A Prophet - Chapter 24 (Part 2)

Chapter 2 - Chiang Kai-shek's Fortune-Telling Prophecy

Around the time of the founding of the nation, the realm was far from peaceful. Remnant Kuomintang troops, omnipresent secret agents, formidable bandits in the mountains, and various sectarian societies intertwined into a web of dark and evil forces. Emboldened by Chiang Kai-shek's slogan of "Recovering the Mainland," they colluded in an attempt to overthrow the newly born republican regime. The sectarian societies, in particular, had deep roots across the Chinese land, lingering with dim embers and flickering underground for decades to come.

Not long after Grandfather unified the Jiangxiang Guild, the Second Branch Leader stationed at the Sichuan branch sent word that a new immortal elder had appeared in Sichuan, claiming to have opened the "Celestial Eye." The celestial eye was also known as the clairvoyant sight or yin-yang vision. It was said that a person endowed with this ability could perceive things normal people could not; for instance, if you were dining with him at the same table, he might point to the empty seat beside you and remark that someone else was sitting there, making your hair stand on end. Or, if he visited your home as a guest, he might suddenly fall silent mid-conversation, stare fixedly at the doorway, and inform you that two deceased children had just walked in to listen to everyone talk, leaving a chill running down your spine.

The most famous "Celestial Eye" incident of the Republican era occurred in Nanjing. Prior to the July 7th Incident, an elderly man frequently brought his grandson to a Nanjing teahouse for tea and pastries. One day, the child adamantly refused to go upstairs, staring with wide eyes at the bustling teahouse and wailing bitterly. When his grandfather asked what was wrong, the child insisted he saw many dead people inside. Believing his grandson was simply acting out, the grandfather forcibly dragged him upstairs. The child recoiled like a madman, his cries shifting in pitch as terror filled his eyes, as if he were gazing upon ghosts. With no other choice, the grandfather took the child back home. The following day, when the old man brought his grandson to the teahouse again, the boy wept just as inconsolably. After several such repetitions, the old man finally caught a glimpse of understanding; upon returning home, he mobilized his entire family and all his relatives and friends in Nanjing to evacuate the city. Most of his friends scoffed at the warning until Nanjing fell and the massacre left corpses carpeting the earth, at which point people finally realized that the child back then had indeed possessed the Celestial Eye, glimpsing the horrors of the future.

Jianghu folklore later claimed that this child was none other than Zhang Yuguang, the future master of the Zhiou Studio and a renowned painter of the Republican era. Naturally, these accounts were exaggerated fabrications passed down by later generations—even Grandfather held profound doubts regarding the tale, pointing out that Master Zhang had already served as the president of the Shanghai Academy of Fine Arts by the third year of the Republic, so how could he have been led by his grandfather to eat pastries just before the July 7th Incident?

Yet legends concerning yin-yang vision possessed a long and enduring pedigree, and now a fresh immortal elder had emerged in Sichuan, spouting theories of "disaster and anomaly" and propagating the notion that the Kuomintang would inevitably fight its way back within three years. Simultaneously, the Jianghu was abuzz with a widely circulated fortune-telling prophecy regarding Chiang Kai-shek: "Victorious, never leave Sichuan; defeated, never leave Taiwan."

"Victorious, never leave Sichuan; defeated, never leave Taiwan" was said to be a piece of counsel offered to Chiang Kai-shek by a fortune teller prior to the victory of the War of Resistance. The meaning was twofold: Sichuan represented Chiang Kai-shek's blessed sanctuary, and if he wished to secure victory in the war, he must use it as his base. Furthermore, after victory was achieved, he should not return the capital to Nanjing, but instead hold fast to this geomantic dragon pulse. As for "defeated, never leave Taiwan," it implied that if Chiang Kai-shek failed to conquer the realm in the civil war against the Communists, Taiwan would serve as his retirement haven.

Whispers ran wild that this fortune-telling prophecy had originated precisely from the lips of the Celestial Eye immortal elder—the very same esoteric master who had once divined for Mao Zedong and bestowed upon him the enigmatic prophecy of "8341."

