Chapter 68: Lian Yu Makes Her Debut

At this moment, Uncle Mao was sitting in his cell, digging at his toes, completely lacking any trace of dignity. Under his mop of disheveled hair, his beady little eyes darted about, and the two wisps of his mustache rose and fell with each breath. Dawn was already breaking outside, probably past five. The shops along the road had already opened, and quite a few farmers from the countryside were driving their tricycles loaded with fresh vegetables toward the city’s major markets.

But what drew the most attention was a long, black Mercedes that had come to a halt in front of the detention center in Z City. The car door swung open, and Li Fei, unfazed by the gazes of strangers, hopped out in his pajamas, his swollen belly leading the way, and rolled inside like a ball of flesh.

Four security guards explained Li Fei’s identity and signaled to the detention officers to open the main gate, leading them to Uncle Mao’s cell. The door was unlocked, and they were ushered inside.

It was a cool summer morning, and Li Fei’s sweat-soaked pajamas clung to him, his nose already streaming. He wore white pajamas with black leather shoes and, raising his sleeves to wipe his nose, squeezed through the iron door. As soon as he entered, he displayed his unique skill—just as he’d clung to Wang Sheng’s leg at the Li residence before. Li Fei threw himself at Uncle Mao, latching onto his leg, bawling and wailing, “Uncle Mao, I was wrong! You have to save me!” Rubbing his snot and tears all over Uncle Mao, he left the old man wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Uncle Mao had intended to put on airs, but to his annoyance, there was simply no room for that now—Li Fei wept so fiercely he was practically a man made of tears.

But Uncle Mao was trained in martial arts. Despite Li Fei’s massive bulk, Chinese martial arts are profound—four ounces to move a thousand pounds. Uncle Mao made a deft motion and flung Li Fei off him. Watching Li Fei prepare to lunge again, he bellowed, “Damn it, take one more step and I swear I’ll never do feng shui for the Li family again!” He stepped back, avoiding another leg-hug.

Li Fei, hearing this, stopped dead and forced a smile, bowing respectfully. “Uncle Mao, does that mean you agree?” He took a step forward.

“Stay right there!” Uncle Mao barked, squeezing past the iron door, only to be stopped by the detention officers.

Rules are rules: inmates cannot leave their cells, and even with bail, there’s a series of procedures that take at least three days.

But Li Fei was desperate, pressured by the zombie crisis—he couldn’t wait that long. So, he strode out, whipped out a checkbook, scribbled swiftly, and before long pressed a check for a million yuan into the hands of one officer. Patting his belly, he declared, “Take the money, I’m taking the man!” He signaled the four security guards to escort Uncle Mao to the long Mercedes, then waddled after them, his head craned forward, feet splayed in his black shoes, and white pajamas flapping as he climbed aboard. The sight of his retreating figure was truly comical.

As the Mercedes sped off, leaving a cloud of dust behind, the stunned officer was left clutching the million-yuan check, unsure what to do.

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Meanwhile, Wang Sheng, Tong Xuan, and I were still in Li Fei’s small villa. By now, the sun was up, nearly seven o’clock, and as the car pulled up in front, we stepped outside.

Li Fei personally got out to open the door for Uncle Mao, ushering him inside, pouring tea, massaging his legs and shoulders—doing everything to please him. One wonders if he’d be so attentive if he knew the zombie was already dead.

Uncle Mao, gesturing at Li Fei, said helplessly, “Enough, stop kneading me or I’ll be crippled. Go change your clothes, call that half-immortal you mentioned the other day and have him come. Then we’ll go lay your ancestors to rest together.” He shook Li Fei’s hand from his shoulder.

Li Fei nodded repeatedly. “Alright, I’ll go right away!” He hurried upstairs to change, then called Lian Yu.

About ten minutes later, Li Fei came down in a crisp suit, hair slicked back, and sat beside Uncle Mao. “Uncle Mao, it’s settled. Lian Yu said to meet at the cemetery plot he picked for my family. Let’s head out!”

Uncle Mao twirled his mustache. “Alright then.” He rose and strode out, hands clasped behind his back, Li Fei trailing behind.

The three of us watched this scene with inner disdain—Uncle Mao putting on airs again. But there was nothing to be done; we had no choice but to follow and ride in the long Mercedes toward our destination.

The buildings along the road grew shorter; it was clear we were leaving the city and heading for the outskirts. The drive was only two or three hours, and the way was flanked by lush green woods, like scenes from a feng shui painting.

We soon arrived at our destination. Parked there was a Buick, beside which stood a young man, about twenty, holding a compass swaying from side to side, red strings stretched all around him as if he were setting up a formation.

There weren’t many of us this time: aside from myself, Wang Sheng, Tong Xuan, and Uncle Mao, it was just Li Fei, Lian Yu, and the four security guards.

We got out of the car. When Wang Sheng raised his hand to greet Lian Yu, Uncle Mao quickly covered his mouth and made a “shh” gesture, signaling for silence.

Uncle Mao signaled everyone to stay put, then walked over to Lian Yu, muttering incantations I couldn’t understand.

Uncle Mao approached Lian Yu, raised two fingers to his chest, and intoned, “Heaven and Earth align, brilliance dispels the curse, reveal the serpent gu, let it be done!” Then he tapped the red string Lian Yu had laid out, and all the strings began to move of their own accord.

Lian Yu, who had been meditating with eyes closed, opened them and replied, “Star of the Northern Dipper, swift as a thousand miles, the Six Jia open, no calamity may come!” With that, he stepped from within the red cords, placed two fingers atop his head, and saluted Uncle Mao.

Good grief, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—they were exchanging secret incantations! So Uncle Mao knew the Book of Divination too. But I’d heard that those who studied it were always fated to lack something in life.

Still, I couldn’t help wondering why Uncle Mao placed his fingers at his chest while Lian Yu put them on his head. Could this be some kind of Taoist rank? Was Lian Yu’s master on the same level as Uncle Mao?

Uncle Mao waved us over and introduced himself. When it was Wang Sheng’s turn, he copied Uncle Mao’s gesture, raising two fingers to his chest, only to be walloped by Uncle Mao. Only then, through this violent correction, did he learn: unless your master has passed away or you’re facing a fellow cultivator of the same rank, you must place your fingers atop your head—otherwise, it’s a grave disrespect.

So, Wang Sheng’s beating wasn’t in vain, and Tong Xuan snickered behind Uncle Mao’s back. Wang Sheng, meanwhile, was left sulking.

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(Comic interlude: Liu Bei heads to the restroom and finds Guan Yu reading a book inside. When Guan Yu sees Liu Bei, he tosses the book to him and runs out, pulling up his pants. Liu Bei looks at the cover, blushes, and shouts after him, “Guan Yu, you’re always reading lewd books—no wonder your face is always so red!” Dear friends, you’re welcome to read more of Xiaodong’s novel. Thank you for your support.)