Volume One, Chapter Three: The Mad Master

For several days in a row, there was still no sign of Master. So, Hongkun once again put forward the idea from that night. Although Hongpeng was somewhat reluctant, he ultimately couldn’t resist his senior brother’s wishes and could only go out in search of a new recruit as suggested. Hongkun stayed at home, keeping an eye on Yibing, lest Master suddenly appear.

When Hongpeng prepared to leave again, Yibing looked sorrowful. Ever since Senior Brother Peng brought home the family letter, Yibing had abandoned the thought of running away. Each day, he woke naturally and spent his time discussing what to eat with Senior Brother Peng. Over several days, the two got along extremely well; unlike Senior Brother Kun, who always wore a stern face and occasionally slapped him.

Time flew by, and half a month passed in the blink of an eye. The new month’s first day was approaching, and Senior Brother Kun grew increasingly restless. The previous agreement with Master was on the first day, but the old man hadn’t come. Perhaps he had misremembered the month—this first day, surely he should arrive. That fool Peng had spent half a month eating and drinking outside and hadn’t brought back a single feather! Every day, paper cranes carried messages: first he found a promising candidate, but the family disagreed; then another, but claimed the child was so dim he couldn’t tell left from right. That’s not merely dim—that’s witless! He went on about having found seven or eight, but none were suitable. In the end, Senior Brother Kun began to suspect Peng was purposely dragging his feet. Yet Peng argued reasonably: at least Yibing had achieved the impossible, proving weight didn’t affect speed! If the recruit couldn’t even match Yibing, then Yibing was preferable. With no other option, Kun instructed him to hurry; if he couldn’t find anyone, he must return before the first day. Facing that mad Master alone was truly terrifying.

Sure enough, the day before the first, Hongpeng trotted home. He hadn’t brought back a disciple, but had eaten so well he was plump and fair, especially so pale that it was hard to believe he’d spent his days seeking recruits under sun and wind.

“Senior Brother, these are vegetarian drumsticks made from tofu!” Hongpeng feigned ignorance of Kun’s suspicious gaze and ignored him entirely.

“Hm? You brat, mocking me again!” Though he said so, faced with a large package, Senior Brother Kun immediately forgot all his troubles and eagerly began to eat. Truthfully, with Peng gone, neither he nor Yibing could cook properly; Yibing bounced around every day, and Kun himself could barely force down his meals. He’d had enough misery.

“Where’s Yibing?”

“Sleeping.”

“Still asleep? I’ll go wake him!”

“No need! My cooking is so awful, he wakes at the smell. With something this fragrant, he’ll get up on his own…” Kun hurriedly stopped Hongpeng with a grin. After half a month, he understood this little rascal thoroughly.

“What’s that wonderful smell?” Before the words were finished, Yibing rolled over with eyes still closed.

“Tch! Your Senior Brother Peng brought it!” Kun glanced at Yibing with disdain.

“Wow—Senior Brother Peng, you’re back! These days, I haven’t had a full meal… wow—” Yibing rushed into Peng’s arms, nearly knocking him over.

“Nonsense!” Kun couldn’t help but kick him.

Early the next morning, Hongkun and Hongpeng rose before dawn. They were too anxious to practice, so after a simple breakfast, they craned their necks waiting in the house. Yet even at midnight, Master hadn’t appeared, so the three retired to their rooms.

Before dawn, a thunderous crash echoed in the courtyard, jolting even Yibing, who couldn’t be woken by a storm, upright in bed. A man began cursing in the courtyard: “Kun! Peng! You pair of rascals, why did you move the pond?! Dammit!”

“Master… Master… we didn’t…”

Smack! Smack! The sound of slaps made Yibing shudder.

“Didn’t move it? Then why do I fall in every time?!”

“Master… couldn’t you just look down when you descend?”

Smack! Another slap.

“I am a mighty immortal! Look down? The pond should move aside when it sees me coming!”

“All right… today we’ll fill it in for you!”

“No! If you fill it in, I’ll break your legs! I refuse to believe I land in it every time! Next time—” Master was stubborn indeed.

“Master…”

“Right, where’s the disciple I asked you to find?”

“In the house… sleeping, I’ll fetch him!”

“No need! Lead the way!”

Already dressed, Yibing stood up nervously. The door swung open, and a short middle-aged man entered. Though his attire was odd, neither quite Taoist nor otherwise, he had an immortal air, and water dripped from him. On closer inspection, his features were refined, and he wore—not three, but four long strands of beard! The central strand was deliberately split into two, and perhaps because his beard was so long, the four strands were tied together.

“Hahahahaha…” Yibing couldn’t help himself. Hongkun, who had slipped in unnoticed, was so furious he almost bent his nose, and kicked Yibing: “Kneel! Call him Master!”

“Hehe… Master… hehe…” Yibing dropped to his knees with a thud, nearly bouncing Master off the ground. Master’s face went pale as he circled Yibing nervously, round and round, while sweat broke out on the foreheads of the Hong brothers. Sure enough, Master stepped forward and slapped both of them.

“Brats! I told you to find a disciple, not a fat one…” Master’s beard floated.

“He’s… not ordinary… he can catch rabbits…” Hongpeng stammered.

“Just him?” Master glanced at Yibing, mouth curling in disdain.

“Really, Master… ah—” Master slapped Hongpeng again.

“If you take him out, people will laugh their teeth out! Have you ever seen a disciple this fat? Others have ethereal maidens trailing behind; I’d have a round fat boy—she’d laugh herself to death…” Master scratched his head.

“She?” The brothers exchanged a glance.

“Hey! Fatty, what were you laughing at?” Master turned fiercely to Yibing.

