He Bang nudged the Rong Chen Zi who was half-embracing her, laughing with considerable embarrassment: “Zhiguan, at this hour you ought to be up. Your disciples and grand-disciples are certainly already doing their morning devotions.”

Rong Chen Zi had an arm around her slender waist, his hands closing like a snake, slowly and steadily tightening. His voice was calm and resonant, unmistakably Rong Chen Zi’s timbre: “There’s no need to go today. It doesn’t matter.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Qingxuan came from outside, bringing water for him to wash up — which meant Rong Chen Zi had left without telling any of them. Hearing his voice, He Bang’s eyes brimmed with hot tears: Qingxuan, you truly are the very best — you are the person I like most in the entire world!!

“Rong Chen Zi” had no choice but to get up and wash. Qingxuan stood quietly nearby in attendance. He Bang burrowed into her blanket and huddled on the bed. On the low cabinet at the bedhead sat two rows of the scriptures Rong Chen Zi often read through, and below those were some of the ritual implements he kept. Without drawing any attention to herself, He Bang felt around and located a heavy, archaic Eight Trigrams mirror.

Using the blanket as cover, she stole a glance at “Rong Chen Zi” washing up, and in the mirror she saw only a rotting face. The face seemed wrapped in thick, viscous mucus, its features still frozen in the agony of death. Both eyes had been stretched open as wide as possible in their final moments, but by now had been half-dissolved by the mucus, leaving only half an eyeball with no white visible.

He Bang stared until she had to cover her own eyes — yet she was also deeply curious. This face had appeared somewhere around “Rong Chen Zi’s” chest and abdomen — how could that be? Even more bizarre was the fact that the rest of Rong Chen Zi appeared perfectly normal in the mirror.

He Bang quietly clutched the Eight Trigrams mirror. Over there, Qingxuan was being even more lovable than usual: “The junior disciples have all assembled and are waiting for Master in the training grounds out back.”

He Bang felt that Qingxuan must be the most lovable person in all the world, without exception.

_

Once Rong Chen Zi had finished preparing himself, he genuinely followed Qingxuan away to the practice grounds behind the mountain. He Bang sat up from the bed and, without a word, sprinted down the mountain. She was still being cautious — afraid that using a water escape would alert this thing to her presence — but she’d made it only halfway down when she hesitated again. Rong Chen Zi didn’t know when he’d be back, and she worried that the temple full of young Daoists might end up as this creature’s snacks and side dishes.

She wavered between fleeing and raising the alarm. And the root cause of her wavering was this: the young Daoists in this group made really quite delicious food…

Thinking about it this way, she moved on to an even more pressing consideration — Qingyuan had said that breakfast today would also be radish dumplings. She hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, and one really couldn’t run well on an empty stomach. What if she went back to eat breakfast first and then left? If she still remembered this business by then — well, she could always mention it to them in passing.

And so this He Bang turned around and trotted back to the dining hall. She wasn’t much for physical activity, and by now she was already panting and out of breath: “Ah, ah, Qingyuan — what’s good to eat today?”

She burst through the dining hall doors shouting. Qingyuan was at the stove — his culinary skills were excellent and he was always willing to try new things, so He Bang’s meals had always been prepared by him personally.

Hearing her, he replied: “Radish dumplings. Take a seat first — the first batch is ready.”

He Bang was overjoyed, and immediately sat down at the table. The two fire-tending junior Daoists didn’t dare be negligent and hurried forward to wipe the table and chairs clean. Qingxuan brought out three plates of radish dumplings. These radish dumplings were made differently from later batches: he first cut tender radishes into uniformly small pieces, then shaped them into spheres, and finally hollowed out the centers, stuffing them with salt-pickled fresh bamboo shoots, shiitake mushrooms, lotus root, and other ingredients. Once stuffed, they were coated in starch powder and fried in clean oil until golden in color, then removed and all fried once more in the same pot, before finally being plated and finished with a secret spice blend made with star anise.

There were also sweet ones — the sweet variety included options like red bean paste, date paste, walnut, and longan, as well as fruit-flavored ones made primarily with seasonal fruits: apples, oranges, pears, and whatever else happened to be in season.

The first batch filled three plates — the savory, the sweet, and the fruit-flavored were plated separately. He Bang’s mouth watered so profusely she couldn’t help but begin wolfing them down. By the time Qingyuan was frying the seventh batch, this creature still only felt half-full, and the temple disciples had finished their morning devotions.

