The floodwaters in the small town receded after several days, leaving behind a single spring that was cold, deep, and black as ink.
Some said the spring’s depths led straight to the underworld; others claimed an evil python or dragon made its lair beneath.
No one knew the truth. But after the great flood, countless lives had been lost, and not a single body was ever found.
People whispered that the spring was a pit of ten thousand corpses, sucking the dead into its depths. The townsfolk regarded it as ominous, and few dared go near.
Yet those mourning their departed kin all dreamed the same dream.
A small golden dragon leapt and soared across a lotus pond, guiding the souls of the dead.
At the far end of that lotus pond shimmered a faint vision of a town bathed in golden light. Since more than one person had dreamt the same, the elders who oversaw the ancestral shrine carved a statue of the god from their visions and raised a humble temple to ease the people’s hearts.
The golden dragon had no divine title.
But since it was golden, they simply called it the [Little Golden Dragon God].
The temple was built upon the embankment, where, at some unknown time, a patch of lotus flowers had begun to bloom. The blossoms were snow-white, with a few touched by gold. If their petals were plucked and steeped in water, they were said to cure a child’s diarrhoea or a passing headache.
Though the temple’s incense offerings were meagre, it was not without a touch of spiritual efficacy.
Once, a woman who had prayed for her husband’s safe return came to repay her vow. As she rose to leave, holding her young daughter, she noticed the girl staring, lost in thought. “Qiao’er, what are you looking at?”
Qiao’er blinked her round eyes, but could barely form a word.
On the temple roof sat a child about her age, with tiny horns, dressed in purple robes, and a small tail whose tip was a little puff of cloud. He was secretly using it to coil up a rice cake offering and pop it into his mouth.
When he saw Qiao’er watching, he smiled, nodded at her with the rice cake still in hand… and vanished.
The cold pond on the other side of the town remained desolate. Choked by weeds and thick with silt, few ever ventured there. On moonless nights, some claimed to hear ghostly voices drifting up from the water, as though something were crawling out from the depths of the spring.
Calling a name.
No one ever answered.
Who knew what kind of ghost or creature it was? Anyone unlucky enough to encounter such filth would hurry to the Little Golden Dragon Temple to burn incense and ward off misfortune.
From time to time, guards from Tiandu City came to inspect the area, delivering timber and grain to the stricken town.
At the edge of the settlement stood a shabby little Daoist sect on a bald, barren hill. Once obscure and unknown, it seemed to change after a time: flowers began to bloom there, trees took root, and the Daoists themselves appeared to grow in skill. They were now able to dive into the waters to subdue demons or enter the mountains to hunt spirits.
One day, the old sect master descended the hill, saw the Little Golden Dragon Temple and refused to leave. He abandoned his title, shamelessly settled there as a temple keeper, and spent his days muttering by the lotus pond like a madman.
Sometimes, he told a story about a boy called Du’e. The Daoist claimed the Golden Dragon itself had told him that this Du’e had once saved it and was a youth of great power and virtue.
Since he was half-sect master, half-temple keeper, no one dared question him. Thus the tale of Du’e the Child of Deliverance spread, half-spoken, half-whispered, from mouth to mouth.
One day, a strikingly handsome man came to town. He lingered long by the lotus pond, listening to the old Daoist tell his tale.
As he listened, he suddenly turned into a peacock and flew away. Witnessed by many, the event became a legend and soon a popular storybook, much retold.
The book bore the title “The Peacock Demon Visits the Lotus Temple Thrice. The Golden Dragon Subdues Evil with a Clever Transformation.” The plot was full of twists and turns, with logic as it pleased the world.
Time passed, and a year slipped quietly by.
The Mortal Realm. Southern Divine Continent. Thousand Cloud Mountain, South Sea.
In the northern lands of Fragrant Isle, myriad forces mingled… demons, cultivators, ghosts, and righteous gods alike. Desires clashed, factions tangled; it was the perfect cradle for a Xianghuo Divine Dao god’s rebirth.
