Chapter Twenty-Two: If You Won't Speak, Then Go to Hell!

The madam’s eyes were almost glued to the gold. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Daoist Dust smiled.

Every pleasure house had its own way of “receiving goods.” Some channels were official; others were decidedly not. It was obvious that Miss Zhang of the Three Sisters had been brought here through one of the latter. Now Daoist Dust had produced so much money, it was plainly to settle accounts with someone. If the madam said a word, she would be breaking the unspoken rules in the worst possible way.

Daoist Dust took out another ingot of gold, then another, until the table was ablaze with glittering yellow. Yet even then, the madam’s greed was not satisfied. At last, Daoist Dust produced a waist token. The madam, full of doubt, wondered whether anyone in Soochow truly dared to come here and intimidate her. With a trace of disdain, she picked it up and looked at it.

Her face went white at once.

It was a rank token from the imperial guards. Right Second Thousand House, Thousand-Commander, Warrior Number Seven-Hundred and Eight.

She had thought him a gullible fool. Never had she imagined he was a fierce god in human form. Her expression changed in an instant. “So it is Your Excellency the Thousand-Commander. This common woman deserves death, death indeed.” With that, she dropped to her knees.

Daoist Dust paid her no mind and asked directly, “I do not care about anything else. I cannot touch your master, but I can certainly touch you. Once someone enters the imperial prison of the guards, how many come out whole?”

The madam’s face had already drained of color. She did not for a moment believe her own master would risk offending a Thousand-Commander of the imperial guards for her sake. Tears and snot streaming down her face, she begged for mercy and explained in scrupulous detail how Miss Zhang had been brought to the Fragrant Mist Pavilion, even spilling all she knew about the gang behind it.

Having finished his business, Daoist Dust did not linger. By the time the authorities discovered that treasury silver had been stolen, that brothel and the hidden patron behind it would be in for a reckoning. He took Miss Zhang, bought a carriage, and left the city at once. With every step seeming to shrink the earth beneath his feet, he was back by nightfall. Only Miss Zhang, lost in her own world, never noticed.

Sisters separated for two years at last saw each other again. Miss Zhang threw her arms around her elder sister, who stood there like a wooden puppet, and wept aloud. All the bitterness of the past rushed out in tears and fell into the dust. Daoist Dust sighed. He only hoped Miss Zhang’s arrival might awaken the elder sister of the Zhang family. Gently, he closed the room door and gave the two sisters their space.

When he returned to his own room, he was nearly undone. A monkey and a fox were sprawled across his bed, snoring away, but the worst of it was that the blanket had somehow been split in two, with one half at the head of the bed and the other at the foot. Daoist Dust turned his head, grabbed the two troublesome creatures, and carried them back into the sisters’ room.

“I’m going out for a while. Please watch these two for me for two days.”

He did not wait for a reply before leaving.

There are bandits in the mountains and pirates on the water. Today, Daoist Dust was seeking out a gang of river pirates living by extorting so-called fish taxes along the Yangtze.

The Yangtze was broad, with many sandbars scattered through its waters. Such places had long been havens for river thieves and roaming brigands. By the time the lamps were first being lit, Daoist Dust was already standing on one of those sandbars. Across the reeds, he had pinpointed several places where campfires were burning.

He changed back into his robe and cloud shoes, walking over the water as though on level ground. Passing through the reeds, he went straight to the pirates’ hideout. Outside the campfire, the thieves who had been eating meat in great mouthfuls and drinking wine from large bowls with unrestrained laughter were all startled by his sudden appearance.

“Supreme Heavenly Venerate, what fine leisure you enjoy,” Daoist Dust said, giving his salutation. Then he strode forward.

At once the bandits, who were ordinarily used to nothing more than killing and setting fires, grew tense. In their pitch-dark nest, some outsider had arrived. If someone said he was a dragon crossing the river, no one would doubt it.

“Where did this damned priest come from, daring to come here?” The leader of the river pirates drew his blade: a short knife clearly of military make. With their leader in front, the others quickly took up their own weapons. They were a ragged assortment; some even carried fish spears. All pointed them at Daoist Dust, waiting only for their leader’s command to hack the priest to pieces.

“This poor Daoist has come for one question. If you answer truthfully, I can show mercy. Otherwise, you should all wash your hands of this life and begin anew.” Daoist Dust did not even glance at the weapons in their hands, speaking entirely at his own pace.

“If you want answers, then go ask in the underworld first!” These pirates were no saints either. Driven into a corner, they charged with blades in hand.

Daoist Dust smiled coldly and made a gesture with his left hand. The pirates’ weapons slipped from their grips all at once and clattered around him to the ground. The thieves were shocked senseless and stopped in their tracks. Clearly, what stood before them was beyond all their understanding. They hesitated, not daring to advance.

