Chapter 22: The Ordinary Taoist

Chen Shian always went to bed early, and woke just as early. When the sky was still dim, he slowly opened his eyes.

He wasn’t one to linger in bed. Once awake, he pulled aside the thin sheet covering him and rolled up to sit. Yet, today was a slight exception. After sitting up, he found himself staring blankly for a moment—surveying the rented room so utterly different from the monk’s quarters he’d lived in at the mountain temple. In the haze of consciousness, he wasn’t entirely sure where he was.

The sun had not yet risen; the city was suspended between darkness and light, resembling both dawn and dusk. Pale light filtered through the window, casting a narrow, bright stripe across the floor. Chen Shian gazed at the ceiling—the plastered surface smooth as fresh putty, its sharp lines cutting straight through his field of vision. Unlike the beams in the mountain temple, which always retained the gentle curves of natural wood, with faint rings visible in the shadows.

The room was oddly quiet, yet noisy enough to unsettle the heart. The silence was the absence of insect chirps and birdsong. In the mountains, morning was never silent. At first light, a thrush would tentatively chirp, followed by the cooing of doves deep in the bamboo groves. Soon, the whole mountain behind the temple woke, birds chattering in a raucous jumble, and the copper bells hanging from the eaves swayed, their tinkling mingling with the commotion like sugar melting in water, dissolving into the breeze.

Here, the sounds were muffled. Far off, the low rumble of cars passing; vague voices from downstairs; a persistent humming hidden in the walls—which Chen Shian later learned was the outdoor air conditioner unit. These sounds crowded into the closed space, rebounding off the tile floor and glass windows, their tone altered, sticking to the skin like sweat that hadn’t dried.

“Ugh—didn’t sleep well—”

He rubbed his temples vigorously, finally clearing his mind from the muddled dawn. Eighteen years of ingrained environment and habits, changed overnight—adapting wasn’t easy.

Such discomfort had nothing to do with cultivation or spiritual practice; it was simply the natural, physical response of a living person, as inevitable as hunger.

Fortunately, a lazy meow drifted through, bringing him a touch of familiarity from the mountains.

"Fat Ink, you're awake?"

“……”

“How did you sleep last night?”

“Meow.”

Compared to Chen Shian, the black cat seemed much more accustomed. Chen Shian disliked the mattress for being too soft, preferring the solid temple bed boards, but Ink loved the softness, rolling over to expose its little belly, utterly content.

"Now that you're awake, get up, you lazy cat!"

Chen Shian rolled out of bed, tossing the blanket onto the cat. By the time the black cat wriggled out like an earthworm, he had already left the room. The cat hopped off after him, following his steps.

The clock in the living room ticked steadily; it was only five in the morning. The house was silent, last night’s laundry hung on the balcony, swaying gently in the breeze.

Li Wanyin’s door was closed—she was likely still asleep.

Chen Shian had never lived in a city, but he knew most people didn’t wake as early as he did.

So, as he moved about the house, he kept his movements quiet.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face, then went to the kitchen to prepare a simple breakfast.

He’d bought noodles and eggs the day before—noodles for breakfast would do.

It was his first time using the gas stove. He fiddled with the knob, but saw no flame. After some thought, he realized he had to press the knob while turning.

[Click—click—]

He purposely lifted the pot to watch how the flame started. The needle released an arc, followed by a soft ‘pop’ and blue flames danced to life.

"So it's electricity that ignites the fire…"

Finding it interesting, Chen Shian tried it again. This time, he opened the gas without triggering the arc, pointed his finger, and with another soft ‘pop’, the stove leaped with blue fire.

“Seems even magical fire can ignite the stove…”

The young monk’s expression was calm, but if anyone had seen this, they would be utterly astonished! There was no fire source—where did the flames come from? Was this scientific? What kind of crazy experiment was he conducting?!

No need to make a fuss—it was a minor trick.

Chen Shian didn’t play with fire again. He’d noticed the bright orange warning stickers on the gas meter, so he obediently returned to lighting the stove properly and began frying eggs and boiling noodles.

His senses were far keener than ordinary people’s; he could smell that the gas used here was different from the bottled gas villagers used at the base of the mountain, though he couldn’t name the exact composition.

While the flame burned, he observed the gas meter. Every so often, the last digit would increase, just like how urban residents paid for water—gas was piped to every home and billed by the meter.

This was much more convenient than using gas canisters.

When the pot was hot, he poured in oil, cracked two eggs into the pan, and after one side set, he flipped them with ease, frying both sides to a perfect golden brown without burning.

He added just enough water, and when it boiled, dropped in the noodles, seasoning them simply.

Once the noodles were done, he noticed he’d forgotten to turn on the exhaust hood above the stove.

No wonder the kitchen was full of smoke—city life was indeed troublesome.

Chen Shian’s cooking was quite good. His master had taught him culinary skills first thing in the mountains. Once he was tall enough to reach the stove, his lazy master never cooked again.

But no matter how skilled, a simple bowl of egg noodles couldn’t compare to the delicacies of the wild—it was just to fill the belly.

