather would turn cold, and people would suffer even more.
But in the current chaotic times, they had no choice but to go out and collect materials and supplies when it was cold and the evil creatures were limited by the low temperatures.
For a moment, the leaders who were initially excited about the fortress couldn't help but sigh.
What could they do?
They couldn't argue with them, nor could they find another solution.
Daoist Master Qingyi could perform rituals to drive away evil spirits, but he couldn't continuously boost their spirits!
Wengu felt the somber atmosphere and said slowly, "Why not try to increase the villagers' spiritual life a little?"
A village elder asked, "What is spiritual life?"
Wengu explained plainly, "It's about finding some fun."
"How can there be any fun like this?" Are you kidding, scholar?
"Do you need storybooks?" Wengu asked.
The room fell silent.
The village chief looked over and said, "If it were in the past, we would definitely like it. But life is hard now, is it useful?"
"We'll only know if we try."
Wengu wasn't sure either, but he wanted to try and hoped to get the support of the leaders, so he explained his idea:
"I want to try writing a storybook related to the plague. It can teach everyone knowledge about avoiding evil and plagues, satisfy everyone's spiritual needs, and lift that spirit to make work more effective."
The village chief felt it was reliable and asked Wengu to elaborate.
Wengu thought that with the plague spreading, self-protection was paramount. Praying to gods and buddhas all day was useless. They shouldn't always be thinking about those supernatural things.
Through storybooks, he could popularize knowledge about parasitic diseases among the villagers and teach them how to protect themselves during daily life and work.
Should they just hide at home, boil water, heat food, and endure day by day?
But firewood and food would eventually run out. The village's supplies were distributed according to labor; the more effort someone put in, the more they received.
The village was about to start construction, which would definitely require more labor, and those people would no longer be allowed to hide at home.
Most villagers had lived at the bottom of society for generations and lacked knowledge about many things. However, at this time, the fact that so many people had survived in this village clearly showed they had a certain level of understanding and could listen to advice and discern things.
Fear of the unknown made people panic and act rashly, making them more likely to make mistakes or even endanger their lives.
It would be better to let everyone learn more about epidemic prevention knowledge. With a plan in mind, they could be more efficient.
"After I write it, I can have the literate people in the village read it aloud to everyone," Wengu said.
The leaders in the room were indeed moved.
Were they like the storytellers in the town and county?
If it really worked, they would also want to listen to storybooks.
There was little entertainment in the village, and they were confined to their homes day after day. These old men would often gaze at the increasingly desolate fields through the gaps in the fence and shed tears in the wind.
When they were depressed, they wished they could just go into the mountains and be less of a burden to their families. But they couldn't let go. Some things, the younger generation couldn't handle properly.
If a storybook could solve so many problems, it would be best.
Without waiting for others to express their opinions, the village chief nodded first, "Then let's try!"
Wengu nodded slightly and added, "Since it's a storybook for everyone in the village, of course, it should suit everyone's tastes."
He had to adapt it according to local customs and tastes, tailored to the local conditions, and connect with the local atmosphere. As long as it didn't keep going on about those supernatural things.
"So, what types do you all prefer?" he asked.
On this question, everyone was eager to express their wishes.
When the world was peaceful, they were not picky. They were enthusiastic about stories of talented scholars and beautiful ladies, and they also loved gossip about rural life.
But now the world had changed. They were impatient with stories of talented scholars and beautiful ladies or rural gossip. They just wanted to hear those—
"About gods and spirits! About demons and monsters!"
"Like Zhong Kui, the Holy Lord, subduing demons! I heard it once in a restaurant in town."
"I love listening to gods and buddhas subduing demons!"
Wengu was speechless.
In the end, it all came back to those supernatural things.
He hesitated, "In the current situation, writing such a storybook... can people accept it? Will it put more psychological pressure on them?"
The crowd's attitude was firm: they wanted exactly that!
Don't tell me about anything else at this time; we just want to listen to ghost stories!
The village chief said, "We don't understand psychological pressure. We just want to listen to such a storybook."
"Then... alright."
As long as it achieved the goal of guiding good hygiene habits and protective awareness, ghost stories were ghost stories.
If he insisted on telling the villagers, "Supernatural talk is all false," he would be mobbed.
Understanding their needs, Wengu determined the genre: "Then I'll write about exorcising demons and expelling plagues?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
The leaders sitting on the side nodded in unison.
The fortress blueprints were almost finished, but writing a storybook would require a lot of paper.
The village chief remembered this time and went to the storeroom to get a large stack of new paper.
Although it wasn't the top-quality paper used by nobles for calligraphy and painting, paper of this quality was difficult for ordinary people to access in the past.
However, no one in the village used it regularly, and now it was related to the village's "spiritual life," so the village chief was willing to part with it.