But far to the south, by the endless sea, things were quite the opposite. Faith here was pure, incense offerings abundant. Temples large and small alike enshrined a single deity: the Venerable Water Spirit.
The path of the Xianghuo Divine Dao had all but vanished from the Divine Continent, yet in these remote lands, a trace of that old lineage still endured.
At a bustling tea stall, a young man in blue, wearing a bamboo hat, quietly sipped his tea.
In Xue Cuo’s mind, mist rose like water. His true spirit drifted upward, alighting upon a sea of dense clouds.
Endless lotus leaves spread across the heavens. A boundless golden pond glimmered below, lotus blooms layered upon layer.
Xue Cuo tumbled down with a splash, rolling over himself. The lotus leaves shivered, and from the golden pool poked out a small, glistening head.
Seeing Xue Cuo, the little golden dragon wagged his tail in delight, darted out of the water, and circled him in joy.
Xue Cuo caught the dragon by the tail, gave him a little shake as if holding a ribbonfish, then compared their heights and laughed. “Ao Mu, you seem to have grown a bit, haven’t you?”
The little dragon didn’t sense anything amiss, his eyes bright with mischief, as he danced two rippling waves through the air.
He circled once more, then landed and turned into a small child of three or four. Tilting his head up, he asked, “Eldest Shixiong, have you reached the South Sea yet?”
Xue Cuo sat cross-legged at the edge of the lotus pond, pointing off into the distance.
Ao Mu immediately stood on tiptoe, using his little claws to knead Xue Cuo’s shoulders and tap his legs, busy as a bee.
“Too soft,” Xue Cuo said lazily. “A bit harder.”
Ao Mu nodded solemnly, raised his tiny dragon fists, and thumped down with earnest effort. “Her Ladyship said the South Sea is boundless. It’s where the Dragon Clan’s palace used to be.”
His voice brimmed with curiosity. But alas, the Dragon Palace had vanished tens of thousands of years ago. There were scarcely any dragons left in the world. Where could he hope to find one?
Resting his chin on his palm, Xue Cuo mused that he might explore the sea when time allowed. For now, he taught Ao Mu to draw a few talismans… especially the Summoning Charm… and instructed him to cultivate diligently in the mortal realm.
The Goddess said nothing throughout. Only when the golden dragon returned to the pool did her divine revelation descend.
The golden pond lay still as a mirror, reflecting a hazy bridge. On one side shimmered countless tiny golden lights. On the other was the faint outline of the Goddess’s divine kingdom.
The scene flickered and vanished.
Xue Cuo saw clearly this time: his true spirit tumbled from the clouds and slipped back into his body. He adjusted his bamboo hat, flicked out two copper coins, and said, “Settle the bill.”
Qianyun Mountain.
There were countless tales about this place. Most of them concerning the “Venerable Water Spirit” and his extraordinary efficacy.
Along the way, Xue Cuo had heard that in eight out of ten stories, the Venerable Water Spirit was slaying demons and protecting mortals.
Hence, he had held a rather good impression of the mountain to begin with. When the Goddess told him the second item he sought was hidden here, he could scarcely believe it.
The birth of Wujian had gathered every foul thought under heaven.
Then what sort of sight would Bridge of Rebirth be?
He found a donkey cart bound for the city, squeezed himself into a corner beside the chickens, ducks, and geese, and quietly read a storybook, drawing little attention.
The book was called The Life of the Venerable Spirit. It mainly chronicled the deity’s miracles of deliverance; curiously, the record of the Venerable Spirit’s temperament, origins, name, and appearance was described with unnerving precision… almost as though someone had seen it all firsthand.
“Disposition: fond of laughter, fond of plum blossom cakes?”
