Prologue
There will never be a second Little White in this world.
Traveling slowly had its benefits too — eating and drinking, playing and relaxing, boating on the water, wandering mountain paths at leisure, food in their bellies, money in their pockets, meeting different people, experiencing different things. The gentle light of spring receded with their unhurried footsteps, cicada song gradually drowning out birdsong, the scent of early summer drifting out from the bright sunlight and the warm mountain breeze.
Sitting in the donkey cart, Tao Yao held a lotus leaf in one hand to shield herself from the sun, fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan bought by the roadside in the other, savoring the memory of their lunch with lingering satisfaction.
Young Master Liu, rarely seen these days, lay sprawled on the soft dried grass, a blade of wild grass between his teeth, eyes closed in rest. Mo Ya, squeezed into the cart’s last remaining space, rubbed his prayer beads, occasionally letting out a satisfied burp. Gungun continued sleeping belly-up on the softest, thickest pile of hay near Young Master Liu’s head, and every so often Young Master Liu had to irritably swat away its tail as it swept across his face.
The little donkey clip-clopped forward under the driver’s urging, butterflies and bees dancing in the fields on either side, a stream babbling nearby, farmers busy at work, women washing clothes — everything both inside and outside the cart wore an air of leisure.
The driver, a young man in his early twenties, glanced back at them. “Now, we did agree, didn’t we — I can’t take you all the way to Lumen Mountain, only to Blackfish Shoal, five li short of it.”
Tao Yao rolled her eyes at him. “Little brother, you’ve said that at least three times already on this trip. We’re not deaf.”
The young man rubbed his nose. “Just emphasizing it.”
Tao Yao simply turned herself around to face him. “Tell me then, why can’t you take us to Lumen Mountain? I already said I’d pay you extra — turning down money?”
The young man pursed his lips. “That place is bad news.”
“Bad news?” Tao Yao’s eyes flicked. “Surely not — I’ve heard plenty of famous scholars love going to Lumen Mountain. Isn’t there a saying, ‘The lofty gentlemen of Lumen Mountain look down even on emperors’?”
The young man frowned. “Not that kind of bad.”
“Then what kind?” Tao Yao pressed on.
“The weather!” the young man blurted out. “You’ll see for yourself how terrible Lumen Mountain’s weather is. Flash floods and downpours are common there — they nearly flooded out Lumen Temple halfway up the mountain.”
Tao Yao waved this off. “Rain and floods in mountain regions after summer begins — isn’t that normal enough?”
“But it doesn’t rain there every single day, and only in that one spot — that’s not normal!” the young man snorted. “Deep mountains breed spirits and demons. Everyone knows there’s a water-stirring demon suppressed under Lumen Mountain.”
“A water-stirring demon?” Tao Yao’s eyes lit up at once. “Tell me more, little brother — demons are my favorite topic.”
The young man snorted again. “You’re young, you don’t know the weight of things. Do you know how many lives that mountain flooding has claimed?”
Tao Yao obligingly put on a frightened expression.
“Lumen Mountain used to be a deep, tranquil, spiritually rich place. Lumen Temple, halfway up, has had thriving incense for years — countless people came to follow in the footsteps of past sages, retreating there in seclusion.” The young man had finally opened up. “But twenty years ago, the weather on Lumen Mountain suddenly changed. It wasn’t even the rainy season, yet it rained every few days. People quickly realized something was wrong, because every time it rained, it only rained on Lumen Mountain itself — you could stand just past the mountain gate in pouring rain while a few steps away the sun shone bright, a truly bizarre sight. The monks at Lumen Temple performed several rituals over this, but nothing came of it. Then, a master calling himself the Immortal Kongming came to settle there. He said a demon was suppressed beneath Lumen Mountain, and any disturbance from it would summon heavy rain. Strange enough, after he arrived, the strange rains on Lumen Mountain grew less and less frequent, gradually returning to the old pattern of mostly sun and little rain. Immortal Kongming then built a thatched hut near Lumen Temple and settled there permanently, meditating, cultivating, brewing medicines and refining pills. Afterward, people flocked to his hut seeking treatment, and he turned no one away. Word has it his greatest skill is summoning rain — a single wooden sword could call down a timely downpour. Many nearby villages have witnessed his abilities; whenever severe drought struck, they’d invite him down the mountain to perform his rites. Since the rain’s range was limited, it couldn’t cure things completely, but even two or three days of rain could relieve the worst of it. Over the years, Immortal Kongming became something like a living immortal — everyone who knew his name held him in deep respect.”
Tao Yao clicked her tongue after hearing this. “Judging by your tone, little brother, you hold this immortal in quite high regard.”
“To be honest, I was sickly as a child. Once I had a bad fever that wouldn’t break. My mother went to find Immortal Kongming, and he gave her a pill to make me take. Strange as it sounds, after taking it I slept for two days straight, had all sorts of bizarre dreams, and when I woke up two days later, the fever was gone, not a single red rash left on me. I’ve never had a serious illness since, healthy to this day,” the young man said earnestly.
“What did you dream about?” Tao Yao asked casually.
The young man thought for a moment, scratching his head. “Don’t remember too clearly. Something like a snake chasing me, biting me once. Tsk, I’m terrified of snakes — how can something so ugly and frightening exist in this world.”
“Mm, I’m not fond of snakes either,” Tao Yao said, smirking as she glanced at Young Master Liu.
“Some snakes are both clever and beautiful — you people just haven’t had the fortune to meet one,” Young Master Liu snorted heavily, not even opening his eyes, only raising a hand to make a sharp throat-slitting gesture at Tao Yao.
Tao Yao stuck her tongue out at him, then asked the young man again, “You say this Immortal Kongming is a living immortal, able to heal illness and summon rain — so why has Lumen Mountain become somewhere you don’t even want to go near now?”
The young man sighed. “As skilled as Immortal Kongming may be, he’s still mortal in the end, and mortals age. Over the past year or two, the bad weather on Lumen Mountain has grown even more frequent, worsening steadily, and even Immortal Kongming can’t suppress it anymore. Everyone says he’s grown old and frail, not what he once was. And the rumor that there’s a demon beneath Lumen Mountain has spread with vivid, convincing detail — some say it’s a formidable demon that only a true immortal could kill. So, not just me — many people who used to enjoy visiting Lumen Mountain have stopped going lately. Bad weather on one hand, terrifying demon rumors on the other. Either way, if the ‘root sickness’ of Lumen Mountain isn’t cured, this thousand-year-old famous mountain might soon fall into ruin. Such a shame!”
