Prologue
I’m not obedient.
Tao Yao never imagined there would come a day when even her own head would flood with water.
Hopping on one foot mid-journey, hopping on the left then switching to the right, hopping on the right then switching back to the left, she felt like she could pour out an entire ocean from her ears.
Mo Ya lay on the grass with his eyes squeezed shut, utterly soaked, while a drenched Gungun spun and bounced tirelessly on his bloated stomach; with every bounce, Mo Ya spat out another mouthful of river water.
Young Master Liu leaned against a tree trunk, unbothered, carefully wiping his fingernails with a silk handkerchief.
Swinging her two dripping braids, looking like a drowned rat, Tao Yao shouted at Young Master Liu, “Where’s my fish?!”
“Fish?” Young Master Liu gave her a look reserved for the mentally deficient. “If I hadn’t stepped in just now, the two of you and that fox would either have been struck dead by lightning or drowned at the bottom of the river. You don’t thank me, and instead you’re worrying about your fish?”
She wailed, heartbroken. “That was the biggest fish I’ve ever caught! Half for grilling, half for steaming, and the head could still make a sour-spicy fish head soup! You couldn’t even hold onto one fish! Pay me back! Pay me back!”
“Forgive me, but I cannot bear the sliminess of fish scales—even the tip of my finger touching one is utterly nauseating, I’d throw up.” Young Master Liu kept wiping his hands.
She rolled her eyes hard. “You talk as if you don’t have scales yourself—how come I never see you disgusting yourself and throwing up!”
Young Master Liu smiled, sweeping back a lock of his long hair with practiced charm. “Just as you never think you’re ugly and always carry yourself like some rare beauty, we’re all in the habit of being unconditionally forgiving toward ourselves—same principle.”
She stopped her one-legged hopping and made a throat-slitting gesture at him. “Even if I’m no great beauty, I’ve never been fined for offending public decency just by walking down the street. You just want to say you’re the most beautiful, don’t you! As if that seductive snake-demon face of yours is anything to brag about, pah!”
“Certainly more beautiful than your moon-cake face.” Young Master Liu smiled, stroking his own elegantly sculpted profile.
“Turn invisible, I don’t want to look at you. Goodbye!” She waved a hand at him.
“And what about this thing, then?” He looked down, tilting his chin toward his own feet. “Hand it over to you?”
“What thing?” She paused, following his gaze downward.
An utterly unremarkable little black creature, no more than three inches long, thin as a thread, its small vermillion eyes half-open. At first glance it looked like a plump earthworm covered in fine scales, except it had four claws and a pair of small horns on its head. Young Master Liu’s toe was pressing down on its tail; it seemed to have no strength left to struggle, lying there panting.
Tao Yao blinked, then leaned in a few steps closer for a better look, and once she’d finally confirmed exactly what the living creature under his foot was, she let out a strange yelp—like someone who’d just bitten into a bowl of rice full of bugs—and leapt several meters back, pointing at the little thing with exaggerated horror. “Get it away, get it away! Don’t let it near me! It’s not allowed within a hundred meters of me! No, no, a hundred li!!”
Young Master Liu snorted coldly. “Scared now? Who was just fretting over fish-head soup a moment ago?”
Tao Yao didn’t even want to look at the thing, turning her head away with utter disgust. “How was I supposed to know it was this thing!”
Rewind half an hour—originally it had been a pleasant time boating on the river, chatting idly while fishing. Most importantly, Tao Yao had caught a big fish—she’d even pulled its head above the water’s surface—but this fish must have done some good deed in its life, because it wasn’t fated to die: right before it broke the surface, out of a clear blue sky, a sudden thunderclap struck down directly onto their little boat, instantly reducing it to scattered planks flying in all directions. Tao Yao only saw a flash of light before her eyes, her ears and mind buzzing in a chaotic drone, and before she’d even come to her senses, the whole boatload of them had fallen into the river.
Talk about hitting the jackpot—Tao Yao had never once been struck by lightning before, and struck so precisely too. Where was that kind of luck when she was gambling?! At first she really thought it was coincidence—she hadn’t done anything particularly bad lately, had she? Sure, she’d dined and dashed a bit at that good restaurant, a touch of greed maybe, but not enough to warrant being struck by five thunderbolts! Could it be karmic punishment for letting Mo Ya allow Gungun to wipe plates with its tail? She’d thought of countless reasons, but never once considered that being struck by lightning wasn’t their karma at all—it was because they’d run into this creature: Guai Long, the Obedient Dragon.
Tao Yao told Young Master Liu to stand exactly where he was and not move. She picked up a pebble and drew a circle around him, saying as she drew, “From now on, as long as you don’t step outside this circle, we can still be friends.” Then she added with particular emphasis, “And especially—don’t lift your foot!!”
Young Master Liu crossed his arms, his cool expression the whole time saying “I really don’t deign to be friends with an idiot like you,” and only after she’d finished drawing the circle did he speak. “Well then, this counts as another two favors I’ve done for you, on top of just now pulling you and the little monk out of the water—that makes three.”
“However you want to count it, just don’t step out of that circle, and don’t let the Obedient Dragon out either!” She leapt far away from the circle, gazing worriedly at the sky, muttering, “If it’s here, that means that other thing must be nearby too… how annoying!”
Mo Ya, having come to his senses, sat up coughing a few times, looking with confusion at Young Master Liu inside the circle, and asked her, “Tao Yao, why did you circle Young Master Liu in? Wasn’t he the one who pulled us ashore when we fell in the water just now? I know you can’t swim.”
“He only saved you so he can eat fresh meat later!” Tao Yao glared at him. “Didn’t you see what’s under his foot!”
