Chapter Three: Escape

Just then, a young man came running recklessly, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Master Sun! Master Sun!”

Seeing the youth approaching and noticing no one behind him, Yun Da asked, “Where is Master Sun? You couldn’t get him? Didn’t you tell him it was the patriarch’s order?”

“I didn’t see Master Sun. The temple boy said he’s in seclusion, cultivating, and won’t be out until tomorrow.” The young man was gasping for breath, like a fish just hauled ashore, his tongue lolling like a panting dog.

“You foolish child…!” Yun Da slapped the breathless youth, but before he could follow through, the boy’s father grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him up with ease. The man’s eyes bulged like copper bells, his fist—wide as a bowl—was poised to strike Yun Da’s head.

“Enough!” The patriarch’s thunderous shout halted the blow just inches from Yun Da’s nose. As the head of the clan, his authority in the village was unmatched.

“At a time like this, you’re still making a scene? Tonight, every able-bodied man in the village will stand guard in shifts. Under no circumstances must that evil spirit escape!” The patriarch’s white beard trembled with anger—clearly, he was furious at Master Sun’s refusal to come. But the old Taoist’s authority was beyond his reach; after all, the man had the whole Daoist sect backing him. What was an old farmer from the countryside in comparison?

With those words, the patriarch turned and left. The crowd, seeing there was no more excitement to be had, gradually dispersed. Only a few young men pressed into service lingered reluctantly outside the fence. Madam Zhao, exhausted from the day’s ordeals, was hardly able to stand. But remembering that Yun Hao lay in bed unfed, she forced herself up, picked up the earthen pot, and went to the side room to fetch rice for porridge.

Evening deepened, and the young guards outside unconsciously huddled together. The spring air was still laced with chill, so they clustered around a bonfire. The flames not only offered warmth but also bolstered their courage. On a night like this, the best place to be was at home, perhaps thinking of some girl from the neighboring village. Who would care to keep watch over a corpse that might rise as a monster?

In the patriarch’s house, Yun Da was nervously probing for answers. “Patriarch, since Master Sun won’t come, why not just gather more firewood and burn the big house down? Why wait for him?” Once Yun Hao was dead, all his land and even his widow would fall into Yun Da’s hands. The old scoundrel couldn’t wait another quarter hour; the long night was sheer torment.

“What do you know? Burning an evil spirit takes Master Sun’s true Daoist fire—not some countryside chicken roast! You think just lighting a fire will do?” The patriarch wished he could strangle this useless bastard. If not for his gambling and wastrel ways, things would never have come to this. His past folly still made the patriarch feel he owed Yun Da; over the years, he’d helped him often under the guise of clan duty. But this good-for-nothing squandered it all. If the boy didn’t so closely resemble him, the patriarch would have doubted his own paternity.

Seeing the patriarch lose his temper, Yun Da dared not speak further. He shrank to the side, like a chastened child, not daring to show his impatience. Fortunately, Master Sun would emerge tomorrow. Once Yun Hao was burnt, both the land and the woman would be his.

Yun Hao drank a bowl of thin porridge. Though his mind was now clear and under his control, his body’s blood had not yet begun to flow freely. He had been dead for a day; his veins were all sealed. It would take three to five days of recovery before he could move as before.

“My poor child, your mother is useless. I can’t protect you. Tomorrow, they’re going to…” A small green lamp flickered on the table as Madam Zhao sobbed, her whole body trembling with each convulsive breath. Yun Hao tried to move, but only his upper body responded; his legs were as numb as those of a paralytic, entirely without sensation. He sighed inwardly at his misfortune—he’d been tricked by that old bastard, King Qin Guang. The thought of being burned alive tomorrow filled him with even more hatred. At least in his past life, he’d been cremated after he died. Now, to be burned alive—what kind of agony would that be?

Mother and son sat in silence, powerless to stop what awaited them the next day. Escape was out of the question; even if there were no guards outside, Yun Hao couldn’t move, and Madam Zhao, frail as she was, couldn’t carry him far.

Midnight approached. Dread of the coming punishment made Yun Hao almost wish the wardens of the underworld would come take his soul early. Just then, a head appeared at the rear window. A soft voice called, “Hao, Hao!”

Had the underworld envoys come to fetch him?

Yun Hao struggled to turn his head and saw a youth climbing in through the window. The boy wore homespun hemp clothes, his slender frame wrapped tightly, his muscles—lean and powerful like a leopard’s—were visible beneath the cloth.

“Yuan, what are you doing here?” Madam Zhao was startled to see the youth. Yun Hao searched his memory and recalled that this was Chu Yuan, one of the few villagers not surnamed Yun. His father had been close friends with Yun Hao’s own father. Their families had been connected for generations. Chu Yuan was three years older and had always treated Yun Hao as a younger brother. They were not brothers by blood, but closer than many who were.

“Aunt Yun, I came to see Hao. They say he’s an evil spirit. I don’t believe it! The men on watch have all fallen asleep, so I snuck in.” As he spoke, Chu Yuan climbed through the window.

“Good child… good child…” Madam Zhao was so overwhelmed she could only repeat those words.

“Auntie! My father doesn’t believe Hao is an evil spirit either. He sent me to take Hao away. He’s waiting on the hill behind the village—he says he can carry Hao to town. If we hire a cart at dawn, we can get away safely.” Chu Yuan, now inside, saw that apart from looking pale, Yun Hao seemed all right.

“Good child!” Madam Zhao wept anew, clutching Chu Yuan without knowing what to say. In times of crisis, one sees who truly cares; few would reach out a helping hand at such a moment.

Chu Yuan didn’t hesitate. He moved to lift Yun Hao’s arm. The warmth of his touch banished any lingering fear. He had planned to carry Yun Hao on his back, but now realized it wouldn’t be so simple—Yun Hao was heavier than before. And Chu Yuan himself was just over ten, not strong enough to lift him alone. The two of them couldn’t manage to get Yun Hao through the window.

“Tie two wooden poles together with a sheet.” Seeing the two boys sweating and struggling in vain, Yun Hao finally spoke. One boy couldn’t carry him, but with a stretcher, two could manage.

“Hao, you’re so clever.” Even in this crisis, Madam Zhao couldn’t help but praise her son. In haste, she and Chu Yuan fashioned a makeshift stretcher from two firewood poles and a bedsheet. Chu Yuan slipped out the window, and together they managed to carry Yun Hao outside.