Tao Yao stretched luxuriously and grinned. “Curing an illness requires finding the right doctor.”
“Clip-clop, clip-clop,” the little donkey trotted along cheerfully.
Clouds crowded together overhead like cotton, sharp cries sweeping past beneath them.
Young Master Liu opened his eyes as a black hawk soared across the sky, wings spread, its form sleek and powerful.
After about the time it takes to finish a cup of tea, the cart gradually slowed, finally stopping at a shallow shoal scattered with loose stones.
“This is Blackfish Shoal. From here, walk east another four or five li and you’ll reach Lumen Mountain. If you don’t dawdle, you’ll make it before dark.” The young man hopped down from the cart, pointing east.
Tao Yao got off and looked eastward. Still four or five li away, but she could already faintly make out that the sky in the distance looked different from the one overhead now — dark clouds hanging low, the occasional rumble of muffled thunder.
“What’s so important that you have to go to Lumen Mountain?” the young man asked, looking at Tao Yao. “The weather there just keeps getting worse.”
Tao Yao answered, “I have a patient on Lumen Mountain. I promised to go treat him — I can’t go back on my word.”
The young man froze, looking her up and down. “You… you’re a doctor?”
Tao Yao grabbed her little braid and swung it back and forth. “Don’t look the part?”
“Not at all.” The young man shook his head firmly. “A little chit like you, a doctor? Joke with me all you like, but don’t gamble with your own life.”
With that, he turned the donkey around and climbed back onto the cart, looking at Tao Yao and the others. “If you’re really going, I can’t stop you. Good luck to you.”
“Thanks.” Tao Yao gave him a bright smile.
The cart gradually receded, the young man’s figure soon vanishing along the mountain road.
“You have a patient on Lumen Mountain?” Mo Ya looked at Tao Yao. “Why didn’t you mention it this whole trip?”
Tao Yao shrugged. “Too many patients burn paper offerings for me — I’ve got no less than a hundred accumulated by now. I treat whoever I feel like treating, whenever. Did I need to give you a notice? Lumen Mountain was on the way anyway.”
“On the way how?” Young Master Liu shot her a glare. “Your detours could draw a whole compass diagram.”
Tao Yao glared back. “Do you decide, or do I?”
“Whoever’s paying for the food decides!”
“Uh…”
“Amitabha, enough bickering. Since we’re going to see a patient, let’s not delay.” Mo Ya shook his head, but hadn’t taken two steps before yelping and crouching down to clutch his ankle.
Tao Yao looked over. “What, twisted your ankle?”
Mo Ya nodded, wincing. “There’s too many loose stones on this shoal — be careful, all of you.”
“Watch yourself. You’ve seemed out of sorts all day, and your forehead looks dark too — twisting your ankle might just be the start of some bad luck,” Tao Yao said bluntly. “Can you still walk? If not, Young Master Liu can carry you.”
“No need, it’s not serious.” Mo Ya got up, tried moving his right foot, then walked a few steps to a puddle and crouched down to examine his own face carefully, muttering, “Where’s it dark? Looks plenty pale to me!”
Before he finished speaking, a rapid clatter of hooves sounded behind them.
Turning around, they saw over a dozen tall, sturdy horses forming a mounted procession, carrying figures cloaked entirely in black, like a galloping dark cloud, thundering straight toward them.
Just passing through, Tao Yao thought.
But the procession stopped right in front of them.
In the early-summer heat, this group had wrapped themselves head to toe — and not in ordinary coarse black robes either, but in costly silk, smooth as water, the collars and cuffs embroidered with cloud patterns in gold thread. Even the masks covering their faces weren’t common bronze or iron, but finely crafted, gleaming gold.
Wealthy people!
Tao Yao stared at them. The leader wore a long sword at his waist, riding a pure-white horse of excellent stock, his eyes behind the mask betraying no emotion at all.
The atmosphere turned unnaturally quiet. None of them showed any intention of dismounting, silently watching Tao Yao’s group. The leader’s gaze shifted from Tao Yao to Mo Ya, sizing him up, then suddenly a thumb-thick white cord shot from his sleeve, wrapping around Mo Ya’s waist several times in an instant. With a yank, the little monk fell into his arms amid his own startled cry, pinned firmly by a powerful arm, unable to move.
Young Master Liu frowned, instinctively stepping forward, and the others on horseback drew their gleaming blades in unison with practiced coordination, a chill of menace sweeping over them.
Tao Yao grabbed Young Master Liu’s arm, smiling at the leader. “Good sir, judging by your fine clothes and prized horses, you hardly look like common bandits. We’re simply outsiders visiting a friend, we’ve made enemies with no one, and this little monk here is dim-witted and useless — good for nothing besides chanting sutras and eating. Surely you’ve grabbed the wrong person?”
“Yes, yes, benefactor, look closely — this humble monk doesn’t know you at all!” Mo Ya, sweating profusely, struggled desperately.
Seeing this, Gungun leapt up from the ground and landed on Mo Ya, gripping the arm restraining him with both paws and biting down hard.
Being bitten by a fox — that had to hurt…
The man beside the leader raised his blade to strike, but was stopped with a shout. The leader, as if performing a magic trick, pulled a sack from the saddlebag, clamped it over Gungun’s head, and knocked the little creature unconscious with one punch. The fox, whose only skills were eating and sleeping, quickly became his captive too. He tossed the sack to someone nearby. “Handle it carefully. I want it alive.”
Mo Ya panicked, shouting furiously, “How could you hit it? It’s just a child!”
The man ignored him completely, letting him shout all he wanted.
Tao Yao sighed, looking at him with distress. “Sir, that’s my monk and my fox — taking them without so much as a word of warning, isn’t that rather rude?”
The man’s eyes remained unmoved. He pulled a wooden box, about three inches square, from his saddlebag and tossed it to Tao Yao without a word.
Tao Yao caught it, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Look inside,” the man said coldly.
Tao Yao smiled. “If this is some kind of hidden weapon meant to hurt me, you’re a dead man.”
“I have no intention of taking anyone’s life today.” His voice was deep and low, but the moment he spoke, every other sound around seemed to yield to it, impossible to ignore even if you tried.
Tao Yao pursed her lips and opened the box, then immediately widened her eyes, an indescribable glow spreading across them — two pearls the size of pigeon eggs, round and lustrous, a cream-white glow shot through with a faint tinge of deep blue.
“Sea-Gathering Bright Pearls?” Tao Yao’s mouth hung open. “Where did you get something this precious?”