With a barrage of mystical legends descending from all directions, Grandfather felt a premonition that a monumental crisis was brewing. The sectarian societies across the nation were picking sides. Given the Communists' iron-fisted history of eradicating superstition, most factions quietly aligned themselves with the Kuomintang.

Moreover, a tacit understanding seemed to bind the criminal underworld, the mountain bandits, and the sectarian societies together.

The criminal gangs of Shanghai blustered: "The Liberation Army can enter Shanghai, but the renminbi cannot!"

The mountain bandits roared: "The Liberation Army can cross the Yangtze, but the People's Government cannot enter the deep mountains!"

The local sectarian societies proclaimed: "The Liberation Army may defeat Old Chiang, but they cannot beat the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams—exorcising demons and subduing ghosts still depends on us!"

Before long, rumors concerning the "wild hag" began circulating throughout the deep mountains of Sichuan.

The wild hag was a female entity, three zhang in tallness, with disheveled hair and bare feet, haunting the wilderness and specializing in abducting and devouring underage boys and girls. Within a few months, children from over a dozen households in western Sichuan had been snatched away by the wild hag and consumed. Terrified local villagers rushed to pledge allegiance to the local "Nine Palaces Society," seeking the protection of the Nine Palaces Daoist Master.

The Nine Palaces Daoist Master, originally named Liu Santao and hailing from Sichuan's Qingcheng Mountains, had once practiced austerities at the Qingcheng Daoist Temple. Midway through the War of Resistance, this man broke through the monastery walls and emerged into the world, boasting that the Japanese invaders would be thoroughly annihilated within three years.

Unexpectedly, his words hit the mark, and three years later the Japanese invaders indeed perished. Amidst nationwide celebrations, people across Sichuan hung lanterns and solved riddles. Taking the War of Resistance as their theme, one riddle posed: To whom belongs the credit for victory in the War of Resistance? Answer with a historical figure.

Pro-Chiang loyalists replied: Jiang Gan. Implying that Chiang Kai-shek led the Kuomintang to achieve monumental exploits and great deeds.

Pro-Communist voices replied: Gonggong. Implying that the credit belonged to the unyielding and persistent struggle of the Communist Party.

Soviet-returned scholars replied: Su Wu. Meaning Soviet armed intervention crushed 150,000 Kwantung troops to settle the strategic landscape.

American-returned scholars replied: Qu Yuan. If not for America's atomic bombs, would Japan have submitted?

At that moment, Liu Santao ripped down the riddle scroll and burst into loud laughter: "You are all mistaken! The one who beat back the devils is none other than the Nine Palaces Daoist Master! If not for my one hundred thousand heavenly soldiers lying in ambush among the clouds to guard our Chinese dragon pulse, both the Nationalist and Communist parties would have long since fled into exile abroad."

Everyone present raised their thumbs in ironic admiration: They had seen people boast, but never someone boast with such cosmic absurdity.

The world was truly a wondrous place; the more outrageous the boast, the easier it was to beguile the populace. If you claimed you could defeat ten men single-handedly, no one would believe you; but if you claimed you could summon heavenly generals down from the firmament, people would believe you. If you claimed you could see through a wall to what lay behind it, no one would believe you; but if you claimed you could perceive ghosts beyond the nine heavens, people would believe you. If you claimed to be the reincarnation of Roosevelt, no one would believe you; but if you claimed to be the reincarnation of Lord Laozi, people would swallow it whole. Anything incapable of being verified on the spot with hard facts easily made people fall prey to deception. Deep within human nature lurked an innate, primitive desire to be deceived.

In an era when few people had even laid eyes on an electric lightbulb, shattering a superstition frozen for a thousand years was no easy task, and various immortal legends naturally found fertile soil in which to survive. Eventually, even certain grassroots civil servants of the new government fell into the embrace of the Nine Palaces Society, instilling a philosophy among the common folk: the Red Army of yesteryear was none other than the reincarnation of the Crimson Ancestor, and the Nine Palaces Daoist Master and the Liberation Army were of the same family.

