“Oh?” said Danzhu.
Chisheng had not intended to say much, but for some reason, beneath Danzhu’s gaze, he seemed unable to control his tongue. The truth poured out of him in a torrent.
“Envoy Heyun’s elder brother was called Herui. They both grew up in this residence, and our lord was always very good to them. But later Herui fell in love with a white-egret maiden, an immortal bird serving under Magu. The egret maiden stole heavenly medicine, intending to run away with Herui to the mortal world. When the heavenly soldiers pursued them, she was gravely injured. She and Herui were both taken back to Heaven, and our lord even pleaded for Herui. But then, who could have imagined that Herui would steal our lord’s precious medicine to save the egret maiden?”
Half reclining against a stone chair in the pavilion, Danzhu said, “The young crane must have loved his sweetheart very much. Stealing spiritual medicine hardly seems a grave offense. Was it enough to make Bihua hold a grudge against immortal birds for so many years?”
“That wasn’t ordinary medicine!” Chisheng protested. “Our lord spent years gathering the ingredients from everywhere and poured so many years of his own immortal cultivation into it. Herui knew perfectly well what it was for!” Chisheng’s eyes reddened, and he clenched his fists. “The egret maiden didn’t even need that particular medicine to heal her injuries. Her immortal cultivation had been scattered, and Herui wanted her to regain her immortal body, but he didn’t need the whole elixir for that. If only… if only he had left two or three tenths of it, Geyue… Geyue would not have lost both body and spirit! Those immortal birds have no conscience, any of them! However well you treat them, they care only about themselves, never whether another creature lives or dies. Our lord was absolutely right to stop raising them!”
The words came out as a shout. Suddenly realizing what he had said, Chisheng looked at Immortal Emperor Danzhu and shivered. “Y-Your Majesty… I… I spoke wrongly… I only meant some… some immortal birds…”
Danzhu lifted a hand and waved it gently. “Enough. From the way you’re grinding your teeth, that young crane certainly behaved disgracefully, and brought a bad name on the rest of his kind. That fault lies with him, not with you. But… you said Geyue? Isn’t Geyue perfectly well? I saw him only yesterday.”
Of all the spirit beasts in Bihua Lingjun’s garden, Danzhu was rather fond of Geyue. Unfortunately, the silver wolf had always kept to himself, and after learning Danzhu was the Purple-Void Immortal Emperor, he had become positively awkward as well as aloof. Whenever Danzhu stroked his coat or asked him to sit nearby, Geyue wore a long-suffering expression that made Danzhu feel rather lonely.
Chisheng lowered his head. “Before this Geyue, there was another Geyue. He wasn’t as precious as the one we have now. He was a little gray wolf, perhaps the most unimpressive spirit beast our lord ever raised, but also perhaps the one he loved most. He was almost annihilated, body and soul, while protecting our lord. Our lord managed to preserve a tiny fragment of his immortal essence, then spent hundreds of years refining an elixir that could restore his soul and allow him to reincarnate in the mortal world. But before the elixir had even finished refining, Herui stole it. In the end, even that last fragment of immortal essence… was scattered…”
Chisheng wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve and continued recounting the vileness of Herui’s theft.
“That day, Herui escaped from the heavenly prison and deliberately came to kneel outside our residence, claiming he wanted to borrow the elixir. Naturally our lord refused. He ordered Herui to return to prison and confess his crime at once, promising to find another way to heal the egret maiden. Herui then deliberately argued with our lord. Of course Envoy Heyun came to plead for his elder brother and helped obstruct our lord so Herui could get away. Heyun even tried to fight him. His cultivation was very shallow then; our lord stood perfectly still, and Heyun’s own immortal magic rebounded and injured him badly. The disturbance drew everyone to the gate. None of us realized that Herui had planned it all, deceiving both our lord and Heyun to give himself the opportunity to slip into the residence and steal the elixir. Geyue’s fragment of immortal essence was sealed beneath the same protective immortal barrier as the alchemy furnace and ordinarily sustained by the spiritual energy of the elixir refining there. When Herui stole the medicine, he broke the barrier. The elixir vanished, and Geyue’s essence could no longer be preserved. It scattered too…”
Danzhu narrowed his eyes. “Scoundrel. To think such a scoundrel could exist among the feathered clans. Greedy, ruthless, selfish, willing to stop at nothing. Even that little immortal crane Heyun, though he did not know the truth, can hardly escape all responsibility as an accomplice…” He slammed his right hand down on the stone chair. For the first time, Chisheng saw the dazzling Immortal Emperor’s expression turn icy. An unseen chill and oppressive force swept toward him, and he could scarcely keep himself from shrinking down to the ground.