The man said flatly, “Two pearls, in exchange for the little monk. The fox comes with him too.”
“Take them, take them!” Tao Yao said, overjoyed, lifting one of the pearls out and turning it in the sunlight to examine it closely.
“Tao Yao!” Mo Ya was both frantic and furious.
Young Master Liu glared at her, reminding her, “He said pearls in exchange for Mo Ya — plus Gungun thrown in for free.”
“I heard him!” Tao Yao didn’t even glance at him, absorbed entirely in her pearl.
“In exchange for Mo Ya!” Young Master Liu raised his voice.
Tao Yao clutched the pearl in her hand, looking at him impatiently. “It’s worth a fortune!”
“You’re really selling me off?” Mo Ya looked ready to cry.
“The money from just one pearl would be enough to squander for twenty years! And there’s two! What bliss!” Tao Yao clutched the wooden box tight, pressing it to her cheek, on the verge of tears with excitement.
“Then, it’s settled.” The man yanked the reins, and the white horse turned at once, Mo Ya’s cries quickly swallowed up by the sound of hooves.
Young Master Liu watched the receding riders, then looked at Tao Yao, still lost in blissful admiration of her pearls. “You’re not going to do anything?”
Tao Yao opened her eyes. “Do what?”
Young Master Liu pointed toward where the group had vanished. “They took Mo Ya.”
“I know,” Tao Yao said, tucking the pearls away safely. “I told you his forehead looked dark. Well, I’d better hurry to Lumen Mountain now.”
“Go yourself, then.” Young Master Liu turned, transforming into a streak of green light and vanishing into the air in an instant.
Without turning back, Tao Yao called out, “Don’t come find me too soon — I want a few days of peace and quiet!”
Then, humming a little tune, feeling wonderfully light, she crossed Blackfish Shoal at an unhurried pace, heading toward her destination.
The rain on Lumen Mountain was truly relentless! Even an umbrella did nothing against it. Thick, layered dark clouds pressed down, deeper than the color of night itself, gathering solely over Lumen Mountain — just a step beyond its edge, the moon hung bright, stars scattered, the wind gentle, the sky wide open.
By the time Tao Yao stood alone before the gates of Lumen Temple, there wasn’t a single dry spot left on her from head to toe.
But the temple gates were shut tight. She knocked for a long while before a young novice monk, twelve or thirteen years old, finally opened the door. Upon seeing her, he said, “Amitabha, the abbot has urgent matters to discuss with an honored guest these past few days. Lumen Temple isn’t receiving worshippers for now — perhaps the benefactor could return another day.”
“I’m not here to burn incense,” Tao Yao said quickly. “I’m here looking for your Master Juehui.”
The young monk blinked. “The benefactor is looking for Uncle-Master Juehui?”
Tao Yao smiled. “Yes, I’m a friend of his, come from far away to see him. Look, it’s already dark and the rain’s so heavy, and I’m all alone — surely you wouldn’t send me back out now. Please, little master, do me this favor.”
The young monk thought it over, then stepped aside. “Then please, benefactor, follow me to the guest room. I’ll go inform Uncle-Master.”
“Thank you!” Tao Yao stepped over the threshold at once.
Lumen Temple was quite a grand temple. Even amid pouring rain and howling wind, it carried an unshakable calm — no worshippers about, only a few monks walking beneath the corridors, the damp, cool air lightly tinged with incense.
Tao Yao asked the young monk, “Little master, who is your abbot discussing urgent matters with, that the whole temple’s been closed to visitors?”
“It hasn’t just been closed these past few days. Since early summer, the weather’s gotten worse and worse, downpours nonstop, several spots washed out by mudslides — two woodcutters had bad luck and got buried. Ever since then, the abbot ordered the gates closed to visitors, not wanting to bring more misfortune upon people coming up the mountain.” The young monk shook his head. “I heard from my senior brother that these past few days the abbot’s been discussing solutions with Immortal Kongming and the local gentry from nearby villages and towns.”
Tao Yao lowered her voice. “Is there really a demon?”
The young monk scratched his head. “I don’t know either. People outside say there’s a water-stirring demon suppressed beneath Lumen Mountain, though some of my fellow disciples say it’s just something off about the mountain’s feng shui.”
Tao Yao’s eyes flicked. “I see… I’ve heard Immortal Kongming’s reputation all along this journey. Does he really have the power to command the heavens and summon wind and rain? Could you take me to see him?”
“I couldn’t possibly bring someone to gawk at the abbot and his honored guest.” The young monk stopped, pushing open the door to a simply furnished room with only a table and a few cushions. “Please wait here, benefactor. I’ll go fetch Uncle-Master Juehui.”
“Much obliged.” Tao Yao watched him leave.
She didn’t go inside, instead standing beneath the eaves as rainwater streamed down from the tiles — no longer something you could call “like a stream,” but a dense wall of rain before her eyes.
Truly, she hadn’t seen rain this heavy in many years. If it kept up, Lumen Mountain would surely become a swamp, nothing able to grow.
She stared blankly at the boundless wind and rain, taking a deep breath.
Was there really a demon?
There was.
Amid the wind and rain, faint traces of demonic energy drifted.
A place of Buddhist purity, one demons had always feared to approach — yet here was one bold enough not even to fear the Buddha?!
Just as she was thinking this, a creaking sound came from beside her.
Tao Yao turned. At the other end of the corridor, someone sat in a wheelchair, slowly approaching her.
A monk nearing forty, wrapped in earth-yellow robes, his face gentle and kind. Spotting her from a distance, his face broke into a smile.
A gust of wind blew past, rustling his robes — where his legs should have been, there was only empty space.
“Tao Yao, you haven’t changed a bit,” the monk said, stopping two steps from her, studying her face closely.
Tao Yao smiled. “You’ve changed quite a lot — becoming a monk, of all things.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said.
“I wasn’t planning to,” Tao Yao shrugged. “Just happened to be on the way.”
“Not really on the way, though,” the monk said with a smile. “It’s because of what I said — ‘if you don’t come in time, I fear my old illness will return,’ isn’t it?”
Tao Yao neither confirmed nor denied it, looking him over. “Your complexion’s ruddy, your vitality strong — aside from missing a pair of legs, you don’t look like someone whose ‘old illness has returned.'”
The monk gazed at the dense rain before them. “Lumen Mountain, in the state it’s in now — you don’t think that has anything to do with me?”
Tao Yao said nothing.
The monk shook his head with a smile. “Come in and sit. Isn’t that why you’re here — to diagnose me?”