Upon receiving these reports dispatched by the Second Branch Leader, Grandfather sighed inwardly: The founding of the nation by the Communists was merely the opening act; the road ahead remained long.

Enraged, the Second Branch Leader bellowed within the Sichuan branch: "Which immortal dare show his face and fight me one-on-one? If I don't beat you until you're eating shit, I am no Second Master of yours!"

Before long, the Liberation Army launched a sweeping, net-like campaign to suppress bandits, root out spies, and crack down on sectarian societies. Suppress them they must; strike them they had to. Under the remote-control orchestration of the Kuomintang, bandits, secret agents, and charlatans formed a "harmonious" synergy, ambushing local militias, storming government offices, blowing up bridges, and poisoning people's minds. Soon after, the Korean War erupted, leading Chiang Kai-shek to decisively conclude that World War III was imminent, prompting him to frantically clamor for a counteroffensive against the mainland.

At that juncture, "overthrowing the people's regime" was far from an empty threat. The New China had been hastily erected upon the ruins of the Nationalist-Communist civil war, and although the army had defeated the Kuomintang, its overall strength fell far short of what modern people might imagine. As for the air force, the entire nation possessed a total of merely seventeen aircraft; during the founding ceremony, those few planes had to circle back and fly past twice just to project an illusion of prosperity suggesting China possessed twenty-six aircraft.

Kuomintang secret agents lurking across the country proved impossible to fully guard against. The glamorous primary school teacher, the pious old woman selling pancakes, and the honest textile factory worker could all be ruthless executioners. Kuomintang operatives who failed to flee in time with Chiang Kai-shek were ubiquitous.

Amidst the clamor, the "Pengcheng Plan" of the Kuomintang's Bureau of Investigation and Statistics was forged. Mao Renfeng and Liu Hanshan dispatched their ace assassin—a disciple of Swallow Li San named Duan Yunpeng—in an attempt to assassinate the leader of New China, Chairman Mao Zedong. The operation was codenamed the "Pengcheng Plan." Simultaneously, they issued secret orders instructing Duan Yunpeng to find an opportunity to approach Shangguan Chengming, a leader of the mainland sectarian societies, telling Duan: "He is one of our own."

What a fateful phrase, "one of our own"! Those words would come back to brutally doom Grandfather.

Like Dai Li, Liu Hanshan was a man who unfailingly repaid debts of gratitude and exacted vengeance for every grievance. Back when he attempted to assassinate Grandfather, Bai Chongxi had unexpectedly intervened to obstruct the plan, causing it to collapse. Later, when Grandfather journeyed far to western Sichuan to lock horns with Qin Baichuan, the secrets of the Jiangxiang Guild gradually surfaced because Qin Baichuan had grown too cozy with the western warlords. The sprawling network of intelligence outposts finally mapped out the true state of the Jiangxiang Guild, leaving Liu Hanshan fully informed about Grandfather.

Military Statistics heavyweights like Liu Hanshan gnashed their teeth in hatred. To think that such a faction had existed under the clear skies of the Republic—a centuries-old syndicate of swindlers whose four old patriarchs from the four cardinal directions had plagued an entire generation of Republican citizens and repeatedly made fools of the elite figures of Military Statistics. Yet at that time, the Kuomintang was collapsing in utter rout, leaving Liu Hanshan no time to eradicate the Jiangxiang Guild before he fled in panic alongside Chiang Kai-shek to Taiwan. In his towering rage, the moment Liu Hanshan arrived in Taiwan, he ordered the immediate arrest of Feng Siyuan and Jiang Feiyan, condemning them to a full decade behind bars in Taiwan.

