The following day, the temple received a steady stream of worshippers. The reigning emperor held Daoism in reverence, and so Daoist temples were held in especially high regard among the common people. Qingxu Temple was the most celebrated temple within five hundred li of Lingxia Mountain, praised consistently over many years. Accordingly, it received an exceptional number of devout visitors coming to offer incense and pray for blessings.
At the entrance to the main hall stood a sign-interpreting station called the Mirror of the Heart. On its surface sat a bronze mirror engraved with the taiji symbol and the yin-yang fish. The walls were covered in yellow-bordered paper bearing printed interpretations of the fortune slips, and one Daoist known by the name Qingzhen was specifically responsible for interpreting them.
The river clam had risen early that day with nothing to do, so she drew a fortune slip to have interpreted. The young men among the worshippers nearby took her for a well-bred young lady from some distinguished family come to offer incense. Fingers pointed, whispers rustled. The area before the Mirror of the Heart was packed with people, and more than a few worshippers had the same slip interpreted several times over — all for the chance to exchange one more glance with a beauty.
But the river clam had no concern for any of that. She simply found the slip-shaking cylinder delightful, and shook out four or five slips in rapid succession. Qingzhen dared not make her wait in line, and was equally worried that some worshipper might say something offensive and offend her, so he patiently interpreted each slip in turn. In the end, it was Qingxuan who could no longer watch and tried to coax her back to Rong Chen Zi’s chamber with a plate of white-sugar cakes.
While the commotion was still in full swing, a new uproar arose at the gate. A farmer from the village below the mountain, a man named Caifu, had fallen ill the day before with a strange affliction: his right eye had been continuously weeping blood. And since his illness began, people in the village had been dying one after another — some from accidents, some apparently of natural causes — but five or six deaths in a single day was by any measure far too abnormal.
Unable to cope, the villagers had brought Caifu to Qingxu Temple.
Qingxuan, upon hearing this, went striding to the gate. The river clam, white-sugar cake in hand, also trotted along to watch the excitement.
Caifu had been carried up the mountain. He was still wearing the coarse cloth he had been working in, and sure enough a trickle of bloody tears ran steadily from his right eye, staining his clothing red. Qingxuan went to look at him — having followed Rong Chen Zi to study the Dao from childhood, his experience was nonetheless still shallow, and he could not determine what the condition was at first glance. He could only instruct his disciples to carry the man inside the hall.
The disciples were just about to move forward when the river clam squeezed in beside Qingxuan and lowered her voice — at least she knew to do that: “Can you cure it?”
Qingxuan was briefly taken aback, then shook his head: “I can’t identify the condition. But since we were young, Master has taught us that those who cultivate the Dao must devote their hearts to doing good and helping the common people. Whether we can cure it or not, we must still try.”
The river clam only shook her head: “This cannot be cured. You carry him inside and it will do no good — it will only implicate Qingxu Temple.”
Qingxuan looked up at her. He finally remembered that this creature was the Sea Emperor — and though apart from her appetite she showed no remarkable qualities, being the ruler of an entire people should at least mean she possessed some distinctive knowledge. He hastened to ask: “Does the Sea Emperor know how to save him?”
The river clam only shook her head: “Cure him — that this Sovereign does not know. But what to do — that this Sovereign does know.”
Qingxuan could not quite work out her meaning, but human life was at stake, and he had no choice but to ask with due respect: “We humbly invite the Sea Emperor’s guidance.”
The river clam took a great bite of white-sugar cake, both cheeks puffing out like dumplings: “Isn’t there a Daoist temple across from Qingxu Temple called Jiuding Palace? A few days ago some of their people came here making trouble and disturbed this Sovereign!”
Qingxuan nodded: “There is — though Jiuding Palace and Qingxu Temple have always maintained a polite surface while harboring hidden animosity.” He suddenly understood: “Your Majesty means… to send this person to Jiuding Palace?”
The river clam nodded. Qingxuan looked hopeful: “Jiuding Palace can cure him?”
The river clam shook her head: “They can’t. Even if your master were here this would be difficult. The best solution is to gather lychee firewood and burn him immediately.”