Half bemused and half intrigued, Xue Cuo read on in earnest. He even asked a few of the women riding with him. Throughout history, women’s prayers had often gone unheard… yet when these women spoke of the deity, their faces lit with gratitude. It seemed the Venerable Spirit truly enjoyed a sterling reputation.
Upon entering the city, Xue Cuo did not head straight for the temple, but wandered the streets instead. The place lay close to the sea, rich with marine bounty. Pearls and shark-silk were nothing remarkable; coral and red shells, commonplace.
Men and women alike wore long trousers and headscarves, their garments embroidered with sea-beasts and monstrous fish.
He searched high and low but failed to find the person he sought. Finally, he caught hold of a passerby. “Old sir, might there be a household here surnamed Ren?”
The fisherman glared at him, shook off his hand, and strode away without a word.
He tried again with several others, only to be met with the same reaction. Perplexed, he stood in thought until a sallow, scab-ridden beggar sidled up to him. “Hey. You looking for the Ren family?”
Xue Cuo said, “You know of them?”
“I do,” said the beggar. “I do. But I’m starving. Got to fill my belly before I can talk.”
Xue Cuo responded: “That’s easily arranged. What would you like to eat?”
“Wontons.”
So they sat down at a roadside stall. The beggar squatted beside the gutter rather than take a seat, wolfed down his meal, then wiped his mouth with a grimy sleeve. “Young master, if you’re looking for someone surnamed Ren, there isn’t a single one left in the whole city. And if there is, they’re outsiders. But if it’s the Ren family you mean, go straight ahead, through Drumwind Alley, one more street, and you’ll see the place. Though if you’ll take my advice, best not to go.”
Xue Cuo poured a cup of tea and offered it to him. The beggar blinked, startled, and didn’t take it. Xue Cuo extended it again, his expression open and sincere. The beggar hesitated, then accepted. His tone softened a little. “Anyway, it’s not a good place.”
Xue Cuo smiled. “That’s unfortunate. Truth be told, I’m here visiting kin. His surname’s Ren. If that’s the only Ren household here, I’ve no choice but to call on them.”
At the word kin, the beggar gave a violent start. His eyes darted up and down Xue Cuo’s figure with wary disbelief and a flicker of fear. “You’re… surnamed Ren?”
Xue Cuo shook his head. “No. Xue.”
The beggar’s shoulders eased the faintest bit. He muttered through clenched teeth, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’ll stir up trouble you can’t get out of and die without even knowing why!”
Xue Cuo gave a light snort. “This is Qianyun Mountain. The Venerable Water Spirit himself presides here. I’m not a criminal, nor a troublemaker. I obey the laws, respect the gods, and mean no harm. I’m simply visiting a relative. What danger could there possibly be?”
“You’re a Xue,” the beggar shot back. “What Ren kin could you possibly have?!”
Pouring himself another cup, Xue Cuo replied, “Who says I don’t? I have a gege surnamed Ren… Ren Shu.”
Clang—
The teacup dropped and shattered.
Xue Cuo stooped to pick up the pieces and compensated the stall owner. The beggar, who had stiffened at the name, bolted down the street without a trace.
Because Xue Cuo had been unfailingly polite, the stall owner leaned over and said kindly, “Young master, that one’s mad as a hatter. Don’t take his words to heart.”
Xue Cuo frowned. “He spoke quite sensibly for a lunatic.”
“Exactly!” said the stall keeper, wiping the table. “That’s how mad he is. A decent man wouldn’t be living in that place.”
Xue Cuo tilted his head. “And what place would that be?”
“The old Ren Shrine,” the man said. “They were the former masters of Qianyun City, but evil spirits took hold of them. The whole household perished.”
“With no one left of the Ren family, the shrine fell to ruin. At night the ghost birds shriek without end, and folk say they’ve seen white-clad spirits drifting about. Gives one chills just thinking of it.”
Xue Cuo remembered the fair, delicate youth that appeared so still, so doll-like… and fell silent.
