Chapter 8: The Man-Eating Bear

Zhang Zhiwei hurriedly took the soup the old man handed over with both hands, then passed one of the bowls to Zhang Jingqing, smiling warmly.

“Thank you very much, sir!”

Seeing Zhang Zhiwei’s courteous demeanor, Zhang Jingqing nodded slightly, finding it somewhat respectable.

She then raised the bowl to her lips. The so-called bowl was actually just a bamboo tube, likely used by the woodcutters to carry water. Inside floated a few leaves.

Not minding the impurities, she took a gentle sip.

The hot liquid entered her mouth, releasing a faintly astringent taste that blossomed across her palate.

Once swallowed, a surge of warmth rose in her abdomen, instantly making her feel several degrees warmer.

After finishing, Zhang Zhiwei took the bamboo tube back from Zhang Jingqing and handed it to the old man, saying, “Thank you for your hospitality!”

The old man waved his hand hurriedly, smiling, “You two Taoist priests are too polite. Just getting used to drinking it is enough. Do you want another cup?”

Zhang Zhiwei glanced at Zhang Jingqing.

She shook her head.

“No, thank you,” Zhang Zhiwei replied with a smile as he handed the cup back to the old man.

The old man took the bamboo tube, about to return to the fire to warm himself.

Zhang Zhiwei called out to him, pulling out some pieces of wild boar jerky from his bag and offering them.

“Eat some of this, to fill your stomach!”

The old man hesitated at the sight of the jerky, wary of a trick.

But then he reconsidered—his own worth and the others’ in the village were less than that of these few pieces of meat.

So, with a grateful expression, he accepted the offering and went to share it with the other villagers.

Once again, a chorus of thanks filled the air.

These years had grown increasingly difficult; many villagers had gone months without tasting any meat.

A group of men nibbled the jerky cautiously, while a few carefully broke off smaller portions to hide in their sleeves, planning to take them home to their wives and children.

The atmosphere in the stone temple brightened considerably.

One villager called out an invitation, “Taoist priests, it’s cold in the corner. Why don’t you come warm yourselves by the fire?”

Zhang Zhiwei wanted to decline.

But Zhang Jingqing pulled him over.

Since they were traveling, it was only natural to mingle with the locals; wandering alone would be ineffective.

Zhang Zhiwei was speechless.

He wanted to meditate and cultivate his life energy.

“Where are you two Taoist priests headed?” the old man asked.

Before Zhang Zhiwei could answer, Zhang Jingqing spoke up, “We are itinerant Taoist priests.”

The old man’s expression turned respectful. “Itinerant Taoist priests, you must possess real skill—after all, these are troubled times.”

Zhang Jingqing waved his praise aside. “Not at all, just a few simple tricks. When we couldn’t settle in one place, we took to roaming the rivers and lakes to earn our keep.”

“Ah, that’s true. Everyone says it’s a chaotic world where people are worse than dogs. You two Taoist priests still have the energy to roam, but we ordinary folks can only hunker down and wait to die.”

The old man sighed, already convinced that Zhang Zhiwei and Zhang Jingqing were capable men.

Zhang Jingqing quickly asked, “Why do you say that, sir?”

Zhang Zhiwei watched with a twitch at the corner of his mouth as Zhang Jingqing called this man, who was far younger than himself, “older brother.” He couldn’t help but admire how an old hand like her could so effortlessly meld with these villagers in a few words.

The old man’s face grew bitter as he said, “A few years ago, no matter how chaotic or tough it was, everyone just tightened their belts and got through it. But what era is this now? Every day there’s fighting outside—today a General Li, tomorrow a General Liu. Taxes and levies climb higher every year, and every time a new general takes over, they come to collect again. We don’t know how much longer we can survive.”

Zhang Zhiwei listened silently. Life on Dragon Tiger Mountain was peaceful, but below the mountain, things were dire.

This was the era of warlord conflicts: the Beiyang government in the north and the Nationalist government in the south.

A host of warlords aligned themselves under these two banners, fighting ceaselessly for territory.

In such a climate, land was constantly snatched back and forth. Today you might be under Beiyang rule, but wake up to find yourself under the south. Taxes paid to one side counted for nothing; you had to pay again.

It was common for some places to change county magistrates three or four times a year. Officials came and went like revolving lanterns, each knowing their tenure would be short, so they seized every opportunity to squeeze the people dry with harsh taxes and levies, cutting the common folk down to the bone.

Zhang Jingqing frowned at the villagers’ complaints, lost in thought.

Even though the Celestial Master’s Mansion was a top sect in the supernatural world, it was powerless when it came to such worldly upheavals.

“It will get better. Everything will get better,” Zhang Jingqing could only offer dry comfort.

“Maybe it will, but I’m afraid we won’t live to see it,” sighed an elder in the village. “Before, it was just the officials who oppressed us. Now, even the beasts in the mountains have started to prey on us.”

“How so?” Zhang Jingqing inquired.

The village elder sighed deeply. “Last winter was hard. With no food, we had to enter the mountains to hunt, disturbing a bear in hibernation.”

“The enraged bear injured people, but we drove it off. We didn’t expect the bear held a grudge. Since then, it’s been attacking the village every so often—sometimes our livestock, sometimes people.”

“We were so troubled that we pooled money to hire a skilled swordsman to kill the bear. The swordsman did not disappoint; he fought fiercely and struck the bear’s shoulder with a single blow, nearly cleaving it in two. We thought the danger was over when he carried the corpse away.”

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