Chapter 12: Paying Homage to the Mountain Deity, Honoring the Mountain Spirit, and Becoming a Mountain Wanderer!

Drip, drip, clatter~
Drip, drip, clatter~

Accompanied by the piercing sound of the suona and the beating of gongs, Zhang Hao quickened his pace, eager to arrive before the funeral procession reached the foot of the mountain.

Today’s mountain journey must proceed without a single mistake.

After all, this was his very first time undertaking such a passage.

He ran while glancing back, sometimes checking the procession’s speed, sometimes dodging stones and potholes on the muddy path.

Wearing straw sandals, he was never swift, and his impatience only grew.

He was still at least a thousand meters away from the mountain’s base and had to follow the winding path around a row of houses, nearly crossing half the village, before he could reach the foot of the mountain.

There was no shortcut—the river in between made it impossible.

Crossing water before a mountain journey was considered a bad omen.

“Encountering water before the mountain journey is a great misfortune; encountering water during the journey is a great blessing.”

Zhang Hao strictly adhered to such ancient wisdom, fearing any oversight or error.

Fortunately, the funeral procession was moving at a slower pace, mindful of the family following the coffin.

Reaching the mountain’s foot as fast as he could, Zhang Hao bent over, gasping for breath.

He had to admit, the physical training of recent days had paid off somewhat.

In the past, he wouldn’t have lasted this far; halfway through he would have needed to stop and rest.

Raising his head, squinting against the daylight, he looked at the approaching funeral procession, casually wiping the sweat from his brow before pulling several items from his backpack.

Offering fruits, an incense holder, incense sticks, along with red cloth and red cords.

These were all essential offerings to the mountain deity, with the red cloth and cords especially indispensable.

Though placing red cloth and cords in front of a funeral procession was traditionally considered taboo—potentially causing conflict and resentment from the deceased’s family—Zhang Hao had no choice. The ancient texts were explicit, and he could only follow them.

He quickly spread the red cloth on the ground, arranged the incense holder and offerings according to the ancient instructions, and lit three incense sticks—two thin and one thick—placing them in the holder.

The thick incense in the center was for the mountain deity, the thin one on the left for the mountain spirits, and the thin one on the right to pray for his safe return.

Completing the setup, Zhang Hao stepped back two paces and bowed thrice before the incense, murmuring a prayer:

“Today, Zhang Hao, a mountain traveler, inherits the true teachings of the legendary traveler Xu Xiake and all predecessors. I embark upon the mountains, tread through the forests, seek treasures, explore mountain secrets, and pray for the mountain deity’s blessing and the mountain spirits’ acceptance.”

“Mountain deity, mountain spirits above, Zhang Hao humbly offers these fruits, hoping for your gracious acceptance.”

After the three bows, he stood and turned to face the mountain itself, bowing thrice more with deep reverence.

Hearing nothing unusual—no rustling wind, no disturbances—Zhang Hao lifted his gaze to the vast mountain overhead. There was no sign of turmoil or anomaly, and a wave of relief washed over him.

Having performed this ritual, having paid homage to the mountain deity and spirits, Zhang Hao had officially become a mountain traveler.

The ancient tomes stated, “To become a mountain traveler, one must worship the mountain deity and spirits and receive their approval. If the mountain stirs or changes, the approval is denied.”

In other words, only after the mountain deity and spirits accepted him could he truly claim the title. Otherwise, signs such as relentless winds, restless beasts, or eerie cries would manifest.

But none of these appeared now.

This meant Zhang Hao had earned the mountain deity’s and spirits’ approval—he was now a genuine mountain traveler.

With that, his next task was to deal with the funeral procession.

Drip, drip, clatter~

The suona’s wailing, the gong’s clanging, and the mournful cries grew nearer. He turned his head to see the procession now less than twenty meters behind him.

Zhang Hao dared not delay; he hurried to the red cloth, knelt on both knees, and prostrated himself before the incense holder.

“Today, mountain traveler Zhang Hao encounters a joyous funeral within the village—a sign of good fortune. Mountain deity, mountain spirits, hear this; may this joy return to the forest and transform into a spirit that eternally guards the mountain...”

“Mountain traveler Zhang Hao prays for the mountain deity’s protection, that all may proceed smoothly and return safely.”

As he chanted, the sounds of the suona, the gong, the uneven footsteps, and the heart-wrenching cries grew clearer.

Then, he felt many people pass along the narrow path before him—four with heavy steps, others lighter—and the creaking of the coffin shifting with each movement.

He did not look up, nor did he glance at the procession.

The ancient text had warned:

“When worshipping the mountain deity, one must not look upon a funeral procession; to ward off evil, one must remain silent and sincerely seek protection for a smooth mountain journey.”

As long as the procession passed without him looking or speaking, he would survive this trial, and the mountain deity would protect his journey without mishap.

Listening carefully, Zhang Hao sensed the procession had moved beyond him; the suona and gong fell silent, and the mournful cries faded significantly, as if ascending the mountain slope. His tense heart finally relaxed.

He slowly straightened, gazing towards the mountain’s foot.

Several villagers had stopped there, their expressions strange, complex, or doubtful, some pursing lips and pointing in his direction.

“Isn’t that Old Zhang’s son? What’s he doing here with a big red cloth? Today’s Zhao’s funeral, and he sets up a red cloth like this—what nonsense is this?”

“Exactly. It’s one thing to not help, but he’s not even staying quietly at home. What could he be planning?”

“Who knows? He’s always loafing around, talking nonsense. Maybe he’s drunk again.”

These villagers had come to assist but, once the deceased and family had moved up the mountain, they no longer needed to follow and could return to prepare the midday feast.

Their words reached Zhang Hao’s ears clearly and vaguely at once. His face flushed with embarrassment, and his gaze darted away.

Sighing, he reminded himself not to mind their gossip. After all, his past reputation had left this impression.

Forcing himself to ignore them, he grabbed the red cord lying nearby and unfurled it onto the path just crossed by the procession.

This was the final and most crucial step of the ritual.

The red cord was originally meant to be hung on a branch near the mountain deity’s altar to seek protection.

But upon encountering a funeral procession, the cord had to be laid on the path the procession passed, and the mountain traveler must step over it before entering the mountain.

This would completely dispel any ill fortune and prevent disturbance to the mountain spirits.

Before Zhang Hao could place the cord fully, a graceful figure slipped through the crowd.

She wore a simple, nearly white top, a black cloth hung from her arm, her delicate, sculpted features marked by curiosity, her almond-shaped eyes narrowed slightly, and her neatly tied ponytail swayed with each step.

It was Li Siyu.