Chapter 44 - Emerging from the Chrysalis
By the time the curtain of night fell the following day, the legion of zombies, great and small, had crawled out from the seabed. The green-eyed zombie followed in the wake of the Bodhisattva, stepping onto the shore as the tide receded. Qiao’er had already transported the necessary medicinal herbs to the front of the restrictive array where Fan Shaohuang remained confined. Under the direction of the fallen dragon, a group of shrimp and crab spirits busied themselves, hauling over a massive bronze alchemy furnace to begin refining the Corpse-Restoring Pills according to the ancient recipe.
The Bodhisattva paced circles around the furnace, her white robes fading into a pale, ethereal silhouette against the biting chill of the winter night. Her voice, however, remained laced with a playful, mocking edge. “Oh, my dear immortal friend Yinglong, it is no wonder people say one must look at a scholar with new eyes after a mere three days of absence. Not long ago, you were radiating majesty and power; yet today, I find you a mere prisoner in a cage. Truly, the wheel of karma turns—thirty years to the east of the river, thirty years to the west. Retribution is never late.”
Within the array, Fan Shaohuang’s eyes snapped open, glaring at her. “If you have nothing useful to say, keep your mouth shut!”
The Bodhisattva remained unperturbed, casually resting a hand on Qiao’er’s shoulder in an intimate gesture. “Perfected Gongxi, would you care to accompany this poor monk for a stroll? We could admire the nocturnal beauty of the seashore together.”
Qiao’er was about to agree when the green-eyed zombie let out a low, warning growl. Before she could soothe him, Fan Shaohuang spoke from within the array, his voice dripping with casual malice. “Hou, you should know—Guanyin can manifest as either male or female.”
As he spoke, Fan Shaohuang’s gaze was fixed pointedly on the hand resting on Qiao’er’s shoulder. The green-eyed zombie’s emerald pupils instantly locked onto the limb with a murderous intensity that clearly communicated: *Someone, come and chop this arm off!!*
The Bodhisattva coughed awkwardly and withdrew her hand, looking profoundly disappointed. “Cough... Immortal friend, you know well that this monk has transcended the four elements. Why must you speak such inflammatory words?”
Yinglong did not grant her an ounce of face. “I suspect you understand ‘form is emptiness’ far better than most.”
Qiao’er, however, was genuinely stunned. Before her stood the Bodhisattva, clad in trailing white robes, dark hair loosely bound, holding the Pure Vase with an expression of serene, dignified compassion. Every movement was the epitome of elegant stillness. She found it difficult to imagine that this divine being could transform into a man.
Sensing her bewildered gaze, the Bodhisattva offered a shimmering smile. “The Buddha’s light is boundless, and all living beings are ultimately without fixed form. Why should you, dear benefactor, be constrained by the mundane distinctions of gender?”
As the words left her lips, her voice shifted into a soft, resonant masculine tone. Qiao’er felt a blur of motion before her eyes, and indeed, the Bodhisattva had transformed. He now appeared as a man with long, raven hair cascading to his waist. His white robes were as holy as fresh snow, cinched at the waist with a silk cord, stripped of the feminine tassels and jade ornaments. Only the peaceful tranquility between his brows remained unchanged, though his eyes now flickered with a wisdom that seemed to pierce through the human heart.
Qiao’er met that swirling gaze, still failing to recover from the shock, when the green-eyed zombie suddenly grabbed her and pulled her protectively behind his back.
The Bodhisattva looked quite slighted. “Hey, hey, Benefactor Gongxi, I specifically manifested this male form for your sake. Do you not intend to offer a single word of appraisal?”
Qiao’er, remembering how he had insisted on sharing a bed with her just days prior, felt a cold sweat break out. After a long hesitation, she finally whispered, “But Bodhisattva... in the mortal realm, those who are both male and female are usually called... hermaphrodites...”
The Bodhisattva: “...”
Qiao’er wisely shut her mouth. Nearby, Fan Shaohuang, who was busy instructing the spirits on the fire’s intensity, burst into raucous laughter.
The medicine required seven days and nights of continuous refinement. Fortunately, the Bodhisattva was an expert at finding his own entertainment. In his words, any deity who could survive the daily onslaught of the Buddha’s dry jokes in the Western Heaven was no ordinary immortal. During his idle hours, he often joined the Hao family’s Daoists for their lessons. Sometimes, when the zombies were busy paving bridges or digging wells for the village, he would follow them, standing with his arms crossed—a perfect, literal embodiment of "standing by with folded arms." The zombies and spirits, seeing a Bodhisattva for the first time, treated him with immense, if somewhat confused, reverence.
