Dou-Jin looked around the threshold. The room was utterly normal. He knew Immortals were recruiting sect members here, so he had expected something more mystical or elaborate. Instead he entered a dim room. On either side of a central table, flames fluttered from two simple pottery lamps. The rest of the room and the high ceiling were sunk in shadow. A man sat motionless in a chair behind the center table, eyes closed. In the shaking light, he looked about thirty years old. His long hair and simple robes draped to the floor. Dou-Jin slowly walked closer, wondering if he was in the right place, but the man didn’t open his eyes.

The only object on the table was something that, in the dim light, looked like a long rod. As Dou-Jin approached, he saw it was a flute carved from white jade. He stopped in front of the table and looked expectantly at the man, uncertain if he should say something. The man finally opened his eyes and cast an impatient glance his way.

“Pick up the flute and play a note. If it lights up, the sect will receive you.”

Dou-Jin nodded. He wiped his clammy hands on his sides before reaching out to pick up the flute. It felt very cool and smooth, much heavier than he had expected. He lifted it, positioned both hands on the fingerholes, and blew. An ethereal tone filled the room, like the resonance of wind through a cave. At the same time, a bright light flashed from the flute. As fast as the sound and light came, they stopped. Dou-Jin kept blowing, but the tone stuttered, and the light winked in and out very dimly, like a guttering flame.

Dou-Jin stopped and lowered the flute. The man had been squinting at him as he played. “Play it again,” he said, massaging the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, “I couldn’t see the color.”

Dou-Jin lifted the flute and played again, but neither sound nor light came out.

The man sighed deeply and produced two jade tablets from somewhere, one a large disc and the other a very small, thin rectangle. Dou-Jin placed the palm against the disc . Then the man placed the small jade slip on the opposite side of the disc. The disc glowed briefly. The man handed him the slip, saying, “Be on the ferry tomorrow morning at the hour of the dragon.”

Dou-Jin hesitated before turning away. The street was quiet, and the first beats of the curfew drum throbbed through the air. As Dou-Jin walked back to his temporary room at the Yamen, he clutched the thin jade slip tightly. The grief and frustration from before had been compounded by a sense of utter helplessness to get justice. But in this moment, a frightening seed of hope unfurled thin roots in his heart. Maybe I won’t get answers, he thought but if I don’t go now, I might never have another chance.

Early the next morning, Dou-Jin packed his possessions and said goodbye to Magistrate Zhang. He dropped by his great uncle’s house and left a letter with the housekeeping servant explaining that he had been accepted by a teacher and would live at the school. Then he walked to the river docks, hands shaking with nervousness, but a resolute expression on his face. He arrived at the docks and saw several ferries and many passengers standing in line. There were not many children, and even fewer humans.

One vivid blue boat at the end of the dock was smaller than the others. On its deck stood the man who had administered the recruitment test. He was wearing a long, pale green robe with a simple-looking design but expensive fabric. In the bright daylight, Dou-Jin could see the hem and sleeves of the robe wafting and gliding on an unseen, perpetual wind.

Dou-Jin took a deep breath before walking over and getting in line. There were six other kids in the line. Two of them looked human. The boy standing together with his parents in front of him was probably eleven or twelve years old. He was wiry and short, wearing moderately expensive robes, and had an eager expression on his face. He was almost vibrating with excitement.

In front of that human boy was another young boy, maybe thirteen. He was medium height, and had a rounded face with a very shy expression. Two round lion’s ears twitched left and right on his head, and there were two small, feathered wings folded against his back. He glanced over at Dou-Jin, gave a shy smile, then returned his gaze to the floor. Beside him, a tall, broad-shouldered man laughed and chatted with other parents, his voice perpetually roaring loudly. The man also had lion’s ears and wings.

Further towards the front of the line, another human boy looked nervous, but was camouflaging it with bravado. He looked around thirteen or fourteen. A female relative stood weeping silently beside him. Dou-Jin couldn’t tell if it was the boy’s mother or grandmother, her body was so wracked with poverty. All the other parents were chatting cheerfully with each other. The other boy awkwardly pulled on the hem of his torn and stained outfit and glanced around. His eyes caught Dou-Jin’s eyes and looked down in embarrassment before immediately looking back aggressively as if to say What?!

