The Spirit Monkey followed the mountain path upward, only feeling that the grasses and trees around him grew ever greener, spiritual energy rushing against his face, making all one hundred and eight thousand pores across his body stretch open.
For the past dozen years, he had braved wind for meals and dew for lodging, suffering every cold eye and jeer. When had he ever felt such a comfortable place as this?
Here, there had to be a True Immortal!
Certain in his heart, his steps quickened by a few beats.
As he was walking, a burst of singing drifted over on the mountain wind.
The song was distant and clear; the words could not quite be made out, yet they carried a power that calmed the heart and spirit.
The Spirit Monkey pricked up his ears and listened for a while, then continued up the mountain in the direction of the song.
After turning a bend, an open stretch of woodland appeared ahead. Beneath a thick old pine, a middle-aged woodcutter was swinging an axe and chopping firewood.
The singing was coming from this man's mouth.
The Spirit Monkey darted over in three steps taken as two.
"Big brother!"
The axe in the woodcutter's hand paused, and he turned back.
He looked him up and down.
"Who are you? How did you end up running onto this mountain?"
But the Spirit Monkey had no mind for any of that. In a few bounds he sprang before the woodcutter, dropped straight to his knees, and kowtowed with bang, bang knocks of his head.
"Immortal above, this disciple pays his respects!"
The woodcutter was thrown into utter confusion by his actions and hurriedly backed away two steps.
"You monkey, have you gone mad? Why are you bowing to me? I'm no immortal,