Yet this particular deity was exceptionally approachable. He spent his days playing "Nine Palaces" with the undead, making a bet that the loser would get their forehead flicked. This was inherently unfair; he possessed the "One-Finger Zen" technique. After a few days, nearly every zombie had a massive, swollen lump on their forehead, while the Bodhisattva’s brow remained as smooth as polished jade.
Initially, the green-eyed zombie guarded Qiao’er against him with extreme vigilance. However, after failing to sense any genuine malice in the deity’s heart, he gradually relaxed, though he still forbade Qiao’er from becoming too close to him. The Bodhisattva was now entirely free to leave, yet he showed no intention of departing, seemingly determined to witness the "corpse-repairing" process to the end.
One night, as Qiao’er stood watch over the furnace, the Bodhisattva—having already flicked the foreheads of every zombie except the green-eyed one—found himself bored and turned his attention to teasing Fan Shaohuang.
Fan Shaohuang had a master stroke for dealing with him: silence. No matter what the other said, he refused to respond. Failing there, the Bodhisattva turned to Qiao’er. Having learned that the recipe came from Fan Shaohuang, Qiao’er harbored some doubts. She took the opportunity to ask, “Bodhisattva, can a pill made from the heart-flesh of a living zombie, the blood of a Qilin, and the water from your Pure Vase truly repair a corpse?”
She watched Fan Shaohuang’s expression closely. She reasoned that since both were from the Divine Realm, the Bodhisattva would likely look to the dragon for a cue if the recipe was a sham.
However, Fan Shaohuang’s expression remained neutral, and the Bodhisattva was remarkably honest. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh of regret. “If you were asking about the Great Strength Vajra Pill, I might know a thing or two. But these recipes for mending corpses and sacrificing souls? Those are the specialties of these ‘Ox-Nose’ Daoists.”
Qiao’er: “...”
Having answered, the Bodhisattva sat down on a nearby rock. His white divine robes unfurled like drifting clouds, and a faint, holy radiance enveloped him. He seemed to merge with the early spring night; though the air was chilly, it did not disturb his tranquil peace.
“However, Benefactor Gongxi,” his deep masculine voice sounded as if it were right in her ear. Qiao’er turned to look at him. In the flickering glow of the furnace, he picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the array, hitting Fan Shaohuang. “Though this stingy dragon is an expert in alchemy, he is famous in the Divine Realm for his ‘fattening the thin and killing the skinny’ results. His medicine is just as likely to kill you as cure you.”
From within the array, Fan Shaohuang finally snapped, “If you don’t trust it, don’t eat it!”
“Boring,” the Bodhisattva sighed. “Utterly boring. It’s a pity a man like you never achieved true godhood.”
As they spoke, the green-eyed zombie arrived, carrying a padded jacket and a hand warmer. Qiao’er protested weakly, “I’m not cold.”
He ignored her, wrapping the garment around her shoulders and tucking the hand warmer into her arms. Only then did Qiao’er notice he had also brought a pile of walnuts. This was something she actually liked. He cracked a walnut open with his teeth and, like someone teasing a puppy, held the nutmeat out to her. Every time she tried to bite it, he would lift his hand higher, making her snap at the air.
The two of them played this mindless game with great enthusiasm. The Bodhisattva watched them for a long time before turning to Fan Shaohuang. The dragon snorted coldly, “Two idiots.”
The "idiots" in question were oblivious. Eventually, the green-eyed zombie teased Qiao’er until she turned her head away in a huff. Unsure if she was truly angry, he cautiously brought the nutmeat to her lips. Seizing the moment, Qiao’er snatched it into her mouth in one quick motion. He beamed with delight and immediately began cracking another.
After eating a few, Qiao’er felt thirsty, so he went back to fetch water. The Bodhisattva’s expression looked more pained than if he were listening to the Buddha’s jokes. “Benefactor Gongxi, don’t you think his appearance is... well, quite ‘artistically challenged’?”
Qiao’er felt a prickle of annoyance. When she was unhappy, her tongue grew sharp. “So what? At least I can tell at a glance that he’s a man!”
The Bodhisattva raised an eyebrow. After a moment of thought, he shifted back into his female form. “What do you know? This is called self-defense! Do you understand? In many years, there will emerge a breed of creatures called ‘fujoshi.’ When that time comes, you will realize how wise and far-sighted I am.”
Fan Shaohuang snorted from the array. “Don’t listen to his nonsense. Back when the Divine Realm’s security was poor and experts were everywhere, he would turn into a woman and surrender the moment he met someone he couldn’t beat. The gods are all face-saving fools; seeing a female immortal, they were always too embarrassed to strike hard...”
“Stingy dragon!” The Bodhisattva dipped a willow branch into the Pure Vase and flicked it. The droplets hit Fan Shaohuang’s soul and instantly transformed into a torrential downpour. Drenched to the bone, the dragon roared, though not because of the water. “I told you not to call me that!”