“So you only prey on the weak by relying on weapons after all.” Daoist Dust sneered. With a wave of his sleeve, the knives, swords, staffs, and other weapons on the ground came alive as if possessed and shot toward the pirates.

The pirates were nearly frightened out of their wits and fled in all directions. Yet the weapons seemed to have eyes; there was nowhere to hide. Amid a chorus of howls, the pirates were struck down one by one, grievously injured but not killed. They writhed on the ground in agony.

Daoist Dust swept his gaze across them and walked slowly to a pirate with a full beard. This man gritted his teeth and made not a sound. Daoist Dust was very satisfied. Now this was the bearing of a hero. Unlike the others, who rolled on the ground like women and wailed like infants, what kind of brave man was that?

“I will ask only one question. After that, I will leave. Otherwise, there are many good places to silence people on this thousand-mile stretch of the Yangtze. What do you say?” His tone was easy, but the meaning was anything but.

The pirates had no doubt he meant every word.

“Fine. Ask. I hope you keep your word. If I answer, you let us go.”

Daoist Dust gave no answer either way.

“Who ordered you to do what happened to the Zhang family in Riverwater Village?”

The bearded pirate stared blankly for a moment, then his eyes darted away. He did not answer at once.

“What, do you really not fear death?” Daoist Dust asked with interest.

“We truly do not understand what the Daoist priest means.” The bearded pirate clenched his teeth against the pain.

“Oh?” Daoist Dust nodded and went to the pirate beside him. “Do you know? If you do, I’ll spare you.”

“I really don’t know, sir. I’m just a small-time lackey.” Daoist Dust shook his head and continued to the next man. “And you? Speak, and I’ll let you live.”

He went around once, then returned to the bearded pirate and smiled. “It seems none of you know. Then I can only send you on your way. Truly on your way. After all, once you reach the underworld, you’ll still have to talk.”

The bearded man was a little dazed and did not understand what Daoist Dust meant. But very soon, Daoist Dust gave him the answer.

He took out a talisman and, with a flick against the wind, set it alight without flame. Then he murmured an incantation.

At once, cold wind rose suddenly over the small sandbar, and the temperature plunged. The campfires, too, grew faint and guttering. Even more horrifying, the red flames gradually turned dotted with green light, becoming especially eerie.

The sound of the Yangtze’s waves remained unchanged, but the sandbar had become terrifying indeed. From far off on the river, a few ghostly flames drifted over, bobbing up and down in the air, uncertain and dim. Soon they reached the crowd and transformed into several grim underworld constables, wrapped in dense ghostly aura.

“We pay respects to the True Person.”

The ghostly officers did not dare be the least bit discourteous. Daoist Dust nodded in return. Then he asked them, “These river pirates are steeped in crime. What punishment would they likely receive in the underworld?”

“Oh, let us check.” The ghost officers immediately turned and muttered a few words of ghost speech to the others behind them. One of the officers vanished at once, clearly having gone to the underworld. Less than half an incense stick later, the missing officer reappeared. After a torrent of ghostly exchanges, the officer reported back to Daoist Dust:

“The bearded leader is the pirate chief, named Chen Dawei. He is a deserter, a criminal, guilty of robbery, oppression, extortion, trafficking in human beings, and has nine lives on his hands, one of them his own brother’s. Such monstrous crime merits the eighteenth level of hell, where he shall suffer endless torment and never be reborn. As for the one beside him, named He Laoliu, his sins are no less small...”

The underworld officer listed the charges and punishments in the afterlife one by one for all the pirates. The bandits, including the bearded leader, had already nearly forgotten their injuries; their faces were as white as paper. In their daily lives they had committed every evil deed, and it was not as though they had never considered retribution. But they had always thought it distant, perhaps even mere nonsense. Otherwise, why had heaven never come to collect them?

Now, with their own eyes they saw the underworld officers and heard with their own ears the punishments awaiting them in hell. How could they not panic? They all turned their eyes toward the bearded leader. By now, even the bearded one had lost his wits. The underworld officer’s single mention of the eighteenth level of hell, of never being reborn, plunged him into an icy abyss. His face turned dusky purple, and he could not speak.

Seeing the pirates’ expressions, Daoist Dust clapped his hands and said, “Everyone, I shall send you into the Yangtze at once. It won’t be long before your breath is gone. Then your souls may leave your bodies and follow these fine officers to the underworld. I’m sure you are all heroes, and should not be afraid.”

His words were light. The pirates heard them like a death sentence. One by one, they burst into truly heartbroken sobs. Death itself had now become a trivial matter; the real catastrophe was going to the underworld and entering hell. Each of them wept with bitter remorse, grief overwhelming.

Daoist Dust paid no heed. The underworld officers could not seize living souls while their breath remained. So long as these bandits still breathed, they could not be taken away.

Thus, like a commander counting his troops, Daoist Dust casually seized one fellow who looked especially rough around the edges, lifted him in one hand, and prepared to throw him into the river.