He’d wanted to make a portion for Li Wanyin as well, but she wasn’t awake yet, and noodles left to sit would clump—better to wait for next time.

Chen Shian carried his noodles to the dining table. The cat, enticed by the aroma, padded over.

“Fat Ink, do you want some cat food? I bought some for you, let’s have you try it.”

“Meow?”

Chen Shian fetched a bowl, opened the chicken-flavored cat food he’d bought the night before, and poured some in.

The black cat approached, acting picky—sniffing and examining the bean-like pellets, which hardly looked appetizing.

“Don’t just look, try it.”

“Meow.”

The black cat wouldn’t eat.

“I paid for it, you know.”

“……”

The cat finally reluctantly ate one pellet.

One was too little—it couldn’t taste anything.

Another pellet—so so, not as good as mice.

“What flavor is this…”

Seeing Ink so unsure whether it was tasty or not, Chen Shian picked up a pellet himself and chewed.

It was fishy and hard, like chewing on wood chips…

Chen Shian’s expression changed; he wanted to spit it out, but seeing the black cat staring at him, he steeled himself and swallowed it—if he spit it out in front of Ink, the cat would definitely never eat it again, too proud!

“I think it’s okay… just a bit dry…”

“Meow?”

You liar! Trickster!

The black cat gave him a disdainful look, but it seemed to think the stuff wasn’t great, nor was it terrible.

It picked at the cat food for a bit, then joined Chen Shian in eating noodles.

The leftover cat food would be eaten when it was hungry…

The rats here weren’t as plentiful as in the mountains, and even Ink found the sewer rats unappetizing—much like people who love fish but won’t eat Nile catfish. For Ink, sewer rats that ate garbage couldn’t compare to mountain rats that ate fruit.

After breakfast, Chen Shian washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen.

School required students to be in the classroom for morning study by six-thirty; it was only five-thirty now.

He had no habit of arriving early, whether for class or temple rituals.

He didn’t idle away the remaining time. He’d brought some textbooks home yesterday, so he began to read.

He started with the first-year high school textbooks, opening Chinese language first.

Reading posed no difficulty; he flipped through the pages quickly, but it wasn’t mere skimming—he absorbed everything, slowing only when he encountered challenging passages.

His placement test had shown that his Chinese foundation was solid—what he lacked were standardized test-taking skills.

Unfortunately, there were no practice tests at hand, but after going through the textbook, he had a general idea of what was taught.

As for math, English, physics, chemistry, and biology, he found them much harder. Lacking three years of junior high, even first-year textbooks had massive gaps in knowledge.

He couldn’t understand.

But he didn’t give up.

When you don’t understand, memorize!

Just like when he was a child learning Taoist arts, reading classics, and studying principles—if he didn’t grasp something, he memorized it first. You need a concept, an impression.

When he couldn’t memorize, his master would smack his palm with a ruler.

Now, no one hit his palm anymore.

Even with an excellent memory, memorizing unfamiliar and incomprehensible material was no easy task. Yet, even with no one supervising him, he devoted himself to reading and memorizing.

Nothing else—this difficult study was his atonement for the arrogance that led him to drop out years ago…

“High school math, physics, chemistry, biology—just memorizing isn’t enough…”

“Meow.”

The black cat didn’t understand, but it wasn’t about to take the college entrance exam. It enjoyed watching Chen Shian study hard while it napped on his books, sleeping more soundly than on the sofa.

“Take it slow…”

Chen Shian closed the book and glanced at the clock—it was already six-oh-eight.

Time to go to school.

He went to the balcony and felt the uniform he’d washed last evening.

It wasn’t dry—the fabric was still damp.

But Chen Shian took it down anyway, and, as if shaking out a shirt, gave it a gentle shake.

The damp uniform suddenly released a cloud of vapor. When he touched it again, it was dry and crisp.

At his level of cultivation, talismans and magical implements were mere auxiliary tools. Such extraordinary feats, incomprehensible to ordinary people, came as easily to him as breathing.

Of course, things like moving mountains or flying through clouds were nothing but myth and fantasy—far from reality.

As a child, Chen Shian thought his master could do such things, but he later realized his master was just an ‘ordinary’ Taoist like himself.

He got tired, got sleepy, thirsty, hungry, had worries, fell ill, aged—and one day, would succumb to time.

If anything set him apart, Chen Shian felt it was simply understanding things others couldn’t. With a shift in perspective, he saw through many matters more clearly.

[When thoughts are empty, one forgets to eat; when clarity dawns, one loses the present. A person's existence lies in harmony—favoring one side is losing oneself.]

[Master, I know—unity of knowledge and action.]

[Hmph, you know everything, but you never act!]

“I’m acting, I’m acting.”

Muttering to himself, Chen Shian went back in to change into his fresh summer school uniform.

“Fat Ink, I’m leaving—watch the house, don’t wander.”

“……”

The cat glanced up at him, then looked out at the balcony. The sun had risen.

.

.