“Under his foot?” Mo Ya stood and walked over to Young Master Liu, crouching down and rubbing his eyes, then his face lit up with astonishment. “There’s a little black bug! Oh wait, no, it has horns on its head—it’s a little black dragon?!”
Gungun sidled over, sniffing curiously at the little creature. Perhaps disliking this treatment, the previously listless little black dragon suddenly threw a tantrum, whipping its head to jab Gungun’s nose with its horn. Gungun yelped in pain and sprang back, whining and spinning in circles several times, then, unsatisfied, ran back and quickly farted right at the little dragon’s head before dashing away. Quite the vengeful fox!
Tao Yao pinched her nose and said to Gungun, “Personal advice: don’t get near that thing, you could lose your life at any moment!”
“Tao Yao, what exactly is this?” Mo Ya, used to her exaggerations, wasn’t scared at all, only very curious. “There are dragons this small in the world?”
“This is a Guai Long, an Obedient Dragon,” Young Master Liu said. “But it’s quite different from the true dragons who can overturn rivers and seas and rival gods. Strictly speaking, an Obedient Dragon is only a demon with the faintest trace of dragon blood, born with the ability to summon clouds and bring rain, and was tamed and subdued by the heavenly realm long ago, placed under the Thunder God’s department, sent to bring rain to relieve droughts in the mortal realm according to orders from above. So a Guai Long can be considered roughly demon-immortal rank. However, they say this creature is naturally lazy, often resenting how hard and exhausting its work is, so it frequently runs away.”
“Amitabha, I see.” Mo Ya leaned in closer still, finding it all quite fascinating. “There really is a demon-immortal this small.”
“You’re leaning in closer! Mo Ya, don’t let my words go in one ear and out the other.” Tao Yao stepped back again. “Didn’t you hear that huge boom right before our boat fell apart?”
Mo Ya thought back and nodded. “I did. I remember hearing a particularly terrifying clap of thunder.” He looked startled. “Were we struck by lightning?” Before Tao Yao could answer, he pressed his palms together at once. “Amitabha! Tao Yao, I’ve warned you before to treat others kindly, to abstain from killing, greed, and gambling—remember, karma cycles and never fails to deliver its due. Look, this is a warning. If your misdeeds bring calamity upon all beings, how could you live with yourself?”
A small stone struck Mo Ya’s shaved head, and Tao Yao pointed at Young Master Liu’s feet. “Open your eyes and look properly. Our lovely little boat getting destroyed like that wasn’t my karma—it’s this thing that drew the Thunder God here! The one who nearly killed innocent bystanders is it, not me! A fleeing Guai Long likes best to hide inside people’s bodies or wooden objects to evade the Thunder God’s pursuit, and when chased hard enough, it’ll even panic and hide inside an ox’s horn, getting the herder boy riding that ox struck dead by lightning along with it. All of this is documented, verified bad history of the Guai Long!”
Before she’d even finished, a muffled voice came from beneath Young Master Liu’s foot: “This time the Thunder God must have had too much to drink, otherwise you wouldn’t have the chance to be shouting your head off here.”
Everyone froze—so this creature could actually speak human language after all.
But it really couldn’t speak well—the moment it opened its mouth, it provoked fury. Still, angry as she was, Tao Yao refused to get any closer to it; her eyes darted, and she suppressed her anger with a cold smile. “I may not be from the heavenly realm, but I have some connections there too. I could leak your whereabouts to certain people without much trouble at all. How many more times can you hide?”
The Guai Long made a huffing sound, as if laughing. “What I’m best at is fleeing and hiding—not that I haven’t been caught before. I don’t care how many connections you have up there; if you go tattling, then in the future, I’d advise you to be prepared to be struck by lightning at any time, because I will cling to you and never let go.”
Young Master Liu clapped. “I quite admire your plan.”
Tao Yao glared at Young Master Liu. “By then I’ll cling to your waist and never let go too, and we’ll become a happy pair of charred ghost mandarin ducks together forever after.”
“Apologies, but I like beauties. You’re not my type,” Young Master Liu said with a smile. “With your looks, at best you could be a neighbor.”
Tao Yao chuckled and rolled up her sleeves. “Then we’ll just have to fight.”
Seeing this, the Guai Long said to Young Master Liu, “You could move your foot now, or how else is she going to fight you?”
“I never raise my hand against women.” Young Master Liu glanced down at it. “You think I’d let you off that easily?”
“I’m not leaving,” it said calmly. “Because I’m injured, and even if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t. Did you really think a single foot of yours was enough to stop me?” As it spoke, it extended its right front claw with some effort. “Since you can already tell my origins, you should also know we have no wings—once our limbs are injured, even a minor wound, we can’t fly until it heals.”
A scorched-looking mark showed on it, red and inflamed, the skin split open to reveal the flesh beneath. Not a severe wound, but not trivial either.
Young Master Liu examined it and, seeing it was indeed real, thought it over and released its tail.
It flicked its tail but showed no intention of leaving, settling into a more comfortable position instead, saying, “This circle is mine now. If you have no other business, go on and leave. And feel free to go tattle if you like.”
Tao Yao snorted, tilting her chin at the big tree behind it. “Just stay lying there, it’ll make it even more convenient for the Thunder God to strike you. A lazy thing like you—dead is dead, saves heaven some rations too.”
It turned its head the other way, ignoring her entirely.
“Let’s go.” Tao Yao turned and walked off.
Mo Ya didn’t move, saying, “We’re just leaving now? That wound doesn’t look shallow to me, you should bandage it. Something this small looks awfully weak.”