This time, Liu Hanshan deliberately arranged for Duan Yunpeng to approach Grandfather, serving a dual purpose. It dealt a stinging slap to Bai Chongxi's face while thrusting Grandfather into a perilous situation where survival was a ten-to-one long shot. If Grandfather accommodated Duan Yunpeng, he would be doomed beyond redemption; if Grandfather refused, his status as the "Deputy Chief of Staff of the Kunlun Pass Garrison Headquarters," personally conferred by Bai Chongxi back then, would become a laughingstock. Regardless of the choice, once Grandfather's true identity as a swindler of the Jiangxiang Guild was exposed and the Communists were informed that Grandfather was a Kuomintang man, Grandfather would undoubtedly be put to death.

This was the Jianghu, and this was karma. Murdering a man sometimes did not happen in the present moment, but was threaded together through the convergence of predestined affinity.

Misfortunes never come singly, and blessings never arrive in pairs.

During that period, internal turmoil also struck Grandfather's branch hall when the First Branch Leader, who had followed Grandfather for over twenty years, suddenly fell ill. The guild had already suffered critical wounds; the Third, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Branch Leaders had banded together in rebellion. Grandfather had severed ties with the Third and Fifth, while I had just been promoted to Fifth Branch Leader. I was virtually a freeloader, not even worth a fraction of the former Fifth Branch Leader, Zhang Qiling. But by then, Grandfather's mind was no longer focused on swindling, but rather on contemplating the ultimate destiny of the Jiangxiang Guild.

The First Branch Leader contracted a rare skin disease that caused his entire body to crack like fish scales, followed by persistent high fevers and bloody coughs.

Grandfather summoned the finest traditional Chinese physicians for the First Branch Leader, yet his condition continued to deteriorate. Gazing at the First Branch Leader, whose body was covered in "fish scales," Grandfather felt as though his heart were being shredded.

For over twenty years, through wind, frost, swords, and daggers—what was loyalty? What was righteousness? It was a lifetime of entrustment, a lifetime of following. While chaotic blossoms blinded the eye, the grass remained steadfast; while forest timber rotted, the bamboo preserved its noble integrity. Men of the wilderness understood nothing of poetry or prose, yet they comprehended loyalty and righteousness far better than the noble lords dwelling within imperial halls; common folk knew the warmth of winter, the coolness of summer, and the bonds of human relationships much more deeply.

The First Branch Leader, once robust and possessing sinews of tempered steel, was gone; in his place lay a dying, utterly depleted middle-aged man. He stared hopelessly at the ceiling beams, his lips occasionally trembling as if trying to utter something. No one had ever seen the First Branch Leader shed a tear, but on the verge of death, the corners of his eyes grew moist, and he intermittently muttered a single sound: "Ni... ni." The brothers all wept; it was his regional dialect—he was calling for his mother.

No one knew what the First Branch Leader was thinking before he died. In that moment, a man who had been fiercely ferocious throughout his life became like a fragile child, calling out "Mother" over and over again—so vulnerable, so helpless. Finally, the branch leader who had followed Grandfather the longest closed his eyes amidst sickness and despair.

Grandfather could bear to watch no longer; as he turned away, tears gushed from his eyes.

The Jiangxiang Guild was nothing more than a dream—a dream of intoxication and golden luxury, leaving behind utter emptiness upon awakening. The guild's premier branch leader was gone. Did this foreshadow the final demise of the guild's destiny? The brothers did not know. They only knew this was a heart-wrenching agony, akin to having one's flesh carved away, impossible to soothe for a long time. During that period, the brothers frequently mentioned dreaming of the Eldest Brother at night—dreaming that he remained robust, smiling cheerfully, with his bald head glistening with beads of sweat.

Having endured the agony of losing an arm, Grandfather aged drastically overnight. His white hairs multiplied, his features grew increasingly haggard, Jiang Feiyan had departed, the branch leaders had rebelled, his sworn brothers had perished, and even his intellectual rivals who once sparred with him were gone. Grandfather stood as the sole pillar holding up the collapsing weight of the Jiangxiang Guild. No one could comprehend his frame of mind at the time; he felt that everything in the world was a fleeting dream, dissolving into nothingness upon awakening.

Sometimes, I would quietly brew a pot of tea for him and sit in silent companionship. He would glance at me and reveal a trace of weary a smile.

