Chapter 2

After that:

There was a bowl of abortifacient medicine every day.

Mother’s belly grew bigger every day.

My siblings tried to kill themselves every day.

They wrote a farewell letter every day.

Amid all this utter chaos, the day of the birth finally arrived.

My family welcomed me into the world in an atmosphere of grief and tension.

The four of them stacked their hands together and waited for fate to pass judgment.

One stick of incense burned down…

A second stick burned down…

Until evening fell and the moon hung high overhead.

I wailed with hunger. Everyone else’s stomach was protesting too.

Only then did they come to their senses, looking from one to another.

My brother’s voice shook with excitement:

“Does this mean Mother’s still the third most beautiful person in the Four Seas and Eight Realms?”

“Does it mean she won’t die?”

Father looked at him in heartfelt agreement and nodded, then pulled Mother into his arms.

At my own coming-of-age feast, Father rather sheepishly brought out a pot of tea and told me the whole story.

I nodded in understanding, then raised my hand. I had a few questions.

All four looked at me.

I addressed my sister and brother first:

“So you two wanted to kill yourselves to free up a place on the beauty ranking?”

They nodded.

I continued:

“Then why didn’t you just put a cut on your faces?”

Enlightenment dawned on them:

“Oh, right! We could’ve done that!”

Next, I asked Father:

“What recipe did you use for all that medicine?”

He said:

“I went straight down to the mortal world, grabbed a physician, and had him write me a prescription.”

I was puzzled:

“Do mortal prescriptions work on immortals?”

Father slapped his forehead, suddenly understanding:

“Oh, right! No wonder a bowl a day did nothing.”

I couldn’t help pointing out:

“If a bowl a day did nothing, didn’t you ever consider changing the prescription, or simply giving up?”

Father chuckled and scratched his head:

“Your mother said it tasted quite nice. So I kept making it for her every day.”

…

I asked my final question:

“Apart from requiring Mother to stay among the top three beauties of the Four Seas and Eight Realms, has this system of hers ever asked anything else of her?”

Mother shook her head.

“And who draws up that ranking? Who sends it to our house?”

The four of them looked at each other, utterly at a loss.

I quietly leaned back in my chair and lifted my teacup.

Understood.

Just look at those four people in front of me.

Beautiful, aren’t they?

They traded their brains for it.

At my suggestion, our family of five decided to split into four groups and set out for the Four Seas to look for clues.

Mother raised her hand:

“Then your father and I will go to the North Sea. It’s been years since I went home. I do rather miss it.”

I firmly refused:

“No. You two go somewhere else.”

Mother was puzzled:

“Why?”

I said:

“Because I cast a divination for myself, and my destined love is in the North Sea. So that’s where I’m going.”

Mother wondered when I’d learned to tell fortunes, but nodded. Fine, then.

She turned to my brother and sister to discuss who would take the other three seas.

I watched the four of them enthusiastically digging in the dirt and toppling sticks beneath the crabapple tree.

This, I thought, was exactly why I needed to go to the North Sea.

Mother came from there. Whatever had started this must have started in the North Sea.

You could search our entire mountain and still find only one dependable person: me.

There was no one else for the job.

As for why I’d conned the others into visiting the other three seas…

Ahem. They ought to get out and see a bit of the world.

Staying home all the time could make a person stupid.

Two cheers rang out beside me. The four of them had settled the contest and decided their destinations.

Shouldering our luggage, we stood at the front door, reluctantly saying goodbye and telling each other to take care.

Then, in perfect unison, we set off down the very same mountain path.

At the foot of the mountain, we reluctantly said goodbye and told each other to take care, then went our separate ways.

On my way to the North Sea, I thought back over what Mother had told us about her origins.

She had been a red koi of the North Sea—the only red koi.

The carp clan had a custom.

Every carp would attempt to leap the Dragon Gate at its coming-of-age feast.

But for nearly a hundred thousand years, not one had succeeded.

As the only red koi born in a hundred thousand years, Mother carried everyone’s hopes.

But she was carefree by nature, lazy about cultivation, and devoted to eating, drinking, and having fun.

So she worried herself sleepless day after day.

Her best friend, Bai Li, comforted her:

“It’s all right. Of course you can’t sleep during the day. You sleep perfectly well at night.”

Mother saw the light, but her anxiety did not ease.

Then Bai Li, who was a few days older, astonished every fish by leaping the Dragon Gate at her own coming-of-age feast and transforming into a white dragon on the spot. Only then did Mother relax.

Standing beside the Dragon Gate, she applauded her friend with tears in her eyes, declaring her a once-in-a-hundred-thousand-years fish prodigy of the North Sea.

Then, on the day of her own coming-of-age feast, Mother cheerfully shouldered a little bundle and ran away.

She left only a note.

Officially, she was going out to gain experience.

In reality, she couldn’t even be bothered to make the jump.

During this little adventure, she met Father, the mountain spirit of Mount Zhaoyao in human form.

They fell in love at first sight, found themselves perfectly suited, became one, sealed the deal, and paired off—all in one smooth sequence.

Then they returned to Mount Zhaoyao together.

And stayed there for tens of thousands of years.