Hearing this, Tao Yao spun back around and poked his bald head. “If it weren’t for this thing, we’d still be happily fishing and sunbathing on our boat right now. We nearly died just now because of it too. If you want to be charitable, why not take pity on ourselves instead!”
“But we’re all fine.” Mo Ya pointed at it. “Its injury is real, though. Isn’t helping it your duty and responsibility? A good deed a day, Benefactor Tao Yao!”
“I don’t need any treatment,” it suddenly cut in. “Only sickly, cowardly demons worship those from the Peach Capital like gods. I’m not one of them.”
Hearing this, Young Master Liu smiled. “So you already know who we are.”
“Never eaten pork, but I’ve seen a pig run. Never met Tao Yao, but I’ve heard of her,” it said lazily. “That little monk just now called her ‘Tao Yao’ this and ‘Tao Yao’ that nonstop. This woman’s no beauty and has a foul temper too—fits the rumors of the fierce, ferocious Ghost Doctor of the Peach Capital well enough.”
Tao Yao forcibly restrained the urge to stomp it to death on the spot, and momentarily forgot the danger of being struck by lightning just for standing near it—she leapt right up to it and said with steely resolve, “Those who beg me to treat them, I might refuse; those who don’t want my treatment, I’ll insist on treating anyway.”
It hastily tucked its injured claw beneath itself, looking up to roll its eyes at her. “Rumor has it you’re the world’s greatest expert at treating demons. If that were true, you should have countless patients, far too busy to have a moment’s rest. Now that I’ve met you, I suspect the ‘expert’ part is fake, and the ‘idle busybody’ part is the real deal.”
Tao Yao suddenly reached out with two fingers, pinched its neck, and lifted it clean off the ground, smiling. “Whatever tricks you try to provoke me won’t work. I said I’ll cure you, and cure you I will.”
It suddenly panicked, twisting its body in midair, shouting, “Don’t cure me! At least not for the next three days!”
Everyone present froze for a moment. Young Master Liu said, “Your injury was caused by lightning you failed to dodge in time—you and I both know this. Any demon struck by the Thunder God’s lightning not only suffers physically but also loses all demonic power until the wound heals, which is why you can’t fly. And yet you insist, over and over, that you don’t want to be cured. You should know this is the mortal world of red dust, dangers lurking everywhere—in your current state, even a three-year-old child could stomp you to death.”
Hearing this, Mo Ya hurried to stand in front of the Guai Long, pressing his palms together. “Benefactor Guai Long, please don’t throw a tantrum. We don’t mean to blame you at all. That we could meet amid this vast sea of people, and survive a lightning strike—this is a tremendous stroke of fate! You should hurry and heal your wound and return to the heavenly realm!”
The Guai Long rolled its eyes in exasperation, saying, “I’m not sulking at you all! I worked so hard to get this wound, I need it to help someone!”
Tao Yao was thoroughly baffled. “There’s some logic where being injured lets you help people? Did the Thunder God fry your brain along with your body?”
“I need to deal with the Drought Immortal!”
At the three-way crossroads two li outside Flying Fish Village, Tao Yao sat before a shabby tea stall, gulping down a large bowl of tea. The rarely-appearing Young Master Liu sat across from her, eyeing the none-too-clean teacup with distaste, unwilling to even touch it. Mo Ya sat properly upright, eyes closed, fingering his prayer beads, while Gungun dozed at his feet. The bamboo basket usually used to carry the fox sat on the empty stool between Tao Yao and Young Master Liu, occasional rustling sounds coming from within.
The Guai Long had said they absolutely had to be here today.
They’d arrived before dawn, and only once the tea stall finally set up did they have a proper place to sit.
The spring sun, though not scorching, carried a faint warmth as noon approached. Tao Yao lazily rested her chin on the edge of the table, eyes sliding sideways toward the basket. “You said that fellow would definitely arrive at noon. Let me say this upfront—if you’ve lied to me, I’ll cure your wound immediately and personally hand you over to the Thunder God for credit.”
No movement from the basket.
“Asleep?” She looked up, twisting around to grab the basket and shake it hard. “I haven’t had a nap in days and you have the nerve to sleep!”
The Guai Long, tumbling around inside the basket from her shaking, said impatiently, “I said noon today, so it’s noon today. You could’ve just ignored this whole matter, but you insisted on tagging along, and now you’re complaining at every turn. No wonder most demons in this world don’t like you.”
“True, and even though I’m her neighbor, I don’t like her either,” Young Master Liu chimed in right on cue. “No money, no looks, bad temper—occasionally a flash of wit, but it never lasts.”
Tao Yao listened to them with a smile, then said, word by word, “My existence isn’t meant to earn your liking—it’s meant to earn your fear.”
Young Master Liu rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond.
Just then, Mo Ya suddenly opened his eyes, glancing at both Tao Yao and Young Master Liu in turn. Just as everyone expected him to launch into another earnest lecture about how life is short and meeting is fate so they shouldn’t quarrel, he instead suddenly turned and shouted toward the tea stall owner not far off, “A flatbread, please!”
Tao Yao smacked his bald head. “Do you have money to buy a flatbread? I paid for the tea, and now I don’t have a single copper left—and you two won’t even let me go to the gambling den!”
“If you went to the gambling den, we wouldn’t even be able to afford tea.” Mo Ya muttered, shifting his pitiful gaze to Young Master Liu’s face, and after struggling for a while managed only two words: “I’m hungry!”
“Being a bit hungry is good for you.” Young Master Liu, unbothered, clutched the money pouch at his waist tighter, saying seriously, “I don’t care for greasy food.”