The guest room door closed behind them. Candlelight soon flickered to life inside, faint sandalwood incense drifting through the window cracks, their shadows cast against the glass — a doctor and patient who hadn’t seen each other in a long while, surely with much to say.
In a room lit by a single oil lamp, six people sat in a circle, six faces flickering light and dark in the wavering light, grim as six stone statues. The tea set out on the table had long gone cold, untouched by anyone; incense smoke curled up from the wooden altar behind them, only the enshrined Buddha statue serene, free of joy or sorrow.
“Amitabha.” The old abbot’s brow was tightly furrowed. “To think that after a thousand years of devoted incense at Lumen Temple, a creature harming living beings had been hiding here all along, and I, as abbot, failed to notice — I have truly failed all sentient beings.”
The man seated beside him, nearing sixty, wore hemp cloth and cloth shoes, temples touched with frost, his hair bound neatly with a jade hairpin, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth cut deep as if carved with a knife. Rather than the ethereal air of an immortal cultivator, his eyes held more the steady composure of someone who had weathered much and seen through the vanities of the world.
The other four, dressed as local gentry, middle-aged men, were far less composed, deep fear lingering in their eyes even as they struggled to maintain their dignity.
Their greatest regret at this moment was likely having doubted before — regretting that they’d ever said “unless I saw it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it.”
In truth, as prominent figures in the surrounding villages and towns, their trust and admiration for Immortal Kongming had been declining for years already. Perhaps he truly did possess extraordinary abilities once, able to summon rain and save lives — but that was the past. He remained, after all, mortal, and age would gradually strip away everything he once had, dimming the halo others once saw around him. Especially these past two years, as the destructive power of Lumen Mountain’s strange weather grew worse, even as he still lived in his mountain hut, even as he still claimed that as long as he remained, Lumen Mountain would be safe, people needed more than slogans — they needed real results. Gradually, the notion of “go to Immortal Kongming whenever there’s trouble” faded, and fewer people came to visit him on the mountain. Some hot-headed young peers had even gone so far as to say things like “he’s nothing but a fraud who’s built his reputation on exaggeration and deceit.” In short, it seemed Immortal Kongming himself had run out of solutions for Lumen Mountain’s “illness.”
Lumen Temple, having maintained neutrality on the matter all along, had never praised nor criticized this “otherworldly master” who had been their neighbor for so many years — each cultivating their own path, minding their own affairs. Most of the monks had believed the strange occurrences on Lumen Mountain were a “heavenly trial,” the gods and Buddha’s way of warning the world to purify their hearts and accumulate good deeds. So over the years, Lumen Temple had mostly focused on devout sutra-chanting, distributing porridge and medicine, sheltering the poor, occasionally performing blessing rituals, hoping to resolve karmic debts and appease heavenly wrath. But conditions on Lumen Mountain only worsened day by day — where once the rain would pause for a day or two, now it poured incessantly without end. If left unchecked, this thousand-year-old temple might truly have to relocate. So, seven days ago, when Immortal Kongming himself came to Lumen Temple and told the abbot there was a demon on Lumen Mountain, hiding in the Octagonal Well behind the temple, the abbot had been half-skeptical. A place of Buddhist purity — demons should avoid it at all costs. What creature would dare stir up trouble in the Octagonal Well, right at the temple’s back doorstep? Though not technically within the temple grounds, it was considered temple property, and the monks regularly drew water from it without incident. But there was indeed one strange thing about the Octagonal Well — for centuries, no matter how severe the drought outside, this well remained full of clear water, entirely unaffected. They’d always simply attributed this to nature’s wonders, never looking deeper. Now, with Immortal Kongming insisting firmly that a demon lurked beneath the well, and connecting it to everything else, the abbot found himself unable to say for certain whether there was a demon or not — after all, Lumen Mountain truly had enjoyed nearly twenty years of peace only after Immortal Kongming settled there, and his rain-summoning abilities had been witnessed firsthand by many. If he were truly a fraud, how could his luck have held so consistently, rain coming exactly when promised?
“If the abbot doesn’t believe me, let us go together to the Octagonal Well and see for ourselves. This creature is cunning and elusive — without the right method, you could draw water from that well every day and never notice a thing. After all, you devout monks have simple, pure hearts, easily deceived by sly demons.” Seeing the abbot’s hesitation, Immortal Kongming made this suggestion. “Besides, why not invite the respected gentry from around here as witnesses too? Then everyone can judge for themselves whether I’ve been exaggerating.”
Though still not fully convinced, there seemed no better option. If the downpour continued unchecked, Lumen Temple would sooner or later be washed away — and if a demon truly was the cause, rooting it out would be for the best.
The next day, eight prominent local gentry from nearby villages and towns arrived at his invitation, though they too remained half-skeptical about the whole “demon” business — several openly dismissed it as nonsense, saying that if the abbot of Lumen Temple and the “famous” Immortal Kongming working together couldn’t cure this mountain’s “strange illness,” they’d simply have to seek out a true master from elsewhere.
Immortal Kongming remained composed as ever, not bothering to argue against their blunt words, only saying, “Seeing is believing. Let’s look first, and talk after.”
Well, looking wouldn’t cost them anything, the worldly-wise gentry all thought to themselves.
At nightfall, the group of ten stood holding umbrellas before the Octagonal Well behind Lumen Temple — called the Octagonal Well because it once had an eight-sided railing, also known as the Bagua Well, though no one could say for certain whether the well or the temple was older.
Facing the pitch-black well opening, one of the gentry said impatiently, “In this wind and rain, sneaking out of the temple like thieves — what exactly are we supposed to see?”
“Do any of you see anything in the water?” Immortal Kongming bent forward, looking down into the well.
Everyone leaned in to look. The abbot said, “It’s already dark — the well is nothing but black water below, no clues to be seen.”
One of the more restless gentry picked up a stone and tossed it in. A splash sounded, and he scoffed, “If nothing happened after that stone went in, I might’ve found this interesting. But as it is, there’s nothing unusual here at all.”
Immortal Kongming smiled, pulling a small paper packet from his sleeve. He opened it to reveal pale yellow powder, giving off a faintly pungent smell.
He raised his hand and scattered the powder into the well water.
Before long, the well water suddenly began bubbling. As everyone stood puzzled, a shape as thick as a thigh, pale white, suddenly surfaced beneath the water — layered scales, glinting coldly, coiling restlessly beneath the surface.
