Chapter 6: The Twelfth Lady

The earth shook as if the mountains would topple and a hundred beasts scattered in terror. All around, an apocalyptic scene unfolded: towering trees crashed down in an instant, the ground split apart in jagged fissures, and torrents of yellow mud erupted forth, surging wildly.

Chen Huangpi, a brass oil lamp balanced on his head, rode the updrafts beneath his feet. He leapt nimbly from one fallen trunk to the next, each bound carrying him dozens of yards. Even so, he narrowly avoided being splashed by the churning mud more than once.

As he fled, Chen Huangpi noticed many wild beasts also escaping—but to his surprise, they were running in the opposite direction from him.

“Huang Er, is there really a safe place ahead?”

“Of course there is.”

“Then why are all these beasts running the other way?”

“Because there are people ahead. Lots of people.”

At these words, Chen Huangpi was taken aback. In his life, aside from his master, he had only ever met a handful of cultivators like Old Lin. Now, the thought of meeting more living souls left him inexplicably nervous. He had never killed anyone—what if he left a survivor behind? Bah—why should he even think of killing people? It was all Huang Er’s fault for corrupting him!

Unaware of Chen Huangpi’s silent complaints, the brass oil lamp widened its eyes, twin beams of golden light scanning the distant landscape.

“This is bad! Chen Huangpi!”

“What’s wrong?”

“These people are under the protection of a deity. I can see the idol—it’s a fox, and it reeks.”

“Is that a problem?” Chen Huangpi was puzzled. The temple he’d grown up in was filled with many deities, all gentle and kind. Sometimes he’d sneak a few offerings to eat, and the gods never scolded him—in fact, they seemed to worry whether he’d eaten enough. Even the mutated idol, fierce and sinister as it was, had only become so after being corrupted.

“Gods are all good folk!”

“Good, my foot! When gods see me, they act like dogs who’ve sniffed dung, just like your master does when he sees you. Anyway, I’m playing dead—take care of yourself.”

With that, the brass lamp crawled down from Chen Huangpi’s head to his waist, clinging on tight. It even scooped a bit of mud from the ground and smeared it across its surface.

Chen Huangpi plugged his nose, grumbling inwardly, “Huang Er, that’s dog dung you’re smearing.”

“I know. Careful, those people are coming.”

No sooner had he spoken than Chen Huangpi spotted a group up ahead. They wore rough hempen garments; some were wounded, others bore weapons. The strong young men guarded the elderly, women, and children in their midst, carrying a life-sized fox idol.

At the front stood a stooped woman gripping a staff—a shaman.

As Chen Huangpi noticed them, they also saw him.

“Granny Tang, there’s a child over there,” said a man with a bare chest streaked with blood. “Could he be a survivor from a nearby village, separated from the others?”

“He’s a cultivator,” Granny Tang murmured, eyes narrowed as she studied Chen Huangpi. He was certainly a practitioner, but he carried some treasure that concealed his cultivation—she couldn’t discern his level. Could he be an outsider who had entered the mountains?

She remained wary. The Ten Thousand Mountains hid too many monsters, some indistinguishable from ordinary people.

“Mountain Spirit, is this child one of those abominations?” she wondered, glancing at the idol carried by her people.

To her astonishment, the idol—which had seemed normal just moments ago—had its eyes closed.

“The Mountain Spirit has closed its eyes!”

“Granny Tang, what does this mean?”

“Has the Mountain Spirit abandoned us?”

Panic rippled through the refugees.

Granny Tang’s brow furrowed as she tried, in vain, to commune with the idol. The will of the divine was ever mysterious; it was not hers to summon at whim.

Just then, Chen Huangpi spoke up, “Maybe it’s just hungry.”

“When I’m starving, I close my eyes and sleep it off. Gods are probably the same. Do you have any offerings?”

Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

The bare-chested man frowned, “Boy, that’s nonsense. Gods live on devotion, not like some stray beast that starves without food. You think offerings fill their bellies?”

“Don’t gods eat offerings?” Chen Huangpi asked, surprised.

“Of course not!” the man snapped, waving him away. “Show some respect to the Mountain Spirit. You’re not welcome here.”

Granny Tang’s initial suspicion that he was an outsider began to waver. Would an outsider be so ignorant of such basic knowledge?

At that moment, she noticed something behind Chen Huangpi.

“Wait,” she said. “Child, are those people with you?”

“Huh?” Chen Huangpi turned to look.

Behind him, a dozen or so cultivators had arrived on horseback—their steeds sharp-toothed and scaled. In the blink of an eye, they drew near.