Mo Ya had nothing to say to that, looking at their faces mournfully. “Here I am, a monk with Buddha in my heart and compassion in my soul, and in your eyes I’m still worth less than a flatbread!”
Tao Yao yawned. “If I kept a flatbread, at least I could take a bite or two out of it. Keeping you is completely useless.”
“Do you really have to hurt me like this?” Mo Ya asked, lips pursed.
Just as they spoke, the owner came over carrying several hot flatbreads.
Mo Ya swallowed hard and said to the owner, “Sorry, please take them back, I have no money.” Then he glanced at Tao Yao and the others. “Those two don’t have money either.”
The owner was startled for a moment, then laughed heartily. “Then these flatbreads are on the house. I can see the little master here looks quite hungry. Eat up, eat up, don’t let yourself starve.”
Mo Ya’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Of course.” The owner nodded. “My tea stall sits at this busy crossroads, so I get plenty of monks like you passing through, asking for a cup of tea or a bread—I never turn them away. Truth be told, I’m not a formal Buddhist, but I do believe in the Buddha too.”
“Amitabha, meeting a benefactor like you is our great fortune,” Mo Ya said, palms pressed together in gratitude. “Good people deserve good fortune. May your business flourish and your blessings endure.”
The owner laughed again. “Just a small business, flourishing is relative. I only hope for good weather and that the folks of Flying Fish Village get their three meals and live in peace.” He continued, “Not sure if it’s the good feng shui of Flying Fish Village, but as far back as I can remember, we’ve rarely suffered droughts or floods. I’ve seen other places worship gods and Buddhas year-round, far more devout than our village folk, yet they still don’t escape their share of disasters. Come to think of it, you really can’t guess what the gods and Buddhas are thinking, haha.”
By the time he finished speaking, half a flatbread had already gone down Tao Yao’s throat; chewing, she asked, “If that’s the case, do you still believe in Buddha?”
The owner scratched his head, looking as though he’d been stumped, and laughed sheepishly. “Well, I’ve honestly never thought about it that hard… Living in this world, believing in something makes it a little easier to bear, doesn’t it? You all take your time eating, I’ve got water boiling over there.”
“Now that’s an honest, good man.” Young Master Liu swallowed the last bite of his flatbread. “A flatbread round as the full moon, one bite leaves it incomplete. A full belly clears the spirit, sitting to watch distant snow-capped hills.” Then he moved himself to tears with his own composition, exclaiming repeatedly what a fine poem it was.
Tao Yao snatched a chopstick from the holder and aimed it at Young Master Liu’s throat. “Stop composing poetry, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back from killing you.”
Young Master Liu pursed his lips. “One cannot discuss ice with a summer insect.”
Mo Ya, covered in goosebumps, silently gnawed on his flatbread, then suddenly seemed to remember something, sitting beside the basket and leaning in to ask the creature inside, “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
The Guai Long rolled its eyes at him. “I’m a demon-immortal, I don’t eat crude mortal food.”
“Oh.” Mo Ya stuffed the flatbread back into his own mouth, glancing left and right, and lowered his voice. “Is the Drought Immortal really going to come? What does he look like?”
The Guai Long turned over and said, “He could look like anything—might be an old woman, might be an old man, might even be a dim-witted little monk.”
Mo Ya said, astonished, “That impressive? Then can you even recognize him?”
“Why do you have so many questions?” the Guai Long said impatiently. “Can’t I get some peace and quiet before noon!”
With that, the Guai Long simply pretended to sleep, ignoring him entirely.
Can’t I get some peace and quiet—it remembered saying those exact words to A’Mang once before, too.
A’Mang’s name suited him just as much as his own—busy and blind, both at once. A ten-year-old blind boy, living with his grandmother in Flying Fish Village. The two of them had no blood relation; A’Mang had been abandoned outside the village, in the twelfth lunar month’s cold, wrapped only in a thin swaddling cloth. If Grandma hadn’t gone to the market early that day, he wouldn’t even have gotten the chance to be given a name.
Not being able to see the world was certainly a great inconvenience, but through countless bumps, falls, and bruises of every kind, A’Mang had slowly figured out how to coexist peacefully with the world using his cane and his imagination. He could even fetch water from the river and trade eggs from home with the peddler who came to sell goods in the village.
Grandma ached for all the bumps and bruises on his body, but she never spoke of it—these wounds were the capital that would let him survive; he still had such a long life ahead of him to walk.
The abandoned wooden chair in the corner of A’Mang’s house was the hiding spot the Guai Long had chosen this time. It had long since lost count of how many times it had fled from the heavenly realm. It simply couldn’t stand the Thunder God’s arrogant, high-and-mighty attitude—working under him meant rising earlier than roosters, toiling harder than dogs, never getting a shred of praise, as if everything were simply owed. It was a demon-immortal in its own right too, however small; though its abilities couldn’t compare to the true immortals and gods, who could bring life-giving rain to hundreds of li with a single gesture, turning a day’s effort into a river and two days’ into a sea, it and its kind could still diligently bring the better part of a day’s rain to a village or a stretch of hills, and in times of sudden wildfire or severe drought, it too could save lives. But look at those mortal fools—worshipping the River God, the Water God, the Dragon King, every god and Buddha under heaven got their sacrifices, except never the Guai Long. In fact, hardly anyone even knew of their existence—no helping it, since their work was so unremarkable. Most infuriating of all were the other proper immortals in the heavenly realm, who looked down on them, whispering behind their backs that they’d always be demons at heart, that being absorbed into the heavenly realm changed nothing about their lowly status. What was so impressive about them anyway—setting aside the true gods born of sun and moon essence and the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, didn’t every other one of them trace their lineage back generations to mere humans who’d cultivated into immortals? Humans and demons had coexisted in this world since the dawn of heaven and earth—who was really more noble than whom? Pah!
