Now, Zhang Shifang had settled the sheds and the bier1 and had two bills written out. He had left no deposit on either, and the four hundred taels of silver were still tucked inside his coat. He came back to see the old lady, and she asked him, “Child, have you settled the sheds and the bier?” “Aunt, you needn’t trouble your head over it,” said Zhang Shifang. “When I handle a thing, it’s done handsomely. When our family puts up sheds, we can’t have people laughing at us. I’ve ordered a ridged shed over the courtyard, with a raised ridge and rows of tiles all along it. At the back there’s a warm shed for the guests, wrapped in fine matting on both faces so that not a stick of timber shows, covered all over with ornamental work, with glass windows on all four sides and a five-coloured skylight. At the gate there’s an archway spanning the street, ridged and ornamented, with coloured silk festoons tied on and a stand for the drummers. Inside there’s the platform for the hungry-ghost rite2, built up as a great decorated dais, hung with five-coloured silks, with a moon gate tied up, railings, a terrace and brocade carpet on the ground. Before the coffin, a round gateway set with glass like the full moon, decked with coloured silk and an archway. All round, a terrace with glass railings. If somebody else had haggled for a shed like this, it would have cost a thousand taels for sure. I’ve got it for only eight hundred. That’s two hundred taels saved by my haggling, straight off. When I handle a thing, I can’t have my cousin come home and grumble.” The old lady, being only a woman, what did she understand of such things? All she said was, “That’s not much, not much.” Wang Xiao was standing to one side. When Zhang Shifang had finished, he said, “Young Master Zhang, which shop did you order the sheds from?” “The Tianhe Matshed Shop,” said Zhang Shifang. “I haggled at the Tianhe Matshed Shop too,” said Wang Xiao. “Everything just as you said, not one thing short — if a single thing is short, don’t you accept it — but the price I got was four hundred taels. And tell me this too: how much did you settle on for the bier?” “Sixteen hundred taels,” said Zhang Shifang. “I settled on eight hundred,” said Wang Xiao, “and for exactly the same things you’re having.” Zhang Shifang was taken aback when he heard this, but the young rascal really did have a glib tongue and a quick wit. At once he said, “Aunt, don’t listen to them. They mean to drive me off so they can make the money themselves. Nobody gets it that cheap!” The old lady sighed. “Wang Xiao, why must you do this? Would my own nephew make money out of me? Off with you.” When Wang Xiao heard the old lady say her nephew wouldn’t make money out of her, he said to himself, “All my good intentions, wasted.” In a huff he turned and went out. The servants were sitting in the gatehouse, every one of them angry. “That young Zhang Shifang has the heart of a wolf and the lungs of a dog,” said one. “I just hope our young master comes home soon,” said another. “Then the young rascal will have to clear off, and we’ll be spared him lording it here as the second master of the house.”

While they were all grumbling away, they heard a voice outside: “Limitless Buddha! This humble Daoist roams the Three Mountains3 at leisure and tramps the Five Peaks to ease his heart, seeking the Way and studying to become an immortal. This humble Daoist is the Daoist Meihua of Meihua Ridge on Mount Meihua.” The servants looked, and there stood a Daoist, one of the feathered scholars in yellow caps4, a man of the Mysterious Gate. On his head he wore a nine-ridged Daoist cap of black satin, and he was dressed in a Daoist robe of sapphire-blue satin set off by a black collar, with an apricot-yellow silk cord about his waist, white socks and cloud shoes. On his back he carried a sword in a green sharkskin scabbard, with yellow silk tassels and a yellow silk wrist cord, and in his hand he held a fly whisk. His face was pale gold, his brows fine and his eyes bright, his nose straight and his mouth square, and three strands of black beard floated on his chest, each hair distinct against the skin. Truly he was an immortal in bearing and in bone, a figure far out of the common run. “What brings you here, Daoist Master?” the servants asked. The old Daoist answered, “This humble Daoist is the Daoist Meihua of Meihua Ridge on Mount Meihua. I was sitting in meditation in my cave when my heart-blood stirred. I reckoned on my fingers and knew that Wang the Good was in trouble, so this humble Daoist rode an auspicious cloud here to save him. Go in, all of you, and announce me. This humble Daoist wants not a penny in money or goods. I do it only to fulfil a deed of merit.” “Daoist Master,” said the servants, “you’ve come to save our master the squire?” “Just so,” said the old Daoist. Wang Xiao was overjoyed and went running inside as fast as his legs would carry him. Once inside he said, “Great news, madam!” “You muddle-headed thing!” said the old lady. “The squire is all but dead, and you say great news? What is there to be glad about?” “There’s an old Daoist outside just now,” said Wang Xiao, “who says he’s the immortal from Mount Meihua, and he says he can save the squire. Isn’t that great news?” Zhang Shifang hurried to stop him. “Where did you lot dig up an old Daoist? Wicked talk to mislead people! What’s he come for but to cheat us out of a little money? Even if we had silver, we wouldn’t give it to him. Tell him to be off, the sooner the better.” “The old Daoist said himself he’s doing a good deed and wants no money,” said Wang Xiao. “Your mouth is full of nonsense,” said Zhang Shifang. “If he doesn’t want money, does he carry his own cooking pot about with him?” “He said himself he doesn’t want money,” said Wang Xiao. Then Wang Quan’s wife, Madam Dong, spoke up from one side. “Wang Xiao, ask the old Daoist in. It would be as well to let him look at the squire. If he cures him, we’d spend a thousand taels or two thousand, and gladly. If he can’t cure him, we certainly won’t give him anything.” “Yes, madam,” said Wang Xiao. He turned at once and went outside. “Daoist Master, my mistress invites you in.” The old Daoist nodded and strode in with a great swagger.

A word of explanation: this old Daoist was none other than the Yellow-Faced Perfected One, Sun Daoquan. He had come at Ji Gong’s command to rescue Wang Anshi. He had come with Lei Ming and Chen Liang as far as Haitang Bridge and told them to wait in the wine shop, and only then had he come to Squire Wang’s gate, passing himself off as an immortal. When he came inside with the servant, Zhang Shifang took one look and said, “You ox-nosed Daoist5, where did you spring from? Running in here to swindle people!” Sun Daoquan chanted “Limitless Buddha” and said, “This humble Daoist won’t stoop to your level. I have come to rescue Wang the Good.” “None of your wicked talk to mislead people,” said Zhang Shifang. “Do you know what illness the old squire has?” “This man of the mountains knows, naturally,” said the old Daoist. “But I’m afraid that if I say it, someone here won’t be able to stand his ground. His face won’t bear it.” “Go on, then, tell us what the old squire’s illness is,” said Zhang Shifang. “Old Squire Wang,” said the old Daoist, “has been harmed by someone working in the dark6.” “Your mouth is full of nonsense,” said Zhang Shifang. “The old squire has always treated people generously. He’s a good man. Which of the servants would harm the old squire?” “It isn’t one of the servants who has harmed him,” said the old Daoist. “We who have left home make compassion our gate and good thoughts our root, and we must keep a charitable tongue. I can’t say it outright. As the saying goes, ‘When words reach the tip of your tongue, keep half of them back; where courtesy is concerned, give way three times.’” “Daoist, you really are spreading rumours,” said Zhang Shifang. “Then who is it that’s harming the old squire?” The old Daoist gave a faint smile. “You really want to know who is harming the old squire? He has a man’s body and the heart of a vicious woman; he is kin within the inner household, yet a man of another surname.”