Chapter 82: After the Founding of the Nation, Animals Can No Longer Attain Immortality

At first, when the villagers saw the mountains crawling with weasels, they were quite excited. Even though the price of weasel pelts had dropped considerably, they were still worth something. These golden-furred creatures seemed to be gold scattered across the land! Everyone banded together to catch them, but as soon as they left the village, they realized that something was off. When cornered, even a dog will leap over a wall; a desperate weasel will bite, too. But usually, weasels are afraid of people. At the sight of humans, they would scurry away, and even if caught, their only defense was to release a foul-smelling gas, their signature move. Once that was spent, they were helpless. Yet today, the weasels showed no fear. When people came out to catch them, not only did they not flee, but they bared their teeth and charged at the villagers, ready to bite!

It is human nature to bully the weak and fear the strong. The villagers had set out to catch and kill them, but who would have anticipated such resistance? Looking closer, it was clear that in a direct confrontation, numbers were not on the humans’ side. Weasels may be small, but if each one first unleashed its stench and then a dozen or so attacked together, the villagers would not stand a chance. So, these once bold villagers suddenly lost their nerve.

With the people cowed, the weasels did not enter the village, but instead committed another act that left the villagers distraught. The weasels began gnawing at the crops like rats. The wheat in the fields was lush and green; after the heavy snows this year, there was an old saying: “If the wheat is covered with three layers of snow in winter, you’ll sleep on buns next year.” The droughts and floods had already harmed the crops, but this year promised a good harvest. If the weasels continued their rampage, not a blade of grass would be left. Panic spread quickly, but none dared risk their lives. All they could do was turn to their clan chief, Chen Tianfang.

In truth, Chen Tianfang needed no explanation—he knew exactly what was happening outside. How could he not realize that the old weasel spirit was forcing his hand? When the villagers called him out, he saw the weasels frantically devouring the crops, and his heart ached. Chen Tianfang was, in fact, the village landlord, and most of the fields were his. If the crops were ruined, how would he collect rent next year?

The villagers fell to their knees in a great throng, begging the chief to find a solution. Chen Tianfang was at his wits’ end. At last, he shouted, “Enough, I’ll go settle this matter now. Wait here.”

He turned to head back to the village, sending the villagers away, and alone, he made his way to Chen Daneng’s house. There he found the weasel spirit possessing Chen Daneng’s mother. The weasel spirit greeted him with a cold, mocking smile. “So, Chief Chen, have you made up your mind?”

Chen Tianfang glared at her, “Are you certain you only wish to pay your respects?”

“Absolutely!” the weasel spirit replied.

“Do you dare to swear a binding oath—only to pay respects, without touching the Dragon Head Stele, and that from now on you and your kind will return to the mountains and never trouble the villagers again?” Chen Tianfang pressed.

“Rest assured, Chief Chen, if you wish me to swear, I shall do so. I know you humans regard us as untrustworthy beasts, but you should know, in our eyes, you humans are no better. Since I have spoken, I will keep my word. If you promise that your villagers will not harm my kin, though tonight my brood has ruined a hundred acres of fertile land, in a few days I will have them bring grain to compensate for the loss,” the weasel spirit replied.

With that, the weasel spirit swore an oath, invoking the name of the True Lord Huang, patron of weasels. Chen Tianfang had no choice but to believe her, for he had no other options. He sneered, “You are here for the Dragon Head Stele after all. Your kind in the mountains have no shortage of food.”

The weasel spirit only sneered back with arrogance, as if to say, “And what if you know?” There was nothing Chen Tianfang could do. He led her to the Dragon Head Stele, where they dug it up and prepared the altar with offerings and incense. Several people stood vigil around the weasel spirit—even though she had sworn an oath, Chen Tianfang was still uneasy. Yet, strangely, this time the notoriously sly weasel spirit kept her promise. She merely offered incense and made her obeisance to the Dragon Head Stele. Afterwards, “Chen Daneng’s mother” clasped her hands in respect to Chen Tianfang and said, “I shall return to the mountains, and my kin will depart as well. From now on, let the Chen clan of Fudigou and my kind keep to our own paths, never interfering with each other. Chief Chen, please keep your word as well.”

