Chapter Thirty-Six: The Solar Bird, Fire

“There is too much evil in this land; it’s not easy for the Miao people to survive here.”

Hearing this, Yun Qi nodded. If venomous insects and evil spirits were simply part of daily life, enduring here was truly no small feat. He had grown up in a prosperous and fertile region and could hardly imagine such an existence.

“Our ancestors came up with many ways to stay alive. Look—for example, to escape the dampness and the snakes and insects, we built our houses up on stilts,” the old village chief said with a smile.

But Yun Qi did not smile.

“In those days, our forebears made many foolish mistakes. Some treated the evil spirits and venomous creatures as gods, worshipping them and even tying up young boys and girls as offerings, hoping to gain peace. Of course, their blood and tears proved it was all in vain.

“Others searched the mountains for eggs and cubs of the beasts and insects, raised them, and used them to fight off their own kind. Some, more extreme yet, kept ghosts or drove corpses—these methods worked, but those who practiced them became monsters themselves,” the old chief said in a low, somber tone.

“Then there were people like us, who couldn’t bear to do any of those things. We sought to harness vitality, the energy of the sun, to counteract the evil. We moved higher up the mountains, drank only from flowing springs, crafted torches to drive away the evil spirits, used sulfur powder to repel poisonous insects.

“We tried everything we could think of. Along the way, we discovered that the white dogs of the mountains were remarkably alert; they could sense living creatures or evil spirits from far away, were unafraid of bites, and never lost their souls. So we raised white dogs to guard our homes.

“But our greatest discovery was the rooster,” the old chief said, laughing with genuine delight.

“Our first finding was the golden-clawed, red-crowned roosters in the mountains. They were exceptional—able to swallow poisonous insects whole, to fight evil spirits, and every day they would crow before sunrise. The sound of their crowing could scatter the mist demons and suppress the howling ghosts. Truly, the rooster is a divine bird of the sun.

“So we began raising chickens. After that, everything changed.”

Yun Qi could feel the old chief’s joy; Munaigong watched the roosters pecking for insects in every corner of the village, his face radiant like a blooming flower.

Yun Qi himself was elated. Before, when he’d studied the deity of the Sun’s Roost, the stories he found were too lofty, set in the distant heavens and too abstract to anchor his meditations in the real world. Now, hearing the Miao people’s stories of the rooster’s power, he was overjoyed. With these true tales, he finally had a solid foundation for his meditation. In that instant, he resolved to compose hymns of praise for these deeds, to inscribe them in the halls of light within his mind.

“After we started raising chickens, we found that the roosters’ powers exceeded even our wildest hopes!” the old chief exclaimed.

“One day, someone lost their soul outside the village. When they returned, they were dull and confused, unable to recognize anyone, and soon slipped into a coma. In the past, that would have been a death sentence.

“But that time, the king of the roosters in our village suddenly crowed. After three crows, that person’s soul was called back!

“There’s more! In villages that raise chickens, we swear blood oaths by rooster’s blood. These are the firmest, most unbreakable of vows. Anyone who drinks the rooster’s blood and breaks the oath will bleed from every orifice and die—there has never been an exception! That’s why in Hongjiang’s Fourteen Stream Villages, when we swear by rooster’s blood, if one village is in trouble, the others must come to their aid. That is how we have survived until today!

“A rooster can keep time. Even when the black mists descend and day is indistinguishable from night, even when months pass in darkness, the rooster crows at just the right hour each day, never failing us. This allows us to keep our daily routines. In the past, when the black fog came, countless people would go mad in the endless night!

“Rooster’s blood can suppress corpses!

“A rooster’s feathered crest can protect you from being called away by evil spirits!

“And there’s more! Wherever chickens are raised, more sons are born!”

On and on the chief went, recounting every detail, and Yun Qi carefully noted each one. He even asked the old chief to elaborate—when did it happen, who was involved?

Seeing Yun Qi’s keen interest, the old chief was delighted and spoke at length. Some stories were distant, so he added a bit of his own imagination, embellishing them further, but that hardly mattered.

No, perhaps it made them even better.

An elder and a youth—one speaking, one recording. The speaker was happy, the listener even more so.

After a good long while, two aunts came out and signaled that the house was ready.

Munaigong paused and cheerfully said to Yun Qi, “Daoist Yun, you’ve come from afar; please rest. Tonight, we will hold a bonfire to welcome you.”

Yun Qi thanked them, produced two copper coins from his sleeve for the aunts, and handed a small piece of silver to the old chief.

All three refused, but Yun Qi insisted.

He glanced into the house—it had been swept clean, the windows were thrown wide open, and with the sun setting behind the western hills, golden light washed over the wooden walls.

Watching the three leave, Yun Qi looked out over the Miao village, the stream, the terraced fields, and the strutting roosters. He was filled with joy and, instead of entering the house, sat cross-legged on the beauty rail and slipped into meditation.

———

The golden crow sank in the west, and night fell.

It was September; days were short and nights long. The weather had turned cool. The mountain night was pitch black, a thin mist rising, so dense even the stars were hidden.

Every household in the village lit its lamps—each a faint glow in the deep mountains, weak yet striking.

Yun Qi stood on high ground, watching as people came out from every home, each carrying firewood, gathering at the village center. The wood was stacked neatly until it stood half as tall as a man.

The old chief brought out a pitch-black jar and, using a brush, dabbed something onto the woodpile. Yun Qi saw the droplets glisten like some kind of oil.

Then the old chief produced an object from his sleeve, something like a fire starter. With a single breath, the tip flared, shooting a tongue of fire a yard long that landed on the woodpile—nothing like the ordinary fire starters, more like a weapon.

With a thunderous roar, the massive stack of firewood burst into flames, lighting up the entire village. The leaping tongues of fire instantly drove away the lingering chill and mist.

The villagers’ mastery of fire far surpassed Yun Qi’s expectations.

The people sat around the bonfire, its light reflected on every face, shining in their eyes, illuminating their joy.

Yun Qi watched the lamps in every home, the bonfire that lit up the darkness, and felt a deeper, clearer understanding of the meaning of fire.

Fire was never only that which burned in the sky.

The great sun’s light was boundless, but the fires of the human world could also drive away darkness. Most importantly, the sun hangs high and distant, but the fires of men are held in human hands.

“Daoist Yun! Come quickly!” the old chief called from beside the fire, and the villagers waved to Yun Qi, calling out in words he could not understand.

The Bai Long’er children were even happier, chasing each other around the fire. Only the roosters kept their regal air, not joining the festivities, but standing sentinel at the village’s highest points, like guardian spirits.