Everyone’s faces changed at once, gasping, “This… this is…”
Before they could finish, a tremendous splash sounded, and a snake’s head, larger than a human head, burst up from the well — jaws gaping wide, blood-red inside, its massive white body gleaming densely in the night, a faint fishy stench immediately filling the air.
Save for Immortal Kongming and the abbot, all eight others cried out and fell to the ground, scrambling backward on their hands and feet.
The white snake did nothing further, only sinking heavily back into the well. Once the churning water settled, the well returned to stillness — no trace of it remained, however hard one looked.
The abbot’s face had never looked so grim.
“A serpent demon coiled beneath the well, absorbing the mountain’s spiritual energy from the water — not yet fully developed, but it should be eliminated,” Immortal Kongming said calmly. “It took considerable effort to find the ‘root sickness’ of Lumen Mountain. This creature was clever, choosing such a hiding place — the most dangerous place is often the safest, as they say.”
The abbot took a deep breath. “Does the immortal have a plan?”
“I know your Buddhist order forbids killing, but if this creature isn’t eliminated, the consequences will be endless.” Immortal Kongming stared at the well, his eyes deep as a bottomless, still pool. “Let this sin rest on my shoulders alone.”
The men collapsed on the ground couldn’t even manage to stand, let alone speak, until finally, after a long while, they cried out, “Immortal, save us! That’s a serpent demon, a serpent demon!”
For them, this rainy night had proven truly dreadful.
The oil lamp in the room continued flickering weakly. At the abbot’s self-reproach, he sighed softly. “The abbot speaks too gravely of himself.”
“The immortal has truly decided to set up an altar three days from now, to eliminate the serpent demon?” one of the gentry asked, his voice trembling at the mere mention of “serpent demon.” Of the eight who’d gone that night, four had fallen ill from fright and couldn’t even attend today’s discussion.
“I’ve called you all here precisely to settle this matter,” Immortal Kongming said, turning to look out the window at the ever-worsening rain. “Three days from now, at the hour of the dragon, will be most unfavorable for the serpent demon. I have every confidence I can eliminate this creature.”
Another gentry spoke up quickly. “Whatever the immortal needs, just say the word — money, grain, livestock, anything at all. As long as this demon is destroyed, we’ll give whatever it takes!”
“Exactly, exactly! Right now this serpent demon only wreaks havoc on Lumen Mountain, but if it ever leaves the mountain, none of us will have any chance of survival!”
“Of course! Already such a massive snake — if it keeps cultivating, who knows what might happen!”
Immortal Kongming smiled. “Rest assured, everyone, I need no assistance. Once the hour arrives, the demon will surely die by my hand.”
A long-absent look of admiration returned to their eyes.
“Does the immortal truly have confidence in this?” The abbot still seemed uneasy. “The temple does have some disciples trained in martial arts — perhaps…”
Immortal Kongming shook his head. “More hands would only get in the way. If the abbot wishes to help, simply chant a passage from the Ksitigarbha Sutra behind me while I eliminate the demon.” He added, “Rest assured, the serpent demon cannot leave the well for now — it cannot harm anyone.”
“Amitabha.” The abbot pressed his palms together, saying nothing more.
Immortal Kongming’s thatched hut always carried a faint scent of medicine.
Today was the day he’d promised everyone he would set up the altar and perform the ritual. Yet at such a crucial time, he hadn’t prepared any ritual implements, nor rested to build up his energy through meditation — instead, he’d gone out to the town beyond the mountain and bought a bag of preserved fruits and a roast chicken.
When he returned to his hut through the rain, he was startled to find Tao Yao crouched at his door.
“Oh, Immortal, you’re back! I’ve been waiting for you so long!” Tao Yao stood up happily, then sniffed the air. “Smells so good — is that roast chicken?”
He looked her over. “Young lady, if you’ve come seeking treatment, come back in a few days.”
“Not today?” Tao Yao’s expression turned urgent.
He glanced at her again. “Young lady, your complexion looks full of vitality — you don’t look ill at all.”
Tao Yao waved her hands quickly. “It’s not me who’s sick — it’s my pet goose, my Big White.”
He frowned. “You silly girl, I don’t treat geese. Go home now, don’t bother me.”
Tao Yao pouted, grabbing his sleeve, looking as if she were about to cry. “Immortal, please save my Big White. I’ve been alone and destitute since childhood, endured nothing but scorn, never had a single friend — I only have this goose. Don’t look down on it just because it’s a goose, it’s very intelligent, I really believe it understands what I say — whatever I tell it to do, it does.”
He paused.
Tao Yao continued, “To me, it’s not just some animal to be slaughtered — it’s my companion. During my hardest times, it was the only one by my side. Now it’s sick, won’t eat or drink — Immortal, please come with me and look at it! I know you’re a living immortal! My home is in Changhe Town just beyond the mountain, it won’t take you much time at all, you could be back here by tomorrow at the latest!”
“Tomorrow…” He hesitated.
Tao Yao tugged hard at his sleeve. “Please, Immortal, please help me! There will never be a second Big White in this world!”
His brow furrowed deeper.
But in the end, he removed Tao Yao’s hand and said firmly, “Young lady, I have important business today. Go home, find a veterinarian for your Big White.”
Tao Yao sighed, looking into his eyes with an expression that was almost a smile. “Very well then, go handle your important business.”
He stared into her eyes, feeling as though something strange lurked within them, holding his gaze fast…
6
The rain on Lumen Mountain finally stopped.
The monks at Lumen Temple rejoiced, spreading the news far and wide.
Immortal Kongming had not spoken empty words — he had slain the serpent demon in the well with his sword.
But he had paid a price — losing an arm.
News of Immortal Kongming’s demon-slaying at the Octagonal Well spread quickly, but the abbot had given orders that no one but himself could approach the well. Even bold villagers who’d rushed over upon hearing the news were kept at a distance.
Only the abbot witnessed the demon-slaying itself.
He sat ten meters from Immortal Kongming, chanting the Ksitigarbha Sutra continuously as instructed beforehand.
The scene wasn’t as dramatic as the abbot had imagined. Immortal Kongming used a heavier dose of sulfur powder to force the white snake out. The snake burst from the well and bit down on his left arm — but this gave his right hand, holding the sword, its opportunity, and one thrust pierced straight through the snake’s vital point.
The white snake collapsed to the ground, and in an instant transformed into a human-faced, beast-bodied creature — no tail, no legs, covered in black fur with two wings on its back, a chimera the size of a dog, all signs of life gone, its expression not fierce at all but peaceful, as if merely asleep. Stranger still, something resembling a snake’s tail emerged from somewhere unseen, falling not far from the creature, and before long crumbled into a pile of black ash.
