Chapter Seventy-Seven: Hosting a Dinner

After Zhang Dehua’s stern lecture, Cui Yue was overcome with shame, nearly on the verge of tears. At last, the matter was settled; the page had been turned. The future was bright, though the path remained winding. Cui Yue, in front of Zhang Dehua, made a solemn promise to obey the organization’s management and devote his energy entirely to production.

From the corner, Feng Tao watched Cui Yue’s retreating figure with a cold sneer. “Our days together are long—this isn’t over!”

Evening, the People’s Canteen, private room.

“Da Zhuang, order whatever you like. Don’t let Zhang Hao save a penny.”

Da Zhuang was visibly excited, practically spitting as he spoke. Zhang Hao, meanwhile, wore a mournful expression, calculating how much money he would have left in his pocket.

“Zhang Hao, don’t look so miserable. Be more enthusiastic! Wasn’t it you who begged to treat Brother Qingquan to dinner and drinks, wanting to show your hospitality?” Cui Yue teased.

Zhang Hao sighed in resignation, praying that Da Zhuang and the others would show mercy tonight, and not eat until there was nothing left.

Before the workday ended, Cui Yue and Da Zhuang had cornered Zhang Hao in the security room, refusing to let him go until he agreed to host a dinner for everyone: first, to atone for abandoning them at the critical moment, and second, to thank them for saving his life. At first, Zhang Hao clung tightly to his wallet and refused, but ultimately, under threat of Da Zhuang’s fists, he reluctantly agreed.

Qingquan felt a little embarrassed, thinking Zhang Hao was spending too much, but since the dishes were already on the table, what was there to do but eat?

As they feasted, Zhang Hao thought, “I can’t let them take advantage of me!” After a few drinks, his spirits soared; he pointed at everyone around the table and declared, “Tonight, no one fights me for the bill. Eat your fill. We won’t leave until we’re all drunk!”

Cui Yue and Da Zhuang exchanged secret nods. “This is exactly the attitude we like.”

Another round of toasts followed, with Zhang Hao and Da Zhuang soon sprawled across the table, singing “Workers Are Strong” with heartfelt emotion and tears in their eyes.

The brief intoxication of alcohol dispelled the gloom that had lingered in their hearts for days, letting them forget their troubles and the passage of time.

Qingquan, raised in the Daoist tradition and abstaining from alcohol, observed the camaraderie and the various states people fell into after drinking, feeling a surge of emotion. He recalled his master’s words: to leave the world, one must first enter it. His own worldly attachments were not yet severed.

Cui Yue, too, was lost in thought. The recent days had been filled with strange and inexplicable events. People, ghosts, and demons flashed through his mind like scenes from a film, and he could not help but recall the woman in white, snowy as the moon. So many words pressed at his lips, but none came out.

“Cui Yue?”

“Hmm?” Qingquan looked at him, his gaze shifting, face complex with emotion, as if there was something he wished to say.

“Cui Yue, though we haven’t known each other long, you feel like an old friend. There are things I don’t know how to express.” Cui Yue set down his glass and patted his chest.

“Ha! Glasses, that’s the spirit. We’ve shared life and death—you’re my brother. I won’t claim much, but for you, I’d go through fire and water!” Qingquan smiled, nodding. Suddenly his expression changed, and he spoke as if unintentionally.

“What is the Dao?”

“The Dao?”

Cui Yue murmured. The question caught him off guard; the concept of the Dao was too vast and elusive for him.

“What is the Dao? Going up the mountain is the Dao, hiding in the world is the Dao, tempering the body is the Dao, refining the heart is the Dao—the Dao of Heaven, of Earth, of Man. The paths differ, but the Great Dao is one.”

“Glasses, I don’t understand what you’re saying. The Dao to me is like the moon in water or flowers in a mirror—I have a vague sense, but can’t put it into words,” Cui Yue replied, scratching his head.

Qingquan did not press further, changing the subject.

“Cui Yue, you have a pure heart and deep blessings, your destiny is tied to the Dao. If you wish to follow the path, it will be a great journey.”

Follow the Dao? Become a Daoist priest?

Cui Yue never imagined this bespectacled fellow would try to recruit him to become a Daoist like himself!

His mind in turmoil, Cui Yue hurriedly declined, “No, no, I don’t want to be a Daoist priest. I can’t follow strict rules, and I’ve never thought about it. I’m not cut out for it.”

Qingquan merely laughed, saying no more. The path was perilous and could not be forced upon anyone. He only spoke up because he saw potential in Cui Yue.

Cui Yue had never considered cultivation. Since joining the fertilizer factory as a worker, he’d accepted his life’s trajectory: to marry, raise children, and live quietly.

The Dao and destiny are intertwined. One’s birth chart determines fate. Though there are countless paths, all lead to the Great Dao.

“Oh, right, Cui Yue, I’ll be away for a few days on business. Keep this sword safe, and there are some talismans in this pouch—use them in emergencies. Keep them with you.” As he spoke, Qingquan pressed a small peachwood sword into Cui Yue’s hand. It felt warm and familiar.

Cui Yue wanted to refuse, but Qingquan’s earnest gaze made it hard. It would be handy for self-defense. He tucked the talismans close to his body.

Qingquan nodded, his gaze lingering on Cui Yue, but the words in his heart remained unspoken.

Mountains beyond the sky, rivers across the land, water without fixed shape, fire forging true gold—the Dao follows nature, encompassing all eight elements. It cannot be feared, nor can it be fathomed.

The path to longevity can be sought, but who can attain it?

The dinner was not yet over, but Zhang Hao was already thoroughly drunk, sprawled across the table and refusing to rise.

Cui Yue raised an eyebrow and called out, “Boss, the check!”

“One hundred and twelve yuan. I’ll round it down—one hundred and one.”

The boss greeted them kindly.

“Here you go,” Cui Yue said, handing over the money from his wallet without a second thought.

No sooner was the bill settled than Zhang Hao, like a green dragon rising, sprang up, looking not the least bit drunk.

“Huh? What’s happening? Going home? Yes, let’s go home.”

Cui Yue replied with a cold laugh, “Yes, the bill’s paid. Time to go home.”

“Ay, you see, I said I’d treat tonight—why didn’t any of you listen?” Zhang Hao looked regretful, sighing and shaking his head.

Cui Yue stared at Zhang Hao’s shameless face with disdain—enough, the act was overdone.

Then, Cui Yue smiled warmly, slipped a wallet into Zhang Hao’s jacket pocket, and said mischievously, “It’s fine, don’t be discouraged or sad. How could we refuse your generosity? Here’s your wallet back; don’t be so extravagant next time. We’re comrades—eating and drinking to excess isn’t proper!” He deliberately put on a reproachful expression, speaking righteously.

Zhang Hao’s eyes were glazed, his mouth dry, his expression worse than crying.

“You—you—when did you steal my wallet?”

“I—I knew you’d try to dodge the bill. While we were drinking, I told Da Zhuang to take care of it.”

Da Zhuang shrugged helplessly. Don’t blame the enemy for being cunning—blame the hunter for being careless. I didn’t want your wallet; I was just its courier.

“Zhang Ironhead, don’t think you can play tricks with us!” With that, Cui Yue and Da Zhuang pulled Qingquan along and strode out, leaving Zhang Hao alone, bewildered in the night breeze.