That day, the guests from Penglai arrived to seek assistance, and in the end, they took Lin Juansheng with them.
"I don’t know what it was about, but Master cast a divination and decided to let Eldest Senior Brother go take a look." Mu Gesheng sat with his legs crossed, counting his coins. "Eldest Senior Brother is the best. He remembered to leave me some pocket money before he left, unlike my old man—I haven't seen a cent from him in years. Hey, Number Three, every time you go to the Underworld, do your elders there stuff your pockets with private savings?"
A fit of earth-shattering coughing erupted. Between gasps, a voice replied, "They do... but it’s all hell money. No matter how much I have, I can't spend it here."
"Number Four, stop talking to him. Anyone would think we have a consumptive ghost living in this room." The door was kicked open, and Song Wentong walked in carrying a soup tureen. "Number Three, save your breath. If you keep coughing like that, your throat is going to be ruined."
"What choice do I have?" Wu Zixu clutched a long pipe, looking helpless. "Who knew smoking was so hard to learn?"
"The Guwang Pipe is a generational heirloom of the Yin-Yang School. Like Number Two’s Blood-Licked Blade, it’s the symbol of every Wuchangzi. If nothing else, you need it to light the tobacco and summon the soul-reapers. You don’t want people seeing you coughing your lungs out every time you try," Mu Gesheng remarked. "If this keeps up, rumors will spread. I heard people in the Underworld are already saying this generation’s Wuchangzi is a pampered young master who can’t even handle a pipe."
"To hell with 'pampered young master.' I’ll chop anyone who says that in half," Song Wentong said, uncovering the tureen. "This is for your throat. Drink it, then get back to practicing."
"Number Two, did you make snow pear and silver ear fungus soup?" Mu Gesheng’s eyes lit up. He reached for it, only to have his hand slapped away.
"Beat it. None for you."
"Favoritism," Mu Gesheng muttered, pouting. He turned back to Wu Zixu. "By the way, Number Two took you to Guanshan Yue yesterday, didn't he? How was it? How did it feel?"
At the mention of it, a piece of pear got stuck in Wu Zixu’s throat, nearly choking him to death.
"Shut up. Are you done yet?" Song Wentong smacked Mu Gesheng on the head. "There’s more in the pot in the kitchen. If you want some, go get it yourself."
"I take it it didn't go well," Mu Gesheng said knowingly. "But Number Two, how did you manage not to lose your shirt this time? How did Aunt Zhao let you come back?"
"I lost everything, and Number Three didn't have enough money either." Song Wentong’s face was as dark as the bottom of a pot. "Aunt Zhao made Number Three sing a song. She said she’d let us go once he finished."
Mu Gesheng was shocked. "Number Three actually sang?!"
"He did."
"The sun must have risen in the west. What did he sing?"
"A funeral dirge."
"...What?"
Wu Zixu couldn't take it anymore and defended himself. "I’m from the Yin-Yang School. Every Wuchangzi only learns that kind of thing. Besides, Number Two, you were the one who insisted I sing."
"So you sang a dirge in the middle of the night?"
"That was the mildest option. When a Wuchang opens his mouth, even ghosts worry. If I had sung anything else, I was afraid I’d summon something unpleasant."
"You’re quite articulate now. Why weren't you this calm last night?"
Mu Gesheng listened to the two of them bickering, held it in for as long as he could, and finally burst into a roar of laughter.
A moment later, he was tossed out the door.
With nothing to do, Mu Gesheng found two sturdy-looking ginkgo trees, set up a hammock, and fell into a deep sleep, losing all track of time. Just as he was happily counting money in his dreams, something slapped him across the face. He opened his eyes blearily, thinking Song Wentong was messing with him again. "Number Two, you’re asking for it..."
Then he snapped wide awake. The figure in front of him wasn't Song Wentong, but a brilliantly colored pheasant.
The two stared at each other for a moment before Mu Gesheng lunged, grabbing the bird by its neck. "Since when did Number Two start raising chickens?" He shook it up and down. "So trendy. Did he give you a perm and a dye job?"
The pheasant let out a shrill, strangled cry. Mu Gesheng ignored it, promptly plucking its vibrant tail feathers clean. He stood up, gloating. "Another shuttlecock. I’ll take you to see Number Two. Haha, he’s going to be so pissed."
However, when Song Wentong saw the bird in his hand, he shook his head. "That’s not mine."