The abbot gasped in shock, pointing at the creature. “This… this isn’t a serpent demon at all…”
“It’s a transformed serpent — and one that’s already lost its tail, at that.” Immortal Kongming looked at the dead creature, his severed arm a bloody mess, though he seemed to feel no pain at all. “In ancient texts, there’s a demon with a human face, jackal’s body, snake’s tail, and wings — it summons great floods.”
“I once saw mention of such a creature in old texts as a child. Never did I imagine I’d encounter a true transformed serpent in my lifetime.” The abbot murmured several “Amitabha”s and rushed to support him. “Immortal, your arm…”
“It’s nothing, I won’t die from this.” Immortal Kongming gestured for him not to worry. “Transformed serpents are mischievous by nature, often taking on ordinary snake forms to deceive people, wandering freely — but once their demonic nature fully awakens, they inevitably summon great floods and disasters. This one hadn’t cultivated far enough yet — for now it could only wreak havoc on Lumen Mountain. Having met me, its days in this world have come to an end.”
The abbot let out a deep sigh, then pressed his palms together toward him. “Immortal, risking your very life to rid the people of this scourge — this is truly great virtue. On behalf of all of Lumen Temple and everyone harmed by this transformed serpent, I thank you!”
“There’s truly no need to thank me.” He shook his head, then said, “But there is one favor I must ask, if the abbot would grant it.”
“What is it? Please, speak freely.”
“Might the abbot gift me his kasaya robe?”
“The robe? What use would you have for it?”
“It has its purpose.”
“This… very well. Since the immortal has use for it, I won’t ask further.”
“And let me dispose of the transformed serpent’s remains as well. Don’t let others see it, lest it frighten them. The abbot need only tell everyone that Lumen Mountain’s skies have cleared for good, all is safe now.”
By the time Immortal Kongming left with the transformed serpent’s corpse, the first pale light of dawn had just begun to show on the horizon.
Before the Octagonal Well, everything looked as it always had — one could hardly tell a life-and-death battle had just taken place there.
7
A large pit had been dug in the ground surrounded by ancient trees. The transformed serpent lay within it, wrapped in the abbot’s kasaya robe.
Immortal Kongming slowly filled the earth back in. Through a gap in the ancient trees across from him, he could just make out a corner of Lumen Temple on the mountainside.
“I’ll bury you here then — you can just see your temple from this spot,” Immortal Kongming murmured to himself as he filled in the soil.
In the grass behind him came a faint rustling sound — a thigh-thick white snake, coiled up, head raised, looking this way and that.
Soon, the pit was filled. He picked out a few decent-looking stones to place on top, then plucked a few wildflowers and stuck them in.
Then he sat cross-legged, quietly gazing at this grave that hardly looked like one at all.
“Ah… it hurts so much! My hand? Where’s my hand?” His mouth hadn’t moved, yet the voice came from within his own body.
“Awake now?” From that same body came a crisp, girlish voice.
“Who are you? Why are you inside my body?” He couldn’t move, shouting in panic.
A wave of cold crept across every inch of his skin, his body suddenly going numb as if struck by lightning, and then something seemed to crawl its way out.
A flash of red flickered past like wind, landing before him, transforming into a lively, grinning Tao Yao.
“You—” His numb body slowly began to recover, though all he could do was stare wide-eyed. “Who are you? Demon or ghost?”
“Don’t look so disgusted.” Tao Yao stretched her limbs. “Do you think I wanted to be inside you? Reeked something awful in there.”
He glared at her fiercely. “Who exactly are you? I don’t know you at all!”
“But I know you.” Tao Yao smiled. “Zhang Ergou. From Xiangyang. Parents died young, poor and orphaned as a child, made your living performing snake tricks. As a youth, you saved a small white snake by chance from a beast’s jaws — a clever, spiritually attuned creature that understood human speech, and you treasured it, naming it Little White, keeping it always by your side. After decades together, you discovered this snake wasn’t just intelligent — it could summon rain, an ability that grew stronger as it grew older. Twenty years ago, you had Little White stir up rain and floods on Lumen Mountain, then entered the mountain under the guise of Immortal Kongming, playing the great master, continuing to use Little White to bring rain relief to villagers, building a fraudulent reputation on borrowed glory.”
He stared blankly for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “Fraudulent reputation? In these twenty years, I never took a single coin from those villagers beyond what I kept for daily necessities. I truly helped them. Did you know Little White could cure illness too? Not long after I settled on Lumen Mountain, I caught a chill, ran a fever that wouldn’t break — near death, Little White bit me. I thought it had finally shown its wild nature. But after that bite, I slept two days straight and woke with the fever gone, my whole body lighter, no trace of illness left. That’s when I learned Little White had this power too. Later I tried giving people medicine touched with its saliva — it couldn’t cure fatal illness, but it worked wonders for chills, fevers, and poisoning. I’ve saved no small number of people over the years. And you call that a fraudulent reputation?”
Tao Yao smiled coldly. “As good as Little White was to you, you’re about to kill it in front of everyone.”
“Heh. Have you ever lived a life like that? Where anyone could trample you underfoot, call you filthy scum, and no matter how kindly you treated the world, you’d never get an ounce of respect. Even street fortune-tellers, common frauds, could earn inexplicable trust and admiration — but not me. I could only rise before dawn and work past dusk, wandering from one street performance to another with Little White, trading endless labor for meager pay, barely surviving at the bottom of this world.” He stared directly into Tao Yao’s eyes. “I never wanted money. I’ve seen plenty of wealthy men — outwardly glorious, but cursed and mocked behind their backs all the same. I wanted respect. Respect that held true whether people were looking at me or not.”
Tao Yao raised an eyebrow. “So, Immortal Kongming gave you the respect you wanted, while Zhang Ergou became nothing but a shameful secret buried deep?!”
“I always longed for the life of a reclusive master — deep in the mountains, yet still respected and revered by others. When I discovered Little White’s power to summon rain, I felt my dream might finally come true.” He smiled. “These twenty years, I truly made it happen. Who would have thought that someone from the ‘lowest of the low’ could become the Immortal Kongming everyone looks up to.”
“But you never had the true ability to match that identity. Even choosing Lumen Mountain as the place to realize your dream, you could never stand alongside the truly wise and virtuous who left their names here through the ages.” Tao Yao looked up at the sky, faint white clouds drifting between the treetops. “You probably still don’t know why, starting two years ago, the change in Lumen Mountain’s weather had nothing to do with Little White anymore, gradually spiraling out of anyone’s control. You even suspected Little White had become a true demon.”