As soon as she finished, a wisp of blue smoke rose from her head, and she collapsed to the ground. Chen Daneng, terrified, rushed to cradle his mother, sobbing and wailing. Chen Tianfang stepped forward, took her wrist, and checked her pulse. “Stop crying, take her home—she’ll be fine after some rest.”

Just then, villagers arrived to report that the army of weasels had retreated from around the village. Of course, the villagers would simply say the weasels were all gone. Only now did Chen Tianfang finally feel some relief.

A few days later, a large quantity of grain appeared outside the village. Not only grain, but also mountain walnuts, wild dates, and even many medicinal herbs. Chen Tianfang understood this was the weasel spirit keeping her promise to compensate the villagers, so he personally oversaw the distribution of these goods.

“That’s all there was to it. The rule that the weasels and the Chen clan of Fudigou would not interfere with each other was set then. In the winters that followed, villagers might occasionally catch a weasel or two, but it was of little consequence. As for the deeper reaches of Mount Funiu, in those days no one ventured there, and even fewer do now. There is no cave leading from Mount Funiu to the weasels’ domain, but a cliff. You should know the one I mean,” said Chen Dongfang.

“That’s all? That can’t be it, right?” I ignored the latter part of Chen Dongfang’s words, because, like Chen Tianfang, I couldn’t believe the cunning weasels only wanted to pay their respects.

“That’s really all. Even Grandfather didn’t believe it at the time, and kept his guard up for a long while, but nothing ever happened. In fact, the weasel spirit visited him once more, only to bid farewell, saying they would never descend from the mountains again. Grandfather asked why, and the weasel spirit replied, ‘After the founding of the nation, animals can no longer become spirits,’” said Chen Dongfang.

My tense mood was suddenly lightened by Chen Dongfang’s unexpected comment. That phrase—“After the founding of the nation, animals can no longer become spirits”—was a popular joke online. I never thought the usually solemn Chen Dongfang would say such a thing.

“I’m not joking. The emperor was a dragon. Once the emperor was gone, demons and monsters emerged. It’s not just nonsense—the idea that animals can’t become spirits after the founding of the nation isn’t entirely a joke. The deeper meaning eludes me, but you can ask Fatty—he’s more versed in the Daoist arts. Didn’t you hear me just now? There is no cave from Mount Funiu to the weasel’s domain, only a cliff,” Chen Dongfang reiterated.

“You mean the village chief is lying?” I thought to myself, that can’t be true. When Chen Qingshan recounted the story, he was in tears, on the verge of a breakdown. How could he be lying?

“Maybe he just couldn’t see the path clearly at night. Either way, the weasels in the mountains have become a force to be reckoned with. Now that Chen Shitou has allied himself with them, things could get very troublesome. Don’t provoke those weasels lightly, or trouble will surely follow,” said Chen Dongfang.

“Fine. Finish your business in Luoyang as soon as possible—best if you can rescue Uncle Zhuzi. When you return, we’ll decide what to do.” With that, I hung up ruthlessly, not giving Chen Dongfang the chance to end the call on me as he always did, which was quite frustrating.

Since I’d been on speakerphone with Chen Dongfang the whole time, Fatty had heard everything. I turned to look at him, cigarette dangling from his lips, and asked, “Fatty, you’re well-traveled and experienced—what do you make of this?”

“He thinks you don’t know that Chen Jinzhi was ultimately buried beneath the Dragon Head Stele, so he’s being vague. If you ask me, the weasels are well aware of Chen Jinzhi’s intentions. Whatever truth or falsehood is in Chen Dongfang’s words, he got one thing absolutely right: those animals that have become spirits or gained power have an extraordinary sensitivity to fortune and fate. That’s their innate talent—otherwise, why would it be them, out of all the beasts, to become spirits?” Fatty replied.

“Animals can’t become spirits after the founding of the nation?” I asked, knowing Fatty understood what I meant.

Fatty nodded, “How can I explain this? The Imperial Jade Seal, passed down by the emperor, is intimately connected to the geomantic veins and the dragon’s energy beneath the land.”

For a better reading experience, mobile users please visit the site.