Quit, quit this job! To hell with being a demon-immortal, let the Thunder God find someone else to help him put out fires and bring rain—it wasn’t serving him anymore. Except every time, it never got far before being caught and dragged back, the punishment being tied to a post to watch others eat—demon-immortals couldn’t starve to death from not eating, but it still felt hungry! This was the Thunder God’s insidious cruelty…
But it didn’t care. A Guai Long that never ran wasn’t a real one.
Still, some of its kind weren’t very considerate about it—if you’re going to hide, fine, hide in a post, under eaves, in furniture, but no, some insisted on hiding inside animals or people, and when the Thunder God struck with lightning, an innocent life got caught in the crossfire, and somehow that blame never fell on the Thunder God. Though it was rare to hear of the Thunder God killing an innocent person, such accidents weren’t unheard of either. As for itself, it would never hide inside a living creature. This time, for instance, it had chosen this scenic Flying Fish Village, and within it, the household with the fewest people—just one old woman and one little blind boy—to hide quietly for a while.
It knew this little blind boy was called A’Mang—a fitting name, since despite being unable to see, he stayed busy every day, wiping windows one moment, washing clothes the next, knowing every path inside and outside the house by heart, never once bumping into a single post as far as it had seen.
His grandmother was already quite elderly, her face wrinkled enough to trap a fly in its folds—a kind-faced old woman of few words. Before she fell ill, you could see her sweeping in front of the door with a broom every single day, the rising dust nearly making it sneeze more than once.
But a few days ago she’d fallen ill. A’Mang had called a doctor, who diagnosed cold-damage fever, warning it mustn’t be taken lightly—careless treatment could cost her life. So A’Mang grew even busier, fetching medicine, brewing medicine, and keeping his grandmother company with conversation, several times nearly bumping into the post by the door in his flustered haste.
Not long after his grandmother fell ill, on top of everything else, A’Mang began, without fail, three times a day—morning, noon, and evening—inserting three sticks of incense into the ground at the corner of the wall, then kneeling and murmuring prayers to the Earth God, asking him to bless his grandmother’s swift recovery.
Day after day this continued. A’Mang never found it tiresome, but it truly did. Finally, on one drowsy afternoon, when A’Mang lit the incense and began praying yet again, it couldn’t help but blurt out, “Can’t I get some peace and quiet!”
A’Mang jumped, plopping down onto the ground in fright, asking, “Who? Who’s there?”
It immediately regretted losing its composure—but what to do now?
In the end, it could only steel itself, cough twice, and say, “Child, I am the Earth God.”
A’Mang froze. “Really? You’re really the Earth God?”
“Shh!” It lowered its voice. “Don’t be so loud. I only came out to check on you because I saw you burning incense and calling for me every single day.”
He was, after all, only a ten-year-old child, easy to fool. A’Mang, believing it completely, reached his hand out, fumbling through the air, saying with delight, “Earth God, what do you look like? Can you make my grandmother recover soon?”
“Stop groping around, I’m a deity, how could a mortal like you possibly touch my body,” it said solemnly. “As for your grandmother, don’t worry, I’ve already blessed her, she’ll recover. So you don’t need to come burn incense here anymore, and don’t disturb me again either.”
A’Mang quickly withdrew his hand, nodding repeatedly. “I won’t disturb you again!”
True to his word, after that day, the boy seemed to forget about it entirely and truly never returned to that corner. But every morning when it woke, it would find some food laid out before it—sometimes a flatbread, sometimes a few wild fruits, sometimes a bundle of fresh flowers.
This was the first time it had ever received human worship—albeit under the borrowed name of the Earth God.
And indeed, Grandmother’s illness gradually improved, and A’Mang grew happy every day, sometimes standing far off from the corner, pressing his palms together and bowing in that direction.
It only rolled its eyes. Foolish child.
Flying Fish Village really was a good place—lovely scenery, clean air, decent people, nowhere touched by any foul air at all. As long as the Thunder God didn’t find it here, it planned to keep hiding.
These past few days, what A’Mang did most was take a hoe and till a patch of empty ground in the yard. It watched secretly, genuinely worried the blind boy would swing the hoe down onto his own foot, but thankfully he never did. Still, being so young, this kind of work drained him greatly, and it took him several days to finish preparing the plot.
Then, A’Mang brought back ten or twenty green seedlings from outside, burying them one by one into the soil. To keep them evenly spaced, he crouched on the ground, measuring the distance between seedlings with his hands, occasionally cutting his hand on stones in the dirt. All in all, it took him an entire day to finish planting all the seedlings, watering them, and finally, hands covered in cuts, he sat contentedly at the edge of the plot.
It finally couldn’t hold back any longer, scurrying out of the wooden chair to land beside A’Mang, asking, “What is it you’re planting?”
A’Mang was startled again, stammering, “Earth… Earth God?”
“Uh, I was passing by your house, thought I’d take a look.” It said casually, asking again, “What are you planting?”
A’Mang quickly answered, “Sugarcane.”
“Sugarcane?” It didn’t understand. “I recall there’s a whole grove of sugarcane behind your village—why plant your own at home too?”
A’Mang answered honestly, “I asked Uncle Li, who manages the sugarcane grove, for these seedlings. Grandma says she loved eating sugarcane when she was young, but now she’s too old to chew it, so she usually just drinks the juice pressed from it. Every harvest, Uncle Li always sends a few stalks to our house.”