"Not yours? Could it belong to the monks at Baishui Temple? No, that’s not right; they’re vegetarians." Mu Gesheng was surprised. He lifted the bird by its neck to inspect it. "Is it wild? Are wild chickens this flashy nowadays?"
"It doesn't look like a normal pheasant. Pheasants are colorful, but the colors aren't usually this... unique," Wu Zixu said, choosing his words carefully. "It looks like it was dropped into a vat of dye."
The bird in Mu Gesheng’s hand was a riot of color—red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and purple. It was as if its ancestors were the Seven Fairies, resulting in such a gaudy hybrid.
"Are we eating it?" Song Wentong eyed the bird. "We could make a pot of spicy chicken."
"Let’s eat," Mu Gesheng decided instantly. "I’ll pluck the rest of the feathers."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, the pheasant shrieked, gave Mu Gesheng a vicious peck, and bolted out the door. Mu Gesheng wasn't about to let it go; he grabbed Song Wentong and gave chase. They hadn't run far before they collided with someone.
"Master?" "Sir!"
The Ginkgo Pavilion Lord looked at the bird at his feet and bent down to pick it up. "What are you three doing?"
"Catching a chicken," Mu Gesheng said. "We’re having spicy chicken tonight."
The Pavilion Lord looked at the pheasant, which was now missing its tail feathers, with an unreadable expression. "You want to eat him?"
"We can't?" Song Wentong’s expression shifted. "Is this bird yours, Sir?"
"It was my oversight. You weren't at the studio yesterday, so you didn't meet the guests from Penglai." The Pavilion Lord sighed helplessly. "A distinguished guest arrived yesterday. Besides asking for Juansheng’s help, they had another request: they asked me to look after the Xingxiuzi."
"The Xingxiuzi?" Mu Gesheng blinked. "The bloodline of the Vermilion Bird, the head of the Zhu family—the Xingxiuzi?" He reacted quickly, looking at the bird in his Master’s arms with disbelief. "You mean—?"
"Yes, you’ve guessed correctly," the Pavilion Lord said. "This one you were planning to eat is your new fifth brother."
Song Wentong: "..."
"The Zhu family, as descendants of the Vermilion Bird, are one of the Seven Schools. However, the Vermilion Bird is an auspicious beast that does not appear in times of chaos. With war breaking out across Huaxia, the Zhu family must remain hidden from the world. But the Seven Schools have an ancient covenant to steer the course for all living beings when the winds of change blow. Thus, in times of turmoil, the Zhu family sends the Xingxiuzi into the world to assist the other schools."
In the water pavilion, the Pavilion Lord held the bird and looked at the three disciples. "This is the current Xingxiuzi, Zhu Yinxiao."
"What?" Mu Gesheng didn't hear clearly. "Cooked Midnight Snack?"
"Don't interrupt when Master is speaking." Song Wentong kicked Mu Gesheng. "But Sir, why is the Xingxiuzi a chicken? Has the Zhu family run out of people?"
"I recall that when a Vermilion Bird is young, it cannot take human form. Its appearance and habits are similar to a pheasant," Wu Zixu mused. "So the Xingxiuzi is still very young? Why not wait until he’s older to enter the world? The mundane air of the human realm is heavy; it’s not conducive to a Vermilion Bird’s growth or transformation."
"The world is in chaos; time waits for no one." The Pavilion Lord smoothed the pheasant’s feathers. "I cast a divination a few months ago. The time for the Xingxiuzi to emerge has come."
"I see." Upon hearing this, the three bowed in unison. The Tiansuanzi calculated the mandate of heaven, and the Seven Schools followed his divinations without question. No one would dispute a divination personally cast by the Ginkgo Pavilion Lord.
"So, this is Number Five." Mu Gesheng seemed quite pleased. "Great, I’m finally not the youngest anymore."
"A pointless distinction," Song Wentong said. "Sir, your health is delicate. It’s better if we take care of Number Five."
"Very well." The Pavilion Lord handed a stack of talismans to Song Wentong. "These are Transformation Talismans. A Vermilion Bird’s spiritual meridians are unstable in its youth; he might transform into a human, but maintaining that form is exhausting. If Yinxiao ever turns human and can't change back within two hours, use these."
"Do you know how to use them?" Wu Zixu peered over. "The Yin-Yang School is somewhat familiar with talismans. I can teach you."
"I know how," Song Wentong said, taking the talismans with a straight face. "Don't underestimate the heritage of the Mo family."
Raising a chicken was no easy feat, and raising a child was even harder. When you were raising a chicken that was also a child, it was the very definition of "chickens flying and dogs jumping"—utter chaos.
