In truth, the spiritual spring pool was not a good place for bathing.
The water was particularly cold, and swimming just a few strokes would reach the rocks at the edge.
Even though this pool was narrow at the top, wide and especially deep at the bottom, about the size of a room, in terms of surface area, it was still only as wide as a large bathtub.
After their pleasure, Meng Qi simply found a stone of the right size by the shore and comfortably transformed into a gerbil, basking in those sunbeams pouring through the cavern’s stone dome.
His snow-white fur was tinged with a faint gold, and if seen across the water, it was as if someone had sprinkled icing sugar over the little mouse. The round, softly rising and falling belly—one couldn’t tell if it was the gerbil purring contentedly or if it was just the water’s ripples at play.
—This was exactly the sight witnessed by the black-scaled fish as it awoke in a muddle, instinctively swishing its tail, chasing the light, and drifting up toward the surface.
As the sun shifted, the pretty golden rays gradually moved west.
Then the gerbil lost its “sugar frosting.”
The sleeping mouse seemed to feel it, instinctively turning over, trying to catch the warm sunlight.
Mo Li watched as the mouse rolled closer… and closer…
“Plop.”
The gerbil tipped off into the spring below.
Startled awake, it found itself not on a hard stone but on a smooth, slippery surface of overlapping scales, surrounded by rippling water that had dampened its sun-dried fur.
Strangely enough, it didn’t slip from the black-scaled fish’s back into the water.
The mouse wiggled, finding its fur seemingly caught between the fish scales—ordinary scales weren’t this flexible or thick and wouldn’t open and close like gills, but the scales of the Qimao Mountain dragon vein were layered, more like sleek, mobile armour than ordinary fish scales. Each piece was smooth and glossy; these layers now served as the perfect buffer, firmly securing the gerbil on the fish’s back.
The water shifted gently, and the fish swam toward the western side of the pool, following the last traces of sunset.
This pool was the place Mo Li knew best.
Even half-asleep, with eyes closed, he could always sense the rhythm of sunrise and moonrise.
—Wasn’t it just that the gerbil liked basking in the sun? Let it sunbathe; nothing difficult about that.
And if there was no sunlight, there was always moonlight. So long as it didn’t snow or the wind didn’t howl, there was always something to bask in.
The mouse patted the fish’s back with its paw, finding that once they entered the sunbeam, the fish stilled beneath it. The orange sunset bathed the water’s surface with a fiery, dazzling color, enveloping both mouse and fish.
The pool was dark as ink, the fish scales deep and glossy. It seemed to Meng Qi, for a moment, as if he witnessed a strange, wondrous sunset.
Compared to the red clouds at the horizon, this gradation of reds was closer—compared to the sky about to swallow the setting sun, the unfathomably deep, chill pool water felt nearer by far. Lying on the fish’s back now, there was a feeling of being infinitely close to the heavens.
The sensation wasn’t unfamiliar; whenever the dragon vein consciousness drifted and roamed the sky, it was always half-real, half-illusive like this.
Meng Qi snuggled closer to Mo Li and closed his eyes again.
Under the last rays of sunset, cumulus clouds quickly shifted and changed, faintly taking on the shape of a dragon.
People near Qimao Mountain looked up, but before they could make anything out, night fell like a tidal wave sweeping the sun from the sky. Whether the clouds looked like a dragon or a tiger, wrestled or played, all vanished from sight.
After sunset, Zhushan County remained bustling.
Everyone was burning incense and worshipping—not praying for luck or peace, but digging into what the “earth dragon’s snoring” meant for them.
Was it hungry? Tired? Lacking a wife?
That last one wasn’t a joke, but a local tradition.
Although Qimao Mountain lacked the custom of wedding a bride to the mountain god or river lord, other drought- and famine-stricken regions of Pingzhou did.
Common folk weren’t so concerned with great theology; they judged the gods through their own needs. The people of Qimao Mountain believed deities liked to visit each other to play mahjong, while folks elsewhere thought gods grew lonely and needed new brides every year.
