The fall hadn't hurt, but his scales and spikes scraped a dense web of white marks across the stone paving.
The Black Flood Dragon twisted his body and planted all four claws on the ground. He finally managed to lift his head, nearly struck the low eaves, and hastily tilted it aside.
As he turned, his long tail brushed the wall, leaving scratch after scratch.
Lamenting how uncomfortable it was to cram himself into an alley, he swayed forward a few steps to the shop and extended his enormous, ferocious head toward the doorway.
The commotion in the alley was considerable, its rumbling shattering the quiet.
Daoists rose into the air from several nearby houses to see what was happening.
Seeing the Black Flood Dragon wriggling about in the alley, they realized it was only a minor mishap. They shook their heads with amused smiles, then descended to resume their own affairs.
The Black Flood Dragon stood still, and his Primordial Spirit left his body, taking the form of a little boy and landing lightly.
He politely cupped his hands, his freckled little face earnest and serious.
"There's something I'd like to ask Daoist Pang to help me with. Is there a school on the mountain? I want to study."
Daoist Pang hadn't expected to see him again after only two or three days. Once she understood why he had come, she shook her head, a trace of apology in her voice.
"There's no school on the mountain. If you wish to study, you'll have to go to the Mortal Realm."
A Flood Dragon who wanted to study-that was a rare thing indeed.
Everyone who could enter the Spirit Realm to cultivate was well-read and versed in letters. Literacy was the foundation of cultivation; otherwise, even with cultivation manuals laid