Chapter 1 Part 1 Locked Doors and Quiet Books
"Let me out!" Qi cried as he pounded against the wooden door. He cried so long that exhaustion finally overcame him, and he slumped with his back against the door, falling into a heavy sleep...
Once again, Qi woke with a start from the same recurring dream.
This had happened years ago, but recently, it returned more frequently in his dreams.
As a child, Qi was exceptionally mischievous. In his parents' words, he had "hyperactivity disorder." He often fought with other children. What was worse, whenever Qi struck, he went terrifyingly overboard. Throwing stones at other children's heads was something he did more than once.
Fortunately, despite countless incidents, none had resulted in death.
But Qi's parents suffered for his actions.
Apologies, bows, and compensation became a part of daily life.
Over the years, they had paid no small amount in medical fees for his victims.
Though childlike playfulness was natural, Qi's past troublemaking had long exceeded his parents' tolerance. They had no choice but to enforce strict discipline.
When at home, Qi was forbidden to go out. If both parents happened to be absent, the simplest method was to lock Qi inside the house.
At first, Qi expressed his rage by wreaking havoc indoors, smashing furniture and appliances into bits. Upon returning, his parents employed both harsh punishment and bitter consolation. His father, almost in a shameless mocking tone, would say:
"Go ahead, smash as much as you like. Better that than your mother and I having to bow our heads to others again. And besides, replacing furniture still costs less than medical bills."
And so, Qi spent years this way locked indoors from the second or third grade of primary school until junior middle school.
Qi's personality underwent transformation as though he had become another person. With nothing else to do after growing suffocatingly bored indoors, he turned to reading.
It began with children's stories and fairy tales his parents had deliberately bought for him. But as he grew older and progressed in school, he consumed more and more books stranger, rarer, broader in subject.
By fourth grade, he was reading martial arts novels. By fifth grade, he had already begun leafing through classics well beyond his years books such as The Book of Sima and The Works of Guan Zi.
When he couldn't understand something, he would ask his parents. His mother admitted bluntly she didn't understand either and told him to ask his father instead. His father, for his part, answered directly:
"I don't know either."
Qi was puzzled. "If you two don't understand, then why buy these books at all?"
His father replied indifferently, "Why not buy them? Even if you can't read them, they look good on the shelves for when guests come over."
Qi thought this absurd. But by then, he was no longer the ignorant child of his early years. With expanding knowledge, he had cultivated some measure of inner patience. Though he disdained his father's response, he did not dwell on it, simply burying himself deeper in reading. He read widely, though not seeking to grasp every detail understanding a general outline was enough.
By the time he entered middle school, Qi had already transformed from the reckless menace of his primary years into a student regarded by both parents and teachers as quiet and obedient.
He was no longer locked at home as before. Yet curiously, those memories had recently begun to surface in his dreams again and again. Qi did not understand why.
As he grew older, he came to somewhat understand his parents' reasons for treating him that way then. What he could not comprehend was why those painful memories had begun to resurface so vividly in his dreams.
Perhaps because of his years of being shut at home with books rather than running outside, his body had grown weaker compared to his classmates. He often felt faint even in class. His homeroom teacher grew concerned enough to speak to his parents about it.
Qi himself, however, had already grown accustomed to staying indoors. His parents could not get him to leave the house even if they tried. His father finally relented:
"A bookish child may be useless, but better that than a troublemaker."
After school one day, Qi trudged home with his backpack, still mulling over the strange dream from the night before. As he walked, a sudden dizziness surged through his head. His vision swam, and then his body stiffened before collapsing flat onto the ground.
In a haze, he felt someone catching hold of him. Then, nothing darkness.
Somewhere in between consciousness and dream, he thought he saw a hand... fair, delicate, its index finger curling rhythmically toward him. With its movement, Qi felt wave after wave of bizarre sensations. It was suffocating, yet laced with an inexplicable pleasure. Under its contradictory grip, his pores opened wide, his muscles spasmed... then came an overwhelming burst of ecstasy before everything vanished.
Opening his eyes again, Qi realized he was lying on the ground, looking up at a strange figure.
Not entirely strange only out of place in modern society.
The man wore his hair in a topknot and a black gauzy cap.
"You're a Taoist priest?" Qi couldn't help but ask.
The Taoist smiled with relief. "Seems you're all right now. Young brother, you gave poor me quite the scare just now. Walking one moment, then collapsing the next. Luckily, I was nearby to catch you."
Then the priest's expression grew serious. "Tell me, young brother what is your surname?"
Qi blinked. "My surname is Li..."
The priest let out a breath of relief. "Good, good. At least it isn't Xu."
Qi had read widely, including plenty of social news. He immediately understood why the priest was being so dramatic and smiled.
"Don't worry, I'm not an old lady trying to blackmail you."
The Taoist burst out laughing. "Sharp-tongued and quick-witted, this one! My Daoist name is Pingshan. I live at Xiangyun Monastery on the next street over. Meeting like this, perhaps it's fate between us. If you ever have the time and interest, do drop by."
Qi found the man amusing and different from the stereotypical aloof monks he imagined. He answered politely, reserved beyond his years:
"Since Daoist Elder has helped me, if you invite me, then I must humbly obey someday."
Pingshan was slightly surprised; words like that, from a boy barely twelve or thirteen, sounded oddly out of place. He gave Qi another long look, then smiled, patted his shoulder, and departed.
Qi scratched his head absently as he watched the Taoist go.
"Daoism, huh... going with the flow? Maybe it really does suit me. Or maybe what this Taoist says is true I'm fated with Daoism after all."
When he got home, his mother noticed his pale face right away and asked what had happened. Qi told her honestly. She immediately insisted on taking him to the hospital for a checkup. His father, however, scoffed, saying it was unnecessary.
They argued heatedly for a few minutes, until Qi himself insisted it wasn't needed, finally ending the quarrel. Yet one phrase his father had muttered along the way pricked Qi's ears, cutting sharply though it had not been directed at him but at his mother.
"You just want an excuse to go see that old classmate again."