The weather was beautiful this morning. For a change, I decided to head out for breakfast and do some grocery shopping. I was so hungry that by the time I finished breakfast, it was only 8:00 AM, so I wandered through the market. My fridge was already quite full, so after two laps, I only bought some Korean-style dried tofu and a bag of mantou. I thought I’d take a stroll to the supermarket, so I chose an alley I’d never walked before to cut through the market. Little did I know, I was about to step into a magical time tunnel…
Suddenly, in a sparsely populated alley, I spotted a lady at a stall. A large poster next to her folding table advertised “Knife Therapy, Logomancy (Character Analysis), and Spiritual Inquiry” as pay-as-you-wish services. Intrigued, I sat down and asked the pretty lady how the process worked. She smiled warmly and said, “You can ask through character analysis.”
I asked about the chances of expanding my small group activities in the near future and the likely timeline. I briefly explained my work as “spiritual counseling,” fearing that a more complex explanation would be confusing.
To my surprise, the lady’s demeanor turned serious immediately. “Tell me,” she asked, “are you practicing any spiritual cultivation?” I was momentarily speechless. In my head, a childhood melody started playing: “Don’t ask me where I come from, my hometown is far away… why wander? Wandering afar…” It felt incredibly fitting. I scratched my head and stammered, thinking: Oh no, have I run into a fortune-telling missionary? How do I make a run for it?
Seeing my hesitation, the smile vanished from her face. She said sternly, “This won’t do. You can’t be in this profession without a ‘patron’ (spiritual backing). You need a patron, or else you won’t even know right from wrong.” I didn’t know how to respond. I could only watch as she talked about her childhood, how her parents would listen to a master tell ancient myths and episodic legends while they worked, translating them into Daoist cultivation terms. I sat there with a stiff expression, worrying that she would go on forever…
I checked my phone—it was already 9:15 AM. I realized I probably wouldn’t make it to the supermarket today. To stem her enthusiasm—I think she was genuinely worried I was messing around with something dangerous—I managed to say, “Sister, don’t worry too much! I’m a disciple of Osho.” She perked up. “Osho? What’s that?” “He was an Indian master,” I explained. She cautiously confirmed, “So… are you… Taiwanese?” “Yes, I’m Taiwanese,” I quickly replied. She broke into a grin. “Fine, that’s okay. That counts as having a patron. As long as you are learning. But let me ask you, do you know what ‘The Dao’ is?…”
I checked my phone again; it was almost 9:30 AM. I quickly cut to the chase: “Sister, I’m actually here to ask about my work.” She sighed, “Alas, your career is struggling because your ‘Five Features’ are out of alignment. Humans have five features, and if they aren’t correct, things won’t go smoothly. What are the five? On the face, there are four: eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. You are missing one that requires the assistance of deities to activate. Once that feature is opened, everything will be smooth. The process is simple—a ritual that takes about an hour and a half…” I interjected, “Sister, thank you, but no rituals for me. Can you just answer my question?”
She then asked me to write a character. I watched as she performed a quick “calculation on her fingers” (qia zhi yi suan). “It hasn’t happened yet,” she said. “You can only prepare for now. The world situation is in chaos this year, and your luck hasn’t opened up yet…”
Seeing her frown and that finger-calculating pose, I was suddenly deeply satisfied! I had seen those techniques in physiognomy books when I was a teenager, but I could never remember what each position represented. It completely satisfied my nostalgia for the old days. I thought to myself: If only she were dressed more like a Daoist nun, with a burlap cloth on the table and a hand-calligraphed sign, it would be perfect! I felt an instant “crush” on the whole scene.
It felt exactly like a chapter from an old episodic novel: a wandering Daoist nun traveling the world, using Daoist arts to deliver the masses in a quiet alleyway, indifferent to fame or fortune. I found it so fascinating—different eras and people mixed into the same moment. Then, she started inviting me to a course on “The Dao” that she believed in. I was tempted because it seemed like an interesting world where I might meet more people straight out of a novel.
However, I hesitated when she mentioned “delivering sentient beings” and going to a “Buddhist hall.” I didn’t want to bring home a bunch of complications just because I was curious about unusual people. I’m so torn. As I get older, I find myself reminiscing more about the “taste of home.” Those episodic stories and myths from the radio in my childhood are still floating through the ether. Perhaps these legends of immortals will never truly fade from the human world.
I’ll have to think about whether I should actually go and see it, just to satisfy my curiosity. Truly, the greatest masters of the mysterious are often found among the common folk.