Yibing’s round face drooped instantly: “Nothing… your beard is very handsome…” Hongkun turned green beside him.

“Really?” Master was unexpectedly delighted.

“Mm mm…” Yibing nodded uncertainly. But before he finished, Master slapped him: “Nonsense! You’re mocking me! They’re all laughing at me… all laughing…” He stared out the window, lips trembling.

“Master, please don’t…” Hongkun’s eyes misted.

“You… you’re all laughing at me…” Master suddenly lowered his head in sadness.

“No, Master, we’re not… we’ll find you another disciple!” Hongpeng’s face flushed with anxiety.

“Find another? What, you think I can’t teach him?!” Master’s eyes blazed at Hongpeng, who hid behind Hongkun.

“Master, master, whatever you say!” Hongkun hurried to support him, but Master kicked him to the ground: “Whatever I say? You’re just lying to me…”

“Master…” Exposed before Master, Hongpeng was terrified. But Master merely looked at him, then turned away in disappointment.

“Fatty, do you truly wish to be my disciple?” Master looked at Yibing with a mournful air. The brothers behind him anxiously nudged Yibing; Hongkun even gestured toward his sword.

“Master… I… I’m sincere!” Yibing glanced at his two desperate senior brothers as he spoke.

“Really?” Master still doubted.

“Really! Master, I swear to heaven!” As soon as Yibing spoke, the brothers covered their faces in anguish, leaving Yibing bewildered.

“Swear to heaven! What does he count for… why swear to him…” Master was as if his tail had been stepped on.

“…Master, I swear to you!” Quick-witted, Yibing changed his oath.

Master paused: “Heh… this child can be taught…” He turned to the Hong brothers: “This fatty’s not bad!” The brothers nodded like garlic cloves.

“Fatty, what’s your name?” Master’s sudden gentleness made Yibing’s hair stand on end—like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“My name is…” Yibing started, but Hongkun jumped in: “He’s called Yibing! Like a flatbread!”

“I asked him!” Master glared at Hongkun, who retreated.

“…Yes, I’m called Yibing…” Seeing his brothers’ frantic gestures, Yibing nodded.

“Can you read?” Master interrupted.

“Yes… not much! All taught by Mr. Liu at the village school…”

“Who is Mr. Liu?!” Master’s face changed instantly.

“Mr. Liu is their village’s poor scholar, only knows two characters! Not an immortal!” Hongkun hurriedly kicked Yibing.

“Oh, a poor scholar! I thought…” Master’s expression softened.

“Immortal?” Yibing’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Hongkun came over and kicked him again: “Master is Master, not some immortal! Don’t let your imagination run wild!”

“You…” Yibing pouted in anger.

“Master, Master, what will you teach him today?” Hongpeng, who had been hiding, suddenly jumped out.

“Teach? Didn’t I teach him yesterday?” Master stared at Hongpeng, who froze.

“Master, this is the fourth, not the other three… Look at his build…” Hongkun knew Master was confused.

“Right, right!” Master slapped himself: “First, induction, induction…” He pulled out a stack of sutras from his robe and handed one to Yibing.

“Master, we’ll go out then…” Before Master could reply, the Hong brothers hurried out, not daring to go far but sitting on the steps outside. Even so, they felt much lighter, at least free from Master’s slaps.

But they hadn’t sat half an hour before Master’s shouting and the sound of slaps rang out inside, followed by Yibing’s earth-shaking wails. Hongkun sighed; sure enough, after a while, Master stormed out.

“Go, go, fetch some food!”

“…Are you hungry?”

“Nonsense! This wretched fatty can’t recite the sutra, howls when slapped, and claims he’s hungry! Hurry, this wailing is unbearable…”

“Yes, yes, Master…” Hongkun ran to the kitchen, chuckling.

Perhaps after two steamed buns, there were no more cries until noon. While Hongpeng cooked lunch, Hongkun peeked through the door crack. What he saw nearly made him burst out laughing.

Inside, Master and disciple sat cross-legged. Yibing held the sutra, shaking his head as he recited. Master, left hand holding a bun, right hand slapping Yibing’s face from time to time, but whenever Yibing opened his mouth to cry, Master stuffed a bun in it.

After lunch, Master remembered to take in two pancakes. Indeed, the afternoon passed peacefully until dusk, when Master finally emerged.

“Hmm… this fatty…” Master sighed.

“Master, please sit, have tea!” The brothers had prepared tea and snacks in the courtyard.

“You pair of rascals! Finding a disciple like this, are you trying to wear me out?” Master kicked them both.

“Is he too dim? If so, we’ll find a smarter one!” Hongkun kneaded Master’s shoulders, while Hongpeng rolled his eyes.

“He’s not really dim, just keeps saying he’s hungry. If I don’t feed him, he cries! Give him food, and he memorizes the sutra in two or three tries! Damn…” Master grumbled, though his face showed no anger.

“Master, no cursing!” Hongpeng quickly corrected him.

Before Master could reply, Hongkun slapped him: “That’s not cursing, it’s just colloquial.”

Master glanced at Hongkun, thinking, “This boy really knows how to talk.”

“Master, I think he can eat!” Hongpeng rubbed his face. “Don’t judge by his size—he’s fast when chasing rabbits!”

“Rabbits?!” Master’s eyes went wide.

“No, Master…” Hongkun’s face changed, about to explain, when Master shouted and soared into the clouds.

“Gone mad again…” Hongpeng stared at the sky.

“All your fault, mentioning rabbits!” Hongkun raised his hand in anger.

“What’s wrong? Oh, right…” Hongpeng realized belatedly, and stuck out his tongue.