Taoist priest goes to America

Just after 8 p.m., Ang Lee led Old White to the vicinity of the Herman Avenue subway station entrance in the Brownsville community.

The two walked one after the other, with Li An in front, his wide sleeves of his Taoist robe fluttering in the night wind.

Old Bai followed closely behind Ang Lee, his steps stiff but not chaotic, like a machine mimicking human actions.

The subway station entrance is a downward staircase with metal railings on both sides, all painted a dark green. Due to its age, the green paint has begun to peel off, revealing dark red rust underneath.

The cement steps were cracked from age and covered with many dirty black stains, while the part against the wall was covered with dark green moss.

The wall was covered with all sorts of pictures, including a poster for a Broadway musical where the female lead's face was completely obscured by some unknown water stains.

The ventilation vents at the entrance were blowing hot air out with a whistling sound, mixed with the smell of rust and urine.

Many homeless people huddle there, relying on the hot air for warmth; this is a common sight at New York subway entrances.

Ang Lee ignored the beggars who stood up and shouted "help, help" whenever they saw someone, and walked down the stairs with Old Bai. Inside the subway station, after turning a corner, they found the ticket vending machines.

The New York subway ticket machines resemble floor-standing freezers, with a gray-silver metal casing and a light blue screen.

The screen is covered in scratches. Below it are the banknote slot and coin slot, and at the very bottom is the ticket dispenser. The operating instructions are affixed to the upper right corner of the machine.

Ang Lee stood in front of the ticket machine, took out a few coins from his Taoist robe—the ones he had taken from the bald black man's wallet earlier—and bought two tickets.

He hesitated for a moment about whether to buy a ticket for Lao Bai, then decided to do so anyway.

It wasn't because Ang Lee was too rule-abiding; he had encountered railway police on the New York subway before, who would occasionally check tickets.

If they are stopped, an Asian man in a Taoist robe with a companion wrapped in a tent cloth, whose companion doesn't have a ticket, could cause unnecessary trouble.

The ticket machine dispensed two tickets, costing eight dollars. Ang Lee stuffed both tickets into the sleeve of his Taoist robe.

Old Bai stood behind him like a sculpture covered in cloth. A Mexican woman next to him, who was topping up her subway card, glanced at it, shook her head speechlessly, and continued to put banknotes into the machine.

After buying his ticket, Ang Lee looked at the worn-out green station nameplate hanging on the station ceiling. Based on the station name and the route it passed through, he found his destination—Manhattan.

They walked to the turnstile, and Ang Lee gently tugged at Old White, guiding it to follow him through the turnstile.

The turnstile was a three-bar rotating barrier, which didn't bother Li An when he walked through. But when Lao Bai's body went through the turnstile, the rotating barrier got his legs stuck solidly.

"Roar..." Old Bai let out a low growl, seemingly dissatisfied with his feet being stuck.

Ang Lee gently patted the old white dog, who was about to breathe on it, signaling it to calm down. Then, taking advantage of the fact that no one was around and there were no surveillance cameras, he secretly grabbed one of the railings with his right hand and snapped it open.

The metal railings twisted and deformed instantly, freeing Lao Bai's legs.

After passing through the turnstiles, they arrived at the subway station hall.

The subway station hall was packed with people at 8 p.m. Most of them were white-collar workers, as well as Asians and Hispanics who made a living by working the night shift.

The others were college students reeking of alcohol and fried food, munching on each other. There were also homeless people sleeping directly on the ground or occupying entire rows of benches, bringing their own luggage and blankets.

As Ang Lee and Lao Bai walked through the crowd and stepped onto the platform, a pungent smell of burning plastic, accompanied by hot air, hit them.

On the left side of the platform, someone was burning trash to keep warm. Three homeless men were squatting under a pillar, having knocked over a metal trash can and were stuffing cardboard and tattered clothes into it to keep warm.

The fire was small, but the smoke was quite thick, with black smoke rising upwards and drifting around the ceiling.

People nearby were choked by the thick smoke, covering their faces and their eyes red and watering. They stopped to cough after walking only a few steps and stood there gasping for breath.

The homeless men, on the other hand, were completely unharmed. One of them, a middle-aged homeless man with thick lips, even added a piece of foam board to the fire. Black smoke billowed up and hit his face, but he remained unfazed and didn't even flinch.

The remaining two huddled together, covered with a dirty blanket. The firelight shone on them, but their eyes were closed, as if none of this concerned them.

On the other side of the platform, there was something even more important.

A murky jet of water shot up from under the paving stones, gurgling and churning with mud and sand, spraying as high as half a person, like a landscape fountain in a park.

The water overflowed the floor tiles and the yellow line, flowing towards the tracks. Then the water cascaded vertically down the tracks, making a rushing sound as it flowed onto them, quickly forming small waterfalls.

People reacted in two different ways.

Office workers in leather shoes and carrying briefcases all wore expressions of utter misfortune. They rolled up their suit trousers and ran through the water to areas unaffected by the puddles, their leather shoes making a splashing sound as they waded through the water.

Others, however, crowded around, a group of young men and women standing in front of the water jets, raising their phones to take pictures, moving left and right as if searching for the best angle.

The most outrageous thing was an elderly woman dressed in women's clothing who actually picked up her phone and started a live stream. She turned the camera around to face herself and the still-gushing water column, held the phone up to her heavily made-up face, and started cursing the American government and criticizing current affairs.

"Did you all see that? Did you see that? Another water pipe burst at Hermann Avenue subway station in New York!"

"This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last! What about the city government? The pipes burst twice a month, and it takes three months to fix them! And they're never actually fixed!"

The old woman, with her hoarse, duck-like voice, shouted loudly, vehemently denouncing the incompetence of the municipal government. She looked like a righteous person who was not afraid of power and was speaking out for the people.

The viewers in the live stream were also filled with righteous indignation, frantically spamming the chat with comments, likes, and gifts to support his exposure of the government's inaction.

The old woman's piercing screams echoed throughout the platform. The men and women who had been filming the water jets a moment ago also turned their phones around to film her spectacular performance.

"..." Li An was speechless. What on earth was going on?

Is this a sequel to "A Song of Ice and Fire," titled "A Song of Water and Fire"? It features fire on the left and water on the right.

Ang Lee didn't want to watch these bizarre performances anymore. He reached out with his left hand, made a hand seal, then tiptoed and lightly touched the water with his shoes, which then spread to the water at his feet.

The water surface that just touched the toes immediately receded outwards from the toes, forming a small, dry circle.

Old Bai, on the other hand, was much more direct. He stepped directly into the water with his worn-out construction rubber boots, letting the water splash onto his trousers.

Ignoring the farce of fire and water, the man and the corpse waded across the still gushing and ever-expanding body of water.

Finally arriving at the platform, Ang Lee saw the orange safety line right in front of him. Beyond the safety line lay the tracks.

Ang Lee checked the time on his iPhone; it was 8:20, and the subway was almost at its destination.

At that moment, a light shone from deep within the tunnel.

The subway train roared off, the clatter of its wheels growing louder and louder, the ground trembling. With a sharp screech of brakes, the wind from the train rushed into the platform.

The subway has arrived at the station.