Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Rooster Crows at Dawn, the Star of Day Descends

Watching the white dog curled up and sleeping, Yunqi was about to shake his head. He was out traveling to temper himself and wouldn’t be staying in this village for long; having an extra little companion would be inconvenient.

“Daoist Yun, do you plan to keep wandering through these mountains?” someone asked.

Yunqi nodded. He had only just arrived.

“Then, Daoist, you should take the dog. Bailong’er’s ears are sharp—he can hear everything that happens in the mountains.”

Yunqi considered this. That day, when he had been standing outside the courtyard some distance away, Bailong’er had noticed him immediately. The dog’s ears were indeed remarkable. He would still be training in these mountains, and while he feared little else, he did worry about being approached unnoticed while meditating. True, he carried the Eight Trigram Mother-and-Child Bells, but those were lifeless tools after all.

So he nodded and accepted the white dog.

The village chief added, “Daoist Yun, you needn’t worry about the dog. Let the big dogs in the village teach him their skills. Just let him sleep outside your door at night. You needn’t feed him; the big dogs will nurse him for a few days, and after ten days or so, he’ll find food for himself. If you have any scraps, just toss them to the dog—he’ll eat anything.”

In the old chief’s words, raising Bailong’er seemed simple enough.

Yunqi nodded. With that, Dong Huonai took the white dog back, saying he’d bring him over again that evening; this visit was just to have Yunqi look him over.

Yunqi was glad for the ease. He bid farewell to Dong Huonai’s family, who thanked him profusely, and remained behind with the chief.

“Grandpa Munai, last time when I asked about the Red-Crowned Lord, you only told me half the story,” Yunqi said with a smile.

The old chief scratched his head. “Oh, that’s right!”

They sat together on the beauty’s rest, one speaking, the other listening.

“After our ancestors got Bailong’er and the rooster, life gradually improved. How to put it? The deaths finally stopped outpacing the births,” the chief said with a sigh.

Yunqi had no response.

“One day, a Daoist suddenly came to our village. They say he was very young. At first, our ancestors thought he was just a lost child! But then he performed magical arts, and the ancestors realized they’d met a great master.”

The chief glanced at Yunqi—he, too, had witnessed magic the night before, as had the entire village. He hadn’t slept all night, believing it was the ancestors blessing and protecting them.

“The master was pleased to see the chickens and taught our ancestors a special way to raise them. When raised right, they became ‘Red-Crowned Chongming Roosters,’ or the ‘Red-Crowned Lord’—a true bird of yang energy.

“But the method is difficult,” the chief didn’t elaborate. “In the village, it’s rare to raise a Red-Crowned Lord—maybe one every two or three generations. They live longer than people. The one we have now was raised by the previous generation, which is why we call him the Red-Crowned Elder.

“The Red-Crowned Lord has a double comb and double pupils, can distinguish humans from spirits, and no sinister thing can escape his eyes.”

Yunqi praised him and finally asked, “Why haven’t I seen the Red-Crowned Lord since I entered the village?”

The chief answered with pride, “He’s wise—smarter than people—and cultivates himself. Usually, he’s unseen, but when we need him, he appears on his own. Every morning before sunrise, he crows from the big tree at the village’s entrance; after that, he vanishes. Only after he crows do the other roosters dare to call.”

Yunqi asked, “And the paper rooster pasted on the doors?”

The chief glanced at the faded, tattered rooster picture on Yunqi’s door and sighed. “That was also left by the master. It’s called the ‘King of Roosters House-Guardian Picture.’ The ancestors said that for decades after the master pasted them up, no poisonous creatures or ghosts entered the village. Those who grew up during those years were resilient in spirit and strong in yang energy—rarely did anything bad happen to them outside.

“But centuries have passed; the pictures are old and worn, and their protective power has faded. Still, we’re used to the custom, so we draw new ones ourselves—for the sake of festivity, if nothing else.”

Yunqi nodded, now understanding.

They chatted a little longer, then the chief left and Yunqi settled down, turning his thoughts to cultivation.

Yunqi had read the section on the Palace of the Heart in the ‘Internal Classic of the Hundred Apertures of the Celestial Circuit’ countless times. Visualizing the Star Lord of Altar and the Palace of Light had made his mind power solid and his visualization skillful.

It was time to use visualization to form the Spirit of the Heart Palace.

Previously, what he had visualized—the Star Lord and the Palace—were statues and temples, lifeless objects. But the inner spirit is the master of the palace and apertures, governing the flow of vital energy and blood, the principle of longevity and health—how could it be a dead thing?

