Chapter 53

Yesterday, they’d made do with improvised bathroom arrangements in the wild. But today, with the courtyard neatly tidied, it was impossible to resort to such makeshift solutions. One glance at the rundown outhouse of the old temple told Nian Qi that Ruan Qing would rather hold it all day than step foot in there. So, he took a shovel, dug a pit in a corner of the courtyard, laid two wooden planks over it for footing, and used two broken cabinets from a collapsed shed as makeshift walls.

When Ruan Qing saw this DIY bathroom, she couldn’t help but think, Maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad. After all, who wouldn’t want to marry a dependable, skilled, calm partner who could cook, take care of others, fix anything, and keep his cool? If Nian Qi could bear children, Ruan Qing thought, there’d probably be men lining up to marry him too.

They couldn’t get a signal in the morning, so Nian Qi flew her up to a nearby mountain peak, where the connection was strong enough to call. She called Ruan Xiangyun, who seemed to be dealing with a commotion on the other end. “My father insists on going!” he said with exasperation, his voice competing with the loud arguing in the background, courtesy of Grandpa Qi’s booming voice.

When Grandpa Qi got worked up, his thick local dialect took over entirely. Despite being distant relatives, blood ties ran deep. Ruan Qing felt both guilty and touched, quickly saying, “Tell Grandpa Qi I’m fine. My ankle’s much better, and I can walk normally now, as long as I don’t run.”

“It’s not that,” Ruan Xiangyun replied. “When he heard you found the ‘wild hermit’s temple,’ he just lost it!”

“Can he make it over here?” she asked. “It’s pretty far.”

“He could, but it’ll take time,” Ruan Xiangyun replied. “There are ravines in these mountains. Ideally, you’d build a bridge, but without one, you can still cross with a rope tied at both ends and climb across.”

Ruan Xiangyun took advantage of the clear signal to ask, “Who’s the person you ran into, anyway? An old Taoist priest? My dad wants to know.” His usual Mandarin had slipped into a rural accent from Grandpa Qi’s loud background chatter.

“No, he’s a young man,” Ruan Qing said, trying to prepare Grandpa Qi for what he’d find. “The person from back then has already passed and is buried in the temple. Grandpa Qi will see the grave when he arrives.”

The other end of the line went quiet, presumably as Ruan Xiangyun relayed the message to Grandpa Qi.

After a pause, he asked, “Do you need anything else? Medicine, maybe?”

“No, no medicine needed. I’ll heal naturally with a bit of rest. Oh, but bring some toilet paper!” Ruan Qing quickly added, “And food, in case you can’t get back in one day. My foot should be good for hiking by tomorrow, but we’ll need water bottles for the spring water.”

“No worries. We’ll stay overnight in the mountains if needed. Are there blankets over there?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said, chuckling, “There’s a roof over our heads, but we sleep on straw with some torn-up fabric to cover. It’s freezing in the mountains, so if you stay overnight, make sure you bring warm clothes.”

Ruan Xiangyun already knew the mountain’s chill well, which is why he asked about the blankets in the first place. Ruan Qing added, “Oh, and bring some salt. He doesn’t have any here.”

“We’ll get right on it!” he promised.

After hanging up, Ruan Qing remarked, “My grandpa, at his age, is still insisting on coming just to see this temple. When he was young, he trekked into the mountains alone several times, carrying only some biscuits. Once, he ran out of food and got lost, surviving on wild tubers and berries to find his way back.” His youthful obsession with the temple still hadn’t faded. Nothing would stop him from finally seeing it.

This delay worked out in favor of Nian Qi and Ruan Qing, giving them extra time. Nian Qi brought out the book chest and arranged all the scriptures in the main hall, carefully setting things up so it truly looked as if someone was regularly here, reading, studying, and living. He laid out the ink, brushes, paper, and inkstone, and even complimented the ink, saying, “This is good stuff.”

Ruan Qing blinked, not seeing anything special about it. “What makes it good?”

“You can tell it was handmade,” Nian Qi explained. “Whether it was made when everyone was still here or later when Zaojiao was alone, it’s clear this wasn’t mass-produced by a stationery shop.” The clear marks of craftsmanship added authenticity, making his presence feel even more believable.

Nian Qi even copied a few pages of scripture, commenting, “I should make my handwriting a bit messier.”

Zaojiao’s handwriting, in Ruan Qing’s view, was fine enough. But Nian Qi, a perfectionist, found it poor, and Zaojiao himself had always said his handwriting was awful. People back then held high standards for their calligraphy.

“It varies from person to person,” Ruan Qing replied. “Some are born with beautiful handwriting. Just go with the flow—overdoing it could give you away.”

Nian Qi praised her thoughtfully: “You’re absolutely right. Going overboard is often the biggest flaw of all. Your thoroughness has saved us.”

Ruan Qing felt oddly pleased, even though she knew he was likely buttering her up. Why are people so shallow?