Danzhu picked up a fallen leaf from the chair. “What punishment did Herui receive in the end?”
Chisheng replied softly, “Our lord was devastated by the dispersal of Geyue’s essence and shut himself away. When Herui was judged, our lord told the Jade Emperor that he would treat it as though he had never raised him. No punishment, however severe, could bring back what was lost, so he asked the Jade Emperor to judge according to celestial law. Herui was cast into the abyss of the far north, from which he can never emerge for all eternity. Envoy Heyun felt he had failed our lord and nearly shattered his own immortal essence in atonement. Our lord said Heyun had known nothing and did not blame him. He even sent Heyun to Emperor Donghua to recuperate. After that, Heyun became an immortal envoy serving the Jade Emperor. This all happened very, very long ago. Nobody speaks of it now, but our lord has never raised another immortal bird since.”
Danzhu nodded slightly and fell silent.
Envoy Heyun was indeed efficient. After several shichen, the large bed from Danxiao Palace arrived. Bihua Lingjun’s original bed was moved into an empty room. Heyun had clearly learned Danzhu’s preferences: the new bed was inlaid with pearls, gemstones, and tortoiseshell, glittering with the colors of the rainbow. Sitting at its head and stroking the thick cloud quilt, Danzhu said, “Bihua, since I’m staying with you, I’ll give you this bed. Do you like it?”
“As long as Your Imperial Majesty likes it,” replied Bihua Lingjun.
That night, lying in the enormous bed, Bihua Lingjun found it much roomier. It really was comfortable; at the very least, he could stretch his arms and legs in his sleep. He steadied his immortal breathing and drifted into a light doze. After an unknown length of time, he stirred and suddenly sensed something strange.
Beneath the quilt, a furry little bundle lay curled close against his arm. Its coat rose and fell as though it were snoring softly.
Bihua Lingjun turned to look beside him. Immortal Emperor Danzhu’s pillow was empty, as was the space beneath his own cloud quilt. Slowly, Bihua reached for the quilt covering him and lifted it.
There lay a little heap of dusty-gray fur. It stirred, raised its head, and propped up its plump body on two short, thick forepaws. A pair of oval green eyes blinked.
A wolf. A gray-furred wolf cub.
Looking into those vivid green eyes, Bihua Lingjun smiled bitterly. “Your Imperial Majesty’s cultivation is profound. I imagine you learned of the old incident and took this form deliberately to make amends to me. I accept your kindness with gratitude. But seeing this form can only deepen my sorrow. I beg Your Majesty to resume your original appearance.”
Light flashed around the cub. In an instant it became Danzhu, lying on his side beside Bihua and propping himself up on one arm. His expression was unusually sincere. “Bihua, my feathered clan truly owes you a debt for what happened. I thought taking this form might comfort you… Apparently after being dead for eight or ten thousand years, I’ve forgotten how to comfort people. I made a mistake just now. I’m sorry. And… if I offered to make it up to you, I imagine you would refuse.”
Bihua Lingjun remained composed. “It happened long ago. Nothing can be done about it now. In any case, Your Imperial Majesty had nothing to do with it. I know your intentions just now were good, and I thank you for your comfort.”
Danzhu looked at him but said no more, settling back onto his pillow.
Bihua Lingjun closed his eyes and adjusted his breathing, trying to return to sleep. But the events of so many years ago rose irresistibly before him. He could no longer remember exactly how many years separated that time from the present.
He had descended to the mortal world one day, happened upon a village, and heard by chance that a demon was making trouble there, stealing all the chickens.
Thus, moved by the compassion proper to an immortal, he merely crooked a finger in the deep night and captured the little chicken thief.
It was an utterly unimpressive young wolf spirit, rather like the form Danzhu had just assumed. It was a gray wolf of a doglike breed; being a cub, it had a large head, round body, and short, thick legs. But it was nowhere near as adorable as Danzhu’s imitation. Its coat was dry, tangled, and scruffy. Huddled in a corner of a mountain cave, it lowered its head and scraped at the dirt with its forepaws, stammering, “I-I never stole before… I… I was hungry today, so I couldn’t help it… It was the weasel spirit who told me stealing one or two would be easy…” A shallow hollow had formed in the soil. Pressing its trembling paws into it, the cub pleaded, “Great Immortal… please let me go. I’ll never do it again…”
What a foolish, bedraggled, utterly hopeless little demon.
Bihua Lingjun studied him with interest and said with a broad smile, “What is your name? Come back to Heaven with me and cultivate in my residence.”
Elio’s Notes:
A shichen (时辰) is a traditional Chinese unit of time, roughly two modern hours. The large bed arrives after several such periods.