“Then why bother growing your own?” It didn’t understand. “In terms of experience and skill growing sugarcane, you surely can’t match Uncle Li—even if you manage to grow some, it might not even taste good.”
A’Mang wiped the sweat from his forehead, laughing sheepishly. “Even if I can’t match Uncle Li, I can still do the same thing he does. Definitely not as well as him, but it makes me feel useful. My grandma used to say no one in this world is extra or useless—everyone has their purpose.” He paused, gazing at the little patch of green seedlings before him, saying earnestly, “This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this. Just thinking about eating sugarcane I grew myself someday makes me feel like something wonderful.”
It thought this over, then tossed off, “Pointless trouble. I’m leaving, child.”
Actually what it had wanted to say was take good care of your sugarcane, but it wasn’t used to being that gentle with others, so it let it go.
In the days that followed, it saw A’Mang busy in that small sugarcane patch every single day. For a blind person, caring for plants that couldn’t speak back was truly a difficult challenge.
It watched from a distance, telling itself it wouldn’t help—it wasn’t its sugarcane, after all.
Day by day, the crookedly arranged sugarcane seedlings, under A’Mang’s careful tending, visibly grew taller by the inch; every day he’d take a stick to measure their height, and even the slightest growth would make him hop with joy on the spot.
Once his sugarcane matured, he’d surely give it a stalk to eat, it thought, yawning, before drifting into a deep sleep.
At midnight, a crescent moon hung in the sky.
Half-asleep, it suddenly felt an unusual burst of scorching heat sweep past its body—only an instant, but enough to jolt it fully awake, because the sensation was all too familiar.
It scrambled out of the wooden chair, landing atop the courtyard wall. In the thin moonlight, a dim reddish shadow drifted along the winding path outside the courtyard wall, leaving behind a lava-like trail wherever it passed, vanishing in an instant.
The Drought Immortal? This nuisance showing up here couldn’t mean anything good.
It secretly followed, watching the Drought Immortal circle around Flying Fish Village once before finally leaving the village. Before departing, it even wrote a number invisible to mortal eyes on the ground at the village entrance—seven.
By the Drought Immortal’s usual custom, that meant it would return in seven days, and Flying Fish Village would be scorched earth in a single night, followed by three years of drought.
It knew this creature’s style all too well—whenever those above wanted to punish the mortal realm with drought, the Drought Immortals would be dispatched by order. But something felt off this time—at least, before it had fled, it hadn’t heard of any order to punish the mortal realm. Besides, whenever those above decided to act, at minimum an entire hundred-li region would suffer without exception; there was no precedent for singling out one tiny, insignificant village like this. What’s more, Flying Fish Village had been perfectly peaceful, no wicked deeds to speak of—no cause to invite punishment from above.
The more it thought about it, the more something felt wrong. After some deliberation, it retraced the path the Drought Immortal had just walked, finding nothing unusual, except in a corner on the south side of the village, it discovered a small stone shrine set into the ground, the stone statue inside carved with the characters “Drought Immortal”—but clearly no one had come to worship here in ages; both shrine and statue were dilapidated, cobwebs everywhere. What truly caught its attention was a dark handprint left on the shrine. It reached out a claw to touch it—still warm, in all likelihood left by an angry slap from the Drought Immortal itself.
Back at the village entrance, it stared at the number on the ground that only it could see, recalling rumors it had often heard back in the heavenly realm—that minor immortals who frequently traveled between realms cared deeply about how much mortals worshipped them; the more incense and offerings they received, the stronger their divine power grew, and the more reverence they earned, the more it helped their prospects for promotion. So there were often rumors of minor immortals, angered by insufficient offerings, taking revenge in secret—after all, heaven was far and the emperor distant, and the mortal realm vast; if some petty-minded creature wanted to pull some scheme behind the backs of those above, it would be hard to guard against. In any case, as far as it knew, the Drought Immortal was no paragon of broad-mindedness.
Moreover, it had searched the whole village and found no Heavenly Punishment Seal. Whenever the heavenly realm punished the mortal realm, regardless of who was sent or by what method, a Heavenly Punishment Seal would always be given to the agent beforehand, and the punished location would always be marked with this seal, to signify that this place had committed grave sins deserving of heavenly wrath. Since there was no Heavenly Punishment Seal… that only further confirmed this was a matter of personal grudge?! This Drought Immortal, holding such a grudge over a little lack of offerings…
It didn’t return to A’Mang’s home, instead spending the whole night staring blankly at the number the Drought Immortal had left behind.
Though the Drought Immortal sounded quite destructive, it was, after all, just an ordinary minor immortal, and the myriad things of the mortal world weren’t lambs for the slaughter—mountains, waters, and earth had their strengths and weaknesses just like living creatures. Even a location marked for punishment, if its vital energy hadn’t yet been exhausted, couldn’t possibly be turned to scorched earth and three years of drought by the Drought Immortal’s power alone in a single night—which was precisely why the Heavenly Punishment Seal was needed first, to drain away the location’s “energy,” before the Drought Immortal could unleash its full power.
But if the Drought Immortal had no heavenly mandate and thus no Heavenly Punishment Seal, and instead wanted to harm a place purely through its own ability, it would need to calculate the target’s “disaster day” and arrive at that location precisely at noon on that day to succeed. The disaster day was the day when a place’s earth-energy was weakest and most vulnerable to harm—supposedly occurring only once every ten years. Who knew how long this creature had held its grudge, biding its time for this very day, now finally within reach.
What to do? Report back to the heavenly realm and expose it? No good, that would expose itself too. Or pretend not to see, not to know, and hide somewhere else instead?
