Short, Light, Free

Chapter 16: Mountain, Sea I: Forget-Me

Translator: Irene_ Editor: Perriemix

Recently, a new barbershop called ‘Hundred Ghosts’ opened nearby.

Business was booming.

It was the start of the holidays and my hair had grown long, too.

I took some time to check out the place.

I was stopped by a shop assistant upon arriving at the door

“Sir, there’s a small rule.”

“Okay, tell me,” I smiled.

“No mirrors allowed inside. That mirror of yours is huge,” he mentioned with a bitter smile.

“Hey, brother. This isn’t a mirror. It’s how I make a living.”

“A rule is a rule,” he continued, pointing at the cabinet by the door.

Left with no choice, I placed my bagua mirror into the cabinet, mumbling, “You must know that I’m just curious because this shop is new. Otherwise, I would’ve turned around by now, understand?”

The shop assistant nodded quickly. “So sorry.”

I stepped into a dark room.

There was a stark contrast between the brightness in and outside of the shop.

“Is this place lightproof?” I asked suspiciously.

“Perhaps it’s because of the cheap rent. I’m new here, too, and I am not sure why this place is like this.”

One side of the wall was covered with mirrors and the ceiling was decorated with incandescent lights.

The lights seemed very old, though. They were very dim, but I really don’t have a problem with it.

I took a seat and the assistant proceeded to tell me all the shop’s best selling points.”The razors our barbers use are imported from Germany,” he explained with a gracious smile.

“Imported from Germany?” I dubiously asked.

“You’ll feel a slight breeze when it runs over your hair and absorbs the shaved hair,” he proudly told me.

I looked at the floor and it was extremely clean, not a single hair in sight.

It seemed like the business was doing very good because all the seats were filled with customers.

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something fishy was going on. Things seemed strange around here.

“The barber in charge of your hair isn’t here yet,” the assistant informed me.

Since I wasn’t going to get my hair cut just yet, I started chatting with the assistant.

When I asked about the owner of the shop, the assistant only gave me a serene smile.

I insinuated that he was being petty about it and it worked.

He told me that this barber shop was only the boss’s side business.

He then told me something unimaginable.

“Oh right, you’re a Taoist. I just remembered that my interview was in a temple and...”

“And?” I prompted, somewhat apprehensive.

“I found it strange because my interviewer was an old monk.”

I laughed. “Your boss has a big family and career. Shaolin Temple’s hit the market so it’s not surprising that your interviewer was a monk. I won’t be surprised if he could even afford to buy the temple.”

The shop assistant smiled. “Aye, when will your Taoist temple enter the market?”

I chose not to be embarrassed although his words got to me.

With a bitter smile, I explained, “I’m an orphan and I have been living in the temple since I was young. Do you really think there are many Taoists out there? It’d be funny if there’s even as many Taoists as there are one-tenth of Buddhists.

“Sorry to bring up your sad past,” he apologized.

I wanted to continue the conversation but the barber walked in.

I looked at him.

He had a fresh and refined face but his hair was scruffy. It was unlike most barbers, whose hair are uniquely shaped and colored.

The barber waved his hand and the shop assistant left to attend to other customers.

“Bene... Sir, are you looking for a cut or color?” he asked, subconsciously raising his hands close to his chest but quickly forcing them down.

I held back the urge to laugh.

“You were about to call me benefactor right?” I smirked.

It looked like the boss preferred hiring monks. This barber was obviously a monk.

I looked closely at his hairline. It was a wig.

“Uhm, I’m so sorry about that. Habits are hard to change,” he forced a smile.

“I just want a simple cut,” I told him, changing the topic.

“Then please, come this way bene... Sir. I’ll wash your hair.”

“Hair wash? I just need a cut. I just want to experience that hair-eating razor. A wash isn’t necessary.”

“Oh, it’s a rule. Hair must be washed before a cut.”

“You guys have so many rules.” I followed him.

A bucket of clear water was placed before me. They really do things differently here.

He pointed to a small stool.

I sat down and looked at the water surface. “Other shops use running water. Why are you using still water?”

“This is honey locust water. It’s really beneficial for your hair. Since we don’t really use shampoo, we use still water.”

“That’s not right. I’m smelling something strange.”

“Impossible. It’s the smell of honey locust water,” he mumbled.

“Okay, okay. Go ahead, then.”

He took a ladle and poured water over my head.

Having lived in the temple for so many years, I could clearly detect the smell of burning incense.

I held my breath.

Three times.

“You’re really not going to use shampoo?”

“It’s done. It’s how we do it here.”

I followed him back to the main area and to my seat.

There was no salon cape, which was a refreshing change.

The barber took out an electric razor.

It looked no different from a normal razor.

“Is that the correct one?”

“Yes, yes. Just watch.” He shaved a bit of hair off my temples.

Indeed the hair that fell vanished almost immediately.

And I could feel a soft breeze sweeping past my neck.

No mirrors allowed... questionable.

I secretly took out a mini bagua mirror that I kept under my sleeve. It was something I used for self-defense.

With the light reflected off it, I saw a little black-bodied and white-haired ghost around my neck.

I got so frightened it was all I could do not to make any movements.

Is this ghost sucking my essence?

I took a closer look at the ghost but I wasn’t able to recognize it.

I hated reading ‘Classics of Mountain and Sea’ the most so it wasn’t surprising.

The barber went on with his job, failing to notice what I was doing.

I felt that something wasn’t right so I started looking around.

Damn! There were at least a hundred of this little ghost.

They were scattered around the shop, surrounding each and every customer.

