HCAW 105

Chapter 105: The Lingering Fragrance of Pepper and Osmanthus

In that instant, a gut-wrenching, soul-tearing howl burst from Xiao Jiao’s mouth. As her skin split apart, it felt as though boiling oil seethed across her entire body. From the void, billions of voices surged at once, shouting over each other:

Monster! Demon! Fiend!

She had muddled through more than ten years, living as a human—only to discover she was not one. Gu Bi Guard smiled and asked gently, “Now do you remember who you truly are?”

Xiao Jiao trembled, staring at her scarred, pitted body. Strange, dazzling fragments whirled through her mind. She cried out in grief, recalling her days as a human: a girl with silk-like black hair and snow-pale skin; playing like a sparrow in their courtyard with Fang Jingyu; laughing with her companions late into the night in a dim ship cabin… Scene after dreamlike scene unraveled and collapsed. She felt herself falling into a void of pitch-black.

She choked out a final whisper. Her voice, once clear as a young girl’s, now gurgled like boiling water:

“I… I’m Xiao Jiao.”

Gu Bi Guard shook his head. “Still wrong. You’ve yet to recall the past.”

He gave a quiet signal. A solemn-faced Taoists descended the stone steps and seized her. Only then did Xiao Jiao realize the cellar floor was painted with a massive Five-Guard Spirit Array, drawn as if with blood, reeking of iron. The Taoists placed her into a large ceramic urn, sealed the lid, and formed a circle around it. One by one, they made hand signs and chanted incantations:

“Decree of the Nine Heavens, pass through the Dragon Post. Bring peace to all under heaven, and I shall ascend as an immortal…”

Darkness engulfed everything. Xiao Jiao’s terror surged. The urn walls were slick—her soft, sludge-like body couldn’t climb out. As the chant deepened, her eyelids grew heavier than iron. Everything blurred as she slid to the bottom of the urn. Just before losing consciousness, she heard a faint voice:

“Sleep.” Gu Bi Guard gazed at the jar with lowered eyes, voice tinged with pity.

“When you awaken, you’ll know what you really are.”

With the endless chanting, Xiao Jiao slipped into sleep.

Her spirit seemed to fall into the depths of the sea. Faint glimmers of light flickered before her—memories long buried in her soul.

Suddenly, she was swept along the river of memory, cast backward by the storm.

Five years ago, in Milu Village.

Candlelight flickered and crackled. The stone chamber was dim and yellow-hued. It was a completely sealed space—an iron door always locked shut. Only a small skylight far above let in the faintest glimmer of light.

Stacks of old books with fraying threads were piled on wooden shelves. A girl in a red cotton robe with double-braided hair listlessly flipped through one of them. She was alone, a speck of millet grain among a sea of texts.

Her face was dust-gray, but her almond-shaped eyes were bright as black jade. Bored, she set the book down and climbed to the top of the shelf to look for another.

Just then, she heard a strange rustling behind the wall. Startled, she slipped and fell with a thud.

Rubbing her backside, she blinked her round eyes and pressed her ear to the wall. Lately, strange noises had come from the other side—like water trickling, or someone walking slowly.

“Hey, is someone there?” she knocked and called.

The sound on the other side stopped. She leaned in, listened, and called again:

“I heard you! I can’t even stretch my back in here—it’s so stuffy. Will you talk to me?”

Silence. She pouted and scowled, banging her little fists against the wall.

“Say something! Talk to me!”

But no matter how long she pounded, there was no reply.

Eventually tired, she slumped to the floor, hugging her knees like a lonely bean sprout.

“I’ve never left this stone room my whole life. The only people I see are the same few, back and forth. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll really rot in here.”

After a long while, there came a bubbling sound from beyond the wall—like boiling water, but filled with hostility:

“Who… are you?”

She leapt to her feet, thrilled. Hands on hips, she replied:

“I was going to ask you that! I’m school-aged now, and I’ve lived here ten years. Since Uncle Han started fixing the altar last month, weird sounds have been coming from your side. You moved in then, right?”

The flickering lamplight swayed. The voice behind the wall said nothing. She continued:

“Anyway, I’m Xiao Jiao. What’s your name?”

