Time wielded its brush, and years became chapters.
Even in his twilight years, Ji Jin, the old mountain craftsman recorded in the Boyan Stone Records, still clearly remembered the day he encountered a god on Shoushan.
He could still clearly remember that figure soaring straight into the sky;
that graceful ease of Wind Riding;
that thunderous roar like a phantom sun;
and... the death notices that were rarely heard thereafter.
What he witnessed was recorded in Shoushan's local chronicles, engraved into Shoushan's customs, and forever preserved within Shoushan's culture.
Mo Chuan's eyesight was astonishing, but he was still bound by mortal flesh.
The canopy, like rolling green waves, blocked his view. As he raced between the cliffs, all his attention remained fixed on the falcons.
Thus, after that strike, seeing no more falcons coming for him, he plucked the fruit and leaped into the woods, vanishing from sight.
He had not gone far before stopping.
With a wave of his hand, a teapot landed upon the thick carpet of dead leaves. Lampwick Monk hopped out with a fawning grin, cupped his hands, and said:
"Daoist master, you summoned me?"
"Here!"
Mo Chuan tossed him one of the unripe fruits he had just picked.
Lampwick Monk hurriedly reached out to catch it. Yet even with the help of the Register Copying, the walnut-sized fruit struck his nine-inch body and sent him staggering back again and again.
"Thank you for your reward, Daoist master! Thank you for your reward, Daoist master!"
Rather than resent it, Lampwick Monk was delighted. He carried the green fruit like an overlord lifting a cauldron, repeatedly offering thanks in a thoroughly comical pose.
"Since you are a lampwick spirit, do you understand cultivation methods?" Mo Chuan asked.
"Daoist master means to plant this seed and