He frowned, and after a long pause, spoke. “From the very first day Little White came to Lumen Mountain, it went straight for the Octagonal Well. That well’s water is unfathomably deep, and who knows how vast the waters beneath it stretch. Every time, it would stay down there a long while, and gradually I noticed — the more often it went down there, the stronger its rain-summoning ability grew. At its peak, it summoned six days of thunderous storms, ending an entire village’s drought. Two years ago, I noticed Lumen Mountain’s weather growing increasingly wrong, but it wasn’t Little White’s doing — in these twenty years, apart from when people came seeking rain relief, I never once ordered Little White to stir up trouble like this again. It never once disobeyed my commands. But things kept getting worse, and people started doubting me, saying I’d grown old and weak, not what I once was, even calling me a fraud outright.” He raised his head, his eyes filled only with anger and unwillingness. “I don’t want to go back to being Zhang Ergou. I want to be Immortal Kongming for the rest of my life. I want to silence them! I want to prove to them I haven’t grown old, that I’m no fraud — I said there was a demon, so there was a demon, and I have the power to kill it too! If I killed Little White before the Octagonal Well, I could not only prove I could slay demons, but perhaps also resolve Lumen Mountain’s condition — after all, Little White’s growing power was clearly tied to that well.”
Every word he spoke, his expression was deadly serious — serious enough to be frightening.
His fear of being “Zhang Ergou” again outweighed everything else. To escape that name, he would do anything.
Tao Yao looked at this vehement old man, then glanced back at the white snake behind her. “But there will never be a second Little White in this world. Zhang Ergou, trampled by everyone else — Little White was the one who stayed by his side, all along.”
He froze for a moment, then only said, “I haven’t grown old. I’m not a fraud.”
“If yesterday, when I came to find you, you’d agreed to come treat my ‘Big White,’ perhaps your arm could have been saved.” Tao Yao looked at his severed arm. “You bought preserved fruits, roast chicken — Little White’s favorite foods. Feeding it well before sending it on its way? You asked the abbot to chant the Ksitigarbha Sutra behind you — was that to help Little White pass on peacefully, or to ease your own guilt? After all, that snake was never clever enough to see through your true intentions — or rather, it never once doubted you. You told it to stir up water, it did. You told it to hide in the well and play its part in your act, it did. It never did anything wrong, and yet it still had to die, all to fulfill the ‘respect’ you wanted so badly.”
He clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“But you can rest easy now — your ‘Little White’ is already dead, and Lumen Mountain has returned to normal. You can go on being Immortal Kongming just as before — I won’t expose you. But how much longer that respect lasts is anyone’s guess.” Tao Yao brushed the mud from her feet and turned to leave.
“Little White is dead? Where is it dead?” Barely able to move now, he looked toward where Little White lay, calling out its name loudly.
The white snake remained where it was, listening quietly to his voice, but showing no response at all.
“Come here, Little White! Can’t you understand me anymore?!” He struck the ground hard with his hand.
The white snake still didn’t move.
“Stop shouting. Save your strength to heal,” Tao Yao said, stopping without turning around. “You were lucky — you happened to meet a young snake demon just beginning its cultivation, kind-hearted toward humans. But your bond with it ends here. I’ve already taken away its memories of its past with you. It won’t remember you anymore, won’t follow you anymore. From now on, it’ll only go wherever its own will takes it.”
With that, she glanced down at the white snake beside her. “What are you still doing here? Go on. The world’s vast and open, your future bright. Just remember — unless it’s truly unavoidable, don’t use your water-stirring power lightly. Drowning innocent people would bring you serious trouble.”
The white snake flicked its tongue, lingered a moment longer, then turned and slithered off into the dense forest.
Behind her, someone was still uselessly calling out Little White’s name, his voice growing hoarse.
There truly would never be a second Little White in this world.
Tao Yao remembered that day she’d asked Juehui whether he was truly certain — willing to end this all with his own life.
Juehui had said yes. That was why he’d summoned her — to fully cure his illness, once and for all.
Tao Yao found it almost funny. A transformed serpent who’d severed his own tail, only to go become a monk.
She’d probably first known him a thousand years ago, back when he ruled over a city, commanding wind and rain at will — countless masters and sorcerers, flying the banner of demon-slaying, had come against him, only to become his defeated foes. His power had grown so vast that he no longer regarded this world with any respect. Then, betrayed by insiders, he lost both his territory and the woman he loved. Having narrowly survived, consumed by unquenchable rage, all reason lost, he flooded the city, leaving not a single soul alive.
Tao Yao had originally gone there to take his life.
When she arrived, the floodwaters hadn’t yet receded, and the entire city was littered with corpses.
He held his woman in his arms and said to Tao Yao, “I thought the greater one’s power, the more one would gain. Turns out that’s not how it works.”
Tao Yao said nothing.
“Ghost Doctor Tao Yao… the Peach Court sent you here to kill me, not save me, haha.” He actually laughed.
Tao Yao still said nothing, but the golden bell at her wrist never once rang, the whole time.
That entire day, Tao Yao stayed with him, watching him bury his beloved, sit dazed beneath the moon, and finally watching him take his true form, raise his own blade, and sever his own tail.
For a transformed serpent, severing its tail meant destroying its own demonic power.
Enduring the pain, he told her, “I want to try living a life without commanding wind and rain.”
Before dawn, Tao Yao left, without taking his life.
She never expected that when they met again, a thousand years would have passed. She looked exactly the same, while he had cultivated himself into a legless monk.
He told her that throughout these thousand years, he’d remained at Lumen Temple as a monk, living quietly in seclusion, growing from young to old, then “dying,” only to return with the face of another young man and continue on as a monk — always with a character meaning “repentance” in his Dharma name. That was the advantage of being a demon, he said — even with his tail severed, he still retained the ability to transform into human form.
After a thousand years of worshipping the Buddha, a thousand years of chanting sutras, he’d nearly forgotten he was ever a transformed serpent at all — his demonic aura faded to something almost negligible.
Recalling those years, he only laughed and shook his head, saying he’d been too young back then, too unable to let go, too unable to see through things, too ignorant of how to resolve his troubles.
Tao Yao looked at his relaxed demeanor and said, “Your illness can only be cured by ending your life.”
“I know,” he nodded.
“It’s just a snake demon with no connection to you whatsoever,” she reminded him.
