Li Xiaolian's voice mingled with the rain.
Bajie's chopsticks stopped in midair, and he looked up at her.
"They're delicious."
He nodded earnestly and slurped a great mouthful of noodles.
"Then why are you asking about immortals?"
Li Xiaolian turned her face away and gazed at the rain outside.
The rain fell thick and fast, striking the bluestone slabs and splashing up clouds of white mist.
Bajie lowered his head and looked at the noodles in his bowl.
Li Xiaolian's voice was calm, as though she were speaking of something that had nothing to do with her:
"What's so good about being an immortal?"
"No eating, no drinking, no feeling cold or hot. Just sitting there, day after day, dry as a stick, watching the mortals below scurry about."
"What flavor would life have?"
Bajie fell silent.
He lowered his head and looked at the half bowl of noodle broth left at the bottom.
His face was reflected in the broth.
Suddenly, he lifted the bowl, tilted his head back, and drained every last drop of the still-warm broth in one breath.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Li Xiaolian turned, reached out to take the empty bowl from him, gave him an exasperated look, and poked his head with her finger.
"You make that nonsense sound so real. Having another episode?"
Bowl in hand, she turned and headed for the kitchen.
As she walked, she said, "If you're full, go inside. Don't sit in the doorway letting the cold wind blow on you."
"Immortals and demons-stop dreaming those daydreams all the time. Make a solid life for yourself, and you'll be better off than any immortal."
Bajie sat on the threshold, watching her back disappear behind the curtain, then closed his eyes.
Fine threads of