“Let’s go back,” he said, lifting her up. Though carrying her was much more work than giving her a piggyback, and flying took more energy than running, Nian Qi insisted on holding her, just to fulfill her dream of a martial arts romance. She was thoroughly delighted, and once they landed back at the temple, she kissed his lips. But she wouldn’t let him kiss back—his beard was just too prickly, much to his disappointment.

According to Ruan Qing’s instructions, Ruan Xiangyun’s group arrived well-prepared, bringing several coils of rope, warm clothes, blankets, food, water, ointment for Ruan Qing, the salt and toilet paper she requested, and even some extra supplies. Grandpa Qi led the way with a stick planted firmly in the ground, announcing, “I’m going, no matter what! I won’t rest in peace unless I see this place with my own eyes!”

Grandpa Qi had his dream to fulfill too. And so, they set off into the mountains. Along the way, whenever they got a signal, they sent Ruan Qing their location so she wouldn’t worry. By the time they reached the ravine Ruan Qing had described, it was already afternoon. The ravine itself wasn’t overly wide—about seven or eight meters—but it was still enough to halt human passage.

After all, even the world record for long jump is only about eight to nine meters. The ravine was deep, and in some places, there was nothing but open space, revealing the mountain as part of a fissured mountain range. From above, it might appear as just a small crack in the land, but to people on foot, it was an impassable barrier.

Grandpa Qi paced around several times before declaring, “I’ve been here before! I’ve been here!” He was devastated. It turned out he had found the right path back then, only to be stopped right here. The villagers inspected the edge and found some old stakes embedded in the ground. “There used to be a bridge here, but someone chopped it down.”

The clean cuts on the stakes indicated it was done deliberately, likely with axes or knives. It wasn’t natural decay that had destroyed it.

“Yes! There was a bridge!” Grandpa Qi exclaimed, pounding his chest in regret and frustration. “The village elders used to talk about a suspension bridge. My grandfather had even been to the temple before! The masters there were better healers than the doctors in town—when the doctors couldn’t help, people would carry the sick up to the temple. The Taoist priests would treat them without asking for payment and even gave out protective charms when people left!”

“I looked for that bridge so many times and couldn’t find it! I thought I had gone the wrong way!” But he hadn’t. He had actually found the right path at least twice, but the bridge was gone. Someone had chosen to sever all ties with the outside world and destroyed it. And they hadn’t just broken the bridge on one side; they demolished both ends entirely. The stakes were hidden in tall grass, obscured from view, and all later visitors saw was an impassable ravine with no clear path. Over time, even the faint trails left by past travelers disappeared, swallowed by nature.

This was where the ropes would come in handy. Ruan Qing had suggested a length of at least 26 meters, and thankfully, ropes were one thing the mountain villagers didn’t lack. Ruan Xiangyun and his group had brought more than enough. They set down their packs and fashioned a lasso, swinging it toward a rock across the gap. Unfortunately, even after several attempts, they couldn’t reach it, despite their strongest man giving it his all. He tired after a few throws, and the others had even less success. Grandpa Qi grew frustrated, muttering, “Useless!”

When he was young, Grandpa Qi had carried water up and down the mountain and had been fit and hardy; by his early teens, he dared to explore the mountains on his own for days. Nowadays, with paved roads leading to the village, the younger generation used electric scooters to get around, had pumps for water, and machines to irrigate their fields. Though they were still stronger than most city dwellers, they weren’t like the people of Grandpa Qi’s generation or those before them.

As they started suggesting, “Let’s rest and try again later,” a young girl’s voice suddenly called from the other side of the ravine: “Uncle Xiangyun! Grandpa Qi!”

Everyone looked up, spotting someone approaching across the gap. A man dressed in a worn Taoist robe with a traditional topknot was making his way toward them. His clothing was tattered, and his beard was rough and unkempt. Despite his steady pace, he seemed to move with impossible speed, and before they could fully process it, he was standing at the edge of the ravine, with Ruan Qing on his back.

Ruan Qing waved excitedly, then got down and greeted the group from across the ravine, asking, “Do you think you can get over here?”

Ruan Xiangyun sighed, “We’ve tried a few times, but no luck.” If they couldn’t get the rope across, they’d have to take the long way around—a detour of who knows how many kilometers, maybe even a hundred.

“Uncle, step back a bit, would you?” Ruan Qing said.

“Huh?” Ruan Xiangyun was about to ask why, but before he could, the man in the tattered robe suddenly took flight.

He flew!

For a few seconds, the world went silent, and time seemed to slow down as everyone’s eyes locked onto him in disbelief. The whole scene seemed to blur into a surreal, wide-lens focus, with everything but him fading into the background.

Grandpa Qi’s jaw dropped, and Secretary Ruan—a lifelong materialist, model government official, and staunch believer in communism, his entire worldview shaped by nine years of formal education—had his understanding of reality entirely turned on its head.