Fragrant Ze Mountain was locked in heavy snow.
Gale-force winds raged between the mountain ridges. The torrential blizzard resembled a massive white curtain howling as it blocked the winding mountain paths.
The fierce wind rolled shards of ice down the slope, scraping against the stone stele midway up the mountain and leaving faint scratches.
A child hid behind the stone stele.
He slung a dusty little bundle over his shoulder and wore an apricot-yellow cloth shirt. Silver-gray hair streaked with a few deep brown locks stuck out in messy clumps like weeds, giving him the look of a little beggar.
His face was adorably fair and delicate, tender like a freshly peeled lychee. His eyes were limpid and translucent blue, with two faint moles beneath his right eye—quite striking.
Such features paired with his wretched clothes made him indistinguishable from a stray puppy.
Wenren Sheng was very satisfied with his disguise.
He poked his head out from behind the stele and gazed toward the broken bridge not far away.
Snow buried the bridge, leaving only a single wobbly plank in the middle. Below stretched a sheer snowy cliff thousands of feet deep.
One’s gaze could pass straight over the broken bridge to the shrine on the opposite peak. Branches of varying thickness sprouted from the earth, twisting and coiling along the shrine’s contours, wrapping it tightly. Side branches even bloomed with two cold-resistant plums, reaching toward the central hanging curtain.
The entire shrine resembled a fruit grown from the soil.
Beneath the shrine’s hanging curtain stood an enshrined martial god bearing four embroidered banners on his back and wielding a heavy sword. His expression was fierce and savage, his title inscribed as “Cangyu True Monarch.”
Behind the shrine lay a dilapidated temple overgrown with vines.
This was the Mountain God’s dwelling.
Excitement sparkled in Wenren Sheng’s clear blue eyes.
“Today, he has to take me with him.”
He muttered to himself as a fluffy tail behind him wagged excitedly nonstop, carving a trail in the snow.
As the sole wolf demon on Fragrant Ze Mountain, Wenren Sheng had no kin or family. He had wandered alone through the mountains for years, shunned by the other demons.
Lately, Wenren Sheng had suddenly grown tired of that life.
He resolved to find himself a home.
The first family member he selected for his little home was the Mountain God here—Cangyu True Monarch.
To that end, nearly every day this month, he had shapeshifted into human form and waited on Fragrant Ze Mountain’s snowy peak, terrified of missing the Mountain God’s return.
“Not cold at all. Very warm.”
Wenren Sheng huffed warm breath onto his palms, hugging his tail tight as he softly coaxed himself.
“In just a bit, the Mountain God will pass through here and take me away.”
He said as much, but would the Mountain God actually come today? No one knew.
This Mountain God kept his movements extremely secretive, after all. Wenren Sheng had never laid eyes on his true face.
Yet his elusive ways did nothing to dampen Wenren Sheng’s admiration. During his years wandering Fragrant Ze Mountain, the tales he heard most often were the wondrous legends of the Mountain God.
Tales of a nine-foot frame, sword brows and starry eyes, dashing heroism; a mortal ascending to godhood; leader of the Heavenly Court; a sword that pierced the eight desolations as a martial god… heroic feats beyond count.
He had even snuck down to the market at the mountain’s base to snatch some rags for his den, sewing himself a little cape.
On deep, quiet nights, he donned the cape, mimicked the opera singers’ tones, and belted out every verse about the Mountain God—imagining himself as the world-conquering Cangyu True Monarch.
He was utterly convinced the Mountain God was his destined family.
The thought of soon having a home made Wenren Sheng bury his face in his fluffy tail, bubbling with secret joy.
So happy!
Word was the Mountain God wielded thunderous might yet a bodhisattva’s compassion, loath to crush even an ant. Posing as a human beggar child, surely the Mountain God wouldn’t turn a blind eye.
Then, he could play pitiful a bit, shed some tears or whatever, and the Mountain God would…
“Ah!”
But at that very thought, Wenren Sheng’s smile froze. His mouth drooped.
He murmured, “Does this count as deceiving an immortal?”
He released his tail at once, panicking as he cupped his frozen-red cheeks.
“What if he finds out… Will he hate me?”
“Will he kill me? I heard immortals used to specialize in demon extermination.”
Wenren Sheng’s face fell visibly, anxiety tinting it red as circles spun in his eyes.
“I’m a demon from the start… Immortals usually prefer humans over demons, right?”
“What if the Mountain God ends up hating all demons because of me? What then?”
