Tai He was a deity in charge of billions of stars in the Heavenly River. It sounded impressive and awe-inspiring, but the first time she saw him, he was sitting on a rock by the river, playing with a small pinwheel.
From a distance, she watched him, uncertain about his identity.
She wasn’t quite sure what a deity should look like, but she certainly didn’t expect one to be dressed in a casual green silk robe, with loose hair, half-lying on a stone.
The billions of stars beneath his feet were surrounded by the light mist of the Heavenly River, sparkling like gold dust scattered on silk.
He noticed her right away, meeting her gaze with curiosity, his eyes clear and gentle.
“Come here, over here,” Tai He beckoned her, as if calling over a stray kitten.
She shrank back even farther, hiding behind the Longevity Tree, with only her two sharp, watchful eyes peeking out.
Tai He just smiled warmly and ignored her reluctance. He blew on the colorful little pinwheel in his hand, causing the thin clouds in the Heavenly River to ripple in rhythm with his breath. The sea of stars swayed, and the constellations shifted, creating a mesmerizing spectacle.
Suddenly, a massive fish, blood-red in color, leaped out of the Heavenly River. It twisted elegantly in the air, but its tail slapped down hard, as if to complain about being disturbed by his blowing.
With a splash, the fish's tail scattered a cascade of fine, golden sand, falling like rain.
Her eyes lit up again, but this time not with suspicion—this was the gleam of a craftsman spotting a rare material.
The star sand from the Heavenly River—this was the kind of material found only in myths. She couldn’t help but daydream about the extraordinary creations she could make with it.
Tai He collected the star sand in a silk pouch, then, after some thought, placed the pouch on the green stone. He hopped down, still blowing on his pinwheel, and strolled away.
She watched for a long time, her eyes straining until they were dry. After making sure no one was around, she quietly slipped over, grabbed the pouch, and ran.
But suddenly, there was a soft laugh behind her. She spun around in panic, only to see Tai He, who had supposedly left, half-reclining on the green stone, smiling at her.
“Be careful,” his voice was gentle. “Don’t play around and fall into the Heavenly River—I won’t be able to fish you out.”
Tan Yin opened her eyes to see a sky heavy with dark clouds. It was already daylight.
This body should be dead, yet she was still dreaming. Why?
No one could answer that question, of course.
Tan Yin stood up and brushed the dust off her clothes. She hadn’t expected to end up sleeping in the wilderness and had forgotten to set up her portable pavilion. How had she fallen asleep last night?
She had been following the Grand Monk from a distance, flying when he flew, stopping when he stopped to eat and rest, all while making sure he never saw her. This had gone on for four days and nights without either of them sleeping. By the end, the Grand Monk, riding on the Jile Bird, was swaying as if he might fall off at any moment.
Last night, he had finally reached his limit, angrily landing on a flat piece of ground, building a fire, and seemingly preparing to spend the night while finding something to eat.
Tan Yin, hiding in the shadows, saw him aiming at a wild rabbit. Immediately, she decided to help. Her Qiankun bag was filled with various tools and devices she had made, so she took out a small crossbow, loaded it with copper needles, and silently tranquilized all the rabbits on the hillside with anesthetics. That way, when he tried to catch them, it was effortless.
However, it seemed he wasn’t too pleased with this. After encountering the tenth tranquilized rabbit, he gave up, grabbed some wild fruit, and ate it raw before lying down to sleep, not even glancing in her direction.
With nothing else to do, Tan Yin found a patch of ground not too far from him and sat there, lost in thought.
In her life, the men she had encountered could be counted on one hand. When she was still human, the Ji family had very few members left, and by the time she was old enough to understand the world, only she and her aging father remained. After that... she met Tai He and a few other deities.
Tai He had a laid-back personality, and the other deities she met briefly were similarly carefree. None of them were as sly and troublesome as the Grand Monk. He was suspicious, always on guard, and would flee at the first sign of trouble, making it impossible to get close to him.
The cool night breeze rustled through the forest, accompanied by the distant chirping of insects. Tan Yin lowered her head, watching the ants on the ground. They were busy relocating their nest, a sign that it would rain tomorrow. So where would this sly fox of a monk wander off to tomorrow?
As she pondered this, she began to feel drowsy. Perhaps it was the gentle breeze or the pleasant scent carried by the wind.
Wait... scent?
Tan Yin turned around and saw that the Grand Monk, who should have been asleep, was up again. He was holding a small bronze incense burner, adding some kind of incense to it. Whatever it was made of, the smoke it produced was sweet and soothing. The mountain wind carried the scent over to her, though it had thinned out by the time it reached her. Still, the distant fragrance was so enchanting it seemed to seep into her very bones.
It was said that the Fox Clan was skilled at making incense. Though she had only served as the Grand Monk’s maid for a few days, she knew that the clan members always carried incense burners and fragrances with them. After four days and nights of travel, it made sense that he would use some incense to freshen up.
Tan Yin yawned. The scent was impossible to resist. She was so sleepy her eyes wouldn’t stay open, and before she could even think to be cautious, she drifted into sleep.
...So, in the end, she had still fallen into that sly fox’s trap.
The Fox Clan were immortals, and how could immortals feel hunger or fatigue? Even if they did, they shouldn’t be exhausted after just four days. Tan Yin, lacking experience, had let him escape again.
Tan Yin walked to the flat ground where the Grand Monk had camped the night before. The fire he had lit had long since gone out, just like him. He must have left as soon as she had fallen asleep.
What a troublesome man, Tan Yin thought, shaking her head.
Scattered on the ground were tiny black specks of powder. She bent down, picked some up, and brought it to her nose for a sniff—it was the same scent as the incense from the previous night.
The weather was turning bad, and it looked like it would rain soon. While the scent was still strong, she had to quickly track the Grand Monk.
Tan Yin took a small box from her Qiankun pouch. When she opened the lid, it revealed an intricately crafted cage containing a tiny emerald-green bird, smaller than her pinky finger. She carefully fed the bird some of the powdered incense. The little bird immediately perked up, chirping excitedly, flapping its wings, and turning its head to the south, its long beak pointing insistently in that direction.
So, he’s flying south? Tan Yin mounted her mechanical bird and set off in the same direction.
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