“Since that’s settled, let’s not delay any further.”

  With that one line from Mu, the entire Shenshu Village moved like an army receiving its marching orders.

  I was still standing there, sleeves half-rolled up, about to shout something along the lines of “excuse me, not delay for what”—

  when someone shoved a bright red ceremonial robe into my hands.

  Before I could react, three loud gongs boomed from the mountain path below.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  Men poured out from every hut—left side carrying incense altars, right side waving banners, drums thundering until even the roof tiles rattled.

  I just stood there, slack-jawed, staring at the whole mountain shaking itself awake.

  “Come, Fortunate Lady—no, wait, Fortunate Lord—please ascend to the Sacred Tree Platform!”

  The second-in-command’s tongue was sugar-coated today. Every other sentence was “pray for blessings,” “bring peace to the mountain,” “protect the clan.”

  “I’m not going!”

  I grabbed the doorframe like it was my last lifeline. “You’ve got the wrong guy! My luck’s paper-thin—if I step up there, that fire’s gonna blow half the mountain to pieces!”

  “If you truly had no blessing,” said the third-in-command calmly, “then why did the Sacred Tree not tremble when you entered last night?”

  Mu spoke softly, but his tone left no room for argument.

  “No one’s forcing you. I only ask that you stay three days. When the tree quiets, you’ll be escorted down the mountain.”

  Hua fanned himself lazily. “And this is supposed to be… what? Some kind of ‘mountain-pacifying tradition’? You can’t just kidnap a ‘lucky spouse’ every year and hope for divine insurance.”

  Mu’s smile didn’t falter. “For fifty years now, around the mid-seventh month, our mountain’s been plagued—fires bursting from underground, well water turning foul, birds flying mad. The elders call it ‘underground fire stirring.’ Unless it’s appeased, disaster follows.”

  “Each year, someone blessed by fortune must sit before the Sacred Tree. Only then do we pass unscathed.”

  A chill crawled up my back.

  I swallowed. “And… what if there’s no blessed one?”

  “Then livestock die. Children wail through the night. The Sacred Tree splits thrice—and the mountain mourns.”

  His tone was too calm. Like he wasn’t explaining superstition, but reciting fate.

  “Gender doesn’t matter,” he went on. “Nor birth or bloodline. Only a body with pure energy—one the mountain’s fire fears. That’s a destined blessing.”

  Then his gaze turned to me.

  “When you entered our village, the wind softened, the fires dimmed, and the well ran clear. That is the will of Heaven.”

  My mouth twitched. I turned to Lian.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “So what he’s saying is—my ass touched the ground, and the whole mountain held its breath?”

  “Crude,” Lian’er said coldly. “But essentially correct.”

  “…”

  “Don’t you think Heaven’s being a bit pushy with this destiny thing?” I snapped. “I’ve been here one night, and suddenly I’m some demon-repelling holy idol?”

  Hua Shang chuckled from the doorway. “Not your first divine promotion, is it? Last time you danced your way into saving a cursed village, remember?”

  I was about to explode.

  “Lian,” I demanded, “you brought me here—you tell me if this makes any sense!”

  Lian’s eyes lifted to the young chief. “Shenshu Mountain was once a sealing ground. I thought those seals still held.”

  The boy’s lips curved faintly. “If the old seals have failed, then someone must take their place.”

  “Not him.” Lian’s tone cut sharp.

  “Then why,” Mu replied, “did the fires calm? Why did the spirits not stir? For five years, this is the first peace we’ve had.”

  The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush me.

  Finally, I forced a laugh.

  “So, if I’m really this ‘Blessed One,’ I just have to sit here three days—light incense, calm the spirits, suppress evil, bow a hundred times—and everything’s fine?”

  “Exactly,” said the young man, solemn as scripture. “Three days of prayer, and the mountain rests.”

  My eye twitched. “You talk real pretty, but every word sounds haunted.”

  He didn’t argue. Instead, he placed his hand on the massive sacred trunk beside him.

  “You think we mountain folk worship ghosts?”

  That one caught me off guard.

  “This village wasn’t born of myth,” he continued. His voice softened, carrying the rhythm of water against stone.

  “Fifty years ago, a branch of the imperial bloodline fled here during the wars. They hid their names, built their lives in these mountains. The place is damp, stifling, prone to underground heat. When the fires first came, they thought it divine wrath—and prayed. To their shock, it worked. So they prayed again the next year. And the next.”

  “Superstition became survival.”

  I tried to keep my voice steady. “Maybe it was just… coincidence?”

  “Once, maybe,” Hua said, snapping his fan shut. “Twice, perhaps. But every year? That’s not coincidence. That’s pattern.”

  Mu looked back at me, unblinking.

  “A destined blessing,” he said quietly, “answers Heaven’s call.”

  “You’re all insane,” I muttered. “If there are no ghosts, how do you explain this nonsense?”

  “Don’t you find it strange?” I threw my hands up. “I show up, the fire stops, the water clears, the birds behave? What am I, a walking weather charm?”

  Then I glared at him. “Every year you go through this, burning and praying, and instead of fixing the real cause, you just grab a passerby to ‘appease fate’? That’s not Heaven’s will—that’s bad project management!”

  Hua smirked. “If you believe you’re blessed, you’re the chosen one. If not…”

  “Then we investigate,” Lian cut in, cool and sharp. “This isn’t a ghost realm. If there’s a cause, we’ll find it.”

  “Now you’re talking!” I jumped up. “Let’s find out! What’s this mountain gonna do—catch its breath when I’m around?”

  Mu studied me for a long moment. “Then come. We’ll inspect the well, the tree, the fire vents. If nothing stirs in three days, you’re free to go. If disaster comes… then you are the chosen one.”

  “…You’re serious?”

  “A chief’s word is binding.”

  The next morning.

  They led us to the ancient well behind the village.

  “This was dug by my father,” Mu said quietly. “Thirty-five years ago, half the village burned overnight. He said we had to give the mountain an eye—to watch its heart.”

  Something about that didn’t sound the least bit reassuring.

  “So you people made yourselves the lid on a pot that’s already boiling,” I said. “What happens when your ‘eye’ decides to start spitting fire?”

  “If the well clouds, we seal the village, cease all flames, and pray. If it stays clear, we live in peace.”

  I leaned over. The air rising from the well was hot and damp; the stones were warm to the touch. The water shimmered yellow, bubbling faintly.

  “…Tell me that doesn’t look like soup,” I muttered. “Not underground fire—that’s hotpot.”

  Lian crouched beside me, fingers tracing the rim. His expression tightened.

  “There’s a pulse under the ground.”

  “You mean geothermal?” I asked.

  “Not certain,” he said. “We’ll have to go down and see.”

  “Go down?” I took three steps back. “Who’s we?”

  “Why, you, of course,” Hua said sweetly. “You’re the blessed one, remember? It’s your divine duty to investigate.”

  I crossed my arms. “And you’re the bodyguard. You coming or not?”

  “I’ll make sure you don’t drown.”

  “You—!” My teeth ground. “Fine. Hand me a rope.”