“Refugees?” one of them called, scanning the crowd before settling his gaze on Granny Tang.

“We are,” she answered warily, stepping forward. “The earth dragon has turned. What business brings you into the mountains at such a time?”

He ignored her question, replying coldly, “Night falls soon. You have only one idol’s protection—surely that won’t be enough.”

Cultivators never tolerated prying. Granny Tang, who had once traveled beyond the mountains and dealt with outsiders, knew how dangerous they could be.

“Thank you for your concern, but ants find ways to survive, and so shall we. It grows late; we won’t block your path.”

She gave the order, and the crowd parted, opening a road.

The lead cultivator glanced back at a veiled woman among them. “Madam Twelve?”

Impatiently, she replied, “The earth dragon’s turning is a rare event, and each time, the monsters grow fiercer. I have three idols, and with yours, we’ll have four—enough to survive the night.”

The refugees murmured hopefully. They’d fled with only one idol; another had been lost to the mud. With three more, their safety seemed assured until dawn—by then the cataclysm might pass. The Mountain Spirit had also indicated that hope lay ahead.

Could their chance of survival be tied to these newcomers?

Just then, the Mountain Spirit’s voice sounded urgently in Granny Tang’s mind, “Quick, accept their offer.”

Relieved, Granny Tang agreed, “Very well, we place ourselves in your care for the night.”

Madam Twelve said nothing, dismounting and tossing a small model house onto the ground. Instantly, a wooden house sprang into being. The other cultivators sat cross-legged around it.

Chen Huangpi watched in awe; he had never seen such wonders. Madam Twelve’s ostentation left a deep impression on the eight-year-old boy.

Granny Tang turned to Chen Huangpi with a frown, “Child, you’re not with them?”

“No,” he replied. “Grandma, may I stay with you tonight? I’m small, I won’t take up much space.”

She hesitated, shaking her head, “I can’t see through you. I don’t want to keep you, but the Mountain Spirit won’t answer me. I don’t know whether to let you stay.”

The Mountain Spirit had warned of both hope and an abomination. Hope now rested on this group, but what of the lurking evil?

“He’s not the one,” the Mountain Spirit’s voice echoed in her mind, startling her. If this boy wasn’t the threat, where was it? And why had the idol closed its eyes?

“Very well, you may stay. But leave at dawn. Whatever happens tonight, act as if you see nothing, and don’t wander.”

She turned to go, then paused. “You look to be my granddaughter’s age, yet you’re so thoughtless. Your words are careless—you’ll offend people this way.”

“I’ll try not to speak,” Chen Huangpi agreed meekly.

Night had fallen. The last rays of sunset faded from above, and a chill crept over everyone’s heart. In the darkness, it seemed as if whispers flitted at the edge of hearing.

Suddenly, from within Madam Twelve’s wooden house, three mysterious voices resounded—sonorous, yet like an incantation. Three halos of light emerged, and the fox idol offered by the refugees shone as well. Four beams of light shot into the sky, enveloping everyone. Instantly, the oppressive whispers and dread were sealed out.

Chen Huangpi felt a weight lift from his heart. So there truly was a difference between gods—greater even than between people and dogs. The outside deities truly protected people; those in his old temple did nothing but eat. No wonder his master had driven them out.

Suddenly, someone cried out in terror, “Look—the red moon, it’s gone!”

“How could the red moon vanish?”

“This has never happened before…”

“Calm yourselves!” Granny Tang’s voice cut through the panic as she struck her staff upon the ground, her one good eye sweeping the crowd. “With four gods watching over us, treat this night as if nothing has happened.”

She glanced at Chen Huangpi, who sat cross-legged nearby, unperturbed. “The boy has a thick skin—he’s a fool, perhaps.”

Chen Huangpi, unaware of her thoughts, muttered, “The red moon always disappears when the earth dragon turns. Why do they all act like it’s their first time?”

The earth dragon’s turning happened often in these mountains. Chen Huangpi had survived it many times. Experienced, he simply closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“Will Master worry about me, spending the night outside? I hope he doesn’t miss me too much. If he comes looking in the dark and trips, that would be terrible.”

Mumbling to himself, Chen Huangpi soon fell into a doze.

The night was still, unnaturally so.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when a voice sounded in his mind.

“Chen Huangpi, wake up.”

“Huang Er?”

“Don’t speak or open your eyes. Something is watching you.”

But Chen Huangpi had already opened his eyes.

He saw a small, mud-caked figure—slightly shorter than himself—standing just outside the protective barrier of the four gods, beckoning to him.

“Hello, brother.”