“Stingy dragon! Stingy dragon!” With every shout, the Bodhisattva flicked more water. Fan Shaohuang was livid, but in his current soul-state, he was powerless against the deity.
Qiao’er tended the fire, feeling helpless as she watched the two "gods" bicker like children. Fortunately, the green-eyed zombie returned quickly, carrying a ceramic pot filled with the sweet soup Qiao’er had brewed earlier. The Bodhisattva sneaked over to steal a walnut and sniffed the soup. The zombie glared at him, then ladled out a small bowl to feed Qiao’er.
As Qiao’er fanned the furnace, he pulled her into his embrace. Man and zombie sat together before the fire, he cracking walnuts and feeding her soup with movements that had become incredibly practiced. Qiao’er took a sip and frowned slightly. “The weather is cold; it needs to be heated before I can drink it.”
He immediately clutched the ceramic pot to his chest to warm it with his body heat. Qiao’er swatted him playfully. “Don’t be lazy! Go back and heat it properly!”
He obediently carried the pot back to the kitchen. The Bodhisattva stared at his retreating back, dazed. “This ‘artificially raised’ god is truly... unique...”
The seven-day deadline arrived in the blink of an eye. The green-eyed zombie no longer bothered to have the spirits watch the Bodhisattva—given the deity’s gossiping nature, he wouldn’t leave now even if they chased him with brooms. Qiao’er remained anxious, questioning the zombie several times in private. After all, Yinglong was not a man to be fully trusted.
The green-eyed zombie, however, comforted her with confidence. “He is trapped in the array and cannot escape. If he harms me, you will surely deal with him. The recipe should be fine.”
“But now, with the Bodhisattva’s power, couldn’t he help him escape?” Qiao’er asked.
“The Bodhisattva is a monk of the Buddha,” the zombie replied. “Like mortal monks, they believe in destiny and tribulations. Yinglong has not yet returned to his station; this is a trial he must endure. The Bodhisattva will not interfere, or he would have saved him long ago.”
Qiao’er knew little of the Divine Realm, but it seemed to her that these immortals had little genuine affection for one another. On the surface, they were all harmony and smiles, but beneath, they were cold and detached.
The green-eyed zombie took the box of pills and the Bodhisattva down to the seabed. He was unsure if the medicine would cause delirium or deep sleep. If such a thing happened, the Bodhisattva might pose a threat to Qiao’er. By taking him underwater, the zombie ensured an advantage; a celestial deity’s power would be dampened beneath the waves, and with the sheer number of sea spirits and zombies present, it would be difficult for the Bodhisattva to act.
The Bodhisattva had no objections. He was dying to see what this monster would look like after the "repair." Besides, having skipped his duties to play, he would surely be scolded by the Buddha upon his return. Having this story to tell would at least make the trip worthwhile.
They stayed beneath the sea for three days. During the day, Qiao’er glared resentfully at Fan Shaohuang; at night, she paced the beach, grabbing every zombie that emerged to ask for news. The red-eyed zombie returned to the depths every hour to check on his brother and report back to the "Old Big."
By the third day, Fan Shaohuang was thoroughly unnerved by Qiao’er’s staring. On the beach, Hao Ren was busy teaching the zombies and sea spirits. Suddenly, the green-eyed zombie slowly rose from the waves. It was a night of the full moon; silver waves crashed against the shore, and moonlight saturated the sand. The evening breeze carried the chill of early spring, stirring the silent night.
He stepped out from the silver surf, walking across the fine sand. His hair had turned a brilliant silver, cascading down to his waist like liquid light. His eyes were the color of deep, translucent jade, swirling with strange, shifting patterns that made it impossible to look away. He wore a set of black robes conjured by magic that billowed in the wind, faintly shimmering with an iridescent, flame-like glow.
The silk shoes on his feet caught the moonlight, his steps so light they didn't disturb a single grain of dust. In the blue vault of the sky, the moon seemed to shy away, and the stars felt dim in his presence.
He looked, in every sense, like a god—one who had stepped out from the primordial chaos, draped in the glory of the stars. With a mere glance from the corners of his eyes, all of creation seemed ready to bow.
On the beach, the zombies fell to the ground in prostration. Qiao’er stood frozen in shock. Her shock was justified; after all, if you took a mangy mutt into a room and a majestic Samoyed walked out, you wouldn't recognize it either.
The two ancient zombies from the cave quickly recognized him. A cheer erupted from the crowd: “Ah! It’s Old Second! It’s Old Second!!”
The horde of zombies seethed with excitement.
Qiao’er did not understand their words, nor did she try to. Her gaze was locked on him—the curve of his brow, the tilt of his head, the sheer aura of grace and power. He was no longer the familiar creature of her memory.
*So...* she thought, her heart racing, *this is what a god truly looks like?*
