Black Snake wished he could rush down the mountain that very instant and tear the Small Temple by the river into ruins.
Receiving worship certainly brought plenty of benefits.
But Black Snake always felt uneasy about it. Only the toil of stalking and killing prey truly filled his belly. He was not used to prey coming too easily, and preferred breathing in the rain and mist of the mountains. It was slow, but steady.
He could have gone straight down to the Small Temple, but a burly, lame-legged man had unexpectedly arrived.
His enormous head seemed expressionless, yet his forked tongue flickered rapidly, betraying the anxiety and irritation bottled up inside him.
Incense offerings wound around him day and night like invisible threads. Jumbled, noisy prayers mingled with the fishy smell of river water, pressing down on his heart like heavy shackles.
Black Snake stayed on the summit, watching clouds gather and scatter as he struggled to think of a solution.
He had even stopped attending lessons these past few days.
Suddenly, he remembered the Vengeful Ghost entering dreams. Since he could not go there himself, why not imitate that method and enter someone's dream to have the temple demolished?
He steadied his mind and listened carefully to the jumble of incessant murmurs. Prayers for safety, children, and marriage drifted past as he earnestly tried to sense who was invoking him.
Those whose words were indistinct and thoughts scattered would not do. He needed someone whose voice was clear, preferably someone living near the Small Temple.
Before long, he singled out someone whose words were clear and who had close ties to the Small Temple.
This man was clever.
Other people merely muttered wishes like "I want to get rich" or "I want a wife," leaving him utterly baffled, with