In the autumn of 1950, I was finally born. In the two or three months leading up to my birth, my parents had stopped having those strange dreams, and they thought the odd occurrences had come to an end. But on the very day I was born, another strange event happened—one that almost made them throw me straight into the river...

Chapter 3 Old Priest Enters the House

This is how it happened: on the afternoon of the day I was about to be born, just after lunch, a Taoist priest suddenly came to our house. The priest looked to be about forty years old, dressed in a shabby Taoist robe, standing outside our courtyard and peering in repeatedly. At that time, Father happened to be working in the yard. Noticing a Taoist priest constantly looking into his home, he curiously went out and asked, “Master, is there something you need?”

The priest, seeing that he had caught the attention of the homeowner, quickly withdrew his gaze, waved his hand, and smiled, “It’s nothing, I just wanted to ask for a drink of water.”

Father was a kind-hearted man, and back then, people weren’t as indifferent as they are now. Seeing that the priest only wanted some water, he invited him into the yard and went inside to pour him a cup.

The priest took the cup, but didn’t drink in a hurry. Instead, he sat down on the bench in the yard, sipping slowly, not at all like someone who was thirsty—more like he was enjoying leisure time in his own courtyard.

Seeing the priest’s unhurried manner, Father didn’t want to rush him, so he asked about his background. The priest answered every question, saying he was a Maoshan Taoist from Jiangxi, surname Zhang, who had roamed the world for more than ten years. Not only that, as he sipped his tea, he told my Father about all sorts of strange and unusual things he had encountered, leaving my Father amazed and exclaiming in wonder!

And so, a single cup of tea lasted for more than half an hour. When the tea was finished, the priest still showed no intention of leaving. Instead, he patted his stomach and sighed, “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving—there’s really some truth to that saying!”

As he spoke, he turned to my Father and chuckled, clearly hinting that he was hungry and wanted a meal.

Now, my Father, though he thought the priest was a bit cheeky, also understood the hardships of those who wandered the world. Seeing the priest’s tattered clothes, he knew the man wasn’t lying—if you have no money, of course you go hungry. Out of kindness, Father said, “We just finished eating not long ago. There’s a bit of leftover rice in the pot. If you don’t mind having it without any dishes, I can get you a bowl.”

The priest nodded eagerly, saying yes, yes, and Father went inside to get him a bowl of rice.

When the priest saw that Father had actually brought him a bowl of white rice, his eyes lit up. He took the bowl and devoured it ravenously, praising as he ate, “Looks like the master of the house is quite well-off, to have white rice—delicious, thank you, sir...”

My Father gave a wry smile and said, “Master, you flatter me. My family is poor; we don’t have white rice every day. This was just what my wife left over after her meal, haha.”

Father wasn’t lying. In those days, having a bowl of white rice every day was a luxury for ordinary people. Back then, let alone white rice—even sweet potatoes weren’t available at every meal. That day at lunch, my Father himself only had pumpkin porridge, and that wasn’t pumpkin and white rice, but pumpkin boiled with rice bran. The white rice was only cooked occasionally for Mother because she was pregnant and needed the nourishment.

The bowl of white rice was gone in no time. After eating and drinking his fill, the priest finally stood up. But he didn’t leave right away. Instead, he dusted off his clothes, glanced at the inner room of our house, and turned to my Father saying, “I see you’re a kind-hearted man, so forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I sense a heavy aura of resentment in your home—there must be an evil spirit here.”

Hearing the priest say such ominous things, Father’s face immediately darkened. He thought, this priest is really ungrateful—I gave him water and rice, and instead of being thankful, he’s spouting nonsense, clearly trying to trick me into paying for some ritual.

Thinking this, Father’s face turned cold: “Master, no offense, but I don’t have extra money to hire you for rituals. Please try somewhere else.”

But the priest didn’t leave. He said, “Haha, you misunderstand. If you ask for my help, I won’t charge you—consider it repayment for your meal.”

Still, Father didn’t believe there was an evil spirit in the house. He looked at the priest, thinking he just wanted to stay for dinner, and refused again: “Thank you, Master, but my home is peaceful. There’s no evil spirit as you say.”

Father refused the priest twice, but the priest wasn’t angry. Instead, he shook his head and laughed, “Haha, whether there’s an evil spirit isn’t up to me—it’s up to you. Let me ask you, do you hear strange noises in your house at night?”

As soon as Father heard this, he was sure the priest was just trying to stay for dinner, because there were never any strange noises in their home. So Father shook his head and said no.