Chapter 15: The Phantom’s Assault
Uncle San’s death—most likely, the culprits were Uncle Dazhuang and Uncle Wangcai!
I don’t really blame them. In those flood years, survival was all that mattered!
When faced with survival, notions of bad luck or superstition become meaningless and hollow.
Yet their approach was undeniably reckless.
By the time we emerged from the ancient tomb and returned to the village, evening had already fallen.
Master Zhang was in high spirits. Although we found nothing significant, at least he had picked up a treasure from the ground.
On the way back, he eagerly took it out to examine.
It was golden in color; Master Zhang thought he had stumbled upon a great fortune.
Seeing this, I almost burst out laughing.
That thing wasn’t gold at all—it looked more like copper.
If I’m not mistaken, the older generation in the village used to smoke from pipe bowls, and that golden piece resembled the component at the front where tobacco was packed.
If Master Zhang knew this, he’d probably be furious.
...
Back at Uncle Wangcai’s courtyard, staring at the two coffins standing in the yard, I felt conflicted.
These two were once elders I deeply respected, yet they had done such things.
Even if it was to survive, their actions shattered the image I held of them.
“Let’s bury them soon,” Jiang Yuanshan’s voice whispered beside me. “Stop dragging it out. Death is the ultimate truth.”
I understood his meaning. Since Uncle Dazhuang and Uncle Wangcai caused this, and they are both dead, the matter should be closed.
“Then let’s open the coffins at dawn tomorrow,” I said. “Exhumation at dawn, burial at noon.”
“Alright, I’ll have everyone prepare,” Jiang Yuanshan nodded.
Watching him walk away, I recalled what Uncle Wangcai had said—that my father and grandfather didn’t quarrel solely over antiques.
To this day, I had no clue why. If not the antiques, then what?
My grandfather was hot-tempered, but during the time I spent with my father Jiang Yuanshan, I found him much more composed.
If I had to guess, the situation might have been the opposite.
My grandfather insisted on taking the antiques, but my father forbade it, leading to a fierce argument and the severing of their father-son relationship.
This wasn’t mere speculation; such a scenario fit their characters best.
...
Tonight was the last night everyone would keep vigil over Uncle Dazhuang and Uncle Wangcai.
No one chose to leave.
In the yard, someone had lit a bonfire.
Early autumn was approaching, and the air grew chillier.
Master Zhang had once again arranged for a chicken to be slaughtered for him in the village, nibbling on chicken stew with chunks of potato in a corner.
Seeing me wandering about, Master Zhang, clutching a bowl of chicken drumsticks, approached.
“You’re Jiang Chen, right? You seem to have some guts. How about becoming my apprentice?”
???
I was stunned.
Why would I want to apprentice under a fake Taoist?
It wasn’t that I disrespected Master Zhang, but his behavior made it hard to hold him in esteem.
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