Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dad and the others finally returned at five the next morning.

When I rose to open the gate, I found an old wooden sword hanging from it. I had no idea when it had appeared.

A short, plump old man followed Dad into the courtyard. He wore glasses, a wide-collared shirt, leather shoes, and a hiking pack.

I stared in surprise. He could have belonged to almost any profession—except that of a Taoist.

Grandma hurried from her room, calling, “Taoist Cui! Taoist Cui!” until the old man gave an embarrassed chuckle.

So this really was Cui Mingzhang, the Maoshan Taoist?

We welcomed him inside. The village chief soon arrived, and everyone crowded around to ask whether the Formation could be restored.

Cui drank half a bowl of tea, settled into a chair, and spent some time explaining how the Eighty-Eight Buddha Formation blended Buddhism and Taoism and guided souls toward the Pure Land.

When he saw our patience wearing thin, he finally said, “I have calculated the matter. The statues were removed less than three days ago and returned quickly to their original positions. If I conduct another ritual, the Formation can still be restored.”

The tension drained from everyone’s faces.

Dad asked when he would begin.

Cui closed his eyes and slowly stroked his fingers together.

“At noon, when the sun is most fierce.”

We waited until midday, then accompanied him to the reservoir. Word that the Taoist had arrived drew half the village to watch.

Cui placed a school desk before the statues and arranged incense, candles, ritual paper, flowers, tea, fruit, wine, a Seven-Star Lamp, and a bronze mirror upon it.

He changed into Taoist robes and lit the lamp. Sword in one hand, he took a rooster in the other, cut its comb, smeared the blood on his fingers, and used it to draw talismans across the mirror.

Then he burned sheets of ritual paper and flung them into the air, brandishing his sword while chanting under his breath.

Before long, the statue nearest the altar began to tremble as if in an earthquake.

The crowd exclaimed in amazement. Taoist Cui clearly possessed genuine skill.

His movements grew wider and more violent. Sweat poured down his face, whether from the heat or the exertion of the rite, I could not tell.

Then he gradually stopped.

His gaze fixed on one particular Buddha, which was shaking harder than all the others.

Cui swallowed, his expression tightening.

With a sudden bang, the statue’s head exploded.

Every one of us recoiled.

Cui collapsed to the ground, wiping sweat from his forehead.

What had happened? Had the Formation failed?

Dad rushed forward and helped him up.

Cui’s entire body streamed with sweat. Pointing at the shattered statue, he stammered, “Th-this Buddha… someone replaced it.”