But then, thinking of A’Mang’s newly-grown sugarcane seedlings, it hesitated again. Or, was there another way?
Before dawn, it vanished from Flying Fish Village.
The sun stood high overhead. Tao Yao had already downed three cups of tea, staring vacantly into the distance; Young Master Liu yawned countless times; Mo Ya fingered his prayer beads, occasionally glancing left and right.
Just as everyone had grown thoroughly bored, at the other end of the crossroads, a little boy with his hair tied up in a topknot came skipping along, running right past the tea stall without a second glance, heading straight for Flying Fish Village.
The Guai Long suddenly leapt out of the basket, an embroidery needle thin as an ox hair clutched in its claw, its tip stained with its own blood. Before anyone else could react, it had already landed on the ground and was chasing after the child—limping as it ran, but losing no speed for it.
Just a few steps from the child, a faint glint of silver shot out from its claw, silently piercing into the boy’s exposed nape.
The child’s pace slowed, he walked a few more steps, then suddenly stopped, reaching a hand back toward his own neck—but before he could turn around, his body vanished with a “poof” on the spot, leaving behind only a shattered mud doll on the ground. A shapeless red shadow crawled out from the mud doll, glaring at the Guai Long with fury and humiliation, snarling, “You wretched demon, how dare you ambush me!”
It grinned. “Was it me ambushing you, or you, Drought Immortal, ambushing Flying Fish Village? You and I both know the answer.”
The Drought Immortal grew even angrier. “I mind my own business and stay out of yours—how dare you interfere with my affairs!”
“Come on now, just because people stopped worshipping you, you want revenge on them? You’re an immortal after all, this is a rather ugly display.” It stuck its tongue out at the Drought Immortal.
“You… just wait, watch how I deal with you! You…” Before the furious Drought Immortal could finish, it splatted onto the ground, struggling weakly. “If you’ve got the guts, don’t run—see if I don’t beat you to death!”
It rolled its eyes. “Save it. We’ve both lost all our power now, neither of us can do anything to the other. Wait for someone else to deal with you.”
Behind them, Tao Yao, Young Master Liu, and Mo Ya stood in a row, Gungun perched on Mo Ya’s head, three people and one fox watching with great interest as two heavenly immortals faced off.
“So that’s the Drought Immortal.” Mo Ya said, astonished. “What an… indescribable appearance.”
Tao Yao looked around and said, “Good thing no one passed by, or seeing an immortal looking like that would be quite the disappointment.”
“You’re an idiot. Even if someone had passed by, ordinary mortals can’t see either of their true forms—at most they’d think the three of us were sick in the head, standing in a row staring off into space.” Young Master Liu said flatly. “Back at the tea stall, that owner already glanced at Mo Ya several times—a monk talking to an empty basket is pretty indescribable too.”
The Guai Long slowly turned its head to look at the three of them. “I think you’d all be better off not talking.”
“So that’s it, it’s over?” Tao Yao clapped her hands, walking up to it, then glanced at the utterly drained Drought Immortal lying on the ground.
“Drought Immortals naturally dislike daylight and can only move freely at night; during the day they must possess a mud effigy to take human form to walk the mortal realm. But to make it here by noon on the disaster day, it had no choice but to endure the trouble.” It looked at the Drought Immortal. “Though a daytime Drought Immortal is already weak in power, that would still be more than enough for it to use this one hour to condemn Flying Fish Village to three years of suffering—all it needed was to walk into the village, and the deed would be done without any further effort. So I had to make sure it lost every last bit of its power, completely, without exception. Once today’s noon passes, even if it still wants revenge on Flying Fish Village, it’ll have to wait another ten years.”
Hearing this, the Drought Immortal, though desperate to beat it to a pulp, was too weak to move, and simply resorted to cursing through every foul word it knew.
Being a deity reduced to this state was rather embarrassing indeed.
The Guai Long pretended not to hear, turning to bow solemnly to the three of them. “Now I can apologize to you all properly. Getting you struck by lightning was an unavoidable necessity—after all, the river was wide open, your boat was the easiest thing to spot.”
Tao Yao snorted coldly. “Any being from the heavenly realm struck by the Thunder God’s lightning will lose all their power until the wound heals. During that time, if the injured party’s blood is smeared onto a weapon and used to wound a colleague, it’ll drain that person’s power for a whole day too. You really went all out, didn’t you, coming up with such a reckless scheme—deliberately exposing yourself to provoke the Thunder God into striking you. Did it never occur to you the Thunder God might have missed you entirely, or hit you too hard?”
“I figured the Thunder God wouldn’t actually take my life, since he’s more the type to enjoy tormenting others than to grant a quick death.” The Guai Long said earnestly, then, relieved, flopped down onto the ground. “Alright, my business here is done. Honestly, my claw does hurt quite a bit. Go ahead and treat me now.”
Tao Yao pursed her lips. “I can treat you, but my treatment comes with conditions.”
“Becoming your medicine, I know.” The Guai Long lay motionless on the ground. “I am curious what part of me you’ll want to take for medicine someday, though. Um, would clipping my nails work?”
“That’s not something you need to worry about.” She crouched before it, opening her palm. “Once you’ve decided, stamp your seal on me.”
The Guai Long extended its claw. “No need to think it over. Even though you three barged in halfway through and didn’t help at all, and even said some stupid things that annoyed me, I somehow don’t hate you all. Most of my life so far has been spent running away, with barely any chance to actually talk to anyone.” It paused, then said, “But I don’t want to keep running anymore. Let the Thunder God take me back—as long as he doesn’t kill me, I’ll just follow orders and bring clouds and rain from now on. Tired, so be it. Looked down on, doesn’t matter. Called a demon, doesn’t matter either. At least I’m still useful, even if only a little.”