A long silence passed. Then the voice said,

“I have no name.”

It sounded strange—layered and echoing, more like a chorus than a person speaking.

The girl named Xiao Jiao exclaimed,

“No name? That’s weird! But I bet you’re a disciple Uncle Han brought in, just like me.”

“Disciple?”

“Yeah, one of the brothers and sisters of the Da Yuan Dao sect. You’re one of us, right?”

“Da Yuan Dao… what is that?”

“Oh wow, you don’t even know that?” she gasped, then patiently explained,

“‘Da Yuan’ is an old name for ‘Peach Source.’ Basically, it’s a religious sect formed by people who believe that beyond the Xian Mountains, there’s a Peach Source paradise.”

The voice fell silent again. Then asked:

“Do you believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Of course I do! There is a Peach Source beyond the mountains—it’s just that no one’s gotten there yet because of all the barriers. The ones who don’t believe are the real fools.”

The voice snorted coldly:

“What if I told you there’s nothing outside the mountains—just the endless Ming Sea? Would you believe that?”

Xiao Jiao was furious.

“You’re wrong! That’s not what the books say!”

She grabbed a few books off the shelf. Their covers read The True Scripture of Da Yuan and Doctrinal Interpretations. The voice behind the wall said arrogantly:

“Those are all written by your fellow sisters and brothers—just their wishful thinking.”

Outside, the wind howled, snowstorm raging. Inside, Xiao Jiao’s spirit wilted like a leaf under the summer sun. But soon she looked up and asked:

“You speak so confidently, like you’ve seen it yourself. Who are you really?”

The voice proudly declared from under the floor:

“I am—Great Immortal Yonghe!”

“Pah, pah, pah!” Xiao Jiao spat in his direction—but because of the wall between them, the spittle splashed back on her own face. “‘Great Immortal Yonghe’ is one of our sect’s deities. And you, with that prickly mouth, dare call yourself an immortal?”

The voice seemed enraged and shouted, “I am an immortal! I am the immortal!”

At once, the stone wall buzzed and trembled, dust sifting down. Xiao Jiao flinched, then laughed: “What a firecracker—one spark and you go off. You say you’re an immortal—why should I believe you?”

The voice paused for a moment, then replied indignantly, “Long ago, I descended upon Xian Mountain. In truth, I am the surrounding Ming Sea, the very mother of Xian Mountain—it was born from my embrace.”

“The Ming Sea?” Xiao Jiao blinked, then laughed again. “If you’re the mother of the mountain, then you must be a lady! Judging by your voice, I really can’t tell.”

The voice snapped, “I am far beyond mortal distinctions! Don’t use human standards to measure me—what use are ‘male’ or ‘female’ to one such as I?”

Xiao Jiao leaned her chin on her hand. “I’ve never seen the Ming Sea, but I hear the sea’s made up of countless drops of water. If you say you are the sea, then you must be enormous?”

“Indeed! My true form spans the heavens and earth—vast and mighty.”

“I don’t believe it—unless I see it myself. If you’re really that big, you wouldn’t even fit behind the altar next door. Sounds like a scam.”

“Hmph! Why should I waste effort convincing a chirping little bug like you? Besides, with a wall between us, how could I show you my golden body?”

Xiao Jiao remembered there was an altar on the other side of the wall—normally visited by worshippers, but it had been shut lately. She said, “Aren’t you an immortal? Shouldn’t a wall be nothing to you?”

On the other side, bubbling sounds like bursting water blisters echoed. The so-called immortal must have been gnashing his teeth in frustration. Finally, he relented:

“Fine! I’ll let you see what this immortal really looks like!”

Suddenly, a loud bubbling noise erupted—as if a giant cauldron of water had reached full boil. Xiao Jiao’s heart leapt. It felt like invisible hands were pulling her toward the wall. Something terrifying was creeping closer. A dark sludge began to seep out from a mouse hole at the base.

Had she said the wrong thing—offended some divine being? Cold sweat soaked her sleeves.

But just then, a tiny tentacle poked out from the hole, as small and tender as a bud. A voice squeaked:

“What’re you looking around for? I’m right here!”