Under Xue Ting’s many years of governance, Zhushan County had no dominant religious cult, so everyone could believe as they pleased—no need to wed new brides for the gods.
Would the mountain god want to marry a mortal’s daughter? Was it that the City God next door had no daughters, or the maidens of heaven weren’t attractive enough? Stories said immortals and mortals were not to mix—if even the Jade Emperor’s daughter was forbidden from marrying the Cowherd, why could a mountain god or river lord wed a mortal?
Unconsciously, the people of Zhushan grew stout in their views—if a shaman or charlatan came ranting such nonsense, folks would grab hoes and pitchforks to drive them out, and interrogate them about their motives.
What—do other mountain gods have a grudge with our Jimao Mountain and Zhushan’s Earth and City Gods, so they’ve sent you here to make trouble? Got you here trying to goad our mountain god into breaking celestial law?
Breaking heavenly law! That’s serious—at best, you lose your godhood, at worst, you’re locked up for centuries!
Though Xue Ting’s methods were peculiar… the results spoke for themselves.
Thus, for this populace who firmly believed immortals and mortals could not marry, what did it mean to suspect that the earth dragon’s snoring meant it lacked a wife?
Of course—they went to every temple in turn, burning incense and asking every god and bodhisattva: Did they know anyone suitable for matchmaking with their local dragon?
Granddaughter of the Dragon King of the East Sea would do, or a fairy from the heavens—could they arrange a matchmaker? Didn’t have to be the best; the most beautiful, highest-born might disdain the Qimao Mountain dragon, so just find a practical one who wants a steady life. If a heavenly maiden was unwilling, then even a playful, snoring little lad to share company would do—maybe the earth dragon was just lonely from sleeping so long?
After all, the season called for incense and offerings.
During the idle winter, people were already busy arranging matches for their own sons and daughters—this just added a task, busywork anyhow.
Incense smoke rose thick for days on end.
On the third evening, Mo Li and Meng Qi returned.
Each plea, every prayer to the gods, slipped into their ears.
Folks weren’t just praying before the idols, but arguing it over privately: One said Holy Mother Lishan knew many fairies, another said the child-bringing goddess was better at matching dragon girls; yet when someone mentioned the old moon god, the housewives scolded—he was good for nothing, only caused chaos. If the moon god were any use, why had she suffered for half her life?
Mo Li: “…”
Meng Qi: “…”
Had they missed something?
What happened? Why this sudden rush to find the dragon vein a spouse?
—No need for matchmaking, I found one myself!
Mo Li hurried to pull someone aside for questions.
He happened to get Uncle Niu, the wonton-seller, who laughed, “It’s just idle talk—how could there be a dragon vein in our little place? But the schoolteacher says every mountain has a vein, every water a dragon, so who knows. Mainly, folks just want to find a wife for the earth dragon, hoping it’ll snore less at night.”
Earth dragon? Snoring?
Mo Li was at a loss.
Then he heard about the night when “the whole county town shook, not hard, just swayed, so that only the babies in their cradles slept sound,” and as he heard people say, “The earth dragon’s snoring kept us awake, maybe it needs a wife,” Mo Li slowly turned stiff, and when Uncle Niu finished, he turned with a wooden face to Meng Qi, who also stood dazed.
Frankly, as a doctor, Mo Li had always thought there was nothing shameful in sexual union—he and Meng Qi were well-matched, hurting no one, not like they were being indecent on the street. Not everyone could do such a thing, and every family had their own private matters—so why feel thin-skinned?
Now, Mo Li understood.
He’d made things far too simple!
“What’s this about?” Mo Li gritted out.
He wasn’t blaming Meng Qi, but, as a dragon vein—shouldn’t Meng Qi have warned him of this?
Meng Qi was innocent. He’d never done such things with other dragon veins, how could he know? And this wasn’t even their first time—never had there been such a phenomenon before… Wait, maybe it was the first time “on home turf”?
