Chapter 58: Dreamscape

The sun crept quietly over the treetops. A refreshing morning breeze, carrying the scent of flowers, dispersed the thin morning mist. Li’s second daughter-in-law rose early, as she always did, to prepare the day’s breakfast for the family. Rinsing the rice, washing the vegetables, lighting the fire, and adding fuel—everything seemed no different from usual. Yet, she could not shake the feeling that something about today was strange.

“Mother, let me help you! Big brother is still a lazybones in bed, and Father, Grandfather, and Uncle will be up soon.” A crisp, familiar voice suddenly came from behind. The second daughter-in-law turned abruptly and saw her little daughter standing in the doorway, gazing at her with a bright smile. She suddenly felt as if something had crawled into her eyes; tears threatened to spill over.

“What is wrong with me today?” she asked herself, puzzled. She wiped the corners of her eyes and turned back to her daughter. “Mother can handle it alone; no need for our little Yezi to help. Go see if your father and brother are up yet.”

“Oh,” the little girl nodded obediently. She leaned her head against her mother’s back and sniffed deeply, inhaling her mother’s scent. “Mother smells so good. I could never get enough of it,” she said, acting spoiled.

“You little rascal, always up to something,” the mother feigned a sharp slap, but it landed so lightly it couldn’t have killed a mosquito.

“Mother, do you love little Yezi?” the daughter asked, clinging to her mother’s waist, her head swaying against her back. The mother finally relented, amused by her daughter’s insistence. She patted the girl’s head as if coaxing a kitten. “My little girl is the best; Mother loves her the most. There, happy? Mother has to cook; go find your brother and don’t cause trouble.” Clearly unsatisfied with this perfunctory answer, the girl persisted until, finally losing her resolve, the mother secretly pulled a boiled egg from the pot, leaned down, and whispered in her ear, “My little one is the best; eat this egg, but don’t tell anyone.” The girl beamed, her eyes turning into crescents, and stood on tiptoe to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mother; you’re the best.” As the girl skipped away, the mother let out a long sigh, a happy smile lingering on her lips as she returned to her cooking.

When the aroma of food filled the small courtyard, a cluster of little heads gathered at the kitchen door. Zhiqiú and Zhiye were among them, waiting eagerly for the meal. The second daughter-in-law laughed, “Alright, alright. It’ll be ready soon. Go wait in the inner room.”

The group of children scattered.

The main hall was filled with people at the table. Zhiqiú and Zhiye sat naturally beside their parents. Before their grandfather could give the command to start, Zhiye fawningly heaped a large bowl of food for her grandparents, earning their endless praise for being the most filial child. The meal was filled with warmth and the chatter of the children. A profound sense of happiness overflowed in the second daughter-in-law’s heart, and she tried to imprint this moment in her mind, as if she feared it might vanish. She shook her head, trying to cast off a faint, lingering sense of unease.

After breakfast, as her husband, father-in-law, and brother-in-law prepared for the fields, her husband paused at the door with his hoe. He looked back at his wife and said, “Keep an eye on the children. Don’t let them wander off. My heart feels uneasy today.” Her face turned slightly pale. Why did her husband feel the same? She nodded solemnly. “I will make sure they stay close.”

The sun shone brightly outside. The children from the eldest brother’s family had already run off, yet strangely, her own two children remained. “My children are so obedient,” she thought with relief. Her daughter clung to her, saying, “Mother, Mother, Brother says he wants to study so he can make you a great lady of a landlord’s estate!”

She laughed, “What landlord’s lady? If you study, you become a high official, not just a landlord’s wife. You talk nonsense!”

The little girl shook her head and looked up. “Master Zhang in town says Brother is very clever and will surely become a top scholar. When will Grandfather and Grandmother agree to let him go to school?”

“Adult matters are not for children to understand,” the mother sighed. It was true—Master Zhang had said her son was brilliant. One day, while passing the private school, her son had refused to leave after hearing the chanting. When Master Zhang came out to tease the boy, asking if he understood, little Zhiqiú had replied seriously, “I don’t understand, but it sounds wonderful. Why must one sentence be read so many times?” Master Zhang was delighted and, after testing him with a passage from the *Analects*, was stunned by the boy’s ability to memorize it instantly. He had declared the boy a natural genius. The family had been overjoyed, but when the eldest sister-in-law heard of the plan to send Zhiqiú to school, she protested, demanding that her own sons go too. The matter had stalled for years, though the little girl never forgot.