The heart is the marshal of blood, governing with the kidneys the essence and blood of the whole body. It is the most active among the hundred apertures. If one only visualizes a lifeless form, it not only fails to circulate energy and blood, breathe energy, operate the Celestial Circuit, accumulate power, or even form talismans, but also harms the heart’s natural function, leading to weakness and insufficiency.

Now, though, he had found a way to bring the constellation of Altar to life.

———

On the fifth day after arriving at the village.

September twelfth.

Yunqi woke early, stood before the house, and gazed at the giant thorn tree by the gate, its leaves and trunk bristling with spines the villagers called “cat’s thorns.”

As dawn crept in, Yunqi saw a bird fly from the mountains behind the village.

It was enormous, with a beak like a spear, talons like steel hooks, golden spurs, a crimson crown, a tail grander than a phoenix’s, emerald plumes, and splendid feathers—majestic and imposing.

The great bird landed straight on the tree; its steel talons feared no thorns. Once settled, its true form was clear—it was not just any bird, but the Red-Crowned Chongming Rooster, the Red-Crowned Lord.

The sky was still dim. Facing east, the Red-Crowned Lord raised his head high, the crimson crown trembling.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo—”

The Red-Crowned Lord crowed loudly.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo—cock-a-doodle-doo—cock-a-doodle-doo—”

All the village roosters followed with their calls.

At once, light burst from the east as the red sun rose.

Once the sun was up, the Red-Crowned Lord flapped his wings and disappeared into the mountains, vanishing from sight.

As on previous mornings, Yunqi carefully recalled the Red-Crowned Lord’s posture, his resounding crow, and the symbolism of sunlight dispelling the darkness.

Then, carrying a sheaf of papers, he sought out the old chief.

“Grandpa Munai, please look at these pictures,” Yunqi said, handing over the stack.

The chief took the papers and glanced at the top one—a striking full-body portrait: depicted was a burly Daoist, wearing a tall red crown, sturdy golden boots, and a scarlet robe. The Daoist had golden eyes with double pupils, small ears, a hooked nose, and a bristling red beard. On the front of his robe was a rooster, standing on a branch, crowing to the sky. In his right hand, he held a lantern whose light dispelled the darkness, suffusing the whole painting with golden glow.

In the upper left, a short inscription read:

“At the rooster’s crow, the world is bright.”

In the lower left was a seal:

Studio of Humility and Prudence.

Yunqi also examined the picture. Now, the figure in the painting differed greatly from the Altar Star Lord in the ‘Seven Mansions of the White Tiger.’ The features were similar, but where one was refined, the other was rugged; the body was now robust and powerful, the stars on his robe replaced by a rooster, his weapon changed from a needle to a lantern.

He had changed from a noble, dignified Star Lord into a bold, unrestrained, evil-hating wandering Daoist.

This was exactly Yunqi’s intention.

The chief looked at the next picture:

Here, the burly Daoist wielded a peachwood sword in his right hand, piercing a fierce ghost’s chest, while his left hand held the ghost’s severed head. At the top left was written:

“Symbol of accumulated yang, essence of fire and light. Paste on the door with peachwood charms—ghosts fear it.”

The next picture showed the Daoist stomping a centipede and chewing a scorpion; in the top left:

“In the third month of Grain Rain, scorpions run wild. The divine rooster pecks once—all poison turns to water.”

Next, the Daoist’s eyes were wide in wrath, mouth open in a furious roar; the caption:

“At the rooster’s crow, ghosts shrink a foot, insects flee ten miles, the lantern shines with triple brightness.”

And so on, picture after picture.

The old chief looked at Yunqi, unsure of his meaning.

“I’d like to ask you to inform the villagers—could these pictures be pasted on doors and windows? Their power may not match the ancestor’s ‘King of Roosters House-Guardian Picture,’ but they carry the spirit of yang fire. They should be more effective than the homemade ones.”

The chief was stunned, then overjoyed, assuring him there was no need to ask, everyone would be willing.

Yunqi smiled and nodded. “If the chief doesn’t mind, I’ll leave several for each household. I’ll ask everyone to put up new pictures every New Year’s Day. In a few years, I’ll either come myself or send someone to bring new ones. As long as I live, I’ll not break my promise.”

The chief could hardly believe it, dazed for a moment, then nearly knelt to Yunqi in gratitude.

Yunqi quickly supported him.

“And what shall these pictures be called?” the chief asked with a broad smile.

Yunqi had clearly considered this. “Let’s call them ‘The New Year Manifestation of the Rooster Spirit Altar Star Lord in the World.’”

Seeing the chief’s puzzled look, Yunqi laughed and said, “Or simply, ‘Divine Rooster Manifestation Pictures.’”

Now the chief understood and replied happily, “A fine name!”