The cool breeze that the barbershop bragged about is really caused by the ghosts’ sucking their customers’ hair.

Each time the barber shaved off a tuft of hair, these ghosts would eagerly take in the falling hair.

When that was done, they would wait in joy for the next batch of hair.

I couldn’t stand it any longer but my tool was in the cabinet.

Furthermore, the mini bagua mirror in my palm wasn’t exactly useful.

These monks were probably in cahoots with the ghosts. If this goes on, would people be sucked soulless eventually?

That water from earlier must have bewitching purposes.

I was feeling increasingly afraid the longer I sat on the chair.

Suppressing my fear, I asked in a steady voice, “How are you cutting our hair so casually when there are so many ghosts around?”

I knew that it was wiser to keep my voice down or I might not be able to leave the shop.

“You can see them, Benefactor?” he asked in shock.

“Of course. Do you want me to shout it out loud?” I kept a cool front but I was jumping inside.

“Follow me, Benefactor.” He put his razor down. I stood up and pulled the ghost off my neck.

Even without the mini bagua mirror, I knew that the ghost was still clinging on to me.

The barber walked further in front as if he had no intention of bringing me out.

Going further in, he opened a wooden door. I looked around and followed him in.

Were we leaving by the back door?

I clenched my fist, recapping whatever Taoist boxing moves I could remember.

There was no way I couldn’t beat these monks and ghosts.

The barber instantly removed his wig as soon as we entered the room. “Amitabha. Can’t get used to it.”

I saw nine dots on his head. A monk, indeed.

“This way please,” he added.

“What are we doing?”

“Visiting the abbot,” he replied, raising a hand up toward the interior.

Is... is this something major?

Hush money?

Or is my life in danger?

“You guys are real monks, aren’t you?” I asked, fearing for my life.

“Yes, monks don’t deceive.”

Oh, great. Monks don’t take lives.

No, wait.

Wasn’t there a temple in Thailand that confined tigers and used their bones to make and sell wine?

I froze on the spot.

The monk had moved a few steps forward but he turned around when he couldn’t hear my footsteps.

“Is anything wrong, Benefactor?”

“You, uh... you won’t do anything funny right?” I stammered.

“No, don’t worry,” he reassured me before proceeding even further into the room.

The room was a tunnel that linked the shop to the neighboring national temple.

It was totally undetectable from the outside.

There was an old monk chanting inside the main temple hall.

The barber walked forward and whispered something to the old monk before retreating back into the room where we came from.

“Come here,” he told me softly.

I took a few steps forward but still kept some distance between us.

“You have an affinity with Buddha since you can see them.”

I nodded.

“I’m the abbot of this temple, is there anything you’d like to ask?”

“Where do these little ghosts come from and won’t there be any problem arising from their interaction with humans?”

“The ghosts you’re talking about are called ‘Forget-Me’. They live off hairs.”

“Forget-Me”? I repeated, not really recognizing the name.

“Hair is the source of worries and humans have three thousand strands of them. When these ghosts consume the hair, they take some of the troubles off of the owners’ minds.”

When he finished his explanation, it finally clicked into place.

I remembered that Senior has talked about these ghosts having sex and age preferences. They were fond of men’s hair, especially men in their middle age.

In order to teach me how to distinguish these ghosts, Senior had brought me to visit Sun Yalong.

He held the bagua mirror close and I saw a fat black-bodied, white-haired ghost squatting on his head.

Perhaps their size difference made it difficult for me to recognize them earlier.

“I understand, but why are they appearing in the salon?”

“Well, these ghosts reside in the temple, feeding on the hair of new monks who come in every year. The number of monks is decreasing, however, and we simply do have not enough food to keep them.”

“This...” I sighed. The Taoist temple had it worse.

“A few years back, we had the monks disguise as shop owners in order to collect food for these ghosts, but even then, the supply fell short. A higher educated monk then came up with this idea,” he explained.

“So there won’t be any problem for sure?” I asked again.

“Do you remember the hair wash? There’s ash in it.”

I nodded. I was right.

“These ghosts only consume fallen hair and not those attached to the scalp. The salon stylists are all monks from the temple so the ghosts won’t do anything funny.”

“Won’t they run out?” I asked, curious.

“The temple is connected to the salon. They work in the day and come back at night. There’s a hundred of them, hence the salon’s name.”

I nodded. “Has this got to do with Shaolin’s entrance into the market? Do you guys earn? How are the monthly expenses like?”

“It’s slightly related. We have businesses in other industries.”

Wow. Monks really do not lie...

It’s no wonder they’re in the market.

“Alright, that’s about it. Do you still want a haircut?”

I touched my hair. One side was shorter than the other.

I nodded seeing as I really had no other choice.

“Go back through the way you came in and look for that monk,” he told me then promptly returned to his chants.

Touching my half-shaved hair, I walked back to the salon.

I thought about Old Tao, the glutton we had at home. He had been starved for a long time and he was as skinny as a deflated ball. It was not like the past where he could swallow up the heaven and earth.

I think it was time to start a recycling station. It might hit the market.

Half a year later, it happened. The recycling station had been established for two months.

It was a pity that the government wasn’t able to get profits from it. Just the sanitation workers’ wages alone threw them into a deficit every month.

There were few Taoists, to begin with, and now all of them had to be temporary sanitation workers.

Even then it was a losing business.

The good thing was that Old Tao had gained decent weight.

“Shut it, you fool. I’ve already taught you how to separate the trash. Why are you just swallowing everything without thinking? These bottles are worth 3 cents each. Spit them out!” I scolded as I patted Old Tao’s tummy.