“Twenty years ago, the first time I sensed Little White’s presence outside Lumen Temple, I found it rather amusing — that I wasn’t the only demon bold enough to approach the Buddha. Later I discovered it often slipped into the Octagonal Well late at night.” He smiled. “My tail may be severed, but it’s still alive. As long as I remain, it won’t disappear, so I hid it down in the Octagonal Well. I suppose the demonic energy in the tail must have drawn Little White to it — after all, that’s where most of a transformed serpent’s power resides, and young demons still cultivating are especially sensitive to such things from their elders. Even mere proximity would affect it.”
“So because it came into contact with your tail, Little White’s rain-summoning power grew dramatically…” Tao Yao sighed.
“Yes.” He nodded. “But what it didn’t know was that the tail was mine, not its own. From the moment it combined my power with its own to summon that first rain, the danger was already planted. A transformed serpent’s tail mixed with a true snake demon’s power became poison in the skies over Lumen Mountain — it just took twenty years to fully brew and erupt. Fortunately it was only a young, weak snake demon, so the damage was contained to this one patch of sky, not spreading elsewhere for now.”
Tao Yao considered this, then spoke plainly. “This situation isn’t very difficult to resolve, actually. The disaster caused by two demonic energies intertwining can be broken by eliminating just one of the two sources. In other words, if you kill Little White, Lumen Mountain will return to normal. Twenty years, and you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it?”
“I like Little White,” he said, suddenly laughing. “How could I bring myself to do it.”
“Hm?” Tao Yao paused.
“It’s been so good to that man.” He laughed again, his gaze sinking into memories from long ago. “Ever since I learned of its existence, I paid special attention to its life with that man. It was so obedient, so well-behaved — whatever that man said, it listened to. I remember when they first came to Lumen Mountain, times were hard. I saw Little White chasing wild rabbits in the mountains, and when it caught one, it didn’t eat it itself — it brought it back to him. Back then the thatched hut wasn’t even finished, and at night they could only sleep out in the open. The mountains were full of wild beasts, especially at night, but Little White coiled itself as close to him as possible every night, driving off any beast that came near. I grew increasingly curious about their past, so I used certain means to have demons skilled at gathering information look into this Immortal Kongming’s identity and his connection to Little White. That’s how I learned that Little White had been by his side since he was just a boy, never once leaving him.”
Tao Yao frowned. “That’s all? And for that, you’d let it live while you die?”
He roused himself from the memory, smiling. “The one I loved most, back then, was also a young, not-yet-fully-cultivated snake demon. Also a white snake, as it happens.”
Tao Yao pursed her lips. “There are plenty of white snake demons in this world.”
He said calmly, “Tao Yao, ah. Transformed serpents have always been seen as ill omens, creatures everyone has the right to destroy on sight. You granted me an entire extra thousand years of life, giving me the chance to live quietly before the Buddha, reflecting on my past wrongs in solitude. Now, knowing Little White’s time in this world is nearly up, if I do nothing, I fear this thousand years of sutra-chanting will have been for nothing.”
“Nearly up?” She paused.
“Immortal Kongming has grown somewhat unhinged. He’s openly declared the demon is right there in the Octagonal Well, and that all of Lumen Mountain’s disasters stem from it.” He frowned. “That man — in his pursuit of others’ reverence, he won’t even spare a shred of old affection. Even a well-used spoon earns some fondness over time, let alone a living creature that’s been by his side for decades. But, well, this is also the chance to end everything completely, which is why I hurried to find you — help me fully cure this lingering illness of mine, once and for all.”
“You could still live for many more years,” Tao Yao said.
“I can’t delay any longer. Even without Little White, as long as I live, my tail will remain, and who’s to say it won’t attract some other Little Black or Little Green down the line, causing more trouble. When I severed my tail back then, I acted rashly too, only thinking of casting away the power that had killed so many, never considering what trouble it might cause once separated from me.” He looked directly into Tao Yao’s eyes. “I hope you’ll grant me this.”
She was silent for a long while, then said, “You know my rule about treating patients.”
He looked troubled. “But, I can no longer be your medicine.”
“Yes, so I feel I’m getting the short end of this deal.”
Even so, at a loss, she granted his wish anyway.
It wasn’t such a big deal, really — Tao Yao had witnessed more matters of life and death than she could count. Don’t expect her to try talking anyone out of dying, insisting that life was precious and the world beautiful and worth staying for.
She was a rational doctor, one who respected every patient’s own wishes.
Little White, utterly unaware of its own fate, still foolishly waited in the well. The man it had accompanied for so many years told it only, when I raise my sword to strike you, don’t dodge — I’ll pretend to strike you. Understand, Little White?
Perhaps, better that it didn’t understand at all.
He transformed himself into Little White’s form, taking its place.
He said this man had, after all, once saved Little White’s life — a small punishment as a lesson would be enough; spare his life. As for Little White, just don’t let it remember this man anymore.
That day, as she plunged the sword down, he whispered a quiet “thank you” to her.
There should have been no pain at all — not even the sensation of it — because she had laced the blade with medicine beforehand.
Perhaps it was the first demon she knew of, buried wrapped in a kasaya robe.
And yet, nothing about it felt wrong. Was that not so?
Epilogue
A few days later, the young novice monk at Lumen Temple discovered his Uncle-Master Juehui had gone missing.
The whole temple searched for a long time, but found no trace of the legless monk. The abbot had someone report it to the authorities.
Tao Yao stood outside the mountain gate of Lumen Temple, the sunlight blindingly bright — it had been a long time since the weather here had been this good.
She wondered where Little White would go now. At least it was as thick as a thigh these days, no longer so easy prey for wild beasts.
That day, when they parted, Tao Yao had chased after it once more, pointing at its head. “Snake demon, someone asked me to give you a proper name. They say when a demon in cultivation receives a full human name from someone else, it helps them achieve human form sooner, freed from the burden of their original shape.”
Little White raised its head, gazing at her blankly.
She frowned, scratching her head for a long while. “What name would suit… something connected to your appearance, yet plain enough not to draw attention…”
After much thought, she clapped her hands. “Got it! I’ll call you Bai Suzhen!”
Little White flicked its tongue.
Whether it was pleased with the name or not, who could say.
Whatever — none of that mattered now. What mattered was that her ears finally felt blissfully quiet — no chattering little monk, no sardonic remarks from Young Master Liu, no fox to look after that only knew how to wipe its tail across plates. And best of all, tucked against her chest were two priceless pearls!
What a wonderful world!
She brushed the dust from her clothes and strode off briskly toward the other end of the mountain path.