"Thank you for your hard work on this storybook matter!"
Wengu took the paper, felt its slightly heavy texture in his hands, and said sincerely, "I should naturally consider the village more."
Well, it would also enhance his influence among the villagers. If he could lure out that alchemist, that would be even better.
Of course, he couldn't just focus on that Daoist priest; he had to see if there were any suitable talents among the reclusive people in the village.
The village chief's grandson, Dou Miao, who had previously worked as an apprentice in a county town pharmacy, had been quietly tending to medicinal herbs nearby. Just before Wengu left, he spoke up to remind him:
"Our villagers don't have much education, Brother Wen. Please try to write in simple and plain language."
Meaning, don't use too many flowery phrases that we can't understand.
Wengu bowed in return, indicating he had remembered.
Alas, this pharmacy apprentice was not bad, but it was a pity he couldn't be taken away.
Let alone the village not letting him go, if he were to use means to snatch this person away, the village would likely be on the verge of collapse.
Carrying a large stack of new paper back, Wengu's gaze turned to the Daoist priest's room again.
Passing by, he could smell the scent of medicinal herbs. Everyone in the village knew that the reclusive Daoist priest was refining pills.
Occasionally, he could hear the sound of pounding herbs, and he didn't know how those pills were made.
The window facing outward was tightly shut, and the scene inside could not be seen.
Wengu withdrew his gaze.
The young apprentice couldn't be moved, so he had to pry from here.
In the following days, Wengu devoted most of his energy to the storybook.
During his free time—
He secretly lifted weights when no outsiders were around.
He appeared refined and cultured when outsiders were present.
With a plan already in mind, he wrote the storybook quickly.
Three days later, Wengu handed the first manuscript to the village chief.
The village chief was very satisfied after reading it. He felt that one copy was not enough and, as a precaution, wanted his grandson Dou Miao to make a copy for him to keep.
Dou Miao reluctantly said, "Grandpa, you're making it difficult for me. I can recognize all the characters, but copying? Only I can recognize the characters I write. If I had the skill to copy books, I would have gone to the bookshop for work long ago!"
In the end, Wengu took on the task himself.
"Then I'll copy it again and make slight revisions."
He also asked them if there were any parts in the first draft that were difficult to understand, and then he would write a "people-benefiting version."
Meanwhile, the village chief took the first manuscript and found someone in the village suitable for storytelling.
As for the storytelling venue, they naturally did not dare to disturb the Daoist priest's pill refining. They chose an empty shed far away, fumigated it with medicinal herbs, and it was ready for use. Every day, someone would tell the storybook three to five times, and those who wanted to listen could go there themselves.
The effect of the storybook was immediate.
The stagnant atmosphere in the village became lively again. The villagers who went out changed their previous demeanor and talked more.
Wengu observed these villagers, seeing this as an opportunity to better understand the family composition and speaking styles of each household in the village.
The last time these people saw Wengu was during the Daoist priest's ritual a few days ago. At that time, they were all defensive and unwilling to speak.
This time, they were much more enthusiastic.
Wengu reciprocated with equal enthusiasm.
————
A ritual had been performed not long ago, and medicinal water had been sprayed throughout the village. The scent had not yet dissipated.
In the newly built thatched cottage, many people were already seated early in the morning.
The small bundles of medicinal herbs in the brazier were lit first. In the smoke of the medicine, Zhang Erzhuang, the former accountant of the county town restaurant and now the person in charge of village accounts, walked to the front, sat on a raised wooden chair, and began his daily storytelling routine.
He had told it many times, both at home and here, and he was not tired of it at all.
Now, without looking at the storybook, he could tell it fluently and even add some of his own opinions.
He had also seen the storytellers hired by restaurants. Even if he could only learn two or three parts, it was enough to stir the villagers' emotions.
Their spirits visibly lifted, and their faces glowed with radiance.
"Immortal Master Qingyi said that strange evils cause plagues. These venomous insects are the source of the strange evils and bring disaster to the human world!"
This was from the storybook, which told of how heavenly fire killed venomous insects that harmed humanity.
In the storybook, the plot was full of twists and turns. Just as the disaster was about to be resolved, heavy rain suddenly fell!
"The heavenly fire's power greatly diminished, while the venomous insects' morale soared, spreading with the water flow."
The villagers in the house were anxious.
"Unfortunately, this heavy rain allowed them to escape!"
"Once those venomous insects escape into the water, they can't be caught!"
Zhang Erzhuang in front shook his head and sighed, "These venomous insects come alive in water. They were heavily injured by the heavenly fire, but once they escaped into the stream, they quickly recovered and could flow with the water... Alas!"
The other villagers also sighed with troubled faces. What could be done?
The suffering of living beings in the human world deeply resonated with them.