Xiao Jiao looked down in shock and saw a small lump of black slime—no bigger than her palm. It had seven gleaming eyes like morning dew and nine twitching little tentacles, crawling about like a baby mudfish. The space beyond the wall must have been vast, making its voice echo and sound thunderous. The little nine-tentacled creature puffed itself up proudly:

“You brat—hurry and bow to this immortal!”

The girl crouched and grabbed one of its tentacles. The octopus immediately squealed,

“Insolence! I shall smite you with divine wrath!” and bit her finger.

Xiao Jiao only felt a faint tickle—less painful than winter wind on her skin. She picked it up, curious, and studied it.

“So you’re Great Immortal Yonghe? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Put me down first!”

She set him down. The octopus crawled onto a bookshelf, pulled down two books to use as cushions, and sat upright like royalty.

“This goes back a long way.”

“Keep it short,” Xiao Jiao warned, knocking his squishy head.

The octopus fumed but, helpless before her, swallowed his pride and began:

“Long ago, the world was nothing but a boundless sea. After countless years, the sea itself gained consciousness—that was me. I am the Ming Sea, known to humans as Great Immortal Yonghe. Later, mud and silt gathered in the sea and formed the Xian Mountains you see today.”

“But seas are supposed to be endless. Why do you look like a speck?”

The nine-tentacled creature roared and thrashed in the air, then settled again:

“Listen closely—what color am I?”

“Black.”

“And what color is the Ming Sea?”

“Also black.”

Xiao Jiao suddenly understood. The sea’s blackness—his color. The creature really did resemble sea sludge.

He continued:

“After Xian Mountains rose, people crossed the sea in search of Immortal Elixirs. Their ships were wrecked in storms, and they settled here. We admired their lives and came ashore. When people saw us, they revered us as ‘Immortals.’”

“What could you do that made them call you that?”

The little fish didn’t protest as she poked his head again. This time, he answered calmly:

“We can heal wounds, and grant strength.”

He stretched a tentacle and brushed her cheek. Xiao Jiao felt a strange tingle—and realized the scrapes from her earlier fall had vanished.

He puffed up proudly.

“If I touch your skin, I can ease your little aches. But if someone kills and eats me, even half a ruined body can be restored.”

Xiao Jiao recoiled. “Why would I eat you? That’s horrible!”

He smiled.

“But others didn’t think so. At first, we were respected. But then they lusted after our flesh—hunted us like beasts. We fled, but were caught in the end.”

“You were one of those ‘Immortals’?”

“No, I was their leader.” He wiggled smugly. “I see what they see, hear what they hear. That’s why I’m revered as Great Immortal Yonghe.”

Then he wilted.

“But your people captured me, skinned me, drained my blood. I’m too weak now. I couldn’t even eat a child if I tried.”

Xiao Jiao recalled the ghastly screams she’d once heard—like blades scraping earth. They must have come from him. Her heart trembled.

“You mean… we’re the bad guys?”

The fish batted her gently with his tentacles—more like tickling.

“Exactly! You people wave the Da Yuan Dao banner, yet torture my kin! What they suffer, I feel. That’s why I’m like this—locked up and feeble.”

“I’m imprisoned too,” Xiao Jiao murmured. “I’ve never seen the outside world. My parents were fugitives from Da Yuan Dao. They didn’t want me. Left me in this cellar. Only Uncle Han feeds me—some days.”

Her bravado faded. The little creature looked her over for the first time—thin limbs, grimy robe. A discarded child.

And in that moment, he realized: they were the same. Rejected, abandoned, left to rot.

After a long silence, he crossed two tentacles solemnly:

“Then… would you like to become my follower?”

She stared blankly at him. The nine-tentacled creature flushed, flailing awkwardly:

“If you do, I’ll protect you! You won’t have to bow your head to anyone again!”

She was quiet for a long time, then giggled.

“What’s in it for me?”

He scratched his head.

“A big juicy bun every meal.”

—One of the altar offerings.

She laughed again. The candlelight cast a shadow he would never forget. In that vast chamber, the weak little god gained his first follower in many years.

The girl gently reached out and hooked her finger around one of his tentacles.

“Alright,” she said.

“It’s a deal.”