“You’re so stupid, Wenren Sheng!”
The more he dwelled on it, the more distraught he grew. In the end, he ruffled his hair in annoyance and squatted down.
The blizzard showed no signs of letting up, stinging his ears and brow.
He stared at the snowflakes splashing on the ground, his small head churning with worries.
After a long moment, he slowly extended his left hand to form a stick figure’s two legs, muttering all the while,
“Absolutely cannot tell him I’m a demon. Bury it deep in my belly.”
Right—speaking of bellies…
Wenren Sheng let out a wistful sigh.
His stomach was starving T^T.
He had climbed the mountain on an empty stomach; now his energy was spent, leaving his body hollow.
“I wanna eat…” Wenren Sheng licked his lips and ticked off on his fingers. “Puff pastry treats.”
“Cotton candy.”
“Tanghulu.”
“Preserved plums.”
“Pine nuts—”
At “pine nut candy,” Wenren Sheng cut off with a sneeze.
He sniffed hard and hugged his fluffy tail tighter.
So cold.
As a wolf demon, his true form boasted thick fur to fend off the chill; he wasn’t usually this fragile.
But by cruel coincidence, he had shapeshifted into human form before ascending today. Humans fared worst against the cold—a few gusts and they’d fall ill.
He shook his head to fling off the snow atop it, then used his right hand to make a little dog shadow puppet. He addressed the stick figure on his left:
“I know you’re starving, but we can’t eat yet. Wait for the Mountain God to take you in—then you can eat what he makes.”
Left hand replied: “Take me in? Why do you want a Mountain God to adopt you?”
Right hand answered: “Because the Mountain God is Cangyu True Monarch—the one you like most… And haven’t you always dreamed of cultivating immortality to become a great hero?”
Wenren Sheng entertained himself by playing both parts, chuckling now and then, utterly absorbed.
It was a game he had invented. On Fragrant Ze Mountain, he had no parents or kin; the other demons shunned him.
He was his own sole playmate.
Wenren Sheng rolled about in the snow, now a little dog, now a little person—lost in the fun.
But soon enough, his sharp ears caught a strange laugh from not far behind.
His pupils narrowed to slits. He yanked back his hands, body tensing in an instant.
“Who?” he called out.
The gale blew viciously, slamming the dilapidated temple’s door knocker with a howl—like a beast straining to break in.
No reply.
“…Misheard? Saw no one on the way up.”
Wenren Sheng muttered to himself, touching his ear.
Could it be the Mountain God?
The notion lit up his eyes.
He hastily formed a hand seal to conceal his wolf tail, then scooped muddy snow from the ground to smear across his cheeks.
Whether days of enduring cold and hunger would bear fruit hinged on his all-out pitiful act today!
Nerves quickened his breath; he clutched his bundle’s strap like a lifeline.
Judging by the sound, the person was close behind.
Time to play pitiful.
“Mm!”
He drew a deep breath, turning slowly—snow crunching underfoot.
At last, he mustered the courage to call to the deity here.
“Moun…”
“So you’re really hiding here, huh?”
God.
Wenren Sheng’s second syllable died unborn as an impolite voice cut him off.
At the same moment, he spotted the voice’s owner.
A skinny youth with a braided ponytail in a blue-and-white Daoist robe, around fifteen, smugness etched on his face.
“…”
Not the Mountain God—an enemy.
Wenren Sheng’s vivid expressions vanished in a flash; his hands clenched his bundle straps.
Chen Lian, the pesky sword cultivator who lived nearby.
The youth named Chen Lian arched a brow and hastened to Wenren Sheng’s side, throwing his arms wide in exaggeration.
“Not happy to see me?” he said with a brow raise.
Wenren Sheng bit his lip, saying nothing.
Of course not—this was the guy he loathed most.
The demons of Fragrant Ze Mountain shunned him largely thanks to Chen Lian.
Chen Lian was a sword cultivator. After a prior clash with Wenren Sheng, he bore a grudge against the underage little wolf.
Whenever Wenren Sheng showed up on Fragrant Ze Mountain, Chen Lian trailed him, stirring trouble.
Demons feared Daoists; in time, the others wanted nothing to do with Wenren Sheng, lest they get dragged in.
A thoroughly rotten person.
Even an idiot wouldn’t pick him for family.
So Wenren Sheng fumed inwardly.
Chen Lian towered a full head over Wenren Sheng. With no reply forthcoming, he advanced step by step, his shadow all but engulfing the tiny figure.
