Mad Hermit, nameless, resided within the quiet confines of Mount Meng Temple. Sometimes he sang, sometimes he wept, and occasionally he would boil pebbles to eat, remaining an enigma to all who watched him.

This particular day was the Double Ninth Festival, and a certain nobleman, accompanied by fine wine and delicacies, journeyed up the mountain in a magnificent, palanquin, heralded by musicians and attendants—a truly imposing spectacle. Returning, he passed by the temple. There stood the Mad Hermit, clad in ragged cloth, his feet bare, clutching a yellowed umbrella. His gaze fell upon the nobleman, and he let out a mocking laugh: "Well now, what an entourage. I thought some young emperor was out on inspection."

The nobleman was instantly enraged and commanded his retinue to seize the Daoist. The Daoist chuckled, turned, and walked away. The servants gave chase, pulling and scrambling until they wrenched the yellow umbrella from his grasp and tore it instantly to shreds. Paper fragments danced across the air, transforming mid-flight into fierce falcons that scattered and flapped wildly. The servants were aghast. At that very moment, the umbrella handle began to spin, twisting into a monstrous python covered in crimson scales. Terror seized the servants, and they scattered in every direction, fleeing for their lives.

One companion, seeing the commotion, shouted, "This is just a trick of the eye, a petty illusion—what is there to fear?" He drew the saber at his waist and engaged the giant serpent in battle. The python opened its vast maw and, with a single, powerful inhalation, swallowed the companion whole. The remaining servants, their hearts pounding with dread, frantically grabbed the nobleman’s hand and scrambled down the mountain in desperate flight.

After running several miles without stopping, the party finally halted to catch their breath. The nobleman ordered his subordinates to ascend the mountain and scout the whereabouts of their missing comrade. The servants crept back into the temple grounds; the sanctuary was silent, and the Daoist was nowhere in sight. Not far off, an ancient locust tree stood, and from within its trunk came a sound—a deep, ragged gasp, coming as fast and hard as a donkey’s labored breathing. They approached the tree and looked closer; the trunk was hollowed out, and a man was hidden inside—it was their missing companion.

The servants drew their sabers and hacked open the opening, rescuing the man. He was barely breathing, so they carried him home. It took a long time before the companion finally stirred and slowly regained consciousness.

From that day forward, the Mad Hermit was never seen again.