PCJ – Chapter 82 I Sing Mountain Songs and Speak the Truth

Zhang Jiaohua wandered the streets for several rounds but couldn’t come up with a quick way to get rich. Water divination wasn’t a cure-all. Nowadays, everyone regarded the magical arts of Meishan as feudal superstition. Even if Zhang Jiaohua wanted to make money with this, it would be very difficult.

Moreover, Zhang Jiaohua was too young. In the countryside, there were many people looking for immortals and fortune tellers. It was said that in Bazhu Bridge of Gezhuping Town, there was a fairy lady. Someone had gone to consult the fairy in Meizitang, and it was said that she was truly powerful. As long as you went there and provided your name and birthdate, she could summon your deceased relatives from the underworld. It was said to be absolutely true. The temple dedicated to her was flourishing. Her husband set up a small stall outside, selling offerings such as paper money, incense, and candles. The prices were naturally different from those outside. Buying offerings from him was like buying a ticket. Once inside, you could consult the fairy without spending a penny. But after consulting, most people would give the fairy a red envelope.

Zhang Jiaohua naturally understood what this was all about. This couldn’t be called magic; it was just contacting the dead. Masters of Meishan’s water divination, like Old Daoist, naturally wouldn’t regard such trivial matters highly. Moreover, contacting the dead would shorten one’s lifespan. Meishan’s water diviners, though a branch of Taoism, followed the right path. Although they were a branch of Daoism, they wielded considerable influence. They naturally looked down upon such petty things that risked one’s lifespan to make a profit.

Zhang Jiaohua felt a bit regretful. He knew that even if he imitated others by letting his hair down, rolling on the ground, and pretending to tremble, summoning some eerie winds around, not many people would believe him. In short, this path was not feasible.

Assisting with home placement, finding dragon spots—these were possible. But in Meizi Village, only a few houses could be built in a year. And in the entire Meizi Village, there were only a few funerals in a year. If Zhang Jiaohua relied on these two methods to make money, he probably wouldn’t even earn the money to buy a bag of candy in a day.

“Sigh, making money is really hard!” Zhang Jiaohua sat on the doorstep, looking somewhat despondent as he watched the village gradually sink into the night. Zuan Shanbao crawled under Zhang Jiaohua’s crotch and lay down quietly, its eyes seemingly closed.

Liu Qiaoye couldn’t help but chuckle. “You little brat, acting like Lin Daiyu. Why aren’t you watching TV? You used to beg for a TV every day before we bought it. Now that we have one, you don’t like watching it anymore.”

“If you didn’t go to Guangdong and stayed at home with me, I wouldn’t even need a TV,” Zhang Jiaohua pouted.

“Why bring this up again? Aren’t we going after Chinese New Year? Sweetie, your parents are going to Guangdong to work for your own good. Look at how many people in the village are going to Guangdong to work. You can make good money in Guangdong; it’s like picking up gold everywhere. Your parents aren’t lazy, but staying in Meizi Village, we don’t even have the money to buy you nice clothes. During Chinese New Year, other kids wear new clothes, but you can only wear patched ones. In the future, when you find a wife, you’ll need a nice house. Your cousin from Yinxiu’s family has been working in Guangdong for a few years and is preparing to come back to build a house. When your parents make money, we’ll come back and build a small house too.” Liu Qiaoye had been feeling down since she told Zhang Jiaohua the news that his parents were going to work in Guangdong. Her son was different from other kids because he had faced so many things. In the past six months, he seemed to have grown all of a sudden, which made her feel a little sad.

“Mom, a golden nest is not as good as your own dog nest. I’m not complaining about our poor family; I’m not afraid of hardship. I just don’t want you to leave me alone at home like an orphan. Other kids without mothers are like grass, why am I still like grass when I have a mother?” Zhang Jiaohua said softly, and by the end, his voice was almost inaudible.

Liu Qiaoye stopped talking and picked up Zhang Jiaohua. Tears welled up in her eyes like the water in the Blue Snake Creek.

