Everyone turned to look. It turned out to be a wild monk who had appeared in the village a few months earlier from who-knew-where. He called himself Master Liaofan. He went from house to house begging for food, and seeing that people here seemed busy, he had come over.
In recent years, with reform and opening up, some villagers had begun doing side businesses outside the village, while others made handicrafts to sell elsewhere. Life was getting better, and food was generally no longer a problem. So when the wild monk came begging, villagers usually didn't dislike him and would give him a little. He wasn't greedy—whatever was given, he accepted, whether much or little. If it was too little, he'd go to another house until he was full.
Whenever he ran into a family hosting a wedding or celebration, he was even happier—drinking wine, eating meat. Everyone called him the "wild monk." With such a good life, of course he didn't want to leave. He stayed in a stone house by the railway (a temporary building once put up by the railway bureau) and settled in this small mountain village.
"Wild monk, you've come at the wrong time today. There's no food here right now—this family has something going on. You'd better try another house," someone said.
"What kind of thing could be more important? Heaven and earth may be big, but eating is the biggest!" the wild monk replied.
Because Siqi's mother was kind-hearted, whenever the wild monk came to beg, she usually gave him a bit extra. Most of the time he could eat his fill at this one house and wouldn't need to go elsewhere. Still, he didn't come every day—usually once every half month or so.
Zhu Kun also knew this wild monk. Having read more books than most villagers, he had a clearer sense of things. Though the monk looked muddled and undisciplined, and sometimes spoke crudely, from his manner of walking and the expressions on his face, Zhu Kun felt that he must have read quite a lot. Though nothing else was obvious, Zhu Kun had always treated him politely.
At this moment, Zhu Kun stepped forward and said, "Master, my son was bitten by a red centipede today. Even the county hospital couldn't figure out what it was, so we're quite anxious here and haven't even had dinner yet. If you're hungry, please try another house first."
"Oh? A red centipede?" The wild monk's eyes flashed briefly. "May I take a look at your child?"
"Wild monk, do you even know how to treat illnesses? Don't put on airs!" a middle-aged neighbor said.
Zhu Kun thought for a moment. Since even the hospital hadn't heard of a red centipede, letting him take a look wouldn't hurt.
"Since the Master is willing to help, please come in and have a look."
The wild monk squeezed through the crowd and took one glance. "Isn't this your Third?" Because little Siqi often played by the railway, he knew the wild monk as well. The monk liked him—he was smart and lively.
The wild monk lifted Siqi's foot with his left hand. The top of the foot was badly swollen and severely deformed. With a sudden thought, he placed his right hand on Siqi's pulse, sending a stream of true qi into him. After a long while, he withdrew his hands and said to Zhu Kun:
"Teacher Zhu—since everyone calls you that, I will too. Your Third was indeed bitten by a red centipede. This kind of centipede is extremely rare—an abnormal species—so it's no wonder ordinary doctors and hospitals don't recognize it."
Hearing this, Zhu Kun grew anxious at once. "Master, then can my son's foot be cured?"
"It can be cured," the wild monk said slowly, "but it's very troublesome. This red centipede is actually the offspring of a centipede and a scorpion. Such a thing might appear only once in several hundred years. That it happened here is truly an anomaly.
"Its real name is Red Scorpion-Centipede. Its venom isn't very strong at first, but as time passes, the poison gradually spreads upward. In the end, it can reach the brain and cause brain death. Detoxifying it is especially difficult—many materials are required, and the treatment takes a very long time."
As soon as Siqi's mother heard this, she began to cry. "What should we do…?"
Zhu Kun, however, felt a stir in his heart after hearing everything. He said to the wild monk, "Since you know about this Red Scorpion-Centipede, you must have a way to cure it. Even if I have to sell everything I own, I'll save my son. Please, Master, you must help us!" As he spoke, he was about to kneel.
The wild monk quickly pulled him up. "Speaking of which, I have a connection with your Third. Your family is kind—I won't refuse to help."
"It's just that this poison is very hard to treat. Many medicinal herbs can't be found here, and some must be freshly gathered and used immediately. If you truly want a complete cure, I must take him with me to places rich in medicinal herbs. Only then can we ensure a full recovery. The treatment may take several years."
At this point, the wild monk was secretly doing some calculations of his own. He truly was a master—his status in the Shaolin Temple was very high, and his martial arts and medical skills ranked among the best in the world. But he loved to eat and couldn't stay in ordinary temples. For decades he had wandered around, and in all those years he had never taken a disciple.
In truth, Siqi's illness could be cured in just a few months. But when the monk probed him with true qi, he discovered that Siqi's natural endowment was excellent. He also already knew the boy was unusually intelligent. So he deliberately exaggerated the treatment time to several years, harboring the intention of taking him as a disciple. He feared the family might not let the child go, so he seized this opportunity for a bit of "public service mixed with private gain."
"Child's mother, what do you think?" Zhu Kun asked.
Siqi's mother was a simple rural woman with little sense of her own. "Old Zhu, you decide. I'll go along with whatever you choose."
Zhu Kun was deeply troubled. The county hospital couldn't cure it; even a provincial hospital might not succeed. And even if it did, he might not be able to afford the medical costs. Looking at Siqi in such pain, and thinking how young and intelligent his son was—he had always taught him early whenever he had time—Zhu Kun felt heartbroken.
Because he lacked formal credentials, though he taught well, he could never become a state-employed teacher. He had placed his hopes on his son. Now that seemed uncertain too. But then he thought: this monk clearly had real abilities and must be well-read. If Siqi followed him for a few years, at least he wouldn't become illiterate.
Gritting his teeth, Zhu Kun finally said to the wild monk, "Master, then I entrust my child to you. I believe your learning is profound—please give him proper instruction when the time comes. I will be forever grateful."
Hearing this, the wild monk was secretly delighted. "No problem. Since Teacher Zhu says so, I might as well accept your Third as my disciple. What do you think?"
"Many thanks, Master," Zhu Kun said. He could only accept this path and trust that the monk wouldn't mistreat his son. "But… my child won't have to become a monk, will he? That wouldn't be very good."
"A lay disciple, a lay disciple," Liaofan replied quickly, afraid Zhu Kun might change his mind. To him it didn't matter—so long as his teachings were passed on. In truth, he himself was only half a monk; otherwise, the position of Shaolin abbot might well have been his.
"Then when should my child leave with you for treatment?"
"The sooner the better. This illness can't be delayed. It would be best to go to the county seat right now and take an overnight train to Sichuan." In reality, Liaofan feared that if he waited too long, his newly acquired disciple might slip away.
The Zhu family didn't know this. When Siqi's mother heard they were leaving immediately, her heart panicked. Tears streamed down her face as she hugged her son and cried bitterly. Siqi's two older sisters, Zhu Qi and Zhu Mei, didn't fully understand what was happening, but they knew their little brother was leaving home for a faraway place, and they cried along with the adults.
Zhu Kun took out all the family's savings and handed them to Master Liaofan. "Here are 2,000 yuan. Please accept it. From now on, my son will be in your care."
Liaofan was not greedy. In those days, 2,000 yuan in the countryside was a small fortune—several years of Zhu Kun's wages. He took only 500 yuan. "A monk should own nothing. But since we're in a hurry, this will have to do. This much is enough."
Zhu Kun didn't insist. Seeing the master act this way only reassured him.
While comforting Siqi's mother and telling her not to cry anymore, he prepared a few clothes for Siqi. Pressed for time, they flagged down a vehicle on the road and sent little Siqi and Master Liaofan to the train station that very night. There was a passing train to the provincial capital, from where they would transfer onward to Sichuan.