“Well, at least you protected a child’s sugarcane.” Tao Yao rolled her eyes at it, then took a tiny pill from her cloth pouch, crushed it in her hand, and applied it to its wound.
“Actually, I’ve never eaten sugarcane. Is it good?”
“Very sweet.”
Epilogue
The Guai Long was taken away by the Thunder God, right in the bamboo grove outside Flying Fish Village.
Before notifying the Thunder God on its own, it asked Tao Yao and the others to carry it in the bamboo basket once more, back to A’Mang’s home.
It didn’t go in, only stood at the gate, gazing from a distance at the sugarcane seedlings swaying in the spring breeze. A’Mang was carrying a water bucket, carefully watering the plot with a wooden ladle, his ten-year-old face full of happiness and anticipation, while his white-haired grandmother sat nearby in a lounge chair, sunning herself and calling out for him to be careful.
As they left, the Guai Long said from inside the basket, “He worked so hard growing that. If it all vanished overnight, it would be such a shame.”
In the bamboo grove, the Thunder God descended from the sky—black-crowned, black-robed, tall and powerfully built—looking at it with an expressionless face, extending a hand. “Come back now.”
The Guai Long obediently hopped into his palm.
Tao Yao had been watching the Thunder God the entire time, and just before he left, she suddenly called out to stop him.
“What business do you have?” The Thunder God looked at this unremarkable-looking girl.
She tilted her head up. “I’m Tao Yao, from the Peach Capital.”
“Ah, so you’re the Ghost Doctor, Tao Yao.” The Thunder God nodded. “Though I have no dealings with the Peach Capital. You’re not in the Peach Capital, wandering the mortal realm instead—not really my concern. But I’ll remind you anyway: once you’re in the mortal realm, you must follow its rules. If you step out of line, falling into my hands won’t be pleasant either.”
Tao Yao’s expression darkened. “You needn’t trouble yourself over me. The Peach Capital has its own rules for its own people. I stopped you to remind you of something too—stop striking people down with lightning so casually in the future. You have a mouth, you can reason with people. If you really must strike someone, at least check whether there are innocent bystanders nearby first.”
The Thunder God looked her over, shook his head with a smile, and turned to leave, not even bothering to respond.
Just as her expression had gone dark enough to wring water from it, the Thunder God suddenly stopped, turning back. “Do you think, without my permission, the Guai Long could really escape again and again? Do you think, without my consent, it could get injured whenever it pleased? Do you think you all really just survived by sheer luck?”
Tao Yao froze.
The Thunder God smiled faintly. “God or mortal, everyone has that period of stubborn immaturity in their lives. Once it passes, it’s fine.” Then, seeming to remember something, he glanced at his own sleeve, where the paralyzed Drought Immortal was tucked away, and smiled. “I’ve heard a thing or two about certain minor immortals overstepping their bounds. Letting them suffer a bit doesn’t bother me.”
Tao Yao blurted out, “You knew everything? Including that the Guai Long came up with this scheme to stop the Drought Immortal?”
The Thunder God only smiled without answering, turning to leave.
“Hey, don’t torment the Guai Long too much!” Tao Yao shouted after him. “It’s obedient, and more dedicated to its duty as an immortal than anyone else.”
Just then, the Guai Long poked its head out of the Thunder God’s palm, waving a claw at her. “Go on home, don’t worry about me. I’m not obedient.”
A flash of golden light, and the Thunder God and Guai Long vanished without a trace.
Mo Ya murmured an Amitabha, saying, “Whether one deserves protection based on offerings received is the way of merchants; having no bias and holding compassion in one’s heart—that is what makes a true god or Buddha.” He fondly patted Gungun perched on his head. “Benefactor Guai Long has awakened to the true path. Benefactor Gungun, you should follow his example—after all, you still have a long road of cultivation ahead of you.”
Gungun let out a few whining sounds, hopping onto his shoulder, grabbing the prayer beads hanging around his neck and starting to chew.
Mo Ya sighed helplessly. “Let’s start by controlling your appetite—you can’t just eat everything the moment you’re hungry!”
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Chew, chew, chew.
“Hey, hey, let go, that’s my only string of prayer beads!”
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Chew, chew, chew…
Beside them, Young Master Liu eyed Tao Yao curiously. “You’re acting strange.”
“Am I?” Tao Yao glanced at him sideways.
“From what I know of you, you rarely volunteer your identity to people,” he said. “And this was someone you’d just met, no less.”
Tao Yao fell silent for a moment, then suddenly her eyes lit up, and she grabbed Young Master Liu’s arm. “He’s so handsome! How can any man look that good! I always assumed the Thunder God was some pitch-black old geezer you couldn’t even see with the lamp blown out, and here he turns out to be a Thunder God like that! I absolutely must make sure he remembers my name! Does he have anyone he fancies? Immortals can marry too, right!”
Young Master Liu, looking at her flushed, love-struck face, doused her with cold water without mercy. “What if he doesn’t like women?”
Tao Yao chuckled. “Then it still wouldn’t be your turn.”
“I have no interest in men.”
“Would it kill you to say something that makes me happy for once? Would it kill you?!”
“It wouldn’t kill me. It would make me wish I were dead. I’ll just go invisible—otherwise we’ll both suffer.”
“One day I’ll turn you into a snake hotpot!”
“I’m afraid you won’t find a pot big enough!”
The once-quiet bamboo grove had erupted into complete chaos.