Dou-Jin let his eyes drift away, and gave up inspecting his companions until he boarded the boat. He presented the jade slip, pressed his hand against the jade disc, and found a seat. Glancing back, he saw the other children’s parents waving from the dock. Then the man from the sect waved a hand. The rope mooring them to the port slid out of its knot and rose into the air like a snake before coiling up and falling back onto the boat deck. With another wave of the hand, a burst of wind filled the sail, pushing it taut. The boat glided swiftly over the water of the River of Moving Stars, leaving the Mortal realm farther and farther behind.

Before the Water God Gong-Gong, enraged at losing a fight, broke the foundation of heaven and brought devastation to the world, Goddess Nuwa had already lived for many years. She had roamed the world and encountered many Gods and spiritual beings, but none were after her heart, so she created the first humans as her companions. Many years later, and about three thousand years after Goddess Nuwa mended the heavens and disappeared, the earth was still young, and spiritual energy abounded everywhere. The three realms were at peace. In the Mortal realm, one mountain reached up from the earth like an extended finger with its tip touching the clouds.

On this mountain, Grandma Wei lived with her daughter, her daughter’s husband, and her two grandsons. Her own husband had died long ago. The elder grandson was Immortal, but the younger grandson was Mortal, and had no divine powers. He was also a little glutton.

Little Zhou was sitting at a carved stone table in the courtyard. While his Grandma was occupied fanning the flame under a cauldron of medicine, Little Zhou had already surreptitiously eaten all but one of the flaky honey cakes that had been piled on a plate in the middle of the table. Since Little Zhou was mortal, his upbringing fell mostly to Grandma Wei, while his mother devoted her time and energy to his Immortal older brother.

Even without her extensive knowledge of his character, his nonchalant, innocent glance would have fooled no-one. The crumbs and sticky syrup smeared around his mouth and pudgy cheeks plainly revealed him to be the culprit. Grandma Wei assumed a stern expression and approached the table with her hands on her hips. Little Zhou looked at her innocently and said, “Grandma, can I have a cake?”

“No, you already had more than one.”

The little boy looked at her in consternation, “No,” he lied.

Grandma Wei schooled her features to a look of grave disappointment. The little boy glanced greedily back at the last cake. “Please, can I have just one more?”

Grandma Wei shook her head decisively. In a fit of pique, the boy declared, “If I can’t eat the cake, I will run away!”

“If you run away, I will find you.” Grandma Wei chuckled.

“No! I’ll hide in a cave!” He said rebelliously.

Grandma Wei considered this for a moment before reaching out and pinching a plump, sticky cheek, “Then I will transform into a wolf and eat you up!”

“No! I’ll be a cloud.”

“I’ll turn into a bird and sit on you.”

The boy eyed her suspiciously. “You’d better not poop on me!” He had been shocked to observe the shameless indifference with which birds seemed to regard personal hygiene.

“Well, I don’t know, some birds aren’t very clever.”

The boy grimaced in anger, disgust, and amusement.

Wiping his sticky face and frowning intently, he said, “I’ll turn into a fish and swim down the River of Moving Stars into the ocean where you can’t see me.”

“Then I’ll just turn into a fisherman and use a big net to catch you.”

The boy puckered his face and looked at the sky, thinking deeply before trying again with more conditions, “I’ll be a blade of grass that is very small and is too high, so you can’t be a cow and eat me, and you aren’t allowed to be a sheep….”

“Oh,” she interrupted him, assuming a very disappointed expression, shoulders drooping, “But Grandma is so hungry. I really wanted to eat that cake.” She paused for effect, “Then you eat the cake, and Grandma will run away.”

“No!” Little Zhou was genuinely distressed. He grabbed the cake in his grubby hand and held it out to her. She waved her hand to reject it, “No, no, you eat it, Grandma will run away.” Teasing him, she walked over to the courtyard gate.

Little Zhou chased after her, cake in hand, puzzling over the dilemma. Then he paused and carefully broke the cake in half, dropping a shower of crumbs. The inner battle was visible on his little face, but he firmly averted his eyes from temptation and stretched out the hand that had the bigger half of the cake to Grandma.

Grandma Wei couldn’t help smiling as she took a bite from her half of the cake. Little Zhou silently ate his, before turning to Grandma with a stern look. “Grandma, be good. I won’t run away, and you can’t run away either.” Grandma nodded in agreement. After they finished the cake, Little Zhou submitted to washing his teeth with unusual docility.

In Star River City, the night was tranquil. Grandma slept, and with each hushed breath, she sank deeper into dreams and long forgotten memories.