Knowing how exhausted and grief-stricken he was, I once mustered the audacity to say, "Grandfather, I've pondered a few Yingyao verbal formulas on my own. Would you care to see if they're viable?"

He blinked his eyes and looked at me.

I continued, "Whenever someone asks about romance, tell them their destiny is entangled with peach-blossom romantic trials; whenever someone asks about wealth, tell them their money flows like water—easy come, easy go; whenever someone asks about their official career, tell them they are destined for official rank and salary, but must beware of petty villains... No matter who the client is, right off the bat declare that their temper is less than stellar and their personality rather stubborn. Those words are guaranteed to hit the mark every single time!"

I originally expected Grandfather to offer a few words of praise, or at least acknowledge that I was striving to improve my professional proficiency ever since my promotion to branch leader. Instead, Grandfather chuckled softly and remarked, "Even honest Big Head is learning bad habits. It seems my Jiangxiang Guild truly is not a wholesome place."

I was left speechless, swallowed by a lump in my throat.

Not long afterward, Grandfather made a momentous decision: to relocate the entire Jiangxiang Guild back to Jianghuai.

The Second Branch Leader was thoroughly displeased: "Grandfather, I still wanted to lock horns with the sectarian societies in Sichuan. If we don't eradicate them, I won't feel settled."

Grandfather replied by letter: "Obey."

The Second Branch Leader docilely led the brothers of the Sichuan branch back to Jianghuai to report for duty.

A mere week after Grandfather's return to Shanghai, Fourth Master Jia, formerly the largest opium merchant in the Jianghuai region, arrived. He was an old scoundrel who had weathered countless storms alongside Grandfather—together, they had "conned the dead" to smuggle opium, orchestrated schemes to swindle senior Kuomintang officials, and arranged fake ghost weddings to fleece capitalists, sharing life and death every step of the way.

"What are Grandfather's intentions?" Fourth Master Jia asked.

"Intentions? Regarding which matter?"

"To leave, or to stay?"

"Surely it's not that severe," Grandfather said.

"Suppression of bandits and crackdowns on sectarian societies are about to begin. If we don't leave now, when shall we?"

"Does Fourth Master Jia have any brilliant insights?" Grandfather countered.

"Does Grandfather truly believe Old Chiang can fight his way back, or are you hoping to make one last haul amid the chaos?"

Grandfather offered no commitment either way. Yet he knew Fourth Master Jia was currently a startled bird; with the arrival of the Communists, his opium trade could never operate again.

Seeing that Grandfather remained silent, Fourth Master Jia probed further: "Why don't you and I, as sworn brothers, flee to Hong Kong? Once there, Grandfather will still be a grand master of the age, and with our forces combined, we needn't worry about hard times."

"What about all these brothers under my command?" Grandfather shook his head.

"There's no time to worry about them now. Saving our own skins comes first."

Grandfather remained silent.

"Could it be that Grandfather is afraid?" Fourth Master Jia lifted his eyelids.

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that even if we flee to Hong Kong, our lives won't be secure; afraid of the thousand secret agents the Military Statistics Bureau has planted in Hong Kong, perhaps." Fourth Master Jia smiled cryptically.

Those words struck straight at Grandfather's core. He knew full well that even if he ran, he would never run to Hong Kong; besides, Grandfather had no intention of running at all. Such was the tragedy of an overlord—standing alone, defying snow and frost, yet the moment the winds and clouds abruptly shifted, various factions would drive you about like ducks, until you inevitably faced a ripped-open belly, ending up as someone else's savory broth.

Seeing Grandfather sink into deep contemplation, Fourth Master Jia glanced out the window, quietly drew a letter from his bosom, handed it to Grandfather, and said mysteriously, "Have a look, Grandfather."

Grandfather blankly took the letter, opened it, and could not help drawing a sharp breath.