Zhang Erzhuang switched his emotions, flicked his sleeve, "There is still a chance; they can be intercepted before the stream flows into the river!"
The atmosphere was so well-built that he seemed to have returned to the bustling county town streets of the past, his blood boiling with emotion.
"The venomous insects lurk in the water and also attach toxins to the moist soil on both sides of the stream along the way..."
He went on to describe how the heavenly fire tracked down the stream, and how the farmers living downstream, and the city dwellers out for a stroll, were affected.
Some washed their hands with the stream water, lightly rinsed the fruits they picked by the stream and ate them directly.
Others played in the water.
"Unfortunately, the stream water had been contaminated by the venomous insects at this time. Toxins still remained on the moist soil on both sides of the stream. The food washed with the stream water would have insect venom mixed into it. It would be swallowed with the food, enter the stomach, and then the intestines. Moments later, they would be deeply poisoned..."
"And those who were pricked while picking flowers and grass, or scratched their arms, the insect venom would invade their skin and blood vessels, spreading throughout the body..."
"And those who played in the water bare-chested, or walked barefoot. In the past, it wouldn't have mattered. But now, even the strong and healthy exposed their weaknesses!"
Sighs erupted from the house.
"The insect venom invaded their arms and legs, and the poisoned people convulsed and wailed, losing consciousness, appearing like madmen..."
Listening to how unsuspecting people, whether from farming families or noble children, were step by step approaching danger and falling victim, the villagers listening also felt their hair stand on end, deeply empathizing.
"Alas!"
"Isn't that so!"
"Taking advantage of weakness, they are indeed cunning!"
"The things that enter the mouth need to be scalded with boiling water. If that's not possible, wipe them with a clean cloth. Our village knows this. Wealthy families can afford firewood, why would they neglect it so?"
Zhang Erzhuang at the front changed his expression again, looking compassionate. He imitated the monks he had seen in temples, clasping his hands together... Then he felt it was incorrect and immediately changed to a Taoist ritual, embracing unity.
"The residual insect venom, if it gets on a person, all sins will be recorded. After death, when judged in the underworld, they will go to a great prison!"
Whether they were royalty or commoners, for the people of this era, what happened after death was a major matter!
"The blood of those poisoned by venomous insects is toxic. Ordinary people who come into contact with it will also be poisoned..."
"For example, if someone secretly wears the shed skin without detoxification and has wounds on their body, the insect venom will invade the wound..."
He described the handling of poisoned corpses of those who had been harmed by strange evil insect venom.
"Bury them with fire. Only the fire god can eliminate evil and restore peace, allowing them to rest. Do you know why we burn them?"
Without waiting for the villagers to voice their opinions, Zhang Erzhuang continued, "Even if they are not burned, there will be the karmic fire of hell to scorch them. They cannot escape, and they must be burned anyway. At that time, the soul will be directly burned!"
He not only spoke the content of the storybook but also added his own interpretations.
"What is burned? Is it the physical body? No, it is the karma and sins..."
As the plot progressed, the heavenly fire finally caught the venomous insects and was about to unleash its ultimate move...
Those who had been arguing about the cremation of corpses immediately quieted down. Their eyes were bright, their fists clenched, and their whole bodies seemed to be straining.
At this moment, in another part of the village.
The older children, who had missed the morning session, gathered in small groups to discuss the storybook content and imitate the ultimate move of the heavenly fire in the storybook.
However, their actions were more cautious than usual. They couldn't give the evil insects an opportunity like those foolish people in the storybook!
Not far from them, in a house.
Daoist Master Qingyi was mixing something new.
This village was small, and even from a distance, if the noise was too loud, some of it would inevitably be heard.
And if they were a little closer, and spoke a little louder, as long as they concentrated, they could hear the general content.
At first, hearing the noise, the Daoist priest ignored it, thinking it was someone in the village "possessed by evil spirits," or refugees from outside, or some other incident.
He didn't pay attention. Village matters were for the villagers to handle. It had nothing to do with him!
He continued with his work, but his ears accurately caught certain sensitive words from outside.
"Lin—"
The Daoist priest paused.
"Bing—"
His eyes widened in alarm.
"Dou—"
His expression visibly soured.
"Zhe—"
His eyes were sharp with a hint of panic. He was about to curse aloud, but he choked on his saliva in his excitement. After finally recovering, he managed to regain his demeanor as an expert.
He took a deep breath.
He cursed silently.
Damn it!
Who the hell is chanting my sect's Nine-Character Mantra?!!
Could there be a fellow practitioner here?!
A sense of vigilance suddenly arose in his heart, and he was so anxious that he almost jumped up.
Given the current living conditions, this small broken village couldn't afford another "Immortal Master." If there truly was one, they would have to fight to the death!
Fellow practitioners were sworn enemies!!!
(End of this chapter)