“…But he isn’t dead yet!” Qingxuan was too kind-hearted; there was no way he could cremate a living person. The river clam patted his shoulder: “Which is precisely why you should carry him to Jiuding Palace. This move is called fanning flames to burn down a mountain — or, shifting disaster eastward. Think about it: you carry him inside and still can’t cure him, but in the world’s eyes, it is you, Qingxuan, who has delayed and cost a man his life! Qingxu Temple, all reputation and no substance! But if you carry him to Jiuding Palace and kneel at their gate to beg them to treat him — you’re a junior, and your master isn’t here, so you lose nothing by kneeling. If the man recovers, it’s because you went and knelt to plead for his treatment, and you are immeasurably virtuous. If the man dies, Jiuding Palace killed him — what does it have to do with you?”
Qingxuan collapsed: “Master is going to scold me when he gets back!!”
The river clam spread her hands: “But you really can’t cure him!”
Two quarter-hours later, Qingxuan had truly enlisted the help of the villagers and his fellow disciples to carry the man in a grand, bustling procession all the way to Jiuding Palace. Before setting out, the river clam produced a silk handkerchief and gently pressed it over Caifu’s right eye. The handkerchief was of an indeterminate material, but the moment it covered the right eye, the bleeding stopped at once. She spoke in a quiet, careful voice: “Do not look at his eye.”
Jiuding Palace was a major sect as well. Its master was a Daoist known by the title Xingzhi, and the sword-master was Yuyang Zhenren, the very same who had come to provoke a dispute with Qingxu Temple not long ago. Now at the palace gate, the two of them saw Qingxuan kneeling in entreaty — at first they felt a degree of smug satisfaction, but the moment they lifted the silk cloth, both men’s lungs nearly burst with rage — those absolute scoundrels from Qingxu Temple had absolutely no conscience!!
This was the Blood Pupil technique — a dark shamanic art transmitted from the Miao borderlands. Those afflicted would weep blood from the right eye without ceasing, yet could still see through it. Anyone seen by that right eye would die an unnatural death. In other words — whoever it looked at was doomed.
Yuyang Zhenren was the one who lifted the cloth. Xingzhi Zhenren was quicker — he sidestepped in an instant. Yuyang received the full gaze of that blood-weeping eye. Yuyang Zhenren panicked: “Elder martial brother, save me, save me!!”
Xingzhi Zhenren was a man of genuine ability. He immediately replaced the silk cloth over Caifu’s right eye. With so many villagers present — dozens upon dozens of eyes watching — he had no choice but to order his disciples to carry Caifu inside the palace. He glanced at his martial brother and had an acute sensation of sitting peacefully at home while disaster fell from the sky.
And in that very interval, another person in Lingxia Village below was found to be weeping blood from the right eye.
Qingxuan issued instructions for anyone found with this symptom to immediately have their eye covered and not look at others — but the method of cure truly eluded him. The river clam was soaking in her original form in the back mountain spring. After a good long while she said a few words: “It seems a shaman of deep cultivation has come to this place.”
Qingxuan also understood: “This person is harming innocent villagers and cannot be anything but a malicious creature. Could it be that they are also after master’s flesh? Your Majesty — is there truly no way to break this shamanic art?”
The river clam blew a couple of bubbles: “I don’t know what your Daoist arts can do against it. But back when this Sovereign was in the southern frontier, I encountered something similar and devised my own method of breaking the curse — it worked, more or less, I suppose.”
Qingxuan was overjoyed: “We humbly beg the Sea Emperor to share her wisdom!!”
The river clam brightened with enthusiasm: “Gouge out his right eye so he can no longer see with it. The Blood Pupil technique breaks of its own accord.”
“…” An overwhelming urge seized Qingxuan to pick up a rock and throw it at her.
Within the span of a single short day, more people in the village had died one after another. Qingxuan could sit still no longer and finally dispatched someone to send word to Rong Chen Zi. The river clam lay in the water for a long while, gazing at the landscape around her. She murmured to herself: “Such beautiful mountains and clear waters — how truly vexing, that something must come along to disturb the peace…”