Prologue

Above the clouds.

An old man dressed in Daoist robes, his hair and beard as white as a crane’s yet his face youthful, stood alongside a young Daoist acolyte.

The fierce winds at such heights had turned the little acolyte’s cheeks rosy.

“Master, why do people seek immortality?” the boy’s innocent voice rang out.

“To transcend birth, aging, sickness, and death, to be unafraid of the myriad sufferings of the mortal world—such is immortality,” the old man explained slowly.

“I understand birth, aging, sickness, and death. But what does it mean, ‘the myriad sufferings of the mortal world’?” The acolyte counted on his fingers, gazing at the old man with curiosity.

“Silly child, I brought you here not only to slay the strange demons that have appeared nearby, but also to let you witness the myriad experiences of the mortal world,” the old Daoist replied, lowering the cloud on which they rode.

Once they touched down, the old man took the acolyte’s hand, and in an instant, they disappeared from sight.

When they reappeared, they stood at the entrance to a small town.

“Master, master, so many people! Are those things to eat?” the acolyte exclaimed with delight, running about. On the mountain, apart from fasting pills and other elixirs, she had never seen such things as these: candied hawthorn sticks, sugar figurines...

“Slow down!” the old man quietly cast a spell, tethering the acolyte in place; it was as if invisible shackles bound her, slowing her to a crawl until at last she could not move at all.

“Go on, then!” The old man strode forward, releasing the spell.

“Master, I wouldn’t get lost! Why use magic on me?” The acolyte shook her head left and right, swinging her body in an attempt to break free from the old man’s grip, but his hand seemed glued to hers—no matter how she struggled, she could not escape.

Just then, a shadow darted toward them and crashed right into the old man.

“Hey, old Daoist, why are you blocking the way?” the ragged little figure demanded, taking two steps back and pointing accusingly.

The old man stroked his long beard, smiling at the urchin, “I did not block your way.”

“Catch that little thief!” came a shout. Four or five men rushed over, pointing at the ragged child near the old Daoist.

The child stuck out his tongue at the old man and bolted.

“Old Daoist, why didn’t you stop him?” the panting men demanded when they caught up.

“What did the little thief steal from you? I can repay you,” the old Daoist replied, searching through his belongings for his money pouch.

“Not much—just three coins of broken silver!” one of them said at once.

But the more the old Daoist searched, the more wrong things seemed; his face darkened as he realized his money pouch was gone.

“What, can’t find your pouch? That’s why you should’ve stopped him! Forget it, let’s disperse—the time we’ve wasted, the brat’s long gone by now!” one of them guessed at once that the thief had pinched the old Daoist’s purse as well.

The others grumbled and wandered off.

“Master…” the acolyte tugged at his hand.

“To think I was robbed by a street urchin! Never mind, Liezhen, come with me to the Lu manor,” the old Daoist said, addressing the acolyte by her Daoist name. He “held” her hand—more precisely, stuck it to his with a spell—and set off in a certain direction.

The thief’s name was Xu Cheng.

He had learned his thieving skills from an old beggar. That beggar, once a habitual thief, had often said that if you walk by the river long enough, your shoes will get wet. During a heist, he was beaten so badly he was left paralyzed from the waist down.

He happened upon Xu Cheng, who was still a child, begging his way along the road. The two, sharing the same fate, wandered together. With an extra mouth to feed, Xu Cheng found begging more difficult, so the beggar taught him the art of theft.

Time passed, and as winter came, the beggar could not withstand the cold and departed from this world.

Afterwards, Xu Cheng often stole. Most people, seeing his youth, would let him go if he returned the money; some, however, beat him until he wailed for his mother.

“That Daoist was loaded,” Xu Cheng muttered to himself as he returned to his thatched hut, pouring all his ill-gotten gains from his pouch—several silver coins clattered out.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck!” A robust rooster strutted over.

After the old beggar died, Xu Cheng had stolen this rooster from a nearby village. He had intended to eat it, but could not bring himself to do so. Perhaps he saw the rooster as a keepsake of the beggar. The bird had now followed Xu Cheng for two or three years, and was about six or seven years old, with long, splendid tail feathers.

There was a legend that if a chicken lived beyond six years, its comb would turn purple, its tail feathers would lengthen, and it would roost in trees at night, absorbing the first rays of violet dawn—it would become a spirit, known as a pheasant.

The rooster beside Xu Cheng was well on its way to becoming just such a spirit.

“I didn’t bring any food back, but I’ll go buy some. Whatever I eat, you’ll eat too, old rooster—you won’t go hungry with me!” Xu Cheng promised. The rooster clucked expectantly, as if urging him on.

“You’re in a hurry too, huh?” Xu Cheng grinned, put his gains back in his pouch, and shook it—his dirty face breaking into a smile.

He slipped quietly through the town—most people here were already used to being his targets. Turning right from his door, he headed for Old Liu’s pancake stall.

“Well, who’s your victim today?” Old Liu called out as he flipped pancakes.

“Didn’t steal from you, anyway! Two pancakes, hurry!” Xu Cheng tossed a few coppers.

“You rascal! Wouldn’t it be better to find honest work? The Lu manor’s hiring servants—want me to put in a word for you?” the stall owner offered kindly.

“A servant? Not interested,” Xu Cheng replied without hesitation.

“Don’t be so quick to refuse! Think about it. Haven’t you been beaten enough already?” Old Liu handed him two steaming pancakes.

The mention of beatings struck a sore spot. The old beggar had been beaten to death for stealing. If one could make a living honestly, who would choose the life of a thief?

“Alright, alright, keep an eye out for me,” Xu Cheng relented with a sigh.

“That’s better! Let me tell you, even the lowest servant in Lu manor eats meat every day. Work hard and you’ll be plump and healthy in no time!” the stall owner continued, but Xu Cheng had already grabbed the pancakes and dashed off.

“This one’s for you!” Back in his drafty hut, Xu Cheng tossed a steaming pancake to the rooster.

Man and bird devoured their meal with relish.

“I wonder if they’ll let you into the Lu manor with me?” Xu Cheng mused. After a moment’s thought, he ran to the river to wash his hair, face, and body—filthy from neglect, he scrubbed away at least three or four pounds of grime.

The next morning, clutching his rooster, Xu Cheng went to find the pancake vendor.

“Planning to sell your rooster?” the stall owner asked, having forgotten Xu Cheng’s request from the previous day.

“No—didn’t you say you’d recommend me for work at the Lu manor?” Xu Cheng shook his head before explaining his purpose.

“So you’ve thought it through! Alright, it’s still early, I’ll take you over now,” said the vendor, putting down his work and leading Xu Cheng to the Lu manor’s steward.

A hundred meters or so, and they arrived at the imposing residence—the first time Xu Cheng had gone inside. Before, he had only dared to peek timidly from the gates.

“Steward Wang, this is a distant cousin of mine who’d like to work here. What do you think?” the vendor said, bowing and scraping.

“He looks awfully young—can he handle hard labor? And why is he carrying a chicken?” Steward Wang eyed Xu Cheng up and down.

“Steward, I may be little, but I’m strong! This rooster weighs over ten pounds, yet I can carry it with ease!” Xu Cheng declared, eager to prove himself.

“Since you’re Old Liu’s relative, I’ll find some work for you. Mind your manners if you want to stay,” Steward Wang replied, taking a sip of tea and gesturing for a servant to bring a contract.

“I understand!” Xu Cheng grinned, revealing two crooked rows of teeth. He couldn’t read the contract anyway, so he pressed his handprint and stepped aside.