Evening, on the mountaintop.
Black Snake could not see the setting sun clearly, but he thought it resembled embers about to burn out, probably staining the clouds overhead red as well.
The hundred years he had promised to guard the mountain were nearly over.
The sixty-odd years since the war ended had passed peacefully. Even on the final day, the breeze was gentle and the clouds serene. Ordinary life was, after all, just this unremarkable: gathering herbs, sleeping, catching fish, and practicing swordplay at the crossroads.
The sunset over the distant mountains grew dimmer and dimmer.
When the gold vanished from the mountain's western face, the hundred-year promise quietly settled to its close.
Then Black Snake wondered what he should do next.
Evening Liturgy was about to begin. He would decide after listening to it.
The Azure Cloud Monastery now flourished with worshippers, and its ranks of Daoists had grown. Blue-robed figures filled the corridors before the hall. Teenage Daoists hurried past clutching books, their sleeves catching the wind, afraid of missing the Evening Liturgy.
Black Snake slid down the slope and came to the great bluestone in the woods beside Spring Well to listen to the Evening Liturgy.
Since he had fulfilled his promise, he thought he ought to find something to do.
He was three hundred and eighty this year.
His body had barely changed in length, as though awaiting an opportunity whose name even he did not know. His yin spirit, however, kept growing stronger.
The Evening Liturgy fell silent, and the Daoists filed out of the great hall.
Black Snake lowered his head and used Yin Spirit Separation. Still taking the form of a freckled little boy in short sleeves and straw sandals, he retrieved a coarse cloth bag from a crack between the rocks and