To Comrade Guansheng, for your kind perusal:

Several years have passed since our parting in Nanjing, and I have missed you dearly. In former days, my virtuous younger brother roamed the Jianghu utilizing the art of Yingyao, subduing the villains of Jianghuai, dismantling Japanese military bases, fighting across the Kunlun Pass, and unifying the Jiangxiang Guild. Truly, you are an outstanding hero! My admiration for you is beyond words. Back at my residence in Nanjing, my short-sighted rashness led to mistakes, and I trust my virtuous brother has forgiven me. Today, the Party-State's pacification campaign has faltered, resulting in the subjugation of the mainland. Where the Party-State resides, there resides orthodoxy; though we are cornered in a single corner, the heroic spirit of the Founding Father endures forever, and the Three Principles of the People remain undying. His Excellency the President harbors the lofty ambition of recovering the mainland. Recalling the tumultuous days of the anti-Japanese war, my brother's contributions were monumental—truly a pillar of the Party-State. I hereby specially issue a retroactive Party membership certificate along with a medal of merit to be forwarded to my virtuous brother. You should preserve them with utmost care to substantiate your identity.

With the Korean War imminent and World War III on the verge of breaking out, our Party is sharpening its weapons and horses, intending to direct our forces northward. My brother should closely cooperate with surrounding comrades, coordinating from within and without to accomplish the great enterprise! I have specially dispatched an outstanding talent of the Party-State, codenamed "Red Fox," to liaise with you. Hereafter, the orders of "Red Fox" are the orders of the Party-State; my brother must treat this matter with the utmost solemnity.

Wishing you peace in the spring season.

Liu Hanshan

This day

After finishing the letter, Grandfather stared dead-eyed at Fourth Master Jia.

"Could Fourth Master Jia be the Red Fox?" Grandfather asked.

"Heh heh, I lack such capability!" Fourth Master Jia said with a smile.

"Then where did this letter come from?"

"Grandfather can rest easy now. The Kuomintang has always regarded you as one of their own. If Grandfather has no desire to run away, we might as well accomplish some things together." Fourth Master Jia sidestepped answering Grandfather's question directly.

At that moment, Grandfather experienced a sudden epiphany: all of Fourth Master Jia's earlier words had been probing tactics. Cut off from his opium-trafficking livelihood, with the criminal underworld in decline and surrounded by an atmosphere of terror from which there was no escape, Fourth Master Jia had completely defected to the Kuomintang.

"Red Fox has already transited from Hong Kong to the interior and will soon arrive in Beijing to rendezvous with 108 and 999 there. Here are your Party membership card and medal, Grandfather. Keep them safe." With these words, Fourth Master Jia fished an envelope from his bosom and handed it over.

Grandfather took the membership card and the medal, and goosebumps broke out across his entire body. This was no party membership card; it was clearly King Yama's summons to death.

"Comrade Guansheng!" Fourth Master Jia suddenly stood up, addressing him with the tone of a commanding officer. "In the name of the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics of the Ministry of National Defense of the Republic of China, I issue your first 'Red Fox' directive. From now on, my codename is 'Three Precipices,' and your codename is 'Heaven-Swallowing'..."

Grandfather was startled. Under normal circumstances, he would have delivered a resounding slap across Fourth Master Jia's face. Yet in that instant, Grandfather understood that since Fourth Master Jia dared to act thus, he must be fully prepared.

Fourth Master Jia continued in a hushed whisper, "Three days from now, you are to contact Wang, the owner of the coffin shop..."

Grandfather listened with lowered head, a sudden sensation creeping over him that countless pairs of eyes were watching him from all directions. He had stepped into a massive web spun by the Kuomintang's secret service, and a single careless misstep would cause everything to capsize. He was not afraid of death per se, but if he failed to settle his affairs properly while alive, he would die with lingering regrets. He had expended such immense effort to unify the Jiangxiang Guild; if the whole edifice collapsed like a falling tree at this juncture, all his labor would be reduced to nothingness.

Grandfather needed to endure a little longer—to endure the final tribulation of his life. Possessing a naturally combative spirit and a lifelong refusal to accept defeat, he was even less willing to be kicked about like a ball by others. If he was going to die, he would die honorably in the blazing light of day, praised by the multitudes.