Chapter 48 — The Town

A cry of astonishment went up from the crowd. The giant turned and swept his eyes over those around him, and at once the townsfolk fell silent. Then in a deep, booming voice he said: "I am Shitou, sole disciple of the Vajra Sect's master, the Venerable Great Strength. My master sent me out to cultivate, and I have come here today to perform this one good deed for you all."

Zhang Qingyue was taken aback, and searched his memory, but never had he heard of any cultivation sect called the Vajra Sect.

Everyone was staring at the man. By now the headman and the others had hurried over, and coming before the giant who called himself Shitou, the headman said cautiously: "Good sir... this demon is exceedingly fierce. It is not — ahem — not merely a matter of strength. There may well be danger to your life. Will you not reconsider?"

The giant nodded, glanced at the headman, and said in his booming voice: "Do you not believe me?"

Under that great stare the headman felt a chill at heart, and summoning his nerve he said: "N-no, no, I only meant to warn you."

The giant turned and looked about him, and after a moment his gaze settled on the brick wall where the notice had been pasted.

"Do you have any use for this wall?"

The headman started, puzzled. "It is of no particular use day to day — only for pasting up notices."

The giant called Shitou chuckled, then suddenly shouted: "Stand back!"

His voice was like a thunderclap, and Zhang Qingyue's own ears rang from it, to say nothing of the other townsfolk, whose faces all paled. In a trice a great open space had cleared in the square, with only the giant standing in the middle.

He knit his brows and raised his hand across his body, then suddenly stamped his right foot hard upon the ground, formed a seal with one hand, and swiftly muttered a short spell under his breath, then cried aloud:

"Rise!"

"Whoosh" — a gale burst forth all at once from the giant's body and roared past the ears of the crowd, nearly bowling them over. The people paled and staggered back several more steps. Golden light flared, and the giant had brought forth a huge wolf-tooth club all of gold, hanging crosswise in midair, blazing with golden radiance and graven with two characters, "Breaking Evil," which gave it a certain solemn dignity.

The crowd cheered at once, but Zhang Qingyue, standing among them, knit his brows. In years past he had received from Puzhao the true dharma of the "Great Brahma Prajna," and though no one had taught him since, he had secretly practiced it without cease, and so he knew something of the methods of Buddhist cultivation. The wolf-tooth club this giant called Shitou had summoned, its golden light and solemnity, and the gestures with which he worked his magic — these resembled Puzhao of old, and likely had some kinship with the Buddhist line of cultivation.

This golden wolf-tooth club was vast beyond measure, seeming even larger than its master. Now Shitou held it aloft in the air, golden light streaming from it; he opened wide his eyes, pointed with his dharma seal, and the club shrieked through the air and came crashing down.

The crowd cried out!

"Boom!" — in the mighty din, dust flew up, and the brick wall, sound enough a moment before, was ground to powder in an instant beneath his power.

"Wah..." The townsfolk stood dumbstruck, then every face broke into smiles. With such power as this giant had, subduing the Three-Tailed Fox would surely be child's play. The headman stepped forward first, chuckling without cease. "Good sir Shitou, what skill! We leave it in your hands."

Shitou nodded.

The headman paused, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. Then he said: "There is one matter, however, on which I hope you will be understanding."

This giant called Shitou, whose voice seemed always to boom, spoke as ever: "Say on, old sir."

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!"