Chapter 109: I Might Be Finished

Behind the wooden stake, the young fisherman pressed the thick bamboo pole, which was set on the stake, down to the ground and lifted the fishing net from the river. However, he found only a few small fish caught in the net.

“It’s not the season for rising waters now—hard to get a big haul,” he lamented.

In front of the wooden stake, an old man scooped the small fish from the net into a large bamboo basket using a simple dip net.

These two, father and son, were fishermen living in a small town not far from the riverbank. The old man had been fishing for nearly forty years. Relying on the great net in the lake, he would come every evening to cast his net and draw it in, then bring the catch to the market at dawn for sale.

Thanks to his diligence and the lake’s bounty, the old man had transformed from a penniless youth into a man with a wife, a son, and a comfortable sum of savings.

After hauling in the net and discovering only a few small fish, the young man placed it back in the lake and sat down by the wooden stake. The old man, having set aside the bamboo basket, joined him, producing some food from a small bamboo container so that father and son could share a meal.

As they ate, the young fisherman, biting into a cold steamed bun, caught sight by the moonlight of a wave heading straight for their net from the lake’s surface.

“Father, something big is coming!” he exclaimed.

Noticing the commotion on the water, he put down his bun and patted his father’s shoulder.

The old man, catching sight of the wave, set aside his food, a smile lighting up his face. He moved behind the wooden stake and gripped the thick bamboo pole, ready to lift the net and catch the big fish as soon as it reached their trap.

The wave in the river moved neither too quickly nor too slowly, and under the eager gaze of father and son, it finally entered the net.

In the blink of an eye, the old man, with decades of experience, pressed down hard on the bamboo pole as soon as the wave passed into the net, preparing to lift out the big catch and sell it at a good price at dawn.

The young man had the same thought, gripping his dip net tightly, his eyes fixed on the fishing net, ready to scoop up the large fish the moment it broke the surface.

Full of anticipation, father and son raised the net from the water—only to find, instead of a big fish, a figure in red: Zhou Qing.

“A ghost—a ghost!” the young man cried out. He flung the dip net aside and scrambled frantically toward the fields behind the riverbank.

The old man was equally stunned at the sight of Zhou Qing. In all his years of fishing, he had never caught a ghost before. Frozen in shock, he abruptly let go of the bamboo pole, which shot up and struck him squarely in the groin.

“Oh—my!” The pain of the thick bamboo pole snapping up between his legs was indescribable; the old man let out a complicated cry of agony and collapsed, clutching his groin.

The bamboo pole, now released, let the net sink back under the water. Zhou Qing, with a thought, controlled the water to lift himself from the riverbed to the surface; he then walked across the river on the water to the shore.

As Zhou Qing stepped onto land, the old man gazed at him in terror, pain momentarily forgotten.

Ignoring the old man, Zhou Qing examined the great fishing net with a wry smile. His vision underwater had been limited—he hadn’t even noticed the net until he was hauled up like a big fish, only to be mistaken for a ghost by these fishermen. The situation was, indeed, laughable.

After another glance at the net, Zhou Qing let the smile fade and turned to the old man, shaking his head in quiet exasperation at the man’s expression.

“Old man, there’s no need to be afraid. I am neither ghost nor demon and mean you no harm.”

“Are you—the River God?” the old man stammered, nervous.

Zhou Qing laughed and shook his head. “There are no such things as river gods. I am merely a passing Taoist priest.”

Earlier, when he had been lifted from the water, Zhou Qing had noticed that the old man’s fright had caused the unfortunate accident with the bamboo pole.

So, after answering, he went over to help the old man up and inquired after his wellbeing.

From Zhou Qing’s words and actions, the old man sensed no malice, and his fear gradually subsided.

“Alas, I may be crippled now, but I’m old and have little energy left for such things. If I’m crippled, so be it,” the old man said, half sorrowful, half resigned—a tone Zhou Qing understood but did not dwell on.

“Where do you live, old man? Let me carry you home,” Zhou Qing offered, seeing that the old man was in too much pain to walk.

Grateful for the kindness—and in too much agony to refuse—the old man told him where he lived, and Zhou Qing carried him home on his back.

Behind the riverbank stretched fields; after traversing the ridges for a while, Zhou Qing reached the small town. Guided by the old man on his back, he wound through the streets until he arrived at the old man’s house.

The house was brightly lit; even the gate was open. Entering the courtyard with the old man on his back, Zhou Qing saw the young man who had fled earlier weeping uncontrollably in the main hall, clutching an elderly woman. Beside him, a young woman knelt, murmuring comfort.

“Father!” The young woman was the first to notice Zhou Qing carrying the old man into the courtyard. She called out, sprang to her feet, and rushed from the house.

Startled by her cry, the young man looked up, meeting Zhou Qing’s gaze just as he entered the yard.

“A ghost!” the young man shrieked, then promptly fainted.

“My son, what’s wrong?” The elderly woman, seeing her son collapse, hurried to help him onto a wooden bench.

Amid the confusion, Zhou Qing addressed the young woman hastening toward him: “Your father is seriously injured. Help him inside at once and fetch the doctor.”

As Zhou Qing spoke, the elderly woman, having settled her unconscious son, came out to help. Supported by both women, Zhou Qing let the old man slip from his back, leaving him to their care.

After returning the old man home, Zhou Qing did not linger. He retraced his steps to the river, plunged in, and continued on his journey.

After the incident with the old man that night, nothing else out of the ordinary occurred for the rest of the night.

It was not until dawn that Zhou Qing encountered another incident by the river.