“Sigh, let’s wait a little longer,” the mother said. Little Yezi stopped speaking and glanced at her brother. “Actually, being with Mother and Father is enough, isn’t it, Brother?”

Zhiqiú, lost in thought, snapped back to reality and agreed. Yezi teased her brother, whispering to her mother, “Mother, Brother keeps daydreaming—is he thinking about getting a wife?” The mother laughed and tapped her daughter’s head, though she couldn't help but look at her blushing son, imagining the day she would become a mother-in-law.

With her children by her side, the day passed in a blink. When the sun set and the men returned from the fields, another day had concluded.

***

Under the moonlight, the two children refused to sleep, so the parents stayed with them. Suddenly, the siblings grew melancholy. Little Yezi began to sob, and Zhiqiú wiped her tears, his own eyes red. The parents were heartbroken and panicked. “What is wrong? Tell us, we will help you.”

“Father, Mother, we don’t want to leave you!” Yezi cried. The siblings hugged their parents tightly, weeping bitterly.

Just as the parents were about to ask what was wrong, a voice echoed in the room: “Taiyi Jiuku Tianzun.” A young Taoist nun appeared before them.

“Zhiqiú, Zhiye, the time has come. Bid your parents farewell,” the nun sighed.

“Father! Mother!” The siblings wailed. The parents looked at the nun, and suddenly, a thousand memories flooded their minds. “You are the immortal who visited us! Where are you taking our children? They are ours!”

“The mortal ties are severed. The bond between father and child is broken. These children are no longer of the world of the living. This, too, is like a dream. I can do nothing,” the nun said, bowing with one hand. She produced two wooden puppets. “The time is up. Return!”

“Father, Mother, we bow to you. May you live in peace and joy. Forget us,” Zhiqiú said, pulling away from his weeping sister and bowing three times.

“Go,” the nun whispered. The children vanished. The nun sighed, “Blessings of the Infinite Taoist, I bid you farewell,” and she, too, disappeared.

A cry of agony shattered the night. The parents awoke, their faces streaming with tears. “No! They cannot take my poor children!” The mother rushed out, and the father, though stunned, followed her into the night.

They found the rest of the family already in the courtyard. When the father explained that the immortal had come to let their children visit one last time, the family stood frozen. “Bring the torches,” the grandfather said, his voice heavy. “We must go to their graves.”

In the distance, the sound of chanting drifted through the night. The mother scrambled toward the graves, where the nun sat with incense burning and the two wooden puppets placed before the headstones.

“My children! I’ve come to see you!” the mother cried, rushing forward, but a golden light blocked her. The nun continued to chant, and the two puppets began to glow, rising into the air as they shed their wooden forms.

The parents watched in awe as the souls of their children, carried by the golden light, rose toward the heavens. The father knelt beside his wife. Villagers arrived with torches, kneeling as the chanting echoed for miles.

“Dust to dust, earth to earth. The ways of the living and the dead are apart. The bond is ended,” the nun said, waving her sword. The puppets dissolved into smoke, and the spirits of Zhiqiú and Zhiye appeared in the golden light.

“The Heavenly Gate opens; the Golden Bridge appears. Return now, and do not look back,” the nun commanded. A bridge of light manifested. The siblings looked at their parents one last time, nodded in gratitude, and stepped onto the bridge, vanishing into the night. The bridge disappeared, and the nun was gone.

The next morning, the story spread: an immortal had taken pity on the lost souls of the Li siblings and brought them home to bid their parents farewell. The story moved everyone to tears. Months later, a temple was built at the site, becoming a place where people prayed for the safety of their children, and the incense never stopped burning.

Yunhua, the nun, became revered as a deity, though she knew nothing of this. She was, however, quite annoyed to find that same pair of Maoshan masters wandering in the vicinity again. Her good mood was thoroughly ruined.