Watching Rong Chen Zi walk unhurriedly into the dining hall, He Bang choked on a fruit-flavored radish dumpling. She’d completely forgotten about the important matter at hand.

Rong Chen Zi walked to her table. She swallowed the dumpling down with great effort, then hurriedly swallowed the last dumpling remaining in the dish as well — absolutely not going to let this monster get that one. This —

“Rong Chen Zi” sat down beside her. She gave a dry laugh in greeting: “Zhiguan, ha ha ha ha, Zhiguan.”

Seeing her choking quite seriously, Qingyuan quickly brought over some soup. He Bang thought about the face she’d seen in the Eight Trigrams mirror that morning and had completely lost her appetite — but the soup had been made from cooking the radish dumplings and their fillings, and its fragrance was intoxicating. It tasted smooth, rich, and refreshing going down.

He Bang thought to herself that she absolutely could not let it go to waste, and so in one breath she drank all the soup as well.

Qingxuan and Qingling served fresh dishes to Rong Chen Zi. Qingyuan brought out the eighth batch of radish dumplings and asked with great delicacy: “Would you like more?”

He Bang clicked her tongue. Thinking that this “Rong Chen Zi” was already right beside her anyway, there was no particular rush, she waved her hand with magnificent swagger: “I couldn’t eat that many more — just fry another three or four batches will do.”

The group of young Daoists covered their mouths, their entire bodies shaking with stifled laughter.

By the time the ninth batch arrived, Rong Chen Zi’s meal was being served: his usual three dishes and one porridge. The dishes were plain and simple, but He Bang was not happy about this — this monster had come uninvited, true enough, but there was no reason to actually feed it dinner as well, was there?

On the principle of not letting food go to waste, this creature reached over and snatched away the bowl of simple wild herb porridge right before Rong Chen Zi was about to pick up his chopsticks. Tipping her head back, she gulped it all down in great chugging swallows. Seeing the looks of stupefied alarm on the young Daoists’ faces, she wiped her mouth: “Zhiguan, the porridge is excellent. Ha ha, it really is excellent.”

Qingxuan said nothing and hurried to ladle a fresh bowl for Rong Chen Zi. He Bang decided that her stomach surely could not hold as much as the cooking pot, and therefore immediately concluded that compared to the dishes, the porridge held no strategic value worth defending.

And so she made an executive decision on the spot, swiftly taking up all three small side dishes in front of her — Rong Chen Zi avoided the five pungent roots, so the three dishes amounted to cucumber stir-fried with bean sprouts, pickled bamboo shoot tips stir-fried with wheat gluten, and braised shiitake mushrooms in vegetarian sauce. He Bang shoveled all three dishes into her mouth at lightning speed, clearing all three plates before Rong Chen Zi had managed to bring his chopsticks down.

At this point she was actually feeling quite full, but there were still two more batches of radish dumplings sitting in front of her — and truly, comparing Rong Chen Zi’s plain porridge and simple side dishes to the radish dumplings was like comparing a tiny island to the entire Chinese mainland.

So this great He Bang steeled herself, gritted her teeth, and heroically defended those two batches of radish dumplings as well…

Such boldness and speed were enough to leave not only the young Daoists but even the “Rong Chen Zi” before her utterly dumbfounded. In the end it was Qingxuan who stepped forward, quietly instructing Qingyuan: “Junior brother, if you could trouble yourself — please fry… please fry a few more batches…”

He Bang’s hearing was extraordinarily keen. She immediately dissolved into tears. One hand clutching her round, stuffed belly and the other grabbing Qingxuan’s hand, she made a pained face: “Fir- first, hold off — defending one’s dignity is hard work. Let this seat rest a while before continuing to defend it.”

Qingxuan wiped away sweat: “You, you, you — so have you or haven’t you actually eaten your fill yet…”

At that moment He Bang clasped his hand and wrote two characters in his palm — “run away.”

Qingxuan pulled his hand free and instructed Qingyuan: “She says she’s almost full. Boil another batch.”

He Bang shot Qingxuan a furious glare of utter contempt — Qingxuan, you and I truly share no common language. You can’t even read “run away” — were you perhaps taught Chinese characters by a Korean?!