A certain Daoist in Jinan, of unknown origin and nameless, wore only a single layer of clothing year-round, regardless of the season, secured by a yellow sash—nothing more. He used only the back half of a comb to style his hair, often tucking the comb itself into his topknot to secure it, giving it the appearance of a hat.

He walked the streets barefoot daily, sleeping outdoors at night, and wherever his body rested, the snow and ice would melt away for several feet around him. When the Daoist first arrived, he often performed minor illusions for the public, drawing crowds who offered him money and grain. A certain local scoundrel offered him wine as a gift and begged the Daoist to teach him the art of illusion, but the Daoist refused.

One day, while the Daoist bathed in the river, the scoundrel seized the opportunity to steal his clothes, using them as leverage to threaten him. The Daoist clasped his hands in supplication and said, "Please return my clothes, and I will teach you the magic." The scoundrel, fearful he would renege, shook his head stubbornly. The Daoist asked again, "You truly won't return them?" The scoundrel insisted, "I will not." The Daoist fell silent. Suddenly, the yellow sash in the scoundrel's hand transformed into a serpent, thick as several spans in girth, which immediately coiled around the scoundrel's body six or seven times. The great snake raised its head, flicked its tongue, and glared furiously. The scoundrel was terrified, dropping to his knees, his face ashen, his breathing shallow, pleading, "Venerable Daoist, spare my life, spare me."

The Daoist smiled faintly, slowly donned his robes, reached out, grabbed the great snake, and tied it around his waist; the serpent immediately reverted to the yellow sash. Another snake nearby slithered into the city. From that point onward, the Daoist’s fame grew even greater. Officials, gentry, and wealthy merchants heard of his deeds and eagerly sought his company. The Daoist moved freely among the rich and powerful. Even the heads of various departments and magistrates had heard of his reputation and always invited him to attend their banquets.

One day, the Daoist hosted the officials and merchants at a pavilion on the water. On the day of the feast, every guest found an invitation laid beside their bed, yet no one saw the Daoist deliver them. The officials and merchants proceeded to the gathering, where the Daoist respectfully greeted them. Entering the courtyard, they found the water pavilion completely empty—no tables, no chairs, no food or wine. The crowd privately wondered, "Could the old Daoist be making a fool of us?"

The Daoist looked toward the officials beside him and said, "This poor Daoist has no servants at home. Might I borrow a few attendants from you gentlemen for the occasion?" The officials all nodded their assent.

The Daoist drew two doorways on the wall and pushed one with his hand. Voices responded from within the wall, followed by the sound of locks turning. With a creak, the grand door opened. Driven by curiosity, the onlookers stepped forward to peer in. Beyond the door stood a grand hall, fully equipped with screens, tables, and chairs. Servants bustled to and fro inside, continuously passing out tableware—tables, chairs, bowls, and dishes. The Daoist instructed the officials and merchants to receive them one by one and arrange them in the water pavilion, cautioning them, "Under no circumstances are you to speak with the servants." The guests agreed, exchanging smiles as they received the utensils, daring not utter a word.

In a short time, the water pavilion was filled with rare and luxurious objects. Then, fragrant platters of fine wine and hot dishes were brought out sequentially from behind the door. All the assembled guests were astonished. The pavilion backed onto the lake. Normally, in the sixth month, the lake would be carpeted entirely with lotus blossoms spanning tens of acres—a view of boundless beauty. Yet, it was deep winter now; outside the windows, only water rippled in the vast expanse. One official sighed, "This banquet is truly gratifying. The only flaw is the absence of lotus flowers for decoration." The others voiced their agreement.

Presently, a servant in green attire came to report, "The entire pond is covered with lotus leaves." The assembly gasped. They looked out the windows and indeed saw lotus leaves like canopies, jade-green, covering the lake. On every leaf sat a lotus bud, yet to bloom. In an instant, thousands of blossoms burst open simultaneously. A north wind blew through, carrying the heady fragrance that cleared their minds and refreshed their spirits.

The guests were greatly amazed and delegated a servant to take a boat out onto the lake to gather lotus flowers. From a distance, they watched the servant row deep into the thicket of flowers. Moments later, the servant returned empty-handed. He reported, "When I rowed to the heart of the lake, the flowers were right before my eyes, but when I reached out to pluck them, I could never grasp them. When I was on the south bank, the flowers were always to the north; when I went to the north bank, they were south." The Daoist laughed, "These are flowers of illusion; they cannot be taken seriously."

Not long after, the feast concluded, and the lotus flowers immediately withered. A sudden, strong north wind swept through, destroying all the lotus leaves on the lake, leaving nothing behind. Among the officials and merchants was the Provincial Observer of Jidong, who was greatly fond of the Daoist and invited him back to his residence to spend his days in merriment.

One day, the Observer was entertaining guests. The host possessed a cherished family vintage wine, exceptionally mellow, but he would only bring out a single dou for each gathering, never allowing his guests to drink their fill. During the banquet, the guests savored the wine and praised it highly, saying, "Excellent wine, but alas, too little. Is there any more?" The Observer, notoriously stingy, shook his head upon hearing this: "It's all gone."

The guests were quite disappointed. The Daoist saw this and smiled, saying, "If you gentlemen insist on satisfying your craving, this humble Daoist can assist." As he spoke, he took an empty wine flagon and placed it into his sleeve. Moments later, he withdrew it and proceeded to pour wine for the guests. The liquid flowed endlessly from the flagon, tasting exactly like the family vintage.

The guests drank heartily and departed satisfied. Suspicion arose in the Observer’s heart, and he went down to check his wine cellar. The jars were still there, their seals intact, but upon lifting a jar to gauge its weight, it was feather-light; the wine inside was completely depleted. The Observer knew the Daoist had played a trick and became furious. He ordered his subordinates to seize the Daoist and beat him with sticks. The first blow landed, and the Observer felt a sharp pain in his posterior. The second blow followed, and his flesh felt as if it were tearing apart, the pain tearing at his soul.

The Daoist lay beneath the steps, feigning groans. The Observer, already bleeding and raw, stained the seats crimson. Realizing the Daoist's magic was profound and he was no match, he shouted, "Stop beating him! Let him go."

The Daoist sauntered away, took his leave, and disappeared from Jinan thereafter. Later, someone claimed to have encountered the Daoist in Jinling, dressed exactly as before. When questioned, the Daoist merely smiled without speaking.