Wenren Sheng held his ground, frowning up at Chen Lian.
Chen Lian sneered. “Begging for mercy? Too late. I’ve already…”
“Go away.”
Wenren Sheng cut him off calmly.
“You’re annoying.”
Chen Lian: “…”
His lip twitched rigidly. He shot back,
“You—what did you say?”
Wenren Sheng ignored him entirely, darting past his side toward the broken bridge.
Time was precious. Miss the Mountain God, and he’d want to bite this pest dead.
Wenren Sheng thought as much.
The bridge was busted, but ropes remained; careful steps would see him across.
Perfect chance to shake Chen Lian!
With that in mind, he soon left Chen Lian in the dust, gingerly taking his first step.
Chen Lian gawked incredulously at Wenren Sheng’s back.
This guy…
No—this demon actually dared ignore him!
“You stray dog…”
Chen Lian spat through gritted teeth in a sneer.
“How dare you ignore me!”
He bellowed, blood surging to his head. He seized Wenren Sheng’s hair and yanked backward viciously.
“Who said you could leave!” he barked.
The pull stung fiercely. Wenren Sheng yelped in pain, clutching his hair as his body arched back.
“Did I say go? You got a mouth or not? Huh?” Chen Lian kept raging. “Damn stray dog…”
“Let go!” Wenren Sheng shouted, struggling.
“I won’t!”
Even a sword cultivator packed more strength than most; agony wracked Wenren Sheng. He felt a huge clump of hair about to rip free. Shift back to wolf form now, and he’d sport a bald patch—mortifyingly ugly.
Wenren Sheng whimpered on, thrashing.
So disheveled—not cool at all.
Become a spell-slinging great hero, and he’d squash this jerk flat!
That thought ushered in grievance at last. His eyes rimmed red; ripples stirred in his blue pupils.
Hurts like hell—just bite him dead!
Yanked by the hair at his nape, Wenren Sheng flailed to no avail. Only broken whimpers escaped his throat, like a puppy getting bullied.
Chen Lian grew less inclined to release the more pitiful he looked. He even reached out, fingers itching toward the neck.
That slender neck would snap in a firm grip.
Eyes bloodshot, Chen Lian fixated on Wenren Sheng’s throat—crimson murder blooming in his gaze.
Wenren Sheng sensed peril. He yelled sharply, then chomped Chen Lian’s hand!
Canines pierced skin in a flash, blood beads flying.
“Ah!” Chen Lian snapped to, erupting in fury. “You little beast—I’ll end you today!”
Wenren Sheng tuned out the ravings. He released and lunged for another bite on the arm.
Bald patches be damned—he’d kill this sword cultivator!
Swoosh!
He hadn’t even bitten down when a piercing sword hum scraped past. In the corner of Wenren Sheng’s vision, a blinding silver-white flash suddenly streaked by.
He slightly retracted his teeth and blankly lifted his head to look around.
Before he could make out what it was, a massive boom rang in his ears. The silver light plummeted instantly, smashing onto the broken bridge connecting the two peaks, which collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Was that… a sword?
The next moment, Wenren Sheng felt the force pressing against the back of his head vanish, replaced by an even fiercer gust of wind that nearly blew him right into the sky.
He hurriedly reached out to steady himself against the stone stele in front of him. One arm shielded his eyes as he laboriously turned around.
Who had arrived?
He smelled no scent—only the increasingly biting north wind and an intangible pressure in the air.
After a good while, Wenren Sheng finally managed to pry his eyes open.
Peering through his fingers, he saw a bruised and swollen man lying prone nearby. It was Chen Lian.
At the same time, a pair of silver battle boots ground mercilessly into Chen Lian’s face. The force was so great that even the accumulated snow sank three inches.
Wenren Sheng seemed to sense something. His heel caught as if tripped, and he stumbled back to sit on the snow.
He panted in short bursts. A faint, almost illusory light laugh sounded in his ears.
Who was that laugh for?
Chen Lian? Or…
Wenren Sheng slowly looked up along those battle boots. Vaguely, he saw several overlapping figures.
Unfortunately, the snow glare had robbed him of most of his vision. Everything in front was a blur of colors; even the human shape was indistinct.
The only thing he could make out clearly was a striking vermilion cape draped over that person’s shoulder, fluttering wildly in the wind like a coiling candle dragon.
Looking up, it seemed even taller than the heavens.