The night in Meizi Village was like water, and the village was like a song. Across the mountain, Chen Dianzi was singing again in the mountain basin.

“I sing crazily all my life, seeing the rock roll up the slope! Mudfish eyes drip on the tip of the maple tree, magpies nest in the muddy field. Shoulders lift cows, harrows and hoes, Loaches washed on the rapids! Nails plow down and pull up! …”

Chen Dianzi had been called a madman by the entire Meizi Village. I don’t know if anyone still remembers his name. If Chen Dianzi’s nickname didn’t include his surname, I’m afraid no one would remember his full name.

The people of Zhang Jiaohua’s generation naturally didn’t know Chen Dianzi’s story, but they knew that this madman could sing. There wasn’t a Meishan folk song that he couldn’t sing. Now Chen Dianzi rarely sang. I don’t know what happened tonight that made him go up the mountain to sing again.

“Mom, Chen Dianzi’s singing is quite nice.” Zhang Jiaohua’s attention was finally diverted by Chen Dianzi’s singing.

“Yeah. Chen Dianzi sang well when he was young,” Liu Qiaoye smiled.

“Why did he become a madman?” Zhang Jiaohua asked puzzledly.

“He has been mad for many years, and I don’t know how he became mad. Perhaps the people across the mountain must know.” Liu Qiaoye shook her head.

“If he’s mad, how can he still sing?” Zhang Jiaohua’s curiosity was piqued all at once.

Zhang Youping came back from outside carrying a hoe, barefoot.

“It’s already dark, why are you still sitting on the doorstep?”

“Your son was listening to Chen Dianzi singing mountain songs. He kept asking me questions. He’s been relentless. Go ask your dad. Your dad must know about Chen Dianzi’s story,” Liu Qiaoye quickly passed this difficult problem to the man.

Zhang Youping put the hoe behind the house and walked over to pick up Zhang Jiaohua. “Come here, your dad sings mountain songs better. Much better than Chen Dianzi. Your dad brought your mom back with just one mountain song.”

“The sun sets and falls down the slope, use hands to sieve the rice in the basket. Thinking about leaving the husband to eat dinner, close the door with the sieve in hand…” All the mountain folks were skilled singers. If you couldn’t sing a few lines, you’d be embarrassed to go out. Even getting a wife would be difficult.

“Dad, my master also taught me how to sing. Can I sing for you?” Zhang Jiaohua said with a smile.

Zhang Youping laughed and shouted to the inner room, “Honey, come listen. Our son is going to sing mountain songs for me.”

Liu Qiaoye chuckled as she walked out.

Zhang Jiaohua cleared his throat and sang solemnly:

“To sing a song, one must know the essence of the song, the roots of the tree and its leaves,

The one who sings the song is surnamed Zhang, and the one who remembers the song is a person surnamed Zhang.

A Zhang surname immortal selects the song’s essence, with a basket full of songs weighing heavy.

Singing all the way as one walks, the song sinks into the earth seven inches deep.

Crossing the river by ferry, leaving behind a basket of floating hearts,

Lu Ban and Zhang Liang come to pick it up, carrying it up the Cangshan Ridge.

In the seventh month on the seventh day, a yellow wind blows, scattering songbooks in the sky.

A cowherd boy picks up one, riding on the back of a cow, singing of spring;

A monk picks up one, performing a flower-scattering ritual at the altar;

A witch picks up one, using it for divination and fortune-telling;

A farmer picks up one, singing of the seasons and urging the spring;

A fisherman picks up one, hanging it on the net for the fish to hear;

A woodcutter picks up one, listening to the bird calls among the flowers and trees.

During the reign of the Dragon Emperor, song festivals prospered; during the Zi and Wu years, song halls were built,

With three thousand and seven hundred songbooks, totaling eighty-seven thousand.

Red, yellow, blue, and white are passed down through the ages, with the yellow book of love leading the way.”