Wu Zixu was too busy and Mu Gesheng was too unreliable, so the task of looking after Number Five fell almost entirely on Song Wentong. Every day, besides cooking for Mu Gesheng, he had to prepare extra dishes for Zhu Yinxiao. A few days later, Mu Gesheng expressed deep dissatisfaction with the dwindling variety of their meals. "Number Two, stop fussing over making milk porridge for Number Five. He’s a divine beast; he doesn't need to be fed so delicately."
Song Wentong watched as Mu Gesheng drank half a jar of the milk. "What do you suggest then?"
"I know what he eats. I’ll take Number Five out for a meal tomorrow. You don't need to worry."
The next day, Song Wentong found Mu Gesheng sunbathing in the vegetable garden of Baishui Temple. The pheasant had been tossed into the vegetable patches, where it was busy pecking at bugs.
The two had their customary fight and then reached a compromise. The next day, a new dish appeared on the dinner table: fried silkworm pupae. One plate was cooked, and one was raw. Mu Gesheng ate the cooked ones, and Zhu Yinxiao ate the raw ones.
Mu Gesheng had a habit of raiding the kitchen in the middle of the night. He stayed up late and always needed a midnight snack. Ever since Number Five arrived, the pheasant had become his primary candidate for ingredients. Song Wentong had to search the kitchen every night. "Number Four! Why did you put him in the clay pot again?!"
"It’s nothing. I’m giving him a bath. He got too dirty rolling around in the vegetable garden today."
"You give baths in a clay pot?!"
"What’s wrong with that?"
"Then why are there scallions, ginger, garlic, peppercorns, and cinnamon in the pot?!"
"It’s called a medicinal bath."
The first time Zhu Yinxiao transformed, the Pavilion Lord wasn't there. Song Wentong calmly plastered the child’s entire body with talismans, but they were completely useless. Undeterred, Song Wentong lit incense, beat a hand drum, and even started chanting some nonsensical incantations. Finally, he even borrowed Wu Zixu’s Guwang Pipe to light up. The summoned soul-reaper stared at him blankly. "Does the Mozi have instructions for us?"
"Nothing," Song Wentong said, still perfectly calm.
"...Then what are you doing?"
"A shamanic dance."
As for Zhu Yinxiao’s nickname, Song Wentong and Mu Gesheng argued more than once.
"Can you stop calling Number Five 'Cooked Midnight Snack'?"
"Then what should I call him? 'Piggy Giggles'?"
"..."
One day, Wu Zixu pulled his usual all-nighter. Carrying a lantern, he walked out of the study only to see Zhu Yinxiao lying outside the door, drooling. "Number Five?" He picked up the bare-bottomed child. "Why are you out here? Are you hungry?"
The toddler blinked at him, sucking his thumb. A moment later, a long, drawn-out crow erupted from his small mouth.
Mu Gesheng’s room instantly exploded with noise. "Number Five, can you have some dignity?! You’re a Vermilion Bird! Isn't it embarrassing to crow like a rooster every day?!" He used three different identities in one sentence; the Vermilion Bird’s fledgling form was ambiguous, and everyone called him whatever they felt like. At such a young age, Number Five held many titles; he was truly a busy man.
Wu Zixu pinched Zhu Yinxiao’s cheek. The young man and the child looked into the distance, and the youth began to smile.
"The sun is up."
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 姑妄烟杆 | Guwang Pipe | A generational heirloom of the Yin-Yang School. "Guwang" (姑妄) implies "tentative" or "just for the sake of it." |
| 无常子 | Wuchangzi | "Impermanence Disciple/Master." The title for the successor of the Yin-Yang School. |
| 星宿子 | Xingxiuzi | "Constellation Disciple/Master." The title for the successor of the Zhu family. |
| 朱雀 | Vermilion Bird | One of the four auspicious beasts of Chinese mythology, associated with the Zhu family. |
| 朱饮宵 | Zhu Yinxiao | The name of the fifth disciple. |
| 煮夜宵 | Cooked Midnight Snack | A homophonic pun on Zhu Yinxiao's name (Zhǔ Yèxiāo). |
| 化形符 | Transformation Talisman | A talisman used to manage or trigger physical transformations. |
| 跳大神 | Shamanic dance | A folk ritual involving dancing to summon or appease spirits/gods. |
| 药浴 | Medicinal bath | A bath infused with herbs (or in this case, cooking spices) for health or ritual purposes. |