“Maybe…it’s the location—the spiritual spring cave is, after all, where your… I mean, Qimao Mountain’s dragon vein truly took form—it’s particularly prone to stirring the earth vein’s energy.” Meng Qi thought seriously; he had to admit the sensation this time was different: unusually intense and unusually freeing.
Somewhat regretful, Meng Qi suggested, “Let’s use a different spot next time, and maybe this won’t happen again?”
Mo Li glared, speechless.
One incident, and it led to matchmaking; do it again, and the whole county might think the earth dragon was divorcing the new bride!
“…How am I supposed to face Teacher?”
Mo Li spoke through gritted teeth, full of anguish.
The villagers didn’t know, but Qin Lu was another matter; Old Mr. Qin surely realized what had happened as soon as he woke to the shaking.
At this moment, Mo Li suspected he’d caught a bit of gerbil nature—he truly wanted to dig a hole and crawl in.
“Uh, just say it was a spiritual energy anomaly—pretend you don’t remember anything?” Meng Qi suggested anxiously.
Watching Mo Li’s sudden shifts between joy and anger, swaying between annoyance and embarrassment, he couldn’t bear to look away.
Mo Li rarely showed such obvious emotions. A gent’s loss of composure—what a rare treat to witness!
But no matter how he dragged his heels, he had to go home. By the time they reached the pharmacy, they learned Qin Lu had already gone into the mountains searching for them.
“He—he went to look for us?” Mo Li was shocked.
“Of course, the ground kept shaking! Old Mr. Qin was worried something had happened to you—of course, he went up there…”
Aunt Ge hadn’t finished when Mo Li dashed out the door, shame and guilt warring in his heart. Here he’d been worrying about how to delay meeting Teacher, when Teacher thought he was lost and had gone looking for them in the mountains—this was the third day! How could Mo Li not be anxious!
Meng Qi couldn’t stop or comfort him, so he could only follow.
And then—
Qimao Mountain, the mountain god’s temple.
Tea bubbled over a fire when the door was flung open so hard the flame almost blew out.
Finding Teacher safe and waiting for him there, Mo Li: “…”
Had he misunderstood, somehow?
***
Mo Li sat with head bowed before Qin Lu.
The air was thick with awkwardness, especially when a stray cat stepped across the temple’s roof, slipped on the snow, and made the roof tiles rattle above.
Seeing the silent pair, Meng Qi had no choice but to break the deadlock.
“…It might snow again in a couple of days, and the mountain will be icy. A-Li and I should go gather firewood.”
Since Qin Lu had stayed in Zhushan County this last year instead of living up in the mountains, the temple’s stores of firewood and rice were running low.
Snow and cold winds came in from further north: though the earth vein’s spiritual surge had scattered the clouds above Qimao Mountain, as soon as the energy faded, clear weather would last only a day before the wind and snow returned.
Mo Li and Meng Qi both knew the reason why. But—
They could not explain.
Any explanation would make it even more awkward, so they could only pretend that, when two dragon veins were together, their combined powers let them suddenly read the weather.
Qin Lu: “…”
His apprentice wore a face that pleaded “don’t ask”; what could he do?
Either talk about the snow this year or feign ignorance.
Fine, not deaf, not senile, not going to play patriarch.
Other people’s families might occasionally have a couple argue and run back to the in-laws, or squabble so everyone in the neighbourhood knew about it. But here, things escalated to waking the entire county, even the magistrate coming to investigate, in the end forcing him to hide away in the mountains himself.
It was too much to bear.
“No need, we’ll go down the mountain today. We’ll just tell Magistrate Xue there was nothing unusual, no idea what caused it.” Qin Lu said with difficulty.
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The gratitude list was from the start of the text until before 15:00 on April 11, 2020. Thank you to the friends who followed the text for your support
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T/N: The following is a list of the support the author received. I don’t think you guys will like reading a lot of unfamiliar usernames, so I just cut it off.
